Domestic Women.
_SECTION I.—SUSANNA WESLEY._
“She was an admirable woman, of highly improved mind, and of a strong
and masculine understanding; an obedient wife; an exemplary mother; a
fervent Christian.”
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
_WOMAN’S SPHERE._
Home is woman’s most appropriate sphere, and it is there that her
influence is most powerfully felt. Perhaps the three most beautiful,
musical, and suggestive words in the English language are _love_,
_home_, and _mother_; and in these three words is comprehended all the
history of a perfect woman. It is woman indeed, that makes home, and
upon her depends whether home shall be attractive or repulsive—happy
or miserable. We cannot urge too strongly the formation of domestic
habits. The lack of them is one of the greatest drawbacks in family
life. Many young women are incompetent to fulfil rightly these claims,
hence their homes become scenes of disorder, filth, and wretchedness,
and their husbands are tempted to spend their evenings in the
beer-house, the gin palace, or places of public amusement. Were your
education different from what it is, we doubt not you would soon prove
your fitness for many things from which you are at present debarred;
but that would not alter the fact that your nature qualifies you
specially for the performance of home duties. Nor is domestic work of
small importance. The woman who shall try to do it rightly is
attempting something far greater than those achievements which the
trump of fame would blazon abroad. The training of young immortals for
an everlasting destiny, is nobler employment than framing laws,
painting cartoons, or writing poems. It is well only with the people in
general, in proportion as household duty and religion are taught and
practised. From that sacred place go forth the senator and the
philosopher, the philanthropist and the missionary, to form the future
nation. Home is the proper sphere of woman’s usefulness. There she may
be a queen, and accomplish vastly more for the well-being of humanity
than in the popular assembly. King Lemuel, in describing a virtuous
woman, says, “She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth
not the bread of idleness:” industry and economy go hand in hand.
_BIOGRAPHY._
“How many children has Dr. Annesley?” said a friend to Thomas Manton,
who had just dedicated one more to the Lord in the holy sacrament of
baptism. “I believe it is two dozen, or a quarter of a hundred,” was
the startling reply. Some of these withered like early spring flowers;
others bloomed into youthful beauty; and a few developed into mature
life. Susanna was the youngest. She was born in Spital Yard, near
Bishopsgate Street, on the 20th January, 1669. Her father, at no small
cost of feeling, and at a sacrifice of £700 a year, refused to declare
his unfeigned assent to all that was contained in the Book of Common
Prayer. His nonconformity caused him many outward troubles, but no
inward uneasiness. He was a man of marked prominence, and a very prince
in the tribe to which he belonged. But who was Susanna Annesley’s
mother? The daughter of John White, the eminent lawyer and earnest
Puritan, a member of the House of Commons in 1640. The following
curious epitaph was written on his tombstone:—
“Here lies a John, a burning, shining light,
Whose name, life, actions, all alike were White.”
We should like to know something of the place and mode of her
education. But whether she was sent to school or trained at home by
tutors, an elder sister or her good mother, we know not. It has been
said that she was well acquainted with the languages of ancient Greece
and Rome. That we believe to be a mistake. But if she was not a
classical scholar, she had a respectable knowledge of French;
prosecuted as one of her chiefest studies, the noble literature and
tongue of Britain; and wrote with marvellous neatness and grammatical
accuracy. While careful to strengthen her mind by such abstruse studies
as logic and metaphysics, she was not neglectful of accomplishments.
Whether she could stir the depths of feeling by her skilful
performances on the piano, we know not; but there is ample evidence
that she was not destitute of the gift of song.
With Susanna Annesley, the dawn of grace was like the dawn of day. In
after-years she wrote:—“I do not judge it necessary to know the
precise time of our conversion.” The seed of truth took root
imperceptibly, and ultimately brought forth fruit. As she advanced in
years, she increased in spirituality. Hear her own words:—“I will tell
you what rule I observed in the same case when I was young and too much
addicted to childish diversions, which was this,—never to spend more
time in any matter of mere recreation in one day, than I spend in
private religious duties.” This one passage explains the secret of her
noble life.
Good books she recognised among the mercies of her childhood. No doubt
they related mainly to experimental and practical religion, and were
written by such men as John Bunyan, Jeremy Taylor, and the early
puritans. Socinianism was not uncommon in those times, and Susanna
Annesley’s faith in the leading doctrines of the gospel was shaken.
Happily, Samuel Wesley, most likely her affianced husband, was an adept
in that controversy, and he came to her rescue. Her theological views
became thoroughly established, and her writings contain admirable
defences of the Holy Trinity, the Godhead and atonement of the Lord
Jesus, and the Divine personality and work of the Eternal Spirit.
Discussions on Church government ran high. Conformity and nonconformity
were pitted against each other, and championed by the ablest of their
sons. The din of controversy reached her father’s house, and she began
to examine the question of State churches before she was thirteen. The
result was, that she renounced her ecclesiastical creed, and attached
herself to the communion of the established Church. Samuel Wesley’s
attention was directed to that subject at the same time, and the change
in their opinions seems to have been contemporaneous.
Behold her now, at the age of nineteen, “a zealous Church-woman, yet
rich in the dowry of nonconforming virtues;” and over all, as her
brightest adorning, the “beauty of holiness,” clothing her with
salvation as with a garment.
“Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants;
No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt
In angel instincts, breathing paradise.”
She was a maiden worthy of the most princely spirit that might woo her
hand and win her heart; and such Providence had in store for her, in
the noble-hearted and intelligent Samuel Wesley. Probably late in 1689,
or early in 1690, accompanied by “the virgins, her companions,” she
went forth out of Spital Yard, decked in bridal attire, and was united
in holy matrimony to the Rev. Samuel Wesley, according to the rites and
ceremonies of the Church of England.
Her husband was a curate, on only £30 a year. They “boarded” in London
and the neighbourhood, “without going into debt.” In the course of a
few months, Mr. Wesley received his first preferment in the Church.
Upon £50 a year, and one child additional per annum, his thrifty wife
managed to make the ends meet. After existing seven long years in the
miserable rectory of South Ormsby, the rectorship of Epworth, valued at
£200 per annum, was conferred upon the Rev. Samuel Wesley. The town is
a place of deep interest to two religious denominations. There the
founder of Methodism and the planter of its earliest offshoot were
born, and in the old parish church they were both dedicated to God. One
would almost imagine that devouring fire was the rector of Epworth’s
adverse element. Scarcely had he and his noble wife taken possession of
the new home, when a third of the building was burnt to the ground.
Within twelve months after, the entire growth of flax, intended to
satisfy hungry creditors, was consumed in the field; and in 1709 the
rectory was utterly destroyed by fire. If the number and bitterness of
a man’s foes be any gauge of his real influence, then the Rector of
Epworth must have been the greatest power in the isle. The consequences
of carrying out his sincere convictions regarding things secular and
sacred were terrible. The conflagration, involving all but the temporal
ruin of the Wesley family, was the work of some malicious person or
persons unknown. Instead of appreciating his eminent abilities and
scholarly attainments, his brutal parishioners insulted him in every
possible way. His friends advised him to leave, but he resolutely
disregarded their counsel. “I confess I am not of that mind,” he writes
to the Archbishop of York, “because I may do some good there: and ’tis
like a coward to desert my post because the enemy fire thick upon me.”
Two of his most violent enemies were cut off in the midst of their
sins, and in these events Mrs. Wesley saw the avenging hand of Him who
hath said, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.”
For nearly forty years the Rector of Epworth sowed with unfaltering
hand, and saw no fruit. But ere he departed, the autumn came. He saw
“the full corn in the ear,” and a few patches of the golden harvest
ready for the reaper’s sickle. A new generation widely different from
their fathers, had grown up around him, and in the midst of their
tenderest sympathy he passed the quiet evening of life. Memorable
sentences were ever and anon dropping from his ready pen, indicating
that he was looking for the coming crisis. On the 25th of April, 1735,
just as the golden beams of that day shot their last glances upon the
old parsonage, so eventful in domestic vicissitudes, the sun of the
rector completed its circuit, and sank behind the western hills of old
age to shine in a brighter sky for evermore.
When all was over, Mrs. Wesley was less shocked than her children
expected. “Now I am heard,” said she, calmly, “in his having so easy a
death, and my being strengthened so to bear it.” She, nevertheless,
felt deeply her lone and lorn situation. Epworth had been no paradise
of unmixed delight to her. The serpent had often lurked among its
flowers; poverty, like an armed man, had frequently stood at the gate,
and sometimes crossed the threshold, and death had many a time entered
the dwelling; but, as in widow’s weeds and sable dress, she left the
dear old spot, never more to return,
“Some natural tears she dropped, but dried them soon.”
After spending some months with her daughter in the neighbouring town
of Gainsborough, Mrs. Wesley went, in September, 1736, to reside with
her eldest son, at Tiverton, where she remained until July, 1737.
Thence she removed to Wootton, Wiltshire, where Mr. Hall, who had
married her daughter Martha, was curate. In the course of a few months,
Mr. and Mrs. Hall removed to Salisbury, and Mrs. Wesley accompanied
them to that ancient cathedral city. In the spring of 1739, she
returned to the place of her birth, and there spent the remainder of
her days. Fifty years before, in the bloom of early womanhood, she had
left the mighty metropolis, to share in the joys and sorrows of a
minister’s wife. Then, her father, mother, sisters, and brothers were
all alive; now, all were numbered with the dead. The mother of the
Wesleys herself was waiting, as in the land of Beulah, for the call,
“Come ye up hither.” Her closing hours afforded ample evidence of a
triumphant death. On the 23rd July, 1742, the founder of Methodism
wrote in his journal—“Her look was calm and serene, and her eyes fixed
upward, while we commended her soul to God. From three to four, the
silver cord was loosening, the wheel breaking at the cistern, and then,
without any struggle or sigh or groan, the soul was set at liberty.”
Her distinguished son and all her surviving daughters stood round the
bed, and fulfilled her last request: “Children, as soon as I am
released, sing a psalm of praise to God.” Some of those strains
afterwards written by the dying widow’s minstrel son, would have been
most appropriate.
In the presence of an almost innumerable company of people, John, with
faltering voice, conducted her funeral ceremonies. As soon as the
service was over, he stood up and preached a sermon over her open
grave, selecting as his text Rev. xx. 11, 12. That sermon was never
published. “But,” says the preacher, “it was one of the most solemn
assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see on this side eternity.”
“Forsaking nonconformity in early life,” says her biographer, “and
maintaining for many years a devout and earnest discipleship in the
Established Church, which, in theory she never renounces, in the two
last years of her life she becomes a practical nonconformist, in
attending the ministry and services of her sons in a separate and
unconsecrated ‘conventicle.’ The two ends of her earthly life,
separated by so wide an interval, in a certain sense embrace and kiss
each other. Rocked in a nonconformist cradle, she now sleeps in a
nonconformist grave.” There, in Bunhillfields burying-ground, near the
dust of Bunyan, the immortal dreamer; of Watts, the poet of the
sanctuary; De Foe, the champion of nonconformity; and of many of her
father’s associates, her mortal remains await the “times of the
restitution of all things.” A plain stone with a suitable inscription
stands at the head of her grave.
_A NOBLE WIFE._
A true wife, like the grace of God, is given, not bought. “Her price is
far above rubies;” and, “the heart of her husband doth safely trust in
her.” Such a wife was Mrs. Wesley. In early life she did not disdain to
study the minute details of domestic economy, hence she took her proper
place at once in the parsonage at Epworth—managed a large household on
very inadequate means—while her love for her husband, and regard for
the welfare of her children, constrained her to use wisely and well the
income entrusted to her control. Her husband laid his purse in her lap,
assured that the comfort and responsibility of his house and the
interest of his property were in safe keeping. After the disastrous
fire, in regard to everything save their eight children, Mr. and Mrs.
Wesley were about as poor as Adam and Eve when they first set up
housekeeping. Thirteen years after that sad event, a wealthy relative
was “strangely scandalised at the poverty of the furniture, and much
more so at the meanness of the children’s habit.” The rector’s
incarceration for a paltry debt of less than £30, before his friends
could come to his rescue, was the heaviest trial of the heroic Mrs.
Wesley. What little jewellery she had, including her marriage ring, she
sent for his relief; but God provided for him in another way. “Tell me,
Mrs. Wesley,” said good Archbishop Sharp, “whether you ever really
wanted bread.” “My lord,” replied the noble woman, “I will freely own
to your Grace that, strictly speaking, I never did want bread. But
then, I had so much care to get it before it was eat, and to pay for it
after, as has often made it very unpleasant to me; and I think to have
bread on such terms is the next degree of wretchedness to having none
at all.” “You are certainly in the right,” replied his lordship, and
made her a handsome present, which she had “reason to believe afforded
him comfortable reflections before his exit.”
It is certain that the Wesley family lived a life of genteel
starvation. The worldly circumstances of the clergy are better now.
Curates have £100. South Ormsby is worth more than £250; and the
rectorship of Epworth is now upwards of £900. But even in our days, the
common tradesman exceeds many clergymen of the Church of England, and
ministers of other Churches, in his command of real comfort and
substantial independence. The former is respectable in moleskin, but
the latter must have broad-cloth. This state of matters is intolerable,
grossly unjust, and fearfully oppressive—a wrong done not to pastors
only, but to society at large; whose interest suffers through theirs.
England lodges in palaces and clothes her nobles, bishops, and
merchants in purple; while she leaves many of the most pious and
laborious ministers of Christ to be fed by the hand of charity, and
clothed in the garments which respectability can no longer wear! What a
reproach! When shall it be wiped away?
Between persons of so much decision and firmness as Mrs. Wesley and her
husband, no doubt differences of opinion arose. But they were neither
serious nor of long duration. The story about a protracted breach
caused by the diversity of their sentiments concerning the revolution
of 1688, if it have any foundation in fact, is grossly exaggerated in
its details. Samuel Wesley and Susanna Annesley were drawn to each
other by love and reverence; and if you want to see a marriage noble in
every way, you must go to the rectory at Epworth where this couple
lived. Their entire married life is one of the sweetest, tenderest, and
noblest on record. Mrs. Wesley was always ready to stand by the rector.
“Old as I am,” she writes, “since I have taken my husband ‘for bettor
for worse,’ I’ll take my residence with him. Where he lives, will I
live; where he dies, will I die; and there will we be buried. God do so
to me, and more also, if aught but death part him and me.” These strong
feelings of attachment were reciprocated by Mr. Wesley. “The more duty
you pay her,” he writes to his son Samuel, “and the more frequently and
kindly you write to her, the more you will please your affectionate
father.” His picture of a good wife is an ideal description of the
blessed virgin; but there is reason to believe that the original from
which it was drawn was the rector’s own wife.
_A GOOD MOTHER._
Who can over-estimate a woman’s worth in the relation of _mother_? The
great Napoleon said: “A man is what his mother makes him.” Is there not
much truth in the statement? The tender plant may be trained by the
maternal hand for good or evil, weal or woe. John Randolph, the
statesman, remarked: “I should have been a French atheist if it had not
been for one recollection, and that was, the memory of the time when my
departed mother used to take my little hands in hers, and cause me on
my knees to say, ‘Our Father, who art in heaven.’” Providence blessed
Mrs. Wesley with a large family. She was the mother of nineteen
children, most of whom lived to be educated, and ten came to man’s and
woman’s estate. Her heart was deeply wrung by bereavements, probably at
intervals too short to allow the wounds to heal; but the desolateness
of her spirit was broken in upon by the faith that the departed were
well, and that the mourner would go to them.
“Oh, when the mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Has she not then for griefs and fears—
The day of woe the watchful night,—
For all her sorrows, all her fears,—
An overpayment of delight?”
While Mrs. Wesley, like every good mother, thanked God for gladdening
the earth with little children, she knew that they were sent for
another purpose than merely to keep up the population. That a family so
numerous, and composed of characters so powerfully constituted as the
Wesleys, should grow up from childhood to maturity without their
domestic disquietudes, would be beyond the range of probability. There
were trials deep and heavy, but as far as we can judge, the family of
the Epworth parsonage are now collected in the many-mansioned house
above. A mother’s influence is the first cord of nature, and the last
of memory. She who rocks the cradle, rules the world. A generation of
mothers like Mrs. Wesley, would do more for the regeneration of
society, than all our Sunday-schools, day-schools, refuges,
reformatories, home missions, and ragged kirks put together.
_HOME EDUCATION._
The code of laws laid down by Mrs. Wesley for the education of her
children was about perfect. We can do little more than suggest some of
the main principles upon which she acted in the discharge of this
important duty. No sooner were her children born than their infant
lives were regulated by method. True she delayed their literary
education until they were five years old, but from their birth they
were made to feel the power of her training hand; and before they could
utter a word they were made to feel that there was a God. Some parents
talk of _beginning_ the education of their children. Every child’s
education begins the moment it is capable of forming an idea, and it
goes on like time itself, without any holidays. She aimed at the
education of all their mental and bodily powers. The sleep, food, and
even crying of her children was regulated. Her son John informs us,
that she even taught them as infants to _cry softly_. One of the most
difficult problems of education is, to form a child to obedience
without making it servile. The _will_ is the key of the active being,
and in a great measure the key of the receptive too. Along with the
inclinations, its purveyors and assessors, it must be the earliest
subject of discipline. Without subjecting the will you can do nothing.
On this subject we believe the views of Mrs. Wesley to be equally just
and propound—to lie at the very foundation of the philosophy of
education. “In order to form the minds of children,” she writes, “the
first thing to be done is, to conquer their will, and bring them to an
obedient temper. To inform the understanding is a work of time, and
must with children proceed by slow degrees, as they are able to bear
it. But the subjecting of the will is a thing that must be done at
once, and the sooner the better. For by neglecting timely correction,
they contract a stubbornness and obstinacy which are hardly ever
conquered, and never without using such severity as is painful to me,
as well as the child.” But education is something more than the
teaching of proper obedience; hence she developed their physical
powers, stored their intellects, cultured their tastes, and disciplined
their consciences. God blessed Mrs. Wesley with signal ability for
teaching; and even had the pecuniary circumstances of the family not
compelled her to undertake the literary instruction of her children;
she would have felt that their religious education was her special
charge, and that the solemn responsibility could not be delegated to
another. She was the sole instructress of her daughters. Her work was
arduous, but she encouraged herself with the faith that He who made her
a mother had placed in her hands the key to the recesses of the hearts
of her offspring; and that the great part of family care and government
consisted in the right education of children.
_RELATION TO METHODISM._
Never has a century risen on Christian England so void of soul and
faith as the seventeenth. Profligacy and vice everywhere prevailed, and
the moral virtues of the nation were at their last gasp. God had
witnesses—men of learning, ability, and piety: but they won no
national influence. Methodism was the great event of the eighteenth
century. For several generations there had been at work powerful
influences in the ancestry of its appointed founders, which look like
providential preparations. In the history of John Westley, of
Whitchurch, we find a beautiful pre-shadowing of the principles more
extensively embodied in the early Methodist preachers whom the
illustrious grandson who bore his name associated with himself in that
glorious revival. The rector of Epworth, looked favourably upon what
the churchmen of his day regarded as unjustifiable irregularities, and
published an eloquent defence of those religious societies which
existed at the time. The religious pedigree, so evident in the paternal
ancestry, was no less observable in the mother of the founder of
Methodism. Maternal influence exerted over John Wesley and his brothers
an all but sovereign control. His mental perplexities, his religious
doubts and emotions were all submitted to the judgment and decision of
his mother. When Thomas Maxfield began to preach, Wesley hurried to
London to stop him. The opinion of his mother was unmistakable, and led
to important consequences. “John, you know what my sentiments have
been. You cannot suspect me of favouring readily anything of this kind.
But take care what you do with respect to that young man; for he is as
surely called of God to preach as you are. Examine what have been the
fruits of his preaching, and hear him for yourself.” In estimating this
remarkable woman’s relation to Methodism, we must not forget that
during the different times of her husband’s absence, she read prayers
and sermons, and engaged in religious conversation with her own family,
and any of the parishioners who came in accidentally. What was this,
but a glorious Methodist irregularity? How significant are the words of
Isaac Taylor: “The Wesleys’ mother was the mother of Methodism in a
religious and moral sense; for, her courage, her submissiveness to
authority, the high tone of her mind, its independence, and its
self-control, the warmth of her devotional feelings and the practical
direction given to them,—came up, and were visibly repeated in the
character and conduct of her sons.”
_CHARACTER OF MRS WESLEY._
She had a strong and vigorous intellect. The variety of subjects
discussed in her letters is not more astonishing than the ability with
which they are all treated. Predestination is one of the topics; the
lawfulness of enjoyment another; and even love forms the theme of one
admirable letter, which Dr. Adam Clarke says, “would be a gem even in
the best written treatise on the powers and passions of the human
mind.” Her temperament was thoughtful and reflective; her judgment when
once fixed, was immovable. At the same time she was refined,
methodical, highly bred, and imparted these qualities to all her
children.
Perhaps the most remarkable feature in the character of this
distinguished woman was its moral grandeur. The holy vigilance and
resolute control which she exercised over herself, meet us at every
turn of her life. She held her mouth as with a bridle, lest she should
offend with her tongue. “It always argues a base and cowardly temper to
whisper secretly what you dare not speak to a man’s face. Therefore be
careful to avoid all evil-speaking, and be ever sure to obey that
command of our Saviour in this case as well as others,—‘Whatsoever ye
would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.’” The same
vigilant government was exercised over all her appetites and passions.
She believed that “any passion in excess does as certainly inebriate as
the strongest liquor immoderately taken.” Such is a specimen of the
golden rules which were sacredly observed by Susanna Wesley.
As regards personal appearance, the mother of the Wesleys seems to have
been inferior to her sisters. They possessed fair claims to be called
beautiful; she was a graceful and noble English lady, but not
strikingly beautiful. Mr. Kirk, her biographer informs us that there
are two portraits of Mrs. Wesley, just now claiming to be genuine: the
one taken in early life, the other in old age; but neither of them
conveys the idea of the elegant lady dressed _à la mode_. Her figure
was probably slight; and her stature about the average female height.
_SECTION II.—ELIZA HESSEL._
“To the common-place but important qualification for domestic duties,
she added literary culture, and a character adorned with Christian
virtues.”
JOSHUA PRIESTLEY.
_WOMAN’S MISSION._
We live in an age of novelty,—new plans, new discoveries, new
opinions, are common enough. Many of these relate to woman, whose
importance in the scale of humanity, no rational being, above all no
Christian, can doubt. We are anxious that women should be roused to a
sense of their own importance and responsibility; assured that if they
understood these, surprising changes would immediately take place in
society, giving it a higher tone and a purer spirit. For them we claim
no less exalted a mission than that of instruments for the regeneration
of the world,—restorers of God’s image to the human soul. This mission
they will best accomplish by moving in the circle which God and nature
have appointed them. We look forward to the time, not perhaps so
remote, when women shall cease to be employed in those works—rough,
hard, toilsome, exhausting works—in which many are now engaged. The
time will come, when capital and labour shall have become so reconciled
one to another as that men may do the work of men, and women may be
spared that work in order that they may the more fully preside over the
work of the household. Then there will be more refinement of manner,
more enjoyment of soul, more enlargement of the intellect, and more
cultivation of the heart. If circumstances permit, an ambition to excel
in everything that comes within woman’s domain is laudable; but if not,
then do not think too much of having to forego accomplishments, in
order to acquire useful, every-day attainments. The former may add to
the luxuries of life; the latter is essential to the happiness of
home—to the joys and endearments of a family, to the affection of
relations, to the fidelity of domestics. “Woman’s mission” has become
almost a phrase of the day. That there are other duties for women
besides household, and for some women especially, we by no means deny.
But here are the broad, general, and permanent duties of the sex.
“On home’s high duties be your thoughts employed;
Leave to the world its strivings and its void.”
Real worth will in the long run far outweigh all accomplishments.
“It is not beauty, wealth, or fame,
That can endear a dying name
And write it on the heart;
’Tis humble worth, ’tis duty done,
A course with cheerful patience run—
By these the faithful sigh is won,
The warm tear made to start.”
_BIOGRAPHY._
Eliza Hessel was born at Catterton, near Tadcaster, on April 10th,
1829. Her father Benjamin Hessel, was a man of great mental and moral
excellence, a worthy descendant of ancestors who had occupied a farm at
Althorp, in the neighbourhood of Howden, for about five hundred years.
The mother, Hannah Hessel, was a genuine Christian, born of parents who
bravely shared the reproach which assailed the early Methodists. The
whole family of this noble couple—two sons and three daughters, became
truly pious. Both sons were called to the Christian ministry. The elder
went down to his grave at the early age of twenty-four, lamented by
many to whom he had been a blessing; and the younger at present
occupies one of the most important positions of the Wesleyan Church in
Australia. From infancy Eliza Hessel was the subject of the strivings
of the Spirit. We have abundance of facts, to enable us to form a
sufficiently accurate estimate of the influences operating upon her
early years, and the peculiarities of her mental and moral nature. At
this period she might have often been seen wandering alone wrapt in
deep thought. What are the stars? How could the Almighty always have
existed? Why was sin permitted to enter into the world? Such were the
questions on which her young brain ruminated. An eager thirst for
knowledge was associated with intense susceptibility. The sigh of the
storm was to her celestial music. “Judge,” says her biographer, “of a
girl of sixteen pacing the long garden walks in the cold moonlight,
sitting down on the ground, and clasping her hands, uttering in a voice
of such passionate earnestness as even startled herself: ‘I would
gladly die this moment to solve that problem.’ That girl could be no
cipher in the world. She could be no mere unit. For good or evil, she
was destined to exert considerable influence.”
In August 1842, her eldest sister, Mary Ann, became the wife of the
Rev. Thomas Brumwell, a Wesleyan minister, and it was arranged that
Eliza should spend a few months with the newly wedded pair at Melton
Mowbray. On reviewing this period, three years after, she writes: “I
have sat poring over works of history, and more frequently of fiction,
till my aching eye-balls have refused their office; the solemn tones of
the midnight bell, and occasionally, the light chimes of the third hour
of morning have warned me to my little couch, while strange visions of
enchanted castles, rocking images, ominous sounds, and wild
apparitions, have disturbed my feverish repose, and unfitted me for the
active duties of life. _Oh, these are painful reminiscences!_” She
remained at Melton Mowbray about ten months, and after having benefited
by the educational advantages at Tadcaster, entered Miss Rinders’
boarding-school at Leeds, in January, 1845. That lady relates this
portion of Eliza’s school-days thus:—“I remember distinctly the
morning she was introduced into the school-room. Little did I then
think what an influence the new comer would acquire over my own mind
and heart. She was shy and reserved at first, but susceptible of any
advance towards friendliness, and eager to reciprocate the least
kindness. It was not long before her position amongst us became clearly
defined. Being one of the tallest girls, a degree of freedom was at
once awarded her, but her mind soon asserted a superior claim. She was
a most earnest and successful student; and it became a privilege to be
admitted into her little coterie of inquirers after knowledge. At her
suggestion, three or four of us rose at five o’clock every morning, and
met in the library to read. The books chosen were generally such as
aided in our after-studies. Sometimes they yielded more pleasure than
profit, but the recollection of those morning meetings is very
pleasant. During our walks, too, we read together, or when books were
forbidden, Eliza was never at a loss for some topic of discussion. A
flower, or an insect, often supplied us with a theme. Anything in
nature called forth her deepest sympathies, and made her eloquent. She
told me what a wild delight she used to feel, when a mere child, amidst
the scenes of nature, rambling at her own sweet will for hours together
with no companions but the bee and butterfly. The love of the beautiful
became more intense as she grew older, and you will not wonder that she
had also a decided tinge of the romantic at this time. Her young muse
sung of deeds of daring, and the achievements of fame. She bowed at the
shrine of genius, and made it almost her god.”
She had a strong ambition to excel, and when the monthly budget of
anonymous maiden compositions were read, a smile of recognition might
have been seen passing round the school-room, as Eliza’s pieces
betrayed their authorship. In a letter to Miss Rinders, she says, “I
will tell you, dear Sarah, what were my reflections the first day I was
at school. In the evening I sat down, and asked myself, ‘What have I
learnt to-day?’ The answer my heart gave somewhat startled me. It was
this: I have to-day learnt the most important lesson I ever did learn;
that is, that I know nothing at all.’”
Whilst Miss Hessel was basking in the sunshine at Leeds, a dark cloud
was gathering on the domestic horizon. Consumption had seized her
sister, Mrs. Brumwell. Fatal symptoms rapidly developed, and with the
words, “Victory, victory, through the blood of the Lamb,” upon her
lips, she winged her way to the realms of the blessed. Two motherless
boys, one only seven months old, and the other but two years, were now
committed to the trust of Miss Hessel. Mr. Brumwell resided at
Burton-on-Trent, and thither, early in 1846, she repaired. Though she
did not hide her repugnance to domestic duties, the dawnings of “a
horror of undomesticated literary women” were already felt, and she
determined to excel in this as in other departments. Apprehensions soon
began to be entertained by Miss Hessel, that the disease which had
already cut off a brother and a sister had marked her as its prey. Her
lungs were pronounced free from disease, but sea air was recommended.
She visited Scarborough, and after three weeks returned home with
improved health.
Her father’s health had been for some time declining, and in the autumn
of 1847 the family left Catterton and removed to Boston Spa. Regret was
naturally felt at quitting the old house, but in every respect the
change was beneficial.
October, 1849, brought a fatal domestic affliction. Mr. Hessel was
suddenly seized with an illness which excluded all hope of recovery,
and died November 10th, aged sixty-seven years. This great loss was
made up, as far as possible, by the filial and fraternal affection of
her brother. He had been three years in the ministry, was now located
in the Isle of Wight, and before the end of November his widowed mother
and eldest sister were comfortably settled at Percy Cottage, Ventnor.
Having visited Carisbrook Castle, the church of St. Lawrence (the
smallest church in England,) the grave of “the Dairyman’s Daughter,”
and other interesting places, Miss Hessel returned to Boston Spa the
following spring. Her brother had been delicate, and it was deemed
desirable to try the effect of his native air.
We now arrive at the period of Miss Hessel’s conversion. The
instruments were ministers in various parts of Scotland, who were
persuaded they had received “new light” on several vital doctrines.
Renouncing the limited views in which they had been trained, they
vigorously advocated the impartially benignant and strictly universal
love of the Father, atonement of the Son, and influence of the Spirit.
In the spring of 1850, a number of these zealous men visited several
northern counties of England. One of them, the Rev. George Dunn,
preached at Boston Spa. By that sermon, together with a subsequent
conversation, Miss Hessel came to a knowledge of the truth as it is in
Jesus.
On the 12th March, 1851, her brother consummated an interesting
engagement with a lady resident in Bristol, the new sphere of his
ministerial duty, and early in May Miss Hessel visited the bridal pair.
How greatly she enjoyed that sojournment two brief sentences attest.
They were written on September 13th, a few days before she left. “I
have much to tell you of dear old Bristol, the city of the west, and
its noble children. God bless them for the love and heart-warm kindness
they have shown to a stranger and sojourner within their walls.”
Miss Hessel had not much time for the acquisition of knowledge. Her
large circle of friends entailed a large correspondence. The value
placed upon her society involved the consumption of much time. She gave
a large amount of service to her own religious community, and often
assisted efforts in distant places to promote the general welfare of
humanity. Nevertheless, being possessed of strong intellectual tastes,
and lively poetical sensibility, her mental powers were seldom at rest.
We find her holding communion with Martin’s celebrated pictures, “The
Last Judgment,” “The Plains of Heaven,” and “The Great Day of Wrath,”
admiring the early spring flowers, and the glowing tints of the
autumnal trees. Her poetical compositions were numerous, some of them
of considerable merit, and her reading was multifarious. Every
department of literature was laid under tribute. She could discover the
gems, and point out the heterodox opinions in Alexander Smith’s “Life
Drama;” revel beyond measure in the “Life of Dr. Chalmers;” grow sad
over “Talfourd’s Final Memorials of Charles Lamb;” wonder at
Coleridge’s “Aids to Reflection;” derive benefit from the prodigious
vigour of Carlyle and the lofty sentiment of Channing.
During the summer of 1853, her health improved so greatly that a hope
of protracted life began to dawn; but early in 1856 she began to feel
that life was fading. About this time, a beloved relative died at
Howden, and Miss Hessel’s health received a blow, from which it never
fully rallied. She had a premonition at Mary’s grave that she should
soon follow her. On the 27th August, 1857, she wrote—“My strength is
very much reduced, my appetite poor, and my cough no better. I feel now
that I hold life by a very slender tenure.” Early in January, 1858, she
said, “All my wishes are now fulfilled. I wished to live over the new
year’s tea-meeting, because my death would have cast a gloom over the
rejoicings. I desire also to receive one more letter from William. The
Australian mail has arrived, and here is my brother’s letter. How kind
my heavenly Father is!” On Wednesday, the 27th, she entered the dark
valley, the atonement her only hope. Seeing her mother weep, she said,
in a tone of deep affection, “Mother, don’t cry; I am going home.” When
life was well-nigh gone, with great distinctness she said, slowly,
“Salvation is by faith.” A period of unconsciousness ensued, then one
bright momentary gleam, and Miss Hessel was no more.
Crowds of mournful people followed her remains to the cemetery
adjoining the Wesleyan church at Boston Spa. “Is not that a peaceful
resting-place?” she said, a few months before. “I have chosen my grave
there. Our family vault is in the churchyard, but I have a wish to be
buried among my own people—the people with whom I have worked and
worshipped.” In her last letter to her much-loved brother, she said,
“Do not think sorrowfully of me when I am gone. Let this be my epitaph
in your memory:—
“‘By the bright waters now thy lot is cast;
Joy for thee, happy one! thy bark hath past
The rough sea’s foam;
Now the long yearnings of thy soul are stilled.
Home! Home! thy peace is won, thy heart is filled;
Thou art gone Home.’”
_A RIGHT PURPOSE IN LIFE._
In order to the realization of any true and practical life-purpose,
three great elements seem to be necessary: to inquire for yourself, to
act for yourself, and to support yourself. Miss Hessel was deeply
conscious of the fact that while brutes are impelled by instinct to the
course proper to their realm and nature, she was endowed with
rationality, that she might act upon choice, and, though she might
often not have it in her power to choose the place _where_ to act, she
could always choose _how_ to act in it. It is not given to many to be
doers of what the world counts great actions; but there is noble work
for all to do. As the author of the “Christian Year” has well sung:—
“If, in our daily course, our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
The trivial round, the common task,
Will furnish all we ought to ask:
Room to deny ourselves, a road
To bring us daily nearer God.”
She well fulfils her part in this world, who faithfully discharges the
common every-day duties, and patiently bears the common every-day
trials of her calling and her home. Miss Hessel had no idea of her
education terminating when it was deemed necessary she should enter
upon the practical duties of life. She says:—“I am endeavouring in
this rural retreat to gain something every day. Though it be a little
only, it is better than nothing, or, what is still worse,
retrograding.” In the prime of womanhood, we find her, in every
pursuit, seeking to serve and honour God. To a friend in Leeds she
writes:—“I must combine expansiveness of view with concentration of
purpose, in order to that beautiful harmony of character so desirable
in a woman. It is true that for a man to excel in anything, for all the
purposes of life, he must devote himself to some branch of science or
business. I mean, I would have him to follow one business and excel in
it. But woman’s mission is somewhat different, at least, that of most
women,—for there are exceptions to every rule,—and my model is
perfect in everything that comes within the sphere of a virtuous,
intelligent, domestic woman;—so perfect that it is no easy matter to
determine in what she most excels.”
_AN EXCELLENT DAUGHTER._
Miss Hessel bound the best of all ornaments, filial love and obedience,
on her brow. This is the only commandment of the ten that has the
promise joined to it, as if to show the place it holds in the Divine
estimation. Without this virtue we should think very little of all
there might be besides. Some daughters go abroad seeking pleasure where
it never can be found; but Miss Hessel remained at home, giving
pleasure that was more cheering to her parents than the brightest beam
that ever shot from the sun, and more precious than all the riches the
broad earth could have poured into their lap. As a daughter, she was
anxious to do her duty. The discharge of that duty brings with it
innumerable blessings; its nonperformance has been the first step in
the downward course of untold thousands, and will be, we fear, of
thousands more. Her strong filial affection is exhibited in the
following sentences:—“There is one who demands all my sympathy and
affection; who as a wife and a mother, has discharged the important
duties of her station in a manner which evinced the strength of her
conjugal and maternal affection, and whose peculiarly trying
circumstances gave an opportunity for the full development of that
self-devoted disinterested, Christian heroism, which her children will
remember with gratitude, when her name and the memory of her high work,
will be enshrined only in the hearts of those who witnessed such
devotedness. Of such fortitude in trial, steadfastness in adversity,
and dauntless energy when despair would have overwhelmed some hearts,
and, above all, of such unassuming piety, fame speaks not. But these
are engraved in a more enduring page, and will have their reward when
earth and its emblazoned pomp and pride shall have passed away like a
vision.” Well done fair lass! The recording angel takes notes of thy
dutiful devotion, and publishes it beyond the domestic hearth. Happy
mother, whose toils, sufferings, and sacrifices, deserved such
recompense!
_A LOVING SISTER._
As a sister it would be difficult to over-estimate Miss Hessel’s worth.
Being wise and virtuous, she swayed an influence of untold power. How
often have we observed the difference between young men who have
enjoyed, when under the home-roof, the companionship of a sister, and
those who were never so favoured. Sisters, with few exceptions, are
kind and considerate; and home is a dearer spot to all because they
tread its hearth. How touching are Miss Hessel’s reminiscences of her
beloved and highly-gifted brother, who died when she was only nine
years old. In a letter to her biographer she says, August 16th: “As I
wrote the date at the top of this letter, the recollection flashed
across my mind that this is the anniversary of dear John’s birthday. He
has been nearly seventeen years in heaven. Seventeen years of
uninterrupted progression in knowledge, in holiness, in bliss, with a
mind unfettered in its researches and a soul unencumbered by infirmity
or sin in its aspirations! How incomparably nobler he must be now than
when he first entered his heavenly mansion! I did not tell you how of
late years the idea of him has strangely interwoven itself with my
inner being.” How faithful generally is a sister’s love. Place her by
the side of the sick couch, let her have to count over the long dull
hours of night, and wait, alone and sleepless, the struggle of the grey
dawn into the chamber of suffering—let her be appointed to this
ministry for father, mother, sister, or brother, and she feels no
weariness, nor owns recollection of self. Miss Hessel never entered the
marriage relation. She is not to be undervalued because of her freedom
from conjugal engagements. From the ranks of maidenhood have risen some
of the noblest specimens of noble womanhood. Long will our soldiers
talk of Miss Nightingale moving to and fro on the shores of the Euxine,
like an angel of mercy. Long will our navvies think of the happy hours
spent in Beckenham, where Miss Marsh taught them to live “soberly,
righteously, and godly.” Long will Miss Faithful be remembered by the
needy of her own sex in pursuit of employment.
_HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT._
The whole household duties were performed by the mother and her two
daughters, and Miss Hessel, in consequence of the delicate health of
her sister, took more than her share. After making some observations on
“Todd’s Student’s Manual,” she writes her brother: “I am not speaking
of it as a whole, for what was written expressly for students cannot be
applicable to the case of a woman whose character must ever be
domestic, while she humbly strives to be intelligent. I detest the word
‘intellectual’ when applied to a woman. It is impossible for my mind to
separate it from those horrid visions of untidy drawers, unmended
stockings, neglected families, and all the other characteristics of a
slatternly wife.” About six years afterwards, she says to a friend: “I
have just been reading an article in a periodical which has amused me
greatly. It is on ‘Female Authors.’ Its purport is that an unmarried
woman, once fairly convicted of literature, must never expect to sign
her marriage-contract, but may make up her mind to solitariness in the
world she presumes to create for herself. Miss Landon is the only
scribe recognised ‘who was ever invited to change the name she had made
famous.’ All married literary women, it is asserted, ‘wore
orange-blossom, before they assumed the bay-leaf.’ It is enough to
frighten one if matrimony were the great end of our existence. But as I
believe that a life of usefulness, in the fullest and best sense of
that word—universal usefulness, if you will admit the term—is the
highest good of woman, I think that matrimony even should be
subservient to this end.” Miss Hessel, to her credit be it said, never
neglected domestic duties for literary pursuits. Her aim was not to win
for herself the notice of the public, but to build up a monument of
usefulness—to make her life a noble and useful one—to build well
“both the seen and unseen parts.” “The mistaken idea,” says an
excellent lady, “that has generally prevailed, that woman’s work comes
intuitively to her, and requires no learning, has caused, and is
causing, a vast amount of misery and mischief.”
_CHARACTER OF MISS HESSEL._
When a girl, Miss Hessel was tall, delicate, and sickly; a glance at
her pale countenance was enough to satisfy any intelligent observer
that the activity of the brain was morbid. Rapid growth contributed to
physical debility; and at one period she suffered a good deal from
tic-douloureux. When she became a woman, she was well-proportioned. Her
features resembled those of her sainted brother, and intimate
acquaintance was not necessary to prove that there were other than
physical approximations.
The intellect was keen, comprehensive, and discriminating. In these
hollow times, the female world teems with fantastic puppets of
affectation and vanity, but here we have no creature of carnality, but
an intelligent woman, with large reflective powers. A refined ideality
was early developed, and carefully cultivated by the thorough mastering
of our best literature, and especially of our best poetry. In
consequence of her capacious memory, and strong imagination, she became
almost a reflection of her favourite authors. Her love for poetry,
flowers, and everything beautiful in nature or in art, amounted to a
passion.
The moral character of Miss Hessel was of still superior glory. Of high
spirit she gave ample proof when a pupil, and not beyond her eighth
year. In the master’s absence one day, an occurrence transpired which
kindled his displeasure. He thought Eliza’s younger sister was the
chief culprit, and ordered her into the “naughty corner.” Eliza,
knowing her sister’s innocence, rose from her seat, marched boldly
forth, brought away the victim, and defiantly exclaimed, “My sister
shall not be put into the corner!” However, unmagisterial acquiescence
was deemed prudent. To fortitude she added great love of humanity. A
purer benevolence has seldom glowed even in the bosom of woman. Of
disinterestedness her whole life was one bright example. Like all young
people, she had many faults, but as she approached womanhood, she
discovered and by Divine assistance corrected them. Her chief
excellencies are within the reach of all.