"She graced my humble roof and blest my life,
Blest me by a far greater name than wife;
Yet still I bore an undisputed sway,
Nor was't her task, but pleasure, to obey;
Scarce thought, much less could act, what I denied.
In our low house there was no room for pride:" etc.
The Rev. Samuel Wesley's Verses of his Wife.
"It is an unhappiness almost peculiar to our family that your
father and I seldom think alike. . . ."
"I am, I believe, got on the right side of fifty, infirm and
weak; yet, old as I am, since I have taken my husband 'for
better, for worse,' I'll take my residence with him: where he
lives, I will live: and where he dies, will I die: and there
will I be buried. God do so unto me and more also, if aught
but death part him and me."
Mrs. Wesley's Letters.
Mrs. Wesley guessed well enough what manner of words her husband had
choked down. She stood and watched his face, waiting for him to lift
his eyes. But he refused obstinately to lift them, and went on
rearranging with aimless fingers the pens and papers on his
writing-table. At length she plucked up her courage. "Husband," she
said, "let us take counsel together. We are in a plight that wrath
will not cure: but, be angry as you will, we cannot give Hetty to
this man."
It needed but this. He fixed his eyes on hers now, and the light in
them first quivered, then grew steady as a beam. "Did you hear me
give my promise?" he demanded.
"You had no right to promise it."
"I do not break promises. And I take others at their word. Has she,
or has she not, vowed herself ready to marry the first honest man who
will take her; ay, and to thank him?"
"She was beside herself. We cannot take advantage of such a vow."
"You are stripping her of the last rag of honour. I prefer to credit
her with courage at least: to believe that she hands me the knife and
says, 'cut out this sore.' But wittingly or no she has handed it to
me, and by heaven, ma'am, I will use it!"
"It will kill her."
"There are worse things than death."
"But if--if the _other_ should seek her and offer atonement--"
Mr. Wesley pacing the room with his hands beneath his coat-tails,
halted suddenly and flung up both arms, as a man lifts a stone to
dash it down.
"What! Accept a favour from _him_! Have you lived with me these
years and know me so little? And can you fear God and think to save
your daughter out of hell by giving her back her sin, to rut in it?"
Mrs. Wesley shook her head helplessly. "Let her be punished, then,
in God's natural way! Vengeance is His, dear: ah, do not take it out
of His hands in your anger, I beseech you!"
"God for my sins made me her father, and gave me authority to
punish." He halted again and cried suddenly, "Do you think this is
not hurting me!"
"Pause then, for it is His warning. Who _is_ this man? What do you
know of him? To think of him and Hetty together makes my flesh
creep!"
"Would you rather, then, see her--" But at sound of a sobbing cry
from her, he checked the terrible question. "You are trying to
unnerve me. 'Who is he?' you ask. That is just what I am going to
find out." At the door he turned. "We have other children to think
of, pray you remember. I will harbour no wantons in my house."