BATH, _August 10, 1743_.
“MADAM,—I expected to have been at home before this time; but,
as I have dropped short at Bath, and am likely to continue here
awhile, you will give me leave to transmit my best wishes from
hence.
“There is a good deal of company at Bath. A new mineral water
is found out, about a mile distant from the city. It is grown
into considerable repute, and is much frequented. Several of
the nobility and gentry drink it constantly. It will not bear
bottling, and, for that reason, must be used on the spot. It is
called the Lincomb Spa.
“The latter season is approaching, which, you know, madam,
brings abundance of strangers with it. Some invalids resort
to the English Bethesda; some, as lovers of pleasure, to this
mart for all manner of diversions. Every one seems studious
of making a gay and grand appearance. It is, I think, one of
the most glittering places I ever beheld. ‘Anointed with oil,
crowned with rose-buds, and decked with purple and fine linen,’
they sport away their days, chanting to the sound of the viol,
drinking wine in bowls, and stretching themselves on couches
of ivory; and, perhaps, never remembering the afflictions of
Jesus, nor His love, ‘which is better than wine,’ nor His name,
‘which is as ointment poured forth.’
“While they are contriving every art to embellish their
persons, let us, dear madam, give all diligence to be
all-glorious within. While they are studying to outvie the
butterfly and the tulip, let us be animated by higher views,
and put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” etc....
“And now, madam, will you permit me to anticipate a remark
which you will naturally make. Shall I spare you the necessity
of saying, Why here is a sermon instead of a letter.
“Indeed, madam, if it be a sermon, the Bath finery has
furnished me with a text.
“And why, good madam, should not the world expect such
sermon-like epistles from us ministers? Why will not they let
us be comformable to ourselves, and act in character? Would you
not expect to hear of engagements and victories from a soldier
just come from making a campaign? Would any one be surprised to
find a merchant discoursing of foreign affairs, or canvassing
the state of trade? Nay, is it not allowable even for our
tailor and milliner to talk of the newest fashions and most
modish colour? Why, then, should not the agents for the court
of heaven treat of heavenly things? Why should not their whole
conversation savour of their calling? Why should they be one
thing when they bend the knee, and another when they put pen
to paper? Why act one part when they speak from the pulpit,
and quite a different one when they converse in the parlour?
To say the truth, madam, if you do not allow me this liberty,
I may pretend, indeed, but can never act the grateful, the
affectionate, the faithful, humble servant.”
The following is an extract from an enormously long letter, of eighteen
printed pages, addressed to a clergyman, who had been preaching in the
Abbey Church.
“BATH, _August 27, 1743_.
“REVEREND SIR,—Sunday last, I happened not to be at the Abbey
Church in the afternoon; but, conversing with a gentleman who
was one of your auditors, I desired to have a summary account
of your sermon. And, truly, he gave me such an account as both
astonished and grieved me. You dignified worldly prosperity at
so extraordinary a rate, and almost canonized the prosperous
man. On the other hand, you vilified the glorious Jesus in
so scandalous a manner, and set the Incarnate Godhead to
one of the most ignoble and abominable offices. This made me
encourage my friend to send you a word of admonition; and, when
he declined, I could not forbear undertaking it myself. For,
it would be unkind to you, sir, to perceive you under such
grievous mistakes, and not to warn you of the error of your
ways. Nor would it be less unfaithful to your Master, and my
Master, to be informed of such preaching, and suffer it to pass
current, without any animadversion.
“I understand, you first exhorted people to rejoice, when
their circumstances were affluent and their worldly affairs
prosperous. You enforced this palatable advice by the precepts
of Scripture; and, lest it should not be received with a proper
welcome, you further urged it on your hearers by the example of
our blessed Saviour.
“In opposition to this strain of teaching, permit me to
observe, 1. That, worldly prosperity is no sufficient cause
for a Christian to rejoice. 2. That, it is often one of the
sorest evils that can befal a person. And 3. Allow me to sketch
out the true nature of spiritual prosperity; or discover what
is that solid ground for rejoicing, which the oracles of God
recommend.”
These were the three points explained and enforced in Hervey’s pungent
and scorching letter, sent to the clerical sycophant, who, because
the sinners, in his crowded church, were fashionable ones, imitated,
not the honest Baptist of Scripture history, but the dangerous Syren
of ancient mythology, and flattered the rich and elegantly dressed
“children of wrath” who sat before him, instead of reproving their sins,
and proclaiming their danger. Hervey was still young in years; but the
unfaithful preacher deserved all he got.
This was not the only rebuke which Hervey administered during his brief
residence in the gay city of the west. At this period, Bath was, perhaps,
the most fashionable place in Great Britain; and the most renowned man in
Bath was Richard, commonly called “Beau,” Nash. Four years before, this
accomplished rake had endeavoured to prevent Wesley preaching in the city
where, by a sort of general consent, he acted as the king of all the fops
and fashionables there assembled; but Nash was not a match for the poor,
persecuted Methodist; and, smarting from Wesley’s keen retort, and stung
by an old woman’s taunts, was glad to sneak away from a scene of conflict
of his own creating. Beau Nash was still in power; and now young Hervey
addressed to him the following faithful, and caustic letter,—
“SIR,—This comes from your sincere friend, and one, who has
your best interest deeply at heart. It comes on a design
altogether important, and of no less consequence than your
everlasting happiness; so that, it may justly challenge your
careful regard. It is not to upbraid or reproach, much less
to triumph and insult over your misconduct. No; it is pure
benevolence,—it is disinterested good-will which prompts me
to write; so that, I hope, I will not raise your resentment.
However, be the issue what it will, I cannot bear to see
you walk in the paths that lead to death, without warning
you of your danger,—without sounding in your ears the awful
admonition, ‘Return and live;—for why will you die?’ I beg of
you to consider, whether you do not, in some measure, resemble
those accursed children of Eli, whom, though they were famous
in their generation, and men of renown, yet, vengeance suffered
not to live. For my part, I may safely use the expostulation
of the old priest,—‘Why do you such things? For I hear of your
evil dealings by all this people; nay, my brother, for it is no
good report I hear; you make the Lord’s people to transgress.’
“I have long observed and pitied you: and a most melancholy
spectacle, I lately beheld, made me resolve to caution you,
lest you also come into the same condemnation.
“I was, not long since, called to visit a poor gentleman,
erewhile of the most robust body and gayest temper I ever knew;
but, when I visited him, oh! how was the glory departed from
him! I found him no more that sprightly and vivacious son of
joy which he used to be; but languishing, pining away, and
withering under the chastising hand of God: his limbs feeble
and trembling; his countenance forlorn and ghastly; and the
little breath he had left sobbed out in sorrowful sighs; his
body hastening apace to the dust, to lodge in the silent grave,
the land of darkness and desolation; his soul just going to
God who gave it, preparing itself to wing its way to its long
home, to enter upon an unchangeable and eternal state. When I
was come up into his chamber, and had seated myself on his bed,
he first cast a most wishful look upon me, and then began, as
well as he was able, to speak. ‘Oh! that I had been wise, that
I had known this, that I had considered my latter end! Ah! Mr.
H⸺y, death is knocking at my doors; in a few hours more, I
shall draw my last gasp, and, then, judgment, the tremendous
judgment! How shall I appear, unprepared as I am, before the
all-knowing and Omnipotent God? How shall I endure the day
of His coming?’ When I mentioned, among other things, that
_strict holiness_ which he had formerly so lightly esteemed,
he replied, with a hasty eagerness, ‘Oh! that _holiness_ is
the only thing I now long for. I have not words to tell you
how highly I value it. I would gladly part with all my estate,
large as it is, or a world, to obtain it. Now my benighted
eyes are enlightened. I clearly discern the things that are
excellent. What is there in the place whither I am going but
God? Or what is there to be desired on earth but religion?’
But, if this God should restore you to health, said I, think
you that you would alter your former course? ‘I call heaven and
earth to witness,’ said he, ‘I would labour for holiness as I
shall soon labour for life. As for riches and pleasures and the
applauses of men, I account them as dross and dung; no more
to my happiness than the feathers that lie on the floor. Oh!
if the righteous Judge would try me once more; if He would but
reprieve and spare me a little longer;—in what a spirit would I
spend the remainder of my days! I would know no other business,
aim at no other end, than perfecting myself in holiness.
Whatever contributed to that,—every means of grace,—every
opportunity of spiritual improvement,—should be dearer to me
than thousands of gold and silver. But alas! why do I amuse
myself with fond imaginations? The best resolutions are now
insignificant, because they are too late. The day in which I
should have worked is over and gone; and I see a sad horrible
night approaching, bringing with it the blackness of darkness
for ever. Heretofore, (woe is me!) when God called, I refused;
when He invited, I was one of them that made excuse; now,
therefore, I receive the reward of my deeds. Fearfulness and
trembling are come upon me. I smart; I am in anguish already;
and yet this is but the beginning of sorrows! It doth not yet
appear what I shall be;—but sure I shall be ruined, undone, and
destroyed with an everlasting destruction.’
“This sad scene I saw with my eyes; these words, and many
more equally affecting, I heard with my ears; and soon after
attended the unhappy gentleman to his tomb. The poor breathless
skeleton spoke in such an accent, and with so much earnestness,
that I could not easily forget him or his words; and, as I was
musing upon this sorrowful subject, I remembered Mr. Nash;—I
remembered you, sir;—for I discerned too near an agreement
and correspondence between the deceased and yourself. They,
are alike, said I, in their ways; and what shall hinder them
from being alike in their end? The course of their actions was
equally full of sin and folly; and why should not the period of
them be equally full of horror and distress? I am grievously
afraid for the survivor, least, as he lives the life, so he
should die the death of this wretched man, and his latter end
should be like his.
“For this cause, therefore, I take my pen, to advise,—to
admonish,—nay, to request of you to repent while you have
opportunity, if happily you may find grace and forgiveness. Yet
a moment, and you _may_ die: yet a little while, and you _must_
die; and will you go down with infamy and despair to the grave,
rather than depart in peace, and with hopes full of immortality?
“But I must tell you plainly, sir, with the utmost freedom,
that, your present behaviour is not the way to reconcile
yourself to God. You are so far from making atonement to
offended justice, that you are aggravating the former account,
and heaping up an increase of wrath against the day of wrath.
For what say the Scriptures? Those books which, at the
consummation of all things, the Ancient of days shall open,
and judge you by every jot and tittle therein—what say these
sacred volumes? Why, they testify and declare to every soul
of man, ‘That, whosoever liveth in pleasure is dead while he
liveth’; so that, so long as you roll on in a continued circle
of sensual delights and vain entertainments, you are dead to
all the purposes of piety and virtue; you are odious to God,
as a corrupt carcass putrifying in the church-yard; you are as
far from doing your duty, or working out your salvation, or
restoring yourself to the divine favour, as a heap of dry bones
nailed up in a coffin is from vigour and activity.
“Think, sir, I conjure you, think upon this, if you have any
inclination to escape the fire that never will be quenched.
Would you be rescued from the fury and fierce anger of Almighty
God? Would you be delivered from weeping, and wailing, and
incessant gnashing of teeth? Sure you would! Then, I exhort
you as a friend; I beseech you as a brother; I charge you as
a messenger from the great God, in His own most solemn words:
‘Cast away from you your transgressions; make you a new heart
and a new spirit; so iniquity shall not be your ruin.’
“Perhaps you may be disposed to contemn this and its serious
import, or to recommend it to your companions as a fit subject
for raillery; but, let me tell you beforehand, that for this,
as well as for other things, God will bring you into judgment.
He sees me now write. He will observe you while you read.
He notes down my words in His book. He will note down your
consequent procedure. So that, not upon me, but, upon your own
self, will the neglecting or despising of my sayings turn. ‘If
thou be wise, thou shalt be wise for thyself; if thou scornest,
thou alone shalt bear it.’
“Be not concerned, sir, to know my name. It is enough that you
will know this hereafter. Tarry but a little, till the Lord,
even the most mighty God, shall call the heaven from above, and
the earth, that He may judge His people, and then you will see
me face to face. There shall I be ready, at the dread tribunal,
to joy and rejoice with you, if you regard my admonitions, and
live; or to be—what God prevent—by not inclining your heart to
receive this friendly admonition.”
This was plain dealing; but was greatly needed. To write such a
letter, to such a man,—an accomplished gallant, exercising sovereignty
over nearly all the fashionable residents of a gambling, dissipated
city,—required no ordinary courage in a young clergyman, who had not
yet attained his thirtieth year. How it was received, and what were its
effects, we are left to guess; but it is a curious fact, that, it was not
destroyed, but was found among Nash’s papers after his decease.
Leaving Bath, Hervey, in October, 1743, became curate to his father, at
Weston-Favel, a small village of three or four hundred inhabitants, near
Northampton; and here, in this rural seclusion, he continued to reside
(with the exception of a short interval) until his death, in 1758.
His pastoral duties were comparatively light; but his time was not
unoccupied. Compared with the career of Wesley and Whitefield, who were
living a rough, itinerant life, this settlement of Hervey was a perfect
contrast; but, it must be borne in mind, that, Hervey was physically
unfit for the out-door preaching, which his two old Oxford friends were
practising. His voice was unsuitable for such exercises. The exposure
to rain, frost, and snow, would have made his brief life briefer still.
Besides, the delicate gentleness of his nature totally disqualified him
for encountering the hardships, privations, and persecutions of Wesley
and Whitefield’s wandering life. It would be hasty to say, that, he was
lacking in faith, love, zeal, prayer, and religious energy. He possessed
all these in a far more than ordinary degree. In this respect he had
but few equals, and scarcely any superiors. The spirit was willing,
but the flesh was weak. To imitate Wesley, Whitefield, Grimshaw,
Berridge, was simply impossible; but Hervey did all he could. He most
conscientiously cared for the souls of his handful of parishioners;
and as conscientiously employed his leisure, not only in writing long
religious letters to his absent friends, but, in composing books, which,
as every one admits, breathe the devoutest piety, and which have been
read, with pleasure and with profit, by thousands belonging to each
successive generation during the last hundred and twenty years. Hervey’s
life was not a failure, because the last fifteen years of it were spent
in a secluded country village.
Apart from his ministerial duties, the first labour to which his
attention was devoted, after his settlement at Weston-Favel, was
the finishing and the publication of the well-known works begun in
Devonshire, namely, “Meditations among the Tombs,” and “Reflections on a
Flower Garden.” Hence the following:—
“AT MR. THOMAS HERVEY’S, IN BASINGHALL STREET, LONDON, _May 23, 1745_.
“DEAR MR. ⸺,—You will be surprised when you observe the place
from whence this letter is dated. Prevailed on by the kind
solicitations of my friends, I have taken a trip to London,
where I propose to continue about a fortnight.
“Your last two favours I received together. I thank you for the
specimen of types. I hope better paper is intended to be used,
than that whereon the types were printed; which I think coarse
and slovenly. I am most inclined to send abroad the pieces in
a matrimonial state: I mean, not in separate pamphlets, but
united in a volume. They seem to be a contrast to each other,
and may, perhaps, mutually recommend one another. Probably the
‘Meditations among the Tombs’ may carry too doleful an aspect;
and, if not enlivened a little with the brighter scenes of
‘The Garden,’ may terrify the reader, and create disgust. I
shall take an opportunity of talking with Mr. Richardson on
this affair; and shall, if he takes the trouble of perusing
it, put one of the letters into his hands: though it must be
the mourning piece, because I have no copy of the gayer essay,
but what is in shorthand. What you hint at, with regard to the
largeness of the character, that old and enfeebled eyes may be
able to read it, is perfectly right. I shall desire that this
suggestion may be observed.
“I hope your ingenious friend has examined the piece, with a
kind severity, by this time. It will be a favour if you will
give me a line while I abide in the city; and a greater, if you
will inform me of Mr. S—h—m’s opinion, and transmit me some
of his remarks. Before I sent the ‘Reflections’ to Bath, Mr.
Payne, brother to our old acquaintance, gave them a reading. He
frankly acquainted me, in a letter, both with what he liked,
and what he disapproved of. He advised me to expunge the long
note relating to Mr. Pope’s opinion.[166] He is a Fellow of
King’s College, and a very ingenious scholar. Upon the whole,
he declared himself pleased with the performance, and marked
out several places that struck his fancy in a peculiar manner.
“My heart’s desire and prayer to God is, that it may be, in
some degree, serviceable to the interests of religion: which
end, of all others most desirable and important, if it may be
so happy as to promote, I shall rejoice in the publication.
Otherwise, may Providence, which discerns the remotest
consequences of every transaction, not give it an imprimatur.
“I have no motto for the thoughts among the tombs.[167] Does
any fine passage, from the ancients or moderns, proper to
introduce and give credit to such serious remarks, occur to
your mind?
“Now, perhaps, you will expect to hear how I proceed in London.
I intend, sir, to see and hear as much as I possibly can, in
the space allotted for my stay. I have thoughts of going,
incog., to the places of teaching and worship, frequented
by persons of every denomination. ‘Try all things,’ is the
Apostle’s permission; ‘Hold fast that which is good,’ is his
direction. I shall indulge myself in the one; may I be enabled
to put in practice the other!
“I believe it will be my most prudent course not to visit a
certain lady. If I debar myself that pleasure, it will be
entirely owing to an apprehension of wounding my own ease
and tranquility. Who knows what impressions may be made by
an amiable person and engaging behaviour, heightened by the
exercise of good sense, and completed by an apparent regard for
religion and eternity? Indeed, sir, I must own, my heart is not
proof against such charms.
“Since I wrote the preceding, I have heard our old
acquaintance.[168] He preached upon, ‘The gift of the Holy
Ghost:’ showed what fruits it produced in the heart and life;
then applied the whole by way of examination, in a searching
and very forcible manner. May I never forget what was uttered
this night! Might I but experience it, I should bless the
day in which I was born. I have room to add no more, than my
service to Mrs. ⸺; and that the favour must be speedy, if you
intend me a letter while in London.
“Yours affectionately,
“J. HERVEY.”[169]
An extract from another letter, on the same subject, may not be
unacceptable. Probably it was addressed to Dr. Doddridge.
“WESTON-FAVEL, _Nov. 16, 1745_.
“SIR,—It is not easy to express the satisfaction, I received
from your agreeable and useful conversation this afternoon. I
rejoice to find that there are gentlemen of genius, learning,
and politeness, who dare profess a supreme value for the
Scriptures, and are not ashamed of the cross of Christ.
“This brings the dedication and the preface, which are to
introduce a little essay, entitled, ‘Meditations among the
Tombs,’ and ‘Reflections on a Flower Garden,’ in two letters
to a lady. I hope, sir, in consequence of your kind promise,
you will please to peruse them with the file in your hand. The
severity of the critic, and the kindness of the friend, in this
case, will be inseparable. The evangelical strain, I believe,
must be preserved; because, otherwise, the introductory
thoughts will not harmonize with the subsequent, the porch
will be unsuitable to the building. But, if you perceive any
meanness of expression, any quaintness of sentiment, or any
other impropriety and inelegance, I shall acknowledge it as a
very singular favour, if you will be so good as to discover and
correct such blemishes.
“I hope, sir, my end in venturing to publish is a hearty desire
to serve, in some little degree, the interests of Christianity,
by endeavouring to set some of its most important truths in
a light that may both entertain and edify. As I profess this
view, I am certain, your affectionate regard for the most
excellent religion imaginable, will incline you to be concerned
for the issue of such an attempt; and, therefore, to contribute
to its success, both by bestowing your animadversions upon
these small parts, and by speaking of the whole (when it shall
come abroad) with all that candour which is natural to the
Christian, and will be so greatly needed by this new adventurer
in letters, who is, etc.,
“J. HERVEY.”
Hervey’s book, referred to in these letters, was published in 1746, the
size, 8vo., the pages, 216. The lady to whom it was dedicated was the
daughter of his friend, the Rev. Mr. Thompson, Vicar of St. Gennys,
Cornwall. The book is too well known to render an account of its contents
necessary; but a brief extract from the preface will show the objects at
which he aimed.
“The first of these occasional Meditations begs leave to
remind my readers of their latter end; and would invite them
to set, not their houses only, but, which is inexpressibly
more needful, their souls in order; that they may be able,
through all the intermediate stages, to look forward upon their
approaching exit, without any anxious apprehension.
“The other attempts to sketch out some little traces of the
All-sufficiency of our Redeemer, for the grand and gracious
purposes of our everlasting salvation; that a sense of His
unutterable dignity and infinite perfections may incite us to
regard Him with sentiments of the most profound veneration, to
long for an assured interest in His merits, and to trust in His
powerful mediation, with an affiance not to be shaken by any
temptation, not to be shared with any performances of our own.”
During the year 1746, Hervey wrote to a friend several long and very
valuable letters on the doctrine of the Trinity. These may be found in
his collected works, and are well worth reading. He also, as was his
usage, carried on an extensive correspondence concerning experimental
and practical religion; and his letters, belonging to this class, though
occasionally verbose and fanciful, are characterized by the devoutest
piety. None but a godly man could have written them; and none but godly
people will peruse them. Many of them are almost little sermons, and
all of them are rich in religious truth. In the days of penny postage,
letters like these are rarely written; and it is greatly to be feared,
that, English biographers in future centuries, will find a vexatious lack
of biographical material belonging to this. People are too busy to write
long letters; and, were it otherwise, the removal of the heavy postage
of olden times has taken away one of the chief stimulants to make a
letter longer than the pressing necessities of the case demand. Besides,
locomotion is now so easy, cheap, and rapid, that friends, instead of
sending their secrets to each other, in a written form, prefer to make a
railway trip, and to tell them _viva voce_. Things were widely different
a hundred years ago; and, hence, the extensiveness, richness, the
fulness, and detail, the confidential gossip, and the heart-outpourings
found in the correspondence of our English ancestors. They wrote letters:
their grandsons send telegrams. The letters are of the greatest use
to those who wish to become biographers. The telegrams are usually
burnt as soon as they are read. In former days, letters were too long,
interesting, and valuable to be destroyed. At the present day, they are
too brief and common-place, to be worth preserving. The results of such a
change in the epistolary habits of the people, are not felt at present;
but they will be bitterly lamented in the approaching future.
Not to mention other distinguished men belonging to the past, the
most eminent of the Oxford Methodists all excelled in epistolary
correspondence. Wesley’s collected works alone contain nine hundred and
twenty-three of his private letters; Whitefield’s works, when published,
even more than a hundred years ago, contained one thousand four hundred
and sixty-five; while the works of short-lived Hervey, by far the
_longest_ letter writer of the three, contain two hundred and nine, to
all of which must be added hundreds more, published in other forms.
In a book like this, it is impracticable to do more than very sparingly
employ such copious materials; and nearly all that is attempted, in the
case of Hervey, is to give only extracts containing incidents. These,
however, shall be as exhaustive as possible. Proceeding on this plan, the
following belong to the year when Hervey first became an author.
Hervey’s charity to the poor was only limited by his means, and even such
a limit was sometimes overstepped. At Bideford, for instance, such was
his unbounded benevolence, that, to prevent embarrassment, his friends
practised upon him the innocent deception of borrowing his money when
he received his salary, lest he should disperse it all in benefactions;
and then repaying it as his necessities required. All the profits of his
‘Meditations,’ amounting to £700 pounds, he distributed in charitable
donations; and directed that any profit, arising from the sale of his
books after his decease, should be used in the same manner.
“This,” said he, “I have devoted to God. I will, on no account,
apply it to any worldly uses. I write, not for profit, nor
fame, but, to serve the cause of God; and as He hath blessed my
attempt, I think myself bound to relieve the distresses of my
fellow-creatures with the profits that come from this quarter.”