“LONDON, _November 29, 1758_.
“DEAR SIR,—A week or two ago, in my return from Norwich, I met
with Mr. Pierce of Bury, who informed me of a conversation,
which he had a few days before. Mr. Cudworth, he said, then
told him, ‘that, he had prevailed on Mr. Hervey to write
against me, who likewise, in what he had written, referred to
the book, which he (Mr. Cudworth) had lately published.’
“Every one is welcome to write what he pleases concerning me.
But would it not be well for you to remember, that, before
I published anything concerning you, I sent it to you in a
private letter?—that, I waited for an answer several months,
but was not favoured with one line?—that, when at length I
published part of what I had sent you, I did it in the most
inoffensive manner possible; in the latter end of a larger
work, purely designed to _preserve_ those in connection with
me from being tossed to and fro by various doctrines? What,
therefore, I may fairly expect from my friend, is, to mete to
me with the same measure:—to send to me first, in a private
manner, any complaint he has against me;—to wait as many
months;—and, if I give you none, or no satisfactory answer,
then to lay the matter before the world, if you judge it will
be to the glory of God.
“But, whatever you do in this respect, one thing I request of
you. Give no countenance to that insolent, scurrilous, virulent
libel, which bears the name of William Cudworth. Indeed, how
you can converse with a man of his spirit, I cannot comprehend.
O leave not your old well-tried friends! The new is not
comparable to them. I speak not this because I am _afraid_ of
what any one can say or do to _me_; but I am really concerned
for _you_. An evil man has gained the ascendant over you; and
has persuaded a dying man, who had shunned it all his life,
to enter into controversy as he is stepping into eternity!
Put off your armour, my brother! You and I have no moments to
spare. Let us employ them all in promoting peace and good-will
among men. And may the peace of God keep your heart and mind in
Christ Jesus! So prays,
“Your affectionate brother and servant,
“J. WESLEY.”[256]
This was Wesley’s last letter to Hervey; the following, written three
weeks later, was Whitefield’s:—
“LONDON, _December 19, 1758_.
“And is my dear friend indeed about to take his last flight?
I dare not wish your return into this vale of tears; but our
prayers are constantly ascending to the Father of our spirits,
that, you may die in the embraces of a never-failing Jesus, and
in all the fulness of an exalted faith. Oh when will my time
come! I groan in this tabernacle, being burdened; and long to
be clothed with my house from heaven.
“Farewell! My very dear friend, F-a-r-e-w-e-l-l! Yet a little
while, and we shall meet,
“‘Where sin, and strife, and sorrow cease,
And all is love, and joy, and peace.’
“There Jesus will reward you for all the tokens of love which
you have showed, for His great name’s sake, to
“Yours most affectionately, in our common Lord,
“G. WHITEFIELD.”
“P.S.—God comfort your mother and relations, and thousands and
thousands more that will bewail your departure!”[257]
The following, it is believed, are Hervey’s last letters,—the first to
Mr. Cudworth; the second to Lady Frances Shirley:—
“_December 15, 1758._
“DEAR MR. CUDWORTH,—I am so weak, I am scarce able to write my
name.
“J. HERVEY.”
“WESTON-FAVEL, _December 16, 1758_.
“MADAM,—I have received your ladyship’s favour, and should have
answered it before now; but I have been extremely ill, and
still remain so bad, as to be obliged to make use of the pen of
another, to inform your ladyship, that I am,
“Madam, your ladyship’s most obliged, and most obedient, humble servant,
“J. HERVEY.”
Nine days afterwards, Hervey was a corpse. To his curate, the Rev.
Abraham Maddock, he observed,—
“O! how much Christ has done for me; and how little have I
done for Him! If I preached even once a week, it was at last
a burden to me. I have not visited the people of my parish as
I ought to have done, I have not taken every opportunity of
speaking for Christ. But, do not think, that, I am afraid to
die; I assure you I am not. I know what my Saviour hath done
for me, and I want to be gone.”
On December 20th, being visited by his friend Dr. Stonehouse, he
remarked,—
“True, doctor, true; the only valuable treasures are in heaven.
What would it avail me now to be Archbishop of Canterbury?
Disease would show no respect to my mitre. The Gospel is
offered to me, a poor country parson, the same as to his
grace. Christ makes no difference between us. Oh! why then do
ministers neglect the charge of so kind a Saviour, fawn upon
the great, and hunt after worldly preferments with so much
eagerness, to the disgrace of our orders? These, these are the
things, not our poverty or obscurity, which render the clergy
so justly contemptible to worldlings. No wonder, the service
of our Church, grieved I am to say it, is become such a formal
lifeless thing, since it is, alas! too generally executed by
persons dead to godliness in all their conversation; whose
indifferent religion, and worldly-minded behaviour proclaim the
little regard they pay to the doctrines of the Lord, who bought
them.”
The day before his death, in walking across his room, he fainted, and, to
all appearance was dead. On reviving, his brother William said, “We were
afraid you were gone”; to which he answered, “I wish I were.” And well he
might, for, besides the utter exhaustion of his strength, his bones were
so intensely sore, that, he shrank from the touch of his attendants, when
it was necessary to alter his position; but, in the midst of weakness
and of pain, he was unceasingly praising God for His boundless mercies,
and never received even a piece of lemon to moisten his parched mouth,
without uttering thanks.
On December 25, the day he died, he complained of a great inward
conflict, and, as he sat in his easy chair, (for he was not able to lie
in bed,) almost constantly had his eyes lifted towards heaven, and his
hands clasped in prayer. “O let me spend,” said he, “my last few moments
in adoring our great Redeemer! ‘Though my flesh and my heart fail me,
yet, God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.’” He
then proceeded to expatiate on the words of St. Paul, “All things are
yours,—life and death,—for ye are Christ’s.”
“Here,” said he, “is the treasure of a Christian. Death is
reckoned in this inventory. How thankful am I for death. It
is the passage through which I pass to the Lord and giver
of eternal life. It frees me from all this misery which I
now endure, and which I am willing to endure, as long as God
thinks fit. These light afflictions are but for a moment; and
then comes an eternal weight of glory. O! welcome, welcome
death! Thou mayest well be reckoned among the treasures of the
Christian. To live is Christ, but to die is gain.”
Being raised a little in his chair, he exclaimed, “Lord, now lettest
Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy Word; for mine eyes
have seen Thy salvation.” “Here,” he continued, “is my cordial. What are
all the cordials given to support the dying, in comparison of that which
arises from the promises of salvation by Christ? This, this supports me.”
About three o’clock in the afternoon, he remarked, “The great conflict
is over. Now all is done:” after which the only words he articulated
intelligibly were, “Precious salvation.” Between the hours of four and
five on Christmas-Day, 1758, James Hervey tranquilly fell asleep, in the
forty-fifth year of his age.
Three days afterwards, his body was buried under the Communion table of
Weston-Favel Church, in the presence of a large congregation. By his own
desire, the pall used, on the occasion, was that employed in covering the
coffins of his poor parishioners. Deep was the distress of the assembled
crowd. Some wept in silence; others sobbed; and others were even more
violently affected. The devout Rector was where “the wicked cease from
troubling, and the weary are at rest.”
Funeral sermons were preached, and printed, in London, by Romaine, the
Lecturer of St. Dunstan’s; and by Cudworth, the dissenting minister, in
Margaret Street. Charles Wesley, also, poured out the affection of his
lyric soul, in one of his glowing hymns, from which the following stanzas
are extracted:—
“He’s gone! the spotless soul is gone
Triumphant to his place above;
The prison walls are broken down,
The angels speed his swift remove,
And, shouting, on their wings he flies,
And _Hervey_ rests in Paradise.
“Redeemed by righteousness divine,
In God’s own portraiture complete,
With brighter rays ordained to shine.
He casts his brown at Jesu’s feet,
And hails Him sitting on the throne,
For ever saved by grace alone.
“Father, to us vouchsafe the grace
Which brought our friend victorious through;
Let us his shining footsteps trace,
Let us his steadfast faith pursue,
Follow this follower of the Lamb,
And conquer all through Jesu’s name.
“In vain the Gnostic tempter tried,
With guile, his upright heart to’ ensnare;
His upright heart the fiend defied:
No room for sin when Christ was there;
No need of _fancied_ liberty,
When Christ had made him truly free.
“Free from the law of sin and death,
Free from the Antinomian leaven,
He led his Master’s life beneath,
And, labouring for the rest of heaven,
By active love, and watchful prayer,
He showed his heart already there.
“How full of heaven his latest word!
‘Thou bidd’st me now in peace depart;
For I have known my precious Lord,
Have clasped Thee, Saviour, in my heart,
My eyes Thy glorious joy have seen,’
He spake, he died, and entered in.”
The principal facts in Hervey’s life have been narrated; and eulogy is
not needed. His devout and loving piety has been amply illustrated in
the numerous extracts from his letters. In learning, he was inferior to
few. His acquaintance with the Latin authors was extensive; and it was
one of his peculiarities, when he was called to tea, to bring with him
his Hebrew Bible or Greek Testament, and lovingly instruct the members
of his family, from the sacred text. His kindness to the poor was only
bounded by his means. Private fortune he had none; and, after the payment
of his curate, his church emoluments were small; but all the profits
arising from the sale of his books,—no inconsiderable sum,—were devoted
to the cause of charity; and one of his last directions was, that all
future profits should be constantly applied to the same sacred purpose.
As the master of a family, his example was worthy of imitation. Twice a
day his domestics were summoned for holy worship. At nine every night,
he spent about a quarter of an hour in expounding a text of Scripture,
and concluded with a prayer. At eight next morning, each of his servants
was required to repeat the text of the previous evening, when he gave a
summary of his exposition, and again engaged in prayer. As a friend, he
was affectionate and faithful. “Though always ill,” said Dr. Stonehouse,
“Hervey was always cheerful.” “I am always weak and ill,” he himself
remarked; “half dead while I live; yet my spirit rejoices in God my
Saviour.” His religion, however, led him to live a life of comparative
retirement. The gentlemen of his neighbourhood showed him great respect;
but he was seldom among their table guests; observing, “I can hardly name
a polite family where the conversation ever turns on the things of God. I
hear much frothy chit-chat; but not a word of Christ. And I am determined
not to visit those companies where there is not room for my Master as
well as for myself.”
His ministerial duties were all performed with the greatest strictness.
Few of his sermons have been printed,[258] for the simple reason, that,
except in outline and in shorthand, few were written; but, in the pulpit,
he was always earnest, fervent, and affectionate, and often eloquent. He
spake, because he believed and felt. Besides his Sunday preaching, he set
up a week-night lecture; catechized the children; and, to the utmost of
his ability, visited the homes of his parishioners. “Mr. Hervey,” said
the Rev. Henry Venn, “was the most extraordinary man I ever saw.”[259]
Probably there was a little of extravagance in this gushing eulogy; but
there must have been distinguished excellence to prompt such a man as
Venn to utter it. In the same way, the rapturous effusions of John Ryland
must be received with caution; and likewise not a few of the hyperbolical
encomiums of Mr. Brown; but we heartily endorse the judgment of the late
Rev. David McNicol:—
“If Seneca is right in placing the praise of goodness above
that of greatness, Mr. Hervey has secured to himself, for
ages, the noblest kind of estimation. As a man, he was the
delight of all who had the happiness to be numbered among his
acquaintance. Friendship in him was Christian love, softened
with a tenderness peculiar to himself, and placed on a select
object; a love accompanied by the most ingenuous confidence,
and exercised with unwearied honesty. In every other relation
also of the circle in which he moved, he was equally remarkable
for his courtesy and virtue.”
Hervey was one of the most godly men of the age in which he lived; and
certainly, he was one of the most popular and successful authors. It
is a curious fact, that, at least, four of the Oxford Methodists were
gifted with poetic genius,—the two Wesleys, Gambold, and Hervey. In early
life, Hervey wrote several short poems, some of them beautiful, and sent
several of his hymns to his friend Whitefield; but, strangely enough, he
ceased to cultivate his talent, from a fear lest his poetry should feed
the pride and vanity of his heart. Throughout life, however, his love of
nature was that of an enthusiast; and his “Meditations,” especially, to a
great extent, are poetry in prose. Devoutly he blesses the Providence of
God, for his well-used microscope, which, in the gardens and fields about
Weston-Favel, he almost always took with him. He believed and intimated
that the discovery of so much of the wisdom, power, and goodness
of the great Creator, even in the minutest parts of vegetable and
animalcular creation, helped to attune his soul to sing the song of the
four-and-twenty elders, “Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and
honour and power; for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure
they are and were created.”
“His character and career,” observes a certain writer, “were
a contrast to those of Whitefield and of Wesley. He was
essentially contemplative; they were eminently practical.
His mission was to sanctify the sentimentalism of the day.
In him, the breath of life did not blow, as in Wesley, in a
strong, steady, all-pervading current; or, as in Whitefield,
like a rushing and resistless wind; but in a gentle zephyr,
toying with the tresses of the trees, shaking the petals of
the flowers and grasses of the grave, yet the minister of
convalescence and the messenger of peace.”
Of course, opinions vary respecting Hervey’s peculiar style; but the fact
cannot be denied, that he became one of the most widely-read writers of
his time. The young still read his “Meditations” with avidity; and many
of the old remember the pleasure that his writings afforded them in their
early days. With some degree of appropriateness, he has been designated
the Melancthon of the Methodist Reformation. It is quite certain that the
elaborated polish of Hervey’s works secured them the attention of the
upper circles of society, to a far greater extent than that attention
was secured for the writings of Whitefield and Wesley. Hervey avowedly
wrote for the _élite_; Whitefield and Wesley for the masses. Hervey’s
style is objectionable to those who cultivate a taste for the simple
and chaste, in opposition to what is elaborate and grand; but, somehow,
in Hervey’s day, his books, as Whitefield said, “suited the taste of
the polite.” May it not be added, that, they also helped to refine the
taste of Methodists? The polite read them because they were flowery; the
Methodists, because they were savoury; and while, through their medium,
the former looked at grace with less prejudice; the latter looked at
nature with more delight.
The following, from the _North British Review_, is, perhaps, as just a
critique on Hervey’s writings as can be furnished:—
“Last century was the first in which pious people cared for
style. The Puritans had apple-trees in their orchards, and
savoury herbs in their kitchen-gardens, but kept no greenhouse,
nor parterre; and, amongst evangelical authors, Hervey was
about the first who made his style a study, and who sought, by
planting flowers at the gate, to allure passengers into the
garden. It is not, therefore, surprising that his ornaments
should be more distinguished for profusion and brilliant hues
than for simplicity and grace. Most people admire tulips
and peonies and martegon-lilies, before they get on to love
store-cups and mosses and ferns. We used to admire them
ourselves, and felt that summer was not fully blown till we saw
it sure and certain in these ample and exuberant flowers. Yes,
and even now we feel that it would make a warmer June could we
love peonies and martegons once more. Hervey was a man of taste
equal to his age, and of a warmth and venturesomeness beyond
it. He introduced the poetical and picturesque into religious
literature, and became the Shenstone of theology. And, although
he did what none had dared before him, the world was ready,
and his success was rapid. The “Meditations” evangelized the
natural sciences, and embowered the old divinity. There was
philosophy in its right mind, and at the Saviour’s feet; and
the Lutheran dogma relieved from the academic gown, and keeping
healthful holiday in shady woods and by the mountain stream.
The tendency of his writing was to open the believer’s eye
in kindness and wonder on the works of God, and their effort
was to attract to the Incarnate Mystery the heart surprised
or softened by these works. We cannot, at the distance of a
century, recall the fascination which surrounded them when
newly published,—when no similar attempts had forestalled
their freshness, and no imitations had blown their vigour into
bombast. But we can trace their mellow influence still. We see,
that, they have helped to make men of faith men of feeling,
and men of piety men of taste. Over the bald and rugged places
of systematic orthodoxy, they have trained the sweetest
beauties of creation and softest graces of piety, and over
its entire landscape have shed an illumination as genial as
it is growthful and clear. If his ‘Meditations’ be not purely
classical, they are evangelical, and singularly adapted to the
whole of man. Their cadence is in our popular preaching still,
and may their spirit never quit our Christianity! It is the
spirit of securest faith, and sunniest hope, and most seraphic
love. And though it may be dangerous for young divines, like
Samuel Parr, to copy their descriptive melody, it were a
blessed ambition to emulate their author’s large and lightsome
piety,—his heart, ‘open to the whole noon of nature,’ and
through all its brightness drinking the smile of a present God.”
Here Hervey’s Memoir ought to end; but, unfortunately, posthumous facts
must be added.
Already, it has been stated, that, the last days of the devout Rector of
Weston-Favel were employed in writing his “Eleven Letters” in answer to
Wesley’s “Remarks on Theron and Aspasio.” It is extremely disagreeable to
tag to the end of a life so beautiful as Hervey’s a controversial fracas
which ought never to have happened, but fidelity forbids the unpleasant
duty to be avoided. For more than a hundred years, partisans, on both
sides, have discussed the question; and, on both sides, not a little has
been written which both Hervey and Wesley would wish to have blotted out.
It would not be difficult to lengthen the unprofitable controversy by an
analysis of Hervey’s “Eleven Letters” (next to his “Theron and Aspasio,”
his ablest work), but the task is uninviting, and the subject shall be
dismissed as briefly as possible.
Six years after Hervey’s death, his “Eleven Letters” were surreptitiously
published, 12mo, 288 pp., without the printer’s name attached, and with
nothing but a brief Preface, signed “Philolethes,” who acknowledged that
the work now “found its way into the world, as it were, by stealth.”
A year afterwards, in 1765, an authentic edition was issued, with the
following title—“Eleven Letters from the late Rev. Mr. Hervey, to the
Rev. Mr. John Wesley; containing An Answer to that Gentleman’s Remarks on
Theron and Aspasio, Published from the Author’s Manuscript, left in the
possession of his Brother, Mr. Hervey. With a Preface, showing the Reason
of their being now printed.” 12mo, 297 pp.[260]
The Preface states, that, Hervey did not commence his reply to
Wesley before Wesley published his private letter to Hervey, in his
“Preservative against Unsettled Notions in Religion;” in other words,
not until after June 23, 1758. This is an error; for, in a letter to the
Rev. Mr. Ryland, dated “_January_, 1758, Hervey says he was even then
‘transcribing his intended answer to Mr. Wesley for the press’” (see 315
page preceding).