Susanna Wesley
This is the story of Susanna Wesley, 1669-1742 Mother of Charles and John Wesley, who were founders of the Methodist Church. Susanna and her husband, Samuel, had nineteen children, ten of whom survived to adulthood. Her son Charles became a well-known hymn writer and her son John became the found of Methodism.
Susanna was brought up in a Puritan home as the youngest of twenty-five children. As a teenager, she became a member of the Church of England. She became the wife of a chronically debt-ridden parish rector in an English village. She said, "I have had a large experience of what the world calls adverse fortune." Nonetheless, Susanna managed to pass down to her children Christian principles that stayed with them.
This is the story of Susanna Wesley, 1669-1742 Mother of Charles and John Wesley, who were founders of the Methodist Church. Susanna and her husband, Samuel, had nineteen children, ten of whom survived to adulthood. Her son Charles became a well-known hymn writer and her son John became the found of Methodism.
Susanna was brought up in a Puritan home as the youngest of twenty-five children. As a teenager, she became a member of the Church of England. She became the wife of a chronically debt-ridden parish rector in an English village. She said, "I have had a large experience of what the world calls adverse fortune." Nonetheless, Susanna managed to pass down to her children Christian principles that stayed with them.
234 SUSANNA WESLEY. Sally, as she was called to distinguish her from her mother, was born at Bristol in 1759, and from the first was a great favourite with her father, who was a most affectionate parent. Busy as he was riding to and fro between London and Bristol, and fulfilling his brother's behests, which were neither few nor far between, he managed to write long letters to his wife about the children. The little girl must have been about a year old when " he wrote : She should take after me, as she is to be my child. One and another give me presents for Charley, but nobody seems to take any notice of poor Sally even her godmother seems to slight her." He was always thinking of his daughter, contriving surprises for her, and bidding her mother send her up the hill to Gotham from their home in Stoke's Croft, that she might be strengthened by the country breezes. She grew up to be a great reader, and early aimed at authorship, in verse of course, or she would not have been a Wesley. John Wesley was very fond of her, and, when she was about fifteen, promised to take her with him to Canterbury and Dover. A scandal arose which seemed to make it imperative that he should remain in London, and Charles urged him to postpone the " journey. Brother," said John, " when I devoted to God my ease, my time, my life, did I I will take except my reputation ? No. Tell Sally her to Canterbury to-morrow/' She was a clever woman, and wrote a very neat, clear hand, expressing herself always in pure English, such as might be written by a lady of the present day ; and her orthography was perfect. Every language she had the opportunity of learning came to her easily, as it had done to her father and grandfather ; and she added to her slender income by translating foreign
SURVIVORS AND DESCENDANTS. 235 letters for the journals of tlie day. Like her mother, she early lost her personal beauty through small-pox, and it added to the shyness of her disposition, which, however, wore off to some extent in her later years. She supplied Dr. Adam Clarke with a great many of the details he used in his Wesley Family. It is difficult to select a short poem illustrative of her style, but the following, which was addressed to Campbell on the death of one of his children, is a very good specimen. It was first published from her own manuscript in 1876 in Mr. Stevenson's Memorials, and was republished in the Quiver, with some original letters of her own and her brother's, a few months later : ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. For thee no treacherous world prepares A youth of complicated snares : No wild ambition's raging flame Shall tempt thy ripened years with fame ; No avarice shall thine age decoy, Far off from sweet diffusive joy ; Happy beyond the happiest fate, Snatched from the ills that vex the great, From anxious toils, entangling strife, meaner life. And every care of Happy ! The thorny path which leads to God, Where friendless virtue weeps and prays, though thou hast scarcely trod Oft wildered in the doubtful maze, Nor knew that virtue wept in vain Nor felt a greater ill than pain, Already sainted in the sky, Sweet babe ! that did but weep and die !
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SURVIVORS AND DESCENDANTS. 235<br />
letters for the journals of tlie day. Like her mother,<br />
she early lost her personal beauty through small-pox,<br />
and it added to the shyness of her disposition, which,<br />
however, wore off to some extent in her later years.<br />
She supplied Dr. Adam Clarke with a great many<br />
of the details he used in his <strong>Wesley</strong> Family. It is<br />
difficult to select a short poem illustrative of her<br />
style, but the following, which was addressed to<br />
Campbell on the death of one of his children, is a<br />
very good specimen. It was first published from her<br />
own manuscript in 1876 in Mr. Stevenson's Memorials,<br />
and was republished in the Quiver, with some original<br />
letters of her own and her brother's, a few months<br />
later :<br />
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.<br />
For thee no treacherous world prepares<br />
A youth of complicated snares :<br />
No wild ambition's raging flame<br />
Shall tempt thy ripened years with fame ;<br />
No avarice shall thine age decoy,<br />
Far off from sweet diffusive joy ;<br />
Happy beyond the happiest fate,<br />
Snatched from the ills that vex the great,<br />
From anxious toils, entangling strife,<br />
meaner life.<br />
And every care of<br />
Happy !<br />
The thorny path which leads to God,<br />
Where friendless virtue weeps and prays,<br />
though thou hast scarcely trod<br />
Oft wildered in the doubtful maze,<br />
Nor knew that virtue wept in vain<br />
Nor felt a greater<br />
ill than pain,<br />
Already sainted in the sky,<br />
Sweet babe ! that did but weep and die !
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