Samuel Westley, A.M., Coll. C. C. Camb., 1694.”[[105]]
CHAPTER XI.
EPWORTH AND CHRISTIAN SOCIETIES—1696–1699.
Mr Wesley removed to Epworth sometime during the year 1696 or 1697. This point is clearly settled by the inscription on his tombstone, which states that he died April 25, 1735, and that he had been Rector of Epworth thirty-nine years.
Epworth, in the county of Lincoln, is a small straggling market town, of about two thousand inhabitants. It is situated in what is called the Isle of Axholme, a low-lying district, ten miles long and four broad, surrounded by the three rivers, Trent, Don, and Idle. The island contains thirty-seven thousand eight hundred acres of land, and is divided into the seven parishes of Epworth, Althorpe, Belton, Crowle, Haxey, Luddington, and Owston, with their respective hamlets attached. Until within a short time before Mr Wesley’s removal to Epworth, the whole of this district was little better than a swamp; but, at a great expense, it had recently been drained, and it is now exceedingly rich and fertile. Epworth stands in the centre of the island, and on the side of a small sloping hill. The view from the churchyard is extensive, terminating on the north with the Yorkshire wolds, and on the south with Gringley-on-the-Hill; on the east with the town of Kirton, and on the west with the spire of the church of Laughton-en-le-Morthen.
Epworth church is dedicated to Saint Andrew, and consists of a nave, of aisles, of a chancel, and a tower. The parsonage, first occupied by Mr Wesley, is thus described in a document dated 1607:—“It consists of five baies, built all of timber and plaster, and covered with straw thatche, the whole building being contrived into three stories, and disposed in seven chiefe rooms—a kitchinge, a hall, a parlour, a butterie, and three large upper rooms, and some others of common use; and also a little garden empailed betwine the stone-wall and the south, on the south.” There was also “one barn of six baies, built all of timber and clay walls, and covered with straw thatche; with outshotts about it, and free house therebye.” There was likewise, “one dovecoate of timber and plaister covered with straw thatche;” and, finally, there was “one hemp-kiln, that hath been usealeie occupied for the parsonage ground, and joyning upon the south.” The entire site of the parsonage and its adjuncts covered about three acres.[[106]] Here Samuel Wesley lived for about nine and thirty years. Let us trace his history.
Very shortly after his removal to Epworth, his daughter Mehetabel was born. Henry Moore and Adam Clarke say, she was her mother’s tenth or eleventh child; but that is an evident mistake, for Mehetabel was born in 1697, which was only the eighth year after her mother’s marriage.[[107]] The whole of the Wesley family were gifted with poetic genius, but Mehetabel perhaps shone the brightest, Samuel and Charles not excepted. From her childhood, she was gay and sprightly, full of mirth, good humour, and keen wit. At the early age of eight years, she had made such proficiency in learning, that she could read the Greek Testament. When about twenty-seven years of age, she was prevented marrying a man whom her father called “an unprincipled lawyer;” and, in the height of her vexation, made the rash vow, either never to marry another, or to take the first that might offer. Shortly after, she had an offer of marriage from a man named Wright, a journeyman plumber and glazier. Her father, fearing that she might still marry the man who had jilted her, urged her to marry Wright. She unhappily did so, and found her husband to be utterly unsuited to her in all respects. Her uncle Matthew gave her a small marriage portion, and, with this, Wright set up business for himself. He then began to associate with low dissolute companions, spent his evenings from home, became a drunkard; and, by ill-treatment, broke the heart of his wife. In a most exquisite poetical address to her husband, she speaks of her “heart-breaking sighs and fruitless tears;” often does she spend “half the lonely night” in waiting for her absent husband, and then, on his coming home from his carousals, “curbs her sighs, conceals her cares,” dashes away her tears; and, to please him, puts on a cheerful “smile.” But despite all her attention and her tenderness, he still runs to “obscure and unclean retreats,” and associates with drunken blackguards, who, as a great achievement, grin at “obscene jests and witless oaths.” She then concludes her poem with the threat, that if this effort to regain his affection fails, she will abandon patience, and give herself up to rage and grief, until death restores to Wright his liberty, and gives him the opportunity “to laugh when Hetty is no more.”[[108]]
Her husband carried on his business of plumbing and glazing in Frith Street, Soho, London. They had several children, all of whom died young. On the death of one of her infants in 1728, she wrote the following beautifully pathetic, but sad and saddening poem:—
“Tender softness! infant mild!
Perfect, sweetest, loveliest child!
Transient lustre! beauteous clay!