The Wesley family was often in financial straits. To begin with, there were many mouths to feed and bodies to clothe, and the Epworth living, even when augmented a few years later with the nearby parish of Wroot, did not always provide enough to meet the family’s needs. The rectory fire of 1709 did not help. Samuel Wesley, moreover, was neither a good businessman nor politically astute, thus exacerbating the problem. As efficient a household manager as she was, there were times when Susanna despaired of making ends meet. Some of the more interesting entries in her devotional journal are the record of her vows with God, promising increased piety in return for the necessities of life for herself and her children.1
If large families were part of the problem, they might also be seen as part of the solution. Samuel’s brother Matthew, a London surgeon and apothecary, for instance, had provided upkeep and/or room and board for three of his nieces at various times: Sukey, Hetty, and Patty.2 Susanna, herself the youngest sister among 24 or 25 siblings, could look to her side of the family too. One Annesley who had done well was her brother Samuel Jr. Born about 1658, he left home at age 16 to seek his fortune in India. First in the employ of the East India Company, then as a merchant in his own right at Sural, he flourished. He died there in 1732, never returning to England.3
The following long letter, which makes up this entire chapter, reveals both the expectations and the pitfalls of family ties where money is concerned. It highlights, as well, Susanna’s assessment of her husband, gives us further glimpses of the Epworth rectory’s household economy, and suffuses it all with theological musings on riches and poverty.
Susanna tries to moderate a quarrel between her husband and brother over some botched business the latter entrusted to the former, recommending they put the matter to arbitration. She describes what it’s like to be past 50 with a large family and in financial distress. Carefully detailing the “unprosperous events” that have put them there (debts incurred as far back as the rectory fire, bad health, a badly married daughter, and another “in service”), she implies her brother’s responsibility for the situation. Answering his charges from previous letters, she admits that her husband is in fact “not fit for worldly business” and that his talents are wasted in an “obscure corner of the country.” She also makes an apt observation when she notes who are hurt while the two men wrangle over blame: “The right or wrong belong to you and Mr. Wesley, the suffering part belongs to me and mine.”
The effort she put into this production and her rhetorical strategies (not least of which was dating it “January 20th … my birthday”) all went for nought. When her brother died in 1732, his will barely mentioned Susanna and her family.4
To Samuel Annesley Jr.
20 January 1721/22
Wesley College: Concluding fragment in S. W’s hand with many corrections, possibly a draft of the letter, endorsed by J. W, “To Mr Annesley at Surrat”; MA: entire letter in a fairer hand, not S. W’s, probably a copy, endorsed by J. W, “My mother to Mr. Annesley, Jan 20, 1721—& his answer,” to which latter phrase a subsequent reader has added “(no!)” Various vertical lines and deletions suggest later editorial work, perhaps Stevenson, who edits out the same passages in his edition, pp. 198–200.)
[no heading]
Sir,
The unhappy differences between you and Mr. Wesley have prevented my writing some years, not knowing whether a letter from me would be acceptable and being unwilling to be troublesome. But feeling life ebb apace and having a desire to be at peace with all men, especially you, before my exit, I’ve ventured to send one letter more, hoping you will give yourself the trouble to read it without prejudice.
You cannot but be sensible that I’ve a very hard part to act between an only brother and a husband, which are names full of tenderness and ought to be regarded with the utmost kindness and respect; and that ’tis next to impossible to speak a word between ye without offence to one, perhaps to both. To approve all you have done or said, I cannot. To condemn –––––– 5 or any man without full evidence of matter of fact, I dare not. Yet would I fain offer somewhat by way of accommodation, and I earnestly beseech the God of peace and love to inspire your hearts with a reasonable proportion of brotherly affection and Christian charity and direct ye to use such prudent measures as may beget a good understanding between ye. I am not well apprised of the merits of the cause, but upon the best of my knowledge, I think much may be said on both sides.6
On the one side, sir, he is accused of having laid out your money not only without, but expressly against, your order. Of having received several sums for which he never accounted, or, which is still worse, of which he has given a very dishonest account. A heavy charge, indeed! On the other hand he says he has orders to produce for the money he hath laid out. That his personal expences, though great, were no more than were necessary by reason of his living so far from London, and being compelled to hire a curate in his absence. That the involved state of your affairs obliged him to a long and frequent attendance on persons of different characters living at a distance from each other, which, besides the vast fatigue to himself, must needs be very chargeable to you. He positively insists on the justice and honesty of his dealings, [and] challenges the whole world to prove him a knave, though he will not vindicate each particular of his conduct in point of prudence. He denies that ever he received any sum of money but what he has faithfully accounted for, and that ninety pound he had from Chamberlain he told you of, but did not return, waiting to see whether you’d be pleased to recollect what you wrote him August 24, 1 VIS. “I shall send a large consignment, so expect you’ll charge nothing for your own coming up, on which account I give not my sister the forty pound[s], I wrote Mr. Eaton and Dodsworth to give you half commission.” 7 The same in that of September 24. In several other letters you say you will allow his expenses when about your business those three years he sat in Convocation, if the public did not allow his expenses.
This promised commission he never received, either in whole or part.
The public did not bear his charges or any part of them while he sat in Convocation.
Ergo— |
Good English Logic. |
He thinks if these allowances were made and these promises fulfilled, he should not remain your debtor, humbly conceives he has hard measure, particularly in the case of the salary, says by indefatigable industry he brought the matter to bear; he beat the bush, and others went away with the bird. He is informed that if he had money to try the cause in chancery it would certainly be given on his side. But as he is not much inclined to law, so that method I cannot bear against a brother, a benefactor and (I wish I were permitted to add) a friend.
It must be an exact judgement that holds the balance even between ye, and I will not presume to determine on either side. But I cannot help thinking that you might compromise this matter betwixt yourselves without the intervention of any man; and this is what I most earnestly desire. But if my hard fortune permit it not, surely the thing ought in reason to be put to an arbitration. And this is what Mr. Wesley tells me he hath often proposed to your attorneys, but could never prevail with ’em to agree to it, which has a shrewd aspect on their side. For though it is not an infallible argument that he is on the wrong side of the question which declines a reference, yet ’tis an undoubted proof of a man’s honest intentions and that at least8 he believes himself to be in the right when he desires to have his cause brought to a fair hearing. This, therefore, sir, is what with submission I propose and most humbly request: that if you do not think fit to recede from some strong demands, impossible to be granted without the total ruin of his family; that if you are pleased to recall your word to forget the several promised commissions etc.; that then you will likewise be pleased to appoint one or more on your part, and he will choose the same number on his, before whom the whole case may be fairly stated, and, when after a calm and dispassionate debate, what is justly due to you is made apparent, -we shall both be very willing that you should satisfy yourself by sequestering his living, provided that his other creditors be joined with you in the sequestration, or that you will give security for the payment of their debts, after your own is discharged. And this I humbly conceive is as much as can reasonably be desired; and more than reason, I presume you are too much a Christian and a gentleman to require.
Mr. Eaton often writes to my master, sometimes saying he has positive orders to see Mr. Chamberlain’s heirs (which is in effect to sue Mr. Wesley), at other times that he has order to proceed directly against himself, etc. But, dear brother, what do these threats avail? An honest man will pay his debts (if able) without compulsion, and if he be not able, besides one reason more proper for your penetration to suggest than me to mention, I cannot for my life see what manner of good would accrue to you by throwing an aged minister into prison and starving your sister and her children. Will the misery of his family add any access to your happiness? I once hoped better things from you.9 I am, I believe, got on the right side of fifty, infirm and weak; yet, old as I am, since I have taken my husband10 for better or worse, I’ll make my residence with him. Where he lives will I live and where he dies will I die and there will I be buried. God do so to me and more also, if ought but death part him and me.11 Confinement is nothing to one that by sickness is compelled to spend great part of her time in a chamber; and I sometimes think that if it were not on account of Mr. Wesley and the children, t’would be perfectly indifferent to my soul whether she ascended to the supreme Origin of being from a jail or a palace. For God is everywhere! No walls, nor locks or bars, nor deepest shade, nor closest solitude excludes his presence, and in what place soever he vouchsafes to manifest himself that place is heaven!12 And that man whose heart is penetrated with divine love and enjoys the manifestations of God’s blissful presence is happy, let his outward condition be what it will, is rich “as having nothing yet possessing all things.”13 This world, this present state of things, is but for a time. What is now future will be present, as what is already past once was, and then, as Mr. Pascal observes, “a little earth thrown on our cold head will forever determine our hopes and our condition,” 14 nor will it signify much who personated the prince, who the beggar, since with respect to the exterior all must stand on the same level after death.
I insensibly lengthen this letter, but I’ll make a few short remarks on some of your latest writing and then trespass on your patience no longer.
In one of your letters to me, dated March 17, 1715/6, you say very truly “that a contented mind is the best riches, and without it, what do riches avail—even nothing. [”] And upon the best observation I could ever make of such as have them, I am induced to believe that ’tis much easier to be contented without riches than with them. ’Tis so natural for a rich man to make his gold his God. (For whatever a person loves most, that thing, be it what it will, he certainly makes his God.) ’Tis so very difficult not to trust in, not to depend on, them for support and happiness, that I do not know one rich man in the world with whom I would change conditions.
You tell, me “you are perfectly tired, or rather, overpressed, with business.” 15 This would excite my greatest compassion, but that I hope ’tis in your power to quit it if you please. In another place you say, “I hope you’ve recovered your loss by fire long since.” No, and ’tis to be doubted never shall. Mr. Wesley rebuilt his house in less than one year, but near thirteen are elapsed since ‘twas burnt, and yet ’tis not half furnished, nor his -wife and children half clothed to this day. “lis true by the benefactions of his friends, together with what he had [himself],16 he paid the first, but the latter is not paid yet, or, what is much the same, money which was borrowed for clothes and furniture is yet unpaid. You go on, sir,17 “And then my brother’s living of three hundred a year (as they tell me)…[”] They—who? I wish those that say so were compelled to make it so. “…so far from London is a plentiful maintenance with ordinary frugality. [”] And in another to Mr. Wesley you have these words: “you write things are triple the price at London as at Epworth. I have heard the same and may compute your three hundred pounds a year income worth about a thousand near London.” I mention these distant passages together, being willing to reply to them both at once. My master positively denies he ever wrote anything of that nature; and indeed ’tis inconceivable what should move a man to write such a palpable falsehood in his own prejudice. It may full as truly be said that his living is ten thousand a year as three hundred, and if it were three hundred a year, yet there is no such difference in the price of things there and here, as will justify your computation. I have, sir, formerly laid before you the true state of our affairs, have told you that the living was always let for eight score pound[s] a year;18 that taxes, poor assessments, out-rents, tenths, procurations, synodals, etc.19 took up near thirty pounds yearly of that moiety,20 so that there needs no great skill in arithmetic to compute what remains. Some things are cheaper here than at London, and some things are dearer, as all silks, most sorts of stuff, all manner of groceries, candles,21 soap, etc., chandlers and milleners ware. And if the goodness of commodities in or near London were set against the meanness of such as are lower priced here, the matter, as I told you before, would be brought to a par, or very near it. And this the better sort here are so well apprised of, that they send to London for most of their clothes, groceries, candles, soap, etc. as the more frugal way of having their wants supplied. But to proceed with your letter to me: “…so that you’ll need no small accession from me hereafter. [”] What we shall, or shall not, need hereafter, God only knows; but at present there hardly ever was a greater coincidence of unprosperous events in one family than is now in ours. I am rarely in health; Mr. Wesley declines apace; my dear Emily, who in my present exigencies would exceedingly comfort me, is compelled to [go to] service in Lincoln, where she is a teacher in a boarding school. My second daughter, Suky, a pretty woman and worthy a better fate, when by your last unkind letters she perceived that all her hopes in you were frustrated, rashly threw herself away upon a man (if man he may be called, that is little inferior to the apostate angels in wickedness) that is not only her plague, but a constant affliction to the family.22 Oh, sir, oh, brother, happy, thrice happy are you, happy is my sister, that buried your children in infancy! Secure from temptation, secure from guilt, secure from want or shame or loss of friends, they are safe! beyond the reach of pain or sense of misery; being gone hence, nothing can touch them further. Believe me, sir, ’tis better to mourn ten children dead than one living, and I have buried many. But here I must pause awhile.
The other children, though wanting neither industry nor capacity for business, we cannot put to any, by reason we have neither money nor friends to assist us in doing it. Nor is there a gentleman’s family near us in which we can place them, unless as common servants, and that even you yourself would not think them fit for, if you saw them, so that they must stay at home while they have a home; and how long that will be—23 Innumerable are other uneasinesses too tedious to mention. Insomuch that what with my own indisposition, my master’s infirmities, the absence of my eldest, the ruin of my second daughter, and inconceivable distress of all the rest, and, to make up the complement, your most unfortunate affairs, I have enough to turn a stronger head than mine. And were it not that God supports and by his omnipotent goodness often totally suspends all sense of worldly things, I could not sustain the weight many days, perhaps hours. But even in this low ebb of fortune I am not without some lucid intervals.
Unspeakable are the blessings of privacy and leisure! when the mind emerges from the corrupt animality to which she is united and, by a flight peculiar to her nature, soars beyond the bounds of time and place in contemplation of the invisible Supreme, whom she perceives to be her only happiness, her proper centre, in whom she finds repose inexplicable, yet such as the world can neither give nor take away!
But to return. “I hope Mr. Wesley will take care of coz Charles24 and advance more than ten pound a year …” Sir, I wish that were continued, but we have not heard from him these three years and know not whether he be dead or alive.25 So that had not our eldest son lent us money to support him (much of which I doubt26 he borrowed), we must have sent for him home, which would ha’ been pity, for he is a brave scholar and is this year chosen into the Kings College at Westminster. You proceed to mention the ingratitude of your nieces, which I shall compare with one passage in a letter to my master, where, after you had been speaking of our supposed thousand a year, you are pleased to add, “I look upon the sixty pound you have paid yourself thrown away, which might have done (otherwise employed) a great deal of good. Which was your fault in deceiving me, and you are to answer for it.” Here I cannot forbear to observe that ’tis incident to all men, wise or otherwise, to judge of things by their events, which cannot be right, since they make no alteration in the nature of moral, actions, which take their denomination of good or evil from the intention and will and not from the understanding or event. Therefore, certainly we are to do what we think best according to the present sense of our minds upon such views as we have, and leave events to God, to whom alone it belongs to order them. Thus, sir, you are pleased to condemn yourself for what you did for [y]our nephews and nieces and for what you gave me. But you must give me leave to say, sir, that in this you are very wrong. You acted upon good principles, according to the generous sentiments of your own heart; nor was you in the least to blame, since you could not then certainly know that they would prove ungrateful, or that I was so unworthy of your favours, as in truth I am. I speak with respect to the personal merit; for in relation to your business, neither against God or you have I erred a tittle. Alas, in things of that nature, I am a person more sinned against than sinning. The right or wrong belong to you and Mr. Wesley, the suffering part belongs to me and mine. But you now think we did not want that sixty pound. Dear Brother, do you think nobody wants but he that asks an alms at your door? This calls to mind what the late Archbishop of York once said to me when my master was in Lincoln Castle, among other questions. “Tell me,” says he, “Mrs. Wesley, whether you ever really wanted bread.” “My lord,” said I, “I will freely own to your grace, that strictly speaking, I never did want bread. But then I have had so much care to get it before ‘twas eat, and to pay for it after, as has often made it very unpleasant to me. And I think to have bread on such terms is the next degree of wretchedness to having none at all.” “You are certainly in the right,” replied my Lord, and seemed for awhile very thoughtful.27 Next morning he made me a handsome present, nor did he ever repent having done so. On the contrary I’ve reason to believe it afforded him some comfortable reflections before his exit. I am not altogether of Seneca’s opinion that he which upbraids me with a benefit, cancels the obligation and that he which suspects me, gives me thereby a right to deceive him.28 For I never will forget the pleasing ease from care you gave me near two years by that sixty pound, with part of which I clothed myself and children, and the residue paid debts as far as ‘twould go. For all which I very heartily thanked almighty God and do again and again a hundred times thank you, be you pleased or angry with me for so doing. And though I have the mortification to be esteemed by you as a person of no credit, yet I can cheerfully say that I never endeavored to impose upon you in anything I ever wrote. And if I am not Christian or Stoic enough to read some passages in your letter without emotion, yet your distrust shall never make me deceive you.
You subjoin to Mr. Wesley, “…which was your fault in deceiving me, and you are to answer for it.” This article is almost above my comprehension. Do you think, sir, he deceived you by a false representation of the circumstances of his family? This could not be, for none can conceive our condition to be what in truth it was and is. Nay he himself does not know it. I conceal our wants from him as much as possible, lest he should be afflicted above measure and because I know that if he were made acquainted with each particular, he would hazard his health, perhaps his life, in riding to borrow money, rather than I or his children should be so distressed. For to do him justice, he hath often gone beyond his proper ability to supply us with necessaries, and several debts has he contracted to support a worthless life below his care, and that is now become insignificant and useless to the world. Therefore, he hath not deceived you; and to say the truth, among all his wants sincerity is none. I have not reason to complain of his being deceitful, but have often blamed him for speaking his mind too freely, which sometimes exposes people to the malice of ill men. For though he can’t be called an honest man that speaks contrary to his thoughts, so neither is he to be called a wise man that always29 speaks all he thinks. “He must answer for taking what you gave me.” And so he may both to God and man with, a very good conscience.30 “These things are unkind, very unkind.”31 Add not misery to affliction; if you will not reach out a friendly hand to support, yet I beseech you forbear to throw water on people32 already sinking.
But33 I shall go on with yours34 to me. You proceed, “When I come home (ah, would to God that might ever be), should any of your daughters want me (as I think they will not), I shall do as God enables me.” I must35 answer this with a sigh from the bottom of my heart. Sir, you know the proverb, “While the grass grows the steed starves.”36 That passage relating to Annesley37’ I’ve formerly replied to; therefore shall pass it over together with some [dark] 38 hints I am not willing to understand.
“My brother has one invincible obstacle to my business, his distance from London.” Sir, you may please to remember I put you in mind of this long since. “Another hindrance, I think he is too zealous for the party he fancies in the right and has unluckily to do with the opposite faction.”39 Whether those you employ are factious or not, I shall not determine, but very sure I am Mr. Wesley is not so. He is zealous in a good cause,40 as every one ought to be, but the farthest from being a party man of any man in the world.41 “Another remora42 is these matters are out of his way.” That is a remora, indeed, and ought to have been considered on both sides before he entered on your business. For I am verily persuaded that that, and that alone,43 has been the cause of any mistakes or inadvertency he has been guilty of, and the true reason why God hath not blessed him with desired success. [And ’tis on the same account that those things we fondly hoped should have been for our wealth, has proved an occasion of stumbling.]44 “He is apt to rest on deceitful promises.” Would to heaven that neither he, nor I, nor any of our children had ever trusted to deceitful promises. But ’tis a right hand error, and I hope God will forgive us all. “He wants Mr. Eaton’s thrift.” This I can readily believe. “Is not fit for worldly business.” This I likewise assent to. And must own I was mistaken when I did think him fit for it. My experience hath since convinced me that he is one of those whom our Saviour saith is not so wise in their generation as the children of this world.45 And did I not know that almighty Wisdom hath views and ends in fixing the bounds of our habitation which are out of our ken, I should think it a thousand pities that a man of his brightness and rare endowments of learning and useful knowledge in relation to the church of God should be confined to an obscure corner of the country, where his talents are buried, and he is determined to a “way of life for which he is not so well qualified as I could wish. And ’tis with pleasure I behold in my eldest son an aversion from accepting a small country cure; since, blessed be God, he has a fair reputation for46 learning and piety, preaches well, and is capable of doing more good where he is. You conclude, “My wife will make my coz Emily …” Indeed, ‘twas a very small and insignificant present to my sister;47 but, poor girl, ‘twas her whole estate, and if it had been received as kindly as ‘twas meant, she would ha’ been highly pleased.
I shall not detain you any longer, not so much as to apologize for the tedious length of this letter.
I should be glad if my service could be made acceptable to my sister, to whom with yourself the children tender their humblest duty. We all join in wishing ye both a happy new year and very many of them.48.
I am
| Sr | |
| Your Obligd | |
| & | |
| Epworth Jan. 20th, 1721/2 | Most Obedient Servt |
| My Birth Day | & Sister |
| Susanna Wesley |
1. See part II of this volume.
2. See Susanna’s letter to John, 12 July 1731, which Clarke excerpts, pp. 47–56.
3. For a helpful look at the basic details of his life and those of other Annesley family members, see Betty I. Young, “Sources for the Annesley Family,” PWHS 45.2 (September 1985): 44–57.
4. Ibid., p. 52.
5. Line added, representing the short gap in the MS, possibly indicating the erasure of (?)Samuel’s name.
6. This last phrase (“on both sides”) is crossed out in the MS, perhaps by a later hand.
7. Quotation marks in MS.
8. Emphasis here and elsewhere in the letter is found in the MS.
9. A vertical line through the text—corresponding to material left out of the letter in Stevenson, beginning with the second paragraph—ends here, augmented by a horizontal line that finishes the deletion of the sentence. The next sentence is the one with which Stevenson resumes his excerpt of the letter.
10. “Him” is crossed out; “my husband” is inserted above the line.
11. Paraphrased from Ruth 1:16–17.
12. Stevenson, p. 198, sets up the preceding passage, beginning “No walls, nor locks,” as a quotation of poetry but without attributing it.
13. From 2 Corinthians 6:10; quotation marks added.
14. Close paraphrase of Pascal’s Thoughts on Religion, and Other Subjects … Basil Kennett, trans. (London: A. and J. Churchil, R. Sare, J. Tonson, 1704), p. 312 (chap. 29, par. 44): “The last Act of Life is always Bloody and Tragical; how pleasantly soever the Comedy may have run thro’ all the rest. A little Earth, cast upon our Cold Head, for ever determines our Hopes, and our Condition.” Quotation marks added.
15. The MS closes this and several other quotations with a dash. I have inserted a quotation mark.
16. Editorial insert in MS, replacing crossed-out “in Mr. Hoar’s hands.”
17. Preceding word crossed out.
18. Inserted here in (?)Stevenson’s hand, “£ 160.”
19. That is, the various taxes and fees, civil and ecclesiastical, that Samuel Wesley was required to pay.
20. That is, half.
21. Crossed out.
22. Suky, the second surviving Wesley daughter, was born about 1695 in South Ormsby. She married Richard Ellison about 1719 and bore at least four children before the marriage soured and she and Ellison separated. From this letter, things were not going well at all even early in the marriage. See Clarke, pp. 387–389; and Frank Baker, “Investigating Wesley Family Traditions,” MH, 26.3 (April 1988): 162.
23. The dash in the MS would probably be supplied today by ellipses, implying a missing but easily imaginable conclusion such as “no one can tell.”
24. This familiar form was often used to designate a niece or a nephew, as well as a cousin.
25. Charles, the youngest of three surviving Wesley sons, was born in 1707. After home schooling with his mother, he was sent in 1716 to Westminster School, where, as indicated here, he was supported by his elder brother Samuel, by then an under master there. The Mr. Wesley referred to in Samuel Annesley’s letter may be Matthew, the rector’s brother, the surgeon-apothecary. While the family might not have heard from him in three years, it is scarcely credible thai they would be out of contact with Charles.
26. Suspect.
27. The incident is from the summer of 1705 when Samuel Wesley Sr. spent several months in debtors’ prison. Quotation marks in this reported conversation have been added. A wavy line stretching from the end of the sentence to the right margin and continuing for the space of a word on the following line suggests that material may have been left out in this copy.
28. S. W is probably referring to Roger L’Estrange’s translation, Seneca’s Morals Abstracted: In three parts. I. Of Benefits. II. Of a Happy Life, Anger, and Clemency. III. A Miscellany of Epistles. (London: Henry Brome, 1679). Seneca’s Morals by Way of Abstract. Of Benefits. Part I … (London: Henry Broome, 1678). Though there are sections dealing with these points (e.g., chap.13, “There Are Many Cases Wherein a Man May Be Minded of a Benefit, but It Is Very Rarely to be Challenge!, and Never to Be Upbraided,” pp. 90–102; chap. 14, “How Far to Oblige, or Requite a Wicked Man,” pp. 103–115; chap. 15, “A General View of the Parts, and Duties of the Benefactor,” pp. 116–124; and chap. 16, “How the Receiver Ought to Behave Himself,” pp. 125–137), I do not think Seneca makes them quite so baldly as S. W indicates in her rhetorical defense of her family to her brother.
29. The Wesley College draft MS of the letter begins at this point.
30. Followed in the Wesley College draft by these crossed-out words: “But tis time to return to [above the line: “go on with”] ? [garbled word] letter to me.”
31. Quotation marks in the Wesley College draft.
32. Followed in the Wesley College draft by the crossed-out “sinking apace.”
33. Followed in the Wesley College draft by the crossed-out “’tis time to return to.”
34. The Wesley College draft has crossed out “letter” and apparently added an “s” to “your.”
35. In the Wesley College draft: “shall.”
36. Quotation marks added.
37. Possibly Annesley Fromantle, son of their sister Sarah and her husband James Fromantle. Young, “Sources for the Annesley Family,” p. 53, identifies him as figuring in Samuel Annesley’s will.
38. Crossed out in the Wesley College draft.
39. The Wesley College MS originally had “and my business etc.” inserted before “has,” but S. W crossed it out.
40. Underlined in the Wesley College MS; enlarged letters in the MA MS.
41. The Wesley College MS adds here, crossed out, “In all eager disputes he is rather like Ishmael, his hand is against every man, and every man’s hand against him,” a close paraphrase of Genesis 16:12.
42. Obstruction, impediment.
43. Emphasis in the Wesley College MS.
44. An asterisk (“*”) in the Wesley College MS probably refers to this phrase, not otherwise visible there but included in the MA MS.
45. Paraphrased from Luke 16:8. The sentence is preceded by the crossed-out “Worldly business, for.” Likewise, in the biblical paraphrase she has crossed out “his,” replacing it with “their” immediately preceding “generation,” and crossed out “life” at the end of the sentence, replacing it with “world.”
46. The Wesley College MS adds “for” in place of the crossed-out “of.”
47. That is, her sister-in-law; Samuel’s wife, also named Susanna. See Young, “Sources for the Annesley Family,” p. 52. S. W had originally written “her” but crossed it out and replaced it with “my sister.” “Coz.” in this instance can also mean “niece.”
48. In the Wesley College MS, the sentence originally began with the words “if my,” which were subsequently crossed out.