Miss Sophy Comes To Breakfast
MISS SOPHY COMES
TO BREAKFAST
all she must have wondered that morning in the garden.
Was that the way he had begun his proposal to Sally Kirkham with the seven long years well in the forefront of his approaches?
Wesley's wooings are models of delayed action. He could never be any match for the Jack Chapons of life who are ready to marry the girl on the instant.
It was terribly disappointing, for well Sophy knew that it was Oglethorpe's belief that Wesley never meant to go among the Indians at all.
Also it was St. Valentine's Day, but that seemed to be a feast not named in the Calendar of the Saints of the Holy Club.
The girl laid hold of the first weapon to her hand and in a wholly commendable fit of vexation replied that she would never come to breakfast with him again. To Wesley this was a blow.
The words draw themselves out in his diary like the slow droppings from a wound: "She would breakfast with me no more."
He had enjoyed those breakfast times so much with the young girl and with Delamotte complete as gooseberry.
Wesley had become lyrical over them.
It was so glorious to arise in the morning singing hymns to God and know that Miss Sophy would soon come to breakfast.
There was one hymn of which he was especially fond which declared that while he had breath he would praise his Maker.
It always seemed somehow connected with his clothes as he tumbled out of bed in those joyous mornings, for at the very end of his life, when, in the stupor of death he tried to rise and dress, he found that old hymn again still wrapped up in his clothes.
ISI
SON
TO SUSANNA
There was worse to follow for the stricken lover, for 'Miss Sophy's pride was hurt.
She told him: "I don't think it signifies for me to learn French any longer and people wonder what I can do so long at your house."
She must always have found that Aspasia way a little steep for the reward of Wesley as a husband at the end of it. Also the girl had suffered much under Haliburton's Life and frequent and strong doses of Thomas 4 Kempis.
There was a certain relief in the less strenuous life at her Aunt Causton's house and a sense of holiday.
After all, there were other suitors, and much more reasonable ones, too, than this incomprehensible John Wesley.
But he would miss her terribly.
The machinery of the Holy Club was sadly out of gear, but Wesley substituted the later ritual of hymn singing and tried to hold his ground as in old days. The diary reads:
"Sung, prayed, sung, prayed, sung."
His mind was back at Stanton with Varanese, and the cry for help reappears in his diary as in the days when he must bring his heart to heel in contemplation of her loss.
He seems to have had this old friendship always at the back of his mind and to have believed that he would be able to keep Miss Sophy's friendship in the same way as Varanese had been good to him.
It is probable that the letter to a mythical Mrs. Chapman which was written at this time of turmoil in Georgia was really sent to Mrs. Chapon, for he burst out in it: ""True friendship is doubtless stronger than death, else yours could never have subsisted still in spite of all opposition, and even after a thousand miles are
MISS SOPHY
COMES
TO BREAKFAST
interposed between us."
This letter reveals the old teasing arguments of reason and heart, and shows his usual desperate effort to conform his will as to the pleasures of life to the will of God. But he has taken a softer mold since the days when Varanese knew him at Stanton, for in this letter he speaks of the Love of God in a different way. He has been singing the Moravian hymns, and he has sung them by the side of Miss Sophy.
He is even prepared, will she but speak to him again, to say that religion need not be such a stiff, austere thing as his older friends supposed that he considered it.
In this famous letter Wesley was approaching dangerous ground, for the safeguards in the Varanese friendship were weakening with the nearness of Miss Sophy.
The face of religion itself was changing, which was a danger in itself. Now Wesley was attributing feminine adjectives to what had once been all rock and iron: "I am convinced that true religion has nothing sour, austere, unsociable, unfriendly in it, but on the contrary implies the most winning sweetness, the most amiable softness and gentleness."
Varanese must have wondered, for the friends of lunatic Morgan would never have so described the Oxford religion of John Wesley.
But she could not know that almost at the same time as he wrote to her he was saying of Miss Sophy:
"Calling at Mrs. Causton's she was there alone.
This was indeed an hour of trial.
Her words, her eyes, her air, her every motion and gesture, were full of such a softness and sweetness!
I know not what might have been the consequence had I then but
SON
TO SUSANNA
touched her hand. And how I avoided it I know not.
Surely God is over all!"
Young Delamotte might well tremble for his hero, and all the more when Miss Sophy herself somewhat relented and revisited the bungalow.
She would keep looking at Wesley with the quick blushes rising to her cheeks and she appeared very dangerous in her pleading yet speechless femininity.
Delamotte knew she must thus prove irresistible, for the relief to have her there again, confessing her friendship, carried
John Wesley off his feet.
He compelled Delamotte to leave them alone and then so shyly stretched out his hand and took her own, and was amazed when she did not withdraw it. Fear prompted him at once to remark that he thought of going to England, but when she wept to hear the news he was almost undone.
The barrage of all the Indians and a voyage to England was perilously thinning, and he would soon have to face up to reality if things continued to move at such a pace in his arcadian bungalow.
But after the bliss of that interview he had to face the tears of Delamotte, and his own reason told him plainly that he had done a foolish thing.
It must have been almost impossible for Cupid to deal with John Wesley at all, so clogged was he with exquisite reasons.
The scene which was presently to be enacted between Delamotte and his hero seemed a case of reason triumphant, or was it the apex of unreason?
The two conspirators "tossed up" in great solemnity to find out what the Lord would have them do with this troublesome woman.
It reads like the children's rhyme of 'This
MISS SOPHY COMES
TO BREAKFAST
year, next year, sometime, never," but the conspirators had only arrived at their decision after a day's fasting and prayer.
John Wesley, then, in the presence of God, wrote down the awful words on different slips of paper: "Marry"; "Think not of it this year'; and "Think of it no more."
With great good sense young Delamotte drew the last one, and Wesley himself felt a sense of escape as he looked over his shoulder to see the result of this extraordinary sweep.
Did Delamotte play fair or did he call it guidance and take courage?
In any case he pressed his advantage home.
He knew his hero, and would fain know whether Wesley should converse with the charmer at all. The lad got the perfect lot again.
It reads in a whimsical way and is so entirely proper, for the Lord said: "Only in the presence of Mr. Delamotte."
From the point of view of Miss Sophy the Guidance had failed singularly, but she had recourse to the more substantial help of her uncle and aunt.
Delamotte must have faltered where he firmly trod when he discovered the temptations to which his hero must further be subjected, for Mr. Causton took
Wesley along the line of least resistance.
He tempted him with a garden. He did more, for he showed him the goodness of the land, with its streams and its woods, and sent a strangely sweet, softening influence round Wesley's heart even as he gazed "'on the brow of a hill."
This time poverty was not to stand in his way.
The Caustons would make all necessary provision and they were people of wealth.
There was a pleasant house, a delightful garden at a small
SON
TO SUSANNA
distance from the town, another house and garden in town, and a third a few miles off with a large tract of fruitful land adjoining it.
All this should be Wesley's along with the hand of Miss Sophy. What would he not have given to have been able to lay all that at the feet of Varanese on that day of the first cuckoo's song in that old April of the Cotswold Hill?
But now the little man seemed to enjoy the luxury of giving it all up with a too lengthy prayer to be quite heartbroken: ""O Lord God, thou God of my fathers, plenteous in mercy and truth, behold I give
Thee not thousands of rams or ten thousands of rivers of oil but the desire of my eyes, the joy of my heart, the one thing upon earth that I longed for."
Mrs. Causton felt it was time for her to turn her feminine mind to this problem of John Wesley's heart after her husband had failed with his robust masculine bribe of the kingdoms of this earth and the glory of them.
It was a better plan to quicken lagging feet, but it was a cruel trap to set for the son of Susanna Wesley. From the temptation of the hilltop
John Wesley returned to drink a dish of tea with the ladies at Mrs. Causton's house.
He confesses that that pleasant prospect of smiling country had "shot a softness into my soul" which had not left him ere he was again face to face with Miss Sophy.
'The minx herself was on top of her form, for she kept walking about in the garden outside the room where the tea party was in progress.
Delamotte was safely away in his lonely bungalow, but Wesley remembered the Lord's words, "Only in the presence of Mr.
MISS
SOPHY COMES
TO BREAKFAST
Delamotte," and tried to keep his end up inside the house as best he could.
But after a short struggle he was bowled completely over and stepped lightly out to the fair enchantress.
In a moment she had seized both his hands and smiled in his face in a rapturous way.
Wesley gave himself up for lost, but the old fire motif and Mr. Causton's masculine blunder saved him in the nick of time, for "I looked upon her and should have said too much had we had a moment longer.
But in the instant Mr. Causton called us in.
So I was once more 'snatched as a brand out of the fire.' "
Mrs. Causton must have given her spouse a piece of her mind that night for his clumsiness, for she fairly lost her temper with Wesley next day and snapped out: "Mr. Wesley, I wish you would take her; take her away with ye."
But the hour was flown and so far he had saved his immaculate little person from assault, so that he replied very politely that Miss Sophy was welcome to his house and to all he had there in the matter of books and raisins, but he managed to get back to Delamotte quite alone even after that outburst.
It is true that he went away with a heavy heart, for Mrs. Causton had played her trump card late that evening and had produced the dreaded rival for Sophy's hand.
He learned that night that Sophy was engaged to Mr.
Williamson.
The girl herself had answered only with tears and Wesley could not tear himself away until ten o'clock, when he walked in heaviness home.
There in his deserted bungalow he sat down and
SON
TO SUSANNA
wrote up his diary, concluding the day with the eloquent restraint of the sad line: "11.
Miss Sophy engaged.
Alas!"
The news of the next morning was calculated to strike John Wesley to the ground.
Like anyone enchanted he had not been able to keep away from the Caustons' house, and by ten o'clock was there again only to hear that Miss Sophy and her new lover had settled everything the night before and were to be married at once.
Wesley believed that he must be dreaming.
He can never have heard of such indecent haste, and yet Mrs. Causton was speaking quite calmly and saying just that: "Sir, Mr. Causton and I are exceedingly obliged to you for all the pains you have taken about Sophy.
And so is Sophy too; and she desires you would publish the banns of marriage between her and Mr. Williamson on Sunday."
All the time the woman was watching his face—a very beautiful face, luminous with fasting and grief.
She spared him nothing with her "Why are you uneasy?"
Why indeed?
Then cruelest blow of all—he might seek his explanation from Miss Sophy herself who awaited him in that delectable land of promise of the garden and the stream.
She was actually then looking round the estate with her new lover to see all the possibilities for Adam and Eve in a new earthly paradise.
Wesley's reasoning powers came in like a flood.
His mother had taught him to live by his wits, and she must have commended his passivity could she have seen him then.
He stood stock still while his
MISS SOPHY COMES
TO BREAKFAST
mind got to work on the problem.
He was sensing the way of advance and the way of escape in these wise words: "I was uneasy at the very thought of her marrying one whom I believed would make her very unhappy, yet I could not resolve to save her from him by marrying her myself.
Besides, I reasoned thus: Either she is engaged or not; if she is, I would not have her if' I might; if not, there is nothing in this show which ought to alter my previous resolution."
So reasoning he returned to Delamotte, but he found it impossible to be reasonable any longer there in that bungalow where she had sat so close beside him that sometimes he was in a holy panic lest he should touch but the hem of her garment and be altogether undone.
Now the long-suffering Delamotte was pressed into service again.
He must go to the Garden of Eden and ask if his master's presence would be welcome to Miss Sophy.
What thoughts must have revolved in the young man's head as he carried that message and as he saw his hero depart with that drawn face of his and his nervous diffidence!
Wesley found Miss Sophy and Williamson together, and was disarmed from the first by her sweetness of address and her friendliness as she said: "Why would you put yourself to the trouble of sending?
What need of that ceremony between us? You know your company is always welcome. to me."
Wesley could not answer.
For once the ready words died on his lips, but Williamson broke through his stricken silence with a brief and manly: "I suppose, sir, you know
SON
T.0° SUSANWA
what was agreed on last night between Miss Sophy and me?" And Wesley answered with tragic mien:
"T have heard something, but I could not believe it unless I should hear it from Miss Sophy herself."
There must have been a going in the treetops, for Williamson left them alone together for a full hour after that, and John Wesley mingled his tears with the tears of Miss Sophy.
It was Wesley's dark hour, and it was beyond words to describe when later he tried to sum it up in cold black and white: " 'Tis hard to describe the complication of passions and tumult of thought which I then felt—love shooting through all the recesses of my soul and sharpening every thought and passion.
Underneath there was a faint desire to do and suffer the will of God, which, joined to a doubt whether that proposal would be accepted, was just strong enough to prevent my saying plainly what I wonder to this hour I did not say: 'Miss Sophy, will you marry me?'"
As Williamson sauntered back to them the lady sweetly concluded that burning interview with: "I hope I shall always have your friendship." Any man should know that so well-worn a phrase in that connection is quite hopeless.
It must have then happened all over again as it did in golden Stanton long ago on an April morning—'I hope I shall always have your friendship."
Again it had come to that!
And so John Wesley returned alone to Delamotte and the pains of hell got hold upon him.
In spite of his pride and his fear, and in spite of iron repression, love would keep breaking through.