Wesley Corpus

I find a danger now of a new kind--a danger of losing my love for the Americans: I mean for their miserable leaders; for the poor sheep are 'more sinned against than sinning,' especially since the amazing informations which I have received from James Ireland. Yet it is certain the bulk of the people both in England and America mean no harm; they only follow their leaders, and do as they are bid without knowing why or wherefore. On Friday I hope to be in London and to talk with the committee about building a new Foundery. This is a lovely spot and a lovely family. 'Tis pity but you could call here. It is four miles from Marlborough, and only a mile north of the London road. Peace be with you and yours! Adieu! To his Brother Charles [22] NEWBURY, October 19, 1775. DEAR BROTHER,--Last night I received a curious anecdote from Mr. Merchant, the Independent minister here. He told me, 'Mr. Evans of Bristol (the elder) informed me that he dined with you (J. W.) at a merchant's house in Bristol; that he asked you how you was affected when you read the answer to your late tract: and you answered, Not at all; for you had never read it, and never would: to which he replied, That was not fair.' Where lies the mistake The answer to my late tract is dated October 2. But I left Bristol October 1. Consequently no such conversation could exist. I fancy I have caught hold of the thread, and can unravel the whole. Last year a gentleman I did not know (who I suppose was Mr. Evans) dined with me at Mr. Wraxall’s; and probably he might speak to me (though I do not remember it) of some tract which I had then published. If so, there is only an harmless mistake of Mr. Merchant's, who misunderstood what Mr. Evans said. But this makes it still more probable that his son is the author of the letter to me. 'Tis pity! Some of our friends at Bristol should tell him that he has quite lost himself; that he has forgotten all decency and good manners, and writes like a pert, self-conceited young man. I think a man of sense that could command his temper would make him a little ashamed. Adieu! To Robert Costerdine [23] LONDON, October 20, 1775.