Henry Martyn was baptised in the old church of St. Mary, now part of the
unfinished cathedral. He was the third of four children. The eldest, a
half-brother, John, was born fifteen years before him. The second and
fourth were his own sisters, Laura and Sally; the former married Mr.
Curgenven, nephew of the Vicar of Lamorran of that name; the latter
married a Mr. Pearson. Short-lived as Henry himself proved to be, all
three died before him. To both the sisters--and especially to the
younger, who proved to be to him at once sister, mother, and spiritual
guide to Christ--there are frequent allusions in his _Journals and
Letters_. His mother, named Fleming, and from Ilfracombe, died in the
year after his birth, having transmitted her delicate constitution to
her children. It was through his father, as well as younger sister, that
the higher influences were rained on Henry Martyn. In the wayward and
often wilful years before the boy yielded to the power of Christ's
resurrection, the father's gentleness kept him in the right way, from
which any violent opposition would have driven one of proud spirit. A
skilled accountant and practical self-trained mathematician, the father
encouraged in the boy the study of science, and early introduced him to
the great work of Newton. Valuing the higher education as few in England
did at that time, John Martyn ever kept before the lad the prospect of a
University course. Looking back on these days, and especially on his
last visit home before his father's unexpected death, Henry Martyn wrote
when he was eighteen years of age:
The consummate selfishness and exquisite irritability of my mind
were displayed in rage, malice, and envy, in pride and
vain-glory and contempt of all; in the harshest language to my
sister, and even to my father, if he happened to differ from my
mind and will. Oh, what an example of patience and mildness was
he! I love to think of his excellent qualities, and it is
frequently the anguish of my heart that I ever could be so base
and wicked as to pain him by the slightest neglect.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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