“The imputation thrown upon you is a most extraordinary one. But such is the temper of the world, when you have no vice to feed their spleen with, they will condemn the highest virtue. O Cyrus, how noble a defence you make! and how are you adorned with the beauty of holiness! You really are in a state to be envied. How ardently do I wish to be as resigned and humble as yourself. As you say, my lot is fallen among those who cannot be accused of too much strictness in religion; so far from that, they generally make an open profession of having no religion at all; and I cannot observe my fellow-creatures in such manifest danger without feeling an inexpressible concern.” Three days later, on July 24, Wesley writes:— “I am extremely happy in having your approbation, where I am most careful to be approved. Give me the censure of the many, the praise of the few. I have all the advantages that outward circumstances can afford. _I_ spend, day by day, many hours in those employments that have a direct tendency to improve me. _You_ can rarely have one, wherein to pursue that great work with the full bent of your mind. _I_ have scarce any acquaintance in the world, who is not either apt to teach or willing to learn. _You_ are entangled among several who can plead for themselves little more than that they do no hurt. And would to God even that plea would hold! I much fear it will not. Is it no hurt to rob you of your time, for which there is no equivalent but eternity? Must Aspasia ever submit to this insupportable misfortune? Every time a gay wretch wants to trifle away a part of that invaluable treasure which God has lent him, shall he force away also a part of hers? Surely there is a way to escape. The God whom you serve point it out to you!”[94] Aspasia, in other words Mrs. Delany, spent the winter of 1731 in Ireland. On the 11th of March, 1732, writing to her sister from Dublin, she says:— “Cyrus, by this time, has blotted me out of his memory, or, if he does remember me, it can only be to reproach me. What can I say for myself, in having neglected so extraordinary a correspondent? I only am the sufferer, but I should be very sorry to have him think my silence proceeded from negligence. I declare it is want of time.”[95] Twelve months after this, while still in Ireland, in another letter to her sister, she remarks:—