Chapter XXIII: Part II (8)

To the day of his death, Whitefield breathed this loving spirit, and rejoiced to find reciprocal affection in his friend Wesley. After this, we shall refrain from adverting to his history more than we find needful,—not for want of admiration of his character and labours, but because it is impossible, in casual notices, to do him justice. He was still hounded as much as ever by the dogs of persecution. Though he was now in Scotland, where, if anywhere, his Calvinistic doctrines were likely to gain him favour, yet even there he met with virulent opposers. Among other extremely bitter pamphlets published against him, in 1742, was one printed at Edinburgh, “by a true lover of the Church and country,” who represented him as taking upon himself “the office of a thirteenth apostle,” and concluded his courteous outpouring thus: “Let all good people beware of this stroller, for he will yet find a way to wheedle you out of your money. He is as artful a mountebank as any I know.” Another pamphlet, entitled “The Declaration of the True Presbyterians, within the Kingdom of Scotland, concerning Mr. George Whitefield and the work at Cambuslang,” begun as follows:—“The declaration, protestation, and testimony of the suffering remnant of the anti-popish, anti-Lutheran, anti-prelatic, anti-Whitefieldian, anti-Erastian, anti-sectarian, true Presbyterian church of Christ in Scotland;” and then this windy performance, of thirty-two pages, proceeds to say that Whitefield is “an abjured, prelatic hireling, of as lax toleration principles as any that ever set up for the advancing the kingdom of Satan. He is a wandering star, who steers his course according to the compass of gain and advantage.” A third publication, issued in 1742, was, “A Warning against countenancing the ministrations of Mr. George Whitefield, wherein is shown that Mr. Whitefield is no minister of Jesus Christ; that his call and coming to Scotland are scandalous; that his practice is disorderly and fertile of disorder; and that his whole doctrine is, and his success must be, diabolical. By Adam Gib, minister of the gospel at Edinburgh.” In this sweet effusion of seventy-five pages, poor Whitefield is solemnly pronounced to be “one of those false Christs, of whom the church is forewarned, Matt. xxiv. 24.” After reviewing some of Whitefield’s tenets, Mr. Adam Gib deliciously remarks: “in raking through this dunghill of Mr. Whitefield’s doctrine, we have raised as much _stink_ as will suffocate all his followers, that shall venture to draw near without stopping their noses.” “The complex scheme of his doctrine is diabolical; it proceeds through diabolical influence, and is applied unto a diabolical use, against the Mediator’s glory and the salvation of men.” This was pretty strong for a young man, twenty-nine years of age, and who, four years afterwards, became the leader of the party known by the name of Anti-burghers. We are prepared, by such pious venom, for the fact, that, in the year following, when the “associate presbytery met for renewing the national covenant of Scotland, and the solemn league and covenant of the three nations,” they drew up and printed “a confession of the sins of the ministry,” in which they humble themselves before God, for not “timeously” warning the people against Whitefield; for being “too remiss in their endeavours to prevent the sad effects of his ministrations;” for being “too little affected by the latitudinarian principles and awful delusions which he had propagated;” and for not “crying to God, that He would rebuke the devourer, and cast the false prophet and the unclean spirit out of the land.”[436]

Despite all this, Whitefield cheerily pursued the path marked out by Providence. Few men have been more entitled to the last beatitude in our Saviour’s sermon, “Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for My sake.”

It was through the timely interposition of Howel Harris, that the friendship between Wesley and Whitefield was resumed. Towards this warm-hearted Welshman Wesley cherished the most sincere affection, and, on the 6th of August, 1742, wrote to him as follows:—

“MY DEAR BROTHER,—I have just read yours, dated at Trevecca,
October 19, 1741. And what is it that we contend about? Allow
such a perfection as you have there described, and all further
dispute I account vain jangling and mere strife of words. As to
the other point, we agree: (1) that no man can have any power
except it be given him from above; (2) that no man can merit
anything but hell, seeing all other merit is in the blood of
the Lamb. For those two fundamental points, both you and I
earnestly contend; what need, then, of this great gulf to be
fixed between us? Brother, is thy heart with mine, as my heart
is with thine? If it be, give me thy hand. I am indeed a poor,
foolish, sinful worm; and how long my Lord will use me, I know
not. I sometimes think the time is coming when He will lay me
aside. For surely never before did He send such a labourer into
such a harvest. But, so long as I am continued in the work, let
us rise up together against the evil-doers; let us not weaken,
but strengthen one another’s hands in God. My brother, my soul
is gone forth to meet thee; let us fall upon one another’s
neck. The good Lord blot out all that is past, and let there
henceforward be peace between me and thee!

“I am, my dear brother, ever yours,
“JOHN WESLEY.”[437]

Another of Wesley’s friends, at this period, was the Rev. Henry Piers, vicar of Bexley, a devoted man, who, through the instrumentality of Charles Wesley and Mr. Bray, had found peace with God on the 10th of June, 1738. He at once began to preach, with great fidelity, the scriptural method of salvation; and such was his success, that in August, 1739, Whitefield assisted him in administering the sacrament, in Bexley church, to nearly six hundred communicants. Keziah Wesley was an inmate of his house; and Wesley himself was a welcome visitor. He was one of the six persons who composed Wesley’s first Conference, in 1744; and one of the three who publicly walked with Wesley from the church of St. Mary’s, Oxford, when he preached, for the last time, before the university.

In 1742, the vicar of Bexley was appointed to preach at Sevenoaks, “before the right worshipful the Dean of the Arches, and the reverend the clergy of the deanery of Shoreham, assembled in visitation.” The text chosen by Mr. Piers was 1 Corinthians iv. 1, 2; and his object was to show what doctrines ministers ought to preach, and also what ought to be their tempers and behaviour. A letter to Wesley, written May 24, three days after the sermon was delivered, states that, at the beginning of his discourse, Piers was listened to with gravity; but, while dwelling upon the doctrines of the Church, his reverend auditors began to indulge in “shrewd looks and indignant smiles”; this was followed with “laughter and loud whispers,” some of them saying, “Piers is mad, crazy, and a fool.” When he came to the application of his discourse, and asked whether the clergy preached such doctrines, possessed such tempers, and led such lives, the ordinary would endure it no longer, but beckoned to the apparitor to open his pew door, and to the minister of Sevenoaks church to command Piers to stop. The minister made a sign to the preacher, but without effect. The ordinary then publicly desired Piers to pronounce the benediction, as the congregation had already heard quite enough. Piers, however, still went on; all the clergy, except one or two, walked out; and the preacher, without further interruption, finished his discourse to an attentive audience.[438]

The sermon, though written by Mr. Piers, was, previous to its being preached, revised by Wesley;[439] and, in September ensuing, was published, price sixpence,[440] with a list of the books sold by Wesley at the Foundery in Moorfields, inserted. The sermon, in point of fact, was a joint production of Wesley and his friend. Any one, comparing it with other sermons published by Mr. Piers, will perceive an unmistakable difference in style, and force of expression. The sermon was, to a great extent, Wesley’s; and, in this instance, Wesley was almost preaching by proxy.

Wesley longed for helpers; but, conscious that none would be useful unless converted, he was careful in accepting offers. Of his friend Piers he could have no doubt; but it was otherwise with respect to a clergyman from America, who called upon him at the beginning of the year, and “appeared full of good desires.” Wesley writes: “I cannot suddenly answer in this matter; I must first know what spirit he is of; for none can labour with us, unless he ‘count all things dung and dross, that he may win Christ.’” With Wesley, neither learning, nor talent, nor even orders, nor all combined, were sufficient to induce him to accept a helper, unless there was also piety. Purity in preachers is of more importance than either scholarship, or genius, or both united. The former is an essential, without which no man ought to preach; the latter are, at the best, but useful in helping a preacher to preach successfully.

In a certain sense, Methodist societies were begun in 1739; but it was not until 1742 that they were divided into classes. In January, 1739, the London society, which was really Moravian, and not Methodist, consisted of about sixty persons. Three months after that, Wesley went to Bristol, where “a few persons agreed to meet weekly, with the same intention as those in London”; and these were soon increased by “several little societies, which were already meeting in divers parts of the city,” amalgamating with them. About the same time similar societies were formed at Kingswood and at Bath.[441] These religious communities grew and multiplied. At the beginning of 1742, the London society alone, after repeated siftings, numbered about eleven hundred members.[442] Hitherto, Wesley and his brother had been their only pastors; but, on February 15, 1742, an accident led to a momentous alteration. Nearly three years before, Wesley had built his meeting-house in Bristol; but, notwithstanding the subscriptions and collections made at the time to defray the expense, a large debt was still unpaid. On the day mentioned, some of the principal members of the Bristol society met together to consult how their pecuniary obligations should be discharged. One of them stood up and said, “Let every member of the society give a penny a week, till the debt is paid.” Another answered, “Many of them are poor, and cannot afford to do it.” “Then,” said the former, “put eleven of the poorest with me; and if they can give anything, well; I will call on them weekly; and if they can give nothing, I will give for them as well as for myself. And each of you call on eleven of your neighbours weekly; receive what they give, and make up what is wanting.” “It was done,” writes Wesley; “and in a while, some of these informed me, they found such and such an one did not live as he ought. It struck me immediately, ‘This is the thing, the very thing, we have wanted so long.’”

What was the result? Wesley called together these weekly collectors of money to pay the debt on the Bristol chapel, and desired each, in addition to collecting money, to make particular inquiry into the behaviour of the members whom they visited. They did so. Many disorderly walkers were detected; and thus the society was purged of unworthy members.[443]

Within six weeks after this, on March 25, Wesley introduced the same plan in London; where he had long found it difficult to become acquainted with all the members personally. He requested “several earnest and sensible men to meet him,” to whom he explained his difficulty. They all agreed that, “to come to a sure, thorough knowledge of each member, there could be no better way than to divide the society into classes, like those at Bristol.” Wesley, at once, appointed, as leaders, “those in whom he could most confide”; and thus, after an existence of three years, the Methodist societies were divided into classes, in 1742. “This,” says Wesley, “was the origin of our classes, for which I can never sufficiently praise God; the unspeakable usefulness of the institution having ever since been more and more manifest.”[444]

At first, the leaders visited each member at his own house; but this was soon found to be inconvenient. It required more time than the leaders had to spare; and many members lived with masters, mistresses, or relations, where it was almost impossible for such visits to be made. Hence, before long, it was agreed, that each leader should meet his apportioned members all together, once a week, at a time and place most convenient for the whole. The leader began and ended each meeting with singing and prayer, and spent about an hour in conversing with those present, one by one.[445]

Thus class-meetings began. Wesley writes, “It can scarce be conceived what advantages have been reaped by this little prudential regulation. Many now experienced that Christian fellowship, of which they had not so much as an idea before. They began to bear one another’s burdens, and naturally to care for each other’s welfare. And as they had daily a more intimate acquaintance, so they had a more endeared affection for each other. Upon reflection, I could not but observe, this is the very thing which was from the beginning of Christianity. As soon as any Jews or heathen were so convinced of the truth, as to forsake sin, and seek the gospel of salvation, the first preachers immediately joined them together; took an account of their names; advised them to watch over each other; and met these κατηχουμενοι, _catechumens_, as they were then called, apart from the great congregation, that they might instruct, rebuke, exhort, and pray with them, and for them, according to their several necessities.”[446]

Such is Wesley’s own account of the origin of these weekly meetings. Some of the old members were, at first, extremely averse to this new arrangement, regarding it, not as a privilege, but rather a restraint. They objected, that there were no such meetings when they joined the society, and asked why such meetings should be instituted now. To this Wesley answered, that he regarded class-meetings not essential, nor of Divine institution, but merely prudential helps, which it was a pity the society had not been favoured with from the beginning. “We are always open to instruction,” says he to these complainants, “willing to be wiser every day than we were before, and to change whatever we can change for the better.”

Another objection was, “There is no scripture for classes.” Wesley replied, that there was no scripture against them; and that, in point of fact, there was much scripture for them, namely, texts which enjoined the substance of the thing, leaving indifferent circumstances to be determined by reason and experience.

The most plausible objection of all, however, was that which is often urged at the present day. Wesley writes: “They spoke far more plausibly who said, ‘The thing is well enough in itself; but the leaders have neither gifts nor graces for such an employment.’ I answer—(1) Yet such leaders as they are, it is plain God has blessed their labour. (2) If any of these is remarkably wanting in gifts or grace, he is soon taken notice of and removed. (3) If you know any such, tell it to me, not to others, and I will endeavour to exchange him for a better. (4) It may be hoped they will all be better than they are, both by experience and observation, and by the advices given them by the minister every Tuesday night, and the prayers (then in particular) offered up for them.”[447]

The appointment of these leaders was of vast importance; but it was not sufficient. Wesley continues: “As the society increased, I found it required still greater care to separate the precious from the vile. In order to this, I determined, at least once in every three months, to talk with every member myself, and to inquire at their own mouths, whether they grew in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. At these seasons, I likewise particularly inquire whether there be any misunderstanding or difference among them; that every hindrance of peace and brotherly love may be taken out of the way.”[448]

Nothing need be added to this full account of the origin of the class-meeting and the quarterly visitation of the Methodists. Wesley, from the beginning, “recognised the scriptural distinction between the church and the world. The men who possessed religion, and the men who possessed it not, were not for a moment confounded. They might be neighbours in locality, and friends in goodwill; but they were wide as the poles asunder in sentiment. The quick and the dead may be placed side by side; but no one can, for ever so short a period, mistake dead flesh for living fibre. The church and the churchyard are close by; but the worshippers in the one and the dwellers in the other are as unlike as two worlds can make them. The circle within the circle, the company of the converted, Wesley always distinguished from the mass of mankind, and made special provision for their edification in all his organisms.”[449]

After the formation of classes, the next event in point of importance, in the year 1742, was Wesley’s visit to the north of England. A combination of circumstances led to this.

John Nelson had been converted among the Methodists in London, and had returned to Birstal, in Yorkshire, where Benjamin Ingham had already founded a number of flourishing Moravian brotherhoods. Nelson began to preach in the towns of Yorkshire; his labours were greatly blessed; and many of the greatest profligates, blasphemers, drunkards, and sabbath-breakers were entirely changed. John had often invited Wesley to visit Yorkshire, and this was one of the reasons of his setting out.[450]

Another was, that the Countess of Huntingdon had earnestly urged him to proceed to Newcastle, and to employ his best efforts to improve the moral and religious condition of the colliers on the Tyne. The letter, containing this request, has not been published, but is in the possession of the Rev. James Everett.

The countess was now resident at Donnington Park, the favourite home of her noble husband, the Earl of Huntingdon, who, like herself, treated ministers of Christ with every mark of polite attention. His sisters, Lady Betty Hastings, and Lady Margaret, (who afterwards became the wife of Ingham,) had been converted through the instrumentality of the Methodists, and were now sincere and earnest Christians. Donnington became a sort of rallying place for Christian ministers and Christian people. Mr. Simpson and Mr. Graves, two converted clergymen, resided in the neighbourhood. David Taylor, one of the servants of the Earl of Huntingdon, had commenced preaching in the surrounding hamlets and villages, and had begun a work which resulted in the forming of the New Connexion of General Baptists. Miss Fanny Cooper, residing with the countess, and dying of consumption, was greatly beloved by Wesley, and wished to see him.[451] All these circumstances had to do with his setting out for the midland counties, for Yorkshire, and for Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

On the 9th of January, Lady Huntingdon wrote to him, saying, that Miss Cooper was waiting for the consolation of Israel with an indescribable firmness of faith and hope. She had read his Journal, which he had sent for her perusal, and thought there was nothing in it which ought to be left out; and that the manner in which he spoke of himself could not be mended.[452]

In another letter, dated the 15th of March, she tells him that she is sure he is a chosen vessel set for the defence of the gospel; that she has given up the school at Markfield; that John Taylor is gone to be an assistant to David Taylor, and to become a schoolmaster among the people who had been converted; and that Mr. Graves had been blessed by Wesley’s conversation, and greatly loved him.[453]

In a third letter, dated ten days later, Wesley is informed that John Taylor is about to wait upon him, and to say that, unless David Taylor (who had contracted an ill judged marriage, and fallen into the German stillness) transferred his flock to Wesley and his brother Charles, the countess would withdraw from him her support and countenance. She adds: “I would not trust David with the guidance of my soul, no, not for worlds. I find he is going to build himself a room, and to break with the ministers, and become a lay preacher. He has more pride than I ever saw in man. If he will commit his poor sheep into your hands, I will assist in the room, school, etc.; but else will I do nothing. You are much mistaken about the bishops not reading what you publish; I know they do. Let me know in your next if you approve what I have done about David.”[454]

Six weeks afterwards, Lady Huntingdon wrote again, saying that Miss Cooper was at the point of death, and wished to see Wesley; and that a horse had been ordered for John Taylor to go down with him.[455] On receiving this, Wesley started almost immediately. He reached Donnington Park on May 22; found Miss Cooper just alive; spent three days with her and the countess, rejoicing in the grace of God; and then set out for Birstal, still accompanied by John Taylor.[456] On arriving at Birstal, Wesley went to an inn and sent for John Nelson; and John came and carried him to his own humble home. Thus was the aristocratic mansion exchanged for the mason’s cottage. Numbers had been converted by John’s plain, blunt preaching; but, because he advised them to go to church and sacrament, Ingham reproved him, and forbade the members of his societies to hear him.

Ingham, to some extent at least, had fallen into the dangerous delusions of the Moravians. He had also exposed himself to suspicions of another kind. Dr. Doddridge, in a letter written a fortnight before Wesley’s visit to Birstal, says: “I am much surprised with a book, called the ‘Country Parson’s Advice to a Parishioner,’ which is circulated, with extreme diligence, by Ingham, and other Methodists in our part of the country. It artfully disguises, but most evidently contains and recommends, almost all the doctrines of popery, and none more than that fatal one of consigning conscience and fortune into the hands of the priesthood.[457] I am not hasty to smell out a Jesuit, and ever thought the Methodists had more honesty than wisdom; but this certain fact surprises me, and I should be glad of a key to it. It may be said, that they have generally appeared men of plain understandings, void of that art and learning necessary for missionaries; but all plots require tools, and have underparts, nor may these always be let into the whole design. On the whole, while they are diffusing such sentiments, Protestantism and our free constitution may have as little reason to thank them as learning and reason have already.”[458]

Wesley preached, on May 26, at noon, on the top of Birstal hill; spent the afternoon in conversing with Nelson’s converts; and, at eight at night, preached on Dewsbury moor, two miles from Birstal, and, in opposition to the Moravian tenets, “earnestly exhorted all who believed, to wait upon God in His ways, and to let their light shine before men.”

His labours were not without success. One of his hearers was Nathaniel Harrison, a young man twenty-three years of age, who soon after was made circuit steward, an office which he filled for more than twenty years, and during a long life encountered no small amount of brutal persecution for the sake of his great Master. His father turned him out of doors; his eldest brother horsewhipped him; and the mob hurled missiles at his head, and, on one occasion, were literally bespattered with his blood. Nathaniel Harrison was a happy Christian, and attained to the age of eighty years before he died; he was wont to say, “My soul is always on the wing, I only wait the summons.”[459]

Another of Wesley’s hearers was John Murgatroyd, a weaver, who became a member of the second class which was formed in Yorkshire; was present when John Nelson was pressed for a soldier; and was one of those brave-hearted Methodists who sang songs of praise at the door of Nelson’s prison. He lived to have ten children, fifty-one grandchildren, and twenty-one great grandchildren; and, after being sixty-three years a Methodist, he peacefully breathed his last breath at Wansford, in the east of Yorkshire, having, on the day before, attended three public services, and sung the praises of his Saviour with an animation which seemed to evince that he was exulting in the hope of singing the new song in heaven.[460]

Leaving Birstal, Wesley and John Taylor came to Newcastle on Friday, May 28.

This northern metropolis was then widely different to what it is at present. Then the only streets, of any consequence, were Pilgrim Street, Newgate Street, Westgate Street, the Side, and Sandgate. On the south of Westgate Street there was nothing but open country. Between Westgate Street and Newgate Street, the only buildings were the vicarage and St. John’s church; whilst between Newgate Street and the upper part of Pilgrim Street almost the only edifice was the house of the Franciscan Friars. On the east of Pilgrim Street were open fields, and on the north nothing but a few straggling houses. The town was surrounded with a wall, having turrets, towers, and gates. On what is now the centre of the town, stood the princely dwelling of Sir William Blackett, environed with extensive pleasure grounds, adorned with trees and statues. There were five churches: St. John’s, in which, besides the Sunday services, there were public prayers three times every week; St. Andrew’s, where, in addition to services on sabbaths, prayers were read every Wednesday and Friday morning; Allhallows; St. Nicholas’s, in which there was public service twice daily; and the church of St. Thomas, at the entrance of the street on Newcastle bridge. The Roman Catholics had a chapel at the Nuns; the Quakers a meeting-house in Pilgrim Street, nearly opposite to the Pilgrim’s Inn; and the Dissenters two or three chapels in different parts, and also a burial ground near Ballast Hills.[461]

As already stated, Wesley reached Newcastle on Friday night, the 28th of May. The public house, in which he lodged, belonged to a Mr. Gun, and stood a few yards northward of the site on which he built his Orphan House. This, at the time, was open country, and about a mile from busy, dirty, degraded Sandgate on the river side. On walking out, after tea, he was surprised and shocked at the abounding wickedness. Drunkenness and swearing seemed general, and even the mouths of little children were full of curses. How he spent the Saturday we are not informed; but, on Sunday morning, at seven,[462] he and John Taylor took their stand, near the pump, in Sandgate, “the poorest and most contemptible part of the town,” and began to sing the old hundredth psalm and tune. Three or four people came about them, “to see what was the matter;” these soon increased in number, and, before Wesley finished preaching, his congregation consisted of from twelve to fifteen hundred persons. When the service was ended, the people still “stood gaping, with the most profound astonishment,” upon which Wesley said: “If you desire to know who I am, my name is John Wesley. At five in the evening, with God’s help, I design to preach here again.”

Such was the commencement of Methodism in the north of England,—the preacher the renowned John Wesley, doubtless dressed in full canonicals, with plain John Taylor standing at his side,—the time seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, in the beautiful month of May,—the place Sandgate, crowded with keelmen and sailors, using, says Christopher Hopper, “the language of hell, as though they had received a liberal education in the regions of woe,”[463]—the song of praise the old hundredth psalm, which, like the grand old ocean, is as fresh and as full of music now as it was when it first was written,—and the text, the very pith of gospel truth, “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.”

Strict churchman as he was, there can be but little doubt, that Wesley and his companion attended the morning and afternoon services in some of the Newcastle churches; but at five o’clock, amid balmy breezes, he again took his stand on the hill, by the side of the Keelman’s Hospital. On one hand was the town with the fine old wall, fortified with towers; on the other hand were fields, stretching away to Ouseburn and Byker; behind him was the open country, dotted here and there with fragrant gardens, Jesus’s Hospital, the workhouse, the charity school of Allhallows church, and Pandon Hall, formerly the residence of the Northumbrian kings; while just before him were the swarming hordes of Sandgate, the crowded quay, and the river Tyne. The hill was covered from its summit to its base. In Moorfields and on Kennington Common, he had preached to congregations numbering from ten to twenty thousand people; but his congregation here was the largest he had ever seen. “After preaching,” he writes, “the poor people were ready to tread me under foot, out of pure love and kindness.” With difficulty, he reached his inn, where he found several of his hearers waiting his arrival. They told him they were members of a religious society, which had existed for many years, had a “fine library,” and whose “steward read a sermon every Sunday.” They urged him to remain with them, at least, a few days longer; but, having promised to be at Birstal on Tuesday night, he was unable to consent. Accordingly, rising even before the sun on Monday morning, he set out at three o’clock, rode about eighty miles, and lodged at night at Boroughbridge. The next day, he came to Birstal, holding a prayer-meeting at Knaresborough on the way; and at night, surrounded by a vast multitude, conducted a religious service of two hours and a half duration. In Birstal and its neighbourhood, he spent the next three days, preaching at Mrs. Holmes’s, near Halifax, at Dewsbury Moor, at Mirfield, and at Adwalton.

He then set out for Epworth, and went to an inn, where an old servant of his father’s and two or three poor women found him. The next day being Sunday, he offered to assist Mr. Romley, the curate, either by preaching or reading prayers; but his offer was declined, and a sermon was offensively preached by Romley against enthusiasts. After the service, John Taylor gave notice, as the people were coming out, that Mr. Wesley, not being permitted to preach in the church, designed to preach in the churchyard, at six o’clock. Accordingly, at that hour, he stood on his father’s tombstone, and preached to the largest congregation Epworth had ever witnessed. The scene was unique and inspiriting,—a living son preaching on a dead father’s grave, because the parish priest refused to allow him to officiate in a dead father’s church. “I am well assured,” writes Wesley, “that I did far more good to my Lincolnshire parishioners by preaching three days on my father’s tomb, than I did by preaching three years in his pulpit.”[464]

Contrary to his intention, he remained eight days at Epworth, and every night used his father’s tombstone as his rostrum. He also preached at Burnham, Ouston, Belton, Overthorp, and Haxey. Here religious societies had been formed; but two men, John Harrison and Richard Ridley, had poisoned them with the Moravian heresy, telling them that “all the ordinances are man’s inventions, and that if they went to church or sacrament, they would be damned.” One of them, at Belton, who once ran well, now said “he saw the devil in every corner of the church, and in the face of every one who went to it.” Still, a great work had been wrought among them, and some of them had suffered for it. “Their angry neighbours,” says Wesley, “had carried a whole wagon-load of these new heretics before a magistrate. But when he asked what they had done, there was a deep silence, for that was a point their conductors had forgotten. At length, one said ‘they pretended to be better than other people, and prayed from morning to night;’ and another said, ‘they have _convarted_ my wife. Till she went among them she had such a tongue! and now she is as quiet as a lamb!’ ‘Take them back, take them back,’ replied the justice, ‘and let them convert all the scolds in the town.’”

As already intimated, Wesley’s preaching on his father’s grave was attended with amazing power. On one occasion, the people on every side wept aloud; and on another, several dropped down as dead; Wesley’s voice was drowned by the cries of penitents; and many there and then, in the old churchyard, found peace with God, and broke out into loud thanksgiving. A gentleman, who had not been at public worship of any kind for upwards of thirty years, stood motionless as a statue. “Sir,” asked Wesley, “are you a sinner?” “Sinner enough!” said he, and still stood staring upwards, till his wife and servant, who were both in tears, put him into his chaise, and took him home.

John Whitelamb, Wesley’s brother-in-law, clergyman at Wroote, heard him preach at Epworth, and wrote him, saying, “Your presence creates an awe, as if you were an inhabitant of another world. I cannot think as you do; but I retain the highest veneration and affection for you. The sight of you moves me strangely. My heart overflows with gratitude. I cannot refrain from tears, when I reflect, this is the man, who at Oxford was more than a father to me; this is he, whom I have there heard expound, or dispute publicly, or preach at St. Mary’s, with such applause. I am quite forgotten. None of the family ever honour me with a line! Have I been ungrateful? I have been passionate, fickle, a fool; but I hope I shall never be ungrateful.”[465]

On receiving this, Wesley hastened to visit his old friend; preached, on his way, at Haxey; then again in Whitelamb’s church; and again, at night, on his father’s tomb, to an immense multitude, the last service lasting for about three hours. He writes, “We scarce knew how to part. Oh, let none think his labour of love is lost because the fruit does not immediately appear! Near forty years did my father labour here; but he saw little fruit of all his labour. I took some pains among this people too; and my strength also seemed spent in vain: but now the fruit appeared. There were scarce any in the town on whom either my father or I had taken any pains formerly, but the seed, sown so long since, now sprung up, bringing forth repentance and remission of sins.”

Thus, despite Mr. Romley’s railing at the enthusiast, his churchyard became the scene of some of Wesley’s greatest triumphs. John Whitelamb, writing to Charles Wesley, says: “I had the honour and happiness of seeing and conversing with my brother John. He behaved to me truly like himself. I found in him, what I have always experienced heretofore, the gentleman, the friend, the brother, and the Christian.”[466]

Wesley’s visit to Epworth was a memorable one; and it is not surprising that artists have vied with each other in portraying it. Thousands of Methodist homes have pictures of Wesley preaching on his father’s tomb; and the scene itself, throughout all time, will be regarded as one of the most striking incidents in Wesley’s history. Here, at Epworth, Wesley’s venerable father had toiled, with exemplary diligence and fidelity, for the long space of nine-and-thirty years; a man who, for strength of mind and godly earnestness, had few superiors; and yet, a man whose life was a perpetual worry of poverty and persecution. Here, Wesley’s almost unequalled mother, during the whole of that period, had been the sharer of her husband’s joys and sorrows. Here had been nurtured a family, who, for genius, talent, and romantic history, must always stand high among the remarkable households of mankind. The family was now scattered. Seven years had elapsed since the father’s death. Samuel, the eldest, and Keziah, the youngest of the children, (that survived the days of infancy,) had since expired. And what about the widowed mother? We shall soon see.

Wesley left Epworth on the 14th of June; and, after preaching for four days in Sheffield and the neighbourhood, he hastened to the Countess of Huntingdon’s, and thence, by way of Coventry, Evesham, and Stroud, to the city of Bristol, which he reached on June 28.

Within a month after this, his venerable mother exchanged earth for heaven. Hearing of her illness, he hastened from Bristol to London to see her. Charles was absent, but her five daughters were with her. Wesley writes: “I found my mother on the borders of eternity; but she had no doubt or fear; nor any desire but to depart and to be with Christ.” She died of gout,[467] on Friday, July 23. Early in the morning, on awaking out of sleep, she cried, “My dear Saviour! Art Thou come to help me at my last extremity?” In the afternoon, as soon as the intercession meeting at the Foundery was ended, Wesley went to her, and found her pulse almost gone, and her fingers dead. Her look was calm, and her eyes were fixed upward. Wesley used the commendatory prayer, and, with his sisters, sang a requiem to her parting soul. She was perfectly sensible, but gasping for life. Within an hour, she died without a struggle, groan, or sigh; and Wesley and his sisters stood round her bed, and fulfilled her last request, uttered a little before she lost her speech: “Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God.” The remains of this sainted lady were interred on Sunday, August 1, in Bunhill-fields. An immense multitude was present; Wesley performed the service; and then preached from Revelation xx. 12, 13. “It was,” says he, “one of the most solemn assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see on this side eternity.”[468]

Wesley spent the next three months in London and in Bristol, and in journeying to and fro; his brother Charles labouring, at the same time, at Newcastle and in the north.

On the 18th of August, he met his brother and Charles Caspar Graves in Bristol. Mr. Graves had been a student of St. Mary Magdalen College, Oxford, and was one of the Oxford Methodists. Two years after the Wesleys left for Georgia, the friends of Graves believed him to be “stark mad,” and removed him from his college. He found peace with God in 1738, and became an exceedingly zealous out-door preacher; but, in 1740, he was persuaded, and almost coerced, to sign a paper to the effect, that he now renounced the principles and practice of the Methodists; that he was heartily sorry he had occasioned scandal by attending their meetings; and that, in future, he should avoid doing so.

For nearly two years, he acted accordingly; but, on meeting the Wesleys in Bristol at the time above mentioned, he wrote to the fellows of St. Mary Magdalen College, revoking the document he had been led to sign, and declaring that he now looked upon himself “to be under no kind of obligation to observe anything contained in that scandalous paper, so unchristianly imposed upon him.”

Immediately after this, Charles Wesley and Mr. Graves set off for the north of England. Having spent a few days with John Nelson and his Methodist friends at Birstal, they proceeded to Newcastle. Mr. Graves returned to Birstal in about a fortnight; but Charles Wesley continued among the colliers of the Tyne, formed the Newcastle society, and did not return to London until his brother was ready to take his place in the month of November following.[469]

On his arrival, November 13, Wesley met, what he calls, “the wild, staring, loving society;” he took them with him to the sacrament at Allhallows church; he reproved some among them who walked disorderly; and ascertained that few were thoroughly convinced of sin, and scarcely any could witness that their sins were pardoned. Great power, however, began to attend his preaching. On one occasion, six or seven dropped down as dead; and, at another time, several of the genteel people were constrained to roar aloud for the disquietness of their hearts.

He extended his labours to the surrounding villages. At Whickham he “spoke strong, rough words;” but none of the people seemed to regard his sayings. At Tanfield Leigh, he preached “to a dead, senseless, unaffected congregation.” At Horsley, notwithstanding a bitter frost, he preached in the open air, the wind driving upon the congregation, and scattering straw and thatch among them in all directions.

In Newcastle, though the season was winter, he preached out of doors as often as he could; and, at other times, in a room, in a narrow lane, now Lisle Street, nearly opposite the site of Wesley’s Orphan House. This “room,” or “tabernacle” (as it was also called) had been built “by a fanatic of the name of Macdonald,” who had now removed to Manchester.[470] It was the first Methodist meeting-house in the north of England.

The work accomplished was marvellous. It was only eight months since Wesley entered Newcastle as a perfect stranger; and, yet, there were now above eight hundred persons joined together in his society, besides many others in the surrounding towns and villages who had been benefited by his ministry. He writes: “I never saw a work of God, in any other place, so evenly and gradually carried on. It continually rose step by step. Not so much seemed to be done at any one time, as had frequently been done at Bristol or London; but something at every time.”[471]

Among these northern converts, there were not a few, who subsequently rendered important service to the cause of Christ; brave spirits who deserve a niche in Methodistic history, but whom, for the present, we are reluctantly obliged to pass in silence.

Such a society being formed, a place for meeting became imperative. Several sites were offered; one outside the gate of Pilgrim Street was bought; and, on December 20, the foundation stone was laid; after which Wesley preached, but, three or four times during the sermon, was obliged to stop, that the people might engage in prayer and give thanks to God. The building was calculated to cost £700; Wesley had just twenty-six shillings towards this expenditure;[472] many thought it would never be completed; but Wesley writes: “I was of another mind; nothing doubting but, as it was begun for God’s sake, He would provide what was needful for the finishing it.”

This “clumsy, ponderous pile,” as John Hampson calls it, was then the largest Methodist meeting-house in England. “Clumsy and ponderous” we grant it was, but still a “pile” hallowed by associations far too sacred to be easily forgotten. Here one of the first Sunday-schools in the kingdom was established, and had not fewer than a thousand children in attendance. Here a Bible society existed before the British and Foreign Bible Society was formed. Here was one of the best choirs in England; and here, among the singers, were the sons of Mr. Scott, afterwards the celebrated Lords Eldon and Stowell.[473] Here was the resting place of John Wesley’s first itinerants; and here colliers and keelmen, from all parts of the surrounding country, would assemble, and, after the evening service, would throw themselves upon the benches, and sleep the few remaining hours till Wesley preached at five next morning.[474] The “clumsy, ponderous” old Orphan House was the head quarters of Methodism in the north of England.

Within the last four years Wesley had built “the room” at Bristol, and the school at Kingswood; and he had bought, and repaired, and almost rebuilt “that vast, uncouth heap of ruins,” called “the Foundery.” He began in Bristol without funds, but money had been furnished as he needed it; and now, with £1 6_s._, he begun to erect a building to cost £700. Three months after laying the foundation stone, in the inclement month of March, while the building was yet without roof, doors, or windows, Wesley opened it by preaching from the narrative of the rich man and Lazarus; and, afterwards, amid bricks, mortar, and a builder’s usual _débris_, held a watchnight, the light of a full moon probably being the only illumination the damp, cold, unfinished building had, and equinoctial gales and winter winds wafting the watchnight hymns of these happy Methodists to a higher and holier world than this. Truly the cradle in which Methodism was rocked by the hand of Providence was often rough.

Having begun the building, it was high time for Wesley to begin to find means to pay for it. Accordingly, he arranged to leave his Newcastle friends on the last day of 1742. He preached his farewell sermon—a sermon of two hours’ continuance—in the open air; men, women, and children hung upon him, and were unwilling to part with him; and, even after he had mounted his horse and started on his journey, “a muckle woman” kept her hold of him, and ran by his horse’s side, through thick and thin, till the town was fairly left behind him.

We thus find Methodism firmly rooted in Bristol, Kingswood, London, and Newcastle; and, besides this, Wesley writes: “In this year many other societies were formed in Somersetshire, Wiltshire, Gloucestershire, Leicestershire, Warwickshire, and Nottinghamshire, as well as the southern parts of Yorkshire.”[475]

Not only were churches on earth multiplied, but additions were made to the church in heaven. Mr. Dolman, who rarely failed to be at the Foundery by five o’clock, died full of love, and peace, and joy in believing. James Angel gave up his spirit to God in the full triumph of faith. Mary Whittle cried out: “It is done, it is done! Christ lives in me;” and died in a moment. Another female member of the London society expired with the words, “I fear not death; it hath no sting for me. I shall live for evermore.” Sarah Whiskin cried out, “My Lord and my God!” fetched a double sigh, and died. John Woolley, a child of thirteen years, threw his arms wide open, and said, “Come, come, Lord Jesus! I am Thine;” and soon after breathed his last. And Lucy Godshall died basking in the light of her Saviour’s countenance. All these belonged to the London society.

The purest gold is sometimes mixed with dross; and so it was with Methodism. Some of the Foundery society fanatically talked of feeling the blood of Christ running upon their arms, their breasts, their hearts, and down their throats. Wesley met them, and denounced their folly as the empty dreams of heated imaginations. Good John Brown, of Tanfield Leigh, two or three days after his conversion, came riding through Newcastle, hallooing and shouting, and driving all the people before him; telling them that God had revealed to him that he should be a king, and should tread all his enemies beneath his feet. Wesley arrested him, and sent him home immediately, advising him to cry day and night to God, lest the devil should gain an advantage over him. These were rare exceptions, and were promptly checked.

Two, who called themselves _prophets_, came to Wesley in London, stating, that they were sent from God to say, he would shortly be _born’d_ again; and that, unless he turned them out, they would stay in the house till it was done. He gravely answered, that he would not turn them out, and took them down into the room of the society. Here he left them. “It was tolerably cold,” says he, “and they had neither meat nor drink. However, there they sat from morning to evening, when they quietly went away, and I have heard nothing from them since.”

In 1742, persecution by means of the public press had, to some extent, abated;[476] but mobs and vulgar-minded men were as violent as ever. At Long Lane, in London, they threw large stones upon the house in which Wesley was preaching, which, with the tiles, fell among the people, endangering their lives. At Chelsea, burning substances were cast into the room till it was filled with smoke. At Pensford, near Bristol, a hired rabble brought a bull, which they had been baiting, and tried to drive it among the people; and then, forcing their way to the little table on which Wesley stood, they “tore it bit from bit,” with fiendish vengeance. A similar outrage was perpetrated in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel. The mob did their utmost to force a herd of cattle among the congregation; and then threw showers of stones, one of which struck Wesley between the eyes; but, wiping away the blood, he continued the service as if nought had happened. At Cardiff, while Charles Wesley was preaching, women were kicked, and their clothes set on fire by rockets, thrown into the room among them; the desk in which the preacher stood was dashed to pieces, and the Bible wrested from his hands, one of the brutal persecutors solemnly declaring that, if he went straight to hell for doing it, he would persecute the Methodists to his dying day.[477]

In the midst of such violence, Wesley calmly pursued the path of duty, praying, preaching, visiting the sick and dying, forming societies, building chapels, reading, writing, and publishing.

During the year, he read Dr. Pitcairn’s works,—“dry, sour, and controversial;” Jacob Behmen’s Exposition of Genesis, the “most sublime nonsense, inimitable bombast, fustian not to be paralleled, all of a piece with his inspired interpretation of the word _tetragrammaton_; Madame Guyon’s “Short Method of Prayer,” and “Les Torrents Spirituelles,” from which “poor quietist” the Moravians had taken many of their unscriptural expressions; “The Life of Ignatius Loyola,” “a surprising book,” concerning “one of the greatest men that ever engaged in supporting so bad a cause;” and “The Life of Gregory Lopez,” “a good and wise, though much mistaken man.”

Wesley’s publications, during 1742, were the following:—

1. “A Companion for the Altar. Extracted from Thomas à Kempis.” 12mo, 24 pages.

2. “An Extract of the Rev. Mr. John Wesley’s Journal, from August 12, 1738, to November 1, 1739.” 12mo, 98 pages.

3. “A Treatise on Christian Prudence. Extracted from Mr. Norris.”[478] 12mo, 35 pages.

4. “A Collection of Hymns, translated from the German;” 36 pages. These were twenty-four in number, and had previously been published in his “Hymns and Sacred Poems.”

5. “A Narrative of the Work of God, at and near Northampton in New England. Extracted from Mr. Edwards’s Letter to Dr. Coleman.” 12mo, 48 pages.

6. “A Collection of Tunes set to Music, as they are commonly sung at the Foundery.” Duodecimo, of thirty-six pages, containing forty-three tunes for one voice only, some set in the treble and some in the tenor clef.[479]