Chapter L: Tyerman (8)

“I cannot approve the doctrine, which some teach, that a man
may become perfect at once, or assured of his salvation, by
putting forth some sort of an act of faith.” (p. 155.) “God
generally worketh gradually both in nature and in grace.” (p.
156.)

“Believers, by keeping the Father’s commandment to believe on
the name of Jesus Christ; and by obeying the new commandment,
not in word, but in works,—attain the testimony of their own
heart and conscience, that they are of the truth. Herein, also,
they have the sure testimony of the word of God, whereby they
are to try and judge themselves. And the Holy Ghost, as the
Comforter, will be given to them, by whose testimony they will
know and be satisfied that they are the children of God.” (p.
171.)

“Be it observed that I have limited no time, how long it is, or
how long it must be, before any man is sealed by the Holy Ghost
after he believeth the gospel. This dependeth upon the good
pleasure of Almighty God.” (p. 175.)

“Those writers and preachers, who maintain that the assurance
of salvation cometh by a direct act of faith, or by the
appropriating act of faith, or by any other sort of an act of
faith, are mistaken; for it cometh by no act of faith, but
by the testimony of a believer’s own conscience, and by the
testimony of the word and Spirit of God.” (p. 179.)

“Some writers and preachers lay down so many steps and stages
of conviction, and speak of so many different sorts of faith
that they greatly perplex the minds of serious people. But this
is not the worst of it. Such doctrine hath a tendency to teach
people to establish their own righteousness, and to turn away
their minds from the atonement made by the blood of Christ;
for, when they hear such doctrine, they are very apt to examine
whether they have gone through such exercises of soul, and
whether they have put forth such acts of faith; and, if they
think that they have not, they are perplexed and distressed to
no purpose; but, if they think that they have, they are ready
to build upon such things, which may be nothing but their
own workings and fancies, and so get into a good conceit of
themselves to their own loss and damage.” (p. 181.)

“True believers are too apt to live by other things than by
Christ alone. It is the duty of every believer to keep the
faith, and constantly to live by believing in Christ. This
is a lesson not soon or easily learned. To keep the faith,
in opposition to the natural propensity which is in us all,
to live by our own righteousness, or something of our own,
is the principal part of the Christian warfare. It is like
the pendulum in a clock, which moves all the wheels. If the
pendulum stops, then the whole clock stands. All our strength
to obey flows from believing in Christ.” (p. 185.)

“All the heavenly frames, sweet sensations, manifestations
of God’s love, all the joys and comforts, are all and each
of them valuable blessings, for which God’s people should be
thankful; but they should not live by them, but by Christ. All
the works and duties of believers, which are done in faith and
love, which is in Christ Jesus, are pleasing to God; all the
doctrines revealed in the book of God ought to be regarded
and believed; the promises, threatenings, and precepts of the
word of God should be used as the Lord Jesus used them when
He was on earth; all the ordinances and means of grace should
be conscientiously observed; but believers are not to make a
Christ of any of these things, nor to live by them, but by
Christ Himself.” (p. 188.)

These extracts are long, but they serve to exhibit Ingham’s views of the way of a sinner’s salvation. Substantially, they are the same as Sandeman’s, and were doubtless derived from him. One cannot but regret that Ingham suffered himself to be led astray by the hazy dogmatisms of the new Scottish sect, instead of adhering to the Scriptural views of his friend Wesley.[117] Of his sincerity there cannot be a doubt; but, in trying to make the salvation of a sinner more simple, he made it vastly more dubious and difficult. How different were these misty speculations to the plain, straightforward teachings of the Methodists! Their adoption by the truly converted and godly societies, raised up by Ingham and his friends, was a fatal error, and renders it no matter of regret, that, societies espousing and propagating such principles gradually dwindled, and nearly became extinct.

Before taking our leave of Ingham’s book, a few lines may be added concerning its general merits, apart from its doctrinal heresies; and these shall be given as an extract from a review, written by Samuel Drew, the able and honest editor of the _Imperial Magazine_, for 1823. After adverting to Ingham’s doctrinal peculiarities, Mr. Drew proceeds:—

“Notwithstanding these blemishes, Mr. Ingham’s treatise
contains innumerable excellencies, fully entitling it to the
patronage which has carried it through four editions. Though
Faith and Hope form its distinguishing characteristics, the
practical part of religion is not forgotten. This the author
enforces by a variety of motives, and warns his readers
against the rock of Antinomianism on which thousands have
struck to rise no more. The language is simple and unadorned;
it discovers spirit without acrimony, and never degenerates
into reproaches when he reprehends the sentiments of others.
On all occasions, he seems far more intent upon what he says,
than upon the manner in which it is said, invariably paying
a greater regard to truth, than to any fame which might be
purchased, by disregarding this jewel, while hunting after the
flowers of diction.”

Ingham’s active and useful work was now nearly ended. In 1762, on the re-settlement of affairs, he was chosen elder of the Church at Tadcaster, which office, in addition to that of general overseer, he sustained to the end of life; but the labours of himself and his coadjutors resulted in small success. On July 23rd, 1766, Wesley wrote:—

“I went to Tadcaster. Here Mr. Ingham had once a far larger
society than ours; but it has now shrunk into nothing; ours,
meantime, is continually increasing.”

The state of his societies greatly affected poor Ingham’s mind. The well-informed author of the “Life and Times of the Countess of Huntingdon,” remarks, “The almost total dispersion of the Yorkshire Churches, caused by the introduction of the Sandemanian principles, had a sad effect on Mr. Ingham’s mind. He was liable to sudden transitions from the highest flow of spirits to the utmost depression, and the peculiar character of his temperament was an extreme accessibility to sudden attacks of melancholy.” The thing which he had “greatly feared had come upon him.” He was deserted by his spiritual children, and the thought distressed him. “I am lost! I am lost! was his despairing cry.” It is true, that, there were gleams of comfort. Lady Huntingdon’s letters were soothing to his anguished spirit. “A thousand and a thousand times,” he tells her, “do I bless and praise my God, for the words of comfort and consolation which your ladyship’s letters conveyed to my mournful heart, dismayed and overwhelmed as it was by the pressure of my calamities. ‘Righteous art Thou, O Lord, and just are Thy judgments.’”

This was but the beginning of his sorrows. One of his beloved and faithful friends was the laborious and devoted Grimshaw. In the early part of the year 1763, Haworth was visited with a malignant putrid fever, and, among its many victims, Grimshaw was one. At great risk, Ingham repeatedly visited the Christian veteran in his fatal illness; and, afterwards, gave to Lady Huntingdon, the following account of his several interviews:—

“From the moment he was seized with the fever, he felt the
sentence of death in himself. When I first saw him, he said,
‘My last enemy is come! the signs of death are upon me, but I
am not afraid. No! No! Blessed be God, my hope is sure, and I
am in His hands.’ When I was pouring out my soul in prayer to
the Lord, I mentioned the further prolongation of his life,
that he might have more opportunities of being useful; and
when I had concluded, he said, ‘My dear brother Ingham, if
the Lord should raise me up, I think I could do more for His
glory than I have hitherto done. Alas! what have my wretched
services been? and I have now need to cry, at the close of my
unprofitable course—_God be merciful to me a sinner!_’ At my
next visit, I found him much worse, and evidently sinking. I
mentioned having received a letter from your ladyship, and
delivered your message. He seemed much affected, but, after
a few moments, revived a little. When I had prayed with him,
he said, ‘I harbour no desire of life,—my time is come,—and
I am entirely resigned to God.’ Then, lifting up his hands
and eyes to heaven, he added, ‘Thy will be done!’ At another
time, he said, laying his hand upon his breast, ‘I am quite
exhausted, but I shall soon be at home for ever with the Lord—a
poor miserable sinner redeemed by His blood.’ Mr. Venn having
arrived, I shortly after took my leave, but never after saw my
dear brother Grimshaw alive.”

Not long after this, Ingham had to mourn the death of another and dearer friend. After twenty-seven years of connubial happiness, his noble and Christian wife was taken from him. During her fatal sickness,

“She continued to exercise those Christian graces for which she
had been long distinguished. Of herself and her efforts, her
view was ever humble, and every reference to her usefulness she
met with grateful acknowledgment of the sovereignty of that
grace, that made her the instrument of good to others. Her
end, though painful, was triumphant. She welcomed the hour—she
longed to receive the prize of her high calling. ‘Thanks be
to God! thanks be to God!’ she exclaimed, ‘The moment’s come!
the day is dawning!’ and thus, in holy ecstasy, she winged her
way to glory.” “When she had no longer strength to speak to
me,” (wrote Ingham), “she looked most sweetly at me and smiled.
On the Tuesday before she died, when she had opened her heart
to me, and declared the ground of her hope, her eyes sparkled
with divine joy, her countenance shone, her cheeks were ruddy:
I never saw her look so sweet and lively in my life. All about
her were affected; no one could refrain from tears, and yet it
was a delight to be with her.”

Lady Margaret Ingham died on the 30th of April, 1768, in the sixty-eighth year of her age.

Her sorrowing partner did not long survive. He, also, four years afterwards, in 1772, passed away to that “rest which remains to the people of God,” leaving behind him a son, who, for a time at least, united himself with Wesley’s societies, and officiated as a local preacher.[118]

“In person, Ingham is said to have been extremely handsome—‘too
handsome for a man’—and the habitual expression of his
countenance was most prepossessing. He was a gentleman;
temperate, and irreproachable in his morals; as a public
speaker, animated and agreeable rather than eloquent; studious
of the good conversation of his people, and delicately fearful
of reproach to the cause of Christ.”[119]

His societies, once so flourishing, gradually dwindled. In 1813, when they became united to the Daleites, or Scotch Independents, they were thirteen in number, assembling in the following places—Wheatley, 56 members; Winewall, 41; Kendal, 27; Nottingham, 25; Salterforth, 21; Bulwel, 17; Tadcaster, 14; Howden, 11; Wibsey, 10; Leeds, 9; Rothwell, 8; Haslingden, 8; Todmorden, 5. So far as has been ascertained, these, at the present moment, are reduced to six,—Winewall, (the largest and most flourishing,) Wheatley, Todmorden, Kendal, Tadcaster, and Leeds.[120]

REV. JOHN GAMBOLD, M.A., THE MORAVIAN BISHOP.

The whole of the Oxford Methodists intended to devote their lives to the service of the Church of England. This, at Oxford, was their highest wish and holiest ambition. The future was hidden from them,—fortunately so. Without this, their brotherhood would not have lasted for a single week; and many of the results of their godly intercourse would never have been realized. How different from the course of Clayton was that of Ingham; and how different again was that of Gambold from that of Whitefield and the Wesley brothers; and again, how different was that of Hervey and Broughton from any of the others! Men would have ordered it otherwise; but who will say that the way of Providence was not infinitely better? There may be much in the lives of men that is mysterious and perplexing; but of all the sincerely pious it may be confidently asserted,—“A man’s heart deviseth his ways, but the Lord directeth his steps.” The subject of the following memoir is no exception.

John Gambold was born April 10th, 1711, at Puncheston, in Pembrokeshire, South Wales. His father, a clergyman of the Church of England, lived an ornament to his profession, and was greatly respected, for his unaffected piety and purity of manners. The children of this devout minister were educated with the utmost care and attention, and no pains were spared to instil into their minds the principles and precepts of the Christian religion.

Nothing is known of the early life of young Gambold, except, that he was greatly benefited by his father’s instructions; and, at the early age of fifteen, went to the University of Oxford, where he entered as servitor in Christ Church College, and soon became eminent for his diligent devotion to reading and study. He was naturally of a vivacious and active spirit; and, besides his attention to his collegiate exercises, employed himself in an extensive perusal of the most approved dramatists and poets in the English language.[121]

Two years after he went to Oxford, his father died; and this event, together with the exhortations and counsels he received from the dying minister in his last moments, so affected him, that he at once abandoned poetry and plays, lost his liveliness of disposition, sunk into a state of melancholy, and made the salvation of his soul the chief business of life. Painful experience was the inspirer of a short poem of his, afterwards published in his collected works:—

“In nature’s ebbs, which lay the soul in chains,
Beneath weak nerves and ill-sufficing veins,
Who can support bare being, unendow’d
With gust voluptuous, or reflection proud?
No more bright images the brain commands,—
No great design the glowing heart expands,—
No longer shines the animated face,—
Motion and speech forget their conscious grace.
How can the brave, the witty, and the gay
Survive, when mirth, wit, courage die away?
None but the Christian’s all-comprising power
Subdues each chance, and lives through every hour:
Watchful, he suffers all, and feels within
All smart proportion’d to some root of sin;
He strikes each error with his Maker’s rod,
And, by self-knowledge, penetrates to God.”

Gambold entered Christ Church College in the same year that Charles Wesley did, the latter being more than two years older than the former. John Wesley also was a member of the same college, and twelve months before, on September 19, 1725, had been ordained a deacon. In 1729, the society of Oxford Methodists was formed by Charles Wesley; and, a year afterwards, Gambold, still only in his teens, became one of them. He shall narrate his own story, written when Wesley was in Georgia. The account is long; but, containing as it does a full description of the rise and peculiarities of the “Holy Club,” and a faithful delineation of the character and influence of their confessed “curator,” it is too important to be omitted. Gambold writes:—

“Mr. Wesley, late of Lincoln College, has been the instrument
of so much good to me, that, I shall never forget him. Could
I remember him as I ought, it would have very near the same
effect as if he was still present; for a conversation so
unreserved as was his, so zealous in engaging his friends to
every instance of Christian piety, has left nothing now to be
said, nothing but what occurs to us as often as we are disposed
to remember him impartially.

“About the middle of March, 1730, I became acquainted with
Mr. Charles Wesley, of Christ Church. I was just then come up
from the country, and had made a resolution to find out some
pious persons of religion to keep company with, or else to
instil something of it into those I knew already. I had been,
for two years before, in deep melancholy: so God was pleased
to order it, to disappoint and break a proud spirit, and to
embitter the world to me; as I was inclining to relish its
vanities. During this time, I had no friend to whom I could
open my mind, to any purpose. No man did care for my soul; or
none, at least, understood its paths. They, that were at ease,
could not guess what my sorrow was for. The learned endeavoured
to give me right notions, and the friendly to divert me. But
I had a weight upon my heart, which only prayer could in some
degree remove. I prepared myself to make trial of the value
and comfort of society, being a little recovered. One day, an
old acquaintance entertained me with some reflections on the
whimsical Mr. Wesley, his preciseness and pious extravagancies.
Though I had lived with him four years in the same college,
yet, so unable was I to take notice of anything that passed,
that I knew nothing of his character; but, upon hearing this,
I suspected he might be a good Christian. I therefore went to
his room, and, without any ceremony, desired the benefit of
his conversation. I had so large a share of it henceforth,
that hardly a day passed, while I was at college, but we were
together once, if not oftener.

“After some time, he introduced me to his brother John, of
Lincoln College. ‘For,’ said he, ‘he is somewhat older than
I, and can resolve your doubts better.’ This, as I found
afterwards, was a thing which he was deeply sensible of; for
I never observed any person have a more real deference for
another, than he constantly had for his brother. Indeed, he
followed his brother entirely. Could I describe one of them,
I should describe both. And therefore I shall say no more of
Charles, but that he was a man made for friendship; who, by his
cheerfulness and vivacity, would refresh his friend’s heart;
with attentive consideration, would enter into and settle all
his concerns; so far as he was able, would do anything for him,
great or small; and, by a habit of openness and freedom, leave
no room for misunderstanding.

“The Wesleys were already talked of for some religious
practices, which were first occasioned by Mr. Morgan, of Christ
Church. From these combined friends, began a little society;
for several others, from time to time, fell in; most of them
only to be improved by their serious and useful discourse; and
some few espousing all their resolutions and their whole way of
life.

“Mr. John Wesley was always the chief manager, for which he
was very fit; for he not only had more learning and experience
than the rest, but he was blest with such activity as to be
always gaining ground, and such steadiness that he lost none.
What proposals he made to any was sure to charm them, because
he was so much in earnest; nor could they afterwards slight
them, because they saw him always the same. What supported this
uniform vigour, was the care he took to consider well of every
affair before he engaged in it, making all his decisions in
the fear of God, without passion, humour, or self-confidence:
for, though he had naturally a very clear apprehension, yet,
his exact prudence depended more on humanity and singleness
of heart. To this I may add, that he had, I think, something
of authority in his countenance; though, as he did not want
address, he could soften his manner, and point it as occasion
required. Yet, he never assumed anything to himself above his
companions. Any of them might speak their mind, and their words
were as strictly regarded by him as his were by them.

“It was their custom to meet most evenings, either at his
chamber or one of the others, where, after some prayers, (the
chief subject of which was charity,) they ate their supper
together, and he read some book. But the chief business was
to review what each had done that day, in pursuance of their
common design, and to consult what steps were to be taken the
next.

“Their undertaking included these several particulars:—to
converse with young students; to visit the prisons; to instruct
some poor families; and to take care of a school, and a parish
workhouse.

“They took great pains with the younger members of the
University, to rescue them from bad company, and encourage them
in a sober, studious life. If they had some interest with any
such, they would get them to breakfast; and, over a dish of
tea, endeavour to fasten some good hint upon them. They would
bring them acquainted with other well disposed young men. They
would help them in those parts of learning which they stuck at.
They would close with their best sentiments, drive on their
convictions, give them rules of piety, when they would receive
them, and watch over them with great tenderness.

“Some or other of them went to the Castle every day; and
another most commonly to Bocardo. Whoever came to the Castle
was to read in the chapel to as many prisoners as would attend,
and to talk to the man or men whom he had taken particularly
in charge. Before reading, he asked: Whether they had prayers
yesterday? (For some serious men among the prisoners read
family prayers with the rest.) Whether they had read over again
what was read last, and what they remembered of it? Then he
went over the heads of it to them; and afterwards went on in
the same book for a quarter of an hour. The books they used
were the ‘Christian Monitor,’ the ‘Country Parson’s Advice
to his Parishioners,’ and such-like. When he had done, he
summed up the several particulars that had been insisted on,
enforced the advice given, and reduced it at last to two or
three sentences, which they might easily remember. Then he took
his man aside, and asked him, Whether he was in the chapel
yesterday? and other questions concerning his care to serve
God, and learn his duty.

“When a new prisoner came, their conversation with him, for
four or five times, was particularly close and searching.
Whether he bore no malice towards those that did prosecute him,
or any others? The first time, after professions of good-will,
they only inquired of his circumstances in the world. Such
questions imported friendship, and engaged the man to open
his heart. Afterwards, they entered upon such enquiries as
most concern a prisoner. Whether he submitted to this disposal
of Providence? Whether he repented of his past life? Last
of all, they asked him, Whether he constantly used private
prayer, and whether he had ever communicated? Thus, most or
all of the prisoners were spoken to in their turns. But, if
any one was either under sentence of death, or appeared to
have some intentions of a new life, they came every day to
his assistance; and partook in the conflict and suspense of
those who should now be found able, or not able, to lay hold
on salvation. In order to release those who were confined
for small debts, and were bettered by their affliction, and
likewise to purchase books, physic, and other necessaries,—they
raised a small fund, to which many of their acquaintance
contributed quarterly. They had prayers at the Castle most
Wednesdays and Fridays, a sermon on Sundays, and the Sacrament
once a month.

“When they undertook any poor family, they saw them, at least,
once a week; sometimes gave them money; admonished them of
their vices; read to them, and examined their children.

“The school was, I think, of Mr. Wesley’s own setting up. At
all events, he paid the mistress, and clothed some, if not all,
of the children. When they went thither, they enquired how each
child behaved; saw their work (for some could knit and spin);
heard them read; heard them their prayers and catechism; and
explained part of it.

“In the same manner, they taught the children in the workhouse;
and read to the old people as they did to the prisoners.

“Though some practices of Mr. Wesley and his friends were
much blamed,—as their fasting on Wednesday and Friday, after
the custom of the Primitive Church,—their coming on those
Sundays, when there was no sacrament in their own colleges, to
receive it at Christ Church,—yet nothing was so much disliked
as these charitable employments. They seldom took any notice
of the accusations brought against them; but, if they made
any reply, it was commonly such a plain and simple one, as
if there was nothing more in the case, but that they had
heard such doctrines of their Saviour, and believed and done
accordingly,—‘Shall we be the more happy in another life, the
more virtuous we are in this? Are we the more virtuous, the
more intensely we love God and man? Is love, as all habits, the
more intense, the more we exercise it? Is either helping, or
trying to help man, for God’s sake, an exercise of love to God
or man? Particularly, Is the feeding the hungry, the giving
drink to the thirsty, the clothing the naked, the visiting sick
persons, or prisoners, an exercise of love to God or man? Is
the endeavouring to teach the ignorant, to admonish sinners, to
encourage the good, to comfort the afflicted, to confirm the
wavering, and to reconcile enemies, an exercise of love to God
or man? Shall we be the more happy in another life, if we do
the former of these things, and try to do the latter? Or if we
do not the one, nor try to do the other?”

In the above extracts, the reader has the practices which principally distinguished the Oxford Methodists from their fellows. The account is full of interest, and of great importance, being written by one of the members of this godly brotherhood, and immediately after that brotherhood was broken up. The remainder of Gambold’s narrative is chiefly a defence and eulogy of Wesley, their “Curator;” and only such parts of it will be given as affect the whole of these earnest students. Gambold continues:—

“What I would chiefly remark upon, is the manner in which Mr.
Wesley directed his friends.

“Because he required such a regulation of our studies, as might
devote them all to God, he has been cried out upon as one that
discouraged learning. Far from that;—the first thing he struck
at in young men, was that indolence which would not submit to
close thinking. Nor was he against reading much, especially
at first; because then the mind ought to fill itself with
materials, and try every thing that looks bright and perfect.

“He earnestly recommended to them a method and order in all
their actions. After their morning devotions (which were at
a fixed and early hour, from five to six being the time,
morning as well as evening), he advised them to determine with
themselves what they were to do all the parts of the day. By
such foresight, they would, at every hour’s end, not be in
doubt how to dispose of themselves; and, by bringing themselves
under the necessity of such a plan, they might correct the
impotence of a mind that had been used to live by humour and
chance, and prepare it by degrees to bear the other restraints
of a holy life.

“The next thing was to put them upon keeping the fasts,
visiting poor people, and coming to the weekly Sacrament: not
only to subdue the body, increase charity, and obtain Divine
grace; but (as he expressed it) to cut off their retreat to
the world. He judged, that, if they did these things, men
would cast out their name as evil, and, by the impossibility
of keeping fair any longer with the world, oblige them to
take their whole refuge in Christianity. But those, whose
resolutions he thought would not bear this test, he left to
gather strength by their secret exercises.

“It was his earnest care to introduce them to the treasures of
wisdom and hope in the Holy Scriptures: to teach them not only
to endure that book, but to form themselves by it, and to fly
to it as the great antidote against the darkness of this world.
For some years past, he and his friends read the New Testament
together at evening. After every portion of it, having heard
the conjectures the rest had to offer, he made his observations
on the phrase, design, and difficult places. One or two wrote
these down from his mouth.

“He laid much stress upon self-examination. He taught them
(besides what occurs in his Collection of Prayers) to take
account of their actions in a very exact manner, by writing a
constant diary. In this, they noted down in cipher, once if not
oftener in the day, what chiefly their employments had been
in the several parts of it, and how they had performed each.
Mr. Wesley had these records of his life by him for many years
past. And some I have known, who, to seal their convictions
and make their repentance more solemn, would write down such
reflections upon themselves as the anguish of their soul at
that time suggested, adding any spiritual maxim which some
experience of their own had confirmed to them.

“Then, to keep in their minds an awful sense of God’s presence,
with a constant dependence on His help, he advised them to
ejaculatory prayers. They had a book of Ejaculations relating
to the chief virtues, and, lying by them as they stood at their
studies, they at intervals snatched a short petition out of it.
But at last, instead of that variety, they contented themselves
with the following aspirations (containing acts of faith, hope,
love, and self-resignation at the end of every hour)—‘Consider
and hear me,’ etc.

“The last means he recommended was meditation. Their usual time
for this was the hour next before dinner.

“After this, he committed them to God. What remained for him to
do, was to encourage them in the discomforts and temptations
they might feel, and to guard them against all spiritual
delusions. In this spiritual care of his acquaintance, Mr.
Wesley persisted amidst all discouragements. He overlooked
not only one’s absurd or disagreeable qualities, but even
his coldness and neglect of him, if he thought it might be
conquered. He helped one in things out of religion, that he
might be more welcome to help him in that. His knowledge of the
world, and his insight into physic, were often of use to us.

“If any one could have provoked him, I should; for I was slow
in coming into his measures, and very remiss in doing my part.
I frequently contradicted his assertions; or, which is much the
same, distinguished upon them. I hardly ever submitted to his
advice at the time he gave it, though I relented afterwards.
One time he was in fear, that, I had taken up notions that were
not safe, and pursued my spiritual improvement in an erroneous,
because inactive, way. So he came over and stayed with me near
a week. He accosted me with the utmost softness, condoled with
me the incumbrances of my constitution, heard all I had to say,
endeavoured to pick out my meaning, and yielded to me as far as
he could. I never saw more humility in him than at this time.
It was enough to cool the warmest imaginations that swell an
overweening heart. It was, indeed, his custom to humble himself
most before the proud,—not to reproach them; but, in a way of
secret intercession, to procure their pardon.

“He had not only friends in Oxford to assist, but a great many
correspondents. He set apart one day at least in the week (and
he was no slow composer) for writing letters; in which, without
levity or affectation, but with plainness and fervour, he gave
his advice in particular cases, and vindicated the strict
original sense of the Gospel precepts.”[122]

This long account does something more than give a general idea of the Oxford Methodists and of their distinguished leader. It exhibits the course of life adopted by Gambold in his twentieth year. Like the rest of his youthful friends, he became an earnest religionist; but he was not happy. “He gave way to desponding thoughts; neglected his person and apparel; confined himself as much as possible to his room; and applied, in search of information and comfort, to the works of such authors as he supposed could satisfy his inquiries, namely, the fathers of the first ages of the Christian Church. Of these, the most abstruse were his greatest favourites, and particularly those which are called mystics. Being well versed in the Greek language, he was much pleased with that energy of expression in which it excels. The deep speculations of these ancient writers, their beautiful allusions, the richness of style with which they clothed their ideas, and the strain of piety running through the whole, suited his taste, and so far influenced his understanding, that he adopted their sentiments, went the same lengths with them in the scenes of imagination, and, by degrees, became so much like one of them, that his cast of mind bore a nearer resemblance to that which was peculiar in them, than to any that appeared among the modern. By a close attention to writers of this stamp, he contracted such a turn of mind, and imbibed such an exalted notion of internal purity, that he could not be satisfied with himself, unless he became such a refined being as those philosophical Christians portrayed. This being the state to which his aim was directed, he spared no pains to model himself according to the idea which he had formed of it. His exertions were abortive. Disappointment occasioned great concern;” and it was not until after years of laborious endeavour to form and establish a righteousness of his own, that he was led to submit to “the righteousness of God, by faith of Jesus Christ.”

In September, 1733, he was ordained, by Dr. Potter, Bishop of Oxford; and, as soon as he was capable of holding a living, was instituted to that of Stanton-Harcourt. In this sequestered village, where his parochial duties were not numerous, he had more leisure than was desirable to pursue his philosophical inquiries. He loved retirement, and seldom went abroad. But whenever he could prevail upon himself to visit any of his friends, and, among the rest, Lord Harcourt, he was received with much respect. His abilities, both natural and acquired, were great, but his unfeigned humility was so apparent to every one with whom he conversed, that, his superior powers excited no dislike in any. Indeed, his whole conduct was so inoffensive, that he very rarely, if ever, made himself an enemy. Still, his philosophical and platonic kind of religion failed to make him happy, and was of little use to his rustic parishioners. Four years were spent,—almost wasted,—in those high flights of imagination, deep speculation, intense reflection, and metaphysical reasoning, to which his natural disposition inclined him.

Meanwhile, his friendship with the Wesleys was continued. Charles returned from Georgia in the month of December, 1736; and, in the following February, speaks of meeting his “good friend Mr. Gambold,” at Oxford, who was “right glad to see” him. In fact, at this period and more or less for at least a year and a half afterwards, Kezziah Wesley, the youngest surviving sister of John and Charles, was domiciled with Gambold and his sister (who kept his house,) at Stanton-Harcourt. Poor Kezziah, from childhood, had been delicate, and her health had not been bettered by her residence at Lincoln, where, at nineteen years of age, she became a teacher in a boarding-school, and was painfully in want of both clothes and money. Her life was a wandering one. For a time, she lived in the house of the Vicar of Bexley, the Rev. Mr. Piers, and, afterwards, she resided with an aunt at Islington. It was not long that she needed the kindness of her friends, for, at the age of thirty-one, nearly a year and a half before the decease of her Christian mother, she peacefully expired, on the 9th of March, 1741.[123]

John Wesley landed in England on February 1, 1738; and, a week afterwards, met with Peter Böhler, just arrived from Germany. Within a fortnight, the two Wesleys, accompanied by Böhler, set out for Oxford, whence all the first brotherhood of Oxford Methodists were now dispersed. The elder Wesley writes:—

“I found not one of those who had formerly joined with me; and
only three gentlemen who trod in their steps, building up one
another in the faith.”

The nearest to Oxford was Gambold; and, accordingly, on February 18th, Wesley says:—

“We went to Stanton-Harcourt, to Mr. Gambold, and found my
old friend recovered from his mystic delusion, and convinced
that St. Paul was a better writer than either Tauler or Jacob
Behmen.”

Gambold was already returning to gospel simplicity; and his acquaintance with Böhler rendered him service of the highest importance. Böhler held meetings in Oxford, attended both by members of the university and citizens. He delivered discourses in Latin, and Gambold interpreted them for the benefit of those of his audiences who were unfamiliar with that language. This friendship with the newly arrived German, proved the means, not only of the conversion of the two Wesleys, but, ultimately of Gambold also.

“After many struggles and conflicting thoughts, arising from
repeated attempts to combine philosophy with the simplicity
of the gospel; he, at length, by the grace of God, yielded
to the power of the latter. He saw and lamented his natural
depravity and consequent alienation from God, and also the
insufficiency of his best works to merit heaven. He rejoiced
in the sufficiency of the atonement of Jesus to sanctify and
justify every true believer in Him. His former melancholy was
dissipated; his spirit was made joyful in God his Saviour; and
he became, in the fullest sense of the term, a new man.”[124]

The following letters will show the change which took place in Gambold’s views and feelings. The first was addressed to Wesley, and has never before been published. As will be seen, it was written three days before Wesley’s return from Georgia, and, consequently, before Wesley and Gambold became acquainted with Böhler. It is given here without abridgment, and verbatim.

“_January 27, 1737-8._

“DEAR SIR,—The point you mention has long been a difficulty to
me; of which I could find no end, but that general solution of
all doubt, and cure of all anxieties, resignation to eternal
Providence. Can I offer a more particular solution now? No; but
I will let you see, that I, and doubtless many more, labour
under the same perplexity; which will incline one to believe,
that, as God has a fire of grace to cleanse us from our common
pollutions, so he has also a light in reserve, (and the needs
of so many strongly call for it,) that would give a comfortable
turn to our common speculations.

“O, what is regeneration? And what doth baptism? How shall we
reconcile faith and fact? Is Christianity become effete, and
sunk again into the bosom of nature? Was the short triumph of
it over flesh and blood designed as the standing enjoyment,
or standing humiliation of succeeding ages? Was the Church to
condemn the world as God does, in order to meet and embrace it
at last?

“What advantage would a deist make of the present appearance
of things? He would say, that, when the gospel, by setting
up some particular institutions, made a separation from
natural religion, it was only an economical enmity;—the new
dispensation did operate upon the old, as plaisters do upon
the body, which, when they have spent their strength in
expelling its diseases, drop off, and leave it sound, clean,
and beautiful. That, the distance it stood in from it, was only
a means to correct the prejudices, and manage the affections
of mankind; and, as these ends were served, Christianity and
natural religion were to come closer. That, the former was to
lose its name in the latter, when its whole light was kindled
up,—when the grace of a Redeemer, the inward touches of divine
power, and the obligations of penance and self-denial, which
were received for a while as extraneous appendages to natural
religion, were found to be involved in the very bowels of it.
That, the restitution of all things is the time when they shall
fully be reconciled; when nature and grace shall be at their
height, and the perfection of both be the same thing. That,
this conclusion seems to be nigh us in the present age, when
evangelical and moral virtue, which formerly stood in points
so remote from each other, are so near falling into coincident
lines, that, men have much ado to make any distinction that
will hold in fact.

“But to come to the point. That regeneration is the beginning
of a life which is not fully enjoyed but in another world, we
all know. But how much of it may be enjoyed at present? What
degree of it does the experience of mankind encourage us to
expect? And by what symptoms shall we know it?

“Let us consult our observation as to the gradual progress
of a religious life. At first, men are solicited with strong
convictions of conscience: the pain of these and the sensible
pleasure they feel as rewarding their acts of duty, are
their bias to religion; while an overwhelming admiration of
divine things, and a view to the issues of eternity, check
their natural boldness and levity; at once abase and enlarge
the understanding; and, from the anguish of hope and fear,
produce zeal. Then, having reformed all crying disorders, and
being prompt and expert in exercises of devotion, there is
less matter for vehement remorse or fear; and the peace and
congratulation of conscience hereupon being comfort sufficient,
the more transporting flashes of joy are withdrawn; and thus,
the man, having no religious passions, and being in war with
corrupt passions, acquaints himself with the measures, motives,
and fitness of virtues, and acts them in the strength of
rational consideration.

“Here he labours long, and seems perhaps to have overcome all
his vicious inclinations; (unless some one may show itself,
more to his secret confusion and pain, than guilt,) being
always in a posture of religious care, severity of thought,
and habitual regularity of life. But then he complains of
a general lukewarmness,—his intercourse with God is not
enlivened with any particular successes, tender affections,
or noble discoveries. For this he is much afflicted; yet, in
the multitude of his thoughts within him, there is a good hope
towards God at the bottom, which becomes more explicit by
listening to the gospel. The redemption through Christ drops
like balm into his soul, and he scruples not now to confess
that his religious actions were but formal and worthless; yet,
through gratitude to his Saviour and joy in Him, he is more
ready than ever to continue the practice of them.

“Yet, he frequently falls into faintings and desolations. He
is chiefly troubled at the opposition which self-love and
pride make to the spirit of Christ within him. These make
him unfaithful in the happy moments of grace, and infest him
continually in his weaker intervals. Yea, he can trace them
through every action of his life, and begin to see the depth
and extent of his depravity. Hereupon, he keeps himself in
constant recollection, to watch and resist it. He rejoices
that, upon applying to God, a temptation vanishes; yet, very
often it dwells so obstinately upon his mind, that his thoughts
are shut up within the circle of their own folly and baseness,
and he can only send groanings that cannot be uttered after
the divine gift he once enjoyed. That gift, however, returns,
and sometimes so long together, that he is able to form some
idea of a spiritual life,—of the purity and long-suffering,
the humility and charity, the magnanimity and singleness of
heart, that are suitable for one in whom the Holy Spirit
dwells. His desire insensibly sets him on work to procure those
dispositions, which follow upon his wish; for the soul no
sooner conceives the temper it would be in, but the body (being
taught that obsequiousness by the strong recollection lately
used, which suspends, clarifies, and determines the animal
spirit) immediately furnishes the sensation, air, and whole
energy of that temper.

“These smooth and ready emotions of virtue, which seem to give
a man a more real and genuine possession of it than ever, do
also encourage the mind to launch out in sublime theories;
wherein it is much assisted by the repose and security it
enjoys towards God, and by the delicate philosophic joy
overflowing all the faculties, which raises the imagination
to greater magnificence and sagacity. Here the grand system
of Providence and all its various dispensations; the
correspondencies of heaven and earth, of time and eternity;
the gaiety and mournings of nature, and the greatness and
abjectness of man; the saving mystery of human life, and the
saving mystery of Christianity inserted into it;—all these
are inquired into, not out of vain curiosity, but at the
instigation of love, to salute the divine goodness in all its
works. This is the meridian of the religious man. His notions
and his virtues are at the height, in their full clearness and
fervour. The love of holiness shines through him, and unites
under it all the movements of nature. It commands and pierces
all that converse with him. All, after this, is, to the eye of
man, a decline and a fall; but a decline by a regular appointed
path, and a fall into the arms of secret and infinite mercy.
I need not explain to you what I mean; so I will shut up the
description.

“Now, where in all these stages shall we place our
regeneration? And what shall we say it is? There is reason to
think, that, we have no more real goodness (except experience)
in one of these states than another,—in the last than the
first; we only fill our minds with new sets of ideas, and, by
a temporary force, drive our constitution into something that
seems answerable to them. Let this force cease, and we are
the same as before; when we are in the most plausible posture
of virtue, let us but sleep upon it, or otherwise remit the
contention of the mind, and ’tis no more; affectation gives
place to nature.

“But, you will say, the operation of grace is a real thing. It
is so; but, for all the indications we commonly go by to prove
the peculiar presence of it, it may be nowhere or everywhere
to be found. Most people measure it by the relish they have
for some particular schemes and draughts of religion. Little
do they think, that, the persons whom they most condemn as
unspiritual and deluded, abating for what is merely accidental,
are in the same state of heart as themselves. It may be the
same complexional turn of the soul, (God also speaking peace
to it, and to every man in his own language,) that makes the
mystic happy in his prayer and quietness, the solifidian in his
imputed righteousness, and the moral man in a good conscience.
Nay, perhaps, what many a man calls divine love and joy in the
Holy Ghost, has nothing in it, beyond the alacrity of youth or
good blood in other people, but a set of phrases and notions
from the last book he read; which has given a determination
to that natural vigour and sweetness of temper, that were
indifferent to any other issue or exercise.

“I do not doubt but there is goodness in mankind, and a
goodness of God’s inspiring too; but, I believe it more evenly
distributed among them, and less annexed to particular ways of
thinking and behaviour. Nay, that it is not so annexed even to
Christianity, (though it does essentially depend on Christ,
the universal Redeemer,) but, that, as it was in being before
this particular institution, so it might be obtained if the
initiating rite should happen to be wanting. Yet, this rite
must always be used, for the same reason as it was at first
appointed, to be memorial to mankind of what is continually
done for them in their hearts. Therefore, it was attended
with such extraordinary effects at first, that, by these
manifestations of the divine life, the reality of it might be
firmly believed and depended on in succeeding times, as well as
sacramentally acknowledged. The same would still continue, if
we had more faith in, and zeal for, the Christian institution;
for, according as men believe and expect, God does unto them.
But, at present, He seems to have let the Church drop into the
world, and does not so much distinguish some from the rest, in
righteousness and salvation.

“Whether this be a right state of things, I cannot tell; but it
seems unavoidable when every one that is born, is, of course,
a member of the Church. If the safety and tolerable piety of
whole nations is thereby better provided for, the exemplariness
and instruction of an elect city set upon a hill cease. It
seems to be the order of Providence now, that none should have
much holiness, that all may have a little.

“Dear sir, I have given no particular answer to your questions;
but I have said something hastily, perhaps very wrong; but I
know to whom Miss Wesley[125] gives her love, and would have
written, but she is somewhat indisposed.

“Your affectionate brother and servant,

“J. GAMBOLD.”

Such was Gambold’s philosophical religion, previous to his acquaintance with Peter Böhler. He was sincere and in earnest; but he was enveloped in a mystic fog. His was a grand attempt to save himself, but how the thing was to be accomplished he hardly knew. It was greatly to his credit, as it was also to that of Wesley, that he was willing to be taught, even by a German stranger. Twelve months after the date of the foregoing letter, Gambold wrote another equally important. In the interval, both he and the two Wesley’s had been “brought out of” Pharisaic and Philosophic “darkness into marvellous light.” The two letters have only to be compared to see the surprising change in the writer’s views. The following was addressed to Wesley’s brother Charles:—

“_January 23rd, 1738-9._

“DEAR SIR,—I understand that you have written to me, but the
letter happened to be lost, and I did not receive it. Your
brother desired me to reed his sermon for him; which, God
willing, I shall do next Sunday.

“I have seen upon this occasion, more than ever I could have
imagined, how intolerable the doctrine of faith is to the mind
of man; how peculiarly intolerable, even to most religious
men. One may say the most unchristian things, even down to
deism; the most enthusiastic things, so they proceed but upon
mental raptures, lights, and unions; the most severe things,
even the whole rigour of ascetic mortification; and all this
will be forgiven. But if you speak of faith, in such a manner
as makes Christ a Saviour to the utmost,—a most universal help
and refuge,—in such a manner as takes away glorying, but adds
happiness to wretched man; as discovers greater pollution in
the best of us than we could before acknowledge, but brings a
greater deliverance from it, than we could before expect. If
any one offers to talk at this rate, he shall be heard with the
same abhorrence as if he were going to rob mankind of their
salvation, their Mediator, and their hopes of forgiveness.