PART II.
1739.
Age 36
LONDON in 1739 was widely different from what it is at present. The population, including Westminster and all the parishes within the Bills of Mortality, was about 600,000, or a fifth of the population now. London Bridge was the only highway across the majestic Thames that the Londoners possessed; and that was covered with antique houses, from end to end, forming a sort of picturesque extension of Gracechurch Street, from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore,—a narrow, darksome, and dangerous thoroughfare with an arched gateway at each end of it, generally bristling with spikes, and often adorned with the heads of traitors. The site of the present Mansion House was a fruit market, having on one side of it a row of shady trees and on the other a conduit, surmounted by an equestrian statue of King Charles II. Islington, Hoxton, Hackney, and Bethnal Green were country villages. On the Surrey side, all beyond the King’s Bench prison was fields and open country. The Elephant and Castle stands where the small hamlet of Newington then stood. Walworth, Camberwell, Brixton, Peckham, and Clapham were rural haunts, far from the hum and noise of the great city. Even Lambeth was a vast conglomerated garden, extending from Kennington Common to what is now Westminster Bridge. Eastward—Blackwall, Poplar, Bow, and Stepney were somewhat distant collections of scattered houses, surrounded respectively by fields and gardens. Westward—Chelsea, Knightsbridge, Marylebone, and Tottenham Court were all in open country. Even Belgravia was a farm of arable and pasture land; while all the space, between Westminster and what is now Vauxhall Bridge, was a dreary tract of stunted, dusty, trodden grass, the resort of badgerbaiters and other rampant blackguards, and known by the name of Tothill Fields.
Moorfields, the scene of Wesley’s earliest evangelistic labours, and where he opened his Foundery meeting-house, was what would now-a-days be called a park, laid out in grass plots, intersected by broad gravel walks, and the favourite resort of citizens seeking exercise and recreation. Beneath a row of well grown elms was what the promenaders designated “the city mall,” and which in the smartness of its company often rivalled the mall of St. James’s Park. Here might be seen wives and daughters flaunting in all their finery and displaying their charms to city maccaronis, whose hats were cocked diagonally, and who gave themselves quite as many airs as the aristocratic coxcombs in the royal grounds. Under the trees were booths, whose fans, toys, trinkets, and confectionery found ready purchasers; while on the grass plots were erected mountebank diversions for the amusement of the people.
What a contrast between London then and London now! And yet, even then, London was thought to be dangerously too large. An able writer, in one of the magazines for 1762, argued that great cities are perilous to a nation’s welfare; and in proof quoted Nineveh, Babylon, Persepolis, Tyre, Carthage, Rome, Athens, Memphis, Baalbec, Palmyra, Thebes, Jerusalem, etc. He contended that it was pernicious policy to suffer the eighth part of an entire nation to live in one crowded town; for when so many myriads lived on ground which produced nothing they were under the necessity of living by their wits—that is, by sharping and over-reaching, and by inventing idle and vicious amusements. Hence it was that in London there was such a multiplication of playhouses, operas, ridottos, and masquerades; and that almost one-half of some of the London parishes was converted into brothels by bawds and pimps. The anonymous alarmist was doubtless treated with contempt, but his theory deserves attention.
London was great, but it was wicked. And no wonder. Riches in the case of nations, as in the case of individuals, often lead to extravagance and luxury. Thus it was in England, in the reign of the second George. Superb edifices rose up on every hand, almost vieing with the palaces of princes. Carriages, glittering with gold and crystal, rattled over city pavements with the utmost ostentation. Ridottos, balls, masquerades, and midnight banquets, were of constant occurrence. Every night innumerable lamps illuminated public gardens, where hosts of fashionable and licentious fops might be seen lolling in gilded alcoves, killing time, and lulling their senses into an indolent oblivion. Arrayed in masks and the strangest dresses, gamblers, actors, and prostitutes mingled with persons of riches and of rank, and, amid the din of music and of dancing, conversed obscene discourse, and whispered indecent slanders. All classes caught the contagion, and even the tables of shopkeepers and mechanics were covered with costly dainties. Clerks and apprentices, servant-maids and cooks, decked themselves in apparel equal to that of their masters and mistresses; and finical sparks deemed it their privilege and right to frequent taverns, clubs, and theatres, adorned with the finest clothes, perukes, and jewellery.
What resulted from all this? Extravagance created greater wants than the people had means to meet. Patrimonial estates, and the gains of honest business were not enough to satisfy newly engendered appetites; and hence men appealed to an infernal sorceress, to correct, forsooth, the errors made in distributing the gifts of Providence. To eke out means which were found too scanty to gratify licentious and luxurious passions, robbery was made polite, and gambling an every day duty. Idleness threw the dice, and Folly built them into castles; Avarice clutched at gold, but Fraud, with a sly and quick conveyance, snatched it from his hand. Even ladies laid wagers at home, while their lords gambled abroad; and dice began to rattle on the costermonger’s barrow as well as upon the hazard tables of the noble and the rich. Money was looked upon as omnipotent; and the more men got the more they wanted, and especially when it was spent upon their own indulgences. An avaricious, mercenary spirit became general, and chiefly for the sake of vain display and sensual pleasures.
Poverty treads in the footsteps of extravagance. There were more equipages kept, and yet more taxes for the poor imposed; more diversions, and yet more want; more ladies of taste, and yet fewer housewives; more pomp, and yet less hospitality; more expense, and yet less frugality. In 1744, the grand jury of the county of Middlesex made a presentment to the effect, that “the advertisements in the newspapers were seducing the people to places for the encouragement of luxury, extravagance, and idleness; and that, by this means, families were ruined, and the kingdom dishonoured; and that, unless some superior authority put a stop to such riotous living, they feared it would lead to the destruction of the nation.”
The town abounded with men who regarded honour, honesty, and virtue as the merest phantoms;—men with whom promises were not binding, obligations were nullities, and impudence a duty;—dastards who might slander their neighbours, ridicule their superiors, be saucy to their equals, insolent to their inferiors, and abusive to all; to-day spaniels, to-morrow bullies, and at all times cowards; to whom learning was a burden, and books were baubles; vice being their delight, and virtue their aversion; demons in disguise, all order and symmetry without, and yet all rancour and rottenness within.
The country was an apt imitator of the vices of the town. There the squire, having, by idleness and bad company, forgotten the little learning he acquired at college, too often devoted himself to drinking and debauchery; while the common people were ignorant, superstitious, brutal, and bad behaved. Workmen entered into combinations to extort higher wages than their labour merited, or than their masters could afford; and even parliament had to pass enactments limiting the salaries of tailors. Smuggling was enormous; and, in 1744, it was calculated that, in the county of Suffolk only, not fewer than 4,500 horses were employed in carrying merchandise of a contraband character.
This dark picture might easily be enlarged, not from posterior writings, or even from the religious publications of the period, but from periodicals, magazines, and newspapers, which had no temptation to represent the customs, manners, usages, and vices of the age in a worse aspect than was warranted by facts. Wesley, as will be seen hereafter, used strong and startling language; but there is nothing in Wesley’s writings which exceeds the hideous delineations found in the popular literature published contemporaneously by other impartial and mere worldly writers, who are above suspicion. The Weekly Miscellany for 1732 broadly asserts that the people were engulfed in voluptuousness and business; and that a zeal for godliness looked as odd upon a man as would the antiquated dress of his great grandfather. It states that freethinkers were formed into clubs, to propagate their tenets, and to make the nation a race of profligates; and that atheism was scattered broadcast throughout the kingdom. It affirms that it was publicly avowed that vice was profitable to the state; that the country would be benefited by the establishment of public stews; and that polygamy, concubinage, and even sodomy were not sinful.
In many respects the reign of the second George bore a striking resemblance to the present day. There was unexampled wealth, followed by luxury, display, dissipation, gambling, irreligion, and wickedness. The pastoral letters of Bishop Gibson, published at this period, show that most pernicious efforts were put forth to undermine religion, and to make men infidels. One class of writers laboured to set aside all Christian ordinances, the Christian ministry, and a Christian church. Another so allegorized the meaning of the miracles of Christ, as to take away their reality. Others displayed the utmost zeal for natural religion in opposition to revealed; and all, or most, under the pretence of pleading for the liberties of men, ran into the wildest licentiousness. Reason was recommended as a full and sufficient guide in matters of religion, and the Scriptures were to be believed only as they agreed or disagreed with the light of nature.
The same causes give birth to the same effects. Things reproduce themselves. The words of Solomon are as truthful now as when he wrote them,—“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”
By reviving religion, Methodism saved the nation more than a hundred years ago; and now that the nation presents the same aspect, to a great extent, as it presented then, and is threatened with the same disasters, is it not certain that nothing but an agency analogous to the Methodism then raised up will be found sufficient to check the progress of antiquated errors now revived; to stem the aboundings of licentiousness; and to make men feel that wealth is given, not to be spent in display and luxury, but in honouring God, and in promoting the happiness of the human race?
The revival of religion, which occurred about the time when Methodism commenced its marvellous career, was a world-wide one.
The Moravian movement in Germany has been already noticed.
In America, the work began in 1729, the very year in which the Oxford Methodists formed their first society. The Rev. Jonathan Edwards fanned the fire into a holy flame by preaching the grand old doctrine of “justification by faith alone.” In the town of Northampton, New England, containing two hundred families, there was scarcely a single person at the beginning of the year 1735 who was not deeply convinced of sin, and earnestly seeking salvation; and from day to day, for months, there were undeniable instances of genuine conversion. Almost every house was a house of prayer, and, in all companies, Christ was the theme of public conversation. The revival which commenced at Northampton spread throughout the greater part of the colony. All sorts of people,—high and low, rich and poor, wise and unwise, moral and immoral,—simultaneously became the subjects of the Spirit’s strivings, and were converted. This remarkable movement took place only a few months before Wesley set sail for Georgia, and continued for several years afterwards. Mr. Edwards published a narrative of its most striking incidents; and also his “Thoughts” as to “the way in which it ought to be acknowledged and promoted;” and from these two invaluable treatises we collect the following facts.
In many instances, conviction of sin and conversion were attended with intense physical excitement. Numbers fell prostrate on the ground, and cried aloud for mercy. The bodies of others were convulsed and benumbed. As chaos preceded creation, so in New England confusion went before conversion. The work was great and glorious, but was accompanied with noise and tumult. Men literally cried for mercy; but the loudest outcries were not so loud as the shrieks of Voltaire or Volney, when the prospect of eternity unmanned them. Stout-hearted sinners trembled; but not more than philosophers at the present day would do, if they had equally vivid views of the torments of the damned to which sin exposes them. There were groanings and faintings; transports and ecstasies; zeal sometimes more fervid than discreet; and passion not unfrequently more powerful than pious; but, from one end of the land to the other, multitudes of vain thoughtless sinners were unmistakably converted, and were made new creatures in Christ Jesus. Frolicking, night walking, singing lewd songs, tavern haunting, profane speaking, and extravagance in dress, were generally abandoned. The talk of the people was about the favour of God, an interest in Christ, a sanctified heart, and spiritual blessedness here and hereafter. The country was full of meetings of persons of all sorts and ages to read, pray, and sing praises. Oftentimes the people were wrought up into the highest transports of love, joy, and admiration, and had such views of the Divine perfections, and the excellencies of Christ, that, for five or six hours together, their souls reposed in a kind of sacred elysium, until the body seemed to sink beneath the weight of Divine discoveries, and nature was deprived of all ability to stand or speak. Connected with all this, there were no enthusiastic impulses, or supposed revelations, but trembling reverence, the mildest meekness, and warmest charity. To use Edwards’ own language, “The New Jerusalem, in this respect, had begun to come down from heaven, and perhaps never were more of the prelibations of heaven’s glory given upon earth.”
Of course there were men who opposed and maligned this blessed work of God’s Holy Spirit; or, at all events, did their utmost to discredit it by exposing, as they thought, the infirmities of those who were the chief agents used in promoting it. Ministers were blamed for their earnestness in voice and gesture, and for addressing themselves rather to the passions of their hearers than their reason. Others were censured for preaching the terrors of the law too frequently, and for frightening the people with hell-fire discourses. Objections were raised against so much time being spent in religious meetings; though the objectors had been significantly silent when the selfsame persons had formerly spent quite as much time, and even more, in taverns, and in sinful pleasures. Some were disgusted at the new converts so passionately warning, inviting, and entreating others to be saved. Some found fault with so much singing, forgetting that singing is one of the great employments of the beatified in heaven; and others found equal fault with children being allowed to meet together to read and pray, thus, unintentionally perhaps, resembling the priests and scribes, who were sore displeased when the children saluted Christ by shouting “Hosannah in the highest!” Thus did men mutter discontent when they ought to have sung praises; and not a few fell into the sin of those in olden times, who said concerning Christ, “He casteth out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils.”
At the very time that this marvellous religious revival broke out in America, a similar work was begun in Wales. Howel Harris was born at Trevecca in 1714, and, a few months before the Wesleys went to Georgia, found the forgiveness of sins, and was made unutterably happy by a Divine assurance of his adoption into the family of God. The Wesleys, however, had no acquaintance with him, nor he with them. While they were on the ocean he left his home in Wales, and entered the university from which they had so recently departed; but here he was so distressed with collegiate immoralities, that, after keeping but a single term, he returned to his native hills, and, without orders, began at once to preach the salvation which he himself experienced. It is a curious fact, not generally noticed, that the first lay preacher, in the great Methodist movement, was Howel Harris. He commenced preaching in Wales just when the Wesleys and Ingham commenced in Georgia; and, before Wesley reached Bristol in 1739, had been the means of a most glorious work being wrought in the neighbouring principality. Up to this period the morals of the Welsh were deplorably corrupt; and in this respect there was no difference between rich and poor, ministers and people; gluttony, drunkenness, and licentiousness were general. In the pulpits of parish churches the name of Christ was hardly ever uttered; and, in 1736, there were only six Dissenting chapels throughout the whole of northern Wales.
Harris first commenced visiting from house to house in his own native parish, and in neighbouring ones. Then the people flocked together, and, almost without knowing it, he began to preach. The magistrates and clergy threatened him; but their threats failed to silence him. For a maintenance, he set up a school, and meantime continued preaching. Numbers were convinced of sin, and these the young preacher, only twenty-two years of age, formed into small societies analogous to those of which he had read in Dr. Woodward’s History. At the end of 1737, persecuting malice ejected him from his school; but, as in other instances so in this, it overshot its mark; for this, instead of silencing the preacher, made him preach more than ever. He now gave himself entirely to the work of an evangelist, and henceforth generally delivered three or four, and sometimes five or six, sermons every day to crowded congregations. A wide-spread reformation followed. Public diversions became unfashionable, and religion became the theme of common conversation. A few began to help him, of whom the venerable Rev. Griffith Jones was the most prominent. In 1737, this devoted clergyman instituted his movable free schools; and a letter published in the Glasgow Weekly History, of 1742, describes him as “one of the most excellent preachers in Great Britain.” Not a few of the teachers in his peripatetic schools became Methodist preachers; and certainly their travels as instructors, as well as his own preaching tours, prepared the way for the Methodist itinerant ministry.
Thus was Howel Harris an itinerant preacher at least a year and a half before Whitefield and Wesley were; and, as the brave-hearted herald of hundreds more who were to follow after him, he met the fiercest persecutions with an undaunted soul and an unflinching face. Parsons and country squires menaced him, and mobs swore and flung stones and sticks at him; but he calmly pursued his way, labouring almost alone in his own isolated sphere until he met with Whitefield in the town of Cardiff, in 1739. Whitefield says he found him “a burning and shining light; a barrier against profanity and immorality; and an indefatigable promoter of the gospel of Christ. During the last three years, he had preached almost twice every day, for three or four hours together; and, in his evangelistic tours, had visited seven counties, and had established nearly thirty societies; and still his sphere of action was enlarging daily.”
Almost contemporaneous with this marvellous work across the Atlantic and in Wales, was another across the Tweed, in Scotland. The facts following are taken from “A Faithful Narrative, written by James Robe, A.M., Minister of the Gospel at Kilsyth,” and printed in 1742.
For years past, there had been a sensible decay in the life and power of godliness in Scotland; but, in 1740, Mr. Robe began to preach upon the doctrine of regeneration. Meanwhile, a glorious revival of the work of God occurred at Cambuslang; and, on April 25, 1741, at Kilsyth. Sixteen children began to hold prayer-meetings in the town of Kirkintilloch, and the godly excitement became general. On every hand were heard cries, groans, and the voice of weeping. On the 16th of May, above thirty persons were awakened under the ministry of Mr. Robe, and, in a short time after, hundreds were converted in the country round about. Drunkenness, and swearing, and other flagrant sins were instantly abandoned; family worship was set up; meetings for prayer were established; and the people generally flocked to the house of God. Young converts held prayer-meetings in fields, barns, schoolhouses, and the manses of their ministers. Cambuslang, Kilsyth, Campsie, Kirkintilloch, Auchinloch, St. Ninians, Gargunnock, Calder, Badernock, Irvine, Long Dreghorn, Kilmarnock, Larbert, Dundee, Bothwell, Muthill, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other towns, villages, and parishes were visited with a most gracious outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit; and scenes of mercy were witnessed quite as striking as those which were occurring simultaneously both in England and America. Not a few of the converts, about one sixth of the whole, suffered such distress of mind, and were under such powerful religious influence, that they not only cried and shrieked aloud, but trembled, fainted, and were convulsed in their bodies most mysteriously—exhibiting the same physical affections as the converts in New England; and this evoked considerable opposition, and led the Associate Presbytery at Dunfermline, to pronounce the movement a “delusion, and the work of the grand deceiver.” Some were seized with such trembling that their friends had to render them support. Many of the females went into hysterics. Numbers, on finding peace, broke forth into rapturous weeping, and had their countenances so lit up with serenity and brightness, that their neighbours declared they had obtained not only new hearts, but new faces. A few, but not many, professed to have visions of hell, of heaven, of the devil, and of Jesus.
The writer gives these facts as he finds them. Mr. Robe, in his narrative, extending over hundreds of pages, endeavours to show that such effects were not without precedents, and quotes a great number of similar instances which had occurred, in different places, from the time of the Reformation downwards. It is no part of our purpose either to explain, justify, or condemn them. We shall shortly find the same kind of effects following the preaching of Wesley in England. At present, the reader is merely reminded of the wondrous and glorious fact, that the great Methodist revival of religion, begun in 1739, stood not alone; for God, in His sovereign mercy, was working works quite as great in Germany, America, and Scotland. The revival in Germany gave birth to the heroic, martyr-like Moravian church. That in America greatly prepared the way for Whitefield, and for the first Methodist missionaries to that huge continent. That in Scotland revived the almost expiring piety of the kirk across the border; and, doubtless, greatly contributed to the devout and increasing energy and zeal evinced by the different churches there from that day to this. And that in Wales has issued in results equally remarkable. God the Spirit is omnipresent, and can give a universal revival of truth and godliness as easily as a local one. It is, also, a significant fact, of vast importance, that the whole of these great revivals were begun by preaching the same kind of truth. Christian David, the carpenter, begun the work in Moravia by preaching the doctrine of salvation by simple faith in Christ; and so did Jonathan Edwards in America. The revival at Kilsyth sprang out of Mr. Robe’s sermons on regeneration; and no one need be told that these were the doctrines which formed the staple of Wesley’s and Whitefield’s sermons in Great Britain. This is the truth pre-eminently needed by man, in all ages, and in all lands; and this is the truth which, wherever preached, is always honoured, by being made the means of man’s salvation.
At the close of the year 1738, Wesley was almost uniformly excluded from the pulpits of the Established Church. During the whole of 1739, the only churches in which he was allowed to preach, were Basingshaw, Islington, St. Giles’, and St. Katherine’s churches, London; and the churches at Dummer, Clifton, Runwick, and St. Mary’s in Exeter. The first two months of the year were spent in the metropolis; but, with the exception of expounding in a few private houses, Wesley had to content himself with preaching not more than half-a-dozen sermons. In the month of March, he set out for Oxford, and wrote the following hitherto unpublished letter to his friend Whitefield. The letter is long, but full of interest.
“March 16, 1739.
“My dear Brother,—On Thursday, the 8th instant, we breakfasted at Mr. Score’s, Oxford, who is patiently waiting for the salvation of God. Thence we went to Mrs. Campton’s, who has set her face as a flint. After we had spent some time in prayer, Mr. Washington came with Mr. Gibbs, and read several passages out of Bishop Patrick’s Parable of the Pilgrim, to prove that we were all under a delusion, and that we were to be justified by faith and works. Charles Metcalfe withstood him to the face. After they were gone, we again besought our Lord, that He would maintain His own cause. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington and Mr. Watson were going about to all parts, and confirming the unfaithful; and at seven, when I designed to expound at Mrs. Campton’s, Mr. Washington was got there before me, and was beginning to read Bishop Bull against the witness of the Spirit. He told me he was authorized by the minister of the parish to do this. I advised all who valued their souls to depart; and, perceiving it to be the less evil of the two, that they who remained might not be perverted, I entered directly into the controversy, touching both the cause and fruits of justification. In the midst of the dispute, James Mears’s wife began to be in pain. I prayed with her when Mr. Washington was gone; and then we went down to sister Thomas’s. In the way, Mrs. Mears’s agony so increased, that she could not avoid crying out aloud in the street. With much difficulty, we got her to Mrs. Shrieve’s, where God heard us, and sent her deliverance, and where her husband also was set at liberty soon after. Presently Mrs. Shrieve fell into a strange agony both of body and mind; her teeth gnashed together; her knees smote each other; and her whole body trembled exceedingly. We prayed on; and, within an hour, the storm ceased; and she now enjoys a sweet calm, having remission of sins, and knowing that her Redeemer liveth.
“At my return to Mrs. Fox’s, I found our dear brother Kinchin just come from Dummer. We rejoiced, and gave thanks, and prayed, and took sweet counsel together; the result of which was, that instead of setting out for London, as I designed, on Friday morning, I set out for Dummer, there being no person to supply the church on Sunday. At Reading I found a young man, Cennick by name, strong in the faith of our Lord Jesus. He had begun a society there the week before; but the minister of the parish had now well-nigh overturned it. Several of the members of it spent the evening with us, and it pleased God to strengthen and comfort them.
“On Saturday morning, our brother Cennick rode with me, whom I found willing to suffer, yea, to die for his Lord. We came to Dummer in the afternoon: Miss Molly was weak in body, but strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Surely her light ought not thus to be hid under a bushel. She has forgiveness, but not the witness of the Spirit; perhaps because our dear brother Kinchin seems to think them inseparable.
“On Sunday morning we had a large and attentive congregation. In the evening, the room at Basingstoke was full, and my mouth was opened. We expected much opposition, but had none at all.
“On Monday, Mrs. Cleminger being in pain and fear, we prayed, and her Lord gave her peace. About noon we spent an hour or two in conference and prayer with Miss Molly; and then set out in a glorious storm; but I had a calm within. We had appointed the little society at Reading to meet us in the evening; but the enemy was too vigilant. Almost as soon as we were out of the town, the minister sent, or went, to each of the members, and began arguing and threatening, and utterly confounded them, so that they were all scattered abroad. Mr. Cennick’s own sister did not dare to see us, but was gone out on purpose to avoid it.
“On Tuesday I came to Oxford again, and from Mrs. Fox’s went to Mrs. Campton’s. I found the minister of the parish had been there before me, to whom she had plainly declared, that she had never had a true faith in Christ till a week ago. After some warm and sharp expressions, he told her he must repel her from the holy communion. Finding she was not convinced, even by that argument, he left her calmly rejoicing in God her Saviour.
“At six in the evening, we were at Mrs. Fox’s society; about seven at Mrs. Campton’s: the power of the Lord was present at both, and all our hearts were knit together in love.
“The next day we had an opportunity to confirm most, if not all, the souls which had been shaken. In the afternoon, I preached at the Castle. We afterwards joined together in prayer, having now Charles Graves added to us, who is rooted and grounded in the faith. We then went to Mr. Gibbs’s room, where were Mr. Washington and Mr. Watson. Here an hour was spent in conference and prayer, but without any disputing. At four in the morning I left Oxford. God hath indeed planted and watered: O may He give the increase.
“I am, etc.,
“John Wesley.”
Thus did the expelled minister employ his time and energies. The churches were shut against him; but he found work in cottages. Half-a-dozen sermons in church pulpits in three months! No wonder that Wesley escaped to Bristol. Silence to such a man was intolerable. Priests and their parasites had gagged him in the metropolis, and he now started for a new sphere of labour.
His friend Whitefield, during the first five weeks of the year, was more fortunate, and managed to preach about thirty sermons in consecrated edifices in and about London. How long this permission might have lasted, it is difficult to determine; but, at the beginning of February, Whitefield, like a flaming seraph, set off to Bath and Bristol. Perhaps his departure thither was hastened by a fracas which occurred only three days before at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, where he yielded to the pressure of the crowd, and preached, despite the opposition of the minister and his church officers.[272] Be that as it may, the news of the disturbance, published in the Weekly Miscellany, got to the west of England before him; and, on his arrival, all the churches were closed against him. In a few days, however, Mr. Penrose granted him the pulpit of St. Werburgh’s; and Mr. Gibbs the pulpit of St. Mary Redcliff. The chancellor of Bristol interfered, and threatened that, if he continued to preach or expound in the diocese without licence, he should first be suspended and then expelled. This was the turning point. To muzzle Whitefield was impossible; and hence, being shut out of the Bristol churches, away he went, on February 17, and preached, in the open air, to two hundred colliers at Kingswood. This was the boldest step that any of the Methodists had yet taken; and perhaps none of them but the impulsive, large-hearted Whitefield would have had sufficient courage to be the first in such a shocking departure from Church rules and usages. The Rubicon was passed. A clergyman had dared to be so irregular as to preach in the open air, and God had sanctioned the irregularity by making it a blessing. At the second Kingswood service, Whitefield says he had two thousand people to hear him; and at the third, four thousand; while, at the fifth service, the four thousand were increased to ten. These were marvellous crowds to assemble out of doors in the bleak months of February and March. No wonder that Whitefield’s soul took fire. He declares he never preached with greater power than now. One day, he would take his stand on Hannam Mount; another, on Rose Green; and another at the Fishponds. Then he ran off to Cardiff, and preached in the town hall; and then to Bath, and preached on the town common. Then we find him preaching to about four thousand at Baptist Mills; and, on March 18, his congregation at Rose Green was estimated at not less than twenty thousand, to whom he preached nearly an hour and a half.[273] A gentleman lent him a large bowling-green in the heart of Bristol, and here he preached to seven or eight thousand people. In the village of Publow, several thousands assembled to hear him; and, at Coal-pit Heath and other places, the crowds were quite as great. All this transpired within six weeks, and, at nearly all these strange and enormous gatherings, Whitefield made a collection for his orphan house in Georgia. His soul expanded with his marvellous success. He wished to try the same experiment elsewhere; and hence he sent for Wesley to act as his Bristol and Kingswood successor. Wesley arrived at Bristol on Saturday, March 31; and, the next day, heard Whitefield at the Bowling-green, Rose Green, and Hannam Mount, and was thus introduced to the vast congregations which Whitefield bequeathed to his godly care. He was once again ungagged, and, during the nine months from March to December, preached and expounded almost without ceasing.
Whitefield, on leaving Wesley at Bristol, made his way to London, preaching to assembled thousands at Gloucester and other places. The churches in the metropolis were all closed against him; but Moorfields and Kennington Common were still open; and here, to congregations consisting of tens of thousands, he rapturously proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation. In one instance, he computed his Kennington congregation at fifty thousand, to whom he preached an hour and a half. Eighty coaches were present, besides great numbers of people on horseback. On another occasion, his collection for the orphan house in Georgia amounted to upwards of £47, of which £16 were in half-pence. At another time, the concourse in Moorfields numbered nearly sixty thousand; and, at every service, he seems to have made collections for Georgia, himself acting as one of the collectors. He then made a short preaching excursion to Hertford, Northampton, and Bedford, where the stairs of a windmill served him for a pulpit. On returning to town, he received letters from Scotland, telling him that Ralph Erskine had turned field preacher, and had had a congregation of fourteen thousand people. In June, Wesley came to London to see him, and preached at Blackheath to twelve or fourteen thousand people, “the Lord giving him,” writes Whitefield, “ten thousand times more success than He has given me.” An embargo unexpectedly laid on shipping detained him in England a few weeks longer, during which he visited Hertfordshire, Essex, Gloucestershire, and other places. In July, he joined his friend Wesley in Bristol, and acknowledged that the congregations were much more serious and affected than when he had left them three months before. The Kingswood colliers, instead of cursing and swearing, now made the woods ring with their hymns of praise. At length, in the month of August, Whitefield set sail for America, where we must leave him until his return to England, in March, 1741.
Charles Wesley passed most of the year 1739 in London and its neighbourhood. His brother and his friends urged him to settle at Oxford; but he refused, without further direction from God. He preached in churches as long as he was permitted; and, when prohibited, followed the example of Whitefield and his brother.
For a moment, we must retrace our steps. As already stated, Wesley himself spent the first two months of 1739 in London. How was he occupied? On New Year’s day, he was present at a remarkable lovefeast in Fetter Lane, which continued until three o’clock in the morning, and which consisted of himself, his brother, his clerical friends Whitefield, Ingham, Hall, Kinchin, and Hutchings, and about sixty Moravians. At the hour mentioned, the power of God came upon them so mightily, that many cried out for exceeding joy, others fell prostrate on the ground, and all joined in singing, “We praise Thee, O God; we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.” But even this marvellous manifestation of the majesty of God failed to remove Wesley’s doubts and fears; for, three days afterwards, we find him writing the bitterest things against himself, and concluding with the words, “Though I have constantly used all the means of grace for twenty years, I am not a Christian.”
The day after, January 5, seven of the despised Methodist clergymen (probably the seven just mentioned), held a conference at Islington, on several matters of great importance, and, after prayer and fasting, determined what they were in doubt about, by casting lots. “We parted,” says Whitefield, “with a full conviction that God was going to do great things among us;”[274] a conviction which was soon verified.
On January 7, they held another lovefeast at Fetter Lane, and spent the whole night in prayer and thanksgiving.[275]
January 25, Wesley baptized five adults at Islington, and makes a strange distinction, which shows that his views of the scriptural doctrine of salvation were still hazy and confused. He writes: “Of the adults I have known baptized lately, only one was at that time born again, in the full sense of the word; that is, found a thorough inward change by the love of God filling her heart. Most of them were only born again in a lower sense; that is, received the remission of their sins.” Let the reader compare this with a passage in Wesley’s sermon on “The Great Privilege of those that are Born of God,” and he will mark the difference.
“It has been frequently supposed, that the being born of God was all one with the being justified; that the new birth and justification were only different expressions, denoting the same thing: it being certain, on the one hand, that whoever is justified is also born of God; and on the other, that whoever is born of God is also justified; yea, that both these gifts of God are given to every believer in one and the same moment. In one point of time his sins are blotted out, and he is born again of God. But though it be allowed, that justification and the new birth are, in point of time, inseparable from each other, yet are they easily distinguished, as being not the same, but things of a widely different nature. Justification implies only a relative, the new birth a real, change. God in justifying us does something for us; in begetting us again, He does the work in us. The one restores us to the favour, the other to the image, of God. The one is the taking away the guilt, the other the taking away the power, of sin; so that, although they are joined together in point of time, yet they are of wholly distinct natures.”
Nothing can be more scriptural, or more clearly expressed than this; but comparison with the extract from his journal, above given, shows that, even in 1739, Wesley was far from being “a scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven.” He still had much both to learn and to unlearn; but it was a happy fact, that he was docile and eager to be taught. Four days after baptizing the adults at Islington, he sat up till near one in the morning with Whitefield and two other clergymen, earnestly listening to a midnight discussion concerning the doctrine of the new birth.[276]
During the month of February, he had three separate interviews with bishops of the Established Church. On the 6th, he went with Whitefield to the Bishop of Gloucester, to solicit a subscription for Georgia.[277] On the 21st, he and his brother Charles waited on Potter, Archbishop of Canterbury, who showed them great affection; spoke mildly of Whitefield; cautioned them to give no more umbrage than necessary; to forbear exceptionable phrases; and to keep to the doctrines of the Church. They told him they expected persecution; but would abide by the Church till her articles and homilies were repealed. From Potter, they proceeded direct to Gibson, Bishop of London, who denied that he had condemned them, or even heard much about them. Whitefield’s Journal, he said, was tainted with enthusiasm, though Whitefield himself was a pious, well meaning youth. He warned them against Antinomianism, and dismissed them kindly.[278]
On the day after their interview with the Bishop of Gloucester, Whitefield, shut out of the London churches, set off on his tour to Bristol. Three weeks later, Wesley wrote him an account of his proceedings in London.
“February 26, 1739.
“My dear Brother,—Our Lord’s hand is not shortened amongst us. Yesterday I preached at St. Katherine’s, and at Islington, where the church was almost as hot as some of the society rooms used to be.[279] The fields, after service, were white with people praising God. About three hundred were present at Mr. S——’s; thence I went to Mr. Bray’s; thence to Fetter Lane; and, at nine, to Mr. B——’s, where also we wanted room. To-day I expound in the Minories at four; at Mrs. W——’s at six; and in Gravel Lane, Bishopsgate, at eight. On Wednesday, at six, we have a noble company of women, not adorned with gold or costly apparel, but with a meek and quiet spirit. At the Savoy, on Thursday evening, we have usually two or three hundred, most of them, at least, thoroughly awakened. On Friday, Mr. A——’s parlour is more than filled; as is Mr. P——’s room twice over.”[280]
This extract will give the reader an idea of Wesley’s weekly labours in London, up to the time that he set out for Bristol. Every day had its day’s work. It was impossible for such a man to be idle: work was essential to his happiness, and almost to his existence.
Already the people began to have faith in the power of his piety and prayers. The parents of a lunatic besought his intercessions on behalf of their afflicted son, who, for five years past, had been in the habit of beating and tearing himself, putting his hands into the fire, and thrusting pins into his flesh. Wesley and his friends yielded to the request on February 17; and, from that time, the poor creature, though not fully freed from his calamitous affliction, had more rest than he had had for two years before. On the same day, a middle aged, well dressed woman, at a society-meeting in Beech Lane, was seized as with the agonies of death. For three years, her friends had accounted her mad, and had bled and blistered her accordingly. Wesley prayed with her, and, five days after, she was victoriously delivered, and in a moment was filled with love and joy.[281] Within a fortnight, a third instance, somewhat similar, took place at Oxford, whither Wesley had gone for a brief visit. Hearing of a woman who was most violently opposed to the Methodist revival, he went to her and argued with her. This enraged her more and more. Wesley broke off the dispute, and began to pray. In a few minutes, the woman fell into an extreme agony, both of body and soul; and soon after cried out with the utmost earnestness, “Now I know I am forgiven for Christ’s sake;” and, from that hour, set her face as a flint to declare the faith which before she persecuted.
We have already seen that, at the beginning of the month of March, Wesley made a tour to Oxford, and while there wrote to Whitefield the long letter which has been already given. On his return to London, he received a most urgent request from Whitefield to proceed to Bristol without delay. Wesley hesitated; Charles objected; and the society at Fetter Lane disputed; but, at length, the matter was decided by casting lots. Wesley reached Bristol on March 31, and on April 2 Whitefield left, summing up the results of his first six weeks of out-door preaching thus: “Many sinners have been effectually converted, and all the children of God have been exceedingly comforted. Several thousands of little books have been dispersed among the people; about £200 collected for the orphan house; and many poor families relieved by the bounty of my friend Mr. Seward. And what gives me the greater comfort is the consideration that my dear and honoured friend Mr. Wesley is left behind to confirm those that are awakened; so that I hope, when I return from Georgia, to see many bold soldiers of Jesus Christ.”[282]
The next day he wrote to Wesley the following, which is now for the first time given to the public:—