1772.
Age 69
Wesley’s first journey from London, in 1772, was on the 16th of January, when he came to Luton, and preached in the parish church. The friendly clergyman, who gave him this permission, was the Rev. Mr. Copleston, whose son afterwards became a Methodist local preacher, and was driven from Luton by the iron hand of persecution, and then, after preaching for a while at St. Albans, introduced Methodism into Leighton Buzzard, where he died, in 1835, at the age of seventy, having been an earnest Methodist more than fifty years.[152]
In a visit to Dorking, Wesley read Sterne’s “Sentimental Journey,” and writes, “Sentimental! What is that? It is not English; he might as well say continental. It is not sense. It conveys no determinate idea; yet one fool makes many, and this nonsensical word (who would believe it?) is become a fashionable one! However, the book agrees full well with the title; for one is as queer as the other. For oddity, uncouthness, and unlikeness to all the world beside, I suppose the writer is without a rival.” This was a bold criticism on Laurence Sterne, and his recently published book, which was now immensely popular. On his return from Dorking, on February 12, Wesley writes: “I read a very different book, published by an honest quaker, on that execrable sum of all villanies, commonly called the slave trade. I read of nothing like it in the heathen world, whether ancient or modern; and it infinitely exceeds, in every instance of barbarity, whatever Christian slaves suffer in Mahommedan countries.”
This is a remarkable utterance. It was in this very year that Granville Sharpe, the first of the English antislavery advocates, began to take up the subject; and it was not until fifteen years after this, that the “Society for the Suppression of the Slave Trade” was founded, of which, besides Sharpe, two of the chief members were Thomas Clarkson, a young graduate of Cambridge, and William Wilberforce, who was then M.P. for the county of York. The book which Wesley read was probably written by Anthony Benezet, a French protestant, who, after being educated in England, became a quaker in Philadelphia; and, in 1762, published the work which first attracted the attention of this country[153] to the inhuman traffic, which Wesley so justly designates “that execrable sum of all villanies.” Let it be noted that, besides all his other honours, John Wesley, the poor, persecuted Methodist, was one of the first advocates on behalf of the enthralled African that England had, and that, sixty years before slavery was abolished in the dominions of Great Britain, he denounced the thing in the strongest terms it was possible to employ.
Before we accompany Wesley on his long northern tour, three other facts, belonging to this period, may be briefly mentioned.
Ten years ago, Thomas Maxfield had dishonourably forsaken his old friend, and had set up a rival church in the neighbourhood of Moorfields. For some reason, he now seemed to desire a reunion. Wesley was not the man to repel an overture even from one whose behaviour had been ungrateful and treacherous. He met Maxfield; but writes: “He only seemed to desire a reunion; for when we explained upon the head, I found he meant just nothing.”
Wesley was now close upon the age of threescore years and ten. His life had been a scene of unparalleled activity; and, though still possessed of amazing vigour, he had not the energy he had been wont to have. His friends in London saw this; and hence the following entry in his journal. “1772. Feb. 21.—I met several of my friends, who had begun a subscription to prevent my riding on horseback, which I cannot do quite so well, since a hurt which I got some months ago. If they continue it, well; if not, I shall have strength according to my need.”
Wesley’s last act before leaving London was to open a new chapel at Poplar. He writes: “1772. Feb. 28—I opened the new preaching house in Poplar: one might say, consecrated it; for the English law (notwithstanding the vulgar error) does not require, nay, does not allow, any other consecration of churches than by performing public service therein.”
Up to this period, the preaching at Poplar had been in private dwellings, and in the workhouse, the mistress of which was a Methodist. Now a wooden building was erected in High Street, which was long called, out of derision, “the pantile shop.” One of the first members was Benjamin King, who previous to this attended Gravel Lane chapel, Wapping, one of the oldest Methodist meeting-houses in London, but which was long since demolished for the making of the London Docks. For many a year, Methodism at Poplar had a struggle for existence, and often was Wesley importuned to give up the preaching there; but his constant answer was, “Does the old woman” (Mrs. Clippendale) “who sits in the corner of the long pew, still attend?” “O yes,” was the reply; “she never misses.” “Then for her sake keep going,” was Wesley’s rejoinder. The venerable woman, who was thus the means of perpetuating Methodist preaching at Poplar, was a native of Swalwell, near Newcastle, and, at twelve years of age, received her first society ticket, in 1745, from the hands of Wesley. Four years later, she came to London, and continued a faithful Methodist for above seventy years.[154]
Strangely enough, it was now currently reported that Wesley was about to leave England for America. The following refers to this.
“New York, April 1, 1772.
“Reverend Sir,—By a letter from Mr. Lloyd, of London, we are informed that you incline to visit America. Mr. Whitefield’s preaching was of unspeakable use to many; but he preached mostly in the seaport towns, and the most populous parts of the provinces, where the gospel was known, though not preached in power. In the back parts, which are now grown populous, the inhabitants are still in a state of deplorable ignorance. If some zealous and able teachers would engage heartily in the work of their conversion, how soon might rivers spring forth in the desert, and these owls and dragons of the wilderness give honour to God. No doubt, many in England and elsewhere, who abound in wealth, would contribute towards erecting schools to teach the children, and also towards the support of preachers, if such an undertaking was properly set on foot. But who is qualified for this work? I know none except yourself.
“But, dear sir, what concerns me more than all is the unhappy condition of our negroes, who are kept in worse than Egyptian bondage. The food we eat, the clothes we wear, and all the superfluities we possess, are the produce of their labours; and what do they receive in return? Nothing equivalent; on the contrary, we keep from them the key of knowledge; so that their bodies and souls perish together in our service! If, therefore, you are not too advanced in years, I say to you, in the name of God, come over and help us; in doing which you will greatly oblige many thousands, and, among the rest, your friend and brother,
“Jonathan Bryan.”[155]
Did Wesley seriously think of this? We are not sure; but the following characteristic letter to Walter Sellon will be read with interest.
“February 1, 1772.
“Dear Walter,—You do not understand your information right. Observe, ‘I am going to America to turn bishop.’ You are to understand it in sensu composito. I am not to be a bishop till I am in America. While I am in Europe, therefore, you have nothing to fear. But as soon as ever you hear of my being landed in Philadelphia, it will be time for your apprehensions to revive. It is true, some of our preachers would not have me stay, so long; but I keep my old rule, Festina lente.
“I am, dear Walter, your affectionate brother,
“John Wesley.”[156]
Previous to his leaving London, Wesley commenced a long correspondence, which extended over the next two years, with Samuel Sparrow, Esq., a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Sheffield, who had published a volume, entitled “Family Prayers and Moral Essays,” a copy of which was presented to Wesley by the author. The writer has before him the correspondence that ensued; and perhaps the following extracts, from some of Wesley’s letters, will be acceptable.
“To the questions which you propose I answer: (1) I think that if a hundred, or a hundred thousand, sincere, honest, humble, modest, self diffident men were, with attention and care, to read the New Testament, uninfluenced by any but the Holy Spirit, nine in ten of them, at least, if not every one, would discover that the Son of God was ‘adorable,’ and one God with the Father; and would be immediately led to ‘honour Him even as they honoured the Father.’
“(2) Give a fair, impartial reading to that account of mankind in their present state, which is contained in the book on original sin. It is no play of imagination, but plain, clear fact. We see it with our eyes, and hear it with our ears daily. Heathens, Turks, Jews, Christians of every nation, are such men as are there described. Such are the tempers, such the manners, of lords, gentlemen, clergymen in England, as well as of tradesmen and the low vulgar. No man in his senses can deny it: and none can account for it, but upon the supposition of original sin.
“On Scripture and common sense I build all my principles; and just so far as it agrees with these, I regard human authority.
“There is too ‘just ground for charging the preachers both at Blackfriars church, the chapel at the Lock,[157] and the Tabernacle, with grievous want of charity; for most of them flatly maintain, ‘all who do not believe as they believe, are in a state of damnation;’ all who do not believe the absolute decree of election, which necessarily infers absolute reprobation. My brother and I set out on two principles: (1) None go to heaven without holiness of heart and life; (2) Whoever follows after this, whatever his opinions be, is my brother; and we have not swerved a hair’s breadth from either the one or the other to this day.”
On the 1st of March Wesley set out on his northern visitation, and did not return to London until seven months afterwards. It was now that he preached his first sermon in the town of Leek, where Thomas Hanby, eighteen years before, had formed a society at the peril of his life. “Kill him, kill him,” bawled the mob, as they pelted him with showers of stones; but the young evangelist, then only in the twenty-first year of his age, mercifully escaped; and the rabble, headed by a lawyer, had to content themselves with merely burning him in effigy.[158]
Wesley writes: “March 27, 1772.—While I was dining at Leek, some gentlemen of the town sent to desire I would give them a sermon. As it seemed to be a providential call, I did not think it right to refuse. A large congregation quickly ran together, and were deeply attentive.”
A society had recently been gathered at Nantwich, of which Mr. Salmon, an eccentric Christian gentleman, and some of his sisters, were members; and hence Nantwich was now added to the places which Wesley had to visit. This was probably the Mr. Salmon who was to have gone with the Wesleys to Georgia, but who was forcibly detained in his Cheshire home by his father and mother, who were distracted at the thought of their son leaving them. Joseph Whittingham Salmon had a good heart, but muddy head. Soon after this, he began to preach,[159] and, at the death of his wife, in 1785, published a long rigmarole funeral sermon, 8vo, 39 pages, which he preached in Barker Street chapel, Nantwich, and which is strongly spiced with the mystical delusion into which he had fallen. It is scarcely too much to say, that the weak mind of this well meaning man henceforth lost its balance, and that mystic pride and cacoethes scribendi were the chief features that distinguished the close of a lengthened but lustreless life. His wife, however, and several of the Misses Salmon were intelligent and earnest Methodists, and were among the earliest friends of Hester Ann Roe, afterwards Mrs. Rogers.[160]
There was another gentleman of note, near Nantwich, Sir Thomas Broughton, of Doddington Hall, who had a chapel in his park, and who, though not a Methodist, himself read or preached to the congregation the whole of Wesley’s sermons from first to last.[161] Salmon tells us, that this “reverend baronet,” as he calls him, at the death of his lady, called together his eleven children and his thirty servants, at eleven o’clock at night, and then, as they stood round the corpse, amid midnight silence and the dim radiance of lighted tapers, engaged in prayer, previous to the interment, the whole forming a scene not easily forgotten.
These were Methodism’s auxiliaries in the town of Nantwich; but, for long years, it had to struggle with adversity, its members worshipping in an old hired baptist chapel until the year 1808, when, chiefly through the help of Mr. Withinshaw, a new chapel was erected, and Nantwich was made a circuit town.[162]
On the 5th of April, Wesley reached Bolton and Manchester. In reference to the former town he writes: “How wonderfully has God wrought in this place! John Bennet, some years ago, reduced this society from sevenscore to twelve; and they are now risen to a hundred and seventy.” At Manchester, Wesley “drank tea at Am. O.;” probably Adam Oldham’s, and remarks: “But how was I shocked! The children that used to cling about me, and drink in every word, had been at a boarding school. There they had unlearned all religion, and even seriousness; and had learned pride, vanity, affectation, and whatever could guard them against the knowledge and love of God. Methodist parents, who would send your girls headlong to hell, send them to a fashionable boarding school!”
Proceeding by way of Whitehaven and Carlisle, Wesley came to Glasgow on April 18, and, a week later, arrived at Perth, where he was the provost’s guest, and received an honour which fell to him only once again in his long lifetime. He shall tell his own story.
“1772. April 28, Tuesday. We walked through the Duke of Athol’s gardens, in which was one thing I never saw before,—a summerhouse in the middle of a greenhouse, by means of which one might, in the depth of winter, enjoy the warmth of May, and sit surrounded with greens and flowers on every side.
“In the evening I preached once more at Perth, to a large and serious congregation. Afterwards they did me an honour I never thought of,—presented me with the freedom of the city. The diploma ran thus:—
“‘Magistratuum illustris ordo et honorandus senatorum cætus inclytæ civitatis Perthensis, in debiti amoris et affectuum tesseram erga Johannem Wesley, immunitatibus præfatæ civitatis, societatis etiam et fraternitatis ædilitiæ privilegiis donarunt. Aprilis die 28, anno Sal. 1772.’
“I question whether any diploma from the city of London be more pompous, or expressed in better Latin.”
Eight days afterwards, the magistrates of Arbroath conferred on Wesley a similar mark of their respect.
While in this part of Scotland, Wesley read two Scotch authors, upon whom his criticisms are too racy to be omitted. He writes:
“In my way to Perth, I read over the first volume of Dr. Robertson’s ‘History of Charles the Fifth.’ I know not when I have been so disappointed. It might as well be called the History of Alexander the Great. Here is a quarto volume of eight or ten shillings’ price, containing dry verbose dissertations on feudal government, the substance of all which might be comprised in half a sheet of paper! But ‘Charles the Fifth!’ Where is Charles the Fifth?
‘Leave off thy reflections, and give us thy tale!’”
“May 5. I read over, in my journey to Arbroath, Dr. Beattie’s ingenious ‘Inquiry after Truth.’ He is a writer quite equal to his subject, and far above the match of all the minute philosophers, David Hume in particular, the most insolent despiser of truth and virtue that ever appeared in the world. And, yet, it seems some complain of this doctor’s using him with too great severity! I cannot understand how that can be, unless he treated him with rudeness (which he does not), since he is an avowed enemy to God and man, and to all that is sacred and valuable on earth.”
On the 9th of May, Wesley reached Edinburgh, where his state of health was made the subject of an important medical examination. It has been already stated that, before he left London, his friends there, perceiving signs of age and debility, had contributed to provide him a carriage in which to pursue his extensive and laborious journeys. Since then, in less than ten weeks, he had travelled, in his chaise and on horseback, from London to Bristol, and thence to Birmingham, Nottingham, Macclesfield, Chester, Liverpool, Manchester, Whitehaven, Carlisle, Glasgow, Aberdeen, and Edinburgh, preaching there, and at a great number of intervening towns and villages, sometimes as many as four sermons in a day. He had had to encounter winter storms, to wade mid-leg deep in snow, and to travel roads so execrably bad, that sometimes he was literally bogged. Not unfrequently he preached in the midst of piercing winds in the open air; and yet, there is not a single entry in his journal indicative of failing health. Never, in his life, was he more intent upon the prosecution of his great work than now. Writing to his brother from Congleton, and again from Perth, he says:
“I find almost all our preachers, in every circuit, have done with Christian perfection. They say, they believe it; but they never preach it, or not once in a quarter. What is to be done? Shall we let it drop, or make a point of it? Oh what a thing it is to have curam animarum! You and I are called to this; to save souls from death; to watch over them as those that must give account! If our office implied no more than preaching a few times in a week, I could play with it; so might you. But how small a part of our duty (yours as well as mine) is this! God says to you, as well as me, ‘Do all thou canst, be it more or less, to save the souls for whom My Son has died.’ Let this voice be ever sounding in our ears; then shall we give up our account with joy. Eia age, rumpe moras! I am ashamed of my indolence and inactivity. Your business, as well as mine, is to save souls. When we took priests’ orders we undertook to make it our one business. I think every day lost, which is not (mainly at least) employed in this thing. Sum totus in illo.
“I am glad you are to be at Bristol soon. To whom shall I leave my letters and papers? I am quite at a loss. I think Mr. Fletcher is the best that occurs now. Adieu!”[163]
Wesley was too busy to think of being ill. He was not alarmed; but his friends were. Hence, the following addressed to Charles Wesley.
“Shoreham, April 18, 1772.
“My very dear Brother,—I doubt not, but we both join in constant petitions, at the throne of grace, for the life and health of our dear absent friend, thy brother. By all accounts, his valuable health is in a precarious state; and unless God provides (as I doubt not but He will), for His people, they will have abundant reason to mourn. May God give thee a double portion of His Spirit, that thou mayest stand in the gap, and prevent the flock being led by any who have not true gospel light in the head, and great integrity in the heart! My love to thy dear brother; the same attends thee and my dear sister, and all thy family. The Divine blessing be with all of us!
“Thine, most affectionately,
“Vincent Perronet.”[164]
Probably it was the request of his friends, rather than his own anxiety, which induced Wesley, at Edinburgh, to submit to a medical examination.
At this period, Dr. James Hamilton was a young man of about two-and-thirty, and was practising medicine in his native town of Dunbar, where he also had joined the Methodists. Afterwards he removed to Leeds, and then to London, where he was elected physician to the London Dispensary, and rose to eminence in the medical profession. He died in Finsbury Square, April 21, 1827, at the age of eighty-seven, having been a Methodist upwards of sixty years, and nearly as long a highly acceptable and useful local preacher.
Dr. Alexander Monro was a few years older. Such was his ability, that, at the age of twenty-two, he was appointed professor of anatomy and surgery to the University of Edinburgh; and is said, by the excellence of his lectures, to have materially assisted in raising it to the highest celebrity as a school of medicine.
Dr. James Gregory was now a young man in his twentieth year; but, two years later, was appointed professor of the theory of physic, and rose to such eminence in his profession as to draw pupils from all parts of the world.
These were the three physicians who attended Wesley. He writes: “May 18—Dr. Hamilton brought with him Dr. Monro and Dr. Gregory. They satisfied me what my disorder was; and told me there was but one method of cure. Perhaps but one natural one; but I think God has more than one method of healing either the soul or the body.”
Wesley’s disease was hydrocele.[165] A few months later, he writes: “I am almost a disabled soldier. I am forbid to ride, and am obliged to travel mostly in a carriage.”[166]
That Wesley’s health was seriously affected there cannot be doubt. Lloyd’s Evening Post, for June 15, remarks: “By accounts from Scotland, we learn that the Rev. Mr. Wesley has had a dangerous fit of illness, in which he was attended by three of the most eminent of the faculty there, who gave him over; but some younger gentlemen in practice have been luckily assistant to him, and they have now hopes that he may continue his ministry many years longer.”
Wesley doubtless was amused with this. During his ten days’ stay in Edinburgh, he preached at least about half-a-dozen times; and, on the very day when the medical men met, he opened a new chapel at Leith, and two days later started for Newcastle, preaching on his way at Dunbar, Alnwick, and Morpeth.
Reaching Newcastle on May 25, he spent the remainder of the week in the town and neighbourhood, preaching, on the Sunday, three times out of doors, to immense and attentive congregations.
The first four days in the month of June were occupied with what he calls “a little tour through the dales”; and, in this brief period, besides travelling scores of miles over “the horrid mountains,” and examining societies, he preached at least eight sermons. He writes: “from the top of an enormous mountain we had a view of Weardale. It is a lovely prospect. The green, gently rising meadows and fields, on both sides of the little river, clear as crystal, were sprinkled over with innumerable little houses; three in four of which, if not nine in ten, are sprung up since the Methodists came hither. Since that time, the beasts are turned into men, and the wilderness into a fruitful field.”
Six months before this, Weardale had been blessed with a remarkable religious revival, the penitent prayer-meetings often continuing till ten or eleven o’clock at night, and sometimes till four in the morning. On one occasion, four young men, seeking pardon, remained on their knees for five hours together. Among others who found mercy was an old woman, who, twenty-three years before, was the first in Weardale to receive the Methodists into her house. Sometimes as many as half-a-dozen “lay on the ground together, roaring for the disquietude of their hearts.” Chiefly through the instrumentality of Jane Salkeld, a schoolmistress, thirty children were converted, including Phœbe Featherstone, Hannah Watson, and others whom Wesley mentions.
Not only does Wesley give, at great length, the details of this revival; but he compares it with that at Everton thirteen years before. His remarks are worth quoting.
“It resembled the work at Everton in many respects, but not in all.
“It resembled that work—(1) In its unexpected beginning; no such work had ever been seen before either at Everton or in Weardale. (2) In the swiftness of its progress, I mean in the persons affected; many of whom were in one day, or even two or three hours, both convinced of sin (without any previous awakening), and converted to God. (3) In the number of persons both convinced and converted, which was greater in a few months than it had been in Weardale from the first preaching there, or in Everton for a century. (4) In the outward symptoms which have attended it: in both, the sudden and violent emotions of mind affected the whole bodily frame; insomuch that many trembled exceedingly, many fell to the ground, many were violently convulsed, and many seemed to be in the agonies of death. (5) In most of the instruments whom God employed: these were plain, artless men, simple of heart, but without any remarkable gifts; men who, almost literally, knew ‘nothing save Jesus Christ and Him crucified.’
“In these respects, the work of God in Weardale nearly resembled that at Everton; but, in other respects, they were widely different. For—(1) That was the first work of God, of the kind, which had ever been in those parts in the memory of man; this was only a revival of a work, which had continued for many years. Now these circumstances are common at the dawn of a work, but afterwards very uncommon. I do not remember to have seen the like anywhere in the three kingdoms, unless at the beginning of a work. (2) Although the former work was swift, the latter was far swifter. In general, persons were both awakened and justified in a far shorter time. (3) A far greater number were converted to God in Weardale than about Everton, although the number of hearers about Everton was abundantly greater than in Weardale. (4) Although the outward symptoms were the same, yet in Weardale there were none of the dreams, visions, and revelations which abounded at Everton; and which, though at first they undoubtedly were from God, yet were afterwards fatally counterfeited by the devil. (5) There was a great difference in the instruments whom God employed. Not one of those in or near Everton had any experience in the guiding of souls. None of them were more than ‘babes in Christ,’ if any of them so much. Whereas, in Weardale, not only the three preachers were, I believe, renewed in love, but most of the leaders were deeply experienced in the work of God. Hence, (6) we may easily account for the grand difference, namely, that the one work was so shallow, and the other so deep. Many children here have had far deeper experience, and more constant fellowship with God, than the oldest man or woman at Everton which I have seen or heard of.”
Such were Wesley’s moralisings on the Weardale revival, in 1772, in which less than a hundred people were converted, and concerning which he says: “upon the whole, we may affirm, such a work of God as this has not been seen before in the three kingdoms.” If this was so, who will say that the former times were better than these? How many thousands of aged Methodists can easily call to mind far more remarkable revivals of the work of God than even that in Weardale! And, further, how was it that, at Wesley’s visit two years after, the results of this revival were almost reduced to nothing, except that, in consequence of the backslidings, “the preachers were discouraged; and jealousies, heart burnings, and evil surmisings, were multiplied more and more”?
Wesley returned from Weardale to Newcastle on the 5th of June, and here, and in the immediate neighbourhood, he spent the next ten days. In the Newcastle society, there were fewer members than he had found two years before. “This,” says he, “I can impute to nothing but the want of visiting from house to house; without which the people will hardly increase, either in number or grace.” This was a sharp thrust at some of the most distinguished preachers of the day, namely, Peter Jaco, Joseph Cownley, Thomas Hanby, Matthew Lowes, Thomas Tennant, William Thompson, and Thomas Simpson, all of them appointed to Newcastle at this period.
On June 15, Wesley left Newcastle, and spent the next week in preaching at Durham, Stockton, Yarm, Thirsk, Osmotherley, Hutton Rudby, Stokesley, Castleton, Whitby, Robinhood’s Bay, and Scarborough. This was pretty well, for a man afflicted as Wesley was, and at the age of seventy.
Eighteen months before this, his termagant wife had abruptly left him, and gone to her house at Newcastle. Now that his health was so endangered, she was returning with him, whether to his comfort or otherwise we are not informed; but, at all events, she had in Wesley’s chaise the undeserved luxury of a summer’s ride through the most beautiful scenes of Yorkshire.[167]
From Scarborough he proceeded to Bridlington, Driffield, Beverley, Hull, York, Tadcaster, Pateley Bridge, Otley, Heptonstall, Keighley, Haworth, Bingley, Bradford, Halifax, Huddersfield, Morley, Birstal, Doncaster, Sheffield, Epworth, Brigg, Horncastle, Louth, Grimsby, Pontefract, Horbury, Wakefield, and other places, preaching at all of them, until, on August 2, he got to Leeds, for the purpose of holding his annual conference. This was enormous labour for any man, and especially for an old man, suffering from a severe and painful malady. To all this must be added, cottage accommodation, hard beds, and often hard living; and, though brutal persecution had considerably abated, Wesley was not entirely exempt from this; for, at Halifax, on July 8, a ruffian struck him most violently on the face, when, with tears starting from his eyes, the venerable saint acted upon the precept of his Master: “Whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also”; a display of heroic meekness which cowed the brutal coward, and made him slink away into the ignoble crowd.[168] Yet, in the midst of all this, there is not a single syllable, in his journal, concerning either persecution, hardship, debility, or disease.
He writes: “On Tuesday, August 4, our conference began. Generally, during the time of conference, as I was talking from morning to night, I had used to desire one of our brethren to preach in the morning; but, having many things to say, I resolved, with God’s help, to preach mornings as well as evenings. And I found no difference at all; I was no more tired than with my usual labour; that is, no more than if I had been sitting still in my study from morning to night.”
One of Wesley’s sermons, preached to an immense congregation, in a field behind the chapel, was from Isaiah lxvi. 8, 9: “Who hath heard such a thing?” etc.; in which he dwelt upon the great work which God had wrought among the Methodists, discoursing on its rapidity, depth, extensiveness, and its growing character. “It was,” says good old Thomas Rutherford, “marrow and fatness to my soul.”[169]
Wesley, in needful cases, was a brave defender of his preachers. The following, addressed to Mr. Alexander Clark, of Dublin, and written at this period, will be read with interest.
“Sheffield, August 10, 1772.
“My dear Brother,—Now the hurry of conference is over, I get a little time to write. When I chose you to be steward in Dublin, you both loved and esteemed your preachers; but I find you have now drunk in the whole spirit of Pat. Geoghegan. O beware! You are exceedingly deceived. By this time, I should be some judge of man; and if I am, all England and Ireland cannot afford such a body of men, number for number, for sense and true experience, both of men and things, as the body of Methodist preachers. Our leaders in London, Bristol, and Dublin are by no means weak men. I would not be ashamed to compare them with a like number of tradesmen in every part of the three kingdoms. But I assure you, they are no more than children compared to the preachers in conference, as you would be thoroughly convinced, could you but have the opportunity of spending one day among them. Mr. Jaco will make a fair trial whether he can supply Dublin alone; if he cannot, he shall have another to help, for he must not kill himself to save charges. But I dare not stint him to £20 a year. He will waste nothing; but he must want nothing. You will make his stay among you, in every respect, as comfortable as you can.
“I am your affectionate brother,
“John Wesley.”[170]
No sooner was the conference ended, than Wesley again started on his itinerancy of mercy. On his way to Burslem, his chaise broke down; but, notwithstanding his disease, rather than disappoint the people, he mounted a horse and rode two-and-twenty miles, arriving just in time for preaching.
On reaching Trevecca, on August 14, he met his old friend, Howel Harris, who, while almost all others of his class had imbibed the most bitter feelings, still remained faithful. “I have borne,” said the honest Welshman, “with these pert, ignorant young men, vulgarly called students, till I cannot, in conscience, bear any longer. They preach barefaced reprobation, and so broad antinomianism, that I have been constrained to oppose them to the face, even in the public congregation.” This was no great compliment to the students of the Countess of Huntingdon, especially as coming from a Calvinist. Wesley, almost as an apology, adds to this: “It is no wonder that they should preach thus. What better can be expected from raw lads, of little understanding, little learning, and no experience?”
It is pleasing to add, that Howel Harris was not the only one of Whitefield’s friends who still stood true to Wesley, though differing from his views. Hence the following, addressed to him by Cornelius Winter.
“Brecon, August 10, 1772.
“Reverend and dear Sir,—Do you ask what I have been about? I answer, preaching Christ wherever a door has been opened to me. Sometimes I have cast a handful of seed on your ground; and should it ever come to a harvest you are welcome to it: it will become Jesus’s property at last. What melancholy consequences from late productions! They forbid me to be any longer an idle hearer or a careless reader. I have been obliged, from conscience, to make a stand against dear Mr. Fletcher’s groundless arguments and most bitter invectives.[171] Many things, he has said, are a proper antidote applied wrong, and to improper objects, and thereby become poison, whereas they might have been a healing medicine. But I must say no more on this subject; I am writing to one who will give it little attention.
“Dr. Owen’s ‘Death of Death’ has been my favourite study of late; and, in consequence of embracing the doctrine therein contained, I must agree to disagree with Mr. Fletcher’s thoughts, and dear Mr. Wesley’s friendly pen. Excuse my frank acknowledgments, and give me leave to differ and love. God bless you to your latest period, and make your last days your best! So prays, reverend and dear sir, yours most respectfully and affectionately, in our dear Lord Jesus,
“Cornelius Winter.”[172]
From Trevecca, Wesley proceeded to Bristol, and here, and in the neighbourhood, he employed the next seven weeks. In Bristol itself, he “visited the whole society from house to house, taking them from west to east.” He not unfrequently preached in the open air, and strikingly remarks: “to this day field preaching is a cross to me; but I know my commission, and see no other way of preaching the gospel to every creature.” The children at Kingswood, and at Miss Owen’s school at Publow, were almost all converted. He writes: “I suppose such a visitation of children has not been known in England these hundred years!”[173] “Publow is now what Leytonstone was once. Here is a family indeed. Such mistresses, and such a company of children, as I believe all England cannot parallel!”
Leaving Bristol on October 5, and preaching on his way at Shaftesbury, Salisbury, Winchester, and Portsmouth, he came to London on October 10. He had been seven months from home, if indeed he had a home! and yet, after spending only one day in London, he again set out on his usual preaching tour in the counties of Bedford and Northampton. Returning to London, where he spent another day, he started on his visitation in Oxfordshire. Returning again to London, and again spending a single day, he went off, on October 26, to Norfolk, where he employed a fortnight. Except making a journey into Kent, and another to Hertfordshire, the remainder of the year was passed in the metropolis.
Here he again began expounding, chiefly in the mornings, “that compendium of all the Holy Scriptures, the first epistle of St. John.” Now, for the first time in his life, he saw the chapel at Snowsfields full. He opened a new chapel at Dorking, and another in the parish of Bromley. He visited the sick Methodists in London, and “was surprised that they were so few.” And on December 31 he wrote: “Being greatly embarrassed by the necessities of the poor, we spread all our wants before God in solemn prayer; believing that He would sooner ‘make windows in heaven’ than suffer His truth to fail.”
This reference to the poor requires further notice. The long continued war, a succession of inferior harvests, and other unfavourable events, had raised the price of provisions to such an extent, that the distress of the nation had become alarming. In the month of November, the court of common council of London agreed to petition parliament to open the ports of the kingdom for the free importation of all kinds of grain; and one of the members proposed that, in order to prevent the unnecessary consumption of flour, the making of starch should be prohibited. Long letters on the starved condition of the country were published in the newspapers and magazines. Some of them entered into elaborate calculations, showing that, in London only, during the six winter months, twenty thousand sheep and two thousand oxen were used in making soup for taverns, and the tables of the great. When the king opened parliament, on November 26, he referred in his speech to the dearness of corn, and recommended “my lords and gentlemen” to consider a scheme “for alleviating the distresses of the poor.” This was done, and bills were passed, which substantially permitted the importation of foreign grown grain duty free.
In the midst of all this, Wesley was far from being an indifferent spectator; and, among the many letters which appeared in the periodicals of the day, one written by himself was not the least important. This letter, published, either by himself or others, in Lloyd’s Evening Post, for December 21, and in the Leeds Mercury for December 29, and in other newspapers and magazines, is altogether too curious and characteristic to be omitted or abridged. It is as follows.
“To the Editor of ‘Lloyd’s Evening Post.’
“Sir,—Many excellent things have been lately published concerning the present scarcity of provisions. And many causes have been assigned for it; but is not something wanting in most of those publications? One writer assigns one cause, another one or two more, and strongly insists upon them. But who has assigned all the causes that manifestly concur to produce this melancholy effect? at the same time pointing out, how each particular cause affects the price of each particular sort of provision?
“I would willingly offer to candid and benevolent men a few hints on this important subject, proposing a few questions, and adding to each what seems to be the plain and direct answer.
“I. 1. I ask first, Why are thousands of people starving, perishing for want, in every part of England? The fact I know: I have seen it with my eyes, in every corner of the land. I have known those who could only afford to eat a little coarse food every other day. I have known one picking up stinking sprats from a dunghill, and carrying them home for herself and her children. I have known another gathering the bones which the dogs had left in the streets, and making broth of them, to prolong a wretched life. Such is the case, at this day, of multitudes of people, in a land flowing, as it were, with milk and honey; abounding with all the necessaries, the conveniences, the superfluities of life!
“Now why is this? Why have all these nothing to eat? Because they have nothing to do. They have no meat, because they have no work.
“2. But why have they no work? Why are so many thousand people in London, in Bristol, in Norwich, in every county from one end of England to the other, utterly destitute of employment?
“Because the persons who used to employ them cannot afford to do it any longer. Many, who employed fifty men, now scarce employ ten. Those, who employed twenty, now employ one, or none at all. They cannot, as they have no vent for their goods; food now bearing so high a price, that the generality of people are hardly able to buy anything else.
“3. But to descend from generals to particulars. Why is breadcorn so dear? Because such immense quantities of it are continually consumed by distilling. Indeed, an eminent distiller, near London, hearing this, warmly replied: ‘Nay, my partner and I generally distil but a thousand quarters of corn a week.’ Perhaps so. Suppose five-and-twenty distillers, in and near the town, consume each only the same quantity. Here are five-and-twenty thousand quarters a week, that is, above twelve hundred and fifty thousand quarters a year, consumed in and about London! Add the distillers throughout England, and have we not reason to believe that half of the wheat produced in the kingdom is every year consumed, not by so harmless a way as throwing it into the sea; but by converting it into deadly poison—poison that naturally destroys, not only the strength and life, but also the morals of our countrymen!
“‘Well, but this brings in a large revenue to the king.’ Is this an equivalent for the lives of his subjects? Would his majesty sell a hundred thousand of his subjects yearly to Algiers for four hundred thousand pounds? Surely no. Will he then sell them for that sum, to be butchered by their own countrymen?—‘But otherwise the swine for the navy cannot be fed.’ Not unless they are fed with human flesh? not unless they are fatted with human blood? O tell it not in Constantinople, that the English raise the royal revenue by selling the blood and flesh of their countrymen!
“4. But why are oats so dear? Because there are four times the horses kept (to speak within compass), for coaches and chaises in particular, than were some years ago. Unless, therefore, four times the oats grew now as grew then, they cannot be at the same price. If only twice as much is produced, (which perhaps is near the truth,) the price will naturally be double to what it was.
“As the dearness of grain of one kind will always raise the price of another, so whatever causes the dearness of wheat and oats must raise the price of barley too. To account therefore for the dearness of this, we need only remember what has been observed above, although some particular causes may concur in producing the same effect.
“5. Why are beef and mutton so dear? Because most of the considerable farmers, particularly in the northern counties, who used to breed large numbers of sheep or horned cattle, and frequently both, no longer trouble themselves with either sheep, or cows, or oxen; as they can turn their land to far better account, by breeding horses alone. Such is the demand, not only for coach and chaise horses, which are bought and destroyed in incredible numbers; but much more for bred horses, which are yearly exported by hundreds, yea thousands, to France.
“6. But why are pork, poultry, and eggs so dear? Because of the monopolising of farms, as mischievous a monopoly as was ever yet introduced into these kingdoms. The land which was formerly divided among ten or twenty little farmers, and enabled them comfortably to provide for their families, is now generally engrossed by one great farmer. One man farms an estate of a thousand a year, which formerly maintained ten or twenty. Every one of these little farmers kept a few swine, with some quantity of poultry; and, having little money, was glad to send his bacon, or pork, or fowls and eggs, to market continually. Hence, the markets were plentifully served, and plenty created cheapness; but, at present, the great, the gentlemen farmers, are above attending to these little things. They breed no poultry or swine, unless for their own use; consequently they send none to market. Hence, it is not strange, if two or three of these living near a market town occasion such a scarcity of these things, by preventing the former supply, that the price of them will be double or treble to what it was before. Hence, (to instance in a small article,) in the same town where, within my memory, eggs were sold eight or ten a penny, they are now sold six or eight a groat.
Another cause why beef, mutton, pork, and all kind of victuals are so dear, is luxury. What can stand against this? Will it not waste and destroy all that nature and art can produce? If a person of quality will boil down three dozen of neat’s tongues, to make two or three quarts of soup (and so proportionably in other things), what wonder if provisions fail? Only look into the kitchens of the great, the nobility, and gentry, almost without exception (considering withal that the toe of the peasant treads upon the heel of the courtier), and when you have observed the amazing waste which is made there, you will no longer wonder at the scarcity, and consequently dearness, of the things which they use so much art to destroy.
“7. But why is land so dear? Because, on all these accounts, gentlemen cannot live as they have been accustomed to do, without increasing their income, which most of them cannot do but by raising their rents. The farmer, paying a higher rent for his land, must have a higher price for the produce of it. This again tends to raise the price of land. And so the wheel runs round.
“8. But why is it, that not only provisions and land, but well-nigh everything else is so dear? Because of the enormous taxes which are laid on almost everything that can be named. Not only abundant taxes are raised from earth, and fire, and water; but, in England, the ingenious statesmen have found a way to tax the very light! Only one element remains, and surely some man of honour will, ere long, contrive to tax this also. For how long shall the saucy air blow in the face of a gentleman, nay, a lord, without paying for it?
“9. But why are the taxes so high? Because of the national debt. They must be, while this continues. I have heard that the national expense, in the time of peace, was, sixty years ago, three millions a year. Now the bare interest of the public debt amounts to above four millions. To raise which, with the other expenses of government, those taxes are absolutely necessary.
“II. Here is the evil. But where is the remedy? Perhaps it exceeds all the wisdom of man to tell. But it may not be amiss to offer a few hints, even on this delicate subject.
“1. What remedy is there for this sore evil? Many thousand poor people are starving. Find them work, and you will find them meat. They will then earn and eat their own bread.
“2. But how shall their masters give them work, without ruining themselves? Procure vent for it, and it will not hurt their masters to give them as much work as they can do; and this will be done by sinking the price of provisions; for then people will have money to buy other things too.
“3. But how can the price of wheat be reduced? By prohibiting for ever that bane of health, that destroyer of strength, of life, and of virtue, distilling. Perhaps this alone will answer the whole design. If anything more be needful, may not all starch be made of rice, and the importation of this, as well as of wheat, be encouraged?
“4. How can the price of oats be reduced? By reducing the number of horses. And may not this be effectually done—(1) by laying a tax of ten pounds on every horse exported to France; (2) by laying an additional tax on gentlemen’s carriages. Not so much for every wheel, (barefaced, shameless partiality!) but ten pounds yearly for every horse. And these two taxes alone would nearly supply as much as is now given for leave to poison his majesty’s liege subjects.
“5. How can the price of beef and mutton be reduced? By increasing the breed of sheep and horned cattle. And this would be increased sevenfold, if the price of horses was reduced; which it surely would be half in half, by the method above mentioned.
“6. How can the price of pork and poultry be reduced? First, by letting no farms of above a hundred pounds a year. Secondly, by repressing luxury, either by example, by laws, or both.
“7. How may the price of land be reduced? By all the methods above named, all which tend to lessen the expense of housekeeping; but especially the last, restraining luxury, which is the grand source of poverty.
“8. How may the taxes be reduced? By discharging half the national debt, and so saving at least two millions a year.
“How this can be done the wisdom of the great council of the land can best determine.
“I am, sir, your humble servant,
“John Wesley.
“Dover, December 9, 1772.”
This was not the only thing that Wesley and the Methodists did, to contribute to the happiness of the starving poor. It was now that there was organised a band of pious Methodists, who made it their duty and their pleasure to visit the inmates of London workhouses, and, by prayer, and reading, and exhortation, to lead them to Him who is alone the great Comforter. That organisation has uninterruptedly existed down to the present time; and though, for the last twenty years, it has ceased to be a purely Methodist society, its chief workers bear the Methodistic name.[174] From the ninety-fifth annual report of what is now called “The Christian Community,” we learn that this society was “established under the patronage of the Rev. John Wesley, in 1772;” and that its agents, all labouring gratuitously, are regularly visiting the workhouses of Shoreditch, St. Luke’s, Clerkenwell, St. George’s in the East, and Bethnal Green, in eighty-eight halls and wards of which they hold religious services every week; and that, besides this, they have three services weekly in Cambridge Heath female refuge; visit between twenty and thirty low lodging houses, in Spitalfields, every Sunday night; and, during the year, hold about 463 services in the open air, deliver nearly 1400 addresses,[175] and distribute almost a quarter of a million of religious tracts. Not fewer than 124 visitors and exhorters are employed, nearly the whole of whom have appointments every week.
Into such a society has been developed the small band of godly Methodists, sent forth by Wesley, in 1772, to visit London paupers and London vagabonds. Its work is little known, and its agents scarcely recognised; but here, in the very heart of London, are 124 home missionaries, toiling to convert the lowest of the low to the faith of Christ, receiving not a farthing for their services, and carrying on their extensive machinery of tract distribution, tent preaching, and a circulating library, at the small expense of about £200 a year. Success to this unpretending and almost unknown society. May the God of heaven prosper it, in its great work, more and more! “It is a shame,” wrote Wesley to Joseph Benson, on December 11, 1772, “It is a shame for any Methodist preacher to confine himself to one place. We are debtors to all the world. We are called to warn every one, to exhort every one, if by any means we may save some. I love prayer-meetings, and wish they were set up in every corner of the town.”[176]
Such is a bird’s eye view of the work done, in 1772, by an old man, acutely suffering from the disease already mentioned. Writing to his brother in November, and again in December, Wesley says: