FOR a moment, let us look at Whitefield, who spent the year 1747 in America. Wesley had written him on the subject of union; to which he replied on the 11th of September, as follows:—

So much for Whitefield. What about his English coadjutors? Howel Harris writes:—

Joseph Williams, of Kidderminster, relates, that he had recently been on a preaching tour in Wales, and in Yorkshire. At Haworth, he had taken a bed at the house of Grimshaw, with whom he held sweet fellowship, from six o’clock at night till two o’clock next morning. Grimshaw’s church was always crowded, and hundreds were not able to get in at all. People flocked to hear him from all the neighbouring towns, and as many as a hundred strangers were accustomed, on a Sunday, to dine at the village inn. The surrounding clergy were caballing to get him suspended; and, if they succeeded, he was resolved to become at once an itinerant preacher. The landlord, at Colne, told Williams that Grimshaw had preached in that town “damnation beyond all sense and reason,” his sermon lasting two long hours; and that, “every week, and almost every day, he preached in barns and private houses, and was a great encourager of conventicles.”

Thomas Adams says, he had been preaching in a barn at Gosport, and that in the neighbourhood of Portsmouth the good work was prospering. In Wilts, he had seen religion reviving. In Gloucestershire, his labours had been blessed, and the meetings of the societies had been a pentecost. When at Bristol there had been “a brave shaking among the dry bones.”

James Relly (who afterwards founded a sect called “Rellyan Universalists,”) observes, that at Bristol he had examined the whole society once a week, but the place had been “a furnace” to him. At Bath, he had “particular freedom.” In Gloucestershire, he had been preaching every day, and thrice on Sundays; and had found the people “honest, simple, and hungering after the bread of life.” At Wednesbury, he found his heart enlarged every time he preached. At Birmingham, he had formed a society of twenty members, and had left them with great regret. At Bromsgrove, he had preached in an Independent chapel, to a congregation of “simple, loving souls.” At Tewkesbury, a furious mob assaulted him, swore, cursed, laughed, pricked the congregation with pins, threw handfuls of snuff among them, and brickbats and dirt; and broke the windows of the house; but, in the midst of all, he continued preaching for an hour.

John Relly was witnessing “many inroads made in Satan’s kingdom,” and he seldom preached without seeing conversions.

Herbert Jenkins had been preaching in Scotland, and conversing with the clergy, many of whom he pronounces to be “good men, and very powerful preachers.” In Edinburgh, he had found nearly twenty societies, including one composed of soldiers, who had fought at the battle of Culloden. In the park, he had had a congregation of many thousands. “At Glasgow,” says the Scots Magazine, “he was complimented with the freedom of the city, and was entertained by the magistrates and by the presbytery. He made no public collections as Whitefield did, and his behaviour altogether was inoffensive and becoming.”

John Edwards had made a tour through the midland counties, where “King Jesus was getting Himself the victory.” He writes:—“Oh what times and seasons we have had; souls fired with the love of God, and following the word from place to place, horse and foot, like men engaged in a war, determined to take the city by force of arms.” At Haverfordwest and in Wales, multitudes flocked to hear him.

Certain members of the Tabernacle society, in London, relate that the place was generally full; and a gentleman at Plymouth writes, that “the work goes on very comfortably there.”[610]

These hints will suggest to the reader an idea of the work that was being done by the preachers who propagated Whitefield’s doctrines. All the letters, filling more than a hundred pages of the “Christian History,” breathe the most ardent piety, and are full of gratitude, hope, and exultation.

Charles Wesley spent the first two months of 1747 in a journey from Newcastle to Bristol. The next six months he made London and Bristol the centre of his operations. The last four months of the year were employed in Ireland.

Wesley himself was travelling almost incessantly, and we must now try to follow him.

On January 11 he left London for Bristol. Reaching Devizes, he found the town in the greatest uproar. Swelling words, oaths, curses, and threatenings were abundant. Mr. Innys, the curate, who knew of Wesley’s coming, had spent the day in visiting from house to house, to stir up the people against him. He had also published an advertisement, in the most public places in the town, of “An obnubilative, pantomime entertainment, to be exhibited at Mr. Clark’s,” in whose house Wesley had to preach. For the present, however, the high purpose of the zealous curate was not realised. At the appointed hour, Wesley commenced preaching. The well instigated mob were listeners, but they were all dumb dogs, and attention sat on every face.

Sixteen days afterwards, Wesley returned to this clerical preserve, where he again found, that great efforts had been used to raise a rabble, but, he writes, “it was lost labour; all that could be mustered were a few straggling soldiers, and forty or fifty boys.”

Wesley told his brother, “there was no such thing as raising a mob at Devizes”; but Charles soon found it to be otherwise. Coming within a month after, on February 24, a crowd awaited him, headed by “the chief gentleman of the town,” while Mr. Innys, the energetic curate, stood with them in the street, jumping for very joy. The reverend persecutor had been more successful in organising ruffians to do his dirty work, in the case of Charles, than he had been in the case of Wesley himself. He had declared in the pulpit, as well as from house to house, that he had heard Charles preach blasphemy before the university, and tell his congregation, “If you don’t receive the Holy Ghost while I breathe upon you, you will all be damned.” He had secured the services of two of the chief men in the borough, Messrs. Sutton and Willy, both of them Dissenters. The poor parson was so supremely happy, that he began to dance. The church bells were rung backwards. Mrs. Philip’s house was ransacked; the windows were smashed, and the shutters of the shop torn down; the door was blocked up with a wagon; and lights were kindled to prevent the preacher’s escaping. The mob then proceeded to the inn, and seized the horses of Charles Wesley and his friend Meriton, and, some hours afterwards, the poor animals were found in a pond, up to the neck in water. A water engine was played into the house where Charles was staying; the rooms were flooded; and the goods were spoiled. The leader of the small society was thrown into a pool, and, almost miraculously, escaped an untimely death. The son of the mayor had been converted, and, instead of running away to sea, had joined the society. His father was a coward, and had left the town, when he ought to have remained in it; but his mother sent her maid, begging Charles Wesley to disguise himself in a woman’s clothes, and endeavour to escape. At length, the constable came, beseeching him to leave the town; and poor Mr. Sutton and Mr. Willy began to fear the mob, which they and their clerical friend Innys had been the means of raising, was becoming more violent than might be safe. In the midst of this, Charles Wesley and Mr. Meriton took the opportunity to get away; and, after escaping a most murderous attack from a couple of bulldogs, not less savage than the bloodthirsty villains which hounded them on, the two martyr like ministers began singing the hymn commencing, “Worship, and thanks, and blessing;” and thus, in a tone of triumph, made their way to Bath and Bristol.[611]

Strangely enough, Wesley was accustomed to choose the worst season of the year for his most trying journey. Why? We cannot tell. Having finished his visitation of the London classes, he set out, on the 16th of February, for Newcastle. A north wind blew so hard and keen, that, when he and his companions got to Hatfield, they could scarcely use either their hands or feet. In making their way to Baldock, they encountered a storm of snow and hail, which drove so vehemently in their faces, that sight was useless, and breathing almost impossible. Next day, they had the greatest difficulty in keeping their horses on their feet. The wind rose higher and higher, till it threatened to overturn both man and beast. A storm of rain and hail drove through their coats, great and small, boots, and everything; and, freezing as it fell, their eyebrows were hung with icicles. On Stamford Heath, the snow was lying in mountain drifts, which sometimes well-nigh swallowed up both horses and riders; but, about sunset, they came, cold and weary, to Brigg-Casterton. On the 18th, they were told, so much snow had fallen in the night, that travelling was impracticable. Wesley replied, “At least, we can walk twenty miles a day, with our horses in our hands”; and off he set. The north-east wind was piercing; the main road was impassable; Wesley was distracted with the toothache; but, at five in the afternoon, they arrived at Newark. Next day, they came to Epworth, where they rested the three days following; with the exception, that, on Sunday Wesley preached twice in the humble meeting-house, and once, after the evening prayers, at Epworth cross, to most of the adult population of the town.

The next three days were spent in an excursion to Grimsby and back again to Epworth. Charles Wesley had been at the former town seven weeks before, when the meeting-house was invaded by a mob of wild creatures, almost naked, who ran about the place, attacking all they met. Several caught at the preacher to drag him down, and one struck at him. At length, they fell to fighting and beating each other, till, in a few minutes, they literally drove themselves out of the very room from which they meant to drive the poor Methodists; and one of the ringleaders, armed with a great club, swore he would conduct the minister to his lodgings, and forthwith led him through the drunken rioters to brother Blow’s.[612]

On this occasion, when Wesley himself came, “a young gentleman and his companions” drowned Wesley’s voice, till a poor woman took up the cause, and, by keenly and wittily reciting a few passages of the young spark’s life, turned the laugh of his companions upon him, and obliged him to skulk away discomfited. Next day, he came to ask Wesley’s pardon, and thus, for some years, Methodist persecution at Grimsby ceased. At Tetney, Wesley found the most remarkable society in England, with Micah Elmoor for its leader. The members were all poor, and yet each gave from eightpence to two shillings weekly,—certainly a large amount, considering the rate of agricultural wages and the worth of money. The members of the London society were not averaging more than about a penny per week. Wesley was surprised at the difference, and asked, “How is this?” To which Micah Elmoor replied, “All of us, who are single persons, have agreed together, to give both ourselves and all we have to God; and, by this means, we are able, from time to time, to entertain all the strangers that come to Tetney; who often have no food to eat, nor any friend to give them lodging.”

On February 26, Wesley left Epworth, and proceeded northwards, preaching, on his way, at Sykehouse, Acomb, Thirsk, and Osmotherley. At the last mentioned place, where he had already found a friend in the popish priest, the clergyman of the parish allowed him to preach twice in the parish church. “The bitterest gainsayers,” says Wesley, “seemed now to be melted into love. All were convinced we are no papists. How wisely does God order all things in their season!”

On the 2nd of March, he reached Newcastle. At this period, Grace Murray had charge of the Orphan House family. More than once, she had been an inmate; but she and sister Jackson, like rival queens in the same establishment, were unable to agree, and, at least twice, Wesley had had the unenviable task of reconciling two gossiping women, whose religion made them proud and garrulous, rather than of “a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.” Grace’s first husband was drowned in 1742, upon which she removed from London to Newcastle, where she was appointed leader of several classes. Within six months of her husband’s death, she became the sweetheart of John Brydon, and it was commonly supposed they were about to marry, but, in the long run, Grace declined the honour of John’s alliance. At the end of 1745, she was made Orphan House keeper, and retained the office at the time of Wesley’s visit, in 1747.[613] Unfortunately, we shall have to recur to sister Murray at a subsequent period.

Another inmate was Jeannie Keith, belonging to a respectable family of the Keiths in Scotland. Being persecuted on account of her religious principles, she fled to England, and took shelter in Wesley’s Orphan House, where she went by the cognomen of “Holy Mary.” She was afterwards married to James Bowmaker, a master builder at Alnwick, who erected the first Methodist chapel in that town, and was the grandfather of the Rev. James Everett. She had two children, and died about the year 1752. It has generally been supposed, that Jeannie Keith fell from grace, this opinion being founded upon an expression in one of Wesley’s letters, written a year or two previous to her death;[614] but the inference is hardly legitimate, and the thing itself is incorrect. The writer is possessed of authentic manuscripts, showing, that though Jeannie returned to the presbyterian religion, she continued faithful to her great Master to the very last. A year only before her death, she was diligently distributing the works of John and Charles Wesley among her friends and relatives, including Lord and Lady Saltoun; and the greatest crime that I can find alleged against her, is that of rejoining the church of her childhood. An extract from one of Jeannie’s letters to Wesley, in 1747, may be useful.

In another letter, dated November 1, 1748, and addressed to Wesley, she writes:—

How many more refugee sisters there were in the Orphan House, we are not informed; but we learn from the manuscript already quoted, that, about this period, Christopher Hopper, Benjamin Wheatley, Edward Dunstan, and Eleazer Webster, all of them either already or about to become itinerants, were, more or less, Orphan House residents; and it is probable, that these were some of the young men referred to in the extracts following. The Orphan House was, at once, a place of worship, a school for orphans, a refuge for the injured and oppressed, the northern home of Wesley, and the “theological institution” of his preachers. Wesley writes:—

The old Orphan House was thus the first institution in which young Methodist preachers received instructions for the efficient discharge of their ministerial duties. Here Wesley himself studied. During this very visit, he read “The Exhortations of Ephraem Syrus,” whose picture of a broken and contrite heart had never been excelled since the days of David,—and “The History of the Puritans;” after which he wrote:—“I stand in amaze: first, at the execrable spirit of persecution which drove those venerable men out of the Church, and with which Queen Elizabeth’s clergy were as deeply tinctured as ever Queen Mary’s were; secondly, at the weakness of those holy confessors, many of whom spent so much of their time and strength in disputing about surplices and hoods, or kneeling at the Lord’s supper.”

It is a curious fact, that, though only little more than four years had elapsed since the society at Newcastle was founded by Charles Wesley, it was now reduced from above eight hundred members to four hundred. Wesley, however, considered, according to the old proverb, that “the half was more than the whole”; but if this were true, the whole must have been a motley mass.

Having spent seven weeks at Newcastle and in the neighbourhood, Wesley set out, on Easter Monday, April 20, for London. In the evening, he reached Osmotherley, where, after having ridden, at least, sixty miles, and preached twice, he mounted a tombstone, and concluded the day by a sermon from “The Lord is risen indeed.” Here John Nelson met him, having just escaped from the hands of his murderous persecutors in the vicinity of York.

Proceeding to Thirsk, Wesley found the town full of holiday folks, drinking, cursing, swearing, and cockfighting. Making his way to Leeds and other towns in the west riding of Yorkshire, he visited the Moravian settlement at Fulneck, which was now approaching completion. “It stands,” says he, “on the side of a hill, commanding all the vale beneath, and the opposite hill. The front is exceeding grand, though plain, being faced with fine, smooth, white stone. The Germans suppose it will cost about three thousand pounds; it is well if it be not nearer ten. But that is no concern to the English Brethren; for they are told, and believe, that all the money will come from beyond the sea.” We shall find, in a subsequent chapter, that Wesley’s doubts respecting the “ways and means” were not unfounded.

At Keighley, Wesley ascertained that the small society of ten had increased tenfold. He visited Grimshaw, and preached in Haworth church. At Halifax, he addressed “a civil, senseless congregation,” and baptized a Quaker. Meeting with William Darney, who, besides converting Grimshaw, had been the means of forming a number of societies among the mountains of Lancashire and Yorkshire, Wesley, at his request, set out to visit those infant churches, at Roughlee, Widdap, Stonesey Gate, and other places. While preaching one morning at five o’clock, near New Church, in Rossendale, one of his hearers was a young man, then in his twentieth year, who afterwards rose to a high position,—John Butterworth, for more than fifty years the pastor of a Baptist church, the author of a valuable concordance to the Holy Scriptures, and the father of the late Joseph Butterworth, Esq., who was long a distinguished Methodist in the metropolis, and a member of the House of Commons.

From Rossendale, Wesley proceeded to Manchester, where, on the 7th of May, he preached at Salford cross. Within the last few months, a few young men had formed themselves into a society, had rented a room, and written a letter desiring the Wesleys to own them as brethren. The “room” was a small apartment in a house built upon a rock on the bank of the Irwell, on the north side of Blackfriars Bridge, at the bottom of a large yard, known by the name of the “Rose and Crown yard,” and which was filled with wood built, thatched cottages. The house, containing the “preaching room” was three storeys high. The ground floor was a joiner’s shop; the rooms in the middle story were the residence of a newly married couple; the garret was the “room,” and was itself also the home of a poor woman, who there plied her spinning wheel, while her husband, in the same apartment, flung the shuttle. Christopher Hopper, at one of the Manchester conferences, referred to this little meeting-house, and said: “In 1749, I preached in an old garret, that overhung the river, in the neighbourhood of the old bridge. The coals were in one corner of the room, the looms in another, and I was in danger of breaking my neck in getting up to it. The congregation consisted of not more than from twenty to thirty persons.”[617] Such was the cradle of Manchester Methodism, in 1747. Wesley says, “their house would not contain a tenth part of the people,”—and hence he went to Salford cross.

While at Manchester, Wesley made his first visit to Boothbank. Here resided John and Alice Crosse. Alice had been a rude, uncultivated creature, but had a dash of the heroine in her constitution. “John Crosse,” said she, “wilt thou go to heaven with me? If not, I am determined not to go to hell with thee.” Her decision was firm and final, and honest John soon joined her in her journey to the better land. They now gladly received the servants of God into their dwelling, a pulpit was fixed in their largest room, a society was formed, and Alice was made leader. Her endeavours to be useful were indefatigable. Common beggars were intercepted, warned of their sin and danger, prayed with, and then relieved. Gentlemen, who came a-hunting, were run after, and told, in the plainest terms, the consequences of their sinful doings. On her husband being made a constable, (she having far more courage than himself) he would send her to the constables’ meetings, to defend the despised and persecuted Methodists. When disappointed of a preacher, Alice herself would occupy the pulpit, and, with faithful energy, declare the truth as it is in Jesus. Though marked with rusticity, she was, in decision and majesty, a Deborah.[618] “She was,” says John Pawson, “one of the most zealous, active, spiritually minded women I ever knew.” She died in 1774, aged sixty-five. Her house, for generations, was the happy home of Methodist itinerants. Up to a few years ago, a bootjack, made by John Nelson, at one of his visits, was carefully preserved by her descendants living in the same farm dwelling; and on the panes of glass in the window of what was known as “the prophet’s chamber,” were not a few inscriptions written by the brave hearted evangelists, who there found a warm welcome. Boothbank was the loving centre where the first Methodists of Lancashire and Cheshire used to meet, for friendly counsel, and the old farmhouse was licensed for preaching before any Methodist chapel was built in Manchester. Five years after this first visit by Wesley, the first Cheshire quarterly meeting was held in the humble dwelling of John and Alice Crosse, when Chester sent, by Jonathan Pritchard, the sum of twelve shillings; Bolton, by George Eskrick, eight shillings and twopence; Manchester, by Richard Barlow, two pounds three shillings and fivepence; while Boothbank itself contributed the not insignificant sum of ten shillings and elevenpence.[619] Wesley’s description of the Boothbank congregation, at his first visit, is brief but beautiful,—“a quiet and loving people.”

Leaving Boothbank, he proceeded to Mr. Anderton’s, near Northwich. Here he preached, prayed, and talked for more than two hours, his rustic congregation being intermixed with “several of the gay and rich.” Many long years elapsed, however, before Methodist preaching was established in the town itself, and here, as elsewhere, Methodism met with brutal persecution. On one occasion, the preacher was pulled down the street by the hair of his head.[620] On another, John Morris narrowly escaped being thrown over the bridge into the river.[621] The mob, encouraged by two young gents of the names of Barrow and Jeffreys, rejoiced not only in throwing stones, mud, and rotten eggs, but in dragging the Methodist itinerants into a quagmire, which divided the townships of Northwich and Witton. One of the first Methodists here was Isaac Barnes, a seedsman, who was often rolled in the foul river, and in other respects made to suffer; but his sister once used a device by which the biters were bitten. While the mob were shouting, swearing, and throwing stones at the front of her brother’s house, she quietly heated the poker, and then, letting it cool till its redness was removed, she rushed into the street, and pretended to strike the assembled scamps. One seized the poker, but instantly let it go. Others, in quick succession, did the same; and, in a little while, the amazon was victorious; by their own act, in seizing the heated poker, most of the assailants were in burning agony; and the valorous mob were surprised and scattered. Moses Dale was another of the first Northwich Methodists,—a poor and plain, but earnest and honest man,—a class-leader and local preacher, who was once carried round the town on a butcher’s block, and then set down in the market place, where the crowd with cow horns blew into his ears till he was almost deafened. Moses was a man of small ability, but a son of thunder. Once a year, he made a preaching tour through Derbyshire and Shropshire, and, on one occasion, preached in the vicarage at Madeley, with his hands on Fletcher’s shoulders. “Moses,” said some young swells in a chemist’s shop, “is it true that you know your sins forgiven?” “I am forbidden to tell you,” quietly replied Moses. “Who forbids you, Moses?” “Jesus Christ,” said Moses; “look at Matthew vii. 6.” “Surely, Moses, you don’t compare us to swine?” “No,” quoth Moses, “but the Bible does, and I have no occasion.” Poor Moses died in 1788.

From Northwich, Wesley went to Congleton, and Macclesfield, and Sheffield, and Leeds; and then, turning round, he hurried, by way of Nottingham and Birmingham, to London, which he reached on the 21st of May.

For the last eight years, Wesley had been shut out of the London churches; but now, to one of them, he was again admitted. The Rev. Richard Thomas Bateman, a man of high birth and great natural endowments, was rector of St. Bartholomew’s the Great, in Smithfield, and also held a living in Wales, where he had been converted under the powerful ministry of the Rev. Howel Davies.[622] Being converted himself, he, at once, with great fervour, began to pray and preach for the conversion of others.

As soon as Wesley got back to London, Mr. Bateman offered him his pulpit, and the offer was accepted. The church was crowded to excess. The churchwardens complained to Bishop Gibson, saying, “My lord, Mr. Bateman, our rector, invites Mr. Wesley very frequently to preach in his church.” The bishop replied, “What would you have me do? I have no right to hinder him. Mr. Wesley is a clergyman, regularly ordained, and under no ecclesiastical censure;”[623] and so the matter ended.

From the first, the financial affairs of the London society had been entrusted to stewards. Hitherto, they had been sixteen in number, but Wesley now reduced them to seven, to whom he gave a series of instructions how to regulate their behaviour. They were to hold meetings every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Every meeting was to begin and end with prayer. Once a month, their accounts were to be transcribed into the ledger. Each, in turn, was to be chairman for a month. Nothing was to be done without the consent of the minister. They were to be deeply serious. Only one was to speak at once, and he only just loud enough to make himself heard. They were to avoid all clamour and contention. If they could not relieve the poor who came, they were not to grieve them. They were to give them soft words, if nothing else; and to make them glad to come, even though they had to go away empty. A steward breaking any of these rules, after being thrice admonished by the chairman, was to be deposed from office.

It may be asked whence the stewards obtained their funds. The answer is, that, for more than forty years, all the money collected in the London classes was put into the hands of these officials, and was distributed in relieving the necessities of the poor. Not a shilling seems to have been spent upon the preachers’ salaries.[624]

Visiting the sick, and the opening of the dispensary, have been already noticed. But, besides these, there were connected with the old Foundery other expensive and valuable institutions. Two small houses were taken and fitted up for the reception of needy and deserving widows, for the support of whom the collections at the sacraments and the contributions of the bands were given. In 1748, Wesley writes: “In this (commonly called the poor-house) we have now nine widows, one blind woman, two poor children, and two upper servants, a maid and a man. I might add, four or five preachers; for I myself, as well as the other preachers who are in town, diet with the poor, on the same food, and at the same table; and we rejoice herein, as a comfortable earnest of our eating bread together in our Father’s kingdom.”[625]

Then there was a school with two masters, and about sixty children, a few of whom paid for their tuition, but the greater part, being extremely poor, were taught and even clothed gratuitously. The rules were characteristic, but some of them exceedingly absurd. No child was to be admitted under the age of six. All the children were to be present every morning at the five o’clock preaching. The school hours were from six to twelve, and from one to five. No holidays were granted. No child was to speak in school, but to the masters; and any child who was absent two days in one week, without leave, was to be excluded. The education consisted of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Two stewards were appointed to receive subscriptions and to pay expenses; and also to pray with and exhort the children twice a week; and to meet the parents every Wednesday morning, and give them counsels how to train their children when at home.[626]

Then there was a lending society. Observing that people often needed small sums of money, but knew not where to borrow them, Wesley went from one end of London to the other, and, in a few days, begged £50. This was lodged in the hands of stewards, who attended every Tuesday morning for the purpose of lending to those who wanted any small amount, not exceeding twenty shillings, on condition that the loan should be repaid within three months. Wesley writes: “It is almost incredible, but, with this inconsiderable sum, two hundred and fifty have been assisted within the year 1747. Will not God put it into the heart of some lover of mankind to increase this little stock? If this is not lending unto the Lord, what is?”[627]

The stock was increased. At the commencement of 1748, Wesley made a public collection for the same object, and by this and by other means the capital was raised, in 1767, to £120,[628] after which the maximum loan was altered from one pound to five.[629] Hundreds of the honest poor were greatly assisted by this benevolent device; and, among others, the well known Lackington, who about the year 1774 was penniless, but who, by the help of Wesley’s fund, began a book business, which grew to such immense dimensions, that, eighteen years afterwards, its annual sales were more than a hundred thousand volumes, from which Lackington, the quondam cobbler, realised the noble income of £5000 a year.

Such were the benevolent institutions connected with the Foundery in 1747. Wesley was often accused of making himself rich. In reply to this, in 1748, he sarcastically remarks:—“Some have supposed my revenue was no greater than that of the Bishop of London. Others have computed, that I receive £800 a year from Yorkshire only. If so, it cannot be so little as £10,000 a year which I receive out of all England! Accordingly, the rector of Redruth extends the calculation pretty considerably. ‘Let me see,’ said he; ‘two millions of Methodists, and each of these paying twopence a week.’ If so, I must have £860,000, with some odd shillings and pence, a year! A tolerable competence! But be it more or less, it is nothing at all to me. All that is contributed or collected, in every place, is both received and expended by others; nor have I so much as the ‘beholding thereof with my eyes.’ And so it will be, till I turn Turk or pagan. For I look upon all this revenue, be it what it may, as sacred to God and the poor; out of which, if I want anything, I am relieved, even as another poor man. So were originally all ecclesiastical revenues, as every man of learning knows; and the bishops and priests used them only as such. If any use them otherwise now, God help them!”[630]

The conference of 1747 began on the 15th of June, and ended on the 20th. This was the largest yet held. Six clergymen were present, namely, John and Charles Wesley, Charles Manning, Richard Thomas Bateman, Henry Piers, and Vincent Perronet; also Howel Harris; and nine preachers, John Jones, Thomas Maxfield, Jonathan Reeves, John Nelson, John Bennet, John Downes, Robert Swindells, John Maddern, and Thomas Crouch, the last mentioned being a local preacher only.[631]

Two doctrines were discussed at the conference of 1747; first, whether a Divine assurance of the forgiveness of sins is an essential part of justifying faith; and secondly, whether entire sanctification is attainable in the present life. It was inquired, “Is justifying faith a Divine assurance that Christ loved me, and gave Himself for me?” Answer: “We believe it is.”[632] This was unguarded language, and John Wesley soon felt it so. A month later, he seems to have examined the subject more closely, and wrote to his brother Charles as follows:—

This seems to clash with Wesley’s previously expressed sentiments, and, in 1809, there was a somewhat bitter controversy on the subject between the Rev. Melville Horne and the Rev. Edward Hare and others. Suffice it to say here, that the definition of faith in the Church of England’s homily on salvation, which Wesley had been wont to quote, was rather a definition of the habitual faith of a justified man, than of the act by which a sinner is first justified and saved.[634] Wesley held this corrected view to the end of life.

As it respects the second question raised at the conference of 1747, it was allowed—(1) That many of those who have died in the faith were not made “perfect in love” till a little before death; (2) that the term “sanctified” is continually applied by St. Paul to all that are justified, but that, by this term alone, he rarely, if ever, means saved from all sin, and consequently, it is improper to use it in such a sense without adding the word “wholly” or “entirely”; and (3) that the inspired writers very rarely speak either of, or to those who are wholly sanctified, and that therefore it behoves us, in public at least, rarely to speak, in full and explicit terms, concerning entire sanctification. Having conceded such points (which may sound strangely in the ears of some at the present day), the Conference proceeds to show most conclusively, from numerous texts of Scripture, that believers ought to expect to be saved from all sin, previous to death; but exhorts such as have attained to this state of grace not to speak of it to those who know not God, nor indeed to any without some particular reason, without some particular good in view, and even then to have an especial care to avoid all appearance of boasting, and to speak more loudly and convincingly by their lives, than they can do by their tongues.

The remainder of the conference sittings were principally occupied in determining miscellaneous matters. The right of private judgment was enforced. All agreed to read, before the next conference, all the tracts which had been published by Wesley, and to mark every passage which they considered to be wrong or dubious. It was ruled, that the Methodists were not schismatics, any more than they were rebels or murderers. It was agreed that they had been too limited in their field preaching; and that they had paid “respect to persons,” by devoting more of their time to the rich than to the poor, by not speaking to them so plain as to the others, and by admitting them into the society and bands, though they had never received remission of sins, nor met in any band at all. Precautions were to be employed in keeping from the Lord’s table unworthy communicants, first, by exercising more care in admitting members into the society, and secondly, by giving notes to none but those who applied for them on the days appointed in each quarter. Wesley’s “assistants” were now twenty-two in number. The names of thirty-eight local preachers are given, including a number, who, to some extent, were already labouring as itinerants.

Who can fail to admire the simple, honest earnestness of these early conclaves of godly Methodists?—men, without preconceived ideas, desiring above all things to ascertain what is truth, and to adopt the most useful plans in spreading it? “In our first conference,” say they, “it was agreed to examine every point from the foundation. Have we not been somewhat fearful in doing this? What were we afraid of? Of overturning our first principles? Whoever was afraid of this, it was a vain fear. For if they are true, they will bear the strictest examination. If they are false, the sooner they are overturned the better. Let us all pray for a willingness to receive light; an invariable desire to know of every doctrine, whether it be of God.” Men animated by such a principle were sure to have happy meetings, and were not likely to go far astray.

On the Sunday after the conference ended, Wesley set out for Cornwall. It was the eve of a parliamentary election, and, at Exeter, while his clothes were being dried, he wrote “A Word to a Freeholder;” and, at St. Ives, so successfully warned the Methodists against bribery, that, though sorely tempted, “not one of them would even eat or drink at the expense of the candidate for whom they voted.” At Plymouth, a lieutenant with his retinue of soldiers, drummers, and a mob, came to make disturbance. At St. Agnes, the rabble threw dirt and clods; and Mr. Shepherd’s horse, taking fright, leaped over a man who was stooping down, the poor fellow screaming most lustily, but escaping unhurt. Here another man, learning that Wesley was about to preach, said, “If he does, I’ll stone him,” and forthwith began to fill his pockets with the needful missiles. He reached the spot. Wesley took his text, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” The man’s courage failed him, stone after stone stealthily dropped from his well filled pockets, and he went away with the impression that the preacher was something wonderful.[635] At Sithney, Wesley met the stewards of all the Cornish societies, and found that there were eighteen exhorters in the county; that three of these had no gifts at all for the work, neither natural nor supernatural; that a fourth had neither gifts nor grace, but was a dull, empty, self conceited man; and that a fifth had considerable gifts, but had evidently made shipwreck of the grace of God. These, therefore, he set aside, and advised the societies not to hear them. The remaining thirteen were to preach when there was no preacher in their own or the neighbouring societies, provided that they would take no step without the advice of those who had more experience than themselves. At Newlyn, where Peter Jaco had been recently converted,[636] some poor wretches of Penzance began cursing and swearing, and thrust Wesley down the bank on which he was preaching. At Port Isaac, the mob hallooed and shouted, but none except the captain lifted up his hand to strike. At Camelford, a large train attended him, but only one stone struck him. At Terdinny, the parson affirmed publicly in his church, that Wesley’s errand was to obtain a hundred pounds, which must be raised directly. These were the unpleasantnesses of his journey; but, upon the whole, his visit was happy and successful; and, almost in every place, he found the good work prospering, as the following letter to his friend Ebenezer Blackwell shows:—