The Works of the
Rev. John Wesley, M.A.

About seven in the evening, one who was riding by, observed the ground to shake exceedingly, and soon after several large stones or rocks of some tons weight each, rose out of the ground. Others were thrown on one side, others turned upside down, and many rolled over and over. Being a little surprized, and not very curious, he hasted on his way.

On Friday and Saturday the ground continued to shake, and the rocks to roll over one another. The earth also clave asunder in very many places, and continued so to do till Sunday morning.

Being at Osmotherly, seven miles from the cliffs, on Monday, June 1, and finding Edward Abbot there, I desired him the next morning to shew me the way thither. I walked, crept and climbed round and over great part of the ruins. I could not perceive by any sign, that there was ever any cavity in the rock at all; but one part of the solid stone is cleft from the rest, in a perpendicular line, and as smooth as if cut with instruments. Nor is it barely thrown down, but split into many hundred pieces, some of which lie four or five hundred yards from the main rock.

All round them lay stones and rocks, great and small, some on the surface of the earth, some half sunk into it, some almost covered, in variety of positions. Between these the ground was cleft asunder, in a thousand places. Some of the apertures were nearly closed again, some gaping as at first. Between thirty and forty acres of land, as is commonly supposed, (tho’ some reckon above sixty) are in this condition.

On the skirts of these, I observed in abundance of places, the green turf (for it was pasture land) as it were pared off, two or three inches thick, and wrapt round like sheets of lead. A little farther it was not cleft or broken at all, but raised in ridges, five or six foot long, exactly resembling the graves in a church-yard. Of these there is a vast number.

That part of the cliff from which the rest is torn, lies so high and is now of so bright a colour, that it is plainly visible to all the country round, even at the distance of several miles. We saw it distinctly not only from the street in Thirsk, but for five or six miles after, as we rode toward York. So we did likewise, in the great North road, between Sandhutton and Northallerton.

But how may we account for this phenomenon? Was it effected by a merely natural cause? If so, that cause must either have been fire, water, or air. It could not be fire; for then some mark of it must have appeared, either at the time, or after it. But no such mark does appear, nor ever did: not so much as the least smoke, either when the first or second rock was removed, or in the whole space between Tuesday and Sunday.

It could not be water; for no water issued out, when the one or the other rock was torn off. Nor had there been any rains for some time before. It was in that part of the country a remarkable dry season. Neither was there any cavity in that part of the rock, wherein a sufficient quantity of water might have lodged. On the contrary, it was one, single, solid mass, which was evenly and smoothly cleft in sunder.

But alas! why should we not be convinced sooner, while that conviction may avail, that it is not chance which governs the world? Why should we not now, before London is as Lisbon, Lima, or Catanea, acknowledge the hand of the Almighty, arising to maintain his own cause? Why, we have a general answer always ready, to screen us from any such conviction: “All these things are purely natural and accidental; the result of natural causes.” But there are two objections to this answer: first, it is untrue; secondly, it is uncomfortable.

A second objection to your answer is, it is extremely uncomfortable. For if things really be as you affirm, if all these afflictive incidents, entirely depend on the fortuitous concourse and agency of blind, material causes; what hope, what help, what resource is left, for the poor sufferers by them? Should the murrain among the cattle continue a few years longer, and consequently produce scarcity or famine; what will there be left for many of the poor to do, but to lie down and die? If tainted air spread a pestilence over our land, where shall they fly for succour? They cannot resist either the one or other. They cannot escape from them. And can they hope to appease

Illacrymabilem Plutona?
“Inexorable Pluto, king of shades?”

Shall they intreat the famine or the pestilence to shew mercy? Alas, they are as senseless as you suppose God to be.

However, you who are men of fortune can shift tolerably well, in spite of these difficulties. Your money will undoubtedly procure you food as long as there is any in the kingdom. And if your physicians cannot secure you from the epidemic disease, your coaches can carry you from the place of infection. Be it so: but you are not out of all danger yet; unless you can drive faster than the wind. Are you sure of this? And are your horses literally swifter than the lightning? Can they leave the panting storm behind? If not, what will you do when it overtakes you? Try your eloquence on the whirlwind? Will it hear your voice? Will it regard either your money, or prayers, or tears? Call upon the lightning. Cry aloud. See whether your voice will divide the flames of fire? O no! It hath no ears to hear. It devoureth and sheweth no pity.

But supposing the earthquake which made such havock at Lisbon, should never travel so far as London, is there nothing else which can reach us? What think you of a comet? Are we absolutely out of the reach of this? You cannot say we are; seeing these move in all directions, and through every region of the universe. And would the approach of one of these amazing spheres, be of no importance to us? Especially in its return from the sun? When that immense body is (according to Sir Isaac Newton’s calculation) heated two thousand times hotter than a red-hot cannon ball. The late ingenious and accurate Dr. Halley (never yet suspected of enthusiasm) fixes the return of the great comet in the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty eight: and he observes that the last time it revolved, it moved in the very same line which the earth describes in her annual course round the sun: but the earth was on the other side of her orbit. Whereas in this revolution it will move not only in the same line, but in the same part of that line wherein the earth moves. And “who can tell (says that great man) what the consequences of such a contact may be?”

But what if this vast body is already on its way? If it is nearer than we are aware of? What if these unusual, unprecedented motions of the waters, be one effect of its near approach? We cannot be certain, that it will be visible to the inhabitants of our globe, till it has imbibed the solar fire. But possibly we may see it sooner than we desire. We may see it, not as Milton speaks,

But where shall you find one who answers this happy and amiable character? Wherever you find a Christian: for this, and this alone is real, genuine Christianity. Surely you did not imagine, that Christianity was no more than such a system of opinions as is vulgarly called faith? Or a strict and regular attendance on any kind of external worship? O no! Were this all that it implied, Christianity were indeed a poor, empty, shallow thing: such as none but half-thinkers could admire, and all who think freely and generously must despise. But this is not the case: the spirit above described, this alone, is Christianity. And if so, it is no wonder, that even a celebrated unbeliever should make that frank declaration, “Well, after all, these Christian dogs, are the happiest fellows upon earth!” Indeed they are. Nay, we may say more. They are the only happy men upon earth: and that tho’ we should have no regard at all to the particular circumstances above-mentioned. Suppose there was no such thing as a comet in the universe, or none that would ever approach the solar system; suppose there had never been an earthquake in the world, or that we were assured there never would be another: yet what advantage has a Christian (I mean always a real, scriptural Christian) above all other men upon earth?

What advantage has he over you in particular, if you do not believe the Christian system? For suppose you have utterly driven away storms, lightnings, earthquakes, comets, yet there is another grim enemy at the door; and you cannot drive him away, it is death. “O that death (said a gentleman of large possessions, of good health, and a chearful natural temper) I do not love to think of it! it comes in and spoils all.” So it does indeed. It comes with its “miscreated front,” and spoils all your mirth, diversions, pleasures! It turns all into the silence of a tomb, into rottenness and dust. And many times it will not stay till the trembling hand of old age beckons to it: but it leaps upon you, while you are in the dawn of life, in the bloom and strength of your years.

But the case is far otherwise with a Christian. To him life and immortality are brought to light. His eye pierces through the vale of the shadow of death, and sees into the glories of eternity. His view does not terminate on that black line,

“The verge ’twixt mortal and immortal being.”

But extends beyond the bounds of time and place, to the house of God eternal in the heavens. Hence he is so far from looking upon death as an enemy, that he longs to feel his welcome embrace. He groans (but they are pleasing groans) to have mortality swallowed up of life.

Perhaps you will say, “But this is all a dream. He is only in a fool’s paradise?” Supposing he be, it is a pleasing dream.

Maneat mentis gratissimus error!