1767

The whole society met in the evening in

Spitalfields church, and solemnly renewed their covenant with God.

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I buried the remains of Mary Clarke, (formerly Gardiner,) who, having been much hurt in the late contests, was, during a lingering illness, first thoroughly convinced of her fall from God, and afterward thoroughly restored. She then vehemently exhorted all not to stray from the fold; and died rejoicing in the full salvation of God.

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I made a push for the lending-stock; speaking more strongly than ever I had done before. The effect was, that it was raised from about fifty, to one hundred and twenty pounds.

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I buried the remains of Ann Wheeler, who, while she was hearing the preaching in Moorfields, four or five and twenty years ago, was struck in the forehead with a stone, being then big with child. The daughter with whom she then went, retains the mark of the stone in her forehead to this day.

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I had a conversation with an ingenious man who proved to a demonstration, that it was the duty of every man that could, to be “clothed in purple and fine linen,” and to “fare sumptuously every day;” and that he would do abundantly more good hereby than he could do by “feeding the hungry and clothing the naked.” O the depth of human understanding! What may not a man believe if he will?

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From the words of our blessed Lord, “He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness,” I largely showed that God never deserts any man, unless he first deserts God; and that, abstracting from the bodily disorders on the one hand, and violent temptation on the other, every believer may be happy as well as holy, and walk in the light all the days of his life.

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I heard a melancholy relation: — One who had run

well for many years, a year or two ago took violent offense at a person she thought had used her ill. A week or two since she was taken ill. But as her illness increased, so did her anger. She often cried out, “I cannot forgive! I will not forgive!” and intermixed horrid shrieks, till she died.

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I baptized a young woman who had been educated among the Anabaptists. God bore witness to his ordinance, and gave her such a blessing as she could not find words to express.

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I preached at Leytonstone. O what an house of God is here! Not only for decency and order, but for the life and power of religion! I am afraid there are very few such to be found in all the King’s dominions.

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I buried the remains of Richard Morris, who had been in the society twenty years, and was a right honest man, but never convinced of sin till death began to look him in the face: And then he rather saw than felt his need of Christ. Yet when he called upon him, even in his dull way, he was soon assured of his love, and continued praising and rejoicing till his spirit returned to God.

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I rode to Colchester; and found more life there than for several years. Why should we despair of seeing good done in any place! How soon can God turn the wilderness into a fruitful field! Wednesday,

18. I preached at Herringswell, and the next day came to Norwich. Here I spent a few days much to my satisfaction, finding the people far more settled than ever. Monday, 23. I rode to Yarmouth, and found the society, after the example of Mr. W——p, had entirely left the Church. I judged it needful to speak largely upon that head. They stood reproved, and resolved, one and all, to go to it again.

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I was desired to ride over to Lowestoft. The House would not contain one-fourth of the people; so that I was obliged to preach in the open air; and all behaved with great seriousness.

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I took a list of the present society in Norwich, consisting of one hundred and sixty members. But I have far more comfort in it now than when it consisted of six hundred. These know what they are about; and the greater part are not ignorant of Satan’s devices.

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I set out for London. A good part of the day we had furious wind and rain full in our faces: However, we pushed on to Lakenheath. Notwithstanding the severity of the weather, the church was pretty well filled in the evening. The next evening we reached Hockerhill, and London on Saturday in the afternoon.

On Ash-Wednesday, MARCH 4, I dined at a friend’s with Mr. Whitefield, still breathing nothing but love. Thursday, 5. I at length obliged Dr. D. by entering into the lists with him. The letter I wrote (though not published till two or three weeks after.) was as follows: —

“To the Editor of Lloyd’s Evening Post.

“Sir,

“MANY times the publisher of the ‘Christian Magazine’ has attacked me without fear or wit; and hereby he has convinced his impartial readers of one thing at least, — that (as the vulgar say) his fingers itch to be at me; that he has a passionate desire to measure swords with me. But I have other work upon my hands: I can employ the short remainder of my life to better purpose. “The occasion of his late attack is this: — Five or six and thirty years ago, I much admired the character of a perfect Christian drawn by Clemens Alexandrinus. Five or six and twenty years ago, a thought came into my mind, of drawing such a character myself, only in a more scriptural manner, and mostly in the very words of Scripture: This I entitled, ‘The Character of a Methodist,’ believing that curiosity would incite more persons to read it, and also that some prejudice might thereby be removed from candid men. But that none might imagine I intended a panegyric either on myself or my friends, I guarded against this in the very title page, saying, both in the name of myself and them, ‘Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect.’ To the same effect I speak in the conclusion, ‘These are the principles and practices of our sect; these are the marks of a true Methodist;’ i. e., a true Christian, as I immediately after explain myself: ‘By these alone do those who are in derision so called desire to be distinguished from other men.’ (P. 11.) ‘By these marks do we labor to distinguish ourselves from those whose minds or lives are not according to the Gospel of Christ.’ (P. 12.)

“Upon this Rusticulus, or Dr. Dodd, says, ‘A Methodist, according to Mr. Wesley, is one who is perfect, and sinneth not in thought, word, or deed.’

“Sir, have me excused. This is not ‘according to Mr. Wesley.’ I have told all the world I am not perfect; and yet you allow me to be a Methodist. I tell you flat, I have not attained the character I draw. Will you pin it upon me in spite of my teeth? “‘But Mr. Wesley says, the other Methodists have.’ I say no such thing. What I say, after having given a scriptural account of a perfect Christian, is this: — ‘By these marks the Methodists desire to be distinguished from other men: By these we labor to distinguish ourselves.’ And do not you yourself desire and labor after the very same thing?

“But you insist, ‘Mr. Wesley affirms the Methodists’ (i. e., all Methodists) ‘to be perfectly holy and righteous.’ Where do I affirm this? Not in the Tract before us. In the front of this I affirm just the contrary; and that I affirm it any where else is more than I know. Be pleased, Sir, to point out the place: Till this is done, all you add (bitterly enough) is mere brutum fulmen; and the Methodists (so called) may still declare, (without any impeachment of their sincerity,) that they do not come to the holy table ‘trusting in their own righteousness, but in God’s manifold and great mercies.’ I am, Sir,

“Yours, etc.,

“John Wesley.”

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In the evening I left London, and reached Bath on Tuesday, in the afternoon, time enough to wait on that venerable man, the Bishop of Londonderry. After spending an agreeable and a profitable hour with him, my brother read Prayers, and I preached at Lady H.’s chapel. I know not when I have seen a more serious or more deeply attentive congregation. Is it possible? Can the Gospel have place where Satan’s throne is? Thursday, 12, and the two following days, I examined the society in Bristol. Still I find the greatest part to be in peace and love, and none blamable as to their outward conversation; but life, power, and “struggling into God,” are wanting: Few are agonizing to be altogether Christians.

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Finding no ship which could take over me and my horses, I set out, with Thomas Dancer, for Liverpool. Wednesday, 18. I reached Wednesbury, but with difficulty; for my horse, which I left in October, to rest for six months, had been rode all the winter, and was now galled, jaded, and worn to skin and bones.

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Pushing through the rain and violent wind, we came in the evening to Nantwich. But I knew not where to go, till a good woman in the street asked me, if Mr. Wesley was come; and conducted me to the place where the people were waiting. Many were noisy at first, because they could not get in: But when they did, all was silent.

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I rode on through more storms to Liverpool: But here too I found no ship to carry my horses; so, Monday, 23, I set out for Portpatrick. This day we rode but about forty miles; the next to Kendal, where I preached at six, and spent a comfortable evening at Sergeant Southwell’s. Wednesday, 25. The rain, which began yesterday noon, continued till noon today, without intermission: But though driven against us by a strong wind, it was nothing so troublesome as the piercing cold, while we afterwards rode between the snowy mountains, the road also being covered with snow. However, after a short bait at Keswick, we reached Cockermouth in the afternoon.

The mare T. Dancer rode being now quite lame, I left him to cross over at Whitehaven; and Mr. Atlay, who came just in time offered to accompany me to Portpatrick. Thursday, 26. We rode through miserable roads to Solway-Frith: But the guides were so deeply engaged in a cock-fight, that none could be procured to show us over. We procured one, however, between three and four: But there was more sea than we expected; so that, notwithstanding all I could do, my legs and the skirts of my coat were in the water. The motion of the waves made me a little giddy; but it had a stranger effect on Mr. Atlay: He lost his sight, and was just dropping off his horse, when one of our fellow-travelers caught hold of him. We rode on nine or ten miles, and lodged at a village called Ruthwell. Friday, 27. We rode by Dumfries and the Bridge of Orr, over the Military-Way, to Gatehouse-of-Fleet: But the house was filled with so noisy company, that we expected little rest. Before eleven, however, I fell asleep, and heard nothing more till between three and four in the morning.

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We rode to Portpatrick. Sunday, 29. The packet-boat was ready in the morning, but waited for the mail, hour after hour, till past three in the afternoon. Hereby we avoided a violent storm, and had only what they called a fresh breeze; however, this breeze drove us to Donaghadee (thirty miles) in about three hours.

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I rode to Newtown; and in the evening preached in the market house, to a large number of serious hearers. The society, I found, had been shattered in pieces, but were uniting again. To these I spoke more particularly in the morning. It may be they will yet have ears to hear.

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After meeting the society at Belfast, I rode on to Lisburn. At six I preached in the Linen-Hall, (a small Square so called,) as also the two following evenings. We had many people of fashion there, and the congregation increased continually. Friday, APRIL 3. At the end of Dromore I met Robert Williams, who showed me the way to Newry. A little after six I went to the market house; but when I began I had only four hearers. A good number assembled before I had done, only none of the Gentry; they were hindered by a business of more importance, — dressing for the assembly!

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I was in hopes of reaching Tanderagee before the church began; but it was farther off than we expected. At five in the evening we had the largest congregation I had seen in Ulster; and I believe many found much of the presence of God, but still more at the meeting of the society. Monday,

6. The congregation was surprisingly large this morning, and still larger every morning and evening. Wednesday, 8. I preached at noon to our old society at Terryhugan, the mother-church of all these parts. Thursday, 9. The House would not contain the people at Tanderagee, even at five in the morning; so I went to the market house where God gave us a solemn and affectionate parting.

I was not glad to hear that some of the Seceders had settled in these parts also. Those of them who have yet fallen in my way are more uncharitable than the Papists themselves. I never yet met a Papist who avowed the principle of murdering heretics: But a Seceding Minister being asked, “Would not you, if it was in your power, cut the throats of all the Methodists?” replied directly, “Why, did not Samuel hew Agag in pieces before the Lord?” I have not yet met a Papist in this kingdom, who would tell me to my face, all but themselves must be damned. But I have seen Seceders enough, who make no scruple to affirm, none but themselves could be saved. And this is the natural consequence of their doctrine: For as they hold,

1. That we are saved by faith alone;.

2. That faith is, the holding such and such opinions; it follows, all who do not hold those opinions have no faith, and, therefore, cannot be saved.

About noon I preached near Dawson’s Grove, to a large and serious congregation; but to a far larger in the evening at Kilmaraty. I do not wonder the Gospel runs so swiftly in these parts. The people in general have the finest natural tempers which I ever knew; they have the softness and courtesy of the Irish, with the seriousness of the Scots, and the openness of the English.

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At one I preached at Portadown, a place not troubled with any kind of religion. I stood in the street and cried, “Now God commandeth all men everywhere to repent.” The people gathered from all sides, and when I prayed, kneeled down upon the stones, rich and poor, all round me. In the evening I preached again at Kilmaraty. At five in the morning the House was well filled; and a little after six I cheerfully commended them to the grace of God.

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About three I preached at a village called The Grange. The people came from several miles round, and seemed to hear with the spirit, and with the understanding also. At six I preached near Cock-Hill; where at nine in the morning, Sunday, 12, we had a congregation from all parts. But this was more than doubled at five in the evening. All were serious, and, according to the custom of the country, when I went to prayer, immediately kneeled, though it was in the high road. I believe not a few were deeply wounded. O may none heal the wound slightly!

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I preached at Mount-Roe, a gentleman’s seat, about three miles from Cock-Hill; Tuesday, 14, at Clanmain. This, I believe, was, two years since, the only society in these parts. Think there are now one or two and twenty, within the compass of ten miles.

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I rode to Armagh. Half an hour before the time of preaching, an officer came, and said, “Sir, the Sovereign (or Mayor) orders me to inform you, you shall not preach in his town.” In order to make the trial, I walked to the market house at six. I had just begun when the Sovereign came. I was informed his name was Harcourt. He was talking very loud, and tolerably fast, when a gentleman came and said, “Sir, if you are not allowed to preach here, you are welcome to preach in Mr. M’Gough’s avenue.” Mr. M’Gough, one of the chief merchants in the town, himself showed us the way. I suppose thrice as many people flocked together there, as would have heard me in the market house. So did the wise providence of God draw good out of evil. And his word had indeed free course.

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About one I preached to a large congregation at Dungannon, in the county of Tyrone; and in the evening, before the gate of the great old house, at Castle-Caulfield. The society here, the first-fruits of this county, seemed to be all alive. Early in the morning I took horse, and got to Londonderry just at seven, where the congregation was waiting for me. My voice was weak; but I think most of them could hear; and some, I trust, heard the voice of God.

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I found we were still honorable men here, some of eminence in the city being both “hearers” and “doers of the word.” I employed Monday, Tuesday, and part of Wednedsay, in speaking severally to the members of the society, and was glad to find the greater part of them had tasted that the Lord is gracious. Saturday, 25. I rode to Mr. Knox’s farm, and preached to a little company, on, “By grace are ye saved through faith.” I spoke exceeding plain to them at Derry in the evening, on, “How long halt ye between two opinions?” And more plain, if possible both morning and evening, on Sunday, 26. Surely this is an understanding people. But it is only love that edifies.

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I rode to Augher, and preached at six in the Castle-yard, to a large and deeply-serious congregation. Tuesday, 28. I preached near Athenacly, after riding through one of the finest countries in the kingdom.

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A little beyond Swadlingbar I found a lively congregation of plain country-people, as simple and artless as if they had lived upon the Welsh mountains. So has God “chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise.”

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Some of the chief persons in the town desiring I would give them a sermon there, I went thither in the morning. A large room was offered; but it was quickly so full, and so hot, that I was obliged to go out into the street. I had hardly named my text, before a poor Papist, at a small distance from me, began blowing a horn. But a gentleman stepping up, snatched his horn away, and without ceremony knocked him down. In the evening I preached in the country again, to a still larger congregation: And God made his word quick and powerful. Many were wounded, and many comforted.

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We rode by a large seat, elegantly built, and finely situated. But, to my surprise, the gates of the grand avenue were painted blue, green, and yellow, like a child’s rattle. Surely the owner has never seen the pretty bauble; but will no one inform him of it? In the evening I preached in the market house at Sligo, to a larger congregation, as well as better behaved, than when I was here before. The next evening was exceeding cold and blustering. However, the Provost refusing me the use of the Court-House, abundance of people stood with me in the street, and most of them behaved well. Sunday, 3. I preached, morning and evening in the market house; and had much hope, both from the number and behavior of the hearers, that, even here, our labor will not be in vain.

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We rode to Castlebar, thirty old Irish, about fifty-six English, miles. Between six and seven I began preaching in the Court-House; but few of the rich were there. Many of these dare not hear me above once: They find it is playing with edged tools. Many of the poor were present at five in the morning, and many more, both rich and poor, in the evening. And “the power of the Lord was present to heal:” But how many rejected his “counsel against themselves?”

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I rode to Newport, and preached in the evening, and at six in the morning. Rich and poor behaved extremely well, and seemed “almost persuaded” to be Christians. In the evening I took my leave of the congregation at Castlebar, by speaking from those words, “Come, Lord Jesus!” But who will abide his coming in the clouds? Those who are partakers of his holiness.

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We rode to Galway, — above fifty English miles. It rained almost every step of the way. I preached at Ballinrobe in the Court-House between eight and nine, and at Galway about six. Colonel E——, and all his family, were there. Perhaps a word might reach their hearts.

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I rode to Ennis, but found the preaching had been discontinued, and the society was vanished away. So having no business there, I left it in the morning, preached at Clare about eight, and in the evening at Limerick. The continued rain kept me from preaching abroad this week; and I was scandalized at the smallness of the congregation in the House; I am afraid my glorying, touching many of these societies, is at an end. Almost throughout the province of Ulster I found the work of God increasing; and not a little in Connaught, particularly at Sligo, Castlebar, and Galway. But in Munster, a land flowing with milk and honey, how widely is the case altered! At Ennis, the God of this world has wholly prevailed; at Clare there is but a spark left; and at Limerick itself, I find only the remembrance of the fire which was kindled two years ago. And yet one of the two Preachers who was here last was almost universally admired! But, alas! how little does this avail! “He is the best Physician,” said a sensible man, “not who talks best, or who writes best, but who performs the most cures.”

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The weather being fair, I took my stand in the Old-Camp, and had, I believe, as many hearers as all the preceding week put together. There was a solemn awe throughout the congregation, and I began to hope, God would revive his work. Monday, 18. I spoke to the members of the society severally; most of them appeared to be honest and upright. But a general faintness seemed to have spread among them; there was no zeal, no vigor of grace.

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I preached about noon at Ballygarane, to what is left of the poor Palatines. Many are gone to America; many scattered up and down in various parts of the kingdom. Every where they are patterns of industry and frugality. In the evening I preached at Newmarket. Sunday, 24. The Old-Camp would ill contain the congregation, closely wedged in together. Afterwards we had a solemn hour at the meeting of the society; in which God caused many of the bones which had been broken to rejoice. So they are set upon their feet once again. Now let them run with patience the race set before them.

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I rode to Shronill, and preached at twelve to the largest congregation I have ever seen there. Thence we crossed the country to Kilfinnan. I had hardly begun to speak, when a young person, a kind of a gentleman, came, and took great pains to make a disturbance. Mr. Dancer mildly desired him to desist; but was answered with a volley of oaths and a blow. One of the town then encountered him, and beat him well. But the noise preventing my being heard, I retired a few hundred yards, with the serious part of the congregation, and quietly finished my discourse.

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I went on to Cork, and on Thursday, 28, to Bandon. This evening I preached in the House; the next, in the main street: But the wind was so high and so cold, that none either could or would bear it but those who really desired to save their souls. I judged the House would hold these: So the next evening I preached within; and when the benches were removed, it held the greatest part of the congregation: And those who could not get in heard tolerably well, either at the doors or windows.

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We had most of them again at seven; and I took my leave of them with much satisfaction, after having strongly enforced, “Today if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

I would fain have preached abroad at Cork in the evening, but the wind and rain would not permit. Two years ago I left above three hundred in the society; I find an hundred and eighty-seven. What has occasioned so considerable a reduction? I believe the real cause is this: — Between two and three years ago, when the society was nearly as low as it is now, Thomas Taylor and William Pennington came to Cork. They were zealous men, and sound Preachers; full of activity, and strict in discipline, without respect of persons. They set up meetings for prayer in several places, and preached abroad at both ends of the city. Hearers swiftly increased; the society increased; so did the number both of the convinced and the converted. I came when the flame was at the height, and preached abroad, in the heart of the city, on the south side of it, near the barracks, and several times in Blackpool, which lies on the north side of it. More and more were stirred up, and there was a greater awakening here than in any part of the kingdom.

But misunderstandings crept in between the Leaders, and between some of them and the Preachers. And these increased seven-fold, when one of the Leaders was expelled the society; some believing him faulty, some not, and neither side having patience with the other. Hence a flame of anger succeeded the flame of love, and many were destroyed by it. At the same time some of our brethren learned a new opinion, and warmly propagated it. This heat was almost as destructive as the former; and the effect of both was, the Spirit of God was grieved; his blessing was withheld, and of course the flock was scattered. When they are convinced of their sin, and humbled before him, then, and not before, he will return.

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As it was fair, though the wind was high and extremely

sharp, I preached in an open place at Blackpool, to a large number of quiet hearers. On the three following evenings the wind and rain confined us in the House, much against my will; as those who wanted us most could not or would not come thither.

June 7. — (Being Whit-Sunday.) The weather turning fair, between four and five in the afternoon I began preaching in George’s Street, to such a congregation as that in the Old-Camp at Limerick. A solemn awe sat on the faces of the whole assembly while I explained, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” Surely some of them found the promise fulfilled, and did drink of the living water!

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I rode to Youghall. When I was here two years ago, a flame was kindled among the people: But it was gone out. And I could not wonder at it; for they have scarce had any preaching since. I purposed staying only a night; but, observing the member and deep attention of the congregation, I stayed another day, and on Tuesday, 9, preached in the Exchange again. The hearers were much increased, and all but a few gentlemen, so called, behaved with great seriousness. Wednesday, 10. After preaching to a multitude of people, I took horse, and in the evening of a very hot day reached Waterford.

Here I found a small, poor, dead society, and but an handful of even dull, careless hearers. However, I preached in the yard, and found more life among them than I expected. In the morning I spoke to the several members of the society, some of whom seemed much devoted to God. I desired Mr. Morgan to preach at noon. God gave him acceptable words; and the whole congregation, rich and poor, appeared to be greatly moved. They seemed to be still more affected in the evening. What pity, that this should pass away like a cloud!

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We rode to Kilkenny. The sun was exceeding hot; but did not incommode us much, as we had the wind in our face all the way. The congregation at the Town-Hall in the evening was large and tolerably serious; a few of the Gentry excepted, who seemed neither to understand, nor care for any of these things. We had great part of them at five in the morning. At noon, when Mr. Morgan preached, I expected to have seen the largest company of all; but I was mistaken: The ladies could not rise so soon; at least they could not huddle on their clothes fit to be seen. In the evening I spoke exceeding plain, both to the rich and poor: And a few, at least, received the truth in love. But who will endure to the end?

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In the evening I preached at Birr, to a wilder congregation than I ever saw at Kilkenny. However, as I stood near the barracks, the number of soldiers that attended kept them so far in awe, that they durst only laugh and make a little noise, till the whole body of the Papists ran away together. The rest were then tolerably attentive, and grew more and more serious till I concluded.

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I rode through a pleasant and well-cultivated country to Aghrim. For many years I have not seen so large a congregation here, and so remarkably well-behaved. At the prayer, both before and after sermon, all of them kneeled upon the grass. A few of the poor Papists only remained standing, at a distance from the rest of the people. These would come in droves at every place, if the Priests, as well as the King, would grant liberty of conscience.

At the desire of the good old widow, Mrs. M——, I went with Mr. S—— to C——. Lord and Lady M—— were there before us; to whom I was probably A not-expected, much-unwelcome guest.

But whatsoever it was to them, it was a heavy afternoon to me; as I had no place to retire to, and so was obliged to be in genteel company, for two or three hours together. O what a dull thing is life without religion! I do not wonder that time hangs heavy upon the hands of all who know not God, unless they are perpetually drunk with noise and hurry of one kind or another.

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We came to Athlone. Here the scene was changed. I was

among those that both feared and loved God; but to this day they have not recovered the loss which they sustained, when they left off going to church. It is true they have long been convinced of their mistake: Yet the fruit of it still remains; so that there are very few who retain that vigor of spirit which they before enjoyed.

At seven I preached in the new House, which Mr. S. has built entirely at his own expense. The congregation was, as usual, both large and serious. I rested the four following days, only preaching morning and evening.

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We had a solemn meeting of the society at five. After

preaching at eight I would willingly have gone to church, but was informed there had been no Service for near two years, and would be none for a year or two longer, the inside of the church wanting to be repaired: In the evening I preached in the barracks. I know not that ever I saw such a congregation at Athlone before; rich and poor, Protestants and Papists, gathered together from every side; and deep attention sat on all, while I explained that solemn declaration, (part of the Gospel for the day,) “If they hear not Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead.”

It was about this time that a remarkable passage happened at Macclesfield, in Cheshire. One Ellen Stanyers, a young woman of that town, very religious in her own way, but quite a stranger to the Scripture-way of salvation, had her work from one of the shops in the town. A young man belonging to the same shop fell in love with her. Fearing lest her refusing him would disoblige her master, she gave him encouragement, and afterwards, though she never intended it, promised to marry him. One day, as she was sitting at her work, this sin was brought to her remembrance, and lay so exceeding heavy upon her mind that she was utterly distressed. She took her work, and carried it to her master, telling him, she had destroyed her soul with it. At the same time she told the young man, she was resolved never to have him. He came to her and said, “If you do not keep your word, I will hang myself at your door; and then I will come and take you away with me to the devil.” She was so frightened she fell into black despair. Her father carried her to a Clergyman, and afterwards to another, who seemed to pity her case, but knew not how to comfort her. Willing to try every way, he ordered one to read to her Burkitt upon the New Testament, till she cried, “Take it away; I cannot bear it!” and attempted to run away: But her father held her; and, when she struggled, beat her, and told her she should hear it, whether she would or no. She grew worse and worse; could neither eat, drink, nor sleep; and pined away to a mere skeleton. She wandered about, as one distracted, in the fields and lanes, seeking rest, but finding none. She was exceedingly tempted to destroy herself; but that thought came into her mind, “If I do, I shall leap into hell immediately. I must go thither; but I will keep out of it as long as I can.” She was wandering about one day, when a person met her, and advised her to hear the Methodists. Although she hated them, yet she was willing to do anything for ease, and so one evening came to the preaching. After the service was over, she desired to speak to the Preacher, Mr. Pawson; but she talked quite wildly. However, he encouraged her to come to the Savior of sinners, and cry to him for deliverance. “The next day” (so Mr. P. continues the account) “about twelve of us met together, and prayed with her. I found great freedom, and a full confidence that God would deliver her. After prayer, she said, ‘I never felt my heart pray before. I felt my heart go along with the Preacher’s words; they have done me good at my heart. My despair is all gone, I have a hope that I shall be saved.’ The next morning two or three prayed with her again. She spent all the day with one or another of the Methodists, and did not go home till night. Her father then asked, ‘Nelly, where have you been all this time?’ She answered, ‘I have been among the Methodists.’ ‘The Methodists!’ said he, ‘have you got any good there?’ She replied, ‘Yes, I bless God I have. I now hope I shall be saved.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I care not where you go, if you only get relief.’ She then went to bed, but could not sleep. While she was meditating on what she had heard, those words were brought to her mind, ‘Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no Physician there?’ With the words the Lord spoke peace to her soul; and in one and the same moment all pain and sorrow fled away, and she was entirely healed, both body and mind. Early in the morning she came to the house of one of our friends, and, clapping her hands together, cried out in an ecstasy of joy, ‘O my Jesus,: my Jesus, my Jesus! What is it that he has done for me? I feel he has forgiven all my sins.’ Taking up an hymn-book, she opened it on those words: —

I the chief of sinners am,

But Jesus died for me!

She was quite transported, being overwhelmed with peace and joy unspeakable. At the same time she was restored to the full use of her reason, and in a little while was strong and healthy as ever. She immediately desired to be admitted into the society, and for about a year enjoyed unspeakable happiness. She then received a call from her Beloved, and died full of faith and love.”

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About one I preached in the market-place at Clara. I admired the seriousness of the whole congregation. Indeed, one or two gentlemen appeared quite unconcerned; but the presence of the greater gentlemen kept them within bounds: So they were as quiet as if they had been — at the play-house.

This and the following evening I preached in the market-place at Tullamore. Thursday, 25. I was desired to look at the monument lately erected for the Earl of Charleville. It observes, that he was the last of his family, the great Moores of Croghan. But how little did riches profit either him, who died in the strength of his years, or his heir, who was literally overwhelmed by them; being so full of care, that sleep departed from him, and he was restless day and night, till, after a few months, life itself was a burden, and an untimely death closed the scene!

In the evening I preached at Mount-Mellick, near the market house. The congregation was exceeding large; and God made his word “quick and powerful, and sharper than a two-edged sword.”

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Finding some of the most earnest persons in the society were deeply prejudiced against each other, I desired them to come face to face, and labored much to remove their prejudice. I used both argument and persuasion; but it was all in vain. Perceiving that reasoning profited nothing, we betook ourselves to prayer. On a sudden the mighty power of God broke in upon them. The angry ones on both sides burst into tears, and fell on each other’s necks. All anger and prejudice vanished away, and they were as cordially united as ever.

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The congregation in the market house at Portarlington was widely different from that at Mount-Mellick. I endeavored to suit my subject to my audience, preaching from, “Gallio cared for none of these things;” but some of them were quite above conviction. So, finding that they had neither sense nor good manners, (of religion I did not suspect them,) the next day I adjourned to the shell of our new House, in which I preached morning and evening. And here the greatest part of the congregation, both Papists and Protestants, behaved with decency.

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We took horse about a quarter past three, and before eight reached Coolylough. At twelve I preached in the shady walk; afterwards we had the Quarterly Meeting. I found no reason to complain of any of the societies, only they want more life and zeal.

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I observed more good manners at Tyrrel’s Pass, in rich as well as poor, than at Portarlington. Wednesday, JULY 1. A friend carried me to Belvidere, a seat built on the side of a clear lake, with walks and gardens adjoining, so curiously laid out as to exceed even the late Earl of Charleville’s. One would scarce think it possible to have such a variety of beauties in so small a compass. But

How soon, alas! will these “upbraid

Their transitory master dead!”

We went on to Molingar, where for many years no Methodist Preacher could appear. The Sessions-House here was used as a guard-house. I sent to the Commanding Officer, and desired leave to preach there. This he not only gave, but came himself. So did many of the soldiers, as well as the townsmen. In the evening, notwithstanding the cold and blustering winds, I was obliged to preach abroad at Tyrrel’s Pass. But the rain on the two following evenings drove us into the House at Edinderry. Saturday, 4. Having now finished my circuit, I went on cheerfully to Dublin.

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Our House was thoroughly filled, a sight which I have seldom seen. Friday, 10, we observed as a day of fasting and prayer. It was at our last meeting that we found the answer of our prayers. It seemed as if the windows of heaven were opened; the Spirit of grace and supplication was poured out. Many were filled with consolation; and many who had grown weary resolved to set out anew.

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A poor backslider, whom I found ten days ago dying in black despair, told me, “Now I am not afraid to die. I see Jesus just before me, and his face is all glory.” Instances of this kind do by no means prove that a saint cannot fall, even for ever; but only that God is “pitiful, and of tender mercy, not willing any should perish.”

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About ten I reached Donard, seven or eight and twenty

English miles from Dublin. Standing under some shady trees, I enforced upon a serious congregation, “All things are ready; come unto the marriage.” From hence I rode on to Baltinglass, and preached on “By grace are ye saved through faith.” It was sultry hot as we rode to Carlow; so that I was weary and faint when we came in: But I soon recovered, and at seven preached in the Sessions-House, to a numerous congregation. But the greater part of them were like blocks, and some like wild asses’ colts. I was constrained to reprove them sharply. They received it well, and behaved with more decency.

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We lost our way in setting out of the town. It rained most of the day: However, this was far better than sultry heat. In the evening we returned to Dublin.

In my scraps of time this week I read over that wonderful poem, “Fingal.” If it is genuine, if it is really extant (as many assure me it is) in the Erse language, it is an amazing proof of a genius in those barbarous times, little inferior to Homer or Virgil!

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A friend showed me the apartments in the Castle, the residence of the Lord-Lieutenant. The Duke of Bedford made a noble addition to the lodgings, which are now both grand and convenient. But the furniture surprised me not a little: It is by no means equal to the building. In England, many gentlemen of five hundred a year would be utterly ashamed of it.

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I received an account of a young woman, the substance of which was as follows: —

“KATHERINE MURRAY was born February 2, 1729, at

Carrick-on-Suir. She feared God from a child, and abstained from lying and speaking bad words. When about thirteen, she stole some twigs of gooseberry-bushes from a neighbor, and planted them in her father’s garden. Immediately she felt she had sinned, knew she deserved hell, and feared it would be her portion. She began praying three times a day; but, notwithstanding, her sin followed her every where. Day and night it was before her, till, after some time, that conviction gradually wore off.

“In the year 1749, her sister heard the Methodists, so called. She was soon convinced of sin, joined the society, and advised her to do so too. But hearing one named that was in it, she was filled with disdain: ‘What! meet with such a man as that!’ Yet not long after, she was convinced that the sins of her own heart, pride and passion in particularly were as abominable in the sight of God, as the sins of that man or any other. This conviction was exceeding sharp. She could no longer despise any, but only cry out, day and night, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner!’

“In February she went to hear Mr. Reeves. He preached on part of the hundred-and-third Psalm. She was now more deeply than ever convinced of heart sin, of unbelief in particular; and had such a sight of the excellency of faith, that she determined to seek it with all her heart.

“In the May following, she was sitting in her room, lamenting her state, and crying to God for mercy, when suddenly she had a sight of our Lord, from the manger to the cross. But it did not bring comfort; on the contrary, it so heightened her distress, that she cried aloud, and alarmed the family; nor could she refrain till her strength failed, and she fainted away. Often her sleep departed from her; her food was tasteless, and she mingled her drink with weeping; being resolved never to rest, till she found rest in Him whom alone her soul desired.

“It was not long before the Lord looked upon her. As she was in prayer, she had a clear representation of our blessed Lord as crowned with thorns, and clothed with the purple robe. In a moment her soul rested on him, and she knew he had taken away her sins. Distress was gone; the love of God flowed into her heart, and she could rejoice in God her Savior. Her soul was so ravished with his love, that she could not hold her peace, but cried out to all she knew, ‘You may know your sins forgiven, if you will come unto Jesus.’

“Yet a while after, she dressed herself as fine as ever she could, and went to worship God, as she expressed it, ‘proud as a devil.’ Upon the spot God convinced her of her folly, of her pride and vanity. She was stripped of all her comfort, yea, and brought to doubt the reality of all she had before experienced. The devil then labored to persuade her that she had sinned the sin against the Holy Ghost; and pushed it so, that she thought her life would fail, and she should instantly drop into the pit. But the Lord did not leave her long in the snare; he appeared again, to the joy of her soul. Her confidence was more strong than ever, and the fear of God more deeply rooted in her heart. She abhorred all sin, that in particular which had occasioned her distress; of which, indeed, she had a peculiar detestation to her last hours.

“God now made her heart strong; she walked seven years in the clear light of his countenance, never feeling a moment’s doubt of his favor, but having the uninterrupted witness of his Spirit. It was her meat and drink to do his will: His word, read or preached, was her delight, and all his ways were pleasant to her. She said, she never came from a sermon unimproved; often so refreshed as to forget weariness or pain. And she was truly diligent ‘in business,’ as well as ‘fervent in spirit.’

“And now she thought she should never be removed, God had made her hill so strong. But soon after this, she was present when her sister was ill-used by her husband. She gave way to the temptation, fell into a passion, and again lost all her happiness. Yet not long; she continued instant in prayer, till God again healed her backsliding.

“But from this time, as her temptations were more violent, so she had a keener sense of the remains of sin. Though she enjoyed a constant sense of the favor of God, yet she had also much fear, lest inbred sin should prevail over her, and make her bring a scandal upon the Gospel. She spent whole days in prayer, that God would not suffer her to be tempted above that she was able, and that with every temptation he would make a way for her to escape. And she was heard, so that her whole conversation adorned the doctrine of God her Savior.

“Yet she suffered much reproach, not only from the children of the world, but also from the children of God. These wounds sunk deep into her soul, and often made her weep before the Lord. Sometimes she felt resentment for a short time, of which darkness was the sure consequence; but if at any time she lost the consciousness of pardon, it almost took away her life; nor could she rest satisfied a moment, till she regained the light of his countenance. She always judged it was the privilege of every believer, constantly to ‘walk in the light;’ and that nothing but sin could rob any, who had true faith, of their confidence in a pardoning God.

“She was tried from within and without for about five years, yet kept from all known sin. In the year 1761, it pleased God to show her more clearly than ever, under a sermon preached by John Johnson, the absolute necessity of being saved from all sin, and perfected in love. And now her constant cry was, ‘Lord, take full possession of my heart, and reign there without a rival!’ Nor was this at all hindered by her disorders, the gravel and colic, which about this time began to be very violent.

“In the year 1762, she believed God did hear her prayer; that her soul was entirely filled with love, and all unholy tempers destroyed; and for several months she rejoiced evermore, prayed without ceasing, and in everything gave thanks. Her happiness had no intermission, day or night; yea, and increased while her disorder increased exceedingly.

“But in the beginning of the year 1763, when some unkind things were whispered about concerning her, she gave way to the temptation, and felt again a degree of anger in her heart. This soon occasioned a doubt, whether she was not deceived before in thinking she was saved from sin. But she said, ‘Whether I was or no, I am sure I may be; and I am determined now to seek it from the Lord.’

“From this time her disorders gradually increased. Whenever I was in town, f12 I visited her from time to time, and always found her, whatever her pains were, resigned to the will of God; having a clear sense of his favor, and a strong confidence that he would finish his work in her soul.

“So soon as I came to town, January, 1767, she sent for me. I found her confined to her bed, and frequently in such racking pain, that it was thought she could not live many minutes; but she said, ‘My pain is nothing; the presence of the Lord bears me up above it all. I have not a murmuring thought; neither the shadow of a doubt. My way to glory is plain before me.’ I asked if she was not afraid of having great sufferings before the soul and body were parted. She said, ‘Not in the least. I expect to have sharp pain just before I depart;’ (which was so;) ‘but I do not concern myself about what I shall suffer. It is all at the disposal of the Lord.’ “Two days after, I went again to see her. She said, ‘My happiness is much increased. For a day and a night my pains have been exquisite; yet in the midst of all, my heart did dance and sing. The Lord so smiles upon me, I cannot express it in words.’ February 6. She sent for me again. I found her in a rapture of love, singing and praising God; so that I was constrained to say, ‘O Lord, thou hast highly favored me, in permitting me to see such a Christian!’ I cannot attempt to describe how she then appeared; it was with such a smile as I never saw before. Most of the preceding day she had spent in singing praise to God, and telling of his goodness to all that came near her; her soul, she said, being so happy, that she could not be silent.

“When I spoke to her of death, she said, ‘It is not death to me; it is only sleep; death is my friend! Death is welcome: Its sting is gone! I shall soon be with my Lord! O that I could sing on to all eternity! My work of praise is begun, and shall never end.’ I asked, ‘Do you find the greatest inclination to prayer or praise?’ She said, ‘O praise! praise! I am full of love; and I cannot doubt but I shall love and praise him to all eternity.’ I then asked her concerning her former profession, of being saved from sin. She said, ‘Sir, I have it now! I have it now! and more abundantly. My soul is so full of love, that my body is almost overpowered. It will be but a little while, and we shall meet in glory.’

“Mon. 9. I visited her again, and found her singing as well as her weak body would permit. I asked, ‘Are you as happy now, as when I saw you last?’ She said, ‘Yes, I am; I have not the shadow of a doubt. I had many conflicts with a wicked heart; but those are all over now; the Lord has finished his work.’ She conversed now like one on Pisgah’s top, in sight of the new Jerusalem; often saying, ‘My work is begun, which shall never end; I shall praise him to all eternity.’

“She was asked, ‘Can you wait the Lord’s leisure to release you?’ She said, ‘Yes, yes; as long as he pleases. My pain is gone; this also he has done for me; and why should I not wait patiently?’ But it was not long before her pains returned with redoubled violence; and sometimes a groan was extorted from her; but not the least complaint. Yea, she often broke out in a rapture of love, crying, ‘I cannot express the happiness I feel.’

“Fri. 13. After dozing a little, she awaked in a transport, saying, ‘O! you cannot conceive the joy I feel. You know but in part; but when that which is perfect is come, you shall know even as you are known.’ She spoke with regard to some glorious views which she then had of her dear Redeemer.

“During her last pains, which were the sharpest of all, the devil made his last effort. She was in a violent struggle about half an hour. Then she stretched out her hands, and said, ‘Glory to Jesus! O love Jesus! love Jesus! He is a glorious Jesus! He has now made me fit for himself! When the harvest is ripe, the sickle is put in.’ She asked for a little wine-and-water; but she could not swallow it. She said, ‘I have long been drinking wine-and-water here; now I shall drink wine in my Father’s kingdom.’ She lay still about a quarter of an hour, and then breathed her soul into the hands of her Redeemer.”

On Wednesday and Thursday, we had our little Conference at Dublin. Friday we observed as a day of fasting and prayer; and concluded it with the most solemn watch-night that I ever remember in this kingdom. I was much tired between seven and eight o’clock, but less and less so as the service went on; and at the conclusion, a little after twelve, I was fresher than at six in the morning.

Sunday, 26, was a comfortable day indeed; but the conclusion of it tried my strength, as I was speaking, with scarce any intermission, from a little after five till between nine and ten.

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Having a severe cold, I was in hopes of riding it away; so I took horse a little after four, and reached Newry in the evening. But my voice was still so weak, that I doubt if many of the congregation in the market house could hear me; and my cough was so violent at night, I could hardly sleep a quarter of an hour together. However, I preached at five in the morning, without much difficulty. Wednesday, 29. I hasted on to Donaghadee, but found all the packet-boats were on the other side. So I agreed with the Captain of a small vessel, and went on board about two o’clock; but it was so late when we landed, (after a passage of five hours,) that we could only reach Stranraer that night.

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We rode through a country swiftly improving to Ayr, and passed a quiet and comfortable night. Friday, 31. Before two we reached Glasgow. In the evening I preached, and again at five in the morning.

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As both my horse and myself were a little tired, I

took the stage coach to Edinburgh.

Before I left Glasgow I heard so strange an account, that I desired to hear it from the person himself. He was a sexton, and yet for many years had little troubled himself about religion. I set down his words, and leave every man to form his own judgment upon them: — “Sixteen weeks ago, I was walking, an hour before sunset, behind the high-kirk; and, looking on one side, I saw one close to me, who looked in my face, and asked me how I did. I answered, ‘Pretty well.’ He said ‘You have had many troubles; but how have you improved them?’ He then told me all that ever I did; yea, and the thoughts that had been in my heart; adding, ‘Be ready for my second coming;’ And he was gone I knew not how. I trembled all over, and had no strength in me; but sunk down to the ground. From that time I groaned continually under the load of sin, till at the Lord’s Supper it was all taken away.”

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I was sorry to find both the society and the congregations smaller than when I was here last. I impute this chiefly to the manner of preaching which has been generally used. The people have been told, frequently and strongly, of their coldness, deadness, heaviness and littleness of faith but very rarely of any thing that would move thankfulness. Hereby many were driven away and those that remained were kept cold and dead.

I encouraged them strongly at eight in the morning; and about noon preached upon the Castle-Hill, on, “There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.” The sun shone exceeding hot upon my head; but all was well; for God was in the midst of us. In the evening I preached on Luke 20:34, etc., and many were comforted; especially while I was enlarging on those deep words, “Neither can they die any more, but are equal to the angels, and are the children of God, being the children of the resurrection.”

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I visited as many as I could, sick and well, and endeavored to confirm them. In the evening I preached at seven, and again at nine. We concluded about twelve. One then came to me with an unexpected message. A gentleman in the west of Scotland was a serious, sensible man, but violently attached both to the doctrine and discipline of the Kirk. His eldest daughter dreamed, some months since, that she was poisoned, and must die in an hour. She waked in the utmost consternation, which issued in a deep conviction of sin. Soon after she had an earnest desire to see me, though not perceiving any possibility of it. But business calling Mr. H— — to Edinburgh, he brought her with him, three days before I came. On Sunday morning he heard the preaching for the first time, and afterwards omitted no opportunity. He now sent his daughter to beg I would come, if possible, to the west; and to desire that I, or any of our Preachers, would make his house our home.

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I rode to Dunbar, and endeavored, if possible to rouse some of the sleepers, by strongly, yea, roughly enforcing those words, “Lord, are there few that be saved?” And this I must say for the Scots in general, I know no men like them for bearing plain dealing.

On Thursday I reached Newcastle. Saturday, 8. At the request of Mr. Whitaker, of New-England, I preached and afterwards made a collection for the Indian schools in America. A large sum of money is now collected; but will money convert Heathens? Find Preachers of David Brainerd’s spirit, and nothing can stand before them; but without this, what will gold or silver do? No more than lead or iron. They have indeed sent thousands to hell; but never yet brought a soul to heaven.

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I preached about ten in Mr. Goodday’s church at

Monk-Wearmouth. About two I preached to a willing multitude at Gateshead-Fell; and at five, near the Garth-Heads at Newcastle.

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I labored to set some right, who have much grace, but little understanding; and I prevailed on all but one who appeared indeed to be the twin-soul of poor George Bell.

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I came to a friendly conclusion (blessed be God!) with Mr. L. He agreed to pay the legacies on the second of November; and we relinquished the residue of the estate. So the harpy Lawyers are happily disappointed; and the design of the dying saint in some measure answered.

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I took coach. The next day we reached Grantham, and London about seven on Friday evening; having run, that day, an hundred and ten miles. On the road I read over Seller’s “History of Palmyra,” and Norden’s “Travels into Egypt and Abyssinia;” two as dry and unsatisfying books as ever I read in my life.

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I hoped to have preached in the fields; but the rain prevented. However, one of our brethren preached there at seven, to thousands upon thousands; and there was not the least shadow of interruption. How long will these halcyon days continue?

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I met in Conference with our Assistants and a select number of Preachers. To these were added, on Thursday and Friday, Mr. Whitefield, Howell Harris, and many Stewards and Local Preachers. Love and harmony reigned from the beginning to the end; but we have all need of more love and holiness; and, in order thereto, of crying continually, “Lord, increase our faith!”

Having finished my work at London for the present, on Monday, 24, I rode to Wycombe, and preached in the evening to a numerous and deeply-attentive congregation.

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I read Mr. Crantz’s “Account of the Mission into

Greenland.” Although I make much allowance for the liberty which I know the Brethren take, in their accounts of one another, yet I do not see any reason to doubt that some of the Heathens have been converted. But what pity that so affecting an account should be disgraced with those vile, doggerel verses; just calculated to make the whole performance stink in the nostrils of all sensible men! In the evening the multitude that flocked together obliged me to preach abroad. I saw but three or four that seemed unaffected; and those, I suppose, were footmen; a race of men who are commonly lost to all sense of shame, as well as of good and evil.

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I rode to Ipstone-Hall, near Stoken church, and preached about ten o’clock; and, in the evening, at Whitney. The next evening I preached on Wood-Green, near the town, to an huge congregation, on, “Seek ye the Lord, while he may be found; call ye upon him, while he is near.” Scarce any were light or unattentive. Surely some will bring forth fruit unto perfection.

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I preached at Stow-in-the-Wold about ten, to a very dull, quiet congregation; and in the evening to almost such another, at Gloucester.

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We rode to Brecknock. Sunday, 30. One of Trevecka gave us a strange account: — A young woman, who served as dairy-maid there, was beloved by all the family. She was loving to every one, never angry, never out of humor. That morning she was much happier, and had a fuller manifestation of the love of God than ever. As she was coming through the entry, a lad met her with a gun in his hand, which he did not know was charged. He presented it, and said, “Nanny, I will shoot you.” The gun went off, and shot her through the heart. She fell on her face, and, without any struggle or groan, immediately expired.

I preached at eight to a large and serious congregation, and on the Bulwarks at five. A multitude of people attended; and even the Gentry seemed, for the present, almost persuaded to be Christians.

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I rode to Carmarthen, and, a little before six, went down to the Green. The congregation was near as large as that at Brecknock, but nothing so gay; being almost all poor or middling people. To these, therefore, I directly preached the Gospel. They heard it with greediness; and though I was faint and weary when I began, I was soon as a giant refreshed with wine.

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I rode on to Pembroke, and, this and the next

evening, preached in the main street, to far more than the House could have contained. In the mornings we were within. Wednesday, 2. Upon inquiry, I found the work of God in Pembrokeshire had been exceedingly hindered, chiefly by Mr. Davies’s Preachers, who had continually inveighed against ours, and thereby frightened abundance of people from hearing, or coming near them. This had sometimes provoked them to retort, which always made a bad matter worse. The advice, therefore, which I gave them was,

1. Let all the people sacredly abstain from backbiting, tale-bearing, evil-speaking:

2. Let all our Preachers abstain from returning railing for railing, either in public or in private; as well as from disputing:

3. Let them never preach controversy, but plain, practical, and experimental religion.

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About noon I preached at Lamphy, a village two miles from Pembroke. The rain a little lessened the congregation, but did not hinder the blessing. God was eminently present, to comfort the mourners; as likewise at Pembroke in the evening.

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I rode to Haverfordwest, but knew not what to do, because of the rain. However, at six I was constrained, by the number of people, to stand abroad, near the Castle; and the whole congregation as quietly attended as if we had been in a cathedral.

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I had a large and earnest congregation at six. About ten I began the Service at St. Daniel’s, a little church about half a mile from Pembroke, which, till lately, lay in ruins. It was thoroughly filled, during the Prayers and sermon, and a considerable number gladly partook of the Lord’s Supper. Afterwards I rode back to Haverford, and, notwithstanding the rain, stood in the same place as before, and applied, “O that thou hadst known, at least in this thy day, the things that belong unto thy peace!”

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I rode to Carmarthen, and preached on the Green, on, “Is there no balm in Gilead?” In the afternoons, finding none that could direct us to Oxwych, we were obliged to ride round by Swansea. The next morning we came to Oxwych, and found George Story there, who had come to Swansea the day before, in his way to Cork. Hearing I was near, he came over just in season to preach to the congregation who waited for me. At noon I preached to, I suppose, all the inhabitants of the town, and then rode to Neath.

I had designed to preach abroad, but the rain would not permit. The preaching house was much crowded, and the power of God was in the midst of the congregation. Prejudice sunk down before it; and the innumerable lies which most of them had heard of me vanished into air. The same power rested upon them early in the morning. The bigots on all sides were ashamed, and felt that, in Christ Jesus, nothing avails but the “faith that worketh by love.”

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About twelve I preached to a large and serious congregation in the assembly room at Cowbridge; and in the evening, in the Court-House at Cardiff; where, both this and the following evening, we had most of the Gentry in the town; and, both the mornings, the hearers were more than for many years. Who knows but, even in this desolate town, God may build up the waste places?

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I rode to Llanbraddoch, a single house, delightfully situated near the top of an high mountain; and in the evening preached to a serious company of plain Welshmen with uncommon enlargement of heart.

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Setting out early, I reached Chepstow before noon, and

preached at a friend’s door, to a civil, unconcerned congregation. We came to the Old Passage, (being told we had time to spare,) a few minutes after the boat was gone off. Finding they would not pass again that day, I left my horses behind; and, crossing over in a small boat, got to Bristol soon enough to preach in the evening.

The following week I visited most of the Somersetshire societies. Sunday, 20, (as the Sunday before,) I preached in Princes-Street at eight; about two under the sycamore-tree at Kingswood; and at five in the new Square, to a larger congregation than, I think, was ever there before. Monday, 21. I preached at Pensford, Paulton, and Coleford; on Tuesday noon, at Midsummer-Norton; (so called, I suppose because formerly it was accessible at no other time of the year;) and in the evening, at Coleford again, where we had a comfortable love-feast, at which many spoke their experience with all simplicity.

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About noon I preached at Buckland, and in the evening at Frome: But the House was too small, so that many were constrained to go away. So the next evening I preached in a meadow, where a multitude, of all denominations, attended. It seems that God is at length giving a more general call to this town also; the people whereof seemed before, in every sense, to be “rich and increased in goods, and having need of nothing.”

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I was desired to preach at Freshford; but the people durst not come to the House, because of the smallpox, of which Joseph Allen, “an Israelite indeed,” had died the day before. So they placed a table near the church-yard. But I had no sooner begun to speak, than the bells began to ring, by the procurement of a neighboring gentleman. However, it was labor lost; for my voice prevailed, and the people heard me distinctly: Nay, a person extremely deaf, who had not been able to hear a sermon for several years, told his neighbors, with great joy, that he had heard and understood all, from the beginning to the end.

I preached at Bristol in the evening, on 2 Corinthians 4:17, a text which had been chosen by William New, a little before God called him hence. He labored under a deep asthma for several years, and for seven or eight months was confined to his bed; where he was, from time to time, visited by a friend, who wrote the following account: —

“He was one of the first Methodists in Bristol, and always walked as became the Gospel. By the sweat of his brow he maintained a large family, leaving six children behind him. When he was no longer able to walk, he did not discontinue his labor; and, after he kept his room, he used to cut out glass, (being a glazier,) to enable his eldest son, a child about fourteen, to do something toward the support of his family. Yea, when he kept his bed, he was not idle; but still gave him what assistance he could.

“He was formerly fond of company and diversions; but, as soon as God called him, left them all, having a nobler diversion, — visiting the sick and afflicted, in which he spent all his leisure hours. He was diligent in the use of all the means of grace; very rarely, during his health, missing the morning preaching at five, though he lived above a mile from the Room.

“About a year ago, he took his leave of the society; telling them, that it was with great pleasure he had joined and continued with them; that it was in this despised place the Lord first manifested himself to his soul; that no tongue could tell what he had since enjoyed under that roof; that the same Jesus had enabled him to hold on thus far, and he hoped to be with him soon; adding, ‘I do not expect to see you any more here, but have no doubt of meeting you in glory.’

“During the last twenty days of his life, he took no other sustenance than, now and then, a teaspoon full of wine, or of balm-tea. About fourteen days before his death, his tongue turned black, with large chops in it, through the heat of his stomach; and his lips were drawn two or three inches apart, so that it was difficult for him to speak. In this condition he lay waiting for his discharge, saying, sometimes, ‘I am, as it were, two persons: The body is in torturing pain; the soul is in sweet peace.’ He frequently said, ‘I long to be gone! Come, Lord Jesus; come quickly!’ When I asked, ‘Do you desire to see’ such a person? He said, ‘I desire to see none but Jesus. To him I leave my dear wife and children: I have no care about them.’

“The next day Satan violently assaulted his faith; but instantly our Lord appeared in all his glory, and he was filled with love and joy unspeakable, and said, ‘Call my friend, and let him see a dying Christian. O what do I feel! I see my Lord has overcome for me. I am his: Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’ He desired them that were present to sing; and began, Jesus, lover of my soul!

He then desired the text for his funeral sermon might be 1 Corinthians 4:17.

“The next time I saw him, having desired him to make signs rather than speak, which was painful to him, he said, ‘Here is a sign’ (pushing out his feet, and holding, up his hands,) ‘a dying Christian, full of love and joy! A crown, a never fading crown awaits me; I am going to everlasting habitations.’ He then desired us to sing, and quickly added, ‘He is come! He is come! I want to be gone: Farewell to you all!’ When he could no longer speak, he continued smiling, clapping his hands, and discovering an ecstasy of joy in every motion.

“After a while his speech returned, and he said, ‘Today is Friday: Tomorrow I expect to go.’ One said, ‘Poor Mr. New!’ He said, ‘It is rich New: Though poor in myself, I am rich in Christ.’ “I saw him on Saturday in the same spirit, praising God with every breath. He appeared quite transported, pointing upwards, and turning his fingers round his head, alluding to the crown prepared for him. I said, ‘Your Lord has kept the best wine unto the last.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said he; ‘it is in my soul.’ When I took my leave he pressed my hand, pointed upward, and again clapped his hands. Afterward he spoke little, till he cried out, ‘The chariot, the chariot of Israel!’ and died.”

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I was informed, between twelve and one, that Mrs. B. was dying. Judging I had no time to lose, about one I left Bristol, and about seven on Sunday morning came to London. Learning there that she was better, I stayed to preach and administer the sacrament at the chapel, and then hastened on, and spent a solemn and profitable hour at Lewisham. I preached again at West-street chapel in the afternoon, and made a collection for the poor, as I had done in the morning. Soon after I took chaise again, and on Monday, about noon, came to Bristol.

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I preached to a large and very serious congregation on Redcliff-Hill. This is the way to overturn Satan’s kingdom. In field-preaching, more than any other means, God is found of them that sought him not. By this, death, heaven, and hell, come to the ears, if not the hearts, of them that “care for none of these things.” Friday, October 2, and some days in the following week, I visited the other societies round Bristol. Sunday, 11. I preached at eight in Princes-Street, and, a little before five, near the new Square; where, notwithstanding the keenness of the wind, the congregation was exceeding large. I permitted all of Mr. Whitefield’s society that pleased, to be present at the love-feast that followed. I hope we shall “not know war any more,” unless with the world, the flesh and the devil.

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I preached at Bradford; on Tuesday, at Salisbury; on

Wednesday, about one, at Romsey; whence I rode to Southampton; and, the wind being so high that I could not well preach abroad, I sent a line to the Mayor, requesting leave to preach in the Town-Hall. In an hour he sent me word, I might; but in an hour more he retracted. Poor Mayor of Southampton! So I preached in a small room, and did not repent my labor.

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About noon I preached at Fareham, then went on to

Portsmouth Common. I sent to desire the use of the Tabernacle, but was answered, Not unless I would preach the Perseverance of the Saints. At six I preached in our own Room, which was sufficiently crowded both within and without. Resolving there should be room for all that would come, I preached the next afternoon on the side of the Common; and the whole congregation was as quiet as that in the Square at Bristol. Saturday, 17. I set out early, and in the evening came to London.

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I went to Colchester, and spent three days very agreeably, among a quiet and loving people. All their little misunderstandings are now at an end. Yet they had not the life which they had once: A loss of this kind is not easily recovered. Saturday, 24. I returned to London.

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I began my little tour through Northamptonshire and

Bedfordshire. I preached at Whittlebury in the evening. Tuesday, 27. I rode to Weedon, where, the use of the church being refused, I accepted the offer of the Presbyterian meeting house, and preached to a crowded audience.

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About two in the afternoon I preached at Towcester,

where, though many could not get in, yet all were quiet. Hence we rode to Northampton, where, in the evening, (our own Room being far too small,) I preached in the riding school to a large and deeply-serious congregation. After service, I was challenged by one that was my parishioner at Epworth, near forty years ago. I drank tea at her house the next afternoon with her daughter-in-law from London, very big with child, and greatly afraid that she should die in labor. When we went to prayers, I enlarged in prayer for her in particular. Within five minutes after we went away her pangs began, and soon after she was delivered of a fine boy. Friday, 30. I rode across the country to Bedford, and preached in the evening to a civil, heavy congregation. Saturday, 31. After preaching at Luton in the way, I returned to London.

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Being All-Saints’ Day, (a festival I dearly love,) I

could not but observe the admirable propriety with which the Collect, Epistle, and Gospel for the day are suited to each other. As I was to set out for Kent in the morning, Mr. B. invited me to spend the evening with him at Lewisham. Soon after we took horse, we found one of our horses lame. On inquiry, it appeared that five nails were driven into the quick: So we were at a full stop. But Mr. B. supplying us with another horse, we rode on, through heavy rain, to Staplehurst. In the evening I met with a young Clergyman, who seemed to have no desire, but to save his own soul and those that heard him. I advised him to expect crosses and persecution. But he was sure his Rector would stand by him. Vain hope, that the children of the world should long stand by the children of God! Soon after, his Rector told him, unless he kept away from this people he must leave his curacy.

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I rode to Rye, and preached in the evening. A poor prodigal, who was cut to the heart the first time I was there, was one of the audience; but exceeding drunk. He dined with us the next day; but was still so muddled, that I could make no impression on him. He was almost persuaded to be a Christian; but I doubt is now farther off than ever. In the evening I dealt once more exceeding plain with him and his fellow sinners. If they now perish in their iniquity, their blood is on their own head.

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About noon I preached at Norjam. I was surprised, at one, to hear the Tower guns so plain at above fifty miles’ distance. In the afternoon we rode through miserable roads to the pleasant village of Ewhurst, where I found the most lively congregation that I have met with in the county. Saturday, 7. I called at the house of mourning at Shoreham, where I found Mr. P. sorrowing, like a Christian, for his youngest son, the staff of his age, the fourth that has been snatched from him in the bloom of youth. After spending a profitable hour here, I rode forward to London.

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I buried the remains of that excellent young man, Benjamin Colley. He did “rejoice evermore,” and “pray without ceasing;” and I believe his backsliding cost him his life. From the time he missed his way, by means of Mr. Maxfield, he went heavily all his days. God, indeed, restored his peace, but left him to be buffeted of Satan in an uncommon manner: And his trials did not end but with his life. However, some of his last words were, “Tell all the society, tell all the world, I die without doubt or fear.”

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I occasionally looked into a book which I had long thrown by, as not worth reading, entitled, “Thoughts on God and Nature.” But how agreeably was I surprised! It contains a treasure of ancient learning, delivered in clear and strong language; and is, indeed, a masterpiece in its kind, a thunderbolt to Lord Bolingbroke, and all his admirers.

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I buried the remains of Rebecca Mills. She found peace with God many years since, and about five years ago was entirely changed, and enabled to give her whole soul to God. From that hour she never found any decay, but loved and served him with her whole heart. Pain and sickness, and various trials, succeeded almost without any intermission: But she was always the same, firm and unmoved, as the rock on which she was built; in life and in death uniformly praising the God of her salvation. The attainableness o£ this great salvation is put beyond all reasonable doubt by the testimony of one such (were there but one) living and dying witness.

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I preached to the condemned felons in Newgate, on, “Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise.” All of them were struck, and melted into tears: Who knows but some of them may “reap in joy?” In the evening I preached at Leytonstone. How good would it be for me to be here, not twice in a year, but in a month! So it appears to me: But God is wiser than man. When it is really best, will he not bring it to pass? About this time I received two or three remarkable letters; extracts from which I here subjoin: —

“Reverend Sir,

“LATELY I was requested to read Mr. Marshall’s

‘Gospel-Mystery of Sanctification.’ It was represented to me as the most excellent piece ever published on that subject. I have read it, and, lest I should be mistaken, submit to you the following short remarks: —

“It must be acknowledged, he is, on the one hand, copious in showing the impracticability of real, genuine holiness, or of doing any works acceptable to God, till we ‘repent and believe the Gospel.’ On the other hand, he shows the deadly consequences of that faith which sets aside our obligations to observe God’s holy Law.

“I rejoice, likewise, to find him showing how well able a believer is to keep this Law; and proving that this faith implies a divine assurance of our belonging to Christ; but most of all, to observe him speaking so excellently of the growth of a believer in holiness. ‘We are always,’ says he, ‘to resist the devil, to quench all his fiery darts, and to perfect holiness in the fear of God. We are to be built up in Christ, until we come to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.’

“But how does this agree with his asserting, ‘our natural state doth remain, in a measure, with all its corrupt principles and practices, as long as we live in the present world? You may as well wash a Blackamoor white, as purge the flesh from its evil lusts. It will lust against the Spirit in the best saints upon earth.’ How then am I to come ‘to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ?’ Is there a reconciliation between the ‘fullness of Christ ‘ in a believer, and all his ‘corrupt principles and practices?’ Is it thus, that the strong man armed is to be cast out, with the spoiling of his goods? Does he tell me, I am to quench all ‘the fiery darts of the devil;’ and in the same breath that I ‘may as well wash, a Blackamoor white;’ that I ‘can do all things through Christ strengthening me;’ and yet, that the flesh shall never be purged from its evil lusts; no, not in the best saints on earth, so long as they live in the present world? What a wonderful communion is here between light and darkness! What strange fellowship between Christ and Belial!

“What can we infer from hence, but that Mr. Marshall’s book, containing so much poison mixed with food, is an exceeding dangerous one, and not fit to be recommended to any but experienced Christians?”

The following letter is of a very different kind: — “Sir,

“I WAS yesterday led to hear what God would say to me by your mouth. You exhorted us to ‘strive to enter in at the strait gate.’ I am willing so to do. But I find one chief part of my striving must be, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to instruct the ignorant, to visit the sick and such as are in prison, bound in misery and iron.

“But if you purge out all who scorn such practices, or at least are not found in them, how many will remain in your society? I fear scarce enough to carry your body to the grave! Alas, how many, even among those who are called believers, have plenty of all the necessaries of life, and yet complain of poverty! How many have houses and lands, or bags of money, and yet cannot find in their hearts to spare now and then to God’s poor a little piece of gold! How many have linen in plenty, with three or four suits of clothes, and can see the poor go naked! They will change them away for painted clay, or let the moths devour them, before they will give them to cover the nakedness of their poor brethren, many of whose souls are clothed with glorious robes, though their bodies are covered with rags. Pray, Sir, tell these, you cannot believe they are Christians, unless they imitate Christ in doing good to all men, and hate covetousness, which is idolatry.”

I do tell them so: And I tell them it will be more tolerable in the day of judgment for Sodom and Gomorrah than for them. I tell them, the Methodists that do not fulfill all righteousness will have the hottest place in the lake of fire!

To awaken, if possible, these sleepers, I add one extract more: — “Reverend And Dear Sir,

“SOME time ago I acquainted you how graciously the Lord had dealt with me, in delivering me out of all my troubles. For some time past I have been amazed at my speech, memory, and understanding, in all which I was remarkably defective. I have had power to explain the Scriptures to my friends that meet here, in a manner that astonished me. But I immediately saw from whence these blessings came, and with an overflow of love and joy, worshipped the great Fountain of all goodness. I never was so sensible of my unprofitableness, never so abhorred myself as I do now. And yet I feel no condemnation, nor any withdrawing of my Redeemer’s love. He is my shield and buckler, my God and my all. Glory be to God and the Lamb for ever! Praise him for me, and praise him for ever! Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord.

“Since the Lord has not only been gracious to my soul, but has entrusted me with a share of this world’s good, I am under an equal obligation to be faithful, in this as in the other gifts of God. Now especially, when help is so much wanted, I ought to be the more careful. Suffer me, Sir, to speak freely of myself: I have about forty-seven pounds a year. As to my disbursements, for apparel, I buy the most lasting and, in general, the plainest I can. I buy no furniture but what is necessary and cheap. I make my own fire, and get my own breakfast and supper. I pay six-pence to one of our friends for my dinner. I drink herb tea, and thereby save at least a shilling a week. I seldom drink tea in an afternoon, but up at six, on bread and cheese, with milk and water; so I save at least eight-pence by dropping tea in the afternoon. I fasted much till my health was greatly impaired. Then I used abstinence on Wednesdays, Fridays, and other fast-days, till I was obliged to leave this off too; but not till I was quite indifferent as to what I eat. So I determined, if I cannot retrench a meal, I can retrench the expense of a meal twice a week, as on other fast-days; using potatoes, milk, or some other cheap thing. Thus I have four-pence per dinner twice a week, which, with the one shilling and eightpence, makes two shillings and four-pence per week, without retrenching one necessary meal. Now this two shillings and four-pence would buy as much meat as, made into broth, would nearly suffice for a small family. To be short, the expense for myself, — meat, drink, clothes, and washing, is not twenty-eight pounds per annum; so that I have near twenty pounds to return to God in the poor. Now, if every Christian family, while in health, would thus far deny themselves, would twice a week dine on the cheapest food, drink in general herb-tea, faithfully calculate the money saved thereby, and give it to the poor over and above their usual donations, we should then hear no complaining in our streets, but the poor would eat and be satisfied. He that gathered much would have nothing over, and he that gathered little would have no lack. O how happy should we all be, if this was the case with us! I mentioned this some time ago in a meeting at London, when a brother said, ‘These are but little things.’ As I went home, I thought of his words: ‘Little things! ‘Is the want of fire, in frost and snow, a little thing? Or the want of food, in a distressed, helpless family? Gracious God! ‘Feed me with food convenient for me! Give me not poverty; lest I steal, and take the name of my God in vain!’

“Dear Sir, I know what you feel for the poor, and I also sympathize with you. Here is a hard season coming on, and everything very dear; thousands of poor souls, yea, Christians, dread the approaching calamities. O that God would stir up the hearts of all that believe themselves his children, to evidence it by showing mercy to the poor, as God has shown them mercy! Surely the real children of God will do it of themselves; for it is the natural fruit of a branch in Christ. I would not desire them to lose one meal in a week, but to use as cheap food, clothes, etc., as possible. And I think the poor themselves ought to be questioned, with regard to drinking tea and beer. For I cannot think it right for them to indulge themselves in those things which I refrain from, to help them. My earnest prayers shall accompany yours, that God would give us all, in this our day, to know the things which belong unto our peace, and to acknowledge the blessings which are freely given to us of God!”

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I went to Canterbury. Here I met with the Life of Mahomet, wrote, I suppose, by the Count de Boulanvilliers. Whoever the author is, he is a very pert, shallow, self-conceited coxcomb, remarkable for nothing but his immense assurance and thorough contempt of Christianity. And the book is a dull, ill-digested romance, supported by no authorities at all: Whereas Dean Prideaux (a writer of ten times his sense) cites his authorities for everything he advances.

In the afternoon I rode to Dover; but the gentleman I was to lodge with was gone a long journey. He went to bed well, but was dead in the morning: Such a vapor is life! At six I preached; but the House would by no means contain the congregation. Most of the officers of the garrison were there. I have not found so much life here for some years. After preaching at Sandwich and Margate, and spending a comfortable day at Canterbury, on Saturday I returned to London.

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I took coach for Norwich, and in the evening came to

Newmarket. Tuesday, DECEMBER 1. Being alone in the coach, I was considering several points of importance. And thus much appeared clear as the day: —

That a man may be saved, who cannot express himself properly concerning Imputed Righteousness. Therefore, to do this is not necessary to salvation:

That a man may be saved, who has not clear conceptions of it. (Yea, that never heard the phrase.) Therefore, clear conceptions of it are not necessary to salvation: Yea, it is not necessary to salvation to use the phrase at all:

That a pious Churchman who has not clear conceptions even of Justification by Faith may be saved. Therefore, clear conceptions even of this are not necessary to salvation:

That a Mystic, who denies Justification by Faith, (Mr. Law, for instance,) may be saved. But if so, what becomes of articulus stantis vel cadentis ecclesiae? f13 If so, is it not high time for us

Projicere ampullas et sesquipedalia verba; f14

and to return to the plain word, “He that feareth God, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him?”

Every evening this week I preached at Norwich, to a quiet well-behaved congregation. Our friends, the mob, seem to have taken their leave; and so have triflers: All that remain seem to be deeply serious. But how easily are even these turned out of the way! One of our old members, about a year ago, left the society, and never heard the preaching since, because Mr. Lincoln said, “Mr. Wesley and all his followers would go to hell together!” However, on Tuesday night he ventured to the House once more; and God met him there, and revealed his Son in his heart.

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Believing it was my duty to search to the bottom some reports which I had heard concerning Mr. B——, I went to his old friend Mr. G— —, an Israelite indeed, but worn almost to a skeleton. After I had explained to him the motives of my inquiry, he spoke without reserve; and, if his account be true, that hot, sour man does well to hold fast his opinion, for it is all the religion he has.

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I went on to Yarmouth, and found confusion worse

confounded. Not only B—— W——’s society was come to nothing, but ours seemed to be swiftly following. They had almost all left the Church again, being full of prejudice against the Clergy, and against one another. However, as two or three retained their humble, simple love, I doubted not but there would be a blessing in the remnant. My first business was to reconcile them to each other; and this was effectually done by hearing the contending parties, first separately, and afterwards face to face. It remained to reconcile them to the Church; and this was done partly by arguments, partly by persuasion.

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We set out at three in the morning, but did not reach Bury till past seven in the evening. The people being ready, I began preaching immediately. Many seemed really desirous to save their souls. The next day we went on to London.

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I was desired to preach a funeral sermon for William Osgood. He came to London near thirty years ago, and, from nothing, increased more and more, till he was worth several thousand pounds. He was a good man, and died in peace. Nevertheless, I believe his money was a great clog to him, and kept him in a poor, low state all his days, making no such advance as he might have done, either in holiness or happiness. Today I found a little soreness on the edge of my tongue, which the next day spread to my gums, then to my lips, which inflamed, swelled, and, the skin bursting, bled considerably. Afterward, the roof of my mouth was extremely sore, so that I could chew nothing. To this was added a continual spitting. I knew a little rest would cure all. But this was not to be had; for I had appointed to be at Sheerness on Wednesday, the 16th. Accordingly, I took horse between five and six, and came thither between five and six in the evening. At half an hour after six, I began reading Prayers, (the Governor of the fort having given me the use of the chapel,) and afterwards preached, though not without difficulty, to a large and serious congregation. The next evening it was considerably increased, so that the chapel was as hot as an oven. In coming out, the air, being exceeding sharp, quite took away my voice, so that I knew not how I should be able the next day to read Prayers or preach to so large a congregation. But in the afternoon the good Governor cut the knot, sending word, I must preach in the chapel no more. A room being offered, which held full as many people as I was able to preach to, we had a comfortable hour; and many seemed resolved to “seek the Lord while he may be found.”

Examining the society, consisting of four or five and thirty members, I had the comfort to find many of them knew in whom they had believed. And all of them seemed really desirous to adorn the doctrine of God their Savior.

Such a town as many of these live in, is scarce to be found again in England. In the dock adjoining to the fort there are six old men-of-war. These are divided into small tenements, forty, fifty, or sixty in a ship, with little chimneys and windows; and each of these contains a family. In one of them, where we called, a man and his wife and six little children lived. And yet all the ship was sweet and tolerably clean; sweeter than most sailing ships I have been in. Saturday 19. I returned to London.

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I visited poor Mrs. H., whose wild husband has very near murdered her, by vehemently affirming, it was revealed to him that she should die before such a day. Indeed the day is past; but her weak, nervous constitution is so deeply shocked by it, that she still keeps her bed, and perhaps will feel it all the days of her life.

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