1768

I called on a poor man in the Marshalsea, whose

case appeared to be uncommon. He is by birth a Dutchman, a Chemist by profession. Being but half employed at home, he was advised to come to London, where he doubted not of having full employment. He was recommended to a countryman of his to lodge, who after six weeks arrested him for much more than he owed, and hurried him away to prison, having a wife near her time, without money, friend, or a word of English to speak. I wrote the case to Mr. T——, who immediately gave fifteen pounds; by means of which, with a little addition, he was set at liberty, and put in a way of living. But I never saw him since: And reason good; for he could now live without me.

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At my Leisure hours this week, I read Dr. Priestley’s

ingenious book on Electricity. He seems to have accurately collected and well digested all that is known on that curious subject. But how little is that all! Indeed the use of it we know; at least, in some good degree. We know it is a thousand medicines in one: In particular, that it is the most efficacious medicine, in nervous disorders of every kind, which has ever yet been discovered. But if we aim at theory, we know nothing. We are soon

Lost and bewilder’d in the fruitless search.

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This week I spent my scraps of time in reading Mr.

Wodrow’s “History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland.” It would transcend belief, but that the vouchers are too authentic to admit of any exception. O what a blessed Governor was that good-natured man, so called, King Charles the Second! Bloody Queen Mary was a lamb, a mere dove, in comparison of him!

Monday, 25, and the following days, in the intervals of more important work, I carefully read the pleadings at Edinburgh, in the famous Douglas cause. So intricate a one I never heard, I never read of before. I cannot but believe the birth was real. But the objections are so numerous, and so strongly urged, I cannot at all wonder that many should believe otherwise.

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I met with a surprising poem, entitled, “Choheleth;

or, the Preacher.” It is a paraphrase, in tolerable verse, on the Book of Ecclesiastes. I really think the author of it (a Turkey Merchant) understands both the difficult expressions, and the connection of the whole, better than any other, either ancient or modern, writer whom I have seen. He was at Lisbon during the great earthquake, just then sitting in his night-gown and slippers. Before he could dress himself, part of the house he was in fell, and blocked him up. By this means his life was saved; for all who had run out were dashed in pieces by the falling houses.

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Having been importunately pressed thereto, I rode (through a keen east wind) to Chatham. About six in the evening I preached at the barracks, in what they call the church. It is a large room, in which the Chaplain reads Prayers, and preaches now and then. It was soon as hot as an oven, through the multitude of people; some hundreds of whom were soldiers: And they were “all ear,” as Mr. Boston says, scarce allowing themselves to breathe. Even between five and six the next morning the Room was warm enough. I suppose upwards of two hundred soldiers were a part of the audience. Many of these are already warring a good warfare, knowing in whom they have believed.

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I rode to Shoreham, and preached at five in Mr. P.’s house; but the next day I preached in the church, being St. Matthias’s Day. I then rode back to a large Room, which is taken in Redriff, above three miles from London Bridge. Although the people were strangely squeezed together, yet they appeared to be all attention. Not a cough was to be heard. I strongly exhorted them to “call upon the Lord while he is near.” And when I had concluded, no one offered to move, but every one stood still in his place, till I had passed through them.

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I translated from the French one of the most useful tracts I ever saw, for those who desire to be “fervent in spirit.” How little does God regard men’s opinions! What a multitude of wrong opinions are embraced by all the members of the Church of Rome! Yet how highly favored have many of them been!

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I dined at Mr. M——’s. His strangeness is now gone. He has drank of my cup. Reproach has at length found out him also. Afterwards I spent an hour at Mr. G——’s. I can trust myself about once a year in this warm sunshine; but not much oftener, or I should melt away.

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In the evening I went to Brentford, and on Tuesday, 8, I reached Bristol, where I did not find any decay in the work of God, though it did not go on so vigorously as at Kingswood. Here the meetings for prayer had been exceedingly blessed; some were convinced or converted almost daily; and near seventy new members had been added to the society in about three months’ time. The school likewise is in a flourishing condition. Several of the children continue serious; and all of them are in better order than they have been for some years.

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I set out on my northern journey, and preached at Stroud in the evening. Tuesday, 15. About noon I preached at Painswick, and in the evening at Gloucester. The mob here was for a considerable time both noisy and mischievous. But an honest Magistrate, taking the matter in hand, quickly tamed the beasts of the people. So may any Magistrate, if he will; so that wherever a mob continues any time, all they do is to be imputed not so much to the rabble as to the Justices.

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About nine I preached at Cheltenham, — a quiet, comfortable place; though it would not have been so, if either the Rector or the Anabaptist Minister could have prevented it. Both these have blown the trumpet with their might; but the people had no ears to hear. In the afternoon I preached at Upton, and then rode on to Worcester. But the difficulty was, where to preach. No room was large enough to contain the people; and it was too cold for them to stand abroad. At length we went to a friend’s, near the town, whose barn was larger than many churches. Here a numerous congregation soon assembled; and again at five, and at ten in the morning. Nothing is wanting here but a commodious House: And will not God provide this also?

In the afternoon we rode to Evesham. As all was hurry and confusion on account of the election, I was glad Mr. D. asked me to preach in his church, where we had a large and exceeding quiet congregation. How long a winter has been at this place! Will not the spring at length return?

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The Vicar of Pebworth had given notice in the church on Sunday, that I was to preach there on Friday. But the Squire of the parish said, “It is contrary to the Canons,” (wise Squire!) “and it shall not be.” So I preached about a mile from it, at Broadmarston, by the side of Mr. Eden’s house. The congregation was exceeding large, and remarkably attentive. In the morning, the chapel (so it anciently was) was well filled at five. The simplicity and earnestness of the people promise a glorious harvest.

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We rode to Birmingham. The tumults which subsisted here so many years are now wholly suppressed by a resolute Magistrate. After preaching, I was pleased to see a venerable monument of antiquity, George Bridgins, in the one hundred and seventh year of his age. He can still walk to the preaching, and retains his senses and understanding tolerably well. But what a dream will even a life of a hundred years appear to him, the moment he awakes in eternity!

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About one I preached on West-Bromwich Heath; in the

evening, near the preaching house in Wednesbury. The north wind cut like a razor; but the congregation, as well as me, had something else to think of.

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I read over a small book, “Poems, by Miss Whateley,” a farmer’s daughter. She had little advantage from education, but an astonishing genius. Some of her Elegies I think quite equal to Mr. Gray’s. If she had had proper helps for a few years, I question whether she would not have excelled any female poet that ever yet appeared in England.

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After preaching at several other places, I rode on to Wolverhampton. Here too all was quiet; only those who could not get into the House made a little noise for a time: And some hundreds attended me to my lodging; but it was with no other intent than to stare.

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I rode to Newcastle-under-Line, (a river so called,) one of the prettiest towns in England. Many here already know themselves: Not a few know Christ. The largeness of the congregation constrained me, though it was very cold, to preach in the open air, on, “God commandeth all men everywhere to repent.” I scarce ever saw a more attentive or better-behaved congregation.

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I turned aside a little to Burslem, and preached in the new House. That at Congleton is about the same size, but better contrived, and better finished. We had any elegant congregation at Congleton, yet earnestly attentive. It seems, the behavior of the society in this town has convinced all the people in it but the Curate, who still refuses to give the sacrament to any that will not promise to hear these Preachers no more.

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We rode to Macclesfield. Sunday, 27. At eleven one of the Ministers preached a useful sermon, as did the other in the afternoon. At five in the evening we had thousands upon thousands; and all were serious, while I enforced, “Now is the day of salvation.”

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I met the Stewards of the several societies at Manchester. The times of outward distress are now over: God has given us plenty of all things. It remains only, to, give ourselves up to Him who “giveth us all things richly to enjoy.”

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I preached in Stockport at noon, and Manchester in the

evening. Wednesday, 30. I rode to a little town called New-Mills, in the High Peak of Derbyshire. I preached at noon in their large new chapel, which (in consideration that preaching-houses have need of air) has a casement in every window, three inches square! That is the custom of the country!

In the evening and the following morning I brought strange things to the ears of many in Manchester, concerning the government of their families, and the education of their children. But some still made that very silly answer, “O, he has no children of his own!” Neither had St. Paul, nor (that we know) any of the Apostles. What then? Were they, therefore, unable to instruct parents? Not so. They were able to instruct every one that had a soul to be saved.

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I preached at Little-Leigh, and in the evening at Chester. At eight in the morning, Easter-Day I took my old stand, in the little Square, at St. Martin’s Ash. The people were as quiet as in the House. While I stayed here I corrected Miss Gilbert’s Journal, — a masterpiece in its kind. What a prodigy of a child! Soon ripe, and soon gone!

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About noon I preached at Warrington; I am afraid, not to the taste of some of my hearers, as my subject led me to speak strongly and explicitly on the Godhead of Christ. But that I cannot help; for on this I must insist as the foundation of all our hope.

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About eleven I preached at Wigan, in a place near the middle of the town, which I suppose was formerly a play-house. It was very full and very warm. Most of the congregation were wild as wild might be; yet none made the least disturbance. Afterwards, as I walked down the street, they stared sufficiently; but none said an uncivil word. In the evening we had an huge congregation at Liverpool: But some pretty, gay, fluttering things did not behave with so much good manners as the mob at Wigan. The congregations in general were quite well-behaved, as well as large, both morning and evening; and I found the society both more numerous and more lively than ever it was before.

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I rode to Prescot, eight miles from Liverpool, and came thither just as the church began. The Vicar preached an excellent sermon, on, “Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: And this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.” After Service, many followed me to a vacant place, where we were tolerably sheltered from the cold wind. Fifty or sixty of our Liverpool friends also were there, who had walked over; and God made it both a solemn and a comfortable opportunity to many souls.

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I rode to Bolton; on Wednesday, to Kendal. Seceders and mongrel Methodists have so surfeited the people here, that there is small prospect of doing good; however, I once more “cast” my “bread upon the waters,” and left the event to God.

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I rode on, through continued rain, to Ambleside. It cleared up before we came to Keswick, and we set out thence in a fair day; but on the mountains the storm met us again, which beat on us so impetuously, that our horses could scarce turn their faces against it. However, we made shift to reach Cockermouth; but there was no room for preaching, the town being in an uproar through the election for Members of Parliament; so, after drying ourselves, we thought it best to go on to Whitehaven. I found the society here more alive to God than it had been for several years; and God has chosen the weak to make them strong: The change has been wrought chiefly by means of Joseph G. Many of the children likewise are serious and well-behaved; and some of them seem to be awakened.

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I commended them to the grace of God, and rode to

Cockermouth. I had designed to preach near the market house, but the rain constrained us to go into the House, where I explained, (out of the First Lesson,) “Let me die the death of the righteous.” In the evening I preached at Coldbeck, in the mountains, to an exceeding serious congregation.

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Taking horse at four, I reached Solway-Frith before eight, and, finding a guide ready, crossed without delay, dined at Dumfries, and then went on to Drumlanrig.

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I rode through heavy rain to Glasgow. On Thursday and

Friday I spoke to most of the members of the society. I doubt we have few societies in Scotland like this: The greater part of those I saw, not only have found peace with God, but continue to walk in the light of his countenance. Indeed that wise and good man, Mr. G——, has been of great service to them; encouraging them, by all possible means, to abide in the grace of God.

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I rode over the mountains to Perth. I had received magnificent accounts of the work of God in this place; so that I expected to find a numerous and lively society. Instead of this, I found not above two believers, and scarce five awakened persons in it. Finding I had all to begin, I spoke exceeding plain in the evening to about a hundred persons, at the Room; but, knowing this was doing nothing, on Sunday, 24, I preached about eight at the end of Watergate. A multitude of people were soon assembled, to whom I cried aloud, “Seek ye the Lord while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near.” All were deeply attentive; and I had a little hope that some were profited.

At the old kirk we had useful sermons, both in the morning and at five in the afternoon. Immediately after Service I preached on, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” The congregation was so exceeding large, that I doubt many could not hear. After preaching, I explained the nature of a Methodist society; adding, that I should not look on any persons at Perth as such, unless they spoke to me before I left the city. Four men and four women did speak to me; two of whom I think were believers; and one or two more seemed just awakening, all darkly feeling after God. In truth, the kingdom of God, among these, is as yet but as a grain of mustard-seed.

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Mr. Fr——, Minister of a neighboring parish, desired us to breakfast with him. I found him a serious, benevolent, sensible man; not bigoted to any opinions. I did not reach Brechin till it was too late to preach. Tuesday, 26. I came to Aberdeen. Here I found a society truly alive, knit together in peace and love. The congregations were large both morning and evening, and, as usual, deeply attentive. But a company of strolling players, who have at length found place here also, stole away the gay part of the hearers. Poor Scotland! Poor Aberdeen! This only was wanting to make them as completely irreligious as England.

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I read over an extremely sensible book, but one that surprised me much: It is “An Inquiry into the Proofs of the Charges commonly advanced against Mary, Queen of Scotland.” By means of original papers, he has made more clear than one would imagine it possible at this distance,

1. That she was altogether innocent of the murder of Lord Darnley, and no way privy to it:

2. That she married Lord Bothwell (then near seventy years old, herself but four-and twenty) from the pressing instance of the Nobility in a body, who at the same time assured her, he was innocent of the King’s murder:

3. That Murray, Morton, and Lethington, themselves contrived that murder, in order to charge it upon her; as well as forged those vile letters and sonnets which they palmed upon the world for hers. “But how then can we account for the quite contrary story, which has been almost universally received?” Most easily. It was penned and published in French, English, and Latin, (by Queen Elizabeth’s order,) by George Buchanan, who was Secretary to Lord Murray, and in Queen Elizabeth’s pay; so he was sure to throw dirt enough. Nor was she at liberty to answer for herself. “But what then was Queen Elizabeth?” As just and merciful as Nero, and as good a Christian as Mahomet.

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I preached at seven in the new Room; in the afternoon at the College kirk, in Old-Aberdeen. At six, knowing our House could not contain the congregation, I preached in the Castle-gate, on the paved stones. A large number of people were all attention; but there were many rude, stupid creatures round about them, who knew as little of reason as of religion: I never saw such brutes in Scotland before. One of them threw a potato, which fell on my arm: I turned to them; and some were ashamed.

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I set out early from Aberdeen, and about noon preached in Brechin. After sermon, the Provost desired to see me, and said, “Sir, my son had epileptic fits from his infancy: Dr. Ogylvie prescribed for him many times, and at length told me, he could do no more. I desired Mr. Blair last Monday to speak to you. On Tuesday morning my son said to his mother, he had just been dreaming that his fits were gone, and he was perfectly well. Soon after I gave him the drops you advised: He is perfectly well, and has not had one fit since.” In the evening I preached to a large congregation at Dundee. They heard attentively, but seemed to feel nothing. The next evening I spoke more strongly, and to their hearts rather than their understanding; and I believe a few felt the word of God sharp as a two-edged sword.

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We rode through the pleasant and fruitful Carse of Gowry, a plain, fifteen or sixteen miles long, between the river Tay and the mountains, very thick inhabited, to Perth. In the afternoon we walked over to the Royal Palace at Scoon. It is a large old house, delightfully situated, but swiftly running to ruin. Yet there are a few good pictures, and some fine tapestry left, in what they call the Queen’s and the King’s chambers. And what is far more curious, there is a bed and a set of hangings, in the (once) royal apartment, which was wrought by poor Queen Mary, while she was imprisoned in the castle of Lochlevin. It is some of the finest needlework I ever saw, and plainly shows both her exquisite skill and unwearied industry.

About this time a remarkable work of God broke out among the children at Kingswood School. One of the Masters sent me a short account of it as follows: —

“REV. AND DEAR SIR, April 27, 1768.

“ON Wednesday, the 20th, God broke in upon our boys in a surprising manner. A serious concern has been observable in some of them for some time past; but that night, while they were in their private apartments, the power of God came upon them, even like a mighty, rushing wind, which made them cry aloud for mercy. Last night, I hope, will never be forgotten, when about twenty were in the utmost distress. But God quickly spoke peace to two of them, J—— Gl——t, and T—— M——e. A greater display of his love I never saw; they indeed rejoice with joy unspeakable. For my own part, I have not often felt the like power. We have no need to exhort them to pray, for that spirit runs through the whole school; so that this house may well be called, ‘an house of prayer.’ While I am writing, the cries of the boys, from their several apartments, are sounding in my ears. There are many still lying at the pool, who wait every moment to be put in. They are come to this, ‘Lord, I will not, I cannot, rest without thy love.’ Since I began to write, eight more are set at liberty, and now rejoice in God their Savior. The names of these are John Coward, John Lion, John Maddern, John Boddily, John Thurgar, Charles Brown, William Higham, and Robert Hindmarsh. Their age is from eight to fourteen. There are but few who withstand the work; nor is it likely they should do it long; for the prayers of those that believe in Christ seem to carry all before them. Among the colliers likewise the work of God increases greatly; two of the colliers’ boys were justified this week. The number added to the society since the Conference is an hundred and thirty.

“I had sealed my letter, but have opened it to inform you, that two more of our children have found peace. Several others are under deep conviction. Some of our friends from Bristol are here, who are thunderstruck. This is the day we have wished for so long; the day you have had in view, which has made you go through so much opposition for the good of these poor children.

“James Hindmarsh.”

A few days after, one wrote thus: —

“I CANNOT help congratulating you on the happy situation of your family here. The power of God continues to work with almost irresistible force; and there is good reason to hope it will not be withdrawn, till every soul is converted to God. I have had frequent opportunities of conversing alone with the boys, and find the work has taken deep root in many hearts. The house rings with praise and prayer, and the whole behavior of the children strongly speaks for God. The number of the newborn is increased since you received your last information. I have been a witness of part; but the whole exceeds all that language can paint.”

Another writes, MAY 18: —

“THE work of God still goes on at Kingswood. Of the hundred and thirty members who have been added to the society since the last Conference, the greater part have received justifying faith, and are still rejoicing in God their Savior; and (what is the most remarkable) I do not know of one backslider in the place. The outpouring of the Spirit on the children in the school has been exceeding great. I believe there is not one among them who has not been affected more or less. Twelve of them have found peace with God, and some in a very remarkable manner. These have no more doubt of the favor of God than of their own existence: And the Lord is still with them, though not so powerfully as he was two or three weeks since.”

AN EXTRACT

OF THE

REV. MR. JOHN WESLEY’S

JOURNAL

FROM MAY 14, 1768, TO SEPTEMBER 1, 1770.

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I walked once more through Holyrood-

House, a noble pile of building; but the greatest part of it left to itself, and so (like the Palace at Scone) swiftly running to ruin. The tapestry is dirty, and quite faded; the fine ceilings dropping down; and many of the pictures in the gallery torn or cut through. This was the work of good General Hawley’s soldiers, (like General, like men!) who, after running away from the Scots, at Falkirk, revenged themselves on the harmless canvass!

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At eight I preached in the High-School yard; and I believe not a few of the hearers were cut to the heart. Between twelve and one a far larger congregation assembled on the Castle-Hill; and I believe my voice commanded them all, while I opened and enforced those awful words, “I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God.” In the evening our House was sufficiently crowded, even with the rich and honorable. “Who hath warned” these “to flee from the wrath to come?” O may they at length awake and “arise from the dead!”

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I preached in the evening at Dunbar; near the shore, to an unusually large congregation. Tuesday, 17. I looked over Dr. Shaw’s Travels: Great part of them is very dull and unentertaining; but some remarks are extremely curious. I was a little surprised at one of them; namely, that the celebrated Mount Atlas is not higher than many of our English mountains, and nothing near so high as the Alps. But it was much farther from Rome: So travelers might make it as high as the moon; and few in Italy could contradict them.

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I came to poor dead Berwick. However, I found a few living souls even here. At seven I preached in the Town-Hall, to an exceeding serious, though not numerous, congregation. The next evening I preached in the market place at Alnwick. Friday, 20. I went on in reading that fine book, Bishop Butler’s “Analogy.” But I doubt it is too hard for most of those for whom it is chiefly intended. Freethinkers, so called, are seldom close thinkers. They will not be at the pains of reading such a book as this. One that would profit them must dilute his sense, or they will neither swallow nor digest it.

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About noon I preached at Morpeth, and in the evening at Newcastle, in the old Custom-House, a large commodious room near the quay-side, the grand resort of publicans and sinners. Sunday, 22. I preached in the morning under the trees in Gateshead, to a large and serious multitude; and at two, on the Fell, to a much larger. But the largest of all attended at the Garth-Heads in the evening; and great part of them were not curious hearers, but well acquainted with the things of the kingdom of God.

Wednesday, 25, and the two following days, being at Sunderland, I took down, from one who had feared God from her infancy, one of the strangest accounts I ever read; and yet I can find no pretense to disbelieve it. The well-known character of the person excludes all suspicion of fraud; and the nature of the circumstances themselves excludes the possibility of a delusion.

It is true there are several of them which I do not comprehend; but this is, with me, a very slender objection; For what is it which I do comprehend, even of the things I see daily? Truly not

The smallest grain of sand, or spire of grass.

I know not how the one grows, or how the particles of the other cohere together. What pretense have I then to deny well-attested facts, because I cannot comprehend them?

It is true, likewise, that the English in general, and indeed most of the men of learning in Europe, have given up all accounts of witches and apparitions, as mere old wives’ fables. I am sorry for it; and I willingly take this opportunity of entering my solemn protest against this violent compliment which so many that believe the Bible pay to those who do not believe it. I owe them no such service. I take knowledge, these are at the bottom of the outcry which has been raised, and with such insolence spread throughout the nation, in direct opposition not only to the Bible, but to the suffrage of the wisest and best of men in all ages and nations. They well know, (whether Christians know it, or not,) that the giving up witchcraft is, in effect, giving up the Bible; and they know, on the other hand, that if but one account of the intercourse of men with separate spirits be admitted, their whole castle in the air (Deism, Atheism, Materialism) falls to the ground. I know no reason, therefore, why we should suffer even this weapon to be wrested out of our hands. Indeed there are numerous arguments besides, which abundantly confute their vain imaginations. But we need not be hooted out of one: Neither reason nor religion require this.

One of the capital objections to all these accounts, which I have known urged over and over, is this, “Did you ever see an apparition yourself?” No: Nor did I ever see a murder; yet I believe there is such a thing; yea, and that in one place or another murder is committed every day. Therefore I cannot, as a reasonable man, deny the fact; although I never saw it, and perhaps never may. The testimony of unexceptionable witnesses fully convinces me both of the one and the other.

But to set this aside, it has been confidently alleged, that many of these have seen their error, and have been clearly convinced that the supposed preternatural operation was the mere contrivance of artful men. The famous instance of this, which has been spread far and wide, was the drumming in Mr. Mompesson’s house at Tedworth; who, it was said, acknowledged it was all a trick, and that he had found out the whole contrivance. Not so: My eldest brother, then at Christ-Church, Oxon, inquired of Mr. Mompesson, his fellow-collegian, whether his father had acknowledged this or not. He answered, “The resort of gentlemen to my father’s house was so great, he could not bear the expense. He therefore took no pains to confute the report that he had found out the cheat; although he, and I, and all the family, knew the account which was published to be punctually true.”

This premised, I proceed to as remarkable a narrative as any that has fallen under my notice. The reader may believe it if he pleases; or may disbelieve it, without any offense to me. Meantime, let him not be offended if I believe it, till I see better reason to the contrary. I have added a few short remarks, which may make some passages a little more intelligible.

1. ELIZABETH HOBSON was born in Sunderland, in the year 1744. Her father dying when she was three or four years old, her uncle, Thomas Rea, a pious man, brought her up as his own daughter. She was serious from a child, and grew up in the fear of God. Yet she had deep and sharp convictions of sin, till she was about sixteen years of age, when she found peace with God, and from that time the whole tenor of her behavior was suitable to her profession.

On Wednesday, MAY 20, 1768, and the three following days, I talked with her at large; but it was with great difficulty I prevailed on her to speak. The substance of what she said was as follows: —

“2. From my childhood, when any of our neighbors died, whether men, women, or children, I used to see them, either just when they died, or a little before: And I was not frightened at all, it was so common. Indeed many times I did not then know they were dead. I saw many of them by day, many by night. Those that came when it was dark brought light with them. I observed all little children, and many grown persons, had a bright, glorious light round them. But many had a gloomy, dismal light, and a dusky cloud over them.

“3. When I told my uncle this, he did not seem to be at all surprised at it; f15 but at several times he said, ‘Be not afraid, only take care to fear and serve God. As long as he is on your side, none will be able to hurt you.’ At other times he said, (dropping a word now and then, but seldom answering me any questions about it,) ‘Evil spirits very seldom appear but between eleven at night and two in the morning: But after they have appeared to a person a year, they frequently come in the day-time. Whatever spirits, good or bad, come in the day, they come at sunrise, at noon, or at sunset.’ f16

“4. When I was between twelve and thirteen my uncle had a lodger, who was a very wicked man. One night I was sitting in my chamber about half-hour after ten, having by accident put out my candle, when he came in, all over in a flame. I cried out, ‘William, why do you come in so to fright me?’ He said nothing, but went away. I went after him into his room, but found he was fast asleep in bed. A day or two after, he fell ill, and, within the week, died in raging despair. “5. I was between fourteen and fifteen, when I went very early one morning to fetch up the kine. I had two fields to cross, into a low ground which was said to be haunted. Many persons had been frightened there, and I had myself often seen men and women (so many, at times, that they are out of count) go just by me, and vanish away. This morning, as I came toward it, I heard a confused noise, as of many people quarreling. But I did not mind it, and went on till I came near the gate. I then saw, on the other side, a young man dressed in purple, who said, ‘It is too early; go back from whence you came. The Lord be with you, and bless you;’ and presently he was gone. “6. When I was about sixteen, my uncle fell ill, and grew worse and worse for three months. One day, having been sent out on an errand, I was coming home through a lane, when I saw him in the field, coming swiftly toward me. I ran to meet him; but he was gone. When I came home, I found him calling for me. As soon as I came to his bedside, he clasped his arms round my neck, and, bursting into tears, earnestly exhorted me to continue in the ways of God. He kept his hold, till he sunk down and died: And even then they could hardly unclasp his fingers. I would fain have died with him, and wished to be buried with him, dead or alive.

“7. From that time I was crying from morning to night, and praying that I might see him. I grew weaker and weaker, till, one morning, about one o’clock, as I was lying crying, as usual, I heard some noise, and, rising up, saw him come to the bedside. He looked much displeased, shook his head at me, and in a minute or two went away. “8. About a week after, I took my bed, and grew worse and worse; till, in six or seven days, my life was despaired of. Then, about eleven at night, my uncle came in, looked well pleased, and sat down on the bedside. He came every night after, at the same time, and stayed till cock-crowing. I was exceeding glad, and kept my eyes fixed upon him all the time he stayed. If I wanted drink or any thing, though I did not speak or stir, f17 he fetched it, and set it on the chair by the bedside. Indeed I could not speak; f18 many times I strove, but could not move my tongue. Every morning, when he went away, he waved his hand to me, and I heard delightful music, as if many persons were singing together.

“9. In about six weeks, I grew better. I was then musing, one night, whether I did well in desiring he might come; and I was praying that God would do his own will, when he came in, and stood by the bedside. But he was not in his usual dress; he had on a white robe, which reached down to his feet. He looked quite pleased. About one, there stood by him a person in white, taller than him, and exceeding beautiful. He came with the singing as of many voices, and continued till near cock-crowing. Then my uncle smiled, and waved his hand toward me twice or thrice. They went away with inexpressibly sweet music, and I saw him no more.

“10. In a year after this, a young man courted me, and in some months we agreed to be married. But he purposed to take another voyage first, and one evening went aboard his ship. About eleven o’clock, going out to look for my mother, I saw him standing at his mother’s door, with his hands in his pockets, and his hat pulled over his eyes. I went to him, and reached my hand to put up his hat; but he went swiftly by me, and I saw the wall, on the other side of the lane, part as he went through, and then immediately close after him. At ten the next morning he died.

“11. A few days after, John Simpson, one of our neighbors, a man that truly feared God, and one with whom I was particularly acquainted, went to sea, as usual. He sailed out on a Tuesday. The Friday night following, between eleven and twelve o’clock, I heard one walking in my room; and every step sounded as if he was stepping in water. He then came to the bedside, in his sea-jacket, all wet, and stretched his hand over me. Three drops of water fell on my breast, f19 and felt as cold as ice. I strove to wake his wife, who lay with me; but I could not, any more than if she was dead. Afterward I heard he was cast away that night. In less than a minute he went away: But he came to me every night, for six or seven nights following, between eleven and two. Before he came, and when he went away, I always heard sweet music. f20 Afterwards he came both day and night; every night about twelve, with the music at his coming and going, and every day at sunrise, noon, and sunset. He came, whatever company I was in; at church, in the preaching-house, at my class; and was always just before me, changing his posture as I changed mine. When I sat, he sat; when I kneeled, he kneeled; when I stood, he stood likewise. I would fain have spoke to him, but I could not; when I tried, my heart sunk within me. Meantime it affected me more and more, so that I lost both my stomach, my color, and my strength. This continued ten weeks, while I pined away, not daring to tell any one. At last, he came four or five nights without any music, and looked exceeding sad. On the fifth night he drew the curtains of the bed violently to and fro, still looking wishfully at me, and as one quite distressed. This he did two nights. On the third, I lay down, about eleven, on the side of the bed. I quickly saw him walking up and down the room. Being resolved to speak to him, but unwilling any should hear, I rose and went up into the garret. When I opened the door, I saw him walking toward me, and shrunk back; on which he stopped, and stood at a distance. I said, ‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what is your business with me?’ He answered, ‘Betsy, God forgive you for keeping me so long from my rest. f21 Have you forgot what you promised before I went to sea, — to look to my children, if I was drowned? You must stand to your word, or I cannot rest.’ I said, ‘I wish I was dead.’ He said, ‘Say not so; you have more to go through before then: And yet, if you knew as much as I do, you would not care how soon you died. You may bring the children on in their learning, while they live; they have but a short time.’ f22 I said, ‘I will take all the care I can.’ He added, ‘Your brother has wrote for you, to come to Jamaica; but if you go, it will hurt your soul. You have also thoughts of altering your condition; f23 but if you marry him you think of, it will draw you from God, and you will neither be happy here nor hereafter. Keep close to God, and go on in the way wherein you have been brought up.’ I asked, ‘How do you spend your time?’ He answered, ‘In songs of praise. But of this you will know more by and by; for where I am, you will surely be. I have lost much happiness by coming to you: f24 And I should not have stayed so long without using other means to make you speak; but the Lord would not suffer me to fright you. Have you anything more to say? It draws near two, and after that I cannot stay. I shall only come to you twice more before the death of my two children. God bless you.’ Immediately I heard such singing, as if a thousand voices joined together. He then went down stairs, and I followed him to the first landing. He smiled, and I said, ‘I desire you will come back.’ He stood still till I came to him. I asked him one or two questions, which he immediately answered; but added, ‘I wish you had not called me back; for now I must take something from you.’ f25 He paused a little, and said, ‘I think you can best part with the hearing of your left ear.’ He laid his hand upon it, and in the instant it was deaf as a stone; and it was several years before I recovered the least hearing of it. The cock crowed as he went out of the door, and then the music ceased. The eldest of his children died at about three years and an half, the younger before he was five years old. He appeared before the death of each, but without speaking: After that I saw him no more.

“12. A little before Michaelmas, 1763, my brother George, who was a good young man went to sea. The day after Michaelmas-day, about midnight, I saw him standing by my bedside surrounded with a glorious light, and looking earnestly at me. He was wet all over. That night the ship in which he sailed split upon a rock, and all the crew were drowned.

“13. On April 9, 1767, about midnight, I was lying awake, and I saw my brother John standing by my bedside. f26 Just at that time he died in Jamaica.

“14. By his death I became entitled to an house in Sunderland, which was left us by my grandfather, John Hobson, an exceeding wicked man, who was drowned fourteen years ago. I employed an Attorney to recover it from my aunts, who kept possession of it. But finding more difficulty than I expected, in the beginning of December I gave it up. Three or four nights after, as I rose from prayer, a little before eleven, I saw him standing at a small distance. I cried out, ‘Lord bless me! what brings you here?’ He answered, ‘You have given up the house: Mr. Parker advised you so to do f27; but if you do, I shall have no rest: f28 Indeed Mr. Dunn, f29 whom you have hitherto employed, will do nothing for you. Go to Durham, employ an Attorney there, and it will be recovered.’ f30 His voice was loud, f31 and so hollow and deep, that every word went through me. His lips did not move at all, (nor his eyes,) but the sound seemed to rise out of the floor. When he had done speaking, he turned about, and walked out of the room. f32 “15. In January, as I was sitting on the bedside, a quarter before twelve he came in, stood before me, looked earnestly at me, then walked up and down and stood and looked again. This he did for half an hour, and thus he came every other night f33 for about three weeks. All this time he seemed angry, f34 and sometimes his look was quite horrid and furious. One night I was sitting up in bed crying, when he came and began to pull off the clothes. I strove to touch his hand, but could not; on which he shrunk back and smiled. f35

“16. The next night but one, about twelve, I was again sitting up and crying, when he came and stood at the bedside. As I was looking for an handkerchief, he walked to the table, took one up, f36 brought and dropped it upon the bed. After this, he came three or four nights and pulled the clothes off, throwing them on the other side of the bed. “17. Two nights after, he came as I was sitting on the bedside, and, after walking to and fro, snatched the handkerchief from my neck. I fell into a swoon. When I came to myself he was standing just before me. Presently he came close to me, dropped it on the bed, and went away. “18. Having had a long illness the year before, having taken much cold by his frequent palling off the clothes, and being worn out by these appearances, I was now mostly confined to my bed. The next night, soon after eleven, he came again: I asked, ‘In God’s name, why do you torment me thus? You know it is impossible for me to go to Durham now. But I have a fear that you are not happy, and beg to know whether you are, or not.’ He answered, after a little pause, ‘That is a bold question for you to ask. So far as you knew me to do amiss in my lifetime, do you take care to do better.’ I said, ‘It is a shocking affair to live and die after that manner.’ He replied, ‘It is no time for reflections now: What is done cannot be undone.’ I said, ‘It must be a great happiness to die in the Lord!’ He said, ‘Hold your tongue! f37 Hold your tongue! At your peril, never mention such a word before me again!’ I was frightened, and strove to lift up my heart to God. He gave a shriek, and sunk down at three times, with a loud groan at each time. Just as he disappeared, there was a large flash of fire, and I fainted away.

“19. Three days after, I went to Durham, and put the affair into Mr. Hugill the Attorney’s hands. The next night, about one, he came in; but on my taking up the Bible, went away. A month after, he came about eleven. I said, ‘Lord bless me! What has brought you here again?’ He said, ‘Mr. Hugill f38 has done nothing but write one letter: You must write or go to Durham again. It may be decided in a few days.’ I asked, ‘Why do not you go to my aunts, who keep me out of it?’ He answered, ‘I have no power to go to them: And they cannot bear it. If I could, I would go to them, were it only to warn them; f39 for I doubt, where I am I shall get too many to bear me company.’ He added, ‘Take care: f40 There is mischief laid in Peggy’s f41 hands: She will strive to meet you coming from your class. I do not speak to hinder you from going to it, but that you may be cautious. Let some one go with you, and come back with you; though whether you will escape or no, I cannot tell.’ I said, ‘She can do no more than God will let her.’ He answered, ‘We have all too little to do with Him. Mention that word no more. As soon as this is decided, meet me at Boyldon-Hill, f42 between twelve and one at night.’ I said, ‘That is a lone place for a woman to go to at that time of night. I am willing to meet you at the Ballast-Hills, or in the churchyard.’ He said, ‘That will not do. But what are you afraid of?’ I answered, ‘I am not afraid of you, f43 but of rude men.’ He said, ‘I will set you safe, both thither and back again.’ I asked, ‘May I not bring a Minister with me?’ He replied, ‘Are you thereabouts? I will not be seen by any but you. You have plagued me sore enough already. If you bring any with you, take what follows.’ “20. From this time he appeared every night, between eleven and two. If I put out the fire and candle, in hopes I should not see him, it did not avail. For as soon as he came all the room was light, but with a dismal light, like that of flaming brimstone. But whenever I took up the Bible, or kneeled down, yea, or prayed in my heart, he was gone. “21. On Thursday, May 12, he came about eleven, as I was sitting by the fire. I asked, ‘In God’s name, what do you want?’ He said, ‘You must either go or write to Durham. I cannot stay from you till this is decided; f44 and I cannot stay where I am.’ f45 When he went away, I fell into a violent passion of crying, seeing no end of my trouble. In this agony I continued till after one, and then fell into a fit. About two, I came to myself, and saw standing, at the bedside, one in a white robe, which reached down to his feet. I cried, ‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — ‘ He said ‘The Lord is with you, I am come to comfort you. What cause have you to complain and murmur thus? Why do you mourn thus for your friends? Pray for them, and leave them to God. Arise and pray.’ I said, ‘I can pray none.’ He said, ‘But God will help you; only keep close to God. You are backward likewise in praying with others and afraid to receive the Lord’s Supper. Break through that backwardness and that fear. The Lord bless you, and be ever with you!’ As he went away, I heard many voices singing Hallelujah, with such melody as I never heard before. All my trouble was gone, and I wanted nothing but to fly away with them. “22. Sat. 28. — About twelve, my grandfather stood at the bedside. I said, ‘In God’s name, what do you want?’ He said, ‘You do not make an end of this thing: Get it decided as soon as possible. My coming is as uneasy to myself as it can be to you.’ Before he came, there was a strong smell of burning, and the room was full of smoke, which got into my eyes, and almost blinded me for some time after. “23. Wed. June 21. — About sunset, I was coming up stairs, at Mrs. Knot’s, and I saw him coming toward me out of the opposite room. He went close by me on the stair-head. Before I saw him, I smelt a strong smell of burning, and so did Miss Hosmer. It got into my throat, and almost stifled me. I sat down, and fainted away. “24. On Friday, July 3, I was sitting at dinner, when I thought I heard one come along the passage. I looked about, and saw my aunt, Margaret Scot, of Newcastle, standing at my back. On Saturday I had a letter, informing me that she died on that day.” — Thus far Elizabeth Hobson.

On Sunday, JULY 10, I received the following letter from a friend, to whom I had recommended her: —

“Sunderland, July 6, 1768.

“I WROTE YOU word before, that Elizabeth Hobson was put into possession of the house. The same night her old visitant, who had not troubled her for some time, came again, and said, ‘You must meet me at Boyldon-Hill, on Thursday night, a little before twelve. You will see many appearances, f46 who will call you to come to them; but do not stir, neither give them any answer. A quarter after twelve, I shall come and call you; but still do not answer, nor stir.’ She said, ‘It is an hardship upon me for you to desire me to meet you there. Why cannot you take your leave now?’ He answered, ‘It is for your good that I desire it. I can take my leave of you now; but if I do, I must take something from you, which you would not like to part with.’ She said, ‘May not a few friends come with me?’ He said, ‘They may; but they must not be present when I come.’

“That night twelve of us met at Mr. Davison’s, f47 and spent some time in prayer. God was with us of a truth. Then six of us went with her to the place, leaving the rest to pray for us. We came thither a little before twelve, and then stood at a small distance from her. It being a fine night, we kept her in our sight, and spent the time in prayer. She stood there till a few minutes after one. When we saw her move, we went to meet her. She said, ‘Thank God, it is all over and done. I found everything as he told me. I saw many appearances, who called me to them; but I did not answer or stir. Then he came and called me at a distance; but I took no notice. Soon after, he came up to me, and said, You are come

well-fortified.’ He then gave her the reasons why he required her to meet him at that place, and why he could take his leave there, and not in the house, without taking something from her. But withal he charged her to tell this to no one; adding, ‘If you disclose this to any creature, I shall be under a necessity of troubling you as long as you live. If you do not, I shall never trouble you, nor see you any more, either in time or eternity.’ He then bid her farewell, waved his hand, and disappeared.”

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I made a little excursion into Weardale, and found a people ready prepared for the Lord. I had designed to preach abroad, but had scarce done singing, when a storm of rain drove us into the House. We had a blessed opportunity there, particularly for healing the backsliders.

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I preached in Teesdale. The sun was scorching hot when

I began, but was soon covered with clouds. Many of the Militia were present at Barnard-Castle in the evening, and behaved with decency. I was well pleased to lodge at a gentleman’s, an old school-fellow, half a mile from the town. What a dream are the fifty or sixty years that have slipped away since we were at the Charter-House!

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I preached, at noon, at a farmer’s house, near Brough, in Westmoreland. The sun was hot enough, but some shady trees covered both me and most of the congregation. A little bird perched on one of them, and sung without intermission, from the beginning of the service unto the end. Many of the people came from far; but I believe none of them regretted their labor.

The evening congregation in Swaledale was far larger, and equally attentive: And the society was one of the most lively which I have met with in England. Many of them do rejoice in the pure love of God, and many more are earnestly seeking it.

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I rode to Richmond, intending to preach near the house of one of our friends; but some of the chief of the town sent to desire me to preach in the market place. The Yorkshire Militia were all there, just returned from their exercise: And a more rude rabble-rout I never saw; without sense, decency, or good manners.

In running down one of the mountains yesterday, I had got a sprain in my thigh: It was rather worse today; but as I rode to Barnard-Castle, the sun shone so hot upon it, that, before I came to the town, it was quite well. In the evening the Commanding Officer gave orders there should be no exercise, that all the Durham Militia (what a contrast!) might be at liberty to attend the preaching. Accordingly, we had a little army of Officers as well as soldiers; and all behaved well. A large number of them were present at five in the morning. I have not found so deep and lively a work in any other part of the kingdom, as runs through the whole circuit, particularly in the vales that wind between these horrid mountains. I returned to Newcastle in the evening.

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I preached in the morning at Placey, to some of the most lively colliers in England; and about two at Hartley, to a still larger congregation; but to the largest of all, in the Castlegarth, at Newcastle.

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I went down by water to South-Shields, and preached at noon, to far more than could hear. We went, after dinner, to Tynemouth Castle, a magnificent heap of ruins. Within the walls are the remains of a very large church, which seems to have been of exquisite workmanship; and the stones are joined by so strong a cement, that, but for Cromwell’s cannon, they might have stood a thousand years.

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I left Newcastle, and in the residue of the month visited most of the societies in Yorkshire. Thursday, JULY 14. I crossed over into Lincolnshire, and, after spending about ten days there, returned by Doncaster, Rotherham, and Sheffield, and thence crossed over to Madeley. On Tuesday, 19, I wrote the following letter: —

“REV. AND DEAR SIR, Swinfleet, July 19, 1768.

“ONE of Wintringham informed me yesterday, that you said, no sensible and well-meaning man could hear, and much less join, the Methodists; because they all acted under a lie, professing themselves members of the Church of England, while they licensed themselves as Dissenters. — You are a little misinformed. The greater part of the Methodist Preachers are not licensed at all; and several that are, are not licensed as Dissenters. I instance particularly in Thomas Adams and Thomas Brisco. When Thomas Adams desired a license, one of the Justices said, ‘Mr. Adams, are not you of the Church of England? Why then do you desire a license?’ He answered, ‘Sir, I am of the Church of England; yet I desire a license, that I may legally defend myself from the illegal violence of oppressive men.’ T. Brisco being asked the same question, in London, and the Justice adding, ‘We will not grant you a license,’ his Lawyer replied, ‘Gentlemen, you cannot refuse it: The act is a mandatory act. You have no choice.’ One asked the Chairman, ‘Is this true?’ He shook his head, and said, ‘He is in the right.’ The objection, therefore, does not lie at all against the greater part of the Methodist Preachers; because they are either licensed in this form, or not licensed at all.

“When others applied for a license, the Clerk or Justice said, ‘I will not license you, but as Protestant Dissenters.’ They replied, ‘We are of the Church; we are not Dissenters: But if you will call us so, we cannot help it.’ They did call them so in their certificates, but this did not make them so. They still call themselves members of the Church of England; and they believe themselves so to be. Therefore neither do these act under a lie. They speak no more than they verily believe. Surely then, unless there are stronger objections than this, both well-meaning and sensible men may, in perfect consistence with their sense and sincerity, not only hear, but join the Methodists.

“We are in truth so far from being enemies to the Church, that we are rather bigots to it. I dare not, like Mr. Venn, leave the parish church where I am, to go to an Independent meeting. I dare not advise others to go thither, rather than to church. I advise all, over whom I have any influence, steadily to keep to the Church. Meantime, I advise them to see that the kingdom of God is within them; that their hearts be full of love to God and man; and to look upon all, of whatever opinion, who are like-minded, as their ‘brother, and sister, and mother.’ O, Sir, what art of men or devils is this, which makes you so studiously stand aloof from those who are thus minded? I cannot but say to you, as I did to Mr. Walker, (and I say it the more freely, because Quid mea refert? f48 I am neither better nor worse, whether you hear or forbear,) ‘The Methodists do not want you; but you want them.’ You want the life, the spirit, the power which they have; not of themselves, but by the free grace of God: Else how could it be, (let me speak without reserve,) that so good a man, and so good a Preacher, should have so little fruit of his labor, — his unwearied labor, — for so many years? Have your parishioners the life of religion in their souls? Have they so much as the form of it? Are the people of Wintringham in general any better than those of Winterton, or Horton? Alas! Sir, what is it that hinders your reaping the fruit of so much pains and so many prayers?

“Is it not possible this may be the very thing, your setting yourself against those whom God owns by the continual conviction and conversion of sinners?

“I fear, as long as you in anywise oppose these, your rod will not blossom, neither will you see the desire of your soul, in the prosperity of the souls committed to your charge.

“I pray God to give you a right judgment in all things, and am, dear Sir,

“Your affectionate brother,

“John Wesley.”

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I lodged at the Abbey in Cardiganshire; and on

Wednesday morning reached Haverfordwest. Here abundance of people flocked together, and willingly “suffered the word of exhortation.” Indeed, a more quiet, humane, courteous people, I have scarce ever seen. But I fear, they were surfeited with preaching before we set foot in the town.

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I went to Pembroke. We were here several times before we had any place in Haverfordwest. But we have reason to fear lest the first become last. Sunday, 7. I took a good deal of pains to compose the little misunderstandings which have much obstructed the work of God. At ten I read Prayers, preached, and administered the sacrament to a serious congregation at St. Daniel’s; and the next morning left the people full of good desires, and in tolerable good humor with each other.

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I rode to Llanelly and preached to a small, earnest company, on, “Ye are saved through faith.” Thence we found a kind of a way to Oxwych, where I pressed the one thing needful, on a plain, simple people, right willing to hear, with great enlargement of heart.

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I took a full view of the castle, situate on the top of a steep hill, and commanding a various and extensive prospect, both by sea and land. The building itself is far thus loftiest which I have seen in Wales. What a taste had they who removed from hence, to bury themselves in the hole at Margam!

When we came to Neath, I was a little surprised to hear I was to preach in the church; of which the Churchwardens had the disposal, the Minister being just dead. I began reading Prayers at six, but was greatly disgusted at the manner of singing.

1. Twelve or fourteen persons kept it to themselves, and quite shut out the congregation:

2. These repeated the same words, contrary to all sense and reason, six or eight or ten times over:

3. According to the shocking custom of modern music, different persons sung different words at one and the same moment; an intolerable insult on common sense, and utterly incompatible with any devotion.

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At five I had the pleasure of hearing the whole congregation at the room “sing with the spirit and the understanding also;” and again, at one in the afternoon, at Cowbridge, where I found uncommon liberty of speech, while I was explaining to many of the rich and gay, as well as to the poor, “The kingdom of God is within you.”

I did not reach Cardiff till after seven; where, finding the congregation waiting, I began immediately in the Town-Hall, strongly exhorting them not to “receive the grace of God in vain.”

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I preached at that lovely place, Llanbraddoch; Saturday, 13, about noon at Chepstow. Thence I hastened to the Passage, though every one told me I had time enough and to spare. I had so; for I waited six hours, the boat being just gone when we came. About nine we got over, and reached Bristol between eleven and twelve.

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Hearing my wife was dangerously ill, I took chaise

immediately, and reached the Foundery before one in the morning. Finding the fever was turned, and the danger over, about two I set out again, and in the afternoon came (not at all tired) to Bristol.

Our Conference began on Tuesday, 16, and ended on Friday, 19. O what can we do for more laborers? We can only cry to “the Lord of the harvest.”

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Thousands of hearers, rich and poor, received the word, near the new Square, with the deepest attention. This is the way to shake the trembling gates of hell. Still I see nothing can do this so effectually as field-preaching.

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I rode through impetuous rain to Weston, a village near Bridgewater. A while ago the people here were lions; but now they are become lambs. Tuesday, 23. I saw a serious congregation at Taunton! And shall we have fruit here also? In the evening I preached to the poor backsliders at Collumpton, on, “Will the Lord be no more entreated?”

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I rode to Launceston, where both the seriousness and largeness of the congregation, evening and morning, gave us reason to hope, that all our labor here will not be in vain.

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I came to Camelford, where the society is once more shrunk from seventy to fourteen. I preached in the market place on, “O that thou hadst known, at least in this thy day, the things that make for thy peace! “Many were moved for the present; as they were the next day while I was applying those awful words, “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved!”

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I went on to Port-Isaac, now the liveliest place in the circuit. I preached from a balcony in the middle of the town, a circumstance I could not but observe. Before I came to Port-Isaac the first time, one Richard Scantlebury invited me to lodge at his house; but when I came, seeing a large mob at my heels, he fairly shut the door upon me: Yet in this very house I now lodged; Richard Scantlebury being gone to his fathers, and the present proprietor, Richard Wood, counting it all joy to receive the servants of God.

About this time I wrote to a friend as follows: —

“Dear Lawrence,

“BY a various train of providences you have been led to the very place where God intended you should be. And you have reason to praise him, that he has not suffered your labor there to be in vain. In a short time, how little will it signify, whether we had lived in the Summer Islands, or beneath

The rage of Arctos and eternal frost!

How soon will this dream of life be at an end! And when we are once landed in eternity, it will be all one, whether we spent our time on earth in a palace, or had not where to lay our head. “You never learned, either from my conversation, or preaching, or writings, that ‘holiness consisted in a flow of joy.’ I constantly told you quite the contrary; I told you it was love; the love of God and our neighbor; the image of God stamped on the heart; the life of God in the soul of man; the mind that was in Christ, enabling us to walk as Christ also walked. If Mr. Maxfield, or you, took it to be any thing else, it was your own fault, not mine. And whenever you waked out of that dream, you ought not to have laid the blame of it upon me. It is true that joy is one part of ‘the fruit of the Spirit,’ of the kingdom of God within us. But this is first ‘righteousness,’ then ‘peace,’ and ‘joy in the Holy Ghost.’ It is true, farther, that if you love God with ‘all your heart,’ you may ‘rejoice evermore.’ Nay, it is true still farther, that many serious, humble, sober-minded believers, who do feel the love of God sometimes, and do then rejoice in God their Savior, cannot be content with this; but pray continually, that he would enable them to love, and ‘rejoice in the Lord always.’ And no fact under heaven is more undeniable, than that God does answer this prayer; that he does, for the sake of his Son, and through the power of his Spirit, enable one and another so to do. It is also a plain fact, that this power does commonly overshadow them in an instant; and that from that time they enjoy that inward and outward holiness, to which they were utter strangers before. Possibly you might be mistaken in this; perhaps you thought you had received what you had not. But pray do not measure all men by yourself; do not imagine you are the universal standard. If you deceived yourself, (which yet I do not affirm,) you should not infer that all others do. Many think they are justified, and are not; but we cannot infer, that none are justified. So neither, if many think they are ‘perfected in love,’ and are not, will it follow that none are so. Blessed be God, though we set an hundred enthusiasts aside, we are still ‘encompassed with a cloud of witnesses,’ who have testified, and do testify, in life and in death, that perfection which I have taught these forty years! This perfection cannot be a delusion, unless the Bible be a delusion too; I mean, ‘loving God with all our heart, and our neighbor as ourselves.’ I pin down all its opposers to this definition of it. No evasion! No shifting the question! Where is the delusion of this? Either you received this love, or you did not; if you did, dare you call it a delusion? You will not call it so for all the world. If you received any thing else, it does not at all affect the question. Be it as much a delusion as you please, it is nothing to them who have received quite another thing, namely, that deep communion with the Father and the Son, whereby they are enabled to give him their whole heart; to love every man as their own soul, and to walk as Christ also walked.

“O Lawrence, if sister Coughlan and you ever did enjoy this, humble yourselves before God, for casting it away; if you did not, God grant you may!”

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I rode to St. Columb, intending to preach there; but finding no place that was tolerably convenient, I was going to take horse, when one offered me the use of his meadow, close to the town. A large congregation quickly assembled, to whom I explained the nature and pleasantness of religion. I have seldom seen a people behave so well the first time I have preached to them.

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Calling at St. Agnes, I found a large congregation waiting; so I preached without delay. At Redruth, likewise, I found the people gathered from all parts; and God gave a loud call to the backsliders. Indeed there was need; for T. Rankin left between three and four hundred members in the society, and I found an hundred and ten!

In the evening I preached in the meadow at St. Ives, to a very numerous and deeply serious congregation. Wednesday, 31. I met the children, a work which will exercise the talents of the most able Preachers in England.

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The grass being wet, we could not stand in the meadow; but we found an open space, where I called a listening multitude to return to Him who “hath not forgotten to be gracious.”

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I preached at noon to an earnest company at Zennor, and in the evening to a far larger at St. Just. Here being informed that one of our sisters in the next parish, Morva, who entertained the Preachers formerly, was now decrepit, and had not heard a sermon for many years, I went on Saturday, 3, at noon, to Alice Daniel’s, and preached near the House, on, “They who shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and the resurrection from the dead, are equal unto the angels, and are the children of God, being the children of the resurrection.” I have always thought there is something venerable in persons worn out with age; especially when they retain their understanding, and walk in the ways of God.

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I went to Sancreet church, where I heard an excellent sermon. Between one and two I confirmed it, by explaining that happy religion which our Lord describes in the Eight Beatitudes. About five in the evening I preached at Newlyn; about nine the next morning at Penzance. Surely God will have a people even in this place, where we have so long seemed only to beat the air. At noon I preached in St. Hilary, and at St. John’s this and the next evening: I believe the most senseless then felt the word of God sharp as a two-edged sword.

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After the early preaching, the select society met; such a company of lively believers, full of faith and love, as I never found in this county before. This, and the three following days, I preached at as many places as I could, though I was at first in doubt, whether I could preach eight days together, mostly in the open air, three or four times a day. But my strength was as my work; I hardly felt any weariness, first or last.

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About nine I preached at St. Agnes, and again between one and two. At five I took my old stand at Gwennap, in the natural amphitheatre. I suppose no human voice could have commanded such an audience on plain ground: But the ground rising all round gave me such an advantage, that I believe all could hear distinctly.

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I preached about noon at Callistick, and in the evening at Kerley. It rained all the time; but that did not divert the attention of a large congregation. At noon, Tuesday, 13, I preached in Truro, and in the evening, at Mevagissey. It was a season of solemn joy: I have not often found the like. Surely God’s thoughts are not as our thoughts! Can any good be done at Mevagissey?

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After preaching at St. Austle and Medros, I rode over to Roach, and spent a comfortable evening with my old acquaintance, Mr. Furly.

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We had our Quarterly meeting at Medros; but it was not now as formerly, when the whole society was in a flame: “The love of many” is now “waxed cold.”

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I rode, through heavy rain, to Polperro. Here the room over which we were to lodge, being filled with pilchards and conger-eels, the perfume was too potent for me; so that I was not sorry when one of our friends invited me to lodge at her house. Soon after I began to preach, heavy rain began; yet none went away till the whole service was ended.

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When we came to Crimble-Passage, we were at a full stop. The boatmen told us the storm was so high, that it was not possible to pass: However, at length we persuaded them to venture out; and we did not ship one sea till we got over.

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Our Room at the Dock contained the morning congregation tolerably well. Between one and two I began preaching on the quay in Plymouth. Notwithstanding the rain, abundance of people stood to hear. But one silly man talked without ceasing, till I desired the people to open to the right and left, and let me look him in the face. They did so. He pulled off his hat, and quietly went away.

At five I preached in the Square at the Dock, to an exceeding large congregation; and the rain, though it prevented some from coming, did not cause any to go away. Monday, 19. In the evening, I preached in what is vulgarly called Mr. Whitefield’s Room. Afterwards I met the society in our own, and exhorted them to “stand fast in one mind and one judgment.” I set out early in the morning, and in the evening preached at Tiverton.

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I rode to Axminster. The rain prevented my preaching

abroad, though the Room would ill contain the congregation. Observing many there who seemed quite unawakened, I opened and strongly applied Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones. Lord, “breathe upon these slain, that they may live!”

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I rode across the country to Charlton, and found the

congregation waiting. In the afternoon we went on to Lympsham; but not without some difficulty. The waters were out; so that it was no easy matter either to ride or walk. My horse got into a ditch over his back in water: Nor could I get to my lodgings the foot-way, till an honest man took me on his shoulders, and so waded through.

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I returned to Bristol. Tuesday, 27. I preached in Pensford at eight; in Shepton-Mallet at one; and at Wincanton in the evening, with far greater freedom than I used to find among that dead people. About one, Wednesday, 28, I preached at Stallbridge, to a large and seriously attentive congregation. Hence I went on to cold, uncomfortable Shaftesbury, and spoke exceeding strong words. All seriously attended; some seemed to understand, and a few to feel, what was spoken.

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I rode to Frome. The people here seem more alive than most I have seen in the circuit; and this is the more strange, because in this town only there is such a mixture of men of all opinions, — Anabaptists, Quakers, Presbyterians, Arians, Antinomians, Moravians, and what not. If any hold to the truth, in the midst of all these, surely the power must be of God.

Friday, 30, we observed as a day of fasting and prayer; and it was a good day for many, who no sooner called, than God answered them in the joy of their heart.

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I preached at Kingswood, upon, “Quench not the

Spirit.” Possibly this people may now have ears to hear, and may despise prophesying no more. Hereby they have frequently quenched the Spirit, and destroyed his work in their hearts.

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I rode over to Maiden-Bradley, and preached at a little distance from the town, to as serious a congregation as I ever saw, many of whom were in tears. It is a wonder there should be room for the Gospel here, among so many Lords and gentlemen! But indeed they neither meddle nor make; and this is all we desire of them.

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I spent an hour, much to my satisfaction, with the children at Kingswood. There is reason to hope that the grace of God is still working among them. Some are still alive to God; and all behave in such a manner, that I have seen no other school-boys like them.

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I began examining the society in Kingswood, much increased both in grace and number, chiefly by means of those meetings for prayer which God still blesses greatly. On Monday and Tuesday I examined the society at Bristol, and found cause to rejoice over these also; although there is still an heaviness of spirit upon many, indeed on all who are not going on to perfection.

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In the evening I preached at Kingswood. I have not seen such a congregation there, on a week day, for above these twenty years. Nor have I seen such a congregation at Pill for many years, as was present on Thursday in the afternoon. It is possible, even on this barren soil, we may see a little fruit of much labor.

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I dined with Dr. Wrangel, one of the King of Sweden’s

Chaplains, who has spent several years in Pennsylvania. His heart seemed to be greatly united to the American Christians; and he strongly pleaded for our sending some of our Preachers to help them, multitudes of whom are as sheep without a shepherd. Tuesday, 18. He preached at the new Room, to a crowded audience, and gave general satisfaction by the simplicity and life which accompanied his sound doctrine.

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I was much surprised in reading an “Essay on Music,” wrote by one who is a thorough master of the subject, to find that the music of the ancients was as simple as that of the Methodists; that their music wholly consisted of melody, or the arrangement of single notes; that what is now called harmony, singing in parts, the whole of counterpoint and fugues, is quite novel, being never known in the world till the popedom of Leo the Tenth. He farther observes, that as the singing different words by different persons at the very same time necessarily prevents attention to the sense, so it frequently destroys melody for the sake of harmony; meantime it destroys the very end of music, which is to affect the passions.

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I left Bristol, and went, by Bath and Bradford, to Salisbury.

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At one I preached in Romsey, to a very quiet, unaffected audience; and in the evening at Winchester, to a company of as poor people as I have seen for many years. Thursday, 27. The scene was changed: At Portsmouth rich and poor flocked together from all parts. Abundance of them came again at five in the morning. In the evening the House ill contained them; and never did I see any receive the word with greater earnestness. The next day I returned to London.

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I took horse at five, and just then found that my horse had scarce a shoe on his feet. However, I was obliged (not having a minute to spare) to ride on as far as Colney. There I procured one to shoe my horse all round, and lame him on both his fore-feet. However, he halted on to Hockley, where an honest and skillful smith so altered and removed the shoes, that he did not halt any more. But by this means we had lost so much time that the sun set before we reached Whittlebury-Forest. We had then wonderful road; some of the ridings (so called) being belly deep. However, between six and seven we came safe to Whittlebury. James Glasbrook was so wearied out, that he could scarce stir hand or foot; so I desired him to go to rest. I was weary enough myself, till I began to speak; but weariness then vanished away, and we all praised God with joyful lips.

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I preached at Weedon, and at five in the morning;

about eleven at Towcester; and in the evening to many more than the House would hold at Northampton. Friday, 4. James Glasbrook (who had a fit of an ague at Whittlebury) undertook to conduct me to Bedford; but he was taken ill on the road. I preached there at seven, on, “Awake, thou that sleepest:” And never was more need; for a more sleepy audience I have not often seen.

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About noon I preached at Hertford, in the new Room, to a large and serious congregation. The Mayor’s usage of Mr. Colley for preaching in the market place, with Mr. Colley’s firm and calm behavior, was the means of convincing Mr. Andrews, who built this Room at his own expense.

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I set out for Oxfordshire; preached at Wycombe in The

evening, and on Tuesday and Wednesday at Witney. On Thursday, in my return, I was desired to preach at Oxford. The Room was thoroughly filled, and not with curious, but deeply serious hearers. Many of these desired that our traveling Preachers would take them in their turn, with which I willingly complied.

In the evening I preached in the chapel at Henley, to a considerable number of serious people. One or two of the baser sort made some noise; but I reproved them, and, for once, they were ashamed.

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I returned to London. The next week I visited the classes, and at intervals read Mr. Boswell’s “Account of Corsica.” But what a scene is opened therein! How little did we know of that brave people! How much less were we acquainted with the character of their General, Pascal Paoli; as great a lover of his country as Epaminondas, and as great a General as Hannibal!

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I read Dr. Nowell’s answer to Mr. Hill, concerning the

expulsion of the Students at Oxford. He has said all that could be said for that stretch of power, that instance of summum jus; f49 and he says quite enough, to clear the Church of England from the charge of Predestination: A doctrine which he proves to be utterly inconsistent with the Common Prayer, the Communion Service, the Office of Baptism, the Articles, the Homilies, and the other writings of those that compiled them.

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In the evening I preached in the barracks at Chatham. I spoke louder than I have done for years; yet the skirts of the congregation could not hear. Few of those that did hear, heard in vain; for God was in the midst of them.

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At noon I preached at Sittingbourne, to a deeply-attentive audience; and in the evening at Canterbury, in an House half filled, — a sight I do not often see.

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I rode to Dover, and came in just before a violent storm began. It did not hinder the people. Many were obliged to go away after the House was filled. What a desire to hear runs through all the sea-port towns wherever we come! Surely God is besieging this nation, and attacking it at all the entrances!

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The storm was ready to bear away both man and

beast. But it abated about noon; so that, after preaching at Margate, I had a pleasant ride to Canterbury.

I made an odd observation here, which I recommend to all our Preachers. The people of Canterbury have been so often reproved, (and frequently without a cause,) for being dead and cold, that it has utterly discouraged them, and made them cold as stones. How delicate a thing is it to reprove! To do it well, requires more than human wisdom.

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Those who are called Mr. Whitefield’s society, at Chatham, offered me the use of their preaching-house, which I suppose is nearly four times as large as that at the barracks. In the morning I walked on, ordering my servant to overtake me with my carriage: And he did so; but not till I had walked seven or eight miles.

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Having heard an heavy charge brought against W—— Gó, a member of our society, I desired the parties concerned to meet me together. But this afternoon we could not get half through. At the second hearing I was convinced,

1. That he had spoken unkindly and unjustly:

2. That he had done wrong in leaving Mr. Dear at so short a warning: But I was equally convinced,

3. That there had been no dishonesty on either side.

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I saw the Westminster scholars act the “Adelphi” of Terence; an entertainment not unworthy of a Christian. O how do these Heathens shame us! Their very comedies contain both excellent sense, the liveliest pictures of men and manners, and so fine strokes of genuine morality, as are seldom found in the writings of Christians.

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I spent an hour with B——a I——n. If the account she gives is true, what blessed creatures are both those gentlemen and their wives that would use the most scurrilous language, yea, strike and drive out of their house, and that in a rainy night, a young gentlewoman, a stranger, far from home, for joining with the Methodists! Do these call themselves Christians? Nay, and Protestants? Call them Turks. Papist is too good a name.

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I went to Shoreham. Here I read Mr. Archdeacon

Blackburne’s “Considerations on the Penal Laws against Papists.” In the Appendix, p. 198, to my no small surprise, I read these words, said to be wrote by a gentleman at Paris: “The Popish party boast much of the increase of the Methodists, and talk of that sect with rapture. How far the Methodists and Papists stand connected in principles I know not; but I believe, it is beyond a doubt, that they are in constant correspondence with each other.”

It seems this letter was published in the “St. James’s Chronicle.” But I never saw or heard of it, till these words were printed in the “Canterbury Journal,” as Mr. Blackburne’s own.

And he has nearly made them his own, by his faint note upon them, “I would willingly hope some doubt may be made of this.” Indeed he adds, “Mr. Whitefield took timely care to preclude all suspicions of his having any collections with Popery.” Yea, and Mr. Wesley much more, even as early as Aug. 31, 1738. Again, in my Journal, Aug. 27, 1739, I published the on]y letter which I ever wrote to a Popish Priest. And it is in proof of this proposition, (an extraordinary proof of my connections with Popery!) “No Romanist, as such, can expect to be saved, according to the terms of the Christian covenant.”

Many things to the same purpose occur in the “Journals,” and the “Appeals to Men of Reason and Religion;” over and above those whole treatises which I have published entirely upon the subject: — “A Word to a Protestant,” a “Roman Catechism,” and “The Advantages of the Members of the Church of England over the Members of the Church of Rome.”

What amazing ignorance then, not to say impudence, does it imply, for any one at this time of day to tax me with having any connections with Popery!

In the latter end of the month I took some pains in reading over Dr. Young’s “Night Thoughts,” leaving out the indifferent lines, correcting many of the rest, and explaining the hard words, in order to make that noble work more useful to all, and more intelligible to ordinary readers.

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