1739.

1739.

PART II.

1739.

LONDON in 1739 was widely different from what it is at present. The population, including Westminster and all the parishes within the Bills of Mortality, was about 600,000, or a fifth of the population now. London Bridge was the only highway across the majestic Thames that the Londoners possessed; and that was covered with antique houses, from end to end, forming a sort of picturesque extension of Gracechurch Street, from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore,—a narrow, darksome, and dangerous thoroughfare with an arched gateway at each end of it, generally bristling with spikes, and often adorned with the heads of traitors. The site of the present Mansion House was a fruit market, having on one side of it a row of shady trees and on the other a conduit, surmounted by an equestrian statue of King Charles II. Islington, Hoxton, Hackney, and Bethnal Green were country villages. On the Surrey side, all beyond the King’s Bench prison was fields and open country. The Elephant and Castle stands where the small hamlet of Newington then stood. Walworth, Camberwell, Brixton, Peckham, and Clapham were rural haunts, far from the hum and noise of the great city. Even Lambeth was a vast conglomerated garden, extending from Kennington Common to what is now Westminster Bridge. Eastward—Blackwall, Poplar, Bow, and Stepney were somewhat distant collections of scattered houses, surrounded respectively by fields and gardens. Westward—Chelsea, Knightsbridge, Marylebone, and Tottenham Court were all in open country. Even Belgravia was a farm of arable and pasture land; while all the space, between Westminster and what is now Vauxhall Bridge, was a dreary tract of stunted, dusty, trodden grass, the resort of badgerbaiters and other rampant blackguards, and known by the name of Tothill Fields.

Moorfields, the scene of Wesley’s earliest evangelistic labours, and where he opened his Foundery meeting-house, was what would now-a-days be called a park, laid out in grass plots, intersected by broad gravel walks, and the favourite resort of citizens seeking exercise and recreation. Beneath a row of well grown elms was what the promenaders designated “the city mall,” and which in the smartness of its company often rivalled the mall of St. James’s Park. Here might be seen wives and daughters flaunting in all their finery and displaying their charms to city maccaronis, whose hats were cocked diagonally, and who gave themselves quite as many airs as the aristocratic coxcombs in the royal grounds. Under the trees were booths, whose fans, toys, trinkets, and confectionery found ready purchasers; while on the grass plots were erected mountebank diversions for the amusement of the people.

What a contrast between London then and London now! And yet, even then, London was thought to be dangerously too large. An able writer, in one of the magazines for 1762, argued that great cities are perilous to a nation’s welfare; and in proof quoted Nineveh, Babylon, Persepolis, Tyre, Carthage, Rome, Athens, Memphis, Baalbec, Palmyra, Thebes, Jerusalem, etc. He contended that it was pernicious policy to suffer the eighth part of an entire nation to live in one crowded town; for when so many myriads lived on ground which produced nothing they were under the necessity of living by their wits—that is, by sharping and over-reaching, and by inventing idle and vicious amusements. Hence it was that in London there was such a multiplication of playhouses, operas, ridottos, and masquerades; and that almost one-half of some of the London parishes was converted into brothels by bawds and pimps. The anonymous alarmist was doubtless treated with contempt, but his theory deserves attention.

London was great, but it was wicked. And no wonder. Riches in the case of nations, as in the case of individuals, often lead to extravagance and luxury. Thus it was in England, in the reign of the second George. Superb edifices rose up on every hand, almost vieing with the palaces of princes. Carriages, glittering with gold and crystal, rattled over city pavements with the utmost ostentation. Ridottos, balls, masquerades, and midnight banquets, were of constant occurrence. Every night innumerable lamps illuminated public gardens, where hosts of fashionable and licentious fops might be seen lolling in gilded alcoves, killing time, and lulling their senses into an indolent oblivion. Arrayed in masks and the strangest dresses, gamblers, actors, and prostitutes mingled with persons of riches and of rank, and, amid the din of music and of dancing, conversed obscene discourse, and whispered indecent slanders. All classes caught the contagion, and even the tables of shopkeepers and mechanics were covered with costly dainties. Clerks and apprentices, servant-maids and cooks, decked themselves in apparel equal to that of their masters and mistresses; and finical sparks deemed it their privilege and right to frequent taverns, clubs, and theatres, adorned with the finest clothes, perukes, and jewellery.

What resulted from all this? Extravagance created greater wants than the people had means to meet. Patrimonial estates, and the gains of honest business were not enough to satisfy newly engendered appetites; and hence men appealed to an infernal sorceress, to correct, forsooth, the errors made in distributing the gifts of Providence. To eke out means which were found too scanty to gratify licentious and luxurious passions, robbery was made polite, and gambling an every day duty. Idleness threw the dice, and Folly built them into castles; Avarice clutched at gold, but Fraud, with a sly and quick conveyance, snatched it from his hand. Even ladies laid wagers at home, while their lords gambled abroad; and dice began to rattle on the costermonger’s barrow as well as upon the hazard tables of the noble and the rich. Money was looked upon as omnipotent; and the more men got the more they wanted, and especially when it was spent upon their own indulgences. An avaricious, mercenary spirit became general, and chiefly for the sake of vain display and sensual pleasures.

Poverty treads in the footsteps of extravagance. There were more equipages kept, and yet more taxes for the poor imposed; more diversions, and yet more want; more ladies of taste, and yet fewer housewives; more pomp, and yet less hospitality; more expense, and yet less frugality. In 1744, the grand jury of the county of Middlesex made a presentment to the effect, that “the advertisements in the newspapers were seducing the people to places for the encouragement of luxury, extravagance, and idleness; and that, by this means, families were ruined, and the kingdom dishonoured; and that, unless some superior authority put a stop to such riotous living, they feared it would lead to the destruction of the nation.”

The town abounded with men who regarded honour, honesty, and virtue as the merest phantoms;—men with whom promises were not binding, obligations were nullities, and impudence a duty;—dastards who might slander their neighbours, ridicule their superiors, be saucy to their equals, insolent to their inferiors, and abusive to all; to-day spaniels, to-morrow bullies, and at all times cowards; to whom learning was a burden, and books were baubles; vice being their delight, and virtue their aversion; demons in disguise, all order and symmetry without, and yet all rancour and rottenness within.

The country was an apt imitator of the vices of the town. There the squire, having, by idleness and bad company, forgotten the little learning he acquired at college, too often devoted himself to drinking and debauchery; while the common people were ignorant, superstitious, brutal, and bad behaved. Workmen entered into combinations to extort higher wages than their labour merited, or than their masters could afford; and even parliament had to pass enactments limiting the salaries of tailors. Smuggling was enormous; and, in 1744, it was calculated that, in the county of Suffolk only, not fewer than 4,500 horses were employed in carrying merchandise of a contraband character.

This dark picture might easily be enlarged, not from posterior writings, or even from the religious publications of the period, but from periodicals, magazines, and newspapers, which had no temptation to represent the customs, manners, usages, and vices of the age in a worse aspect than was warranted by facts. Wesley, as will be seen hereafter, used strong and startling language; but there is nothing in Wesley’s writings which exceeds the hideous delineations found in the popular literature published contemporaneously by other impartial and mere worldly writers, who are above suspicion. The Weekly Miscellany for 1732 broadly asserts that the people were engulfed in voluptuousness and business; and that a zeal for godliness looked as odd upon a man as would the antiquated dress of his great grandfather. It states that freethinkers were formed into clubs, to propagate their tenets, and to make the nation a race of profligates; and that atheism was scattered broadcast throughout the kingdom. It affirms that it was publicly avowed that vice was profitable to the state; that the country would be benefited by the establishment of public stews; and that polygamy, concubinage, and even sodomy were not sinful.

In many respects the reign of the second George bore a striking resemblance to the present day. There was unexampled wealth, followed by luxury, display, dissipation, gambling, irreligion, and wickedness. The pastoral letters of Bishop Gibson, published at this period, show that most pernicious efforts were put forth to undermine religion, and to make men infidels. One class of writers laboured to set aside all Christian ordinances, the Christian ministry, and a Christian church. Another so allegorized the meaning of the miracles of Christ, as to take away their reality. Others displayed the utmost zeal for natural religion in opposition to revealed; and all, or most, under the pretence of pleading for the liberties of men, ran into the wildest licentiousness. Reason was recommended as a full and sufficient guide in matters of religion, and the Scriptures were to be believed only as they agreed or disagreed with the light of nature.

The same causes give birth to the same effects. Things reproduce themselves. The words of Solomon are as truthful now as when he wrote them,—“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”

By reviving religion, Methodism saved the nation more than a hundred years ago; and now that the nation presents the same aspect, to a great extent, as it presented then, and is threatened with the same disasters, is it not certain that nothing but an agency analogous to the Methodism then raised up will be found sufficient to check the progress of antiquated errors now revived; to stem the aboundings of licentiousness; and to make men feel that wealth is given, not to be spent in display and luxury, but in honouring God, and in promoting the happiness of the human race?

The revival of religion, which occurred about the time when Methodism commenced its marvellous career, was a world-wide one.

The Moravian movement in Germany has been already noticed.

In America, the work began in 1729, the very year in which the Oxford Methodists formed their first society. The Rev. Jonathan Edwards fanned the fire into a holy flame by preaching the grand old doctrine of “justification by faith alone.” In the town of Northampton, New England, containing two hundred families, there was scarcely a single person at the beginning of the year 1735 who was not deeply convinced of sin, and earnestly seeking salvation; and from day to day, for months, there were undeniable instances of genuine conversion. Almost every house was a house of prayer, and, in all companies, Christ was the theme of public conversation. The revival which commenced at Northampton spread throughout the greater part of the colony. All sorts of people,—high and low, rich and poor, wise and unwise, moral and immoral,—simultaneously became the subjects of the Spirit’s strivings, and were converted. This remarkable movement took place only a few months before Wesley set sail for Georgia, and continued for several years afterwards. Mr. Edwards published a narrative of its most striking incidents; and also his “Thoughts” as to “the way in which it ought to be acknowledged and promoted;” and from these two invaluable treatises we collect the following facts.

In many instances, conviction of sin and conversion were attended with intense physical excitement. Numbers fell prostrate on the ground, and cried aloud for mercy. The bodies of others were convulsed and benumbed. As chaos preceded creation, so in New England confusion went before conversion. The work was great and glorious, but was accompanied with noise and tumult. Men literally cried for mercy; but the loudest outcries were not so loud as the shrieks of Voltaire or Volney, when the prospect of eternity unmanned them. Stout-hearted sinners trembled; but not more than philosophers at the present day would do, if they had equally vivid views of the torments of the damned to which sin exposes them. There were groanings and faintings; transports and ecstasies; zeal sometimes more fervid than discreet; and passion not unfrequently more powerful than pious; but, from one end of the land to the other, multitudes of vain thoughtless sinners were unmistakably converted, and were made new creatures in Christ Jesus. Frolicking, night walking, singing lewd songs, tavern haunting, profane speaking, and extravagance in dress, were generally abandoned. The talk of the people was about the favour of God, an interest in Christ, a sanctified heart, and spiritual blessedness here and hereafter. The country was full of meetings of persons of all sorts and ages to read, pray, and sing praises. Oftentimes the people were wrought up into the highest transports of love, joy, and admiration, and had such views of the Divine perfections, and the excellencies of Christ, that, for five or six hours together, their souls reposed in a kind of sacred elysium, until the body seemed to sink beneath the weight of Divine discoveries, and nature was deprived of all ability to stand or speak. Connected with all this, there were no enthusiastic impulses, or supposed revelations, but trembling reverence, the mildest meekness, and warmest charity. To use Edwards’ own language, “The New Jerusalem, in this respect, had begun to come down from heaven, and perhaps never were more of the prelibations of heaven’s glory given upon earth.”

Of course there were men who opposed and maligned this blessed work of God’s Holy Spirit; or, at all events, did their utmost to discredit it by exposing, as they thought, the infirmities of those who were the chief agents used in promoting it. Ministers were blamed for their earnestness in voice and gesture, and for addressing themselves rather to the passions of their hearers than their reason. Others were censured for preaching the terrors of the law too frequently, and for frightening the people with hell-fire discourses. Objections were raised against so much time being spent in religious meetings; though the objectors had been significantly silent when the selfsame persons had formerly spent quite as much time, and even more, in taverns, and in sinful pleasures. Some were disgusted at the new converts so passionately warning, inviting, and entreating others to be saved. Some found fault with so much singing, forgetting that singing is one of the great employments of the beatified in heaven; and others found equal fault with children being allowed to meet together to read and pray, thus, unintentionally perhaps, resembling the priests and scribes, who were sore displeased when the children saluted Christ by shouting “Hosannah in the highest!” Thus did men mutter discontent when they ought to have sung praises; and not a few fell into the sin of those in olden times, who said concerning Christ, “He casteth out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils.”

At the very time that this marvellous religious revival broke out in America, a similar work was begun in Wales. Howel Harris was born at Trevecca in 1714, and, a few months before the Wesleys went to Georgia, found the forgiveness of sins, and was made unutterably happy by a Divine assurance of his adoption into the family of God. The Wesleys, however, had no acquaintance with him, nor he with them. While they were on the ocean he left his home in Wales, and entered the university from which they had so recently departed; but here he was so distressed with collegiate immoralities, that, after keeping but a single term, he returned to his native hills, and, without orders, began at once to preach the salvation which he himself experienced. It is a curious fact, not generally noticed, that the first lay preacher, in the great Methodist movement, was Howel Harris. He commenced preaching in Wales just when the Wesleys and Ingham commenced in Georgia; and, before Wesley reached Bristol in 1739, had been the means of a most glorious work being wrought in the neighbouring principality. Up to this period the morals of the Welsh were deplorably corrupt; and in this respect there was no difference between rich and poor, ministers and people; gluttony, drunkenness, and licentiousness were general. In the pulpits of parish churches the name of Christ was hardly ever uttered; and, in 1736, there were only six Dissenting chapels throughout the whole of northern Wales.

Harris first commenced visiting from house to house in his own native parish, and in neighbouring ones. Then the people flocked together, and, almost without knowing it, he began to preach. The magistrates and clergy threatened him; but their threats failed to silence him. For a maintenance, he set up a school, and meantime continued preaching. Numbers were convinced of sin, and these the young preacher, only twenty-two years of age, formed into small societies analogous to those of which he had read in Dr. Woodward’s History. At the end of 1737, persecuting malice ejected him from his school; but, as in other instances so in this, it overshot its mark; for this, instead of silencing the preacher, made him preach more than ever. He now gave himself entirely to the work of an evangelist, and henceforth generally delivered three or four, and sometimes five or six, sermons every day to crowded congregations. A wide-spread reformation followed. Public diversions became unfashionable, and religion became the theme of common conversation. A few began to help him, of whom the venerable Rev. Griffith Jones was the most prominent. In 1737, this devoted clergyman instituted his movable free schools; and a letter published in the Glasgow Weekly History, of 1742, describes him as “one of the most excellent preachers in Great Britain.” Not a few of the teachers in his peripatetic schools became Methodist preachers; and certainly their travels as instructors, as well as his own preaching tours, prepared the way for the Methodist itinerant ministry.

Thus was Howel Harris an itinerant preacher at least a year and a half before Whitefield and Wesley were; and, as the brave-hearted herald of hundreds more who were to follow after him, he met the fiercest persecutions with an undaunted soul and an unflinching face. Parsons and country squires menaced him, and mobs swore and flung stones and sticks at him; but he calmly pursued his way, labouring almost alone in his own isolated sphere until he met with Whitefield in the town of Cardiff, in 1739. Whitefield says he found him “a burning and shining light; a barrier against profanity and immorality; and an indefatigable promoter of the gospel of Christ. During the last three years, he had preached almost twice every day, for three or four hours together; and, in his evangelistic tours, had visited seven counties, and had established nearly thirty societies; and still his sphere of action was enlarging daily.”

Almost contemporaneous with this marvellous work across the Atlantic and in Wales, was another across the Tweed, in Scotland. The facts following are taken from “A Faithful Narrative, written by James Robe, A.M., Minister of the Gospel at Kilsyth,” and printed in 1742.

For years past, there had been a sensible decay in the life and power of godliness in Scotland; but, in 1740, Mr. Robe began to preach upon the doctrine of regeneration. Meanwhile, a glorious revival of the work of God occurred at Cambuslang; and, on April 25, 1741, at Kilsyth. Sixteen children began to hold prayer-meetings in the town of Kirkintilloch, and the godly excitement became general. On every hand were heard cries, groans, and the voice of weeping. On the 16th of May, above thirty persons were awakened under the ministry of Mr. Robe, and, in a short time after, hundreds were converted in the country round about. Drunkenness, and swearing, and other flagrant sins were instantly abandoned; family worship was set up; meetings for prayer were established; and the people generally flocked to the house of God. Young converts held prayer-meetings in fields, barns, schoolhouses, and the manses of their ministers. Cambuslang, Kilsyth, Campsie, Kirkintilloch, Auchinloch, St. Ninians, Gargunnock, Calder, Badernock, Irvine, Long Dreghorn, Kilmarnock, Larbert, Dundee, Bothwell, Muthill, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other towns, villages, and parishes were visited with a most gracious outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit; and scenes of mercy were witnessed quite as striking as those which were occurring simultaneously both in England and America. Not a few of the converts, about one sixth of the whole, suffered such distress of mind, and were under such powerful religious influence, that they not only cried and shrieked aloud, but trembled, fainted, and were convulsed in their bodies most mysteriously—exhibiting the same physical affections as the converts in New England; and this evoked considerable opposition, and led the Associate Presbytery at Dunfermline, to pronounce the movement a “delusion, and the work of the grand deceiver.” Some were seized with such trembling that their friends had to render them support. Many of the females went into hysterics. Numbers, on finding peace, broke forth into rapturous weeping, and had their countenances so lit up with serenity and brightness, that their neighbours declared they had obtained not only new hearts, but new faces. A few, but not many, professed to have visions of hell, of heaven, of the devil, and of Jesus.

The writer gives these facts as he finds them. Mr. Robe, in his narrative, extending over hundreds of pages, endeavours to show that such effects were not without precedents, and quotes a great number of similar instances which had occurred, in different places, from the time of the Reformation downwards. It is no part of our purpose either to explain, justify, or condemn them. We shall shortly find the same kind of effects following the preaching of Wesley in England. At present, the reader is merely reminded of the wondrous and glorious fact, that the great Methodist revival of religion, begun in 1739, stood not alone; for God, in His sovereign mercy, was working works quite as great in Germany, America, and Scotland. The revival in Germany gave birth to the heroic, martyr-like Moravian church. That in America greatly prepared the way for Whitefield, and for the first Methodist missionaries to that huge continent. That in Scotland revived the almost expiring piety of the kirk across the border; and, doubtless, greatly contributed to the devout and increasing energy and zeal evinced by the different churches there from that day to this. And that in Wales has issued in results equally remarkable. God the Spirit is omnipresent, and can give a universal revival of truth and godliness as easily as a local one. It is, also, a significant fact, of vast importance, that the whole of these great revivals were begun by preaching the same kind of truth. Christian David, the carpenter, begun the work in Moravia by preaching the doctrine of salvation by simple faith in Christ; and so did Jonathan Edwards in America. The revival at Kilsyth sprang out of Mr. Robe’s sermons on regeneration; and no one need be told that these were the doctrines which formed the staple of Wesley’s and Whitefield’s sermons in Great Britain. This is the truth pre-eminently needed by man, in all ages, and in all lands; and this is the truth which, wherever preached, is always honoured, by being made the means of man’s salvation.

At the close of the year 1738, Wesley was almost uniformly excluded from the pulpits of the Established Church. During the whole of 1739, the only churches in which he was allowed to preach, were Basingshaw, Islington, St. Giles’, and St. Katherine’s churches, London; and the churches at Dummer, Clifton, Runwick, and St. Mary’s in Exeter. The first two months of the year were spent in the metropolis; but, with the exception of expounding in a few private houses, Wesley had to content himself with preaching not more than half-a-dozen sermons. In the month of March, he set out for Oxford, and wrote the following hitherto unpublished letter to his friend Whitefield. The letter is long, but full of interest.

“March 16, 1739.

“My dear Brother,—On Thursday, the 8th instant, we breakfasted at Mr. Score’s, Oxford, who is patiently waiting for the salvation of God. Thence we went to Mrs. Campton’s, who has set her face as a flint. After we had spent some time in prayer, Mr. Washington came with Mr. Gibbs, and read several passages out of Bishop Patrick’s Parable of the Pilgrim, to prove that we were all under a delusion, and that we were to be justified by faith and works. Charles Metcalfe withstood him to the face. After they were gone, we again besought our Lord, that He would maintain His own cause. Meanwhile, Mr. Washington and Mr. Watson were going about to all parts, and confirming the unfaithful; and at seven, when I designed to expound at Mrs. Campton’s, Mr. Washington was got there before me, and was beginning to read Bishop Bull against the witness of the Spirit. He told me he was authorized by the minister of the parish to do this. I advised all who valued their souls to depart; and, perceiving it to be the less evil of the two, that they who remained might not be perverted, I entered directly into the controversy, touching both the cause and fruits of justification. In the midst of the dispute, James Mears’s wife began to be in pain. I prayed with her when Mr. Washington was gone; and then we went down to sister Thomas’s. In the way, Mrs. Mears’s agony so increased, that she could not avoid crying out aloud in the street. With much difficulty, we got her to Mrs. Shrieve’s, where God heard us, and sent her deliverance, and where her husband also was set at liberty soon after. Presently Mrs. Shrieve fell into a strange agony both of body and mind; her teeth gnashed together; her knees smote each other; and her whole body trembled exceedingly. We prayed on; and, within an hour, the storm ceased; and she now enjoys a sweet calm, having remission of sins, and knowing that her Redeemer liveth.

“At my return to Mrs. Fox’s, I found our dear brother Kinchin just come from Dummer. We rejoiced, and gave thanks, and prayed, and took sweet counsel together; the result of which was, that instead of setting out for London, as I designed, on Friday morning, I set out for Dummer, there being no person to supply the church on Sunday. At Reading I found a young man, Cennick by name, strong in the faith of our Lord Jesus. He had begun a society there the week before; but the minister of the parish had now well-nigh overturned it. Several of the members of it spent the evening with us, and it pleased God to strengthen and comfort them.

“On Saturday morning, our brother Cennick rode with me, whom I found willing to suffer, yea, to die for his Lord. We came to Dummer in the afternoon: Miss Molly was weak in body, but strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Surely her light ought not thus to be hid under a bushel. She has forgiveness, but not the witness of the Spirit; perhaps because our dear brother Kinchin seems to think them inseparable.

“On Sunday morning we had a large and attentive congregation. In the evening, the room at Basingstoke was full, and my mouth was opened. We expected much opposition, but had none at all.

“On Monday, Mrs. Cleminger being in pain and fear, we prayed, and her Lord gave her peace. About noon we spent an hour or two in conference and prayer with Miss Molly; and then set out in a glorious storm; but I had a calm within. We had appointed the little society at Reading to meet us in the evening; but the enemy was too vigilant. Almost as soon as we were out of the town, the minister sent, or went, to each of the members, and began arguing and threatening, and utterly confounded them, so that they were all scattered abroad. Mr. Cennick’s own sister did not dare to see us, but was gone out on purpose to avoid it.

“On Tuesday I came to Oxford again, and from Mrs. Fox’s went to Mrs. Campton’s. I found the minister of the parish had been there before me, to whom she had plainly declared, that she had never had a true faith in Christ till a week ago. After some warm and sharp expressions, he told her he must repel her from the holy communion. Finding she was not convinced, even by that argument, he left her calmly rejoicing in God her Saviour.

“At six in the evening, we were at Mrs. Fox’s society; about seven at Mrs. Campton’s: the power of the Lord was present at both, and all our hearts were knit together in love.

“The next day we had an opportunity to confirm most, if not all, the souls which had been shaken. In the afternoon, I preached at the Castle. We afterwards joined together in prayer, having now Charles Graves added to us, who is rooted and grounded in the faith. We then went to Mr. Gibbs’s room, where were Mr. Washington and Mr. Watson. Here an hour was spent in conference and prayer, but without any disputing. At four in the morning I left Oxford. God hath indeed planted and watered: O may He give the increase.

“I am, etc.,

“John Wesley.”

Thus did the expelled minister employ his time and energies. The churches were shut against him; but he found work in cottages. Half-a-dozen sermons in church pulpits in three months! No wonder that Wesley escaped to Bristol. Silence to such a man was intolerable. Priests and their parasites had gagged him in the metropolis, and he now started for a new sphere of labour.

His friend Whitefield, during the first five weeks of the year, was more fortunate, and managed to preach about thirty sermons in consecrated edifices in and about London. How long this permission might have lasted, it is difficult to determine; but, at the beginning of February, Whitefield, like a flaming seraph, set off to Bath and Bristol. Perhaps his departure thither was hastened by a fracas which occurred only three days before at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, where he yielded to the pressure of the crowd, and preached, despite the opposition of the minister and his church officers. Be that as it may, the news of the disturbance, published in the Weekly Miscellany, got to the west of England before him; and, on his arrival, all the churches were closed against him. In a few days, however, Mr. Penrose granted him the pulpit of St. Werburgh’s; and Mr. Gibbs the pulpit of St. Mary Redcliff. The chancellor of Bristol interfered, and threatened that, if he continued to preach or expound in the diocese without licence, he should first be suspended and then expelled. This was the turning point. To muzzle Whitefield was impossible; and hence, being shut out of the Bristol churches, away he went, on February 17, and preached, in the open air, to two hundred colliers at Kingswood. This was the boldest step that any of the Methodists had yet taken; and perhaps none of them but the impulsive, large-hearted Whitefield would have had sufficient courage to be the first in such a shocking departure from Church rules and usages. The Rubicon was passed. A clergyman had dared to be so irregular as to preach in the open air, and God had sanctioned the irregularity by making it a blessing. At the second Kingswood service, Whitefield says he had two thousand people to hear him; and at the third, four thousand; while, at the fifth service, the four thousand were increased to ten. These were marvellous crowds to assemble out of doors in the bleak months of February and March. No wonder that Whitefield’s soul took fire. He declares he never preached with greater power than now. One day, he would take his stand on Hannam Mount; another, on Rose Green; and another at the Fishponds. Then he ran off to Cardiff, and preached in the town hall; and then to Bath, and preached on the town common. Then we find him preaching to about four thousand at Baptist Mills; and, on March 18, his congregation at Rose Green was estimated at not less than twenty thousand, to whom he preached nearly an hour and a half. A gentleman lent him a large bowling-green in the heart of Bristol, and here he preached to seven or eight thousand people. In the village of Publow, several thousands assembled to hear him; and, at Coal-pit Heath and other places, the crowds were quite as great. All this transpired within six weeks, and, at nearly all these strange and enormous gatherings, Whitefield made a collection for his orphan house in Georgia. His soul expanded with his marvellous success. He wished to try the same experiment elsewhere; and hence he sent for Wesley to act as his Bristol and Kingswood successor. Wesley arrived at Bristol on Saturday, March 31; and, the next day, heard Whitefield at the Bowling-green, Rose Green, and Hannam Mount, and was thus introduced to the vast congregations which Whitefield bequeathed to his godly care. He was once again ungagged, and, during the nine months from March to December, preached and expounded almost without ceasing.

Whitefield, on leaving Wesley at Bristol, made his way to London, preaching to assembled thousands at Gloucester and other places. The churches in the metropolis were all closed against him; but Moorfields and Kennington Common were still open; and here, to congregations consisting of tens of thousands, he rapturously proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation. In one instance, he computed his Kennington congregation at fifty thousand, to whom he preached an hour and a half. Eighty coaches were present, besides great numbers of people on horseback. On another occasion, his collection for the orphan house in Georgia amounted to upwards of £47, of which £16 were in half-pence. At another time, the concourse in Moorfields numbered nearly sixty thousand; and, at every service, he seems to have made collections for Georgia, himself acting as one of the collectors. He then made a short preaching excursion to Hertford, Northampton, and Bedford, where the stairs of a windmill served him for a pulpit. On returning to town, he received letters from Scotland, telling him that Ralph Erskine had turned field preacher, and had had a congregation of fourteen thousand people. In June, Wesley came to London to see him, and preached at Blackheath to twelve or fourteen thousand people, “the Lord giving him,” writes Whitefield, “ten thousand times more success than He has given me.” An embargo unexpectedly laid on shipping detained him in England a few weeks longer, during which he visited Hertfordshire, Essex, Gloucestershire, and other places. In July, he joined his friend Wesley in Bristol, and acknowledged that the congregations were much more serious and affected than when he had left them three months before. The Kingswood colliers, instead of cursing and swearing, now made the woods ring with their hymns of praise. At length, in the month of August, Whitefield set sail for America, where we must leave him until his return to England, in March, 1741.

Charles Wesley passed most of the year 1739 in London and its neighbourhood. His brother and his friends urged him to settle at Oxford; but he refused, without further direction from God. He preached in churches as long as he was permitted; and, when prohibited, followed the example of Whitefield and his brother.

For a moment, we must retrace our steps. As already stated, Wesley himself spent the first two months of 1739 in London. How was he occupied? On New Year’s day, he was present at a remarkable lovefeast in Fetter Lane, which continued until three o’clock in the morning, and which consisted of himself, his brother, his clerical friends Whitefield, Ingham, Hall, Kinchin, and Hutchings, and about sixty Moravians. At the hour mentioned, the power of God came upon them so mightily, that many cried out for exceeding joy, others fell prostrate on the ground, and all joined in singing, “We praise Thee, O God; we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.” But even this marvellous manifestation of the majesty of God failed to remove Wesley’s doubts and fears; for, three days afterwards, we find him writing the bitterest things against himself, and concluding with the words, “Though I have constantly used all the means of grace for twenty years, I am not a Christian.”

The day after, January 5, seven of the despised Methodist clergymen (probably the seven just mentioned), held a conference at Islington, on several matters of great importance, and, after prayer and fasting, determined what they were in doubt about, by casting lots. “We parted,” says Whitefield, “with a full conviction that God was going to do great things among us;” a conviction which was soon verified.

On January 7, they held another lovefeast at Fetter Lane, and spent the whole night in prayer and thanksgiving.

January 25, Wesley baptized five adults at Islington, and makes a strange distinction, which shows that his views of the scriptural doctrine of salvation were still hazy and confused. He writes: “Of the adults I have known baptized lately, only one was at that time born again, in the full sense of the word; that is, found a thorough inward change by the love of God filling her heart. Most of them were only born again in a lower sense; that is, received the remission of their sins.” Let the reader compare this with a passage in Wesley’s sermon on “The Great Privilege of those that are Born of God,” and he will mark the difference.

“It has been frequently supposed, that the being born of God was all one with the being justified; that the new birth and justification were only different expressions, denoting the same thing: it being certain, on the one hand, that whoever is justified is also born of God; and on the other, that whoever is born of God is also justified; yea, that both these gifts of God are given to every believer in one and the same moment. In one point of time his sins are blotted out, and he is born again of God. But though it be allowed, that justification and the new birth are, in point of time, inseparable from each other, yet are they easily distinguished, as being not the same, but things of a widely different nature. Justification implies only a relative, the new birth a real, change. God in justifying us does something for us; in begetting us again, He does the work in us. The one restores us to the favour, the other to the image, of God. The one is the taking away the guilt, the other the taking away the power, of sin; so that, although they are joined together in point of time, yet they are of wholly distinct natures.”

Nothing can be more scriptural, or more clearly expressed than this; but comparison with the extract from his journal, above given, shows that, even in 1739, Wesley was far from being “a scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven.” He still had much both to learn and to unlearn; but it was a happy fact, that he was docile and eager to be taught. Four days after baptizing the adults at Islington, he sat up till near one in the morning with Whitefield and two other clergymen, earnestly listening to a midnight discussion concerning the doctrine of the new birth.

During the month of February, he had three separate interviews with bishops of the Established Church. On the 6th, he went with Whitefield to the Bishop of Gloucester, to solicit a subscription for Georgia. On the 21st, he and his brother Charles waited on Potter, Archbishop of Canterbury, who showed them great affection; spoke mildly of Whitefield; cautioned them to give no more umbrage than necessary; to forbear exceptionable phrases; and to keep to the doctrines of the Church. They told him they expected persecution; but would abide by the Church till her articles and homilies were repealed. From Potter, they proceeded direct to Gibson, Bishop of London, who denied that he had condemned them, or even heard much about them. Whitefield’s Journal, he said, was tainted with enthusiasm, though Whitefield himself was a pious, well meaning youth. He warned them against Antinomianism, and dismissed them kindly.

On the day after their interview with the Bishop of Gloucester, Whitefield, shut out of the London churches, set off on his tour to Bristol. Three weeks later, Wesley wrote him an account of his proceedings in London.

“February 26, 1739.

“My dear Brother,—Our Lord’s hand is not shortened amongst us. Yesterday I preached at St. Katherine’s, and at Islington, where the church was almost as hot as some of the society rooms used to be. The fields, after service, were white with people praising God. About three hundred were present at Mr. S——’s; thence I went to Mr. Bray’s; thence to Fetter Lane; and, at nine, to Mr. B——’s, where also we wanted room. To-day I expound in the Minories at four; at Mrs. W——’s at six; and in Gravel Lane, Bishopsgate, at eight. On Wednesday, at six, we have a noble company of women, not adorned with gold or costly apparel, but with a meek and quiet spirit. At the Savoy, on Thursday evening, we have usually two or three hundred, most of them, at least, thoroughly awakened. On Friday, Mr. A——’s parlour is more than filled; as is Mr. P——’s room twice over.”

This extract will give the reader an idea of Wesley’s weekly labours in London, up to the time that he set out for Bristol. Every day had its day’s work. It was impossible for such a man to be idle: work was essential to his happiness, and almost to his existence.

Already the people began to have faith in the power of his piety and prayers. The parents of a lunatic besought his intercessions on behalf of their afflicted son, who, for five years past, had been in the habit of beating and tearing himself, putting his hands into the fire, and thrusting pins into his flesh. Wesley and his friends yielded to the request on February 17; and, from that time, the poor creature, though not fully freed from his calamitous affliction, had more rest than he had had for two years before. On the same day, a middle aged, well dressed woman, at a society-meeting in Beech Lane, was seized as with the agonies of death. For three years, her friends had accounted her mad, and had bled and blistered her accordingly. Wesley prayed with her, and, five days after, she was victoriously delivered, and in a moment was filled with love and joy. Within a fortnight, a third instance, somewhat similar, took place at Oxford, whither Wesley had gone for a brief visit. Hearing of a woman who was most violently opposed to the Methodist revival, he went to her and argued with her. This enraged her more and more. Wesley broke off the dispute, and began to pray. In a few minutes, the woman fell into an extreme agony, both of body and soul; and soon after cried out with the utmost earnestness, “Now I know I am forgiven for Christ’s sake;” and, from that hour, set her face as a flint to declare the faith which before she persecuted.

We have already seen that, at the beginning of the month of March, Wesley made a tour to Oxford, and while there wrote to Whitefield the long letter which has been already given. On his return to London, he received a most urgent request from Whitefield to proceed to Bristol without delay. Wesley hesitated; Charles objected; and the society at Fetter Lane disputed; but, at length, the matter was decided by casting lots. Wesley reached Bristol on March 31, and on April 2 Whitefield left, summing up the results of his first six weeks of out-door preaching thus: “Many sinners have been effectually converted, and all the children of God have been exceedingly comforted. Several thousands of little books have been dispersed among the people; about £200 collected for the orphan house; and many poor families relieved by the bounty of my friend Mr. Seward. And what gives me the greater comfort is the consideration that my dear and honoured friend Mr. Wesley is left behind to confirm those that are awakened; so that I hope, when I return from Georgia, to see many bold soldiers of Jesus Christ.”

The next day he wrote to Wesley the following, which is now for the first time given to the public:—

“April 3, 1739.

“Honoured Sir,—Yesterday I began to play the madman in Gloucestershire, by preaching on a table in Thornbury Street. To-day I have exhorted twice; and by-and-by shall begin a third time; nothing like doing good by the way. Be pleased to go to Kingswood, and forward the good work as much as possible. I desire you would open any letters that come directed for me, and send me a line to Gloucester. I wish you all the success imaginable in your ministry; and I pray God that my Bristol friends may grow in grace under it. Parting from them has struck a little damp upon my joy; but God will quickly revisit,

“Honoured sir, your unworthy loving servant,

“George Whitefield.

“The Rev. Mr. John Wesley, at Mr. Grevil’s,

“Wine Street, Bristol.”

On the day of Whitefield’s departure, at four in the afternoon, Wesley ventured to follow his friend’s example, and for the first time in England dared to preach in the open air. His text was appropriate and striking, Isaiah lxi. 1, 2. The place was “a little eminence in a ground adjoining to the city.” His feeling was deep. He says: “I could scarce reconcile myself at first to this strange way of preaching in the fields; having been all my life, till very lately, so tenacious of every point relating to decency and order, that I should have thought the saving of souls almost a sin if it had not been done in a church.”

Such were the prejudices and the feelings of the man who, for between fifty and sixty years proved himself the greatest out-door preacher that ever lived.

With the exception of a brief visit to London in June, September, and November, and of a short tour into Wales and another to Exeter, Wesley spent the whole of his time, from April to the end of 1739, in Bristol and its immediate neighbourhood. Though there are considerable gaps in Wesley’s journal, during which we lose sight of his texts and sermons, it is not too much to say that he delivered at least five hundred discourses and expositions in the nine months of which we speak; and it is a noticeable fact that only eight of these were delivered in churches,—six in the church at Clifton, one at Runwick, and one at Exeter. His preaching plan was as follows:—an exposition to one or other of the Bristol societies every night, and preaching every Sunday morning, and every Monday and Saturday afternoon. At Kingswood, including Hannam Mount, Rose Green, and Two Mile Hill, he preached twice every sabbath, and also every alternate Tuesday and Friday. At Baptist Mills, he preached every Friday; at Bath, once a fortnight, on Tuesday; and at Pensford, once a fortnight, on Thursday.

Another point is worth noticing. His chief, almost his only aim, was to explain to the people the plan of scriptural salvation; for, as may easily be seen, almost all his texts have an immediate bearing on this the greatest of all pulpit topics. Saved himself, his whole soul was absorbed in a grand endeavour to expound the truth which, above all other truths, is the means of saving sinners. “The points,” he writes, “I chiefly insisted upon were four: first, that orthodoxy, or right opinions, is, at best, but a very slender part of religion, if it can be allowed to be any part at all; that neither does religion consist in negatives, in bare harmlessness of any kind; nor merely in externals, in doing good, or using the means of grace, in works of piety, or of charity: that it is nothing short of, or different from, the mind that was in Christ; the image of God stamped upon the heart; inward righteousness, attended with the peace of God and joy in the Holy Ghost. Secondly, that the only way to this religion is repentance towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. Thirdly, that by this faith, he that worketh not, but believeth on Him that justifieth the ungodly, is justified freely by His grace through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus. And, lastly, that being justified by faith, we taste of the heaven to which we are going; we are holy and happy; we tread down sin and fear, and sit in heavenly places with Christ Jesus.”

He further tells us that the reasons which induced him to begin preaching in the open air were—1. That he was forbidden, as by a general consent, though not by any judicial sentence, to preach in any church. 2. That the rooms in which he preached could not contain a tenth part of the people that were earnest to hear. Hence, he adds, he determined to do in England what he had often done in a warmer climate; namely, when the house would not contain the congregation, to preach in the open air; and never had he seen a more awful sight than when, on Rose Green, or the top of Hannam Mount, some thousands of people were calmly joined together in solemn waiting upon God. He had no desire or design to preach in the open air till he was forbidden to preach in churches. It was no matter of choice, neither of premeditation. Field preaching was a sudden expedient, a thing submitted to rather than chosen; and submitted to, because he thought preaching even thus better than not preaching at all; first, in regard to his own soul, because a dispensation of the gospel being committed to him, he did not dare not to preach the gospel; and secondly, in regard to the souls of others, whom he everywhere saw seeking death in the error of their life.

Some of his friends urged him to settle in college, or to accept a cure of souls: to whom he replied:—

“I have no business at college, having now no office and no pupils; and it will be time enough to consider whether I ought to accept a cure of souls when one is offered to me. On scriptural grounds, I do not think it hard to justify what I am doing. God, in Scripture, commands me, according to my power, to instruct the ignorant, reform the wicked, confirm the virtuous. Man forbids me to do this in another’s parish; that is, in effect, not to do it at all, seeing I have now no parish of my own, nor probably ever shall. Whom then shall I hear? God or man? If it be just to obey man rather than God, judge ye. I look upon all the world as my parish; thus far I mean, that, in whatever part of it I am, I judge it meet, right, and my bounden duty to declare unto all that are willing to hear, the glad tidings of salvation.”

Such was the position taken by Wesley and his friends. Their chief, their only business was to save souls. For this they had a world-wide commission. Nothing short of this could satisfy the yearnings of their nature. Unlike the old Puritans and others, they had no attacks to make on the despotic measures of the court and Church. “In their bosoms there was no rankling grudge against authorities; there was no particle of that venom which, wherever it lodges, infects and paralyses the religious affections.” Their sole quarrel was, not with church or state authorities, but with sin and Satan; and their sole object was, not to make proselytes, but to save sinners.

Their congregations, says James Hutton, “were composed of every description of persons, who, without the slightest attempt at order, assembled, crying ‘Hurrah!’ with one breath, and with the next bellowing and bursting into tears on account of their sins; some poking each other’s ribs, and others shouting ‘Hallelujah.’ It was a jumble of extremes of good and evil; and so distracted alike were both preachers and hearers, that it was enough to make one cry to God for His interference. Here thieves, prostitutes, fools, people of every class, several men of distinction, a few of the learned, merchants, and numbers of poor people who had never entered a place of worship, assembled in crowds and became godly.”

Of course, persecution followed. “We continued,” says Wesley, “to call sinners to repentance in London, Bristol, Bath, and a few other places; but it was not without violent opposition, both from high and low, learned and unlearned. Not only all manner of evil was spoken of us, both in private and public, but the beasts of the people were stirred up almost in all places to knock these mad dogs on the head at once. And when complaint was made of their savage, brutal violence, no magistrate would do us justice.”

The following may be taken as specimens of the opposition met with in 1739. On one occasion, Wesley had obtained permission to preach in Pensford church; but, just as he was setting out, he received a letter, saying that the minister had been informed that he was mad, and that, therefore, the permission was withdrawn. Not being allowed to occupy the church, Wesley took his stand in the open air; but in the midst of prayer, two men, hired for the purpose, began to sing ballads, which obliged Wesley and his friends to begin to sing a psalm, so as to drown one noise by another.

Another incident must be given. Bath, at that period, was perhaps the most fashionable city in England; and the most renowned man in Bath was Richard, commonly called “Beau,” Nash. This accomplished rake, now sixty-five years old, was the son of a glass manufacturer in Wales, and was expelled from Jesus College, Oxford, for his intrigues and wild adventures. At the age of thirty, he was without a fortune, and without talents for acquiring one; and hence, to the end of life, became a gamester. The visit of Queen Anne to Bath, in 1703, had made the city the favourite resort of people of distinction, and, ever after, the amusements of the place were put under the direction of a master of the ceremonies, this sovereignty of the city being decreed to Nash by all ranks of residents and visitors. King of Bath, he had rules posted in the pump-room, from which even royalty itself was not allowed to deviate. He prescribed the dresses in which ladies and gentlemen were to appear at balls, and imperatively fixed the number of dances to be danced. He himself wore a monstrously large white hat, and usually travelled in a post chaise, drawn by six grey horses, honoured with outriders, footmen, French horns, and every other appendage of a pretentious coxcomb. He lived by gambling, and scattered money with as much indifference as he won it. The city of which he was the dandy king was full of fashionable rogues. “Nothing,” says the Weekly Miscellany of that period, “nothing was to be seen in it but play and the preparations for it. Persons of all characters, distinctions, and denominations sat down to cards from morning till night, and from night till morning; and those who disagreed in everything else agreed in this.”

On visiting Bath, Wesley was told that Nash meant to interfere, and was entreated not to attempt to preach. Wesley, however, was not the man to yield to a swaggering rake. He had gone to preach, and preach he would, and did; the threatenings of Nash having made his congregation much larger than was expected. Besides the poor, he had many of the rich and great. Soon after Wesley began his sermon, the “Beau,” in his immense white hat, appeared, and asked by what authority he dared to do what he was doing now. Wesley replied, “By the authority of Jesus Christ, conveyed to me by him who is now Archbishop of Canterbury, when he laid his hands upon me, and said, ‘Take thou authority to preach the gospel.’” “But this,” said Nash, “is a conventicle, and contrary to act of parliament.” “No,” answered Wesley, “conventicles are seditious meetings; but here is no sedition: therefore, it is not contrary to act of parliament.” “I say it is,” cried the man of Bath; “and, besides, your preaching frightens people out of their wits.” “Sir,” said Wesley, “did you ever hear me preach?” “No.” “How then can you judge of what you never heard?” “I judge,” he answered, “by common report.” “Common report,” replied Wesley, “is not enough. Give me leave to ask you, sir, is not your name Nash?” “It is,” he said. “Sir,” retorted Wesley, “I dare not judge of you by common report.” The master of ceremonies was worsted, and, after a pause, simply asked what the people wanted; upon which an old woman begged Wesley to allow her to answer him, and, amid her taunts, the resplendent king of the pump-room sneaked away.

No wonder that the Methodists were opposed. Their preaching, their doctrine, and their whole behaviour were novel. “Being convinced,” writes Wesley, “of that important truth, which is the foundation of all real religion, that ‘by grace we are saved through faith,’ we immediately began declaring it to others. Indeed, we could hardly speak of anything else, either in public or private. It shone upon our minds with so strong a light, that it was our constant theme. It was our daily subject, both in verse and prose; and we vehemently defended it against all mankind. But, in doing this, we were assaulted and abused on every side. We were everywhere represented as mad dogs, and treated accordingly. We were stoned in the streets, and several times narrowly escaped with our lives. In sermons, newspapers, and pamphlets of all kinds, we were painted as unheard of monsters. But this moved us not; we went on testifying salvation by faith both to small and great, and not counting our lives dear unto ourselves, so we might finish our course with joy.”

Wesley here mentions the attacks made upon them by the press. The following are specimens:—

The Scots Magazine, for 1739, remarks that “Whitefield and the two Wesleys offend against the rules of the Christian church, by preaching in opposition to the opinions and instructions of the bishops.” “The Wesleys,” continues this Scottish censor, “are more guilty than Whitefield, because they are men of more learning, better judgment, and cooler heads. Let them go over to their proper companies, their favourites, the Dissenters, and utter their extemporary effusions in a conventicle; but not be suffered in our churches hypocritically to use our forms, which they despise. Let them carry their spirit of delusion among their brethren, the Quakers. Let them preach up their election and reprobation doctrines among the Calvinists; and their solifidian tenets among the Antinomians. Let not such bold movers of sedition, and ringleaders of the rabble, to the disgrace of their order, be regularly admitted into those pulpits which they have taken with multitude and with tumult, or, as ignominiously, by stealth.”

The clergy also began to bestir themselves. On Trinity Sunday, a sermon on regeneration was preached in the parish churches of Greenwich, and of St. Peter the Poor, London, by the Rev. Ralph Skerret, D.D., chaplain to the Earl of Grantham. The sermon, in 8vo, thirty-six pages, was published; but is scarcely worth noticing. The Methodists, however, are spoken of as “restless deceivers of the people, who make it their daily business to fill the heads of the ignorant and unwary with wild, perplexive notions.”

Another sermon, preached before the university of Oxford, on August 5, by the Rev. John Wilder, M.A., rector of St. Aldate’s, on “The Trial of the Spirits,” brands the Methodists as “deceivers,” “babblers,” “insolent pretenders,” “men of capricious humours, spiritual sleight, and canting craftiness,” “novices in divinity,” casting “indecent, false, and unchristian reflections on the clergy,” “newfangled teachers, setting up their own fantastic conceits, in opposition to the authority of God, and so bigoted to their wild opinions, and so puffed up with pride and vanity at the success of their enthusiastic labours, that they all appear fully disposed to maintain and defend their cause by more than spiritual weapons, or to die martyrs for it.”

On the 14th of October, the Rev. Charles Wheatley, M.A., vicar of Furneux Pelham, Herts, preached in St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, a sermon against the “new enthusiasts,” on “St. John’s test of knowing Christ, and being born of Him.” The sermon, with notes, was published, in 8vo, thirty-one pages, but was not calculated to augment the fame of the honest and zealous churchman, who had already given to the public two important ritualistic works, entitled, “A Rational Illustration of the Book of Common Prayer,” and “An Historical Vindication of the Fifty-fifth Canon.” Mr. Wheatley is less abusive than Mr. Wilder; but yet he thinks it right to describe the Methodists as “rapturous enthusiasts, preaching up unaccountable sensations, violent emotions, and sudden changes;” and likewise “assuming to themselves, upon all occasions, the peculiar language of the Holy Ghost; equalling themselves to prophets and apostles; boasting of immediate inspirations; and laying a blasphemous claim to greater miracles than were ever wrought even by Christ Himself.”

Another opponent, in 1739, was Henry Stebbing, a doctor of divinity, a royal chaplain, and preacher to the Honourable Society of Gray’s Inn. This gentleman published “A Caution against Religious Delusion,” in the shape of “a sermon on the New Birth: occasioned by the pretensions of the Methodists.” In this comparatively temperate production, the Methodists are charged with “vain and confident boastings, and with rash uncharitable censures;” with “gathering tumultuous assemblies to the disturbance of the public peace, and with setting at nought all authority and rule;” with “intruding into other men’s labours, and with encouraging abstinence, prayer, and other religious exercises, to the neglect of the duties of our station.” It is admitted that, when there are “so many combinations for vice,” “religious societies for praying, reading (if not expounding) the Scriptures, and singing psalms may be of use for the encouragement of virtue;” but the danger is lest the laymen, who were heads or leaders of these societies, should “grow opinionated of themselves and fond of their own gifts, and should run into wild fancies until the pale of the Church is too strait for them.” Before the end of the year 1739, Stebbing’s sermon reached a sixth edition.

Another antagonist, more violent than Stebbing, was Joseph Trapp, D.D., who published, in 1739, a pamphlet of sixty-nine pages, entitled, “The Nature, Folly, Sin, and Danger of being Righteous over-much; with a particular view to the Doctrines and Practices of certain Modern Enthusiasts. Being the substance of four discourses lately preached in the parish churches of Christ Church and St. Lawrence Jewry, London; and St. Martin’s in the Fields, Westminster. By Joseph Trapp, D.D.”

In this notable production, it is stated that, “for laymen to officiate in reading prayers to any assembly, except their own families, is an encroachment upon the office of those who are ordained to holy functions; and for them to expound or interpret Scripture is neither laudable nor justifiable, but tends to the confirmation, not the removal, of ignorance.” For “a raw novice, though in holy orders” (like Whitefield), “to take upon him, at his first setting out, to be a teacher, not only of all the laity, in all parts of the kingdom, but of the teachers themselves, the learned clergy, many of them learned before he was born, is an outrage upon common decency and common sense; the height of presumption, confidence, and self-sufficiency; so ridiculous as to create the greatest laughter, were it not so deplorable and detestable as to create the greatest grief and abhorrence; especially when vast multitudes are so sottish and wicked as, in a tumultuous manner, to run madding after him.” Trapp insinuates that the Methodists “teach such absurd doctrines, and second them with such absurd practices, as to give countenance to the lewd and debauched, the irreligious and profane. In their own imagination, their errors are the height of wisdom, and their vices the most perfect virtues. They think themselves the greatest saints, when, in truth, they are under strong delusion, in the bond of iniquity, and in the gall of bitterness. They have set the nearest and dearest relations at variance; disturbed the quiet of families; and thrown whole neighbourhoods and parishes into confusion. They were half-dissenters in the Church, and more dangerous to the Church, than those who were total dissenters from it.” “Methodism was nothing but a revival of the old fanaticism of the last century; when all manner of madness was practised, and all manner of villainy committed in the name of Christ.” Its disciples, “like Solomon’s madman, cast firebrands, arrows, and death; and send to hell (only because they are not of their own frantic persuasion) millions of Christians much better than themselves.”

The author proceeds:—“For a clergyman of the Church of England to pray and preach in the fields, in the country, or in the streets of the city, is perfectly new, a fresh honour to the blessed age in which we have the happiness to live. I am ashamed to speak upon a subject, which is a reproach not only to our Church and country, but to human nature itself. Can it promote the Christian religion to turn it into riot, tumult, and confusion? to make it ridiculous and contemptible, and expose it to the scorn and scoffs of infidels and atheists? To the prevalence of immorality and profaneness, infidelity and atheism, is now added the pest of enthusiasm. Our prospect is very sad and melancholy. Go not after these impostors and seducers; but shun them as you would the plague.”

Such are fair specimens of the four fiery sermons preached by Dr. Trapp. Hypocrites, enthusiasts, novelists, ignes fatui, and glaring meteors are the best names which this reverend divine could find for the poor, peaceable, and persecuted Methodists.

Another clerical adversary was “Tristam Land, M.A., late Fellow of Clare Hall, in Cambridge, Curate of St. James, Garlickhith; and Lecturer of the united parishes of St. Anthony and St. John Baptist.” His sixpenny pamphlet of thirty pages was entitled, “A Letter to the Rev. Mr. Whitefield, with a Letter addressed to the Religious Societies.” Whitefield is attacked for teaching the doctrine, that many are baptized without being born again; whereas Tristam Land insists that, according to the teachings of the Church of England, “all infants, at the time they are baptized, are sanctified with the Holy Ghost; and that, though they may afterwards depart from the grace given, and fall into sin, they are not to be commanded to be baptized or born again a second time; for to be born more than once, in a spiritual sense, is just as impossible as to be born twice in a natural. All that can be done in this matter is to use the several means of grace; or, in one word, as the Scripture expresses it, they must be renewed again by repentance.”

This reverend gentleman then proceeds to describe the Methodists as “young quacks in divinity, running about the city, and taking great pains to distract the common people, and to break the peace and unity of the Church. They are like vain persons, who think themselves handsome, and are apt to despise others; for looking upon themselves as exquisite pictures of holiness and as patterns of piety, they represent us (the clergy) as dumb dogs, profane, and carnally minded. They talk much of the pangs of the new birth, their inward feelings, experiences, and spiritual miracles; but their faith is an ill grounded assurance, their hope an unwarrantable presumption, and their charity a censoriousness and a contempt of their brethren of different sentiments to themselves.”

Good old Dr. Byrom, in a letter dated February 8, 1739, says, “The book against Mr. Whitefield by Mr. Land is thought a weak piece.” No wonder.

Besides these, there was published “An Expostulatory Letter to the Rev. Mr. Whitefield;” also an octavo pamphlet of forty pages, entitled, “Observations and Remarks on Mr. Seagrave’s conduct and writings, in which his answer to the Rev. Dr. Trapp’s four sermons is more particularly considered.” In this latter production, it is asserted that Whitefield sinks the house of God into a playhouse, and turns religion to a farce; that prostitutes swarm at his meetings, and there make merchandise as at a country fair; that his congregations are such as crowd to a Smithfield show; and that Whitefield himself is an enthusiast, a blasphemer, and a wavering, wandering preacher of no establishment, but nearly attached to the Dissenting communion, and blending his sermons with a spice both of the Papist and Mahommedan.

In a “Faithful Narrative” of Whitefield’s life and character, it is stated that numberless lies and false reports have been raised in London to vilify his character, and to stigmatise his followers; and he was now branded as a mercenary knave. It was also reported that, in Georgia, he had been imprisoned and personally chastised for making the people mad with enthusiasm.

An “Expostulatory Letter” to Whitefield, “and the rest of his brethren, the Methodists of the Church of England,” octavo, forty pages, and signed “E. B.,” charges them with departing from the rubric in sprinkling children at baptism, thus prostituting a holy ordinance, and substituting an insignificant, unavailing thing, neither worthy of God, nor beneficial to men. It also urges them to be dipped themselves, and thus become exemplars to others.

Besides all these, an attack was made by a young man of eight-and-twenty, curate of All Saints’, Bristol, the Rev. Josiah Tucker, afterwards a doctor of divinity, and Dean of Gloucester. In a Letter, dated June 14, 1739, he accuses Whitefield of propagating “blasphemous and enthusiastic notions, which struck at the root of all religion, and made it the jest of those who sat in the seat of the scornful.” Wesley replied to this, and concludes by advising Tucker not to meddle with controversy, for his talents were not equal to its management. It would only entangle and bewilder him more and more. Besides, there was no pleasure in answering a man whose head was not adapted to the right directing of disputes.

The next onslaught was more authoritative and serious. On August 1, 1739, Edmund Gibson, Bishop of London, published his “Pastoral Letter,” of fifty-five pages, “to the People of his Diocese; especially those of the two great cities of London and Westminster: by way of Caution against Lukewarmness on one hand, and Enthusiasm on the other.” Two-thirds of this prelatical pamphlet are on enthusiasm, and are levelled against the Methodists. Numerous extracts are given from Whitefield’s Journal, to show—1. That these enthusiasts claim to have extraordinary communications with God, and more than ordinary assurances of a special presence with them. 2. That they have a special and immediate mission from God. 3. That they think and act under the immediate guidance of a Divine inspiration. 4. That they speak of their preaching and expounding, and the effects of them, as the sole work of a Divine power. 5. That they boast of sudden and surprising effects as wrought by the Holy Ghost in consequence of their preaching. 6. That they claim the spirit of prophecy. 7. That they speak of themselves in the language, and under the character, of apostles of Christ, and even of Christ Himself. 8. That they profess to plant and propagate a new gospel, as unknown to the generality of ministers and people, in a Christian country. 9. That they endeavour to justify their own extraordinary methods of teaching, by casting unworthy reflections upon the parochial clergy, as deficient in the discharge of their duty, and not instructing their people in the true doctrines of Christianity.

Thirteen days after the “Pastoral Letter” was published, Whitefield wrote an answer to it, and, in a firm but quiet and respectful way, replied to all the bishop’s allegations. He concludes by charging Gibson with propagating a new gospel, because he asserts, that “good works are a necessary condition of our being justified in the sight of God.” He maintains that faith is the only necessary condition, and that good works are the necessary fruit and consequence. “This,” he writes, “is the doctrine of Jesus Christ; this is the doctrine of the Church of England; and it is, because the generality of the clergy of the Church of England do not preach this doctrine, that I am resolved, God being my helper, to continue instant in season and out of season, to declare it unto all men, let the consequences, as to my own private person, be what they will.”

If the bishop really believed his accusations to be true, his pastoral is a model of meek writing. On the other hand, Whitefield’s answer is one of the smartest productions of his pen; its pith and point somewhat reminding us of the terseness which characterized his friend Wesley.

While Whitefield was skirmishing with the Bishop of London, Wesley was having a brush with the Bishop of Bristol. First they discussed the subject of faith as the only necessary condition of a sinner’s justification before God. Then his lordship charged the Methodists with “a horrid thing, a very horrid thing,” namely, “pretending to extraordinary revelations and gifts of the Holy Ghost.” The conversation concluded thus:—

Bishop. “I hear you administer the sacrament in your societies.”

Wesley. “My lord, I never did yet; and I believe I never shall.”

Bishop. “I hear too, that many people fall into fits in your societies, and that you pray over them.”

Wesley. “I do so, my lord, when any show, by strong cries and tears, that their soul is in deep anguish; and our prayer is often heard.”

Bishop. “Very extraordinary indeed! Well, sir, since you ask my advice, I will give it freely. You have no business here; you are not commissioned to preach in this diocese. Therefore, I advise you to go hence.”

Wesley. “My lord, my business on earth is, to do what good I can. Wherever, therefore, I think I can do most good, there must I stay, so long as I think so. At present, I think I can do most good here; therefore, here I stay. Being ordained a priest, by the commission I then received, I am a priest of the church universal; and being ordained as fellow of a college, I was not limited to any particular cure, but have an indeterminate commission to preach the word of God in any part of the Church of England. I conceive not, therefore, that in preaching here by this commission I break any human law. When I am convinced I do, then it will be time to ask, shall I obey God or man? But if I should be convinced in the meanwhile that I could advance the glory of God and the salvation of souls, in any other place more than in Bristol, in that hour, by God’s help, I will go hence; which till then I may not do.”

About the same time, a pamphlet of ninety-six pages was published, entitled, “The Life of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield, by an Impartial Hand.” Impartiality is pretended, but hostility is seen. The object of the Life is evidently to make the subject of it a mark for the shafts of ridicule. Accounts are given of the fracas in St. Margaret’s church, Westminster, on Sunday, February 4. There is also “a method of confession drawn up for the use of the women Methodists,” professedly taken from the original in Whitefield’s or Wesley’s own handwriting, and with which, it is alleged, the Deists are delighted. Among other questions, to be asked, as often as occasion required, were the following: “Are you in love? Whom do you love just now, better than any other person in the world? Is not the person an idol? Does any court you? How do you like him? How do you feel yourself when he comes, when he stays, and when he goes away?” A full account is, likewise, furnished of Joseph Periam, a young clerk to an attorney, who had been converted, partly by reading Whitefield’s sermons on the new birth, and whom his friends had put into a madhouse—(1) Because he fasted for near a fortnight. (2) Because he prayed so as to be heard several storeys high. (3) Because he had sold his clothes and given the money to the poor. The Methodists are further charged with attempting to take away the liberty of the press; Wesley is accused of placing his converts, when delivered from their violent agitations and distortions, on an eminence, for others to behold them; and Whitefield is charged with saying, that he could produce two cobblers in Bristol, that knew more of true Christianity than all the clergy in the city put together. His Journals are designated rhapsodies and repetitions of spiritual pride, vanity and nonsense; he is accused of wilful and notorious falsehood, and of taking pleasure in being abusive and scurrilous.

All this breathes fury; but the following taken from the Weekly Miscellany of July 21, 1739, surpasses it. The Methodist preacher stands on an eminence with admiring and subscribing crowds about him. He is young, which is good; looks innocent, which is better; and has no human learning, which is best of all. He spreads his hands and opens his lips as wide as possible. He talks of a sensible new birth; good women around him come to his assistance; he dilates himself; cries out; the hill swells into a mountain; and parturiunt montes, nascitur ridiculus mus. Then there is a chorus of ten thousand sighs and groans, deepened with the blowing of bassoons and horns. The Methodists are mad enthusiasts who teach, for dictates of the Holy Spirit, seditions, heresies, and contempt of the ordinances of God and man. They are buffoons in religion, and mountebanks in theology; creatures who disclaim sense and are below argument; visionary antics in gowns and cassocks; so buffeted by the devil as to be qualified to be confessors to the whole island; composing sermons as fast as they can write, and speaking faster than they think; and forming societies of females, who are to confess their love affairs one to another, and to take care that there shall be a supply of new Methodists for future generations.

In the same year, appeared a pamphlet, of twenty-eight pages, entitled “The Methodists; an Humorous, Burlesque Poem, addressed to the Rev. Mr. Whitefield and his followers.” The frontispiece represents the great preacher addressing an immense crowd on Kennington Common, while, on the outskirts of the congregation, are coaches of all descriptions, and a gibbet on which three condemned felons are hanging. Describing the Methodists, the poem says:—

After this, the devil is represented as making a tour from Rome to Oxford, in the course of which he stole the bigoted madness of a Turk, and the wit of a modern atheist, both of which he drenched, dull and deep, in a literary Dutchman’s brain, and then, making them his own, and pulling off his horns, and shoeing his cloven foot, dressing himself in a student’s gown, and using for the nonce a distorted face, and, because of the piety of its nasal tones, a Noncon parson’s nose, he introduced himself to the Oxford Methodists, and gave them instructions how to act, so as to effect their purposes,—instructions too lascivious to be reprinted. As a very mild specimen of this foul-mouthed poem, we give another description of the Methodists:—

At the risk of exhausting the reader’s patience, we must notice another anti-Methodist pamphleteer, who, in 1739, did his little best to strangle the new-born system at its birth. This was a certain “James Bate, M.A., Rector of St. Paul’s, Deptford; and formerly Chaplain to His Excellency Horatio Walpole, Esq.”

First of all, the redoubtable author gave to the world a pamphlet of thirty-eight pages, bearing the title, “Methodism Displayed; or Remarks upon Mr. Whitefield’s Answer to the Bishop of London’s Pastoral Letter.” In this production, Whitefield is charged with causing numbers of poor tradesmen to leave their families to starve, only to ramble after himself; in dividing the word of God, he violently divides text from context, and makes arrant nonsense of both; he shuffles and prevaricates; treats the bishop with saucy sneers; is guilty of flat falsehoods, disingenuous quirks, and mean evasions; perfidiously tramples upon the canons of the Church; and flies in the face of his diocesan with unparalleled pride and impudence.

Not having exhausted all his wrath, the same reverend gentleman, at the end of the year, issued another manifesto, of sixty-six pages, entitled, “Quakero-Methodism; or a Confutation of the First Principles of the Quakers and Methodists.” This was a dear shilling’s worth, written in reply to a letter on Bate’s former pamphlet “by T. S—— y, Esq.” Bate asserts that the whole performance of the “Quakero-Methodist” (as T. S—— y is called) may be ranked under the two heads of scurrility and sophistry; but as God, at whose altar he serves, has forbid him to return railing for railing, he will give no answer to the scurrility whatever. He then, notwithstanding this, proceeds to accuse his adversary of having “troubled the public with a load of stupidity, folly, and nonsense.” He alleges against him “insipid sneers, like the grins of an idiot;” he tells him that “the shortest cut for him to avoid writing nonsense is to lay down his pen;” that his “whole stock of knowledge has been laid in at some expounding house that was under the influence of the spirit of presumption, ignorance, pride, and arrogance;” and that “his arguments have never more than two gentle faults, false premises and a false conclusion.” He says, Whitefield “chews” the charges of the Bishop of London, “just as an ass mumbles a thistle, without either the courage to swallow it, or the sense to lay it down;” and concludes by assuring his opponent that he could have “goaded him with the sharpest, bitterest, and severest sarcasms, and have scourged his spiritual pride with wholesome severity;” but in mercy he has refrained from using such “a whip of scorpions.”

The magazines and newspapers of the period were filled with similar abuse of the poor Methodists. The writer has examined most of them, and has been struck with two facts:—(1) of those admitting letters and articles against the Methodists, the fairest and most moderate was the Gentleman’s Magazine; and (2) the bitterest and most violent was the professedly religious Weekly Miscellany, a weekly folio sheet of four pages. The following is a mild specimen from the latter, and refers not only to the movements of Wesley and Whitefield in the south of England, but of Ingham in the north. After accusing Whitefield of “behaviour disgraceful to the Christian religion and to the ministerial office,” the journalist proceeds to say that—

“The clergy had all refused him their pulpits, and the lord mayor the halls and markets of the city.” He was “a conceited boaster and heterodox intruder; whose next performance was to be accompanied with a chorus of ten thousand sighs and groans, deepened with bassoons. In the approaching winter, the town would be entertained with harlequin turned Methodist, by way of reprisals, since the Methodist had turned harlequin. In Yorkshire, by the preaching of the Methodists, the spirit of enthusiasm had so prevailed, that almost every man who could hammer out a chapter in the Bible had turned an expounder of the Scripture, to the great decay of industry, and the almost ruin of the woollen manufacture, which seemed threatened with destruction for want of hands to work it.” “Methodism has laid aside play-books and poems, for Scripture phrases and hymns of its own composing. Its disciples were never easy but when they were in a church, or expounding the Bible, which they could do offhand, from Genesis to Revelation, with great ease and power. They had given away their finery to tattered beggars, resolving to wear the coarsest attire and to live upon the most ordinary diet. They hired barns, where they met at six in the evening; expounded, prayed, and sang psalms till towards ten; and then had a lovefeast to communicate their experiences, especially as to love affairs.” “Several fine ladies, who used to wear French silks, French hoops of four yards wide, bob-wigs, and white satin smock petticoats, were turned Methodists, and now wore stuff gowns, common night-mobs, and plain bays for Jennys.”

Numbers of similar extracts might be given from the newspapers and periodicals of 1739; but the reader has had enough of scurrilous and lying hodge-podge to satisfy the cravings of the greatest gossip.

Such were the premonitory mutterings of the storm in which the Methodist movement was cradled. Mobs threatened; newspapers, magazines, and other periodicals fulminated their malicious squibs; prelates, priests, and doctors of divinity became militant pamphleteers; but, in the midst of all, Wesley and his friends calmly proceeded in their glorious calling. Some even, who were animated with a friendly feeling towards them, looked upon their course of conduct with alarm. Good Dr. Doddridge, in a letter dated May 24, 1739, writes:—

“I think the Methodists sincere; I hope some may be reformed, instructed, and made serious by their means. I saw Mr. Whitefield preaching on Kennington Common last week to an attentive multitude, and heard much of him at Bath; but, supposing him sincere and in good earnest, I still fancy that he is but a weak man—much too positive, says rash things, and is bold and enthusiastic. I am most heartily glad to hear that any real good is done anywhere to the souls of men; but whether these Methodists are in a right way—whether they are warrantable in all their conduct,—whether poor people should be urged, through different persons successively, to pray from four in the morning till eleven at night, is not clear to me; and I am less satisfied with the high pretences they make to the Divine influence. I think what Mr. Whitefield says and does comes but little short of an assumption of inspiration or infallibility.”

Another friend, Mr. T. Hervey, writing in the same month to Samuel Wesley, at Tiverton, says, that he is anxious “to stop the spread and prevalence of several very strange and pestilent opinions;” and expresses the hope that this may be done effectually by the elder brother of Wesley, whom he designates “the dear, but deluded man.” He then proceeds to state that—

“These pestilent opinions are—1. That the method of education, the distinction, order, degrees, and even robes and habits of the university are all anti-Christian. 2. That nothing is taught in it but learning which opposes the power of God. 3. That whoso is born of God is also taught of God, not in any limited sense, but so as to render the use of all natural means of no effect. 4. That all human learning, however said to be sanctified of God, entirely disqualifies a man from preaching the true gospel of Jesus Christ. 5. That none have a right to preach, but such as are immediately called to it by the Holy Ghost. 6. That an established ministry is a mere invention of man. 7. That the Church of England and all its authority are founded on and supported by a lie; and that all who receive a power of preaching from it are in a state of slavery.”

This was a kind and well meant letter, but it was pregnant with mistakes. Still it tends to show the enormous difficulties encountered by the Methodists at the commencement of their history. Sometimes they met a friend, though not often; and it is a pleasing duty to introduce godly Joseph Williams, of Kidderminster, as one who sympathised with their indefatigable endeavours to save the souls of their fellow men. Under the date of September 17, 1739, he writes concerning the two Wesleys, Whitefield, and Ingham:—

“The common people flock to hear them, and, in most places, hear them gladly. They commonly preach once or twice every day; and expound the Scriptures in the evening to religious societies, who have their society rooms for that purpose.” He then proceeds to give an account of his hearing Charles Wesley preach at Bristol. Standing on a table, in a field, the preacher, with eyes and hands lifted up to heaven, prayed with uncommon fervour and fluency. “He then preached about an hour in such a manner as I scarce ever heard any man preach. Though I have heard many a finer sermon, yet I think I never heard any man discover such evident signs of vehement desire” [to benefit his hearers]. “With unusual fervour, he acquitted himself as an ambassador for Christ; and although he used no notes, nor had anything in his hand but a Bible, yet he delivered his thoughts in a rich, copious variety of expression, and with so much propriety, that I could not observe anything incoherent through the whole performance, which he concluded with singing, prayer, and the usual benediction.

“Afterward, I waited on him at Mr. Norman’s. He received me in a very friendly manner. Before he would take any refreshment, he, with a few friends that waited on him, sung a hymn, and then prayed for a blessing, as at set meals. After tea, we sung another hymn; and then I went with them to the religious society, and found the place so thronged, that it was with great difficulty we reached the centre of it. We found them singing a hymn; he then prayed; and proceeded to expound the twelfth chapter of the gospel of St. John, in a sweet, savoury, spiritual manner. This was followed by singing another hymn; and he then prayed over a great number of bills presented by the society, about twenty of which respected spiritual cases. Never did I hear such praying. Never did I see or hear such evident marks of fervency in the service of God. At the close of every petition, a serious Amen, like a gentle, rushing sound of waters, ran through the whole audience. Such evident marks of a lively fervent devotion, I was never witness to before. If there be such a thing as heavenly music upon earth, I heard it there. I do not remember my heart to have been so elevated in Divine love and praise, as it was there and then, for many years past, if ever. Notwithstanding some errors, which, as mere men, they may be liable to, I cannot but believe that God is with them of a truth, and hath raised them up in this day of general defection from gospel purity, simplicity, and zeal, for signal service and usefulness in His church.”

In a letter to Charles Wesley, written in the month of September, 1739, Williams adds: “I heartily wish you God speed. I bless you in the name of the Lord. Fear not what men can do unto you. With Him your judgment is, and your reward with your God.”

Such a testimony from a man so devout, enlightened, and justly famed as Joseph Williams, the Kidderminster carpet weaver, is quite as weighty as any testimony of an opposite character from either Bishop Gibson, or any priest or prelate then watching on the walls of Zion.

We must now return to Wesley at Bristol. Every night he expounded to societies. These were small gatherings of religious people, which had continued meeting for godly purposes for about the last fifty years; for it is important to remember that the “Religious Societies” formed in the days of Dr. Horneck, previous to the abdication of King James, and again revived in the reign of Queen Mary, were not confined to London and Westminster, but existed in different towns throughout the kingdom. We find them in Oxford, Nottingham, Gloucester, Bristol, Newcastle, Dublin, Kilkenny, and other places; and all acting substantially according to the same rules and regulations. They met to pray, sing psalms, and read the Scriptures together; and to reprove, exhort, and edify one another by religious conference. They also carried out designs of charity, such as supporting lectures and daily prayers in churches, releasing imprisoned debtors, and relieving the poor and sending their children to school. In 1737, Whitefield preached “a sermon before the “Religious Societies” at one of their general quarterly meetings in Bow church, London, from the text, Ecclesiastes iv. 9‒12, in which he strongly advocated the practice of Christians meeting together for religious fellowship. “As coals,” says he, “if placed asunder, soon go out, but if heaped together, enliven each other, and afford a lasting heat;” so it is with Christians.

Such were the “Religious Societies” which existed for more than half-a-century before the formation of the “United Societies” of the people called Methodists; and in whose rooms and meetings, in London, Bristol, and elsewhere, Whitefield and the Wesley brothers, for a few years, were accustomed to read and explain the Scriptures almost every night. On arriving in Bristol, Wesley found such societies as these assembling in Castle Street, in Gloucester Lane, in Weavers’ Hall, in Nicholas Street, in the Back Lane, and in Baldwin Street, and at once began expounding to them the Epistle to the Romans, and other portions of the New Testament; and it is a remarkable fact that, with one or two exceptions, all the scenes about to be mentioned took place in these society meetings, or in private dwellings. We furnish them as we find them.

April 17. At Baldwin Street, we called upon God to confirm His word. Immediately, one that stood by cried out aloud, with the utmost vehemence, even as in the agonies of death. But we continued in prayer, till a new song was put into her mouth, a thanksgiving unto our God. Soon after, two other persons were seized with strong pain, and constrained to roar for the disquietude of their heart. But it was not long before they likewise burst forth into praise to God their Saviour. The last who called upon God, as out of the belly of hell, was a stranger in Bristol; and, in a short space, he also was overwhelmed with joy and love, knowing that God had healed his backslidings.

April 21. At Weavers’ Hall, a young man was suddenly seized with a violent trembling all over, and, in a few minutes, sunk to the ground. But we ceased not calling upon God, till He raised him up full of peace and joy in the Holy Ghost.

April 24. At Baldwin Street, a young man, after a sharp though short agony, both of body and mind, found his soul filled with peace, knowing in whom he had believed.

April 26. At Newgate, I was led to pray that God would bear witness to His word. Immediately one, and another, and another sunk to the earth; they dropped on every side as thunderstruck. One of them cried aloud. We besought God in her behalf, and He

turned her heaviness into joy. A second being in the same agony, we called upon God for her also; and He spoke peace unto her soul. In the evening, one was so wounded by the sword of the Spirit, that you would have imagined she could not live a moment. But immediately His abundant kindness was shown, and she loudly sang of His righteousness.

April 27. All Newgate rang with the cries of those whom the word of God cut to the heart; two of whom were in a moment filled with joy, to the astonishment of those that beheld them.

April 30. While I was preaching at Newgate, a woman broke out into strong cries and tears. Great drops of sweat ran down her face, and all her bones shook; but both her body and soul were healed in a moment.

May 1. At Baldwin Street, my voice could scarce be heard amidst the groanings of some, and the cries of others calling aloud to Him that is mighty to save; and ten persons then began to say in faith, “My Lord and my God!” A Quaker, who stood by, was very angry, and was biting his lips, and knitting his brows, when he dropped down as thunderstruck. The agony he was in was even terrible to behold. We prayed for him, and he soon lifted up his head with joy, and joined us in thanksgiving. A bystander, John Haydon, a weaver, a man of regular life and conversation, one that constantly attended the public prayers and sacrament, and was zealous for the Church, and against Dissenters, laboured to convince the people that all this was a delusion of the devil; but next day, while reading a sermon on “Salvation by Faith,” he suddenly changed colour, fell off his chair, and began screaming, and beating himself against the ground. The neighbours were alarmed, and flocked together. When I came in, I found him on the floor, the room being full of people, and two or three holding him as well as they could. He immediately fixed his eyes on me, and said, “Ay, this is he I said deceived the people. But God has overtaken me. I said it was a delusion of the devil; but this is no delusion.” Then he roared aloud, “O thou devil! thou cursed devil! yea, thou legion of devils! thou canst not stay in me. Christ will cast thee out. I know His work is begun. Tear me in pieces, if thou wilt; but thou canst not hurt me.” He then beat himself against the ground; his breast heaving, as if in the pangs of death, and great drops of sweat trickling down his face. We all betook ourselves to prayer. His pangs ceased, and both his body and soul were set at liberty. With a clear, strong voice, he cried, “This is the Lord’s doing; and it is marvellous in our eyes. Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, from this time forth for evermore.” I called again an hour after. We found his body weak as that of an infant, and his voice lost; but his soul was in peace, full of love, and rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. The women of our society met at seven, and, during prayer, one of them fell into a violent agony; but soon after began to cry out, with confidence, “My Lord and my God.”

May 12. In the evening, three persons, almost at once, sunk down as dead, having all their sins set in array before them; but, in a short time, they were raised up, and knew that the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world, had taken away their sins.

May 16. While I was declaring at Baptist Mills, “He was wounded for our transgressions,” a middle aged man began violently beating his breast. During our prayer, God put a new song into his mouth.

May 19. At Weavers’ Hall, a woman first, and then a boy, was overwhelmed with sin, and sorrow, and fear. But we cried to God, and their souls were delivered.

May 20. In the evening God spoke to three whose souls were all storm and tempest, and immediately there was a great calm.

May 21. Although the people had seen signs and wonders, yet many would not believe. They could not, indeed, deny the facts; but they could explain them away. Some said, “These were purely natural effects; the people fainted away only because of the heat and closeness of the rooms.” Others were “sure it was all a cheat; they might help it if they would. Else why were these things only in their private societies?” To-day, our Lord answered for Himself; for, while I was preaching, He began to make bare His arm, not in a close room, neither in private, but in the open air, and before more than two thousand witnesses. One, and another, and another were struck to the earth; exceedingly trembling at the presence of His power. Others cried, with a loud and bitter cry, “What must we do to be saved?” And, in less than an hour, seven persons, wholly unknown to me till that time, were rejoicing, and singing, and, with all their might, giving thanks to the God of their salvation. In the evening, at Nicholas Street, I was interrupted, almost as soon as I had begun to speak, by the cries of one who strongly groaned for pardon and peace. Others dropped down as dead. Thomas Maxfield began to roar out, and beat himself against the ground, so that six men could scarcely hold him. Except John Haydon, I never saw one so torn of the evil one. Many others began to cry out to the Saviour of all, insomuch that all the house, and, indeed, all the street for some space, was in an uproar. But we continued in prayer, and the greater part found rest to their souls. I think twenty-nine in all had their heaviness turned into joy this day.

June 15. At Wapping (London), many of those that heard began to call upon God with strong cries and tears. Some sunk down, and there remained no strength in them; others exceedingly trembled and quaked; some were torn with a kind of convulsive motion in every part of their bodies; and that so violently, that often four or five persons could not hold one of them. I have seen many hysterical and many epileptic fits; but none of them were like these, in many respects. One woman was greatly offended, being sure they might help it if they would; but she also dropped down in as violent an agony as the rest. Twenty-six of those who had been thus affected were filled with peace and joy.

June 16. At Fetter Lane, some fell prostrate on the ground; others burst out into loud praise and thanksgiving; and many openly testified, there had been no such day as this since January the first preceding.

June 22. In the society (Bristol) one before me dropped down as dead, and presently a second, and a third. Five others sunk down in half an hour, most of whom were in violent agonies. In their trouble, we called upon the Lord, and He gave us an answer of peace. All, except one, went away rejoicing and praising God.

June 23. This evening another was seized with strong pangs; but in a short time her soul was delivered.

June 24. In the evening, a girl and four or five other persons were deeply convinced of sin; and, with sighs and groans, called upon God for deliverance.

June 25. About ten in the morning J—— e C—— r, as she was sitting at her work, was suddenly seized with grievous terrors of mind, attended with strong trembling; but, at the society in the evening, God turned her heaviness into joy. Five or six others were also cut to the heart this day; and, soon after, found Him whose hands made whole.

June 26. Three persons terribly felt the wrath of God abiding on them at the society this evening. But, upon prayer being made on their behalf, He was pleased soon to lift up the light of His countenance upon them.

June 30. At Weavers’ Hall, seven or eight persons were constrained to roar aloud; but they were all relieved upon prayer, and sang praises unto our God, and unto the Lamb that liveth for ever and ever.

July 1. A young woman sunk down at Rose Green in a violent agony both of body and mind: as did five or six persons, in the evening, at the new room, at whose cries many were greatly offended. The same offence was given in the morning by one at Weavers’ Hall; and by eight or nine others at Gloucester Lane in the evening.

Here we pause. On June 25, Whitefield wrote to Wesley as follows:—

“Honoured Sir,—I cannot think it right in you to give so much encouragement to those convulsions which people have been thrown into, under your ministry. Was I to do so, how many would cry out every night? I think it is tempting God to require such signs. That there is something of God in it, I doubt not. But the devil, I believe, interposes. I think it will encourage the French Prophets, take people from the written word, and make them depend on visions, convulsions, etc., more than on the promises and precepts of the gospel.”

Twelve days after, Whitefield was in Bristol, and Wesley wrote as follows:—

“July 7. I had an opportunity to talk with Mr. Whitefield of those outward signs which had so often accompanied the work of God. I found his objections were chiefly grounded on gross misrepresentations of matters of fact. But next day he had an opportunity of informing himself better; for, in the application of his sermon, four persons sunk down close to him, almost in the same moment. One of them lay without either sense or motion. A second trembled exceedingly. The third had strong convulsions all over his body, but made no noise, unless by groans. The fourth, equally convulsed, called upon God, with strong cries and tears. From this time, I trust, we shall all suffer God to carry on His own work in the way that pleaseth Him.”

This was an important crisis. Without expressing any opinion respecting these “signs,” as Wesley calls them, we cannot but admire Wesley’s wish and hope that God may be allowed to work His own work in His own way. Of all men living, Wesley was one of the least likely to desire novelties like these; but he was wise enough, and reverent enough, not to interpose when God was working, and to say, that, unless the work was done after a certain fashion, he should object to its being done at all. Some, in modern times, have been in danger of doing this. Sinners have been undeniably converted; but because they have not been converted at the times, or in the places, or by the instrumentalities which men have chosen to commend, they have objected to such conversions, and tacitly desired not to have them multiplied. This was not Wesley’s way. He was one of the greatest sticklers for church order and religious decorum; but he was not the man to protest, that, unless God’s work was carried on in accordance with his own predilections, he should object to it altogether. His words are golden ones, and worth remembering by all his followers:—“From this time, I trust, we shall all suffer God to carry on His own work in the way that pleaseth Him.”

Whitefield’s objections were silenced. He came, he saw, and he was conquered. He writes, under date of July 7:—

“I had a useful conference about many things with my honoured friend Mr. John Wesley. I found that Bristol had great reason to bless God for his ministry. The congregations I observed to be much more serious and affected than when I left them; and their loud and repeated Amens, which they put up to every petition, as well as the exemplariness of their conversation in common life, plainly show that they have not received the grace of God in vain. Ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but how is it that ye cannot discern the signs of these times? That good, great good, is done is evident. What is it but little less than blasphemy against the Holy Ghost to impute this great work to delusion, and to the power of the devil?”

We resume Wesley’s notices of what he designates the “signs” of the work of God.

July 23. On several evenings this week many were deeply convinced; but none were delivered from that painful conviction. I fear we have grieved the Spirit of the jealous God, by questioning His work; and that, therefore, He is withdrawn from us for a season. But He will return and abundantly pardon.

July 30. Two more were in strong pain, both their souls and bodies being well-nigh torn asunder. But, though we cried unto God, there was no answer. One of them cried aloud, though not articulately, for twelve or fourteen hours; when her soul was set at liberty. She was a servant, and her master forbid her returning to his service, saying, he would have none in his house who had received the Holy Ghost.

August 5. Six persons at the new room were deeply convinced of sin; three of whom were a little comforted by prayer.

August 11. In the evening two were seized with strong pangs, as were four the next evening, and the same number at Gloucester Lane on Monday; one of whom was greatly comforted.

August 14. Three at the new room this evening were cut to the heart; but their wound was not as yet healed.

A fortnight after this, Charles Wesley came to Bristol, and John removed to London. The work still progressed at Bristol. In one instance, a woman screamed for mercy, so as to drown Charles’s voice. On another occasion, he “heard on all sides the sighing of them that were in captivity.” “The Lord added to the church daily.”

In London, numbers had been converted under the ministry of Charles Wesley, Whitefield, and others; but there is no evidence to show that there had been any “convulsions” like those at Bristol. It is also a curious fact, that, though Wesley’s preaching on Kennington Common, in Moorfields, and in other places in the metropolis, was crowned with great success, there were hardly any instances of paralysing paroxysms analogous to those already mentioned. When he returned to Bristol, in October, we find a renewal of such cases.

October 11. A woman showed the agony of her soul by crying aloud to God for help. She continued in great torment all night; but, while we were praying for her in the morning, God delivered her out of her distress.

October 12. I was under some concern, with regard to one or two persons, who were tormented in an unaccountable manner; and seemed to be indeed lunatic, as well as sore vexed.

October 23. I was pressed to visit a young woman at Kingswood. I found her on the bed, two or three persons holding her. Anguish, horror, and despair, above all description, appeared in her pale face. The thousand distortions of her whole body showed how the dogs of hell were gnawing at her heart. The shrieks intermixed were scarce to be endured. She screamed out, “I am damned, damned; lost for ever! Six days ago you might have helped me. But it is past. I am the devil’s now, I have given myself to him: his I am, him I must serve, with him I must go to hell; I will be his, I will serve him, I will go with him to hell; I cannot be saved, I will not be saved. I must, I will, I will be damned!” She then begun praying to the devil. We began,—“Arm of the Lord, awake, awake!” She immediately sank down as asleep; but, as soon as we left off, broke out again, with inexpressible vehemence: “Stony hearts, break! I am a warning to you. Break, break, poor stony hearts! I am damned, that you may be saved. You need not be damned, though I must.” She then fixed her eyes on the corner of the ceiling, and said, “There he is. Come, good devil, come. You said you would dash my brains out: come, do it quickly. I am yours, I will be yours.” We interrupted her by calling again upon God; on which she sunk down as before: and another young woman began to roar out as loud as she had done. My brother now came in, it being about nine o’clock. We continued in prayer till past eleven; when God, in a moment, spoke peace into the soul, first of the first tormented, and then of the other. And they both joined in singing praise to Him who had “stilled the enemy and the avenger.”

October 25. I was sent for to one in Bristol, who was taken ill the evening before. She lay on the ground furiously gnashing her teeth, and after awhile roared aloud. It was not easy for three or four persons to hold her, especially when the name of Jesus was named. We prayed; the violence of her symptoms ceased, though without a complete deliverance. In the evening, I was sent for to her again. She began screaming before I came into the room; then broke out into a horrid laughter, mixed with blasphemy. One, who apprehended a preternatural agent to be concerned in this, asking, “How didst thou dare to enter into a Christian?” was answered, “She is not a Christian—she is mine.” This was followed by fresh trembling, cursing, and blaspheming. My brother coming in, she cried out, “Preacher! Field preacher! I don’t love field preaching.” This was repeated two hours together, with spitting, and all the expressions of strong aversion. We left her at twelve, and called again at noon next day. And now it was, that God showed He heareth prayer. All her pangs ceased in a moment: she was filled with peace, and knew that the son of wickedness was departed from her.

October 27. I was sent for to Kingswood again, to one of those who had been so ill before. A violent rain began just as I set out. Just at that time, the woman (then three miles off) cried out, “Yonder comes Wesley, galloping as fast as he can.” When I was come, she burst into a horrid laughter, and said, “No power, no power; no faith, no faith. She is mine; her soul is mine. I have her, and will not let her go.” We begged of God to increase our faith. Meanwhile, her pangs increased more and more; so that one would have imagined, by the violence of the throes, her body must have been shattered to pieces. One, who was clearly convinced this was no natural disorder, said, “I think Satan is let loose. I fear he will not stop here,” and added, “I command thee in the name of the Lord Jesus, to tell if thou hast commission to torment any other soul.” It was immediately answered, “I have. L——y C——r and S——h J——s.” We betook ourselves to prayer again; and ceased not, till she began, with a clear voice, and composed, cheerful look, to sing, “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.”

The reader must be told that L——y C——r and S——h J——s lived at some distance, and, at the time, were in perfect health. The day after, they were affected in the same way as the poor creature just delivered. Wesley writes:—

October 28. I called at Mrs. J——s’, in Kingswood. L——y C——r and S——h J——s were there. It was scarce a quarter of an hour before the former fell into a strange agony; and, presently after, the latter. The violent convulsions all over their bodies were such as words cannot describe. Their cries and groans were too horrid to be borne; till one of them, in a tone not to be expressed, said, “Where is your faith now? Come, go to prayers. I will pray with you.” We took the advice, and poured out our souls before God, till L——y C——r’s agonies so increased, that it seemed she was in the pangs of death. But, in a moment, God spoke; and both her body and soul were healed. We continued in prayer till past midnight, when S——h J——s’ voice was also changed, and she began to call upon God. This she did for the greatest part of the night. In the morning, we renewed our prayers, while she was crying continually, “I burn! I burn! O what shall I do? I have a fire within me. I cannot bear it. Lord Jesus! help! Amen, Lord Jesus!”

A few other cases occurred in 1739; and, notably, one on November 30, when seven persons were grievously tormented, and Wesley and his friends continued in prayer from the time of evening service till nine o’clock next morning, that is, for about fifteen hours, a case almost unparalelled in the history of the church of Christ.

These are strange and mysterious facts; and, what adds to the strangeness, is that, excepting the cases in London, on June 15, 16, and September 17, 18, all of them occurred in Bristol and its immediate neighbourhood. During the space of time which these extracts cover, Wesley preached at Bath, Kennington Common, Moorfields, Blackheath, Gloucester, Bradford, Wells, Oxford, and in several towns in Wales, and other places; but scenes like those above described were never witnessed except in Bristol. It is also a curious circumstance, that, though the preaching of Charles Wesley and of Whitefield was quite as faithful as the preaching of Wesley himself, and was far more impassioned, yet no such “signs” seem to have been attendant on their ministry as were attendant on his. Similar effects sometimes followed the preaching of Cennick, during Wesley’s absence in London, but these occurred also either at Kingswood or in Bristol. Writing to Wesley under date of September 12, 1739, he says:—

“On Monday night, I was preaching at the school on the forgiveness of sins, when numbers cried out with a loud and bitter cry. Indeed, it seemed that the devil and the powers of darkness were come among us. My mouth was stopped. The cries were terrifying. It was pitch dark; it rained much; and the wind blew vehemently. Large flashes of lightning and loud claps of thunder mingled with the screams and exclamations of the people. The hurry and confusion cannot be expressed. The whole place seemed to resemble the habitation of apostate spirits; many raving up and down, and crying, ‘The devil will have me; I am his servant! I am damned! My sins can never be pardoned! I am gone, gone for ever!’ A young man was in such horrors, that seven or eight persons could scarce hold him. He roared like a dragon: ‘Ten thousand devils, millions, millions of devils are about me!’ This continued three hours, and what a power reigned amongst us! Some cried out with a hollow voice, ‘Mr. Cennick! Bring Mr. Cennick!’ I came to all that desired me. They then spurned me with all their strength, grinding their teeth, and expressing all the fury that heart can conceive. Their eyes were staring and their faces swollen, and several have since told me, that when I drew near, they felt fresh rage, and longed to tear me in pieces. I never saw the like, nor even the shadow of it before. Yet I was not in the least afraid, as I knew God was on our side.”

Such are the facts; nothing has been distorted, and nothing kept back. They were occasionally repeated after the year 1739, but not often. A few cases subsequently occurred in Bristol, and also in London, and in Newcastle; but nearly all related in Wesley’s Journals are contained in the extracts already given.

What shall be said concerning them? For a hundred and thirty years, they have been sneered at by Wesley’s enemies, and have also puzzled Wesley’s friends. No such results attended Whitefield’s ministry, and Whitefield himself regarded them with suspicion and dislike. Charles Wesley, at Newcastle, in 1743, did his utmost to discourage them. He writes:—

“Many, no doubt, were, at our first preaching, struck down, both soul and body, into the depth of distress. Their outward affections were easy to be imitated. Many counterfeits I have already detected. The first night I preached here, half my words were lost through their outcries. Last night, before I began, I gave public notice that whosoever cried, so as to drown my voice, should be carried to the farthest corner of the room. But my porters had no employment the whole night; yet the Lord was with us, mightily convincing of sin and of righteousness. I am more and more convinced, the fits were a device of Satan to stop the course of the gospel.”

Samuel Wesley was in great doubt respecting them, and, in a letter dated September 3, 1739, asks:—“Did these agitations ever begin during the use of any collects of the Church? or during the preaching of any sermon that had before been preached within consecrated walls without effect? or during the inculcating any other doctrine besides that of your new birth?”

The Rev. Ralph Erskine wrote to Wesley thus: “Some of the instances you give seem to be exemplified, in the outward manner, by the cases of Paul and the gaoler, as also Peter’s hearers (Acts ii.). The last instance you give of some struggling as in the agonies of death, is to me somewhat more inexplicable, if it do not resemble the child of whom it is said, that ‘when he was yet a coming, the devil threw him down and tore him.’ I make no question, Satan, so far as he gets power, may exert himself on such occasions, partly to mar and hinder the beginning of the good work, in the persons that are touched with the sharp arrows of conviction; and partly also to prevent the success of the gospel on others. However, the merciful issue of these conflicts, in the conversion of the persons thus affected, is the main thing.”

Erskine proceeds to state, that they have something, in Scotland, analogous to what had occurred in Bristol. Sometimes a whole congregation, in a flood of tears, would cry out at once, so as to drown the voice of the minister.

The Rev. William Hales, D.D., in his “Methodism Inspected,” accounts for these paroxysms on “natural grounds; the sympathetic nature of all violent emotions being well known to those who have studied the physical and moral constitution of man.”

Southey writes:—

“A powerful doctrine, preached with passionate sincerity, produced a powerful effect upon weak minds, ardent feelings, and disordered fancies. There are passions which are as infectious as the plague, and fear itself is not more so than fanaticism. When once these bodily affections were declared to be the throes of the new birth, a free licence was proclaimed for every kind of extravagance; and when the preacher encouraged them to throw off all restraint, and abandon themselves before the congregation to these mixed sensations of mind and body, the consequences were what might be anticipated.”

Southey forgets that “powerful doctrine” was preached, with as much “passionate sincerity,” by Whitefield and by Charles Wesley, as by Wesley himself; but without the same effects. Besides, it is untrue that Wesley ever “encouraged” the affected people “to abandon themselves to these mixed sensations of mind and body.”

The Rev. R. Watson writes:—

“That cases of real enthusiasm occurred at this and subsequent periods, is indeed allowed. There are always nervous, dreamy, and excitable people to be found; and the emotion produced among these would often be communicated by natural sympathy. No one could be blamed for this, unless he had encouraged the excitement for its own sake, or taught the people to regard it as a sign of grace, which most assuredly Mr. Wesley never did. Nor is it correct to represent these effects, genuine and fictitious together, as peculiar to Methodism. Great and rapid results were produced in the first ages of Christianity, but not without ‘outcries,’ and strong corporeal as well as mental emotions. Like effects often accompanied the preaching of eminent men at the Reformation; and many of the Puritan and Nonconformist ministers had similar successes in our own country. In Scotland, and also among the grave Presbyterians of New England, previous to the rise of Methodism, the ministry of faithful men had been attended by very similar circumstances; and, on a smaller scale, the same results have followed the ministry of modern missionaries of different religious societies in various parts of the world. It may be laid down as a principle established by fact, that whenever a zealous and faithful ministry is raised up, after a long, spiritual dearth, the early effects of that ministry are not only powerful, but often attended with extraordinary circumstances; nor are such extraordinary circumstances necessarily extravagancies because they are not common. It is neither irrational nor unscriptural to suppose, that times of great national darkness and depravity should require a strong remedy; and that the attention of the people should be roused by circumstances which could not fail to be noticed by the most unthinking. We do not attach primary importance to secondary circumstances; but they are not to be wholly disregarded. The Lord was not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still small voice; yet that still small voice might not have been heard, except by minds roused from their inattention by the shaking of the earth and the sounding of the storm.”

Isaac Taylor writes:—

“These disorders resembled, in some of their features, the demoniacal possessions mentioned in the gospel history. The bodily agitations were perhaps as extreme in the one class of instances as in the other; nevertheless, there is no real analogy between the two. The demoniacs were found in this state by Christ where He went preaching; they did not become such while listening to Him. Besides, in no one instance recorded in the Gospels or Acts, did demoniacal possession, or any bodily agitations resembling it, come on as the initial stage of conversion. How then are we to dispose of such cases? Perhaps not at all to our satisfaction, except so far as this, that they serve to render so much the more unambiguous the distinction between themselves and those genuine affections which the apostolic writers describe and exemplify.”

What says Wesley himself? With due deference to the great names quoted, we respect his testimony more than theirs: first, because he was, in sobriety of feeling, in depth of learning, and in clearness of judgment, at least their equal; and secondly, because his opinion was pronounced after being an eye-witness, whilst theirs is founded entirely upon the representations of others, and their own ideas of how things ought to be.

1. The cases were real, not pretended, and often ended in genuine conversion. “You deny,” writes Wesley at the time, “You deny that God does now work these effects; at least, that He works them in this manner. I affirm both; because I have heard these things with my own ears, and have seen them with my own eyes. I have seen very many persons changed, in a moment, from the spirit of fear, horror, despair, to the spirit of love, joy, and peace; and from sinful desire, till then reigning over them, to the pure desire of doing the will of God. I know several persons, in whom this great change was wrought in a dream, or during a strong representation to the eye of their mind, of Christ either on the cross, or in glory. This is the fact; let any judge of it as they please.”

2. Why were these things permitted? Wesley says: “Perhaps it might be because of the hardness of our hearts, unready to receive anything unless we see it with our eyes and hear it with our ears, that God, in tender condescension to our weakness, suffered so many outward signs of the very time when He wrought this inward change to be continually seen and heard among us. But although they saw ‘signs and wonders’ (for so I must term them), yet many would not believe. They could not indeed deny the facts; but they could explain them away.”

3. How were these extraordinary circumstances brought about? Wesley again shall answer. Five years after—when he had heard all that his enemies had to say—when such convulsive agitations no longer happened—and when he had had sufficient time to test the genuineness of these remarkable Bristol and Kingswood conversions, and to form a calm judgment upon the whole, he wrote as follows:—“The extraordinary circumstances that attended the conviction or repentance of the people may be easily accounted for, either on principles of reason or Scripture. First, on principles of reason. For how easy is it to suppose, that a strong, lively, and sudden apprehension of the heinousness of sin, the wrath of God and the bitter pains of eternal death, should affect the body as well as the soul, during the present laws of vital union;—should interrupt or disturb the ordinary circulations, and put nature out of its course? Yea, we may question, whether, while this union subsists, it be possible for the mind to be affected, in so violent a degree, without some or other of those bodily symptoms following. Secondly, it is likewise easy to account for these things on principles of Scripture. For when we take a view of them in this light, we are to add to the consideration of natural causes the agency of those spirits who still excel in strength, and, as far as they have leave from God, will not fail to torment whom they cannot destroy; to tear those that are coming to Christ. It is also remarkable that there is plain Scripture precedent of every symptom which has lately appeared.”

We have nothing more to add. Perhaps the reader will think that more has been said than the thing deserved. We demur to that opinion. The phenomena recorded are among the most remarkable in church history; they are curious and mysterious; they have given rise to endless critiques, both friendly and otherwise, and, for such reasons, merit the space we have devoted to them. Dr. Hales’ doctrine of “the sympathetic nature of all violent emotions,” though true, is not sufficient to account for many of the instances related. Southey’s opinion is flippant, and is based upon false assumptions. Watson’s is of great importance, and, as contained at greater length in his Life of Wesley, is the most elaborate discussion of the subject that has yet been written. Isaac Taylor’s, to some extent, coincides with Wesley’s; which, upon the whole, is the clearest, fullest, and the best.

Other events, belonging to the year 1739, must now be noticed.

Kingswood, so often mentioned, was formerly a royal chase, containing between three and four thousand acres; but, previous to the rise of Methodism, it had been gradually appropriated by the several lords whose estates encircled it. The deer had disappeared, and the greater part of the wood also; coal mines had been discovered, and it was now inhabited by a race of people, as lawless as the foresters, their forefathers, but far more brutal; and differing as much from the people of the surrounding country in dialect as in appearance. They had no place of worship; for Kingswood then belonged to the parish of St. Philip, and was, at least, three miles distant from the parish church. The people were famous for neither fearing God nor regarding man; and so ignorant of sacred things that they seemed but one remove from the beasts that perish. They were utterly without desire of instruction, as well as without the means of it. The place resounded with cursing and blasphemy. It was filled with clamour and bitterness, wrath and envyings, idle diversions, drunkenness, and uncleanness; a hell upon earth. Only fifteen weeks before Whitefield’s first visit, the colliers had risen with clubs and firearms, and gone from pit to pit threatening the lives of all the workmen who would not join them in defeating the ends of justice, in reference to a riot that had occurred a short time previously. At White Hill, four mines were filled up; and carts, reels, and ropes belonging to others were cut and burned. The soldiers were called out, and the swarthy rioters ran away.

Kingswood was Whitefield’s first field-pulpit, for here, on February 17, 1739, he began his glorious career of out-door preaching. Within six weeks after this, the day before Wesley came to Bristol, Whitefield dined with the colliers, who contributed upwards of £20 towards the erection of a school. Four days after this, the miners prepared him another hospitable entertainment, after which he laid the foundation stone, knelt upon it, and offered prayer, to which the colliers said, “Amen.”

On the same day, Whitefield took his departure from Bristol, leaving Wesley as his successor; and, with the exception of a visit of a week’s duration in the month of July following, he was not at Kingswood again during the next two years. Whitefield began the school at Kingswood: the colliers gave upwards of £20; Whitefield collected £40 in subscriptions; and, on two subsequent occasions, he made collections for the same purpose, once when he preached his farewell sermon at Bristol, on July 13, before embarking for America; and once in Moorfields, when the sum of £24 9s. was contributed. This was all. The rest devolved on Wesley. He alone was responsible for the payment of the debts incurred; and, for many months, wherever he went, he begged subscriptions for the colliers’ school. The school itself consisted of one large room, with four smaller ones for the teacher’s residence, and was not completed till the spring of 1740. The object was to teach the children of the poor, first religion, and then to read, write, and cast accounts; but Wesley also expected to have “scholars of all ages, some of them grey-headed,” who were to be taught, separate from the children, “either early in the morning, or late at night,” so that their work might not be hindered by their education.

Within six weeks after Whitefield laid the first stone of Kingswood school, Wesley took possession of a piece of ground in the Horse Fair, Bristol, and began to build a room large enough to contain the societies of Nicholas Street and Baldwin Street. This was done without the least apprehension or design of his being personally engaged, either in the expense of the work, or in the direction of it; he having appointed eleven trustees, by whom he supposed the burdens would be borne. He soon found that he had made a great mistake. In a short time, a debt was contracted of more than £150, whereas the subscriptions of the trustees and of the two societies were not a quarter of that amount. This debt devolved upon him. He had no money, nor any human prospect or probability of procuring any; but he knew “the earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof,” and he dared to trust Him. Besides this, Whitefield and other friends in London most strongly objected to the building being the property of trustees, on the ground that Wesley would be under their control; and, unless his preaching pleased them, they might eject him from the house he himself had built. Whitefield declared that, unless the trustship was destroyed, neither he nor his friends would contribute anything towards the expenses. Wesley yielded; the trustees were summoned; all agreed to the alteration; the deed was cancelled; and Wesley became the sole proprietor.

This, though insignificant at the time, was a matter of great importance; for, in this manner, nearly all the chapels, erected in the early part of his career, were vested in himself,—a thing involving serious responsibility, which, however, was honourably fulfilled; for trusts were afterwards created; and, by his “Deed of Declaration,” all his interests in his chapels were transferred to his Legal Conference.

Thus we find Wesley, with no income whatever, except the small amount arising out of his Oxford fellowship, involved in what, to a poor man, were two serious undertakings. But even this was not all the burden that he took upon himself. He spent the beginning of November in London; and whilst there, two gentlemen, then unknown to him, came again and again, urging him to preach in a place called the Foundery, near Moorfields. With much reluctance he consented. He writes:—“Sunday, November 11, I preached at eight to five or six thousand, on the spirit of bondage and the spirit of adoption; and, at five in the evening, to seven or eight thousand, in the place which had been the king’s foundery for cannon.” He was then pressed to take the place into his own hands. He did so. The purchase-money was £115; but the place being “a vast, uncouth heap of ruins,” a large sum additional to this had to be expended in needful repairs, in building two galleries for men and women hearers respectively, and in enlarging a room for the society to almost thrice its present size. To meet this large expenditure, Ball, Watkins, and other friends lent him the purchase-money; and offered to pay subscriptions, some four, some six, and some ten shillings a year towards the liquidation of the debt. In three years, these subscriptions amounted to about £480, leaving however a balance of nearly £300, for which Wesley was still responsible. From this it would seem that the entire cost of the old Foundery was about £800.

This was the first Methodist meeting-house of which the metropolis could boast, and a brief description of it may not be out of place.

It stood in the locality called “Windmill Hill,” now known by the name of Windmill Street, a street that runs parallel with City Road, and abuts on the north-west corner of Finsbury Square. The building was placed on the east side of the street, some sixteen or eighteen yards from Providence Row; and measured about forty yards in front, from north to south, and about thirty-three yards in depth, from east to west. There were two front doors, one leading to the chapel, and the other to the preacher’s house, school, and bandroom. A bell was hung in a plain belfry, and was rung every morning at five o’clock for early service, and every evening at nine for family worship; as well as at sundry other times. The chapel, which would accommodate some fifteen hundred people, was without pews; but, on the ground floor, immediately before the pulpit, were about a dozen seats with back rails, appropriated to female worshippers. Under the front gallery were the free seats for women; and, under the side galleries, the free seats for men. The front gallery was used exclusively by females, and the side galleries by males. “From the beginning,” says Wesley, “the men and women sat apart, as they always did in the primitive church; and none were suffered to call any place their own, but the first comers sat down first. They had no pews; and all the benches for rich and poor were of the same construction.”

The bandroom was behind the chapel, on the ground floor, some eighty feet long and twenty feet wide, and accommodated about three hundred persons. Here the classes met; here, in winter, the five o’clock morning service was conducted; and here were held, at two o’clock, on Wednesdays and Fridays, weekly meetings for prayer and intercession. The north end of the room was used for a school, and was fitted up with desks; and at the south end was “The Book Room” for the sale of Wesley’s publications.

Over the bandroom were apartments for Wesley, in which his mother died; and, at the end of the chapel was a dwelling house for his domestics and assistant preachers; while attached to the whole was a small building used as a coach-house and stable.

Why was the building called the Foundery? Because, for a number of years, it was used by the government in casting cannon. When Wesley bought it, the edifice had been a ruin for about twenty years. In 1716, whilst recasting the injured guns taken from the French in the successful campaigns of Marlborough, a terrible explosion blew off the roof, shook the building, killed several of the workmen, burnt others, and broke the limbs of not a few. This led to an abandonment of the place, and the removal of the royal foundery to Woolwich. The next occupants were Wesley and the Methodists; and the echoes of prayer and praise succeeded the clang of anvils and the roar of furnaces of fire.

When first opened, it was described by Silas Told as “a ruinous place, with an old pantile covering,” the structure to a great extent consisting of “decayed timbers,” and the pulpit being made of “a few rough boards.” It may be interesting, to the curious reader, to add, that a few years ago, the old Foundery bell, used in calling the people to the five o’clock preaching, was still in existence, and was attached to the school at Friar’s Mount, London; that, at the present moment, the old Foundery pulpit is preserved at Richmond, and is used by the Richmond students every week; and that the old Foundery chandelier is now in use in the chapel at Bowes, in Yorkshire.

This was really the cradle of London Methodism. Here Wesley began to preach at the end of 1739. The character of the services held in this rotten, pantile covered building may be learnt from Wesley’s Works. Wesley began the service with a short prayer, then sung a hymn and preached (usually about half an hour), then sung a few verses of another hymn, and concluded with a prayer. His constant theme was, salvation by faith, preceded by repentance, and followed by holiness. The place was rough and the people poor; but the service simple, scriptural, beautiful. No wonder, that such a priest, shut out of the elaborately wrought pulpits of the Established Church, and now cooped up within a pulpit made of “rough deal boards,” should be powerful, popular, and triumphant.

Passing from pulpits to preachers, we must venture here to correct an error, which, from the first, seems to have been current in the Methodist community. All Methodist historians have assumed that Thomas Maxfield was Methodism’s first lay preacher; that is, the first who was allowed to expound the Scriptures without being formally ordained to that holy service. This is a mistake. Thomas Maxfield was not converted until the 21st of May, 1739; and yet, a month after this, we find John Cennick, the converted land surveyor, employed with Wesley’s sanction, in preaching to the Kingswood colliers.

Methodism’s first lay preacher deserves a passing notice. He has never yet had justice done him, and we regret that limited space prevents justice being rendered even here.

John Cennick was the son of Quakers, and, from infancy, was taught to pray every night and morning. At thirteen years of age, he went nine times, from Reading to London, to be apprenticed to a trade, but all to no purpose, except that he was taken on trial by a carpenter, who refused to retain his services when the time was come for his being bound. In 1735, John was convinced of sin, while walking in Cheapside, and, at once, left off song singing, card playing, and attending theatres. Sometimes he wished to go into a popish monastery, to spend his life in devout retirement. At other times, he longed to live in a cave, sleeping on fallen leaves, and feeding on forest fruits. He fasted long and often, and prayed nine times every day. He was afraid of seeing ghosts, and terribly apprehensive lest he should meet the devil. Fancying dry bread too great an indulgence for so great a sinner as himself, he began to feed on potatoes, acorns, crabs, and grass; and often wished he could live upon roots and herbs. At length, on September 6, 1737, he found peace with God, and went on his way rejoicing. Like Howel Harris, he, at once, commenced preaching; and also began to write hymns, a number of which Charles Wesley, in July, 1739, corrected for the press.

We have already seen that, in March, 1739, Wesley and Cennick met at Reading. Shortly after that, Whitefield proposed that Cennick should become the master of the school in Kingswood, whose first stone was laid in the month of May; and, on the 11th of June, off he set on foot, from Reading to Bristol, sleeping all night in an old stable on his way. On arriving there, he found that Wesley had gone to London; but was invited to go to Kingswood to hear a young man (query, Thomas Maxfield?) read a sermon to the colliers. The place for meeting was under a sycamore tree, near the intended school. Four or five hundred colliers were assembled, but the young reader had not arrived. Cennick was requested to take his place; he reluctantly complied, preached a sermon, and says, “The Lord bore witness with my words, insomuch that many believed in that hour.” Cennick preached again on the day following, and on the succeeding sabbath twice.

Meanwhile Howel Harris came; and, on the ensuing Tuesday, Wesley. How did Wesley receive the two lay preachers? Harris went to Wesley’s lodgings. They fell upon their knees; and Harris writes, “He was greatly enlarged in prayer for me, and for all Wales.” Full of holy feeling, the Welsh evangelist crossed the channel, and found wider doors of usefulness than ever. Cennick too was not restrained. He tells us, that many of the people desired Wesley to forbid him; but, so far from doing so, he encouraged him; and, thus encouraged, he preached constantly in Kingswood and the neighbouring villages for the next eighteen months, and sometimes supplied Wesley’s place in Bristol, when he was absent, preaching in other towns.

Honour to whom honour is due. We repudiate the wish to take from Maxfield a particle of fame, which of right belongs to him; but there cannot be a doubt that John Cennick was one of Wesley’s lay preachers before Maxfield was. Neither is there aught contradictory to this in Wesley’s writings. It is true, that Wesley, after mentioning that the first society was formed at the end of 1739, goes on to say: “After a time, a young man, Thomas Maxfield, came and desired to help me as a son in the gospel;” but this is not opposed to the fact, that John Cennick had already helped him at Kingswood, Bristol, and other places. Myles thinks that it is probable, that Maxfield, Richards, and Westall were all employed by Wesley in the beginning of the year 1740. Perhaps so; but we have already seen that Cennick was preaching, with the approbation and encouragement of Wesley, as early as the month of June, 1739.

This is not the place to pursue the footsteps of Methodism’s first lay preacher. Suffice it to remark, though his career was comparatively short, in zealous and successful labour it is difficult to equal it. Cennick had his weaknesses; but, in deadness to the world, communion with God, Christian courage, and cheerful patience, he had few superiors. Despite his Calvinism and his differences with Wesley, we admire and love the man. He died in 1755.

Here then was another momentous step taken by the arch-Methodist. Wesley had been bred within a strict ecclesiastical enclosure. He was firm in his attachment to the principles and practices of the English Church, and was far from being indifferent to the prerogatives of its priests; but he was far too wise and reverent a man to say that the salvation of the human family would be too dearly purchased if promoted by a departure from church usages. Christianity, though conserved by church order, does not exist for the sake of it. As a student of church history, Wesley must have known that, again and again, unless order had given way to a higher necessity, the gospel, instead of holding on its way in its brightness and in its purity, would, long ere now, in the hands of idolizers of ancient rules, have been extinguished in the very path where it ought to have shed an unceasing flame. In no man was there a greater combination of docility and courage; and hence, when Wesley met with men like Cennick, full of fervent consciousness of the reality, power, and blessedness of Christ’s religion; and employing a style, terse from intensity of feeling, and copious from the fulness of their theme,—no wonder that, instead of forbidding, he encouraged them to preach the glorious truths, which they not merely understood, but felt.

This was a startling innovation; and, doubtless, horrified the stereotyped ministries and priesthoods existing round about; but the fields were white to the harvest, and the labourers were few; and Wesley could not, durst not, forbid an increase to the staff, because the added workers had not been trained in colleges, and came not in all the priestly paraphernalia of surplices and hoods, gowns and bands. No doubt he would have preferred the employment of clerics like himself; but, in the absence of such, he was driven to adopt the measure which we think the salvation of his system, and, in some respects, its glory.

“I knew your brother well,” said Robinson, the Archbishop of Armagh, when he met Charles Wesley at the Hotwells, Bristol: “I knew your brother well; I could never credit all I heard respecting him and you; but one thing in your conduct I could never account for, your employing laymen.” “My Lord,” said Charles, “the fault is yours and your brethren’s.” “How so?” asked the primate. “Because you hold your peace, and the stones cry out.” “But I am told,” his grace continued, “that they are unlearned men.” “Some are,” said the sprightly poet, “and so the dumb ass rebukes the prophet.” His lordship said no more.

The following letter of Whitefield has not been previously printed so fully as at present. As it was written at the time when Cennick began preaching, it may appropriately be inserted here. Its references to other matters are also deeply interesting.

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