PART II. (continued 5)

What was the result? Wesley called together these weekly collectors of money to pay the debt on the Bristol chapel, and desired each, in addition to collecting money, to make particular inquiry into the behaviour of the members whom they visited. They did so. Many disorderly walkers were detected; and thus the society was purged of unworthy members.[443]

Within six weeks after this, on March 25, Wesley introduced the same plan in London; where he had long found it difficult to become acquainted with all the members personally. He requested “several earnest and sensible men to meet him,” to whom he explained his difficulty. They all agreed that, “to come to a sure, thorough knowledge of each member, there could be no better way than to divide the society into classes, like those at Bristol.” Wesley, at once, appointed, as leaders, “those in whom he could most confide”; and thus, after an existence of three years, the Methodist societies were divided into classes, in 1742. “This,” says Wesley, “was the origin of our classes, for which I can never sufficiently praise God; the unspeakable usefulness of the institution having ever since been more and more manifest.”[444]

At first, the leaders visited each member at his own house; but this was soon found to be inconvenient. It required more time than the leaders had to spare; and many members lived with masters, mistresses, or relations, where it was almost impossible for such visits to be made. Hence, before long, it was agreed, that each leader should meet his apportioned members all together, once a week, at a time and place most convenient for the whole. The leader began and ended each meeting with singing and prayer, and spent about an hour in conversing with those present, one by one.[445]

Thus class-meetings began. Wesley writes, “It can scarce be conceived what advantages have been reaped by this little prudential regulation. Many now experienced that Christian fellowship, of which they had not so much as an idea before. They began to bear one another’s burdens, and naturally to care for each other’s welfare. And as they had daily a more intimate acquaintance, so they had a more endeared affection for each other. Upon reflection, I could not but observe, this is the very thing which was from the beginning of Christianity. As soon as any Jews or heathen were so convinced of the truth, as to forsake sin, and seek the gospel of salvation, the first preachers immediately joined them together; took an account of their names; advised them to watch over each other; and met these κατηχουμενοι, catechumens, as they were then called, apart from the great congregation, that they might instruct, rebuke, exhort, and pray with them, and for them, according to their several necessities.”[446]

Such is Wesley’s own account of the origin of these weekly meetings. Some of the old members were, at first, extremely averse to this new arrangement, regarding it, not as a privilege, but rather a restraint. They objected, that there were no such meetings when they joined the society, and asked why such meetings should be instituted now. To this Wesley answered, that he regarded class-meetings not essential, nor of Divine institution, but merely prudential helps, which it was a pity the society had not been favoured with from the beginning. “We are always open to instruction,” says he to these complainants, “willing to be wiser every day than we were before, and to change whatever we can change for the better.”

Another objection was, “There is no scripture for classes.” Wesley replied, that there was no scripture against them; and that, in point of fact, there was much scripture for them, namely, texts which enjoined the substance of the thing, leaving indifferent circumstances to be determined by reason and experience.

The most plausible objection of all, however, was that which is often urged at the present day. Wesley writes: “They spoke far more plausibly who said, ‘The thing is well enough in itself; but the leaders have neither gifts nor graces for such an employment.’ I answer—(1) Yet such leaders as they are, it is plain God has blessed their labour. (2) If any of these is remarkably wanting in gifts or grace, he is soon taken notice of and removed. (3) If you know any such, tell it to me, not to others, and I will endeavour to exchange him for a better. (4) It may be hoped they will all be better than they are, both by experience and observation, and by the advices given them by the minister every Tuesday night, and the prayers (then in particular) offered up for them.”[447]

The appointment of these leaders was of vast importance; but it was not sufficient. Wesley continues: “As the society increased, I found it required still greater care to separate the precious from the vile. In order to this, I determined, at least once in every three months, to talk with every member myself, and to inquire at their own mouths, whether they grew in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. At these seasons, I likewise particularly inquire whether there be any misunderstanding or difference among them; that every hindrance of peace and brotherly love may be taken out of the way.”[448]

Nothing need be added to this full account of the origin of the class-meeting and the quarterly visitation of the Methodists. Wesley, from the beginning, “recognised the scriptural distinction between the church and the world. The men who possessed religion, and the men who possessed it not, were not for a moment confounded. They might be neighbours in locality, and friends in goodwill; but they were wide as the poles asunder in sentiment. The quick and the dead may be placed side by side; but no one can, for ever so short a period, mistake dead flesh for living fibre. The church and the churchyard are close by; but the worshippers in the one and the dwellers in the other are as unlike as two worlds can make them. The circle within the circle, the company of the converted, Wesley always distinguished from the mass of mankind, and made special provision for their edification in all his organisms.”[449]

After the formation of classes, the next event in point of importance, in the year 1742, was Wesley’s visit to the north of England. A combination of circumstances led to this.

John Nelson had been converted among the Methodists in London, and had returned to Birstal, in Yorkshire, where Benjamin Ingham had already founded a number of flourishing Moravian brotherhoods. Nelson began to preach in the towns of Yorkshire; his labours were greatly blessed; and many of the greatest profligates, blasphemers, drunkards, and sabbath-breakers were entirely changed. John had often invited Wesley to visit Yorkshire, and this was one of the reasons of his setting out.[450]

Another was, that the Countess of Huntingdon had earnestly urged him to proceed to Newcastle, and to employ his best efforts to improve the moral and religious condition of the colliers on the Tyne. The letter, containing this request, has not been published, but is in the possession of the Rev. James Everett.

The countess was now resident at Donnington Park, the favourite home of her noble husband, the Earl of Huntingdon, who, like herself, treated ministers of Christ with every mark of polite attention. His sisters, Lady Betty Hastings, and Lady Margaret, (who afterwards became the wife of Ingham,) had been converted through the instrumentality of the Methodists, and were now sincere and earnest Christians. Donnington became a sort of rallying place for Christian ministers and Christian people. Mr. Simpson and Mr. Graves, two converted clergymen, resided in the neighbourhood. David Taylor, one of the servants of the Earl of Huntingdon, had commenced preaching in the surrounding hamlets and villages, and had begun a work which resulted in the forming of the New Connexion of General Baptists. Miss Fanny Cooper, residing with the countess, and dying of consumption, was greatly beloved by Wesley, and wished to see him.[451] All these circumstances had to do with his setting out for the midland counties, for Yorkshire, and for Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

On the 9th of January, Lady Huntingdon wrote to him, saying, that Miss Cooper was waiting for the consolation of Israel with an indescribable firmness of faith and hope. She had read his Journal, which he had sent for her perusal, and thought there was nothing in it which ought to be left out; and that the manner in which he spoke of himself could not be mended.[452]

In another letter, dated the 15th of March, she tells him that she is sure he is a chosen vessel set for the defence of the gospel; that she has given up the school at Markfield; that John Taylor is gone to be an assistant to David Taylor, and to become a schoolmaster among the people who had been converted; and that Mr. Graves had been blessed by Wesley’s conversation, and greatly loved him.[453]

In a third letter, dated ten days later, Wesley is informed that John Taylor is about to wait upon him, and to say that, unless David Taylor (who had contracted an ill judged marriage, and fallen into the German stillness) transferred his flock to Wesley and his brother Charles, the countess would withdraw from him her support and countenance. She adds: “I would not trust David with the guidance of my soul, no, not for worlds. I find he is going to build himself a room, and to break with the ministers, and become a lay preacher. He has more pride than I ever saw in man. If he will commit his poor sheep into your hands, I will assist in the room, school, etc.; but else will I do nothing. You are much mistaken about the bishops not reading what you publish; I know they do. Let me know in your next if you approve what I have done about David.”[454]

Six weeks afterwards, Lady Huntingdon wrote again, saying that Miss Cooper was at the point of death, and wished to see Wesley; and that a horse had been ordered for John Taylor to go down with him.[455] On receiving this, Wesley started almost immediately. He reached Donnington Park on May 22; found Miss Cooper just alive; spent three days with her and the countess, rejoicing in the grace of God; and then set out for Birstal, still accompanied by John Taylor.[456] On arriving at Birstal, Wesley went to an inn and sent for John Nelson; and John came and carried him to his own humble home. Thus was the aristocratic mansion exchanged for the mason’s cottage. Numbers had been converted by John’s plain, blunt preaching; but, because he advised them to go to church and sacrament, Ingham reproved him, and forbade the members of his societies to hear him.

Ingham, to some extent at least, had fallen into the dangerous delusions of the Moravians. He had also exposed himself to suspicions of another kind. Dr. Doddridge, in a letter written a fortnight before Wesley’s visit to Birstal, says: “I am much surprised with a book, called the ‘Country Parson’s Advice to a Parishioner,’ which is circulated, with extreme diligence, by Ingham, and other Methodists in our part of the country. It artfully disguises, but most evidently contains and recommends, almost all the doctrines of popery, and none more than that fatal one of consigning conscience and fortune into the hands of the priesthood.[457] I am not hasty to smell out a Jesuit, and ever thought the Methodists had more honesty than wisdom; but this certain fact surprises me, and I should be glad of a key to it. It may be said, that they have generally appeared men of plain understandings, void of that art and learning necessary for missionaries; but all plots require tools, and have underparts, nor may these always be let into the whole design. On the whole, while they are diffusing such sentiments, Protestantism and our free constitution may have as little reason to thank them as learning and reason have already.”[458]

Wesley preached, on May 26, at noon, on the top of Birstal hill; spent the afternoon in conversing with Nelson’s converts; and, at eight at night, preached on Dewsbury moor, two miles from Birstal, and, in opposition to the Moravian tenets, “earnestly exhorted all who believed, to wait upon God in His ways, and to let their light shine before men.”

His labours were not without success. One of his hearers was Nathaniel Harrison, a young man twenty-three years of age, who soon after was made circuit steward, an office which he filled for more than twenty years, and during a long life encountered no small amount of brutal persecution for the sake of his great Master. His father turned him out of doors; his eldest brother horsewhipped him; and the mob hurled missiles at his head, and, on one occasion, were literally bespattered with his blood. Nathaniel Harrison was a happy Christian, and attained to the age of eighty years before he died; he was wont to say, “My soul is always on the wing, I only wait the summons.”[459]

Another of Wesley’s hearers was John Murgatroyd, a weaver, who became a member of the second class which was formed in Yorkshire; was present when John Nelson was pressed for a soldier; and was one of those brave-hearted Methodists who sang songs of praise at the door of Nelson’s prison. He lived to have ten children, fifty-one grandchildren, and twenty-one great grandchildren; and, after being sixty-three years a Methodist, he peacefully breathed his last breath at Wansford, in the east of Yorkshire, having, on the day before, attended three public services, and sung the praises of his Saviour with an animation which seemed to evince that he was exulting in the hope of singing the new song in heaven.[460]

Leaving Birstal, Wesley and John Taylor came to Newcastle on Friday, May 28.

This northern metropolis was then widely different to what it is at present. Then the only streets, of any consequence, were Pilgrim Street, Newgate Street, Westgate Street, the Side, and Sandgate. On the south of Westgate Street there was nothing but open country. Between Westgate Street and Newgate Street, the only buildings were the vicarage and St. John’s church; whilst between Newgate Street and the upper part of Pilgrim Street almost the only edifice was the house of the Franciscan Friars. On the east of Pilgrim Street were open fields, and on the north nothing but a few straggling houses. The town was surrounded with a wall, having turrets, towers, and gates. On what is now the centre of the town, stood the princely dwelling of Sir William Blackett, environed with extensive pleasure grounds, adorned with trees and statues. There were five churches: St. John’s, in which, besides the Sunday services, there were public prayers three times every week; St. Andrew’s, where, in addition to services on sabbaths, prayers were read every Wednesday and Friday morning; Allhallows; St. Nicholas’s, in which there was public service twice daily; and the church of St. Thomas, at the entrance of the street on Newcastle bridge. The Roman Catholics had a chapel at the Nuns; the Quakers a meeting-house in Pilgrim Street, nearly opposite to the Pilgrim’s Inn; and the Dissenters two or three chapels in different parts, and also a burial ground near Ballast Hills.[461]

As already stated, Wesley reached Newcastle on Friday night, the 28th of May. The public house, in which he lodged, belonged to a Mr. Gun, and stood a few yards northward of the site on which he built his Orphan House. This, at the time, was open country, and about a mile from busy, dirty, degraded Sandgate on the river side. On walking out, after tea, he was surprised and shocked at the abounding wickedness. Drunkenness and swearing seemed general, and even the mouths of little children were full of curses. How he spent the Saturday we are not informed; but, on Sunday morning, at seven,[462] he and John Taylor took their stand, near the pump, in Sandgate, “the poorest and most contemptible part of the town,” and began to sing the old hundredth psalm and tune. Three or four people came about them, “to see what was the matter;” these soon increased in number, and, before Wesley finished preaching, his congregation consisted of from twelve to fifteen hundred persons. When the service was ended, the people still “stood gaping, with the most profound astonishment,” upon which Wesley said: “If you desire to know who I am, my name is John Wesley. At five in the evening, with God’s help, I design to preach here again.”

Such was the commencement of Methodism in the north of England,—the preacher the renowned John Wesley, doubtless dressed in full canonicals, with plain John Taylor standing at his side,—the time seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, in the beautiful month of May,—the place Sandgate, crowded with keelmen and sailors, using, says Christopher Hopper, “the language of hell, as though they had received a liberal education in the regions of woe,”[463]—the song of praise the old hundredth psalm, which, like the grand old ocean, is as fresh and as full of music now as it was when it first was written,—and the text, the very pith of gospel truth, “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.”

Strict churchman as he was, there can be but little doubt, that Wesley and his companion attended the morning and afternoon services in some of the Newcastle churches; but at five o’clock, amid balmy breezes, he again took his stand on the hill, by the side of the Keelman’s Hospital. On one hand was the town with the fine old wall, fortified with towers; on the other hand were fields, stretching away to Ouseburn and Byker; behind him was the open country, dotted here and there with fragrant gardens, Jesus’s Hospital, the workhouse, the charity school of Allhallows church, and Pandon Hall, formerly the residence of the Northumbrian kings; while just before him were the swarming hordes of Sandgate, the crowded quay, and the river Tyne. The hill was covered from its summit to its base. In Moorfields and on Kennington Common, he had preached to congregations numbering from ten to twenty thousand people; but his congregation here was the largest he had ever seen. “After preaching,” he writes, “the poor people were ready to tread me under foot, out of pure love and kindness.” With difficulty, he reached his inn, where he found several of his hearers waiting his arrival. They told him they were members of a religious society, which had existed for many years, had a “fine library,” and whose “steward read a sermon every Sunday.” They urged him to remain with them, at least, a few days longer; but, having promised to be at Birstal on Tuesday night, he was unable to consent. Accordingly, rising even before the sun on Monday morning, he set out at three o’clock, rode about eighty miles, and lodged at night at Boroughbridge. The next day, he came to Birstal, holding a prayer-meeting at Knaresborough on the way; and at night, surrounded by a vast multitude, conducted a religious service of two hours and a half duration. In Birstal and its neighbourhood, he spent the next three days, preaching at Mrs. Holmes’s, near Halifax, at Dewsbury Moor, at Mirfield, and at Adwalton.

He then set out for Epworth, and went to an inn, where an old servant of his father’s and two or three poor women found him. The next day being Sunday, he offered to assist Mr. Romley, the curate, either by preaching or reading prayers; but his offer was declined, and a sermon was offensively preached by Romley against enthusiasts. After the service, John Taylor gave notice, as the people were coming out, that Mr. Wesley, not being permitted to preach in the church, designed to preach in the churchyard, at six o’clock. Accordingly, at that hour, he stood on his father’s tombstone, and preached to the largest congregation Epworth had ever witnessed. The scene was unique and inspiriting,—a living son preaching on a dead father’s grave, because the parish priest refused to allow him to officiate in a dead father’s church. “I am well assured,” writes Wesley, “that I did far more good to my Lincolnshire parishioners by preaching three days on my father’s tomb, than I did by preaching three years in his pulpit.”[464]

Contrary to his intention, he remained eight days at Epworth, and every night used his father’s tombstone as his rostrum. He also preached at Burnham, Ouston, Belton, Overthorp, and Haxey. Here religious societies had been formed; but two men, John Harrison and Richard Ridley, had poisoned them with the Moravian heresy, telling them that “all the ordinances are man’s inventions, and that if they went to church or sacrament, they would be damned.” One of them, at Belton, who once ran well, now said “he saw the devil in every corner of the church, and in the face of every one who went to it.” Still, a great work had been wrought among them, and some of them had suffered for it. “Their angry neighbours,” says Wesley, “had carried a whole wagon-load of these new heretics before a magistrate. But when he asked what they had done, there was a deep silence, for that was a point their conductors had forgotten. At length, one said ‘they pretended to be better than other people, and prayed from morning to night;’ and another said, ‘they have convarted my wife. Till she went among them she had such a tongue! and now she is as quiet as a lamb!’ ‘Take them back, take them back,’ replied the justice, ‘and let them convert all the scolds in the town.’”

As already intimated, Wesley’s preaching on his father’s grave was attended with amazing power. On one occasion, the people on every side wept aloud; and on another, several dropped down as dead; Wesley’s voice was drowned by the cries of penitents; and many there and then, in the old churchyard, found peace with God, and broke out into loud thanksgiving. A gentleman, who had not been at public worship of any kind for upwards of thirty years, stood motionless as a statue. “Sir,” asked Wesley, “are you a sinner?” “Sinner enough!” said he, and still stood staring upwards, till his wife and servant, who were both in tears, put him into his chaise, and took him home.

John Whitelamb, Wesley’s brother-in-law, clergyman at Wroote, heard him preach at Epworth, and wrote him, saying, “Your presence creates an awe, as if you were an inhabitant of another world. I cannot think as you do; but I retain the highest veneration and affection for you. The sight of you moves me strangely. My heart overflows with gratitude. I cannot refrain from tears, when I reflect, this is the man, who at Oxford was more than a father to me; this is he, whom I have there heard expound, or dispute publicly, or preach at St. Mary’s, with such applause. I am quite forgotten. None of the family ever honour me with a line! Have I been ungrateful? I have been passionate, fickle, a fool; but I hope I shall never be ungrateful.”[465]

On receiving this, Wesley hastened to visit his old friend; preached, on his way, at Haxey; then again in Whitelamb’s church; and again, at night, on his father’s tomb, to an immense multitude, the last service lasting for about three hours. He writes, “We scarce knew how to part. Oh, let none think his labour of love is lost because the fruit does not immediately appear! Near forty years did my father labour here; but he saw little fruit of all his labour. I took some pains among this people too; and my strength also seemed spent in vain: but now the fruit appeared. There were scarce any in the town on whom either my father or I had taken any pains formerly, but the seed, sown so long since, now sprung up, bringing forth repentance and remission of sins.”

Thus, despite Mr. Romley’s railing at the enthusiast, his churchyard became the scene of some of Wesley’s greatest triumphs. John Whitelamb, writing to Charles Wesley, says: “I had the honour and happiness of seeing and conversing with my brother John. He behaved to me truly like himself. I found in him, what I have always experienced heretofore, the gentleman, the friend, the brother, and the Christian.”[466]

Wesley’s visit to Epworth was a memorable one; and it is not surprising that artists have vied with each other in portraying it. Thousands of Methodist homes have pictures of Wesley preaching on his father’s tomb; and the scene itself, throughout all time, will be regarded as one of the most striking incidents in Wesley’s history. Here, at Epworth, Wesley’s venerable father had toiled, with exemplary diligence and fidelity, for the long space of nine-and-thirty years; a man who, for strength of mind and godly earnestness, had few superiors; and yet, a man whose life was a perpetual worry of poverty and persecution. Here, Wesley’s almost unequalled mother, during the whole of that period, had been the sharer of her husband’s joys and sorrows. Here had been nurtured a family, who, for genius, talent, and romantic history, must always stand high among the remarkable households of mankind. The family was now scattered. Seven years had elapsed since the father’s death. Samuel, the eldest, and Keziah, the youngest of the children, (that survived the days of infancy,) had since expired. And what about the widowed mother? We shall soon see.

Wesley left Epworth on the 14th of June; and, after preaching for four days in Sheffield and the neighbourhood, he hastened to the Countess of Huntingdon’s, and thence, by way of Coventry, Evesham, and Stroud, to the city of Bristol, which he reached on June 28.

Within a month after this, his venerable mother exchanged earth for heaven. Hearing of her illness, he hastened from Bristol to London to see her. Charles was absent, but her five daughters were with her. Wesley writes: “I found my mother on the borders of eternity; but she had no doubt or fear; nor any desire but to depart and to be with Christ.” She died of gout,[467] on Friday, July 23. Early in the morning, on awaking out of sleep, she cried, “My dear Saviour! Art Thou come to help me at my last extremity?” In the afternoon, as soon as the intercession meeting at the Foundery was ended, Wesley went to her, and found her pulse almost gone, and her fingers dead. Her look was calm, and her eyes were fixed upward. Wesley used the commendatory prayer, and, with his sisters, sang a requiem to her parting soul. She was perfectly sensible, but gasping for life. Within an hour, she died without a struggle, groan, or sigh; and Wesley and his sisters stood round her bed, and fulfilled her last request, uttered a little before she lost her speech: “Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God.” The remains of this sainted lady were interred on Sunday, August 1, in Bunhill-fields. An immense multitude was present; Wesley performed the service; and then preached from Revelation xx. 12, 13. “It was,” says he, “one of the most solemn assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see on this side eternity.”[468]

Wesley spent the next three months in London and in Bristol, and in journeying to and fro; his brother Charles labouring, at the same time, at Newcastle and in the north.

On the 18th of August, he met his brother and Charles Caspar Graves in Bristol. Mr. Graves had been a student of St. Mary Magdalen College, Oxford, and was one of the Oxford Methodists. Two years after the Wesleys left for Georgia, the friends of Graves believed him to be “stark mad,” and removed him from his college. He found peace with God in 1738, and became an exceedingly zealous out-door preacher; but, in 1740, he was persuaded, and almost coerced, to sign a paper to the effect, that he now renounced the principles and practice of the Methodists; that he was heartily sorry he had occasioned scandal by attending their meetings; and that, in future, he should avoid doing so.

For nearly two years, he acted accordingly; but, on meeting the Wesleys in Bristol at the time above mentioned, he wrote to the fellows of St. Mary Magdalen College, revoking the document he had been led to sign, and declaring that he now looked upon himself “to be under no kind of obligation to observe anything contained in that scandalous paper, so unchristianly imposed upon him.”

Immediately after this, Charles Wesley and Mr. Graves set off for the north of England. Having spent a few days with John Nelson and his Methodist friends at Birstal, they proceeded to Newcastle. Mr. Graves returned to Birstal in about a fortnight; but Charles Wesley continued among the colliers of the Tyne, formed the Newcastle society, and did not return to London until his brother was ready to take his place in the month of November following.[469]

On his arrival, November 13, Wesley met, what he calls, “the wild, staring, loving society;” he took them with him to the sacrament at Allhallows church; he reproved some among them who walked disorderly; and ascertained that few were thoroughly convinced of sin, and scarcely any could witness that their sins were pardoned. Great power, however, began to attend his preaching. On one occasion, six or seven dropped down as dead; and, at another time, several of the genteel people were constrained to roar aloud for the disquietness of their hearts.

He extended his labours to the surrounding villages. At Whickham he “spoke strong, rough words;” but none of the people seemed to regard his sayings. At Tanfield Leigh, he preached “to a dead, senseless, unaffected congregation.” At Horsley, notwithstanding a bitter frost, he preached in the open air, the wind driving upon the congregation, and scattering straw and thatch among them in all directions.

In Newcastle, though the season was winter, he preached out of doors as often as he could; and, at other times, in a room, in a narrow lane, now Lisle Street, nearly opposite the site of Wesley’s Orphan House. This “room,” or “tabernacle” (as it was also called) had been built “by a fanatic of the name of Macdonald,” who had now removed to Manchester.[470] It was the first Methodist meeting-house in the north of England.

The work accomplished was marvellous. It was only eight months since Wesley entered Newcastle as a perfect stranger; and, yet, there were now above eight hundred persons joined together in his society, besides many others in the surrounding towns and villages who had been benefited by his ministry. He writes: “I never saw a work of God, in any other place, so evenly and gradually carried on. It continually rose step by step. Not so much seemed to be done at any one time, as had frequently been done at Bristol or London; but something at every time.”[471]

Among these northern converts, there were not a few, who subsequently rendered important service to the cause of Christ; brave spirits who deserve a niche in Methodistic history, but whom, for the present, we are reluctantly obliged to pass in silence.

Such a society being formed, a place for meeting became imperative. Several sites were offered; one outside the gate of Pilgrim Street was bought; and, on December 20, the foundation stone was laid; after which Wesley preached, but, three or four times during the sermon, was obliged to stop, that the people might engage in prayer and give thanks to God. The building was calculated to cost £700; Wesley had just twenty-six shillings towards this expenditure;[472] many thought it would never be completed; but Wesley writes: “I was of another mind; nothing doubting but, as it was begun for God’s sake, He would provide what was needful for the finishing it.”

This “clumsy, ponderous pile,” as John Hampson calls it, was then the largest Methodist meeting-house in England. “Clumsy and ponderous” we grant it was, but still a “pile” hallowed by associations far too sacred to be easily forgotten. Here one of the first Sunday-schools in the kingdom was established, and had not fewer than a thousand children in attendance. Here a Bible society existed before the British and Foreign Bible Society was formed. Here was one of the best choirs in England; and here, among the singers, were the sons of Mr. Scott, afterwards the celebrated Lords Eldon and Stowell.[473] Here was the resting place of John Wesley’s first itinerants; and here colliers and keelmen, from all parts of the surrounding country, would assemble, and, after the evening service, would throw themselves upon the benches, and sleep the few remaining hours till Wesley preached at five next morning.[474] The “clumsy, ponderous” old Orphan House was the head quarters of Methodism in the north of England.

Within the last four years Wesley had built “the room” at Bristol, and the school at Kingswood; and he had bought, and repaired, and almost rebuilt “that vast, uncouth heap of ruins,” called “the Foundery.” He began in Bristol without funds, but money had been furnished as he needed it; and now, with £1 6s., he begun to erect a building to cost £700. Three months after laying the foundation stone, in the inclement month of March, while the building was yet without roof, doors, or windows, Wesley opened it by preaching from the narrative of the rich man and Lazarus; and, afterwards, amid bricks, mortar, and a builder’s usual débris, held a watchnight, the light of a full moon probably being the only illumination the damp, cold, unfinished building had, and equinoctial gales and winter winds wafting the watchnight hymns of these happy Methodists to a higher and holier world than this. Truly the cradle in which Methodism was rocked by the hand of Providence was often rough.

Having begun the building, it was high time for Wesley to begin to find means to pay for it. Accordingly, he arranged to leave his Newcastle friends on the last day of 1742. He preached his farewell sermon—a sermon of two hours’ continuance—in the open air; men, women, and children hung upon him, and were unwilling to part with him; and, even after he had mounted his horse and started on his journey, “a muckle woman” kept her hold of him, and ran by his horse’s side, through thick and thin, till the town was fairly left behind him.

We thus find Methodism firmly rooted in Bristol, Kingswood, London, and Newcastle; and, besides this, Wesley writes: “In this year many other societies were formed in Somersetshire, Wiltshire, Gloucestershire, Leicestershire, Warwickshire, and Nottinghamshire, as well as the southern parts of Yorkshire.”[475]

Not only were churches on earth multiplied, but additions were made to the church in heaven. Mr. Dolman, who rarely failed to be at the Foundery by five o’clock, died full of love, and peace, and joy in believing. James Angel gave up his spirit to God in the full triumph of faith. Mary Whittle cried out: “It is done, it is done! Christ lives in me;” and died in a moment. Another female member of the London society expired with the words, “I fear not death; it hath no sting for me. I shall live for evermore.” Sarah Whiskin cried out, “My Lord and my God!” fetched a double sigh, and died. John Woolley, a child of thirteen years, threw his arms wide open, and said, “Come, come, Lord Jesus! I am Thine;” and soon after breathed his last. And Lucy Godshall died basking in the light of her Saviour’s countenance. All these belonged to the London society.

The purest gold is sometimes mixed with dross; and so it was with Methodism. Some of the Foundery society fanatically talked of feeling the blood of Christ running upon their arms, their breasts, their hearts, and down their throats. Wesley met them, and denounced their folly as the empty dreams of heated imaginations. Good John Brown, of Tanfield Leigh, two or three days after his conversion, came riding through Newcastle, hallooing and shouting, and driving all the people before him; telling them that God had revealed to him that he should be a king, and should tread all his enemies beneath his feet. Wesley arrested him, and sent him home immediately, advising him to cry day and night to God, lest the devil should gain an advantage over him. These were rare exceptions, and were promptly checked.

Two, who called themselves prophets, came to Wesley in London, stating, that they were sent from God to say, he would shortly be born’d again; and that, unless he turned them out, they would stay in the house till it was done. He gravely answered, that he would not turn them out, and took them down into the room of the society. Here he left them. “It was tolerably cold,” says he, “and they had neither meat nor drink. However, there they sat from morning to evening, when they quietly went away, and I have heard nothing from them since.”

In 1742, persecution by means of the public press had, to some extent, abated;[476] but mobs and vulgar-minded men were as violent as ever. At Long Lane, in London, they threw large stones upon the house in which Wesley was preaching, which, with the tiles, fell among the people, endangering their lives. At Chelsea, burning substances were cast into the room till it was filled with smoke. At Pensford, near Bristol, a hired rabble brought a bull, which they had been baiting, and tried to drive it among the people; and then, forcing their way to the little table on which Wesley stood, they “tore it bit from bit,” with fiendish vengeance. A similar outrage was perpetrated in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel. The mob did their utmost to force a herd of cattle among the congregation; and then threw showers of stones, one of which struck Wesley between the eyes; but, wiping away the blood, he continued the service as if nought had happened. At Cardiff, while Charles Wesley was preaching, women were kicked, and their clothes set on fire by rockets, thrown into the room among them; the desk in which the preacher stood was dashed to pieces, and the Bible wrested from his hands, one of the brutal persecutors solemnly declaring that, if he went straight to hell for doing it, he would persecute the Methodists to his dying day.[477]

In the midst of such violence, Wesley calmly pursued the path of duty, praying, preaching, visiting the sick and dying, forming societies, building chapels, reading, writing, and publishing.

During the year, he read Dr. Pitcairn’s works,—“dry, sour, and controversial;” Jacob Behmen’s Exposition of Genesis, the “most sublime nonsense, inimitable bombast, fustian not to be paralleled, all of a piece with his inspired interpretation of the word tetragrammaton; Madame Guyon’s “Short Method of Prayer,” and “Les Torrents Spirituelles,” from which “poor quietist” the Moravians had taken many of their unscriptural expressions; “The Life of Ignatius Loyola,” “a surprising book,” concerning “one of the greatest men that ever engaged in supporting so bad a cause;” and “The Life of Gregory Lopez,” “a good and wise, though much mistaken man.”

Wesley’s publications, during 1742, were the following:—

1. “A Companion for the Altar. Extracted from Thomas à Kempis.” 12mo, 24 pages.

2. “An Extract of the Rev. Mr. John Wesley’s Journal, from August 12, 1738, to November 1, 1739.” 12mo, 98 pages.

3. “A Treatise on Christian Prudence. Extracted from Mr. Norris.”[478] 12mo, 35 pages.

4. “A Collection of Hymns, translated from the German;” 36 pages. These were twenty-four in number, and had previously been published in his “Hymns and Sacred Poems.”

5. “A Narrative of the Work of God, at and near Northampton in New England. Extracted from Mr. Edwards’s Letter to Dr. Coleman.” 12mo, 48 pages.

6. “A Collection of Tunes set to Music, as they are commonly sung at the Foundery.” Duodecimo, of thirty-six pages, containing forty-three tunes for one voice only, some set in the treble and some in the tenor clef.[479]

Great revivals of religion have generally been attended by copious productions of hymns of praise; and thus it was at the rise of Methodism. This was emphatically the great era of hymn writing in the English church. Watts, Doddridge, and Erskine poured forth the joys of their converted hearts, and furnished lyric lines, which have been used, in sacred worship, by millions. But of all the hymnists then living, the Wesleys were the most remarkable. A competent authority has estimated that, during Wesley’s lifetime there were published not fewer than six thousand six hundred hymns from the pen of Charles Wesley only.[480] Having furnished their societies with so many hymns, no wonder that the Wesleys collected and furnished tunes. Their religion made them happy; and happiness always finds vent in song. The old Methodists were remarkable for their singing. Why? Because their hearts throbbed with the “joy unspeakable and full of glory.” Make a man happy, and he is sure to sing. Thus it was with Wesley and the thousands who looked to him as their great leader. Naturally, the Wesleys were full of poetry; and religion, so far from extinguishing the fire, fanned it into a holy flame. Their taste in music may be gathered from Wesley’s directions to his preachers. “Suit the tune to the words. Avoid complex tunes, which it is scarcely possible to sing with devotion. Repeating the same words so often, especially while another repeats different words, shocks all common sense, necessarily brings in dead formality, and has no more religion in it than a Lancashire hornpipe. Sing no anthems. Do not suffer the people to sing too slow. In every society, let them learn to sing; and let them always learn our own tunes first. Let the women constantly sing their parts alone. Let no man sing with them, unless he understands the notes, and sings the bass, as it is pricked down in the book. Introduce no new tunes till they are perfect in the old. Let no organ be placed anywhere, till proposed in the Conference. Recommend our tune-book everywhere; and if you cannot sing yourself, choose a person or two in each place to pitch the tune for you. Exhort every one in the congregation to sing, not one in ten only.”[481]

Well would it be if Methodist ministers were to enforce such rules as these, instead of leaving the most beautiful part of public worship, as is too often done, to the irreligious whims and criminal caprice of organists and choirs. No one can doubt the fact that, within the last forty years, the singing in Methodist chapels has deteriorated to an extent which ought to be alarming. The tunes now too generally sung are intolerably insipid; and, as to any sympathy between them and the inspiriting hymns of Charles Wesley, it would be preposterous to say that a particle of such sympathy exists. Such singing may suit the classic taste of fashionable congregations assembled amid the chilling influence of gothic decorations; but it bears no resemblance whatever to the general outbursts of heartfelt praise, adoration, and thanksgiving, which characterised the old Methodists. It is high time for Methodist preachers to keep John Wesley’s rules respecting singing; to substitute John Wesley’s tunes and others like them for the soulless sounds now called classic music; and to feel that, before God and man, they are as much responsible for the singing in sanctuaries as they are for that part of public worship which consists of prayer.

7. Wesley’s last publication, in 1742, was “The Principles of a Methodist,” 12mo, 32 pages. This was written in reply to a pamphlet of the Rev. Josiah Tucker, who had tried to show that the Methodists, in the first instance, had been the disciples of William Law the mystic, and then of the Moravians; and, that now their principles were a perfect “medley of Calvinism, Arminianism, Quakerism, Quietism, and Montanism, all thrown together.”[482]

In reply to the charge of believing inconsistencies, Wesley remarks:—1. That Mr. Law’s system of truth had never been the creed of the Methodists. He himself was eight years at Oxford before he read any of Mr. Law’s writings; and when he did read them, so far from making them his creed, he had objections to almost every page. 2. That the Germans, with whom he travelled to Georgia, infused into him no ideas about justification, or anything else; for he came back with the same notions he had when he went; but Peter Bohler’s affirmation that true faith in Christ is always attended with “dominion over sin, and constant peace from a sense of forgiveness,” and that “justification was an instantaneous work,”—led him to make anxious inquiry, which resulted in his conviction, that Bohler’s doctrine was true, and that, notwithstanding all his past good performances, he himself was still without true faith in Christ. 3. He repudiates the inconsistent creed which Mr. Tucker puts into his mouth, and concludes as follows:—“I may say many things which have been said before, and perhaps by Calvin or Arminius, by Montanus or Barclay, or the Archbishop of Cambray; but it cannot thence be inferred that I hold a ‘medley of all their principles,—Calvinism, Arminianism, Montanism, Quakerism, Quietism, all thrown together,’ There might as well have been added Judaism, Mahommedanism, Paganism. It would have made the period rounder, and been full as easily proved, I mean asserted; for no other proof is yet produced.”

This was Wesley’s first battle. In his “address to the reader,” he remarks:—

“I have often wrote on controverted points before; but not with an eye to any particular person. So that this is the first time I have appeared in controversy, properly so called. Indeed I have not wanted occasion to do it before; particularly when, after many stabs in the dark, I was publicly attacked, not by an open enemy, but by my own familiar friend.” [Whitefield.] “But I could not answer him. I could only cover my face and say, Και συ εις εκεινων; και συy, τεκνον; ‘Art thou also among them? art thou, my son?’

“I now tread an untried path, ‘with fear and trembling’; fear, not of my adversary, but of myself. I fear my own spirit, lest I ‘fall where many mightier have been slain.’ Every disputant seems to think (as every soldier) that he may hit his opponent as much as he can; nay, that he ought to do his worst to him, or he cannot make the best of his own cause.”

Wesley then denounces this mode of conducting controversy, and declares that he wishes to treat Mr. Tucker and all opponents as he would treat his own brother. In such a spirit, Wesley began his long continued, perhaps unparalleled, controversial life.[483]

1743.

1743 Age 40

DURING the year 1743, Wesley spent about fourteen weeks in London, ten in Bristol and its vicinity, thirteen in Newcastle and the neighbourhood, three in Cornwall, and twelve in travelling chiefly to the north of England. He was now a thorough itinerant; and itinerating in England then was widely different from what it is at present. Turnpike roads did not exist; and no stage coach went farther north than the town of York.[484] Wesley travelled on horseback, reading as he rode, and usually having one of his preachers with him. In a life like this, there was much of both hardship and incident. For instance, on New Year’s day, between Doncaster and Epworth, he met a man so drunk that he could hardly keep his seat, but who, on discovering that Wesley was his fellow traveller, cried out, “I am a Christian! I am a Churchman! I am none of your Culamites!” And then, as if afraid that Wesley might turn out to be the devil, away he went, as fast as his horse could carry him. Twelve days after, on reaching Stratford upon Avon, Wesley was requested to visit a woman of middle age, who, with a distorted face, and a lolling tongue, had bellowed so horribly, in the presence of the parish minister, that he pronounced her possessed with demons. Wesley went, but, staring at her visitor, she said nothing ailed her. After singing a verse or two, Wesley and his friends began to pray. Just as he commenced, he felt as if he “had been plunged into cold water,” and immediately there was a tremendous roar. The woman was reared up in bed, her whole body moving, without bending either joint or limb. Then it writhed into all kinds of postures, the poor wretch still bellowing. Wesley, however, continued praying, until all demoniacal symptoms ceased, and the woman began rejoicing and praising God. On another occasion, in the month of April, while baiting his horse at Sandhutton, he found sitting, in the chimney corner of the public house, a good natured man, who was enjoying his grog with the greatest gusto. Wesley began to talk to him about sacred things, having no suspicion that he was talking to the parish priest. And yet so it was; but the reverend tippler, instead of boiling over with offence, begged his reprover to call upon him when he next visited his village. In July, when he and John Downes reached Darlington, from Newcastle, both their horses lay down and died; and, in August, when he was leaving London for Bristol, his saddle slipped upon his horse’s neck; he was jerked over the horse’s head; and the horse itself ran back to Smithfield. Six days later, being in Exeter, he went to church both morning and afternoon, and writes: “the sermon in the morning was quite innocent of meaning; what that in the afternoon was, I know not; for I could not hear a single sentence.” In October, when he was leaving Epworth, he had to cross the Trent in a ferry boat; a terrible storm was raging; and the cargo consisted of three horses and eight men and women. In the midst of the river, the side of the boat was under water, and the horses and men rolling one over another, while Wesley was laid in the bottom, pinned down with a large iron bar, and utterly unable to help himself. Presently, however, the horses jumped into the water, and the boat was lightened, and came safe to land. Such were some of the incidents Wesley met with in 1743.

One of the first events in this memorable year was the organisation of the Calvinistic Methodists in Wales. At a meeting held at Watford (near Cardiff), on January 5 and 6, and at which there were present four clergymen—Whitefield, Rowlands, Powell, and Williams, and three laymen—Howel Harris, Joseph Humphreys, and John Cennick, it was agreed that “public exhorters” should be employed, and that each “public exhorter,” with the assistance of “private exhorters,” should take the oversight of twelve or fourteen societies. Each “private exhorter” was to inspect only one or two societies, and was to follow his ordinary calling. Howel Harris was to be a general travelling superintendent; and the clergymen were to itinerate as much as they were able. Each society was to have a box, under the care of stewards, to receive weekly contributions towards the support of the general work; and the clergymen and exhorters were to meet in conference once, or oftener, every year.[485] Thus Whitefield, Harris, Humphreys, and Cennick began to organise their societies before the Wesleys did.

After an absence of seven weeks, Wesley returned to Newcastle, on the 19th of February, and at once set to work to purge the society of unworthy members. Since he left, on December 30, seventy-six had forsaken the society; and sixty-four were now expelled, about eight hundred still remaining. Of those who had voluntarily withdrawn themselves, a large proportion were Dissenters, who left, because otherwise their ministers refused to them the sacrament; thirty-three because their husbands, wives, parents, masters, or acquaintance objected; five because such bad things were said of the society; nine because they would not be laughed at; one because she was afraid of falling into fits; and fourteen for sundry other reasons. Among those expelled, there were two for swearing; two for sabbath breaking; seventeen for drunkenness; two for retailing spirituous liquors; three for quarreling; one for beating his wife; three for wilful lying; four for railing; one for laziness; and twenty-nine for lightness and carelessness. Thus, within a few months after its formation, the Newcastle society was purged of one hundred and forty of its members.

Joined with Newcastle were a number of country places, at each of which Wesley preached every week, excepting Swalwell, where he went only once a fortnight. These were Horsley, Pelton, Chowden, South Biddick, Tanfield, Birtley, and Placey. At Chowden, he found he had got into the very Kingswood of the north; twenty or thirty wild children, in rags and almost nakedness, flocking round about him. At Pelton, in the midst of the sermon, one of the colliers began to shout amain from an excess of joy; but their usual token of approbation was clapping Wesley on the back. At Placey, the colliers had always been in the first rank for savage ignorance and all kinds of wickedness. Every Sunday men, women, and children met together to dance, fight, curse and swear, and play at chuck ball, span farthing, or whatever came to hand; but, notwithstanding this, when Wesley went among them, on the 1st of April, and preached amid wind, sleet, and snow till he was encased in ice, “they gave earnest heed to the things which were spoken.”

In Newcastle, almost every night, there were scenes of great excitement. Numbers dropped down, lost their strength, and were seized with agonies. Some said, they felt as if a sword was running through them; others thought a great weight upon them; others could hardly breathe; and others felt as if their bodies were being torn to pieces. “These symptoms,” says Wesley, “I can no more impute to any natural causes, than to the Spirit of God. I can make no doubt, but it was Satan tearing them, as they were coming to Christ. And hence proceeded those grievous cries, whereby he might design both to discredit the work of God, and to affright fearful people from hearing that word whereby their souls might be saved.”

Wesley left on April 7, and on the 30th of May was succeeded by his brother. Charles put an end to these annoying fits, and says, “I am more and more convinced it was a device of Satan to stop the course of the gospel.” He preached to “a thousand wild people” at Sunderland. At South Shields, his congregation consisted of “a huge multitude; many of them very fierce and threatening”; while the churchwardens and others tried to interrupt him by throwing dirt, and even money among the people. The mob at North Shields, led on by the parish priest, roughly saluted him; his reverence commanding a man to blow a horn, and his companions to shout.

Charles left on the 21st of June, and, eight days afterwards, was succeeded by John. The society was further reduced, by fresh backslidings, to about six hundred members. Wesley spent nearly three weeks among them; formed a society out of “his favourite congregation at Placey;” and then returned to London.

He came again on October 31st, and found the following advertisement was published:—

“For the Benefit of Mr. Este. By the Edinburgh Company of Comedians, on Friday, November 4, will be acted a Comedy, called THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS; To which will be added, a Farce, called, Trick upon Trick, or Methodism Displayed.”

The day came; and about fifteen hundred people assembled in Moot Hall to see the funny farce, some hundreds having to sit upon the stage. Soon after the comedians began the first act of “The Conscious Lovers,” the seats upon the stage broke down, and their occupants were left sprawling in all directions. In the midst of the second act, all the shilling seats gave a crack, and began to sink. The people shrieked, and numbers ran away. When the third act was commencing, the entire stage suddenly sunk about six inches, and the players precipitately fled. At the end of the act, all the sixpenny seats, in a moment, fell with an alarming crash, which caused cries on every side. Most of the people had now left the hall, but, two or three hundred still remaining, Este, who was to act the Methodist, came forward and told them he was determined that the farce should be performed. While he was speaking, the stage sunk six inches more; when the valorous comedian and the remnant of his audience took to their heels in the utmost confusion. The week after, however, the farce was acted, and hundreds of people went again to see it.

One or two incidents in connection with Wesley’s northern journeys may be noticed here.

While returning to the south, at the beginning of the year, he was, for the first time in his life, repelled from the sacramental table. This occurred at Epworth. Having preached, on his father’s tomb, to a large congregation, gathered from the neighbouring towns, and it being the sacramental Sunday, some of the people went to Romley, the curate, to ask his permission to communicate; to whom the proud priest replied, “Tell Mr. Wesley, I shall not give him the sacrament; for he is not fit.” Wesley writes, “How wise a God is our God! there could not have been so fit a place under heaven, where this should befal me first, as my father’s house, the place of my nativity, and the very place where, ‘according to the straitest sect of our religion,’ I had so long ‘lived a Pharisee.’ It was also fit, in the highest degree, that he who repelled me from that very table where I had myself so often distributed the bread of life, should be one who owed his all in this world to the tender love which my father had shown to his, as well as personally to himself.”

While on his third journey to Newcastle, in 1743, Wesley paid his first visit to the town of Grimsby. Here a woman—a magdalen, who was parted from her husband—offered him a convenient place for preaching, and, under his sermon, became a penitent. Wesley, after hearing her domestic history, told her she must return instantly to her forsaken spouse. She replied, her husband was at Newcastle, and she knew not how to reach him. Wesley said, “I am going to Newcastle to-morrow morning. William Blow is going with me; and you shall ride behind him.” This was an odd arrangement, and perhaps not too prudent; but it was carried out. The poor creature rode to Newcastle, sad and sombre; there she met her husband; and, a short time after, was drowned at sea, while on her way to Hull.

The year 1743 will always be memorable for the riots in Staffordshire. At this period, West Bromwich was an open common, covered with heath, and burrowed with rabbit warrens. Wednesbury was a small country town, irregularly built, the roads following ancient footways, and leaving wide spaces unoccupied. One of these was called the “High Bullen,” and was the place where bulls were baited. So extensively did this barbarous sport prevail in the “black country,” that, in Tipton parish, nineteen of these furious animals were baited at one of the annual wakes. Wednesbury, however, was most celebrated for its cockfights. Indeed, the Wednesbury “cockings,” as Charles Knight informs us, were almost as famous as the races of the “Derby day” at the present time. Recreations are an index to character, and sports, such as these, reflected, as well as moulded, the moral condition of the people.

Charles Wesley, accompanied by Mr. Graves, was the first Methodist who preached at Wednesbury. This was in November, 1742.[486] His brother followed in January, 1743, and spent four days among the people, preached eight sermons, and formed a society of about one hundred members.[487] Mr. Egginton, the vicar, was extremely courteous, told Wesley he had done much good already, and he doubted not would do much more, invited him to his house, and said the oftener he came the better.[488]

Wesley was followed by Mr. Williams, a Welshman, who, it is alleged, vilified the clergy, and called them dumb dogs that could not bark. After him came a bricklayer; then a plumber and glazier, both sent from London; and, under their preaching, people fell down in fits, and made strange hideous noises. Malice, spleen, and feuds sprung up. The Methodists spoke ill natured things of their lawful minister, and told the members of the Church of England, that they would all be damned. These things, it is said, exasperated ignorant people, and were the principal cause of the subsequent disturbances.[489] Wesley paid a second visit to Wednesbury on the 15th of April, and says, “the inexcusable folly of Mr. Williams had so provoked Mr. Egginton, that his former love was turned into bitter hatred.” Wesley went to church, where Egginton delivered, with great bitterness of voice and manner, what Wesley pronounced, the most wicked sermon he ever heard; and, two days afterwards, while he himself was preaching, a neighbouring parson, who was extremely drunk, after using many unseemly and bitter words, tried to ride over his congregation.

Charles Wesley came on the 20th of May, and found the society increased to above three hundred. “The enemy,” he writes, “rages exceedingly, and preaches against them. A few have returned railing for railing; but the generality have behaved as the followers of Christ.” A Dissenter had given a piece of ground upon which to build a chapel, and Charles says, “I consecrated it by a hymn.” He went to Walsal, accompanied by many of the brethren, singing songs of praise. He preached from the steps of the market house, the mob roaring, shouting, and throwing stones incessantly. Many struck him, but none hurt him.

Soon after this, while a small party of Wednesbury Methodists were returning from Darlaston, singing hymns, the Darlaston mob began to pelt them with stones and dirt; while the united mobs of Darlaston, Walsal, and Bilston smashed the windows of most of the Methodist houses in Wednesbury, Darlaston, and West Bromwich.[490] In some instances, money was extorted, and in others furniture was broken, spoiled, or stolen; and even pregnant women were beaten with clubs and otherwise abused.[491] John Adams, John Eaton, and Francis Ward went to Walsal for a warrant to apprehend the rioters. The magistrate, Mr. Persehouse, told them they had themselves to blame for the outrage that had been committed, and refused their application.[492] The mob hurled against them all sorts of missiles, and when the magistrate was asked to quiet these disturbers of the public peace, he swung his hat round his head, and cried, “Huzza!” Mr. Taylor, the curate of Walsal, came, not to stop the outrage, but to encourage the rioters in their violence. One of them struck Francis Ward on the eye, and cut it so, that he expected to lose his sight. He went into a shop and had it dressed, when the ruffians again pursued him, and beat him most unmercifully. He escaped into the public house, and was again fetched out, and dragged along the street, and through the public kennels, till he lost his strength, and was hardly able to stand erect.

Wesley writes, June 18th: “I received a full account of the terrible riots which had been in Staffordshire. I was not surprised at all, neither should I have wondered if, after the advices they had so often received from the pulpit, as well as from the episcopal chair, the zealous high churchmen had rose and cut all that were Methodists in pieces.”

He immediately set out to assist the poor Methodists, as far as he was able, and came to Francis Ward’s on the 22nd. After hearing the statements of the people, he “thought it best to inquire whether there could be any help from the laws of the land”; and rode to Counsellor Littleton at Tamworth, to ask his opinion on the matter.

The mob were still as violent as ever. On the very day before Wesley’s arrival at Francis Ward’s, a large crowd came to the house of John Eaton, who was a constable. John went to the door, with his constable’s staff, and began to read the act of parliament against riots; but stones flew so thick about his head, that he was obliged to leave off reading and to retire. They then broke all his windows, destroyed the door of his dwelling, and smashed his clock to pieces. On the same day, two or three of the Methodists were singing a hymn in John Adams’ house, when a pack of apprentices came and threw stones through the windows. A mob destroyed Jonas Turner’s windows with a club, threw three baskets full of stones to break his furniture, and ruthlessly dragged him along the ground a distance of sixty yards. They went to Mary Turner’s house, at West Bromwich, and hunted her and her two daughters with stones and stakes, threatening to knock them on the head, and to bury them in a ditch. They came to John Bird’s house, felled his daughter, snatched money from his wife, and then broke ten of his windows, besides destroying sash frames, shutters, chests of drawers, doors, and dressers. They took Humphrey Hands by the throat, swore they would be the death of him, gave him a great swing, and hurled him on the ground. On rising, they struck him on the eye, and again knocked him down. They then smashed all his windows, shivered many of his household goods, and broke all the shelves, drawers, pots, and bottles in his shop, and destroyed almost all his medicines. All this happened within a day or two of Wesley’s coming to Francis Ward’s. Indeed, at this very time, there were in and about Wednesbury more than eighty houses, all of which had their windows damaged, and in many of which not three panes of glass were left unbroken.[493]

Counsellor Littleton assured Wesley they might have an easy remedy, if they resolutely prosecuted, as the law directed; and doubtless this encouraged John Griffiths and Francis Ward to apply, at the end of June, to another magistrate for protection and redress; but, having stated their case to his worship, he talked to them roughly, made game of them, refused a warrant, and said, “I suppose you follow these parsons that come about. I will neither meddle nor make.”

For some time, preaching was suspended; and then came Messrs. Graves and Williams, who, however, confined their preaching to private houses.[494] At length, on October 20, Wesley himself again entered this wild beasts’ den. At noon, he preached in the centre of the town, and was not disturbed; but, two or three hours afterwards, while he was writing at Francis Ward’s, the mob beset the house, and cried, “Bring out the minister; we will have the minister!” At Wesley’s request, three of the most furious came into the house, and, after the interchange of a few sentences, were perfectly appeased. With these men to clear the way, Wesley went out, and, standing in the midst of the surging mob, asked them what they wanted with him. Some said, “We want you to go with us to the justice.” Wesley replied, “That I will, with all my heart”; and away they went. Before they had walked a mile, the night came on, accompanied with heavy rain. Bentley Hall, the residence of Mr. Lane, the magistrate, was two miles distant. Some pushed forward, and told Mr. Lane, that they were bringing Wesley before his worship. “What have I to do with Wesley?” quoth the magistrate; “take him back again.” Presently the crowd came up, and began knocking for admittance. A servant told them his master was in bed. The magistrate declined to see them, but his son asked their business. A spokesman answered, “To be plain, sir, if I must speak the truth, all the fault I find with him is, that he preaches better than our parsons.” Another said, “Sir, it is a downright shame; he makes people rise at five in the morning to sing psalms.[495] What advice would your worship give us?” “Go home,” said Lane, the younger, “and be quiet.”

Finding it impossible to obtain an audience of Mr. Lane, they then hurried Wesley to Walsal, to Mr. justice Persehouse. It was now about seven o’clock, and, of course, was dark. Persehouse, however, also refused to see them, on the ground that, like magisterial Mr. Lane, he was gone to bed; and hence there was nothing for it but to trudge back again. About fifty of the crowd undertook to be Wesley’s convoy; but, before they had gone more than a hundred yards, the mob of Walsal ran after them; some were pelted; others fled; and Wesley was left, alone and unbefriended, in the hands of the victorious ruffians. Some tried to seize him by the collar, and to pull him down. A big lusty fellow, just behind him, struck him several times with an oaken club. Another rushed through the crowd, lifted his arm to strike, but, on a sudden, let it drop, and only stroked Wesley’s head, saying “What soft hair he has!” One man struck him on the breast; and another on the mouth, with such force, that the blood gushed out. He was dragged back to Walsal; and, attempting to enter a large house, the door of which was standing open, he was seized by the hair of the head, and hindered. He was then paraded through the main street, from one end of Walsal to the other. Here he stood, and asked, “Are you willing to hear me speak?” Many cried, “No, no! knock out his brains; down with him; kill him at once!” Wesley asked, “What evil have I done? which of you all have I wronged in word or deed?” Again they cried, “Bring him away, bring him away!” Wesley began to pray; and now a man, who just before headed the mob, turned and said, “Sir, I will spend my life for you; follow me, and no one shall hurt a hair of your head.” Two or three of his companions joined him; the mob parted; and these three or four brave ruffians, the captains of the rabble on all occasions, and one of them a prizefighter in a bear garden, took Wesley and carried him safely through the infuriated crowd. He writes: “a little before ten o’clock, God brought me safe to Wednesbury; having lost only one flap of my waistcoat, and a little skin from one of my hands. From the beginning to the end I found the same presence of mind, as if I had been sitting in my own study. But I took no thought for one moment before another; only once it came into my mind, that, if they should throw me into the river, it would spoil the papers that were in my pocket. For myself, I did not doubt but I should swim across, having but a thin coat and a light pair of boots.”

It is right to add, that, in the midst of all these perils, there were four brave Methodists who clung to Wesley, resolved to live or die with him, namely, William Sitch, Edward Slater, John Griffiths, and Joan Parks. When Wesley asked William Sitch, what he expected when the mob seized them, William answered with a martyr’s spirit, “To die for Him, who died for us.” And when Joan Parks was asked if she was not afraid, she said: “No, no more than I am now. I could trust God for you, as well as for myself.”

Such was the beginning of Methodism in the “black country.” “The heathen raged, and the people imagined a vain thing. But He that sitteth in the heavens laughed; the Lord had them in derision.” Human justice there was none; but Divine protection was sufficient. Wesley was carried to the houses of Lane and Persehouse, but these two magisterial worthies refused to see him; and yet, only eight days before, they had the effrontery to issue the following proclamation, which Wesley justly calls one of the greatest curiosities, of the kind, that England had ever seen:—

“To all High Constables, Petty Constables, and other of His Majesty’s Peace Officers, within the county of Staffordshire, and particularly to the Constable of Tipton:—

“Whereas, we, His Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the said county of Stafford, have received information, that several disorderly persons, styling themselves Methodist preachers, go about raising routs and riots, to the great damage of His Majesty’s liege people, and against the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King.

“These are in His Majesty’s name, to command you, and every one of you, within your respective districts, to make diligent search after the said Methodist preachers, and to bring him or them before some of us His said Majesty’s Justices of the Peace, to be examined concerning their unlawful doings.

“Given under our hands and seals, this 12th day of October, 1743.

“J. Lane, “W. Persehouse.”[496]

It is a remarkable fact, however, that, notwithstanding Wesley’s rough usage, and the pretentiously loyal proclamation of these two unjust justices, Charles Wesley boldly bearded the lions in their den only five days after his brother so miraculously escaped. He found the poor Methodists “standing fast in one mind and spirit, in nothing terrified by their adversaries.” He writes: “Never before was I in so primitive an assembly. We sung praises lustily, and with a good courage; and could all set our seal to the truth of our Lord’s saying, ‘Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.’ We assembled before day to sing hymns of praise to Christ; and, as soon as it was light, I walked down the town, and preached boldly on Revelation ii. 10. It was a most glorious time. Our souls were satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and we longed for our Lord’s coming to confess us before His Father and His holy angels.”[497]

Even this is not all. The clergyman at Darlaston was so struck with the meek behaviour of the Methodists, in the midst of suffering, that he offered to join the Wesleys in punishing the rioters;[498] while “honest Munchin,” as he was called, the captain of the rabble, who first came to Wesley’s help and rescued him, was so impressed with his spirit and behaviour, that he immediately forsook his gang of godless companions, joined the Methodists, and was received, by Charles Wesley, as a member on trial, only five days after Wesley’s deliverance. “What thought you of my brother?” asked Charles Wesley of “honest Munchin.” “Think of him!” said he, “I thought he is a mon of God; and God was on his side, when so mony of us could not kill one mon.”

It may here be added, that “Munchin” was a nickname only,—a provincial word expressive of coarse, brutal strength. The real name of Wesley’s deliverer was George Clifton. He lived in a small house at the foot of Holloway Bank, and never tired of telling, in after days, how God stayed his hand, when he nearly took Wesley’s life. He died in Birmingham, at the age of eighty-five, in the year 1789, and was buried in St. Paul’s churchyard. It is a notable incident[499] that, while Wesley’s persecutors passed quickly away, nearly all who took joyfully the spoiling of their goods, lived, like “honest Munchin,” a long and a peaceful life, and saw their children’s children walking in the fear of God.

Unfortunately, the “Staffordshire riots” did not terminate in October, 1743; and, in order to complete the summary, we must trespass, for a moment, on the events of 1744.

We learn from the pamphlet already quoted, “Papers giving an account of the Rise and Progress of Methodism at Wednesbury and in other parishes adjacent,” that, after the bold visit of Charles Wesley, Messrs. Graves and Williams, who, for months past, had preached only in private houses, now begun to preach publicly. At Christmas, Whitefield came and spent several days in preaching in the streets with his accustomed eloquence and power; and then, on February 2, 1744, Charles Wesley again entered the field of action. Egginton, the Wednesbury vicar, had drawn up a paper, and sent the crier to give notice, that all the Methodists must sign it, or else their houses would be immediately demolished. It was to this effect, “that they would never read, or sing, or pray together, or hear the Methodist parsons any more.” Several signed through fear; and every one who did was mulcted a penny to assist in making the rabble drunk.[500]

This was not more than about a month before Charles Wesley’s visit. When he came, however, Egginton was dead; but, in the meantime, not a Methodist in Darlaston had escaped the renewed violence of the vicar’s godless mob, except two or three who had bought exemption by giving their purses to the lawless gang. The windows of all the Methodists were broken, neither glass, lead, nor frames remaining. Tables, chairs, chests of drawers, and whatever furniture was not easily removable, were dashed in pieces. Feather beds were torn to shreds, and the feathers strewed about the rooms[501] in all directions.

No craven-hearted parson would have ventured to preach to humanised fiends like these; and yet these were pre-eminently the men whom the Wesleys tried to benefit and save. At the risk of being murdered, they fearlessly told them of their sin and danger. More than once they had hazarded their lives; and now, Charles was in the midst of these begrimed ruffians, as courageous as ever. He escaped, but the poor Methodists were again made to suffer from the more than brutal violence of their fiendish neighbours.

One man’s wife, about Candlemas, was abused in a manner too horrible to relate; and, because he tried to bring some of the recreants to justice, his windows were broken; his furniture and tools destroyed; all his wife’s linen was torn to tatters; his bed and bedstead were cut; and his Bible and Prayer-Book pulled to pieces. On Shrove Tuesday, the house of Francis Ward was forcibly entered, and all his goods were stolen. John Darby’s house was broken open, his furniture and five stalls of bees destroyed, and his poultry filched. Other houses were plundered and injured in like manner. Some of the mob were armed with swords, some with clubs, and some with axes. The outrages, if possible, were even worse than those some months before. One man cut Mary Turner’s bible into fragments with his axe. Another swore he would beat out Mrs. Sheldon’s brains with her fire shovel. Joshua Constable was attacked by an outrageous gang, his house, in part, pulled down, his goods destroyed and stolen, and his wife violently and brutally assaulted. For six days, in the early part of 1744, this lawless riot lasted, and the damage done to the property of the Wednesbury Methodists amounted to a serious sum. Applications for redress were made to not fewer than three magistrates, but to no purpose. The document, containing many of the above facts, was drawn up on February 26, 1744 when the persecuted Methodists remark:—“We keep meeting together morning and evening, are in great peace and love with each other, and are nothing terrified by our adversaries. God grant we may endure to the end!”[502]

Leaving the “black country,” we must pass to other scenes of fiendish violence, and yet sacred triumph.

Cornwall, at this period, was as imbruted as Staffordshire. Smuggling was considered an honourable traffic, and the plunder of shipwrecked mariners was accounted a lawful prize. Drunkenness was general; and cockfighting, bullbaiting, wrestling, and hurling were the favourite amusements of the people. Francis Truscott relates that, at the time when the Wesleys first went to Cornwall, there was a village, about five miles from Helstone, which was literally without a Bible, and which had, no religious book whatever, except a single copy of the Book of Common Prayer, kept at the public house. On one occasion, during a terrific storm, when the people feared that the world was ending, they fled in consternation to the tavern, that Tom, the tapster, might secure them protection by reading them a prayer. Having fallen upon their knees, Tom hastily snatched a well thumbed book; and began, with great pomposity, to read about storms, wrecks, and rafts, until his mistress, finding that some mistake was made, cried out, “Tom, that is ‘Robin Cruso’!” “No,” said Tom, “it is the Prayer-Book;” and on he went until he came to a description of man Friday, when his mistress again vociferated that she was certain Tom was reading “Robin Cruso.” “Well, well,” said Tom, “suppose I am; there are as good prayers in ‘Robin Cruso’ as in any other book”; and so Tom proceeded, till the storm abated, and the conscience stricken company dispersed, complacently believing that they had done their duty.[503]

While the people, however, were thus generally sunk in ignorance and vice, there were a few exceptions. Among these were Catherine Quick and eleven others, at St. Ives, who frequently met together to pray, and to read Burkitt’s Notes on the New Testament. This godly band of pious people was visited by Captain Turner, a Methodist from Bristol; and this led Catherine Quick and her associates to invite Wesley to visit them.[504]

Charles Wesley was the first to come. Entering St. Ives, on July 16, Mr. Shepherd met him; the boys of the place gave him a rough salute; and Mr. Nance made him his welcome guest. The day after his arrival, he went to church, where the rector preached a railing sermon against the Methodists, or, as he called them, “the new sect, enemies to the Church, seducers, troublers, scribes, pharisees, and hypocrites.” Immediately after being thus religiously regaled, Charles and his godly inviters went to the church at Wednock, where Mr. Hoblin, the curate, poured out such a hotch-potch of railing and foolish lies as might have made even the devil blush. Charles told the preacher, that he had been misinformed; upon which his reverence replied, with more coarseness than courtesy, “You are a liar,” and then left him. On the day following, when Charles Wesley went to the market house, at St. Ives, and commenced singing the hundredth psalm, the mob began to beat a drum and shout. Four days later, when he had just named his text, the same unruly ruffians rushed upon his congregation, and threatened to murder them. The sconces of the room were broken, the windows dashed in pieces, and the shutters, benches, and, indeed, everything except the walls, destroyed. They asseverated, that Charles Wesley should not preach again, and lifted up their hands and clubs to strike him. The women were beaten, dragged about, and trampled on without mercy; until, at length, the rascals fell to quarreling among themselves, broke the town clerk’s head, and left the room. Two days after, while preaching at Wednock, the minister’s mob fell upon the congregation, and swore most horribly, that they would be revenged on them for their taking the people from the church, and making such a disturbance on the sabbath day. Sticks and stones were used, and ten cowardly ruffians attacked one unarmed man, beat him with their clubs, and knocked him to the ground. The day following, at St. Ives, the service was broken up by the mob throwing eggs and stones, and swearing they would pull down the walls of the room, whose windows, benches, and sconces they had already ruthlessly destroyed. At Pool, on July 26, the churchwarden shouted, and hallooed, and put his hat to Charles Wesley’s mouth to prevent his preaching.

All these outrages were principally prompted by the parsons, who continually spoke of the Methodists as popish emissaries, and who, to use the Rev. Mr. Hoblin’s fisticuff language, “ought to be driven away by blows, and not by arguments.” At length, the mayor of St. Ives appointed twenty new constables to suppress the rioters by force of arms, “and plainly told Mr. Hoblin, the fire and fagot minister, that he would not be perjured to gratify any man’s malice.”

Charles Wesley came to St. Ives on the 16th of July, and set out, on his return to London, on August 8, his brother having summoned him to attend a conference with the adherents of Whitefield and with the Moravians. In this way, his labours in Cornwall were interrupted; but, a fortnight after, his brother, accompanied by John Nelson, John Downes, and Mr. Shepherd, succeeded him. Nelson and Downes had but one horse between them, and, hence, rode by turns. They reached St. Ives on August 30, and found the society increased to about a hundred and twenty, nearly a hundred of whom had found peace with God. John Nelson began to work at his trade as a stonemason; and, as opportunity permitted, preached at St. Just, the Land’s End, and other places. John Downes fell ill of a fever, and was unable to preach at all. Wesley and Nelson slept upon the floor, Wesley using Nelson’s top coat for a pillow, and Nelson using Burkitt’s Notes on the New Testament for his. One morning, at three o’clock, after using this hard bed for a fortnight, Wesley turned over, clapped Nelson on the side, and jocosely said: “Brother Nelson, let us be of good cheer, for the skin is off but one side yet.” Their board also was as hard as their bed. They were continually preaching; but “it was seldom,” says Nelson, “that any one asked us to eat or drink. One day, as we returned from St. Hilary Downs, Mr. Wesley stopped his horse to pick the blackberries, saying, ‘Brother Nelson, we ought to be thankful, that there are plenty of blackberries; for this is the best country I ever saw for getting an appetite, but the worst for getting food.’”[505]

Wesley spent three weeks in Cornwall, leaving Nelson behind him. Upon the whole, he had been kindly treated. The mob at St. Ives, it is true, welcomed him with a loud huzza; and serenaded him before his window with the harmless ditty:—

But, during his stay, the only act of violence he met with was, on one occasion, when the mob burst into the room at St. Ives, and a ruffian struck him on the head.

On his way to Cornwall, and also on returning, Wesley preached at Exeter, and visited a lad, and a clergyman in prison, both sentenced to suffer death. His vast congregation “in that solemn amphitheatre,” as he calls the castle yard, was such an one as he had rarely seen,—“void both of anger, fear, and love.” He also preached at the cross in Taunton, where a man, attempting to make disturbance, so exasperated the congregation, that there was a general cry, “Knock the rascal down, beat out his brains!” and Wesley had to interfere to prevent his being roughly handled. He likewise paid a flying visit to the Isles of Scilly, crossing the ocean in a fishing boat, and singing amid the swelling waves:—

It has been already stated, that Charles Wesley was summoned from Cornwall to attend a conference in London, consisting of the leading men of the three communities,—the Arminian Methodists, the Calvinistic Methodists, and the Moravians. The object of the conference was, by mutual explanations and concessions, to cultivate a better understanding with each other; so that the parties might avoid all unnecessary collision, and unite, as far as was practicable, in advancing what they believed to be the work of God. Wesley drew up a statement of the questions at issue between himself and Whitefield, with the concessions he was prepared to make.[506] Mr. Jackson says, the project had its origin with Wesley,[507] and perhaps it had; but, a year before this, John Cennick expressed a wish for the same sort of meeting. In a letter to Whitefield’s wife, dated May 6, 1742, he writes:—“I have had it much impressed upon my mind, that it would be right in the sight of God, that all our preachers, all Mr. Wesley’s, and all the Moravian brethren should meet together. Who knows but we might unite? Or if not, we might consent in principles as far as we can, and love one another. At least, I think all our preachers should meet, as the apostles did, often. I know it would be for good; but I suspend my judgment to the elder brethren.”[508]

It may thus be doubtful whether the proposal for the conference originated with Wesley or with Cennick; but, through no fault of Wesley’s, the proposal was abortive. To be present at the conference, Wesley travelled from Newcastle; his brother came all the way from Cornwall; and John Nelson trudged from Yorkshire. But Whitefield, who was in London, seems to have declined the invitation; the Moravians refused to come; and, though Spangenberg had promised to attend, he left England instead of doing so; while James Hutton said, his brethren had orders not to confer at all, unless the archbishop of Canterbury, or the bishop of London, were also present.[509]

This was the last attempt at union; but perhaps it suggested to Wesley’s mind the idea of having conferences of his own, which he began to hold twelve months afterwards.

Not a little of the time of the two Wesleys was now employed in pastoralizing the societies they had formed in London, Bristol, and other places. In Bristol, in the month of January, Wesley spoke to each member of society, and rejoiced in finding them neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. He did the same at Kingswood, and remarks: “I cannot understand how any minister can hope ever to give up his account with joy, unless (as Ignatius advises) he knows all his flock by name; not overlooking the men servants and maid servants.” In London, he and his brother began visiting the society together, on February 2, which they continued from six in the morning to six at night, until the visiting was completed. The same practice was pursued at Newcastle.

The London society now consisted of nineteen hundred and fifty members; and, before the year was ended, it numbered two and twenty hundred. This was a large church, gathered within the last four years, and needing a more than ordinary amount of pastoral attention. The members only, to say nothing of children, servants, and outside hearers, were almost sufficient to fill the Foundery chapel twice over. More room became imperative. Without this, it seemed to be impossible to extend, or even to conserve the work. London had one Methodist chapel already; before the year was ended, it had two others.

In the month of May, Wesley had the offer of a chapel in West Street, Seven Dials, which about sixty years before had been built by the French Protestants. He accepted the offer, and opened the chapel, as a Methodist place of worship, on Trinity Sunday, the first service lasting from ten o’clock till three. At five, he preached again to an immense congregation at the Great Gardens; then met the leaders; and after them the bands; and yet, at ten o’clock at night, he was less weary than when he began his enormous day’s work in the morning. Here, when in London, he and his brother now regularly officiated on Sunday mornings and evenings, read the liturgy, and administered the sacraments. The Lord’s supper was celebrated at the morning service on both the first and second Sundays of the month, and the attendance was so numerous, that, in both instances, the service usually lasted at least five hours. This was longer than even Wesley thought desirable, and led him to divide the communicants into three divisions, so that not more than about six hundred might communicate on the same occasion. These were enormous gatherings, with which those of the present day will hardly bear comparison.

Three months after he took possession of the West Street chapel, Wesley became the occupier of a third, which had been built in Bermondsey, Southwark, by a Unitarian. Being vacant, Wesley took it. Some objected to this. “What!” said a zealous woman, “what! will Mr. Wesley preach at Snowsfields? Surely not! there is not such another place in London. The people there are not men, but devils!” This was just the sort of reason to induce Wesley, not to stay away, but go. Accordingly, on August 8, he opened Snowsfields chapel by preaching from the words—“Jesus said, They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

Wesley did more than this for the London society. Visiting the sick he regarded as an imperative Christian duty. Sending them help was not enough. Besides, to neglect this was not only to neglect a duty, but to lose a means of grace. “One great reason,” says Wesley, “why the rich have so little sympathy for the poor, is, because they so seldom visit them.” “All,” he adds, “who desire to escape the everlasting fire, and to inherit the everlasting kingdom, are equally concerned, according to their power, to practise this important duty.”[510] Holding such sentiments, Wesley himself, throughout life, visited the poor and the afflicted, to the utmost of his ability; but, of course, as an itinerant evangelist, when he had done his best, much was left untouched. Hence, in the year 1743, he appointed in London visitors of the sick, as distinct office bearers in his society.[511] Stewards had been appointed already, to receive the contributions of the society, which amounted to nearly £8 per week; and to distribute them, partly in repairing and paying for chapel premises, partly in paying debts, partly in other necessary expenses, and partly in relieving the afflicted and the poor. The stewards, seven in number, were to be frugal; to have no long accounts; to give none, that asked relief, either an ill word or an ill look; and to expect no thanks from man. They met together every Thursday morning at six o’clock, and distributed all the money paid to them up to the previous Tuesday night; so that all receipts and disbursements were concluded within the week. The stewards, however, soon found a difficulty with regard to the afflicted. Some were ready to perish before they heard of them; and, even when they became acquainted with their illness, being persons generally employed in trade, they were unable to visit them as often as they wished. To meet this deficiency, Wesley called together the whole of the London society; showed how impossible it was for the stewards to visit all the sick in all parts of the metropolis; desired the leaders to be more careful in inquiring after sick cases, and in giving early information concerning them; and then appealed to the assembled members and asked for volunteers for this important work. Numbers cheerfully responded, out of whom Wesley selected forty-six, whom he judged to be of the most tender, loving spirit. He then divided London into twenty-three districts, and arranged that the sick, in each district, should be visited, by a couple of visitors, three times every week; and that the visitors, besides inquiring into the state of the people’s souls, should relieve those of them in want, and should present their accounts to the stewards weekly. Wesley writes:—