1754

I returned once more to London.

On Wednesday, 2, I set out in the machine, and the next afternoon came to Chippenham. Here I took a post chaise, in which I reached Bristol about eight in the evening.

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I began drinking the water at the Hot-Well, having a lodging at a small distance from it; and on Sunday, 6, I began writing Notes on the New Testament; a work which I should scarce ever have attempted, had I not been so ill as not to be able to travel or preach, and yet so well as to be able to read and write.

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I went on now in a regular method, rising at my hour, and writing from five to nine at night; except the time of riding, half an hour for each meal, and the hour between five and six in the evening.

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I went in a coach to Bristol, and gave a short exhortation to the society.

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In the evening one or two of our neighbors desired to join in our family prayers; a few more soon made the same request, so that I had a little congregation every night. After a few nights I began to add a short exhortation, so preparing myself for a larger congregation.

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Mr. Bruce came with Mr. Milner, who had been for some time melancholy, even to madness; but by proper application to his mind, as well as body, the disorder sensibly abated in a short time.

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My wife, desiring to pay the last office to her poor dying child, set out for London, and came a few days before he went home, rejoicing and praising God.

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I went in a chaise to Kingswood, and administered the sacrament to a small congregation. I expected Mr. M—— to assist; but he slipped away, and hid himself till I had done.

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I was sent for by one of my neighbors, dying of a consumption. She seemed full of good desires: But who does not, when death stands at the door?

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My brother came down from London, and we spent several days together, in comparing the translation of the Evangelists with the original, and reading Dr. Heylyn’s “Lectures,” and Dr. Doddridge’s “Family Expositor.”

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I took my leave of the Hot-Well, and removed to Bristol.

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Having finished the rough draught, I began transcribing the Notes on the Gospels.

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I preached for the first time, after an intermission of four months. What reason have I to praise God, that he does not take the word of his truth utterly out of my mouth!

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I took my leave of a venerable monument of divine mercy, Colonel T — d; who, after wandering from God fourscore years, has at length found the way of peace, and is continually panting after God.

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We set out in the machine, and the next evening reached the Foundery. Wednesday, 3. I settled all the business I could, and the next morning retired to Paddington. Here I spent some weeks in writing; only going to town on Saturday evenings, and leaving it again on Monday morning.

In my hours of walking I read Dr. Calamy’s “Abridgment of Mr. Baxter’s Life.” What a scene is opened here! In spite of all the prejudice of education, I could not but see that the poor Nonconformists had been used without either justice or mercy; and that many of the Protestant Bishops of King Charles had neither more religion, nor humanity, than the Popish Bishops of Queen Mary.

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Mr. Skelton told me, “Sir, I intend, on Friday next, to go down to Bury, and settle there.” Finding he was fully determined, I said nothing against it. So we parted civilly.

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I preached at Sadler’s-Wells, in what was formerly a play house. I am glad when it pleases God to take possession of what Satan esteemed his own ground. The place, though large, was extremely crowded; and deep attention sat on every face.

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I rode to S — , with one to whom a large estate is fallen, by her uncle’s dying without a will. It is a miracle if it does not drown her soul in everlasting perdition.

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I labored to convince Mr. Green that he had not done well, in confuting (as he termed it) the sermon I had preached the Sunday before in the morning, from the same pulpit in the afternoon: But he was absolutely above conviction. I then asked, “Will you meet me half way? I will never preach publicly against you: Will not you against me?” But he disclaimed any such agreement; and walked away, as one who did not design to come any more. He told all he met, I had put him away. Indeed not I: But I adore the providence of God. He has put himself away; nor shall I desire him to come again, till he has a more sound judgment, or a more teachable spirit.

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I began explaining, to the morning congregation, Bolton’s “Directions for Comfortable Walking with God.” I wish all our Preachers, both in England and Ireland, would herein follow an example; and frequently read in public, and enforce select portions of the “Christian Library.”

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Our Conference began; and the spirit of peace and love was in the midst of us. Before we parted, we all willingly signed an agreement, not to act independently on each other: So that the breach lately made has only united us more closely together than ever.

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I rode to Hillingdon, and preached to a very genteel congregation, who behaved with abundantly more decency and seriousness than I expected. This is the church to which many of Mr. M — ‘s parishioners have gone, ever since he preached salvation by faith. And how has God overtaken them; who by the long illness of the Curate, has brought Mr. M — to preach at this very place!

JUNE 2. — (Being Whit-Sunday.) I preached at the Foundery; which I had not done before in the evening. Still I have not recovered my whole voice or strength: Perhaps I never may: But let me use what I have.

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I rode to Cookham. The next evening I preached in a magnificent apartment, to a suitable congregation. How seldom is the Gospel heard in a palace! But what is too hard for God?

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I took another ride to Sundon, and on the road read “Strada de Bello Belgico;” an historian scarce inferior in any respect either to Livy or Tacitus. As to his religion, I should rather compare him to the former: For Tacitus was no friend either to superstition or cruelty.

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We spent some hours at Rest, a seat of the late Duke of Kent; who was forty years laying out and improving the gardens, which I cannot but prefer even before Lord Cobham’s. But how little did the place answer its name! How little rest did its miserable master enjoy! Thou, O God, hast made our heart for thyself; and it cannot rest, till it resteth in thee.

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I read one of the prettiest trifles which perhaps is extant in the English tongue, — Mr. Hay, “On Deformity.” Surely such a writer deserves a better subject.

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I spent two hours in the gardens at Kensington. They are just fit for a King; far more grand than pleasant: And yet nothing so grand as many parts of the Peak in Derbyshire.

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I set out with my brother, and on Wednesday, 10, reached Lakenham, near Norwich. Here we had a full account of that wretched man, James Wheatley, for whom, I fear, it had been good if he had not been born. All Norwich was in an uproar concerning him; so that it did not appear we could have any place there. However, on Sunday, 14, at seven in the morning, my brother took his stand in the street. A multitude of people quickly gathered together, and were tolerably quiet, all things considered. I would willingly have taken his place in the evening, but had neither voice nor strength. However, on Thursday, 18, being a little recovered from the illness which had attended me for several days, after my brother had done, I spoke to the congregation for a few minutes; and promised to see them again, if God should restore my strength, at the first opportunity.

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I rode to Newmarket, and the next day to Bedford. Sunday, 21. I preached near St. Peter’s Green; having never preached abroad since I was there before. Monday, 22. I returned to London.

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I set out for Canterbury. On the way I read Mr. Baxter’s “History of the Councils.” It is utterly astonishing, and would be wholly incredible, but that his vouchers are beyond all exception. What a company of execrable wretches have they been, (one cannot justly give them a milder title,) who have almost in every age, since St. Cyprian, taken upon them to govern the Church! How has one Council been perpetually cursing another; and delivering all over to Satan, whether predecessors or contemporaries, who did not implicitly receive their determinations, though generally trifling, sometimes false, and frequently unintelligible or self contradictory! Surely Mahometanism was let loose to reform the Christians! I know not but Constantinople has gained by the change.

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I was much out of order: However, I preached in the evening; but could do nothing the next day. On Thursday I hastened back to London, and came pretty well to the Foundery. I consulted Dr. F. the next morning, who advised me to return to the Hot-Well without delay.

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I buried the body of Mary Doxsey, long a pattern of patience and gentleness. Monday, 12. I set out in the machine; and on Tuesday night (taking horses at Bath) came to Bristol.

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I took a lodging at the New Hot-Well, where I was free both from noise and hurry; and had an opportunity of drinking the water late in the evening, and early in the morning. But my course of physic was near being cut short the next day, by a large stone which was hung up as the weight of a jack. I applied to my head cloths dipped in cold water, which presently stopped the bleeding, and so abated the swelling, that in a few hours I found no farther inconvenience.

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After preaching at Weaver’s Hall, one of the audience, a Clergyman, (who had then a parish near Bridgewater, but is now, I trust, in Abraham’s bosom,) desired to have some conversation with me, and spoke without reserve. His experience was of a peculiar kind, much resembling that of Gregory Lopez. But he soon determined to seek Christ for the time to come, not in a desert, but in the congregation of his people.

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I set out for the West. About eleven, one stopped me on the road, and earnestly desired me to turn aside, and pray with one who was near death. I found her worn away to a skeleton, and rotting in pieces with the King’s evil. But her greatest trouble seemed to be, that she was not so alive to God as formerly. After prayer, her mind was more composed; and she could trust God both with her soul and body. At noon I met the little, loving society at Shepton; and in the evening preached at Middlesey. My work today was full enough for my strength.

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We rode easily to Taunton. After we had rested a while, one desired me to step to his father, who was dying of a consumption. He had been always a very honest, moral man; but now found, this was not the one thing needful, and appeared earnestly desirous of knowing Christ, and the power of his resurrection.

A little before twelve we set out from Taunton. The sun shone exceeding hot, so that I was almost worn-out when we called at the house of a friend on Maiden-Down. But after a little rest, my strength returned; and I went on, not much tired, to Tiverton.

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We took horse early, and rode to Oakhampton. Our landlord here informed us, he was upwards of ninety; yet had not lost either his sight, hearing, or teeth. Nor had he found that for which he was born. Indeed, he did not seem to have any more thought about it, than a child of six years old.

We could not but observe, that although the sky appeared continually between the clouds, which drove to and fro, yet the sun scarce shone upon us for six minutes together, from six in the morning to six in the evening. Soon after six I preached at Launceston, and met the society.

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At noon I preached at the Town-Hall to a very wild, yet civil congregation. At two, the stewards, not only from the upper part of Cornwall, but several from the western societies, met. At six I preached in the Town-Hall, again; and for the sake of this hour only, (had no other end been answered,) I should have thought all the labor of my journey well bestowed.

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I rode to Plymouth-Dock, and preached in the Room lately built. But though it was three or four times as large as the old, it would not contain the congregation. Is the time come, when even this barren soil shall bring forth “fruits of righteousness?”

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I set out at three, reached Collumpton by six in the evening, and, after half an hour’s rest, was enabled to preach in the little meadow, without any faintness or weariness.

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In the evening I preached at Tiverton, in the garden which adjoins to the preaching-house. It was a refreshing season.

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I preached at Charlton, a village six miles from Taunton, to a large congregation gathered from the towns and country for many miles round. All the farmers here had some time before entered into a joint engagement to turn all out of their service, and give no work to any, who went to hear a Methodist Preacher. But there is no counsel against the Lord. One of the chief of them, Mr. G—— , was not long after convinced of the truth, and desired those very men to preach at his house. Many of the other confederates came to hear, whom their servants and laborers gladly followed. So the whole device of Satan fell to the ground; and the word of God grew and prevailed.

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I rode to Dr. Robertson’s, at Pitcomb; and after spending a few agreeable and useful hours in that delightful recess, went forward, about four miles, to Westcomb. I preached on a green place in the town about eight in the morning, to a deeply attentive congregation; and came in the afternoon to Bristol, at least as well as when I set out.

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I rode to Trowbridge, where one who found peace with God while he was a soldier in Flanders, and has been much prospered in business since his discharge, has built a preaching-house at his own expense. He had a great desire that I should be the first who preached in it; but before I had finished the hymn, it was so crowded, and consequently so hot, that I was obliged to go out and stand at the door: There was a multitude of hearers, rich and poor. O that they may not all hear in vain!

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I thought I had strength enough to keep a watch-night, which I had not done before for eleven months. But though I broke off at eleven, I almost lost my voice; and the next evening at Weaver’s Hall it entirely failed, so that I had much difficulty to conclude my sermon.

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I preached at Coleford, our other Kingswood, where also the lions are become lambs. On Tuesday we went on to Salisbury.

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I walked to Old Sarum, which, in spite of common sense, without house or inhabitant, still sends two members to the Parliament. It is a large, round hill, encompassed with a broad ditch, which, it seems, has been of a considerable depth. At the top of it is a cornfield; in the midst of which is another round hill, about two hundred yards in diameter, encompassed with a wall, and a deep ditch. Probably before the invention of cannon, this city was impregnable. Troy was; but now it is vanished away, and nothing left but “the stones of emptiness.”

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I rode to Reading, and preached in the evening. Observing a warm man near the door, (which was once of the society,) I purposely bowed to him; but he made no return. During the first prayer he stood, but sat while we sung. In the sermon his countenance changed, and in a little while he turned his face to the wall. He stood at the second hymn, and then kneeled down. As I came out he caught me by the hand, and dismissed me with a hearty blessing.

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I came to London. On Monday, 7, I retired to a little place near Hackney, formerly a seat of Bishop Bonner’s, (how are the times changed!) and still bearing his name. Here I was as in a College. Twice a day we joined in prayer. The rest of the day, (allowing about an hour for meals, and another for walking before dinner and supper,) I spent quietly in my study.

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I administered the sacrament to R—— A——. Some years ago, he found peace with God, and was freed at once, without any human means, from a distemper naturally incurable. But after three years, on his falling back into the world, it returned more violent than ever; and will probably now be cured no more but by the universal remedy, — death.

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Mr. Gilbert Tennent, of New-England, called upon me, and informed me of his design, now ready to be executed, of founding an American College for Protestants of every denomination: An admirable design, if it will bring Protestants of every denomination to bear with one another.

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I delivered my own soul, by one more conversation with Sir; the substance of which I wrote to him the next day in the following letter: —

“SIR, October 28, 1754.

“WHETHER I see you any more in this life or no, I rejoice that I have seen you this once; and that God enabled you to bear with patience, what I spoke in the simplicity of my heart.

“The substance of what I took the liberty to mention to you this morning was, You are on the borders of the grave, as well as I: Shortly we must both appear before God. When it seemed to me, some months since, that my life was near an end, I was troubled that I had not dealt plainly with you. This you will permit me to do now, without any reserve, in the fear and in the presence of God.

“I reverence you for your office as a Magistrate; I believe you to be an honest, upright man; I love you for having protected an innocent people from their cruel and lawless oppressors. But so much the more am I obliged to say, (though I judge not; God is the judge,) I fear you are covetous; that you love the world: And if you do, as sure as the word of God is true, you are not in a state of salvation.

“The substance of your answer was, ‘That many people exhort others to charity from self interest; that men of fortune must mind their fortune; that you cannot go about to look for poor people; that when you have seen them yourself, and relieved them, they were scarce ever satisfied; that many make an ill use of what you give them; that you cannot trust the account people give of themselves by letters; that, nevertheless, you do give to private persons, by the hands of Colonel Hudson and others; that you have also given to several hospitals an hundred pounds at a time; but that you must support your family; that the Lowther family has continued above four hundred years; that you are for great things, — for public charities, and for saving the nation from ruin; and that others may think as they please, but this is your way of thinking, and has been for many years.’

“To this I replied:

‘1. Sir, I have no self interest in this matter; I consult your interest, not my own; I want nothing from you; I desire nothing from you; I expect nothing from you: But I am concerned for your immortal spirit to which must so soon launch into eternity.

2. It is true, men of fortune must mind their fortune; but they must not love the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.

3. It is true, likewise, you cannot go about to look for poor people; but you may be sufficiently informed of them by those that can.

4. And if some of these are never satisfied, this is no reason for not relieving others.

5. Suppose, too, that some make an ill use of what you give, the loss falls on their own head; you will not lose your reward for their fault: What you laid out, God will pay you again.

6. Yet certainly you do well to have all the assurance you can, that those to whom you give, are likely to make a good use of it; and therefore to expect a stronger recommendation of them than their own, whether by letter or otherwise.

7. I rejoice that you have given to many by so worthy a man as Colonel Hudson, whose word is certainly a sufficient recommendation.

8. I rejoice likewise that you have given some hundreds of pounds to the Hospitals, and wish it had been ten thousand.

9. To the support of the family I did not object; but begged leave to ask, whether this could not be done, without giving ten thousand a year to one who had as much already? And whether you could answer this to God, in the day wherein he shall judge the world?

10. I likewise granted, that the family had continued above four hundred years; but observed, meantime, that God regarded it not a jot the more for this; and that four hundred or one thousand years are but a moment, compared to eternity.

11. I observed likewise that great things may be done, and little things not left undone.

12. And that if this, or any other way of thinking be according to Scripture, then it is sound and good; whereas, if it be contrary to Scripture, it is not good, and the longer we are in it, so much the worse.’

“Upon the whole, I must once more earnestly entreat you to consider yourself, and God, and eternity. As to yourself, you are not the proprietor of any thing; no, not of one shilling in the world. You are only a steward of what another entrusts you with, to be laid out, not according to your will, but his. And what would you think of your steward, if he laid out what is called your money, according to his own will and pleasure? 2. Is not God the sole proprietor of all things? And are not you to give an account to him for every part of his goods? And O how dreadful an account, if you have expended any part of them not according to his will, but your own? 3. Is not death at hand? And are not you and I just stepping into eternity? Are we not just going to appear in the presence of God; and that naked of all worldly goods? Will you then rejoice in the money you have left behind you? Or in that you have given to support a family, as it is called, that is, in truth, to support the pride, and vanity, and luxury, which you have yourself despised all your life long? O, Sir, I beseech you, for the sake of God, for the sake of your own immortal soul, examine yourself, whether you do not love money? If so, you cannot love God. And if we die without the fear of God, what remains? Only to be banished from him for ever and ever! I am, with true respect, Sir,

“Your servant, for Christ’s sake.”

AN EXTRACT

OF THE

REV. MR. JOHN WESLEY’S JOURNAL

FROM FEBRUARY 16, 1755, TO JUNE 16, 1758.

————

NUMBER X

———————

JOURNAL

FROM FEBRUARY 16, 1755, TO JUNE 16, 1758.

—————

FEBRUARY 16, 1755. — Having heard a confused account from a place near Camelford, in Cornwall, I wrote to a friend near it, and received the following answer: —

“ACCORDING to your desire, I have inquired into the particulars of the late affair at Delabole Quarry. The rock is about thirty yards thick; but the most valuable part of the stone lies undermost.

“There were nine partners who shared the advantage of this part of the Quarry. Being greedy of gain, they brought out as much of the under part as possible; and the rather, because the time for which they had hired it was within a month of expiring.

“On Monday, Dec. 2, William Lane, John Lane, William Kellow, and five more of the partners, met in the morning, and sent one of their number for Theophilus Kellow to come to world;. He came, but was so uneasy he could not stay, but quickly returned home. William Kellow was sent for in haste, and went to look after his mare, which had cast her foal. The other seven continued laboring till twelve. All the workmen usually dine together; but these wrought on, when the rest withdrew, till in a moment they were covered with rocks of all sizes, falling about ten yards, some of which were thought to be three tons weight. William Lane had, some years since, known the love of God. He was sitting, cleaving stones, when the rock calved in upon him, with a concave surface, which just made room for his body: Only one edge of it light upon him, and broke one of his thigh bones. When they dug away the stones, he was earnestly praying to God, and confessing his unfaithfulness. As soon as he looked up, he began exhorting all around instantly to make their peace with God. His bone being set, he soon recovered both his bodily strength, and the peace and love which he had lost. Another, who sat close by his side, was covered over, and killed at once. Close to him, John Lane (son of William) was standing: He was thrown upon his face, he knew not how, and a sharp edged stone pitched between his thighs; on which a huge rock fell, and was suspended by it, so as to shadow him all over. The other five were entirely dashed in pieces.” — Doth not God save those that trust in him?

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