1769

We met, as usual, at Spitalfields chapel, to renew our covenant with God. And we never do this without a blessing. Many were comforted, and many strengthened.

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I spent a comfortable and profitable hour with Mr. Whitefield, in calling to mind the former times, and the manner wherein God prepared us for a work which it had not then entered into our hearts to conceive.

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I rode to Chesham. Our own Room being neither so large, nor so convenient, Mr. Spooner, the Dissenting Minister, gave me the use of his meeting. There was a great number of hearers. They were very attentive; and I doubt that was all.

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I went (by land and water) to Sheerness. Our place here would by no means contain the congregation. A large number of them attended in the morning, and seemed just ripe for the blessing. It is an advantage to the people here that they are in a little corner of the land, shut up, as it were, from all the world; but not from the Gospel or Spirit of Christ.

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I returned to Chatham, and preached in the great Meeting, on, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Friday, 27. I returned to London. The same day Elizabeth Vandome went to rest.

A month or two ago, when she was first taken ill, she dictated the following letter: —

“Dear And Rev. Sir,

“WHEN I first heard the Gospel from you, I was convinced of sin, and nothing could satisfy me but a sense of pardoning love. For a month the garment of weeping was put upon me night and day; till one day, as I was repeating those words,

I trust in Him that stands between

The Father’s wrath and me;

Jesus, thou great eternal mean,

I look for all from thee!

I was struck down to the ground, and felt the arm of the Lord revealed in me: I knew that God was reconciled; I felt sanctification begun. The fight of faith ensued; and for three quarters of a year I was struggling with my own will. Sometimes I was in an agony; I was ready to weep my life away, fearing the sins I felt in my heart would never be done away. Yet I believed there was a rest for the people of God; a rest from all sin. One day, conversing with one about the things of God, he said, ‘You would have all things became new, before you believe. But that is not the way. You must believe first.’ When he went away, the Spirit of prayer and supplication rested upon me. Yet I felt ‘bound down with twice ten thousand ties.’ However, I wrestled on, till the Lord broke in upon my soul like the sun in his glory. He loosed me at once from all my bonds, and I knew I loved him with all my heart. Jesus appeared with hair as white as wool, and garments down to his feet, and gave me to sit with him in heavenly places. And from that time (which is seven or eight and twenty years ago) I have felt no temper contrary to love. I have no desire contrary to the will of God. On this bed of sickness I have communion with the church triumphant. I know that

Jesus is my brother now,

And God is all my own.

When the tempter comes, my soul cleaves to Jesus, and I am kept in perfect peace.

“I thought it my duty to leave this short account of the gracious dealings of God with my soul, as you was the instrument he was pleased to make use of, for the beginning and furthering of his work. O may the Lord strengthen you and your brother, and increase in you every fruit of his Spirit; and when you fail on earth, may we meet in heaven, and praise the great Three-One to all eternity!”

“This account was written some time past, when she was sick in bed. But since then God raised her up, and enabled her still to be useful to others, though in great weakness of body. When she took to her bed again, about three weeks ago, she had a remarkable dream: — She thought she saw Mr. W., laboring with his might, to keep the people from falling into a deep pit, which very few of them perceived. The concern she was in awaked her in great emotion. On Tuesday evening last, she desired us to set her up in bed, to meet her class. Her voice faltered much. She earnestly exhorted them all to live near to God, and to keep close together; adding, ‘I shall soon join the church above.’ She spoke no more; all was silent rapture, till, on Friday morning, without sigh or groan, she resigned her spirit to God.

“Lydia Vandome.”

Such a living and dying witness of the perfect love of God, which she enjoyed for eight-and-twenty years, one would think sufficient to silence all the doubts and objections of reasonable and candid men.

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I began visiting the classes. In the intervals I looked over the Transactions of the Royal Society. Is not that a little too severe, — Turpe est difficles habere nugas?¹

If this be true, and if it had been well considered, would half of these Transactions have had a being? Nay, were men convinced of this, what would become of the greater part of all the philosophical experiments in Europe?

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I spent an hour with venerable woman, near ninety years of age, who retains her health, her senses, her understanding, and even her memory, to a good degree. In the last century she belonged to my grandfather Annesley’s congregation, at whose house her father and she used to dine every Thursday; and whom she remembers to have frequently seen in his study, at the top of the house, with his window open, and without any fire, winter or summer. He lived seventy-seven years and would probably have lived longer, had he not began water drinking at seventy.

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I went to Deptford, on purpose to see honest William Brown, worn out with age and pain, and long confined to his bed, without the use of either hand or foot. But he has the use of his understanding and his tongue, and testifies that God does all things well; that he has no doubt or fear, but is cheerfully waiting till his change shall come.

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I rode to Colchester, and had the satisfaction of seeing such a congregation, both this evening and the following, as I never saw in that House before. Wednesday, 15. I rode to Bury, and found not only an attentive audience, but a little society athirst for God. Thursday, 16. Supposing we had but five-and-forty miles to Yarmouth, I did not set out till near seven: But it proved threescore; likewise it rained all day, and part of the road was very bad. However, God strengthened both man and beast: So we reached it before six in the evening.

As we were both thoroughly wet, I was a little afraid for my companion, who was much older than me, though he had not lived so many years. But neither of us was any worse. The congregation was the largest I ever saw at Yarmouth; and I spoke far more plainly (if not roughly) than ever I did before. But I doubt, if, after all the stumbling-blocks laid in their way, any thing will sink into their hearts.

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I abridged Dr. Watts’s pretty “Treatise on the Passions.” His hundred and seventy-seven pages will make an useful tract of four-and-twenty. Why do persons who treat the same subjects with me, write so much larger books? Of many reasons, is not this the chief, — We do not write with the same view? Their principal end is to get money; my only one, to do good.

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We rode to Norwich. Sunday, 19. At seven I administered the Lord’s Supper to about a hundred and seventy serious communicants. One person then found peace with God, and many were comforted. In the evening, finding the House would not contain one-third of the congregation, I was obliged to stand in the open air; a sight which has not been seen at Norwich for many years. Yet all the people were still, and deeply attentive, two or three wild Antinomians excepted. I preached on the Gospel for the day, — the Woman of Canaan. I believe God spake to many hearts; but who will obey his voice?

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I rode to Lakenheath, and had more hearers there than I had had for several years. I spoke exceeding plain in the evening; one fruit of which was, that the House was filled at five in the morning. Thence I returned to Bury, and found the same little lively company, whose spirit seemed to reach the whole congregation. I know not when I have observed such a constraining power as while I was enforcing, “Seek ye the Lord while he may be found; call upon him while he is near.”

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I rode to Braintree. The sharp frost did not hinder many from attending; and all were serious and well-behaved. Saturday, 25. I went on to London.

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I had one more agreeable conversation with my old friend and fellow-laborer, George Whitefield. His soul appeared to be vigorous still, but his body was sinking apace; and, unless God interposes with his mighty hand, he must soon finish his labors.

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I buried the remains of Michael Hayes, a good old soldier of Jesus Christ. He had lived above an hundred and four years, and mostly in vigorous health. His speech and understanding continued to the last; and as he lived, so he died, praising God.

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After preaching at Spitalfields in the morning, and at West-Street in the afternoon, I went to Brentford; on Monday, to Hungerford; and the next day to Bath. On the road, I read over Dr. Campbell’s excellent answer to David Hume’s insolent book against miracles; and Dr. Brown’s keen “Animadversions on the Characteristics of Lord Shaftesbury,” — another lively, half-thinking writer. In the evening my brother read Prayers, and I preached, in the Countess of Huntingdon’s chapel. The congregation was very large and very attentive. Let us despair of nothing.

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I preached at Bristol, and met the society. The next three days I examined them, as usual, one by one, and found some increase in number, with much increase in peace and love.

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I set out northward. We had fine weather for a while; then the wind rose, and the rain came down amain. We were thoroughly wet before we came to Stroud, but took no cold at all. At six the House was, as usual, quite filled, though the wind and rain kept many strangers away. The people appeared to be all alive, and ready to devour the word. Afterwards we had a love feast, at which many, both men and women, spoke, with all simplicity, what God had done for their souls.

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After preaching to a large congregation at five, we rode toward Tewkesbury: Notice having been given of my preaching about noon at a house a mile from the town. But we could not get to it; the floods were so high; so I intended to go straight to Worcester. But one informing me a congregation from all parts was waiting, we set out another way, and waded through the water. This congregation too seemed quite earnest; so that I did not regret my labor. But the going and coming was hard work, so that I was a little tired before we came to Worcester. I began preaching about six in the riding-house. Abundance of people were deeply attentive. But toward the close, a large number of boys made a great noise. When we came out, men and boys joined together, in shouting and pushing to and fro. Many were frightened, but none hurt. Hitherto could Satan come, but no farther.

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My horse being lame, and part of the road very bad, I did not reach Mr. Lee’s, of Coton, till noon. The house is delightfully situated in his park, at the top of a fruitful hill. His Chaplain had just begun reading Prayers. Afterwards he desired me to give an exhortation. So I could not take horse till half-hour after one, when I had eighteen-twenty miles to ride on a lame horse. I came, however, to Shrewsbury between five and six, and preached to a large and quiet congregation. As we returned, the rabble were noisy enough; but they used only their tongues. So all was well.

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We rode, with a furious wind full in our face, to Chester. Friday, 17, and the next days, we had a refreshing season, with a loving people, and in a loving family. The congregations were not small in the mornings; in the evenings exceeding large. And all who attended, behaved as if they not only understood, but relished, the good word.

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Elizabeth Oldham called upon me. She told me, “Some time since my mother said, ‘Call my son to see me die.’ He asked, ‘Have you any fear of death?’ She said, ‘O no! That is gone long since. Perfect love casts out fear. Do not you see him? There he is, waiting to receive my soul!’ She then sang with a clear voice,

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

And ended her song and her life together.

“Every round my husband took lately, being doubtful when he took horse whether he should not drop by the way, he carried a paper in his pocket, telling who he was, and whither he was going. This day five weeks, being exceeding weak, he feared he should not be able to preach. But I said, ‘My dear, go into the pulpit, and the Lord will strengthen thee.’ And after he had spoke a few words the Lord did strengthen him. Neither did he speak in vain: Many were comforted; several justified. One of these said, ‘He is going to rest soon, and I shall go with him.’ He died in full triumph the next Lord’s Day; and she two hours after.

“But a day or two before he died, I felt a kind of unwillingness to give him up. I was mourning before the Lord concerning this, when he said to my inmost soul, ‘Wilt thou not give him back to me, whom I have fitted for myself?’ I said, ‘Lord, I do, I do give him up.’ And immediately he changed for death.

“On the Sunday following, I was saying to my little maid, (always a serious and dutiful child, three years and a half old,) ‘Hannah, dost thou love God?’ She eagerly answered, ‘Yes, mammy, I do.’ She added, ‘I will go to God; I will go to God;’ leaned down, and died.”

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I went to Parkgate, and, about eleven, embarked on board the King George. We had mild weather and smooth water all day. The next day, the west wind blew fresh. Yet about five we were in Dublin Bay, where we procured a fishing-boat, which brought us to Dunleary. Here we took a chaise, and got to Dublin about eight o’clock.

On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I labored to allay the ferment which still remained in the society. I heard the Preachers face to face, once and again, and endeavored to remove their little misunderstandings. And they did come a little nearer to each other: But still a jealousy was left, without an entire removal of which there can be no cordial agreement. March 26. — (Being Easter Day.) Many felt the power of the spirit, which raised Jesus from the dead. On Monday and Tuesday, I visited the classes, and the result of my closest observation was,

1. That out of five hundred members whom I left here, only four hundred and fifty remained:

2. That near half of the believers had suffered loss, and many quite given up their faith:

3. That the rest were more established then ever, and some swiftly growing in grace.

So that, considering the heavy storm they had gone through, if there was cause of humiliation on the one hand, there was, on the other, more abundant cause of thankfulness to Him who had saved so many when all the waves went over them.

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I was summoned to the Court of Conscience, by a poor creature who fed my horses three or four times while I was on board. For this service he demanded ten shillings. I gave him half-a-crown. When I informed the Court of this, he was sharply reproved: Let all beware of these land-sharks on one sea-coasts! — My scraps of time this week I employed in reading the account of Commodore Byron. I never before read of any who endured such hardships, and survived them. Sure no Novel in the world can be more affecting, or more surprising, than this history.

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I took horse at four; and notwithstanding the northeast wind, came to Newry before five in the evening. It was so extremely cold, that the congregation in the market-house was but small. The next evening it was considerably increased. Wednesday, 5. I rode to Terryhugan, where the poor people had raised a tent (so called) to screen me from the north wind. I urged them, with much enlargement of heart, not to receive the grace of God in vain. Thence we rode to Lisburn. The wind was still piercing cold; yet it did not hinder a multitude of people from attending at the Linen-hall; an open Square so termed, as are all the Linen-halls in Ireland.

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I designed to preach at noon in the market-house at Belfast; but it was pre-engaged by a dancing master: So I stood in the street, which doubled the congregation; to whom I strongly declared, “All have sinned, and are come short of the glory of God.” But this many of them had no ears to hear, being faithful followers of Dr. Taylor.

Coming to Carrickfergus, I found it was the time of the Quarter Sessions. This greatly increased the congregation; and most of them seemed to be deeply affected, rich as well as poor. Friday, 7. I preached at eleven, and, I believe, all the gentlemen in the town were present. So were all at Newton in the evening, while I enforced those solemn words, “God now commandeth all men, everywhere, to repent.”

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I returned to Lisburn, where I was agreeably surprised by a visit from Mr. Higginson, Rector of Ballinderry. He said, “I was prejudiced in favor of the Moravians, settled in my parish, till the late affair. One of my parishioners, Mr. Campbell, died, leaving by will his fortune to his two daughters; and, in case of their death, a thousand pounds to the poor of the parish. His widow was extremely ill; notwithstanding which, some of the Brethren, to whom she was quite devoted, came in the depth of winter, and carried her by night several miles to their house. She died in a few days after she had made a will, wherein she made two of them executors; a third, guardian to the children; and in case of their death left the whole estate to the Brethren. They concealed her death six days. Meantime, two of them went to Dublin, and procured Letters of Administration, and of Guardianship. Soon after I was pressed to undertake the cause of the orphans. I went to Dublin, and laid the affair before the Lord Chancellor; who, after a full hearing, cancelled the second will, and ordered the first to stand.”

At my leisure minutes yesterday and today, I read Mr. Glanvill’s Sadducismus Triumphatus. But some of his relations I cannot receive; and much less his way of accounting for them. All his talk of “aerial and astral spirits,” I take to be stark nonsense. Indeed, supposing the facts true, I wonder a man of sense should attempt to account for them at all. For who can explain the things of the invisible world, but the inhabitants of it?

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I preached in the market-house in Tanderagee to one of the liveliest congregations in the kingdom. Thursday and Friday I preached at Dawson’s Grove and Kilmararty; and on Saturday, 15, rode to Derry-Anvil, a little village out of all road, surrounded with bogs, just like my old parish of Wroote, in Lincolnshire. The congregation, however, was exceeding large and exceeding lively. I talked largely with several of them who believe they are saved from sin, and found no cause to disbelieve them: And I met with many more in these parts who witness the same confession.

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At nine I preached in a meadow near Cock-Hill to a listening multitude. I suppose we should have had twice the number in the evening, but the rain prevented. The grass being wet, I stood in the highway, while many stood in the neighboring houses. And the word of God was as the rain upon the tender herb.

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In the evening, and twice on Tuesday, I preached to a genteel yet serious audience, in Mr. M’Gough’s avenue, at Armagh. But God only can reach the heart. Wednesday, 19. As it rained, I chose rather to preach in M’Gough’s yard. The rain increasing, we retired into one of his buildings. This was the first time that I preached in a stable; and I believe more good was done by this than all the other sermons I have preached at Armagh.

We took horse about ten, being desired to call at Kinnard, (ten or eleven miles out of the way,) where a little society had been lately formed, who were much alive to God. At the town-end, I was met by a messenger from Archdeacon C——e, who desired I would take a bed with him; and soon after by another, who told me, the Archdeacon desired I would alight at his door. I did so; and found an old friend whom I had not seen for four or five and thirty years. He received me with the most cordial affection; and, after a time, said, “We have been building a new church, which my neighbors expected me to open; but if you please to do it, it will be as well.” Hearing the bell, the people flocked together from all parts of the town, and “received the word with all readiness of mind.” I saw the hand of God was in this, for the strengthening of this loving people; several of whom believe that the blood of Christ has “cleansed” them “from all sin.” Hence we rode through a pleasant country to Charlemount, where I preached to a very large and serious congregation, near the Fort, which has a ditch round it, with some face of a fortification; and probably (according to custom) costs the Government a thousand a year, for not three farthings’ service!

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I went on to Castle-Caulfield, and preached on the Green adjoining to the Castle, to a plain, serious people, who still retain all their earnestness and simplicity. Thence I rode to Cookstown; a town consisting of one street about a mile long, running directly through a bog. I preached to most of the inhabitants of the town; and so the next day, morning and evening. Many “received the word with gladness.” Perhaps they will not all be stony-ground hearers.

We took the new road to Dungiven. But it was hard work. Nigh founder’d, on we fared,

Treading the crude consistence.

We were near five hours going fourteen miles, partly on horseback, partly on foot. We had, as usual, a full House at Londonderry in the evening, and again at eight on Sunday morning. In the afternoon we had a brilliant congregation. But such a sight gives me no great pleasure; as I have very little hope of doing them good: Only “with God all things are possible.” Both this evening and the next I spoke exceeding plain to the members of the society. In no other place in Ireland has more pains been taken by the most able of our Preachers. And to how little purpose! Bands they have none: Four-and-forty persons in the society! The greater part of these heartless and cold. The audience in general dead as stones. However, we are to deliver our message; and let our Lord do as seemeth him good.

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I fixed again the meeting of the singers, and of the children; both which had been discontinued. Indeed, a general remissness had prevailed since the morning preaching was given up. No wonder: Wherever this is given up, the glory is departed from us.

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Being to preach at Brickfield, four or five (English) miles from Derry, I chose walking, to show these poor indolent creatures how to use their own feet. Finding the bulk of the hearers quite senseless, I spoke as strongly as I could, on, “Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” But I did not perceive they were at all affected. God only can raise the dead.

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I went to a village called the New-Buildings, about three miles from the city, and preached in a field near the town, to a civil, careless congregation. In the evening I preached in our Room, on, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth;” and now first I saw a prospect of doing good here: I mean since I came last. God did arise to maintain his own cause; and the stout-hearted trembled before him.

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I preached again at Brickfield; and God made some impression on the stony hearts: But much more at Derry in the evening. Here he spoke with his mighty voice; and I believe many were just on the brink of believing in the name of the Son of God.

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I preached to a very large congregation at the New-Buildings, who now were all attention. I preached in the evening at Derry; and, having taken a solemn leave of the society, rode to Brickfield, and slept in peace.

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I rode to Augher. It being extremely hot, I came in faint and weary. Before I finished my sermon, my head turned giddy, and I could hardly stand. But I had a good night’s rest, and rose as well as when I left Dublin.

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I began preaching at Sydare, about half-hour after five; and it was a day of God’s power. The impression was general, if not universal: None appeared to be unmoved. This constrained me to enlarge in prayer, as I have not done for some years; so that I did not dismiss the congregation till it was almost eight o’clock.

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About noon, I preached in the market place, at Enniskillen, once inhabited only by Protestants. But it has lost its glorying, having now at least five Papists to one Protestant. There was a large number of hearers, some civil, some rude, almost all totally unaffected. Thence I rode six or seven miles to Tonny-Lommon, where was a congregation of quite another kind. Great part of them knew in whom they had believed; all were deeply and steadily attentive; and many were thoroughly convinced of ill bred sin, and groaning for full redemption.

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I found near Swadlinbar, as artless, as earnest, and as loving a people as even at Tonny-Lommon. About six I preached at the town’s end, the very Papists appearing as attentive as the Protestants; and I doubt not thousands of these would soon be zealous Christians, were it not for their wretched Priests, who will not enter into the kingdom of God themselves, and diligently hinder those that would.

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I rode over the Black Mountains to Manorhamilton; so called from a poor wretch who settled here in the last century, and was famous for nothing else but hanging up all the Irish who fell into his hands. There was a general love to the Gospel here, till simple R. W. preached against the Clergy. It is strange every one does not see,

1. The sinfulness of railing at the Clergy; if they are blind leaders of the blind, then (says our Lord) “Let them alone:”

2. The foolishness of it. It never can do good; and has frequently done much harm.

At six I preached to a large congregation in the Sessions-House. All behaved well, but one young gentlewoman, who laughed almost incessantly. She knew there was nothing to laugh at; but she thought she laughed prettily.

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In the evening I preached near the market-house in Sligo, to a large and tolerably quiet congregation; but I soon found I was shooting over their heads, in talking of Salvation by Faith: So, at eight in the morning, Sunday, 7, I suited myself to their capacity, by preaching on, “Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” The effect was, that the evening congregation was such as I had not seen here for many years.

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I rode to Castlebar, and at seven preached in the Court House.

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I dined at Sir C. B.’s, who asked me if it would be convenient for me to give them a sermon in his hall. We sent to the Court-House, and the people who were waiting there came up without delay. The family were in the parlor, the bulk of the congregation in the hall and the long passage. Wednesday, 10. I preached in the Court-House, on, “Put on the whole armor of God;” and taking horse early in the morning, Thursday, 11, rode to Galway.

About seven I preached in the Sessions-House, a large commodious place, where were hearers of every sort. All were silent and tolerably civil; some appeared to be a little affected. Many Officers, and a considerable number of genteel people, attended the next evening; and I am in hopes a few of them will not easily forget what they then heard.

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We rode to Limerick. This evening I preached in the Room; and at eight in the morning, Whit-Sunday, but was much scandalized at the smallness of the congregation. In the evening I preached in the Old-Camp, where the congregation was larger than it had been for several years. So it was likewise on Monday and Tuesday evening. But still I observed none wounded among them, nor any thing more than a calm, dull attention.

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I preached in Ballygarane at noon, and in the evening at Newmarket. One gentlewoman, violently prejudiced against this way, at first stood at a distance: Then she came a little nearer; afterwards sat down; and in a short time hid her face. She attended again in the morning, being much convinced of sin, particularly of despising the real word of God.

We observed Friday, 19, as a day of fasting and prayer, for a revival of his work. Many attended both at five, nine, and one, but abundance more at the watch-night. And then it was that God touched the hearts of the people, even of those that were “twice dead.”

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I was in hopes of taking the field in the afternoon, but the rain prevented. Yet I did not repent of the disappointment, so great was the power of God in the midst of us. I believe few were untouched; many were deeply wounded; many rejoiced with joy unspeakable. The same power was present the next morning and evening, both to wound and to heal. God employed his two-edged sword on every side, in a manner I had not seen here for many years. O how ready is He to answer every “prayer that goeth not out of feigned lips!”

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We had an evening congregation at five, and an exceeding solemn parting. At six in the evening I cried to a company a little above brutes, “Why will ye die, O house of Israel?” This was at Kilfinnan. I lodged a mile from the town, among some that were alive to God.

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I had a cool, pleasant ride to Cork, where I soon heard how cold and careless the people were. I asked, “But are not the society at least alive?” “No; these are the coldest of all.” “What then? Are we to be careless, too? Nay, so much the more let us stir up the gift of God that is in us.” I began in the evening to speak exceeding plain, and I presently saw some fruit: The congregation at five in the morning was not much less than it was in the evening. Many saw their loss; God gave me again very sharp though loving words. I trust this also is a token for good, and Satan shall not long triumph over us.

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I rode to Bandon. Since I was here before, several have gone home rejoicing; but others are come in their place. So that the society contains just as many members as when I left it; and most of the believers seem much alive; particularly the young men, maidens, and children. In the evening we were obliged to be in the House; but the next, Friday, 26, I stood in the main street, and cried to a numerous congregation, “Fear God, and keep his commandments; for this is the whole of man.” Afterwards I visited one that a year or two ago was in high life, an eminent beauty, adored by her husband, admired and caressed by some of the first men in the nation. She was now without husband, without friend, without fortune, confined to her bed, in constant pain, and in black despair, believing herself forsaken of God, and possessed by a legion of devils! Yet I found great liberty in praying for her, and a strong hope that she will die in peace.

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I returned to Cork. The rain drove us into the House, which was once more thoroughly filled. I scarce ever spoke so plain as I did both this and the two following days; yet for many years the congregations had not been so large. Wednesday and Thursday I visited the classes. Decreasing still! Seven years ago we had near four hundred members in this society; five years since, about three hundred members. Two years ago they were two hundred; now one hundred and ninety. On Thursday evening, JUNE 1, I preached at Blackpool, to such a congregation as I never saw there before. Friday, 2, we observed as a day of fasting and prayer. At five and at nine we found God was with us; but much more at one, and most of all at the watch-night, during the application of those awful words, “Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.”

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I preached at Blackpool again. Again multitudes of “publicans and sinners drew near,” and gladly heard that “there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.” Sunday, 4. The rain again prevented my preaching at the Barrack-Hill; but God was again present at the Room, and filled many souls with strong consolation. When I took my leave of the society, many were moved, fearing we should meet no more. If not, is it not enough that we shall meet again at the resurrection of the just?

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Having been much importuned to give them a day or two more, I rode to Limerick. Tuesday, 6. I looked over a considerable part of Mr. Turner’s “Remarkable Providences.” What pity is it that the author had not a little judgment as well as piety! What an heap of things has he huddled together, good, bad, and indifferent! But how fine a treatise might a man of sense collect out of it! After encouraging as many as I could, both in public and private, to “press on toward the mark,” on Thursday, 8, I once more took my leave of this loving people, and set out for Waterford. We intended to dine at Tipperary, but were directed wrong. At length we stumbled on a little town, called Golding. And here I found poor Michael Weston, who rambled hither from Westminster, some months since, in quest of an estate. I clearly saw the providence of God, directing me hither before he was quite starved. Thence we rode to the Garter, near Clonmell; (where we had excellent entertainment;) and the next morning, over exceeding pleasant and well-cultivated mountains, to Waterford. Never was the prospect more gloomy here than at present. Through the continual neglect of the Preachers, the congregation was reduced almost to nothing; and so was the society. Yet I found much liberty of speech in the evening, and a strong hope that God would revive his work. I was invited to lodge at Mr. Scott’s, a considerable tradesman. I found a young gentlewoman there, a visitant, well-bred, sensible, good-humored; studious to oblige, and “lacking nothing” but the “one thing.” Saturday, 10. The Room was quite filled in the morning. In the evening I preached in the court to thrice as many as the Room would contain; and all were not only quiet, but attentive.

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The congregation at eight was still larger. But not many seemed to be affected. In the evening the court was filled, and I believe God opened both the understanding and the hearts of many. Afterwards I met the society, and endeavored to lift up the hands that hung down. Light began to spring up. Misunderstandings vanished away, and the spirits of many revived.

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I labored to re-unite the poor, shattered society, and to remove the numberless offenses which had torn them in pieces. Tuesday,

13. In the evening God began to answer for himself. I scarce ever saw a more deep and general impression made on a congregation. At the meeting of the society, likewise, he refreshed us with “the multitude of peace.”

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I preached in the market-house at Passage, to as dull a congregation as I have seen. They would have been rude enough too, but that they stood in awe of Mr. Freestone, who gave one and another, when they did not regard his signs, a stroke on the head with his stick. By this means the whole multitude was tolerably quiet, and many seemed much affected.

A little before twelve I came to Old-Ross, and preached to a small, serious congregation. Thence we went on to Enniscorthy; but the difficulty was, where I should preach. It rained, but no House would contain the people. We made the best shift we could, by stowing as many as possible in the House; the rest, as I stood near the door, were quiet without. It was an uncommon time, particularly with regard to those who had opposed the truth. One dropped down like a stone; many trembled and wept exceedingly. All declared, that such a work as this was never seen at Enniscorthy before.

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I began to preach a little before five, on, “The kingdom of God within us.” The hearts of the hearers, one and all, seemed to be as melting wax. Surely it was not for nothing that Satan fought so furiously to keep the Gospel from this place.

Indeed there has not been hotter persecution of late years any where in the kingdom than here. The mob, encouraged by their superiors, beat and abused whom they pleased, broke open their houses, and did just what they listed. A wretched Clergyman confirmed them therein, and applied to the Methodist Preachers 2 Timothy 3:6, 7; the very text of that unhappy gentleman at Bristol, which he uttered, and dropped down in the pulpit. After he had painted them as black as devils, he added, “I have not time to finish now; next Sunday I will give you the rest.” But the next morning he was struck in a strange manner. He could not bear to be a moment alone. He cried out, “Those hobgoblins; do not you see them? There, there! The room is full of them.” Having continued thus some days, he screamed out, “See that hobgoblin at the bed’s feet! O that roll, that roll which he holds up to me! All my sins are written therein!” Not long after, without showing the least sign of hope, he went to his account. In the afternoon I came to Kilkenny, and in the evening preached in the Tholsel. A more civil and unawakened audience I know not when I have seen. The bulk of them appeared to be no more affected than if I had been talking Greek. However, many of them attended the next morning, and more than ever in the evening: And all behaved well but one gentleman, who took much pains to divert those that were near him. I fixed my eyes upon him; but he did not regard it. I was then obliged to speak to him; and he was silent.

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I finished “Historic Doubts on the Life and Reign of Richard the Third.” What an amazing monster, both in body and mind, have our historians and poets painted him! And yet I think Mr. Walpole makes it more clear than one could expect at this distance of time,

1. That he was not only not remarkably deformed, but, on the contrary, remarkably handsome.

2. That his Queen, whom he entirely loved, died a natural death.

3. That his nephew, Edward the Fifth, did so too; there being no shadow of proof to the contrary.

4. That his other nephew, Richard, was the very person whom Henry the Seventh murdered, after constraining him to call himself Perkin Warbeck.

5. That the death of his brother, the Duke of Clarence, was the sole act, not of him, but Edward the Fourth.

6. That he had no hand at all in the murder of Henry the Sixth, any mare than of his son. And, lastly, That he was clear of all blame, as to the execution of Lord Hastings; as well as of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan.

What a surprising thing is it, then, that all our historians should have so readily swallowed the account of that wretch who “killed, and also took possession” of the throne; and blundered on, one after another! Only it is to be observed, for fifty years no one could contradict that account, but at the peril of his head.

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As it rained, I preached morning and evening in the Tholsel, to a multitude of people. I spoke exceeding plain, and all received it in love. Perhaps some may bring forth fruit.

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In the evening I preached at Birr, and removed some misunderstandings which had crept into the society.

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I went on to Aghrim, and spoke as plain as possibly I could to a money-loving people, on, “God said unto him, Thou fool!” But I am afraid many of them are sermon-proof. Yet God has all power. And sometimes he sends, when and where it pleases him,

Overwhelming showers of saving grace.

But I have never observed these to last long. And in all the intervals of them, he acts by his standing rule, “Unto him that hath,” and uses what he hath, “shall be given; and he shall have more abundantly: But from him that hath not,” uses it not, “shall be taken away even that he hath.”

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I went on to Athlone. Friday, 23. I rode to Abidarrig, to the Quarterly Meeting. Many of the people came from far; and God gave them a good reward for their labor. Saturday, 24. We returned to Athlone.

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In the afternoon I stood in Barrack-Street, and cried aloud to a mixed multitude, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” I never before saw so quiet a congregation on this side the water. There was not only no tumult, but no murmur to be heard, no smile to be seen on any face.

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About noon I preached on the Green, at Clara, to an exceeding serious congregation; and in the evening at Tullamore. Tuesday,

27. I found a little increase in the society: But there cannot be much without more field-preaching. Wherever this is intermitted, the work of God stands still, if it does not go back.

Today I wrote to a pious and sensible woman as follows: — “DEAR MADAM, Tullamore, 27th June, 1769.

“WHEN I had the pleasure of conversing with you some years since, you had a regard both for me and the people called Methodists. If I am rightly informed, you are now of another mind. May I ask, When did that change begin? Was it at your last journey to Dublin? Whenever it was, suffer me to ask, What were the reasons of it? I will tell you what I conjecture, and I do it in writing because I may not have an opportunity of talking with you; because I can write more freely than I could speak; because I can now say all I have to say at once; whereas, if we were talking together, I might probably forget some part; and because you may by this means have the better opportunity of calmly considering it. “I conjecture (to tell you just what rises in my heart) that this change was owing to several causes. Some admired and commended you as a person of uncommon sense and uncommon attainments in religion. Others told you at large, from time to time, all the real or supposed faults of the Methodists. In particular the jars which had lately been in Dublin, on account of Mr. Morgan and Olivers. This naturally tended to breed and increase pride on the one hand, and prejudice on the other. Riches increased; which not only led you, step by step, into more conformity to the world, but insensibly instilled self-importance, unwillingness to be contradicted, and an overbearing temper. And hence you was, of course, disgusted at those who did not yield to this temper, and blamed that conformity. Perhaps some of these professed or expected to be perfected in love; they at least believed Perfection. Now this you seemed to hate with a perfect hatred; and on that account disliked them the more.

“Permit me to add a few words on each of these heads. And first, would it not be well, if you started back from every apperance of admiration, (which you know is deadly poison,) whether on account of your sense or piety? And if you utterly discountenanced all who directly or indirectly commended you to your face? Yea, and all who told you of the jars or faults of the Methodists, or indeed of any absent person?

“Should you not earnestly strive and pray against thinking highly of your own understanding, or attainments in religion? Otherwise, this, by grieving the Holy Spirit, would expose you to still more prejudice; especially towards those who might seem to vie with you in religion, if not in understanding.

“Can you be too sensible, how hardly they that have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven? Yea, or into the kingdom of an inward heaven? Into the whole spirit of the Gospel? How hard is it for these (whether you do or no) not to conform too much to the mold! How hard not to be a little overbearing, especially to inferiors!

“Is it right to be disgusted at those who fear you conform too far, who do not sink down before you; nay, perhaps oppose your judgment, or blame your practice?

“And with regard to Perfection. Have not they that hold it the same right to be angry with you for denying it, as you with them for affirming it?

“But what is it you are angry at? What is it you object to? Let us understand the question before we dispute about it. “By Christian Perfection, I mean,

1. Loving God with all our heart. Do you object to this? I mean,

2. A heart and life all devoted to God. Do you desire less? I mean,

3. Regaining the whole image of God. What objection to this? I mean,

4. Having all the mind that was in Christ. Is this going too far? I mean,

5. Walking uniformly as Christ walked.

And this surely no Christian will object to. If any one means anything more, or anything else by Perfection, I have no concern with it. But if this is wrong, yet what need of this heat about it, this violence, I had almost said fury of opposition, carried so far as even not to lay out anything with this man, or that woman, who professes it? ‘Nay,’ says Mrs. ——, ‘I did not refrain from it for this only, but for their espousing Mr. Olivers’s cause against Mr. Morgan.’ Worse and worse! What! are people to starve, (at least for me,) unless they think as I think, or like whom I like? Alas, what religion, what humanity, what common sense is this? “But I have done. I have once for all taken upon myself a most unthankful office. I have spoken with all plainness and simplicity, and now leave the event to God. May He open your heart, that you may discern his holy, and acceptable, and perfect will; that you may have a right judgment in all things, and evermore rejoice in his holy comfort! I am, dear Madam,

“Your affectionate servant,

“John Wesley.”

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I rode to Mount-Mellick, and, for the sake of some tender persons, preached in the new House. It was a solemn time; in consequence of which it was pretty well filled in the morning. A serious awe spread over the whole congregation; but more remarkably the next evening, while I was opening and applying the story of Dives and Lazarus. Friday, 30. I rode over to Montrath, a wild place as most in Ireland, and preached in the shell of a new House to many more than it would contain. All were quiet and attentive. In the middle of the sermon a young woman, who was a sinner, endeavored for a while to hide her tears, by creeping behind another, till in a few minutes her strength failed, and she sunk down to the ground. I was sorry they carried her away; otherwise, I think she would have soon lifted up her head with joy.

In the evening we had a love-feast at Mount-Mellick; and great was our rejoicing in the Lord. Many were filled with consolation, trusting he would soon “make an end of sin, and bring in everlasting righteousness.”

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I found a far different face of things at Portarlington. The large society had once an hundred and thirty members; (an hundred and four I joined in three days;) it had now no more than twenty-four; and some of these had only a name to live. In the evening I applied particularly to the backsliders; but almost as soon as I began, a large company of Quality (as they called them) came, and embarrassed me not a little. I knew this was heathen Greek to them; but I could not then change my subject. However, I diluted my discourse as much as I could, that it might not be quite too strong for their digestion.

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I read Mrs. Rowe’s “Devout Exercises of the Heart.” It is far superior to anything of hers which I ever read, in style as well as in sense. Her experience is plain, sound, and scriptural, no way whimsical or mystical; and her language is clear, strong, and simple, without any of that affected floridness which offends all who have a tolerable ear, or any judgment in good writing.

At nine we had a serious congregation, to whom I could speak of the deep things of God; and the new House held them tolerably well; but in the evening it was far too small; so l stood in a little ground adjoining to the House. Many tender ones sat within, but the bulk of the congregation stood in the meadow, and the gardens on each side. I have not seen, in all the world, a people so easy to be convinced or persuaded as the Irish. What pity that these excellent propensities should not always be applied to the most excellent purposes!

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I rode to Coolylough, (where was the Quarterly Meeting,) and preached at eleven, and in the evening. While we were singing, I was surprised to see the horses from all parts of the ground gathering about us. Is it true then that horses, as well as lions and tigers, have an ear for music?

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I went on to Tyrrel’s Pass. Thursday, 6. At eleven I preached in the Court-House, at Molingar, to a very genteel, and yet serious, audience. In the evening I preached at Tyrrel’s Pass again; and on Friday, 7, at Edinderry. Here I received from Joseph Fry a particular account of his late wife, an Israelite indeed. He said, “She was a strict attendant on all the means of grace, and a sincere lover of the people of God. She had a remarkably good understanding, and much knowledge of the things of God. Though she was of all exceeding bashful temper, yet she was valiant for the truth; not sparing to speak very plain in defense of it, before persons of all conditions. Two years ago she began to lose her health, and grew worse and worse, till September 29th. On that day she was very restless. Observing her to have an unusual color, I judged she could not continue long. She was sensible of it, and said, ‘Do not go from me; for my time is short. O it is an hard thing to die!’ After a while, she said, ‘Dear Jesus, shall it be so with me as with the wicked?’ I was deeply affected at seeing her in such a state; yet something told me, ‘All will be well.’ I exhorted her, with all my might, to lean on Jesus; and found myself unusually blessed in so doing; but still she did not seem to receive it, till I observed her jaw was fallen. I was then concerned more than ever, lest she should die without hope. I spoke with more vehemence, while she lay speechless, with her eyes up to heaven; but on a sudden, she got her lips together again, and said, with a loud voice, ‘Now my love, I experience what you have said. After all, my Jesus is mine. The devil is conquered; there, there you may see him going with shame.’ She then praised God so loud, that one might hear her in the street; and added, ‘Fine sport, my dear Joe! the devil is cast.’ After rejoicing in God some time, she closed her eyes; but in a little while she said, ‘O was it not very pretty when the wise virgins went out in white to meet their Lord? Yet what would their robes have signified, without his righteousness?’ and died.”

The next day I went on to Dublin, and found all things as quiet as I left them. Wednesday, 12. I rode through a lovely country to Ballymore, in the county of Wexford. Near twenty years ago, all this country was moved by the preaching of James Morris. Thousands flocked to hear; but one false step of his quite scattered them again. The House would not near contain the people; so I stood abroad, in a fair mild evening; and once more God has given them a loud call to turn unto Him, that they may save their souls alive.

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I rode on to Enniscorthy, and preached on, “Is there no balm in Gilead?” Today I saw one of the most lively and sensible children that I have met with in the kingdom. That a miracle will it be if she saves her soul; if general admiration does not destroy her!

Hence I rode to Bunklody, a little, ugly, scattered town; but delightfully situated. I did not find that five persons in the town would come a bow-shot to hear. So I ordered a table to be set in the street; and a few slowly crept together: They were as quiet and seemed as much affected as the trees. Thence I rode on to Carlow. The Under-Sheriff had promised the use of the Town-Hall; but the High-Sheriff, coming to town, would not suffer it. I thank him: For, by this means, I was driven to the barrack-field, where were twice as many as the Hall could have contained; over and above many of the poor Papists, who durst not have come into it. Afterwards I met the little society. I used to wonder they did not increase: Now I should wonder if they did; so exquisitely bitter are the chief of them against the Church. I solemnly warned them against this evil; and some of them had ears to hear.

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At noon I preached in Baltinglass, to a handful of serious people; and in the evening at Donard, to a much more numerous, but not more serious, congregation. I could not but observe one pretty kind of a woman, with a child in her arms. She stood awhile, then walked to and fro; then stood, then walked again; and appeared to be as perfectly unconcerned as some pretty calves which stood behind her. Saturday, 15. I crossed the country to my old pupil, Mr. Morgan’s, and in the afternoon returned to Dublin.

All the following week we had a remarkable blessing, both at the Morning and evening Service. On Wednesday and Thursday we had our little Conference, at which most of the Preachers in the kingdom were present. We agreed to set apart Friday, the 21st, for a day of fasting and prayer. At every meeting, particularly the last, our Lord refreshed us in an uncommon manner. About ten I was a little tired; but before it struck twelve, my weariness was all gone. It seemed to be the same with all the congregation; and prayer was swallowed up in praise.

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At nine I preached in the Royal Square at the Barracks, on the dead, small and great, standing before God. An huge multitude soon gathered together and listened with deep attention. Many of the soldiers were among them. By what means but field-preaching could we have reached these poor souls?

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After preaching in the evening, I went on board the packet, and the next afternoon landed at Holyhead. We reached Chester on Thursday morning. Here I finished Dr. Warner’s “History of the Irish Rebellion.” I never saw before so impartial an account of the transactions of those times. He really seems to be of no side; but to speak the naked truth of all, according to the best light he could procure.

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I rode to Manchester. As we were pretty well tired, our friends there insisted on my going on in a chaise; so in the morning, Saturday, 29, we set out. When we were on the brow of the hill above Ripponden, suddenly the saddle horse fell, with the driver under him; and both lay without motion. The shaft-horse then boggled and turned short toward the edge of the precipice; but presently the driver and horse rose up unhurt, and we went on safe to Leeds.

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Mr. Crook being out of order; I read Prayers and preached in Hunslet church, both morning and afternoon. At five I preached at Leeds; and on Monday, 31, prepared all things for the ensuing Conference. Tuesday, AUGUST 1, it began; and a more loving one we ever had. On Thursday I mentioned the case of our brethren at New York, who had built the first Methodist preaching-house in America, and were in great want of money, but much more of Preachers. Two of our Preachers, Richard Boardman and Joseph Pillmoor, willingly offered themselves for the service; by whom we determined to send them fifty pounds, as a token of our brotherly love.

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In the evening I preached at Bradford, to an extremely crowded audience: The heat was hardly supportable. Such a day I had seldom, if ever, known in England. It was nearly as hot at four in the morning, Sunday, 6; but the rain began before five, and in three or four hours quite cooled the air. At one we had the usual eongregation on the side of Birstal-Hill; But it was nearly doubled at Leeds in the evening. Monday, 7. I returned to Manchester; and On Tuesday, 8, went on to Shrewsbury. I preached at five; and soon after, receiving an invitation from Mr. Powis, at Berwick, I went over directly, gave a short exhortation, and returned to Salop.

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We reached Welshpool before nine, where notice had been given of my preaching, the Bailiff having granted the use of the Town-Hall. But he had now changed his mind. So I rode on to Newtown, and at one we went to the market-house. But in a few minutes a poor wretch, exceeding drunk, came in cursing, and blaspheming, and striking all that stood in his way. His stick was soon taken form him; but the noise increasing, I removed to the Brynn, and quietly finished my discourse. At six in the evening, I preached at the Tuffin; the next morning, at Llanidloes; and in the evening, at the Abbey. Friday, 11. I reached Carmarthen. The rain continuing, Mr. Peter Williams offered me his preaching-house, in which I enforced, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Saturday, 12. I preached at Haverfordwest. Sunday, 13. I went to St. Daniel’s, and, after reading Prayers, preached on those words in the Second Lesson, “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.” The bigots of all sides seemed ashamed before God, and I trust will not soon forget this day. In the afternoon I read Prayers, and preached again. I then met the society in Pembroke. Once more their little jars are laid asleep: God grant they may rise up more!

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I preached in the Town-Hall, to almost all the Gentry in Pembroke; and I think, whatever they had before, they had then a clear call from God. Tuesday, 15. In the evening, although the wind was high, yet the largeness of the congregation obliged me to stand on the outside of the House at Haverfordwest. Wednesday, 16. I examined the members of the society, now the most lively one in Wales. Many of them are rejoicing in the love of God, and many groaning for full redemption.

Today I gave a second reading to that lively book, Mr. Newton’s Account of his own Experience. There is something very extraordinary therein; but one may account for it without a jot of Predestination. I doubt not but his, as men as Colonel Gardiner’s, conversion, was an answer to his mother’s prayers.

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At twelve I preached in the Castle at Carmarthen; in the evening at Llanelly. The behavior of Sir Thomas’s servants here (four or five of whom belong to the society) has removed all prejudice from him, as well as from most of the town. Indeed, they are a pattern to all of their rank, truly “adorning the doctrine of God our Savior.”

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I preached at eleven in Oxwych, and thence hastened to Swansea, where an effectual door is opened once more. The rain drove us into the room, which was as hot as an oven, being much crowded both within and without. Saturday, 19. About eight I preached at Neath; about three, in the church at Bridge-End; (where the rain doubled the congregation, by stopping the harvest-work;) and at seven, in the Assembly-room at Cowbridge, on, “Lord, are there few that be saved?” I was enabled to make a close and pointed application, I believe not without effect.

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I preached there again at eight, to a congregation who seemed to feel what was spoken. At eleven the Vicar read Prayers, and I preached on those words in the Lesson, “Gallio cared for none of these things.” Most of the hearers seemed more awake than I expected; and a few appeared to be affected. In the evening I took my old stand on the steps of the Castle at Cardiff. Abundance of people were gathered together, it being a fair mild evening, on whom I enforced, “I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God.”

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Mr. Davies read Prayers, and I preached in Caerphilly church, and in the evening at Llanbraddoch.

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I went on to Trevecka. Here we found a concourse of people from all parts, come to celebrate the Countess of Huntingdon’s birthday, and the Anniversary of her School, which was opened on the twenty-fourth of August, last year. I preached, in the evening, to as many as her chapel could well contain; which is extremely neat, or rather, elegant; as is the dining-room, the school, and all the house. About nine Howell Harris desired me to give a short exhortation to his family. I did so; and then went back to my Lady’s, and laid me down in peace.

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I administered the Lord’s Supper to the family. At ten the Public Service began. Mr. Fletcher preached an exceeding lively sermon in the court, the chapel being far too small. After him, Mr. William Williams preached in Welsh, till between one and two o’clock. At two we dined. Meantime, a large number of people had baskets of bread and meat carried to them in the court. At three I took my turn there, then Mr. Fletcher, and, about five, the congregation was dismissed. Between seven and eight the love-feast began, at which I believe many were comforted. In the evening several of us retired into the neighboring wood, which is exceeding pleasantly laid out in walks; one of which leads to a little mount, raised in the midst of a meadow, that commands a delightful prospect. This is Howell Harris’s work, who has likewise greatly enlarged and beautified his house; so that, with the gardens, orchards, walks, and pieces of water that surround it, it is a kind of little paradise.

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We rode through a lovely country to Chepstow. I had designed to go straight on, but yielded to the importunity of our friends to stay and preach in the evening. Meantime, I took a walk through Mr. Morris’s woods. There is scarce any thing like them in the kingdom. They stand on the top, and down the side, of a steep mountain, hanging in a semicircular form over the river. Through these woods abundance of serpentine walks are cut, wherein many seats and alcoves are placed; most of which command a surprising prospect of rocks and fields on the other side of the river. And must all these be burned up? What will become of us then if we set our hearts upon them?

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Resolving not to be too late now, as I was last year, I took horse at four; but being earnestly engaged in conversation, we missed our way, and came to the Passage just as the boat was gone. About three in the afternoon it passed again; and soon after six we reached Bristol.

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After preaching at Kingswood and Bristol, I rode to Cross, to lessen the next day’s journey. Monday, 28. I rode to Tiverton; on Tuesday, to Launceston, where I strongly applied, “Hath God forgotten to be gracious?” And I believe he answered for himself in the hearts of several backsliders.

Being informed it was between sixty and seventy miles to St. John’s, I sent my horse a few miles forward tonight. Wednesday, 30. I purposed taking horse at four, but the horse was not brought from the field: So I borrowed another, and rode on without delay to the house where my own waited for me. We had incessant rain, driven upon us by a furious wind. However, I reached Bodmin about eight; where, at the request of one of our friends, I preached to a small, serious company, in the Town-Hall. The rain accompanied us most of the way to Truro. I knew not where to call, till a friend met me, and told me Mr. Painter had been very ill. So I rode directly to his house. While I was there, one of Redruth came in, who lent me a fresh horse, with which I reached St. John’s about five o’clock. I preached at six, and was much comforted among a loving, earnest people.

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I rode over to St. Just, but could not preach abroad, because of the violent wind. However, God spoke to many hearts, both this evening, and in the morning. SEPTEMBER 1. I now considered Dr. Erskine’s account of saving faith. He asserts, (if I comprehend him right,) “It is, in general, an assent to the word of God, in which there is a light, a glory, a brightness, which believers, and they only, perceive. In particular, it is an assent of the understanding to the Gospel method of salvation; in which there is an excellency and glory which only believers see. A supernatural conviction of this is faith.” But if this be his judgment, why does he quarrel with me? For how marvelously small is the difference between us! Only change the word assent for conviction, (which certainly better answers St. Paul’s word, ELENCHOS,) and do we not come within an hair’s breadth of each other? I do not quarrel with the definition of faith in general, — “a supernatural assent to the word of God;” though I think “a supernatural conviction of the truths contained in the word of God” is clearer. I allow, too, that the Holy Spirit enables us to perceive a peculiar light and glory in the word of God, and particularly in the Gospel method of salvation: But I doubt whether saving faith be, properly, an assent to this light and glory. Is it not rather, an assent (if we retain the word) to the truths which God has revealed; or, more particularly, a divine conviction that “God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself?” The congregation at St. Ives in the evening was the largest I have seen since I came to Cornwall; and it was a solemn assembly. We had another happy opportunity at the meeting of the society. Saturday, 2. Our Quarterly Meeting was at Redruth. In the evening I preached to eleven or twelve hundred people; but there was no trifler, much less mocker, among them. They heard as for eternity.

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We had a very large congregation, and an useful sermon, at church. Between one and two I preached to some thousands in the main street; but to abundantly more at five, in our amphitheater at Gwennap; and they were so commodiously placed, row above row, that I believe all could hear.

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About noon I preached in the Lower-Street, at St. Austle, to a very numerous and very serious congregation; but at Medros, where was once the liveliest society in Cornwall, I found but a few, and most of those faint and weary. Tuesday, 5. I rode on to Plymouth-Dock, and preached on, “Love is the bond of perfectness.” What pity that any thing short of this should usurp the name of religion!

Last week I read over, as I rode, great part of Homer’s Odyssey. I always imagined it was, like Milton’s “Paradise Regained,” —

The last faint effort of an expiring Muse.

But how was I mistaken! How far has Homer’s latter poem the pre-eminence over the former! It is not indeed, without its blemishes; among which, perhaps, one might reckon his making Ulysses swim nine days and nine nights without sustenance; the incredible manner of his escape from Polyphemus, (unless the goat was as strong as an ox,) and the introducing Minerva at every turn, without any dignus vindice nodus.¹ But his numerous beauties make large amends for these. Was ever man so happy in his descriptions, so exact and consistent in his characters, and so natural in telling a story? He likewise continually inserts the finest strokes of morality; (which I cannot find in Virgil;) on all occasions recommending the fear of God, with justice, mercy, and truth. In this only he is inconsistent with himself: He makes his hero say, —

Wisdom never lies;

And,

Him, on whate’er pretense, that lies can tell,

My soul abhors him as the gates of hell.

Meantime, he himself, on the slightest pretense, tells deliberate lies over and over; nay, and is highly commended for so doing, even by the Goddess of Wisdom!

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I rode to Collumpton; and on Thursday rested at Tiverton.

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I preached about nine at Taunton, and then rode on to Bridgewater, where the preaching had been discontinued for some years. It was supposed there would be much disturbance; but there was none at all. The very Gentry (all but two or three young women) behaved with good sense and decency.

This afternoon I went to the top of Brent-Hill: I know not, I ever before saw such a prospect. Westward, one may see to the mouth of the Bristol Channel; and the three other ways, as far as the eye can reach. And most of the land which you see is well cultivated, well wooded, and well watered: So that the globe of earth, in its present condition, can hardly afford a more pleasing scene. Saturday, 9. I returned to Bristol.

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Editorial note: The supplied edition prints the heading “Fri. 12. —”. The independent 1872 Jackson edition, volume 3, reads “Tues. 12” (PDF page 386). The indexed weekday is Tuesday, following that printed heading. The supplied heading and journal prose are retained. John Wesley, Works, Jackson edition (1872), volume 3, PDF page 386.

I inquired into the state of Kingswood School. The grievance now is the number of children. Instead of thirty, (as I desired,) we have near fifty; whereby our masters are burdened. And it is scarce possible to keep them in so exact order as we might do a smaller number. However, this still comes nearer a Christian school, than any I know in the kingdom.

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I preached to a serious congregation in Princes-Street, many of whom came from the ships on the river, and gaped and stared as if they had never heard a sermon before. In the afternoon, I preached near the new Square, on “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.” I was in hopes this would remove rather than increase prejudice; but I was much mistaken. One of the hearers soon after told his friend, “Mr. W. is as dark and blind as ever.”

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Between twelve and one, I preached at Freshford; and on White’s Hill, near Bradford, in the evening. By this means many had an opportunity of hearing, who would not have come to the Room. I had designed to preach there again the next evening; but a gentleman in the town desired me to preach at his door. The beasts of the people were tolerably quiet till I had nearly finished my sermon. They then lifted up their voice, especially one, called a gentleman, who had filled his pocket with rotten eggs: But, a young man coming unawares, clapped his hands on each side, and mashed them all at once. In an instant he was perfume all over; though it was not so sweet as balsam.

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I saw poor Mrs. —— at Bristol, on the very brink of despair. I prayed for her in faith, and, not many days after, found her sweetly rejoicing in God her Savior. Saturday, 23. I rode to Pill, and preached in the street, (the only way to do much good there,) to a more numerous and more attentive congregation than I have seen there for many years.

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I had the satisfaction to find, that two of our brethren, with whom I had taken much pains, had at length put an end to their Chancery suit, and closed their debate by a reference.

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I permitted all of Mr. Whitefield’s society that desired it, to be present at our love-feast. I suppose there were a thousand of us in all. And we were not sent empty away.

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I preached at Bristol, Pensford, Shepton Mallet; and in the evening at Wincanton. The people here had just as much feeling as the benches on which they sat. Tuesday, 10. I preached in Shaftesbury at noon; and in the evening at Salisbury. Here I was as in a new world. The congregation was alive, and much more the society. How pleasing would it be, to be always with such! But this is not our calling.

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I preached in Romsey, at noon: In the evening, at Winchester.

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I preached at Fareham about one; and at Portsmouth Common in the evening. Friday, 13. I very narrowly missed meeting the great Pascal Paoli. He landed in the dock but a very few minutes after I left the water side. Surely He who hath been with him from his youth up, hath not sent him into England for nothing. Lord, show him what is thy will concerning him, and give him a kingdom that cannot be moved!

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Setting out at two in the morning, I came to London in the afternoon. Sunday, 15. My brother and I had such a congregation at Spitalfields, as has not been there since the covenant-night. The Foundery was equally crowded in the evening: Is God about to work here, as he did some years ago? If so, having learned experience by the things we have suffered, I trust we shall not quench the Spirit as we did before.

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I began my journey into Oxfordshire, and in the evening preached at Henley. A great part of the congregation was perfectly void both of sense and modesty. But at this time they were unusually quiet, as I did not take them out of their depth, in opening and applying those words, “It is appointed unto men once to die.”

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We went to Wallingford, a town I never saw before, though I lived so many years at Oxford. How white are the fields here unto the harvest! The whole town seemed flocking together, rich and poor, in the evening, and received the word with joy. But who will endure to the end? Abundance of people came again at five in the morning, and were ready to devour the word. How pleasant it is to see the dawn of a work of grace! But we must not lay too much stress upon it. Abundance of blossoms! But when the sun is up, how many of these will wither away! Having appointed to preach in Oxford at ten, I was under some difficulty. I did not like to preach in the dissenting meeting house; and I did not see how to avoid it. But the proprietors cut the knot for me, by locking up the doors. So I preached in James Mears’s garden: And to such a congregation as I had not had in Oxford since I preached in St. Mary’s church. Thence we went on to Witney, where we have now a large and commodious House. It was well filled in the evening; and (whoever else did) I found it good to be there; especially at the meeting of the society: The Spirit of glory and of Christ was among them.

I had designed to spend another day here; but two of our friends, who were come on purpose from Broadmarston, importuned me much to go thither. So I set out with them on Thursday, and came to Broadmarston in the afternoon. The lovely family, and the congregation from all parts, made me full amends for my labor. Great was our glorying in the Lord. Many felt the two-edged sword, and many were filled with consolation.

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I had appointed to be in Oxford at eight. So I took horse at two, and took chaises from Shipston, which brought me thither at my time. After spending an hour quite agreeably with a few young, serious students, I set out for Ipstone, near Stoken-church. But I was obliged, when we came to the bye-road, to quit my chaise, and go as I could, part on horseback, part on foot. The congregation had waited for me some time: So I began immediately, on, “Fear God, and keep his commandments: For this is the whole of man.” In the evening I preached to a lively congregation at High Wycombe, and on Saturday reached London.

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I rode to Towcester, and preached to a heavy, unawakened people, on what they did not seem at all to think of, namely, that they were to die. I believe it suited them: They appeared to be more affected than with any discourse I had ever preached. Tuesday, 24. I preached at Alston, in a large malt-room, where one side of my head was very warm, through the crowd of people, the other, very cold, having an open window at my ear. Between six and seven I preached at Northampton; and it was an awful season.

This evening there was such an Aurora Borealis as I never saw before: The colors, both the white, the flame-color; and the scarlet, were so exceeding strong and beautiful. But they were awful too: So that abundance of people were frightened into many good resolutions.

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At ten, I was forced to preach abroad at Brighton, by reason of the great concourse of people; and at Haddon, about one. I believe at both places, God applied his word to their hearts. Thursday, 26. About nine, I preached at Harpole, to a thirsty multitude; at one, to near the same number at Weedon; in the evening, at Whittlebury. Friday, 27, about noon, we had a serious congregation at Cranfield, and at Bedford in the evening.

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I preached about one at Hertford, and at Snowsfields in the evening: And after preaching three times a day for three days, and four times a day for two more, I found no more hoarseness or weariness than when I set out from London.

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I set out with a little company of our friends, and the next day came to Norwich. At six I preached in the shell of the new House, crowded enough both within and without.

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We went to Yarmouth, a cold, dead, uncomfortable place. Friday, 3. I labored to gather up the fragments of the poor society, shattered to pieces by Presbyterians, Anabaptists, and disputers of all kinds; especially by one unhappy man, who had arisen among ourselves. In the evening I strongly exhorted them to “repent and do the first works.”

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We returned to Norwich. In coming to Yarmouth, I had called upon a young woman, alive to God, but exceeding ill. She died before I came back. This afternoon I was desired to bury her. I took the opportunity of preaching at five in the burying-ground, to a multitude of people, who were all attention, as though they had already seen “the dead standing before God.”

Monday, 6, and the following days, I visited as many of the people, sick and well, as I possibly could; and on Friday, 10, leaving them more united than they had been for many years, I took coach again, and the next afternoon came to London.

In the coach, going and coming, I read several volumes of Mr. Guthrie’s ingenious “History of Scotland:” I suppose, as impartial an one as any to be found, and as much to be depended upon. I never read any writer before who gave me so much light into the real character of that odd mixture, King James the First; nor into that of Mary Queen of Scots, so totally misrepresented by Buchanan, Queen Elizabeth’s pensioner, and her other hireling writers; and not much less, by Dr. Robertson. Them he effectually exposes, showing how grossly they contradict matter of fact, and one another. He likewise points out the many and great mistakes of Dr. R., such as seem to imply either great inattention or great partiality. Upon the whole, that much-injured Queen appears to have been far the greatest woman of that age, exquisitely beautiful in her person, of a fine address, of a deep, unaffected piety, and of a stronger understanding even in youth than Queen Elizabeth had at threescore. And probably the despair wherein Queen Elizabeth died, was owing to her death, rather than that of Lord Essex.

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I preached at a chapel near St. John-Street, built on the very spot of ground whereon, many hundred years ago, Pardon church stood. In this and the following week I visited the society in London, containing now scarce nineteen hundred members. So has God cut us short since the wound received by a false friend, from which we are now slowly recovering.

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I went down to Mr. Perronet’s, just recovering from a long illness. In the evening I preached in the House, and at seven in the morning. On Sunday, 26, Mr. P. designed to read prayers at ten; but we thought it not safe for him to go out: So I read Prayers, and then applied, “What doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” Many who had constantly appealed to this text, found themselves short in every particular. I read Prayers in the afternoon, having been informed that it was not usual to preach. But observing a numerous congregation, quite unwilling to go away, I went into the pulpit, and showed them the nature and the pleasantness of true religion. At five I preached in the Room. I trust our Lord has touched many hearts this day.

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I preached at Wandsworth. For many years the people here were the most dead, but are now the most alive, of any about London.

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I preached at Barnet, which was last year what Wandsworth is now. Monday, 4. I went to Chatham. Mr. Whitefield’s people (so called) refusing me the use of their Room, I preached in the barracks to a listening multitude, and our hearts were sweetly enlarged and knit together. One of their society, grieved at the bigotry of his brethren, invited me to preach in his house in the morning, which I did (the barracks not being open) to as many as it could well contain. Tuesday, 5. I went to Sheerness, and preached in the old play-house, filled from end to end. So it was the next night. Our own Room contained us in the mornings. I was much comforted among the poor people, which, in the midst of disputers, keep straight on, following after peace and holiness.

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I returned to Chatham, and the next day to London, leaving an earnest people at peace with each other, and with all the world.

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Riding an uneasy horse, I was much tired before I reached Staplehurst. But the serious, earnest congregation soon made me forget my weariness, and I was not a little helped by the spirit of Mr. C., breathing nothing but faith and love. I was again heartily tired, when I came to Mr. Holman, near Rye. Judging most of the congregation here to be unawakened, I preached on the story of Dives and Lazarus. God gave me to speak strong words, so that I trust some were pricked to the heart.

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I preached at Ewhurst, (it being the Quarterly Meeting,) both at noon and in the evening. Thursday, 14. We rode through heavy rain to Newbounds, where Mr. I’Anson and his family gladly received us; and I never saw the house so filled before, as it was in the evening. Friday, 15. I preached at Sevenoaks, and on Saturday returned to London. Being desirous to finish my winter journeys before Christmas, on Monday, 18, I set out for Canterbury. Friday, 22. I preached at Sittingbourne and Chatham, and on Saturday, came to London.

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(Being Christmas-Day.) We had such a congregation at four, as I have not seen for many years. And from morning to evening we had abundant proof that God is visiting and redeeming his people.

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I read the letters from our Preachers in America, informing us that God had begun a glorious work there; that both in New York and Philadelphia multitudes flock to hear, and behave with the deepest seriousness; and that the society in each place already contains above an hundred members.

Friday, 29, we observed as a day of fasting and prayer, partly on account of the confused state of public affairs, partly as preparatory to the solemn engagement which we were about to renew.

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