CHAPTER III.

_OXFORD METHODISM, ETC._

[Sidenote: 1729 Age 26]

Wesley returned to Oxford shortly after the coronation of George II. In some respects this was an age of giants. Bolingbroke, though a rake and an infidel, was a man of exalted powers and of splendid eloquence. Walpole, more than any other man, was the means of keeping the British crown on the heads of the house of Hanover. The Earl of Granville, by his brilliant talents, raised himself to the highest offices of state; though, thinking ignorance the best security for obedience, he opposed the education of the poor, and disliked the propagation of Christ’s religion in the colonies. Chesterfield was a gambler and a _roué_, but, as Johnson said, “he was also a wit among lords, and a lord among wits.”

In the Church, Atterbury, though a Jacobite, passionate, ambitious, and double dealing, was also talented, learned, and eloquent. Whiston, though extremely heterodox, was a man of great ability. Gibson, Bishop of London, was one whose piety was equal to his erudition. Hoadly, Bishop of Winchester, has, not without reason, been pronounced “the greatest dissenter that ever wore a mitre.” Sherlock was famous for his pulpit power. The head of Waterland was “an immense library, where the treasures of learning were arranged in such exact order that whatever he or his friends wanted he could produce at once.” To these might be added Butler, Secker, Warburton, and others.

Among the Dissenters we find Edmund Calamy, Isaac Watts, Nathaniel Lardner, and Philip Doddridge.

Among men of science and of letters, Edmund Halley was exploring the starry heavens; and Sir Hans Sloane was revelling among the plants and flowers of earth. Nicholas Saunderson, blind from childhood, was lecturing upon optics; Roubiliac was making marble almost breathe, and Handel composing his immortal oratorios. Tindal was pouring out his streams of erudite infidelity. Daniel De Foe was still living. Bentley was at the zenith of his literary fame. Jonathan Swift was playing the part of a clever ecclesiastical buffoon. Edward Young was pondering poetry among the tombs of his own churchyard. Pope was employing his accomplished genius, surrounded by the beauties of his lovely retreat at Twickenham. Gay was composing comedies with more ability than ambition. Richardson, afterwards the novelist, was writing “indexes, prefaces, and honest dedications.” Savage was penning beautiful ideas amid tavern riots and cellar filth. Thomson, so lazy as to be a fit occupant for his own “Castle of Indolence,” was suffering his eye to roll in a fine frenzy among the beauties of the “Seasons;” and Samuel Johnson was preparing himself to be the Jupiter of letters, and to rule the literary world.

Greatness unfortunately does not always give birth to goodness. “Never,” says a modern writer,[68] “has century risen on Christian England so void of soul and faith as that which opened with Queen Anne, and which reached its misty noon beneath the second George—a dewless night succeeded by a sunless dawn. There was no freshness in the past, and no promise in the future. The Puritans were buried, and the Methodists were not born. The philosopher of the age was Bolingbroke, the moralist was Addison, the minstrel was Pope, and the preacher was Atterbury. The world had the idle, discontented look of the morning after some mad holiday, and, like rocket-sticks and the singed paper from last night’s squibs, the spent jokes of Charles and Rochester lay all about, and people yawned to look at them. The reign of buffoonery was past, but the reign of faith and earnestness had not commenced.”

Let it not be said that this is modern imagination. Bishops are, or ought to be, sober minded men, and to one of these we refer the reader for a testimony concerning the moral and religious state of England during the period of which we are now writing. The Bishop of Lichfield, in 1724, in a sermon before the Society for the Reformation of Manners, said:—

“The Lord’s day is now the devil’s market day. More lewdness, more drunkenness, more quarrels and murders, more sin is contrived and committed on this day than on all the other days of the week together. Strong liquors are become the epidemic distemper of this great city. More of the common people die of consumptions, fevers, dropsies, cholics, palsies, and apoplexies, contracted by the immoderate use of brandies and distilled waters, than of all other distempers besides, arising from other causes. Sin, in general, is grown so hardened and rampant, as that immoralities are defended, yea, justified on principle. Obscene, wanton, and profane books find so good a market as to encourage the trade of publishing them. Every kind of sin has found a writer to teach and vindicate it, and a bookseller and hawker to divulge and spread it.”

These were not rash and random statements. From the report of the society before which the bishop preached, it appears that in that very year, 1724, the society had prosecuted not fewer than 2723 persons for lewd, profane, drunken, and gambling practices; and that during the last thirty-three years the number of their prosecutions had been 89,393.

From the literature of the period, we learn that gin-drinking in the great towns of England had become a mania; the sellers of this pernicious spirit announcing on their signboards that they would make a man drunk for a penny, and find him straw on which to lie till he recovered the use of his lost faculties. In 1736 every sixth house in London was a licensed grogshop, and parliament, to check the evil, enacted that all intoxicating spirits should pay a duty of £1 per gallon, and every victualler £50 per annum for his licence.

In the higher classes of society, the taint left by Charles II and his licentious court still festered. Among the lower classes, laziness and dishonesty were next to universal. Superstition flourished almost as vigorously as it had done in the middle ages, and nearly every old mansion in England was haunted by a ghost, and almost every parish tormented by a witch. In the metropolis, Ranelagh and Vauxhall were the resorts of thousands, of the upper strata of society; and puppetshows, hops, balls, prize-fights, merry meetings, cockfights, and badger-baitings furnished entertainment for the masses. In the rural districts, rustic squires found their greatest enjoyment in hunting foxes, and in gorging venison, and guzzling sack; while the peasantry relieved the monotony of their daily toils at wakes and fairs, and in wrestling, cudgel playing, and foot racing.

Extravagance was the order of the day. Scarcely one family in ten kept within its income. The grand controversy then, as now, was, who should _out-dress_, _out-drink_, or _out-eat_ his neighbour. Citizens and young tradesmen, whose ancestors would have fainted at the sight of drawing-rooms, were the chief visitors at plays and masquerades; and even shopkeepers were seen wearing long wigs and swords, velvet breeches and hunting caps. Families, who were oftentimes resolved into committees on ways and means to pay a butcher’s bill, paraded themselves in attire the most pompous, and adorned with the richest brocades and jewels. London swarmed with ruined rakes and broken traders, who contrived to live in the best society by reciting scraps of poetry, singing licentious songs, and retailing drunken puns and quibbles. In fact, all ranks and classes seemed to be corrupted to the core. “A sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a seed of evil doers; children that are corrupters; the whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint; from the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is no soundness in it, but wounds, bruises, and putrifying sores.”

What was done to improve this state of things? From a report of the charity schools, we learn that, in 1715, there were, throughout the kingdom, 1193 schools for the education of the children of the poor, containing 26,920 scholars. In other words, and to say nothing of other churches, there are at present in the Wesleyan-Methodist day-schools of England four times more scholars than there were in all the schools for primary education throughout the kingdom in 1715.

Turning from schools to churches, there is no amelioration of the dark picture. The Church, which ought to have reformed the nation, needed to be reformed itself. The Dissenters complained of their ministers conforming to the Establishment, but comforted themselves with thinking that the apostates were mainly young fops and dandies. The three Dissenting denominations, Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, considered themselves the great barriers to the doctrine of passive obedience to the crown, and of submission to the priestly encroachments of the Church. They maintained that they had greatly contributed to the interests of the Protestant succession, and had promoted a better observance of the sabbath, and the more frequent preaching of the high church clergy; but still they lamented that numbers of their ministers were immoral, negligent, and insufficient; that they devoted too much time to the fashionable study of the classics, and read their sermons instead of preaching them. They also complained of their children being sent to high church schools, and of the artful caballing of their congregations in appointing ministers to vacant pastorates. (See “Observations upon the Present State of the Dissenting Interest.” London: 1731.)

The clergy of the Established Church! What of them? Bishop Burnet, in 1713, wrote: “Our ember weeks are the burden and grief of my life. The much greater part of those who come to be ordained are ignorant to a degree not to be apprehended by those who are not obliged to know it. The easiest part of knowledge is that to which they are the greatest strangers; I mean the plainest parts of the Scriptures. They can give no account, or at least a very imperfect one, of the contents even of the gospels, or of the catechism itself.”

This is a doleful picture, but there was more than this. The dissensions in the Church of England then were quite as violent as dissensions now. The high church clergy were moral, and many of them talented and learned, but they were as intolerant as intolerance could make them. Of course, they held that none were ministers of Christ except those who had been _episcopally_ ordained; and hence they held that all sacraments administered by Dissenters were invalid, and all Dissenting churches in a state of sin and damnation. They boldly preached the doctrine of a proper sacrifice being made in the Christian eucharist, and most furiously contended for the Divine right of kings, and the kindred dogma of passive obedience. Many of them, in heart at least, were Jacobites, and, while promising allegiance, regarded King George as a usurper, and branded those of their brethren who differed from them with opprobrium. Endless were the pamphlets published, and fierce were the feuds of those who ought to have dwelt together in unity. The foulest sins were made sinless by intemperate zeal for the Pretender, and the fairest virtues were besmeared in those who showed a friendly feeling for Dissenters. A man might be drunken and quarrelsome all the week, but if on Sunday he bowed to the altar and cursed King William he was esteemed a saint. He might cheat everybody, and pay nobody, but if he drank health to the royal orphan, hated King George, and abhorred the Whigs, his want of probity was a peccadillo scarce worth noticing. On the other hand, a man might be learned, diligent, devout, and useful, but if he opposed the Pretender and Popery, or if he thought the Dissenters should not be damned, he was at once set down as heterodox, and, according to his importance, became a target for the poisoned shafts of high church malice.

Such, in brief, was the state of things when God raised up the Methodists. The court of England was corrupt to its very core, and the people were too faithful imitators of a bad example. Popery was intriguing, Dissenters were declining, and the Church was full of fiery and drunken feuds. Reformers, like the Methodists, were needed. Without them, or others of a kindred spirit, the nation must have sunk into an inconceivable depth of depravity, and social and political degradation. In estimating the benefits which have accrued from the great Methodist movement, the reader must think not only of the good effected but of the ill averted.

Methodism arose in Oxford, and not before it was needed, even there. When Wesley returned to the university in 1729, the vice-chancellor, the heads of houses and proctors, issued an edict, which was posted in most of the college halls, to the effect that certain members of the university had of late been in danger of being corrupted by the wicked and blasphemous notions of the advocates of pretended human reason against Divine revelation; and that therefore it was a matter of the utmost consequence that the college tutors should use double diligence in explaining to their respective pupils the articles of religion and their Christian duty, and in recommending to them the frequent and careful reading of the Scriptures, and such other books as might serve more effectually the orthodox faith and sound principles.

The Dean of Christ Church, however, where Charles Wesley was a tutor, was so much a friend to infidelity, that he forbade the posting of this edict in his college hall, forgetting that there was One higher than himself, who, in that very college, had already begun to raise one of the strongest barriers against the spread of this pernicious evil.

A few months afterwards, on the 4th of July, 1730, it was announced in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, that one of the principal colleges in Oxford had of late been infested with Deists, and that three Deistical students had been expelled, and a fourth had had his degree deferred two years, during which he was to be closely confined in college, and, among other things, was to translate Leslie’s “Short and Easy Method with the Deists.”

Wesley was now a tutor in Lincoln College, and presided in the hall as Moderator in the disputations, six of which were held weekly; and, by this, he acquired the remarkable expertness in arguing, and in discerning and pointing out well concealed and plausible fallacies, which distinguished him to the end of life. He writes: “In November, 1729, the then Rector of Lincoln College, Dr. Morley, sent for me to Oxford, to take pupils, eleven of whom he put under my care immediately. In this employ I continued[69] till 1735, when I went as a _missioner_ to Georgia.” Several of Wesley’s pupils were among the first Oxford Methodists.

The Methodist movement, however, was begun not by Wesley, but by his brother Charles. When the latter was elected to Christ Church, in 1726, he was a sprightly, rollicking young fellow, with more genius than grace; John spoke to him about religion, but Charles answered, “What, would you have me to be a saint all at once!” This was an unfavourable beginning; but, while John was serving as his father’s curate at Epworth and at Wroote, Charles began to attend the weekly sacrament, and induced two or three other students to attend with him. On John’s return from Lincolnshire, he heartily united with his brother and his friends. The regularity of their behaviour led a young collegian to call them Methodists; and “as the name,” says Wesley, “was new and quaint, it clave to them immediately, and, from that time, all that had any connection with them were thus distinguished.”[70]

The name was not new. Wesley says “it was given in allusion to an ancient sect of physicians, of the time of the Emperor Nero, who taught that almost all diseases might be cured by a specific _method_ of diet and exercise.”[71] This might be so, and yet it is a curious fact that the name was in use in England long before it was applied to Wesley and his friends. In 1693 a pamphlet was published with the title, “A War among the Angels of the Churches: wherein is shewed the Principles of the New Methodists in the great point of Justification. By a Country Professor of Jesus Christ.” And even as early as 1639, in a sermon preached at Lambeth the following perfumed eloquence occurs:—“Where are now our Anabaptists, and plain pack-staff Methodists, who esteem all flowers of rhetoric in sermons no better than stinking weeds, and all elegance of speech no better than profane spells?”

The two young gentlemen who, with Wesley and his brother Charles, were first called Methodists, were Robert Kirkham, already mentioned on a previous page, and William Morgan.[72] To these were subsequently added, George Whitefield, John Clayton, J. Broughton, Benjamin Ingham, James Hervey, John Whitelamb, Westley Hall, John Gambold, Charles Kinchin, William Smith, and Messrs. Salmon, Wogan, Boyce, Atkinson, and others.[73]

What shall we say of these Oxford Methodists?

William Morgan’s career was brief and painful; he was the first Methodist who passed the pearly gates of the celestial city. Charles Kinchin, a lovely character, soon followed him. Charles Wesley, in his incomparable hymns, left behind him one of the noblest legacies that an uninspired man ever bequeathed to the Christian church. George Whitefield was the prince of preachers—a glorious emblem of the apocalyptic angel flying through the midst of heaven with the good tidings of great joy unto all people. And James Hervey will be loved and honoured as long as there are men to appreciate the highest order of Christian piety and the most mellifluent compositions in the English language.

The history of the Oxford Methodists is not, however, an unspotted one. Clayton’s high churchism was not an excellency to be admired. Broughton’s usefulness was crippled and cut short by his imperfect, stunted, stereotyped views of Christian truth. Westley Hall, though we hope he died a penitent, was, throughout the greatest part of his vicious life, an unmitigated scamp. John Whitelamb sunk down into an ecclesiastical village drone. Gambold, though good, was visionary, and throughout life was injured by his Moravian maggots. And Ingham, for many years one of the most successful of evangelists, through the ill judged connections that he formed, died beneath a cloud. But, with all these drawbacks, the reader is challenged to produce a band of godly friends, whose lives and labours have, upon the whole, issued in such an amount of blessing to mankind as that which has resulted from the lives and labours of the students who, in 1735, were known as “Oxford Methodists.” They were widely scattered; their views were different; they were often brought into painful collision with each other; but, with the one or two exceptions mentioned, they were all sincere, earnest, laborious, successful ministers of Christ; and five or six of them must for ever occupy a high position in the history of the Christian church. Clayton shunned the Wesleys; Broughton opposed them; Ingham left them; Hervey, though with Christian courtesy, wrote against them; Gambold, at one period, hesitated not to say that he was ashamed of them; and even Whitefield, for a little while, was alienated from them; but we earnestly hope and have little doubt that they have all long been re-united in that blessed world where friends are free from misconceptions, and where the din of controversial strife does not exist—a world where all churches are merged into one grand Church, the members of which make one vast, happy, and harmonious family, and sing in the same ceaseless tune the same great song for ever—the song of Moses and of the Lamb.

Of the Methodists, three were tutors in colleges; and the rest were bachelors of arts, or undergraduates. All were of one judgment and of one heart; and all tenacious of order to the last degree, and observant, for conscience sake, of every rule of the Church, and every statute both of the university and of their respective colleges. They all thought themselves orthodox in every point, firmly believing, not only the three creeds, but whatsoever they judged to be the doctrine of the Church of England, as contained in her articles and homilies. Practically, they had all things common; and no one was allowed to want what another had the ability to spare.[74] Wesley was nicknamed “the Curator of the Holy Club,” and not a few branded him a “crack-brained enthusiast”; and yet others acknowledged that though his views and doctrines were peculiar his piety was unimpeachable; and Mr. Gerard, the bishop’s chaplain, dared to express an opinion to George Lascelles, one of his revilers, that he “would one day be a standard-bearer of the Cross, either in his own country or beyond the seas.”[75] Charles Wesley paid the utmost deference to his brother, and all the Methodists acknowledged his fitness to be their chief director. This was not surprising, for, confessedly, he had more learning and experience than the others; and was blessed with such activity and steadiness that he was always gaining ground, and losing none. Every affair was well considered before he propounded it, and all his decisions were made in the fear of God, without passion, or self-confidence. His countenance also wore an air of authority; and yet there was no assumption of super-eminence; but all were allowed to speak their minds with the utmost freedom, and no one was a more respectful listener than himself. Hence it was, that, whatever proposals he submitted, they were readily adopted, and the brotherhood was as perfect as unity of sentiment and feeling could make it.

Every night they met together,[76] to review what each had done during the day, and to consult what should be done the day following; their meetings always commencing with prayer, and ending with a frugal supper. Their plans of action were various. Some conversed with young students, and endeavoured to rescue them from evil company, and to encourage them in a sober and studious life. Others undertook the instruction and relief of impoverished families; others the charge of some particular school, and others of the parish workhouse. Some or other of them went daily to the Castle, and to the city prison, reading in the chapel, to as many of the prisoners as would attend, books like the “Christian Monitor” and the “Country Parson’s Advice to his Parishioners,” and then summing up the reading in a few sentences easy to be remembered. On the introduction of a new prisoner, they would subject him to the most searching examination as to whether he bore malice towards his prosecutors or others, and whether he repented of his sins, and used private prayer, and received the sacrament. Out of their own scanty means, and by quarterly contributions from others, they raised a fund to purchase books, medicines, and other necessaries for the prisoners, and to release those who were confined for debts of small amount. They read prayers at the Castle on most Wednesdays and Fridays, preached a sermon to the prisoners every Sunday, and administered the sacrament once a month. One of the schools which they visited was a school which Wesley himself had founded, the mistress of which he paid, and some, if not all, of the children of which he clothed.

In all this the world saw nought but oddity and folly, and called these hardworking and godly students “Bible bigots,” and “Bible moths;” but, in the midst of all, Wesley calmly pursued the path which he had marked out for himself and his friends. Gambold, in a letter written whilst Wesley was in Georgia, tells us that Wesley at Oxford was always cheerful but never arrogant. By strict watchfulness, he beat down the impetuosity of his nature into a childlike simplicity. His piety was nourished by continual communion with God, for he thought prayer to be his greatest duty; and often did Gambold see him come out of his closet of devotion with a serenity of countenance that was next to shining. The secret consolations of God seldom left him, and never but in a posture of strong and longsuffering faith. In him there were no idle cravings, no chagrin or sickliness of spirit. Slanders never ruffled him, and his chief fear was lest he should grow proud of this conformity to his great Master. Coming home from long journeys, where he had been in different companies, he would calmly resume his usual employments, as if he had never left them. Himself setting an example, he urged upon his associates method, diligence, and early rising. His hours for private devotion were from five to six o’clock every morning and every night. Every day he noted in a diary what had been his chief employments; and one day every week he set apart for writing letters to his friends.[77]

His charity to the poor was limited only by the means at his command. One cold winter’s day, he tells us, a young girl, whom the Methodists kept at school, called upon him in a state nearly frozen, to whom he said, “You seem half-starved; have you nothing to wear but that linen gown?” The poor girl said, “Sir, this is all I have.” Wesley put his hand in his pocket, but found it nearly empty. The walls of his chamber however were hung with pictures, and these now became his accusers. “It struck me,” says he, “will thy Master say, ‘Well done, good and faithful steward’? thou hast adorned thy walls with the money which might have screened this poor creature from the cold! O Justice! O Mercy! Are not these pictures the blood of this poor maid?”[78] To say the least, this story shows the intense conscientiousness of the man, and his dread of spending anything upon himself which might have been spent more properly upon the poor. He says it was the practice of all the Oxford Methodists to give away each year all they had after providing for their own necessities; and then, as an illustration, he adds, in reference to himself, “One of them had thirty pounds a year. He lived on twenty-eight, and gave away forty shillings. The next year receiving sixty pounds, he still lived on twenty-eight, and gave away thirty-two. The third year he received ninety pounds, and gave away sixty-two. The fourth year he received a hundred and twenty pounds; still he lived as before on twenty-eight, and gave to the poor all the rest.”[79]

Wesley at Oxford was as conscientious in the use of time as he was in the use of money. Finding that he awoke every night about twelve or one o’clock, he concluded that this arose from his lying longer in bed than nature needed; and, to satisfy himself, he procured an alarum which aroused him next morning at seven, an hour earlier than he rose the day previous; but still he lay awake again at night. The second morning his alarum roused him up at six; and the third at five; but notwithstanding this he still lay awake when he ought to have been fast asleep. The fourth morning, by means of his alarum, he got up at four, and now wakefulness was unknown to him. Sixty years after adopting this expedient to ascertain how much sleep his nature needed, he wrote, “By the grace of God, I have risen at four o’clock ever since; and, taking the year round, I don’t lie awake a quarter of an hour together in a month.”[80]

The Bible now, as ever afterwards, was Wesley’s book of books. He writes: “In 1729, I began not only to read, but to study, the Bible, as the one, the only standard of truth, and the only model of pure religion. Hence, I saw, in a clearer and clearer light, the indispensable necessity of having ‘the mind which was in Christ,’ and of ‘walking as Christ also walked.’ I considered religion as an entire inward and outward conformity to our Master. Nor was I afraid of anything more than of bending this rule to the experience of myself, or of other men; or of allowing myself in any the least disconformity to our grand Exemplar.”[81]

Such was Wesley in 1729. What about his friends? To some extent, their principles and practice may be learnt from the scheme of self-examination they adopted. They tried to act upon the principle of doing nothing without a previous perception that it was the will of God. Every morning and every evening they spent an hour in private prayer. They always prayed in going in and out of church. Three days every week, though separate from each other, they, at the same hour, prayed in concert. In secret devotion they frequently stopped short to observe if they were using proper fervour, and, before concluding in the name of Christ, they adverted to the Saviour now interceding on their behalf at the right hand of God, and offering up their prayers. They habituated themselves to the use of ejaculations for humility, faith, hope, and love; used a collect every day at nine, twelve, and three o’clock; and each one said aloud, in his own room, a grace before and after eating. They embraced every possible opportunity of doing good, and of preventing, removing, or lessening evil. They tried to spend an hour every day in speaking to men directly on religious things, never relinquishing the objects of their attention till they were positively repelled, and always, before addressing them, trying to learn, as far as possible, their tempers, way of life, and peculiar hindrances. In order to converse usefully, they planned every conversation before they went into company; and considered what subject would be most useful, and how to prosecute it.[82] They persuaded all they could to attend public prayers, sermons, and sacraments; and, in general, to obey the laws of the church catholic, the Church of England, the state, the university, and their respective colleges. They refrained from thinking or speaking unkindly of any one; and used intercession for their friends on Sundays, for their pupils on Mondays, for those who particularly desired it on Wednesdays and Fridays, and for the family with whom they lodged every day.[83] They also communicated at Christ Church once a week.[84]

They had one, and only one, rule of judgment, with regard to all their tempers, words, and actions—namely, the oracles of God, and were one and all determined to be Bible Christians. The book which, next to the holy Scripture, was of the greatest use to them, in settling their judgment as to the grand point of justification by faith, was the Book of Homilies.[85]

They were tenacious, not only of all the doctrines of the Church of England, but of all her discipline, to the minutest points, and were scrupulously strict in observing the rubrics and canons. In short, “they were,” says Wesley, “in the strongest sense, high churchmen.”[86]

Many of their proceedings were ecclesiastically irregular, though religiously right; and Wesley, fearful of doing evil even while doing good, wrote to his brother Samuel and to his father for advice. Samuel replied that, though there might be some things concerning which he was dubious, yet he would choose to follow his two brothers to the grave rather than they should abandon their course of piety, and especially that relating to the prisoners in the Castle.[87] The venerable rector, in his reply, said, “As to your designs and employments, what can I say less than _Valde probo_; and that I have the highest reason to bless God that He has given me two sons together at Oxford, to whom He has granted grace and courage to turn the war against the world and the devil?” At the same time, however, he advised them to obtain consent to visit the prisoners from the chaplain, who had charge of them, and likewise to seek the approbation of their bishop. This advice was adopted; the chaplain commended their design; and the bishop expressed himself as highly pleased with their undertaking.[88]

At the commencement of the year 1730, Wesley had the offer of a curacy, eight miles from Oxford, for three or for six months, at the rate of £30 a year; and this he readily accepted, not only because it opened to him a field of usefulness, but also because it enabled him to retain his horse, when he began to feel that he must sell it; for if he had not a horse of his own he must hire one to ride to his cure on Sundays, and the _hire_ would be quite as expensive as the _keep_.[89]

It was in the same year that he begun his remarkable correspondence with Mary Granville, afterwards the celebrated wife and widow of the Very Rev. Dr. Delany, Dean of Down, in Ireland. Mary Granville, while living in Gloucestershire, became acquainted with Sarah, daughter of the Rev. Lionel Kirkham, of Staunton; and, ever after, the two ladies were the most devoted friends.[90] We have already seen that Wesley was a visitor of the Kirkhams; and that, in 1726, a warm-hearted intimacy existed between him and one of the young ladies of that family, whose pet name, among her friends, was “Varanese.” It is almost certain that it was here Wesley was first introduced to the remarkable woman above-mentioned. Their correspondence with each other was conducted in feigned names, Wesley calling himself “Cyrus,” and Mary Granville calling herself “Aspasia,” that being the name by which she was often designated by her most intimate acquaintance.[91] The first letter from “Aspasia” is dated “August 28th, 1730.” She writes:—

“SIR,—I think myself extremely obliged to you for the favour of the sermon and the letters. I received them safe last week, and should sooner have made my acknowledgments for them, but that I have been engaged with so much company since my return from dear, delightful Staunton, that, till this moment, I have not had time to express my gratitude for the elegant entertainment I have had, not only from the manuscripts, but in recollecting and repeating the conversation you and your brother made so agreeable, which I hope will soon be renewed. If you have any affairs that call you to Gloucester, don’t forget that you have two pupils, who are desirous of improving their understanding; and that friendship has already taught them to be, sir, your most sincere, humble servants. My companion joins me in all I have said, as well as in service to Araspes.”[92]

The companion referred to was probably Mary Granville’s mother (with whom also Wesley corresponded),[93] or her beloved friend, Sarah Kirkham. Araspes was most likely a feigned name for Wesley’s brother Charles. On the fly-leaf of the letter there is a postscript, in the handwriting of Mary Granville’s sister, whose pet name was Selina, telling Wesley that Aspasia was about to visit Bath, and that, if he designed to wait upon her, he had best write to her to ascertain her movements. He is further told that “Varanese” (see Robert Kirkham’s letter, p. 50) had sent him a letter by the carrier about a fortnight ago, and wished to know whether it had come safe to hand.

Mary Granville, at this period, was the widow of Alexander Pendarves, Esq., and was three years older than Wesley. As a member of the Lansdowne family, she had moved in the most fashionable circles of London society, and was now a frequent attendant at ridottos, masquerades, operas, and other amusements: but, in the midst of all, she maintained an unblemished character; evinced talents and virtues of an exceedingly high order; was received at court during each successive reign; and, to the day of her death, was honoured with the notice and confidence of George III. and his Queen Charlotte. Are we justified in inferring, from the language employed in the postscript of the above letter, that Wesley was thinking of making Mary Granville (or rather Mrs. Pendarves) his wife? Or that there was some intrigue among his friends, to bring about an interview at Bath, and to initiate a correspondence which might ripen into something more than an ordinary intimacy between friends? A correspondence was now begun which lasted for four years, from August 1730 to July 1734. Mrs. Pendarves, however, remained in widowhood until 1743, when she married Dr. Delany. A few extracts, from some of Wesley’s letters to this distinguished lady, may cast some light upon the questions we have ventured to suggest, and will also help to illustrate his character at this important period of his history.

“_November 25, 1730._

“O that our friendship (since you give me leave to use that dear word) may be built on a firm foundation. For want of humility, I cannot follow you as I would. I must be left behind in the race of virtue. I am sick of pride: it quite weighs my spirit down. O, pray for me, that I may be healed. I have the greater dependence on your intercession, because you know what you ask. Every line of your last shows the heart of the writer, where, with friendship, dwells humility. Ours, dear Aspasia, it is to make acknowledgments; upon us lie the obligations of gratitude. If it be a fault to have too harmonious a soul, too exquisite a sense of elegant, generous transports, then, indeed, I must own there is an obvious fault both in Selina and Aspasia. If not, I fancy one may easily reconcile whatever they think or act to the strictest reason; unless it be their entertaining so favourable a thought of their most obliged and most faithful—CYRUS.”

“_Innocents’ Day, 1730._

“Should one, who was as my own soul, be torn from me, it would be best for me. Surely if you were called first, mine eyes ought not to overflow because all tears were wiped away from yours. But I much doubt whether self-love would not be found too strong for a friendship, which I even now find to be less disinterested than I hitherto imagined. Is it a fault to desire to recommend myself to those who so strongly recommend virtue to me? Tell me, Aspasia,—tell me, Selina,—if it be a fault that my heart burns within me, when I reflect on the many marks of regard you have already shown.”

Aspasia made an inquiry of Wesley, couched in the following terms:—

“Every Sunday evening, a gentleman in this town has a concert of music. I am invited there to-night, and design to go. I charge you, on the friendship you have professed for me, to tell me your sincere opinion about it, and all your objections. For, if I am in error by going, you ought to prevent my doing so again.”

Wesley replied:—

“Far be it from me to think that any circumstance of life shall ever give the enemy an advantage over Aspasia. He, who has overcome the world and its princes, shall give His angels charge over her to keep her in all her ways.

“To judge whether any action be lawful on the sabbath or no, we are to consider whether it advances the end for which the sabbath was ordained. Now, the end for which the sabbath was ordained is the attainment of holiness. Whatever, therefore, tends to advance this end is lawful on this day. Whatever does not tend to advance this end is not lawful on this day.”

Mary Granville spent the summer of 1731 principally in London, and, to a great extent, in the family of Richard Colley, Esq., who, three years before, had succeeded to the estates of his cousin Garrett Wesley, Esq., of the county of Meath, and had assumed the name and arms of Wesley, and who, in 1746, was created Baron of Mornington. One day would be spent in boating upon the Thames, the Duchess of Ancaster affording them high amusement by singing, or rather catterwauling, a piece out of the “Beggars’ Opera”; the next day in witnessing the working of her friend Wesley’s orrery, and in representing Lady Shelburn at the baptism of a baby; another day in a jaunt to Greenwich. Then we find her attending court; and then sitting by the side of Hogarth, while painting a picture of the Wesley family, and obtaining a promise that he would give her instructions in drawing. In the midst of all this fashionable, fluttering kind of life, John Wesley, at Oxford, was writing her frequent letters.

Under the date of June 19, he says:—

“If Providence has used me as an instrument of doing any good to Aspasia, I had almost said, ‘I have my reward.’ The thought of having added anything to your ease will make many of my hours the happier. I am extremely glad to find you among those few who are yet concerned for the honour of their Master; and cannot but congratulate you upon your wise choice. ‘If we suffer with Him, we shall also reign with Him,’”

A month later, he writes:—

“I have been charged with being _too strict_; with carrying things too far in religion, and laying burdens upon myself, if not on others, which are neither necessary nor possible to be borne. Do not blame me, Aspasia, for using every means to find whether I am thus guilty or no; and particularly for appealing to the judgment of one who, in this, is not likely to be prejudiced in my favour. Those among whom your lot is chiefly cast are not accused of too much strictness. Whatever other ill weeds may flourish there, a court is not a fit soil for these. Give me leave, then, to lay freely before you what my sentiments in this point are, and to conjure you to tell me which of them you disapprove.”

By return of post, on July 21, Aspasia answers:—

“The imputation thrown upon you is a most extraordinary one. But such is the temper of the world, when you have no vice to feed their spleen with, they will condemn the highest virtue. O Cyrus, how noble a defence you make! and how are you adorned with the beauty of holiness! You really are in a state to be envied. How ardently do I wish to be as resigned and humble as yourself. As you say, my lot is fallen among those who cannot be accused of too much strictness in religion; so far from that, they generally make an open profession of having no religion at all; and I cannot observe my fellow-creatures in such manifest danger without feeling an inexpressible concern.”

Three days later, on July 24, Wesley writes:—

“I am extremely happy in having your approbation, where I am most careful to be approved. Give me the censure of the many, the praise of the few. I have all the advantages that outward circumstances can afford. _I_ spend, day by day, many hours in those employments that have a direct tendency to improve me. _You_ can rarely have one, wherein to pursue that great work with the full bent of your mind. _I_ have scarce any acquaintance in the world, who is not either apt to teach or willing to learn. _You_ are entangled among several who can plead for themselves little more than that they do no hurt. And would to God even that plea would hold! I much fear it will not. Is it no hurt to rob you of your time, for which there is no equivalent but eternity? Must Aspasia ever submit to this insupportable misfortune? Every time a gay wretch wants to trifle away a part of that invaluable treasure which God has lent him, shall he force away also a part of hers? Surely there is a way to escape. The God whom you serve point it out to you!”[94]

Aspasia, in other words Mrs. Delany, spent the winter of 1731 in Ireland. On the 11th of March, 1732, writing to her sister from Dublin, she says:—

“Cyrus, by this time, has blotted me out of his memory, or, if he does remember me, it can only be to reproach me. What can I say for myself, in having neglected so extraordinary a correspondent? I only am the sufferer, but I should be very sorry to have him think my silence proceeded from negligence. I declare it is want of time.”[95]

Twelve months after this, while still in Ireland, in another letter to her sister, she remarks:—

“As for the ridicule Cyrus has been exposed to, I do not at all wonder at it. Religion, in its plainest dress, suffers daily from the insolence and ignorance of the world; then how should that person escape, who dares to appear openly in its cause? He will meet with all the mortifications such rebels are able to give, which can be no other than that of finding them wilfully blinding themselves, and running headlong into the gulf of perdition; a melancholy prospect for the honest-hearted man who earnestly desires the salvation of his fellow-creatures.”[96]

Here we close these specimens of correspondence. How are they to be interpreted? When begun, John Wesley was a young man, twenty-seven years of age, a fellow and tutor of a college, profoundly pious, and the leader of the Oxford Methodists. His fair correspondent was a young widow, only three years older than himself, the niece of Lord Lansdowne, opulent, talented, accomplished, beautiful, a favourite at court, and an intimate friend of the gentleman who had succeeded to the estates of Garrett Wesley, who had wished to make Wesley’s brother Charles his heir.[97] Did Wesley correspond with Aspasia merely for the improvement of himself in piety and knowledge? And did she correspond with Wesley merely because she sympathised with the principles and practices of the Oxford Methodists? To say the least, this is extremely doubtful. Mary Granville was a talented and accomplished woman, but, in that respect, Wesley was greatly her superior. She was moral, and, upon the whole, religious; but her life, among her aristocratic friends, was fluttering and empty when compared with the intensely religious life of Wesley and his friends at Oxford. The correspondence is a puzzle. There is nothing that is sickly or merely sentimental; but, on both sides, there is an endearment which perplexes. Was Wesley enamoured? And was he groping his way to something else than ordinary friendship? Did Mary Granville experience a reciprocity of feeling? And was the reproach, which began to be heaped upon the Oxford Methodists, the means of quenching it? We know not. But, supposing such conjectures to be true, what then? Was Wesley inconsistent with his principles, or unpardonably ambitious in longing for such an alliance? Or did Mary Granville at all demean herself in reciprocating Wesley’s feelings? We think otherwise. Mary Granville ultimately married Patrick Delany, who, except that he had become rich by already marrying a wealthy widow, was, in no respect, the superior of John Wesley; and, in point of birth, was greatly his inferior; for, while the one was a son of an eminently learned clergyman of the Established Church, the other was the son of a servant to an Irish judge. The suspicions above mentioned are reasonable, though perhaps not true; and they naturally lead the contemplative reader to inquire, if Cyrus had married Aspasia, would Oxford Methodism have grown into what it afterwards became? If, to use Wesley’s words, Charles Wesley had “a fair escape” when he declined to become Garrett Wesley’s heir, had not Wesley himself “a fair escape” when his letters to the intimate friend of Garrett Wesley’s successor ended as they did?

This is an episode. We return to the Methodism of the Oxford Methodists.

In 1731, Wesley and his brother began the practice of conversing with each other in Latin when by themselves, and this they continued to the end of life. In the same year, a meeting was held by several of the senior graduates, to consult on the readiest way to stop the progress of the Methodist movement; and it was soon publicly reported that the censors were about to blow up the _Godly Club_. In April, Wesley, accompanied by his brother, set out on foot for Epworth; and, after a three weeks’ visit walked the same distance back, having made two discoveries: 1. That four or five and twenty miles is an easy and safe day’s journey in hot weather as well as cold; and, 2. That it was easy to read as they walked, for a distance of ten or a dozen miles, without feeling either faint or weary. By this lengthened pedestrian tour they had been freed from all superfluous humours, and were not now in the slightest danger of an attack of gout. During their brief absence, however, their “little company” had “shrunk into almost none at all; for Mr. Morgan was sick at Holt; Mr. Boyce at his father’s house at Barton; Mr. Kirkham was about to leave to become his uncle’s curate; and another young gentleman of Christ Church had returned to the ways of the world, and studiously shunned their company.”[98]

In August, Wesley, writing to one of his pupils, says:—

“You, who have not the assurance of a day to live, are not wise if you waste a moment. The shortest way to knowledge seems to be this: 1. To ascertain what knowledge you desire to attain. 2. To read no book which does not in some way tend to the attainment of that knowledge. 3. To read no book which does tend to the attainment of it, unless it be the best in its kind. 4. To finish one before you begin another. 5. To read them all in such order, that every subsequent book may illustrate and confirm the preceding.”[99]

In the meantime Wesley had begun observing the Wednesday and Friday fasts, commonly observed in the ancient church, tasting no food whatever till three in the afternoon. Some of his friends had left him; but he still diligently strove against all kinds of sin; omitted no sort of self-denial which he thought lawful; carefully used, both in public and in private, all the means of grace; and embraced every opportunity of doing good.[100]

In 1732, he wrote a sermon on the sacrament of the Lord’s supper, for the use of his pupils, in which he shows the duty of all Christians to communicate as often as they can. He asserts that, with “the first Christians, the Christian sacrifice was a constant part of the Lord’s day service; and that, for several centuries, they received it almost daily; four days a week always, and every saint’s day beside.” He further asserts that the Church of England has taken “all possible care that the sacrament be duly administered, wherever the Common-Prayer is read, every Sunday and holiday in the year;” and that those who do not receive it, at least thrice in a year, are liable to excommunication.[101]

In the same month (February) in which Wesley wrote his sermon, his mother addressed to him a letter from which we extract the following:—

“The young gentleman you mention seems to me to be in the right concerning the real presence of Christ in the sacrament. I own, I never understood by the _real presence_ more than what he has elegantly expressed, that ‘the Divine nature of Christ is then eminently present, to impart, by the operation of His Spirit, the benefits of His death to worthy receivers,’ And surely, the Divine presence of our Lord, thus applying the virtue and merits of the great atonement to each true believer, makes the consecrated bread more than a sign of Christ’s body; since, by His so doing, we receive not only the sign, but with it the thing signified—all the benefits of His incarnation and passion. But still, however this Divine institution may seem to others, to me it is full of mystery.”[102]

To this Wesley replied as follows:—

“_February 28, 1732._

“One consideration is enough to make me assent to your judgment concerning the holy sacrament; which is, that we cannot allow Christ’s human nature to be present in it, without allowing either con- or trans-substantiation. But that His Divinity is so united to us then, as He never is but to worthy receivers, I firmly believe, though the manner of that union is utterly a mystery to me.”[103]

Such was the sacramentarian theory of the high church Oxford Methodists in 1732.

In the same letter, Wesley introduces another subject, showing that, after all, his earnest piety was not unmixed with morbidness. He continues:—

“To all who give signs of their not being strangers to the mind of Christ, I propose this question,—and why not to you rather than any? shall I quite break off my pursuit of all learning but what immediately tends to practice? I once desired to make a fair show in language and philosophy; but it is past; there is a more excellent way; and, if I cannot attain to any progress in the one, without throwing up all thoughts of the other, why, fare it well! Yet a little while, and we shall all be equal in knowledge, if we are in virtue.”

This was simply silly and absurd; for, on the same principle, a man ought to give up business, because business does not “immediately tend to the practice of piety.”

It has been already stated that, during Wesley’s brief visit to Epworth, in 1731, the Oxford Methodists were greatly scattered. In the spring of 1732, their forces were recruited by the adhesion of Mr. Clayton, and Mr. Broughton, and half-a-dozen pupils belonging to himself, his brother, and Mr. Clayton. Six evenings every week were spent, from six to nine o’clock, partly in reading and considering the Greek Testament, and partly in close conversation.[104]

In the month of July, Wesley, being in London, paid a visit to the Rev. William Law, at Putney, and commenced a friendship which lasted for several years. From this period, he began to read the “Theologia Germanica,” and other mystic writings, with what results will be seen hereafter. On the 3rd of August, he was made a member of “The Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge;” and, during his stay in London, received from Mr. Clayton a long letter, which will help to give the reader an insight into the difficulties and daily life of the Oxford Methodists. It was first published in the _Wesleyan Times_ newspaper, of September 24, 1866.

“OXON, _August 1, 1732_.

“REV. AND DEAR SIR,—I cannot but think it an extraordinary providence, that, when we had lost our best advocate and patron, all opposition against us should immediately cease. Since you left us, nobody has thought it worth while to attack either Mr. Smith or me, or to endeavour to remove us from those principles wherein you, by the grace of God, have fixed us. Mr. Smith goes out of town to-morrow, and so will be entirely out of danger from the fellows of Lincoln. He seems to be forearmed against the temptations which may possibly arise from strange company and from travelling. My little flock at Brazenose are, God be praised, true to their principles. Bocardo,” [a room over the north gate of the city used as a debtors’ prison,] “I fear, grows worse upon my hands: they have done nothing but quarrel ever since you left us. They carried matters so high on Saturday, that the bailiff was sent for, who ordered Tomlyn to be fettered, and put into the dungeon. The Castle is, I thank God! in much better condition. All the felons were acquitted, except Salmon, who is to be tried at Warwick; and the sheep-stealer, who is burnt in the hand and is a great penitent. Jempro is discharged, and I have appointed Harris to read to the prisoners in his stead. Two of the felons likewise have paid their fees and are gone out, both of them able to read mighty well. There are only two in the gaol who want this accomplishment,—John Clanville, who reads but moderately, and the horse-stealer who cannot read at all, though he knows all his letters and can spell most of the monosyllables. I hear them both read three times a week; and, I believe, Salmon hears them so many times daily. The woman, who was a perfect novice, spells tolerably; and so does one of the boys; and the other makes shift to read with spelling every word that is longer than ordinary. They can both say their catechism to the end of the commandments, and can likewise repeat the morning and evening prayers for children in Ken’s Manual. I have been twice at the school, namely, on Tuesday and Saturday last; and intend to go again as soon as I have finished this letter. The children all go on pretty well, except one, who, I find, truants till eleven o’clock in a morning. I have obtained leave to go to St. Thomas’s workhouse twice a week. I am sure the people much need instruction, for there is hardly a soul can read in the whole house. Pray, do not forget a few Common-Prayer Books for the Castle.

“You cannot imagine the pleasure it is for me to know that you are engaged every morning in prayer for me. I wish for nine o’clock more eagerly than ever I did before; and, I think, I begin to perceive what is meant by that union of souls which is so much talked of in Pere Malebranche and Madam Bourignon. Mr. Hall is not yet come home; so that I am pretty much taken up with the poor people and the prisoners. I thank God, I have fully conquered my affection for a morning nap, and rise constantly by five o’clock, and have the pleasure to see myself imitated by the greatest part of my pupils. I have made Mr. Clements a proselyte to early rising, though I cannot to constant communion. May God prosper all your designs of doing good in London.

“I am, Rev. and dear Sir, “Your affectionate friend and obedient humble servant,

“J. CLAYTON.”

The lull in the opposition to the Oxford Methodists was of short continuance. A month after the date of Mr. Clayton’s letter, Wesley had to mourn the death of his friend Morgan, and to defend himself against the accusation that Morgan had hastened his death by the rigorous fasting, which he had practised at Wesley’s recommendation.[105] Wesley’s long letter fully satisfied Morgan’s father, who expressed himself as almost wishing to be one of the Oxford Methodists himself, and as ready to vindicate them from any calumny or aspersion that might be cast upon them.[106] There were others, however, of a different mind, for a fortnight after Mr. Morgan wrote thus to Wesley, an article appeared in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, to the effect that there were, in the Oxford University, a number of persons who, in order “to live up to the principles of Christianity had doomed themselves to absurd and perpetual melancholy;” and that “these sons of sorrow designed to make the whole place a monastery.” The writer continues: “These Methodists pretend to great refinements, as well as to what regards the speculative, as the practical part of religion; and have a very near affinity to the Essenes among the Jews, and the Pietists in Switzerland. The chief hinge, on which their whole scheme of religion turns, is, that no action whatever is indifferent; and hence they condemn several actions as bad, which are not only allowed to be innocent, but laudable, by the rest of mankind. They avoid, as much as possible, every object that may affect them with any pleasant or grateful sensations. All social entertainments and diversions are disapproved of; and, in endeavouring to avoid luxury, they not only exclude what is convenient, but what is absolutely necessary for the support of life; fancying, (as is thought,) that religion was designed to contradict nature. They neglect and voluntarily afflict their bodies, and practise several rigorous and superstitious customs, which God never required of them. All Wednesdays and Fridays are strictly to be kept as fasts; and blood let once a fortnight, to keep down the carnal man. At dinner, they sigh for the time they are obliged to spend in eating. Every morning to rise at four o’clock, is supposed a duty; and to employ two hours a day in singing of psalms and hymns, is judged an indispensable requisite to being a Christian. In short, they practise everything contrary to the judgment of other persons, and allow none to have any (religion) but those of their own sect, which is the farthest from it.

“As these Methodists have occasioned no small stir in Oxford, so there has not been wanting a variety of conjectures about them. Some are apt to ascribe their gloomy and disconsolate way of life to want of money; thus being denied the enjoyment of those pleasures they chiefly desire, they are weighed down by an habitual sorrow; and it is certain that their founder took formerly no small liberty in indulging his appetites. Others tax their characters with hypocrisy, and suppose them to use religion only as a veil to vice; and, indeed, if we should give credit to the several tales related of them, their greatest friends would be ashamed to stand in their defence. Others judge that their way of life is owing to enthusiasm, madness, and superstitious scruples. Among their own party, they pass for religious persons, and men of extraordinary parts; but they have the misfortune to be taken by all, who have ever been in their company, for madmen and fools.”

Such are some of the scandalous charges contained in this precious epistolary morsel,—we believe the first attack ever made upon the Methodists in the public prints. The entire letter is before us; but only a part of it is quoted,—first because there is a great amount of empty and ungrammatical verbiage unworthy of being admitted into what was, at that period, perhaps the most literary and respectable paper published—_Fogg’s Weekly Journal_; and secondly because there is one paragraph, which, despite its verbosity, is so loathsomely impure, that it would be a sin against both God and man to reproduce it.

The letter was published in _Fogg’s Journal_, on December 9th, 1732; and, within two months after, it was answered in an octavo pamphlet of thirty pages, entitled, “The Oxford Methodists: Being some account of a society of young gentlemen in that city, so denominated; setting forth their rise, views, and designs; in a letter from a gent, near Oxford, to his friend in London. Printed for J. Roberts, price 6_d._” The second edition of this first defence of Methodism, published in 1738 “with very great alterations and improvements,” is that from which the following extracts are taken.

The writer says that he knew nothing of the Methodists till his friend requested him to make inquiry concerning them. On doing this, he was first of all told that they were “miserable enthusiasts and zealots;” and he found that almost every one, with whom he conversed, had a prejudice against them; and yet, notwithstanding this, he was unable to learn that the least slur had been cast upon their moral behaviour, except that “they pretended to be more pious than their neighbours,” and that “they put a gloomy and melancholy face upon religion, and affected greater austerities and exemplariness than the doctrines of the gospel demanded.”

The writer continues; after he “had heard all that could be said against them by their enemies,” he “thought it was but fair to inquire of their friends what could be said in their favour.” He found it, however, difficult to meet with any who would acknowledge himself to be a friend; and hence he was obliged to seek his information from one of the Methodists themselves. It is probable that Wesley was the Methodist thus consulted; but, be that as it may, a full account was given of the origin of Methodism at the end of the year 1729, and of its progress to the present time. The writer adds: “The gentleman assured me, that they” (the Methodists) “were so diffident of themselves, especially when they found a spirit of contemptuous raillery stirred up against them, that they took advice from time to time of a worthy and venerable gentleman, a near relation of one of them, who had much knowledge and experience of the world; and that they formed their conduct upon his advice; and, upon the encouragement he gave them, they were determined, at all events, to persevere in the course they had begun.”

The “near relation,” referred to in this extract, was Wesley’s father; and the extract is of vast importance as tending to confirm the opinion that the “father of the Wesleys”—the noble-hearted rector of Epworth—deserves more credit for the organisation and establishment of Oxford Methodism than the Methodists and the Church have ever yet awarded him. Several of his “encouraging epistles” were shown to the inquiring writer of the pamphlet before us, and gave him “a high notion of the piety and good sense of the venerable author.” “How happy,” he writes, “are these sacramentarians, these Methodists, these enthusiasts, as their enemies call them, to have so very excellent a director! and how much are they to be commended for submitting their conduct and designs to so pious and experienced a judge.”

He then proceeds: “There are three points to which these gentlemen think themselves obliged to adhere—1. That of visiting and relieving the prisoners and the sick, and giving away Bibles, Common-Prayer Books, and the ‘Whole Duty of Man’; and of explaining the catechism to the children of poor families, and of dropping a shilling or so to such families where they deem it needful. 2. That of weekly communion. 3. That of observing strictly the fasts of the Church, which has caused some to call them ‘Supererogation Men.’”

After this, the writer proceeds to notice the accusations contained in the letter published in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, and, as far as necessary, replies to them.

Such is an outline of the first defence of Methodism ever published.

Wesley, in 1733, composed two sermons full of a great doctrine, which had well-nigh been forgotten—the absolute need of the influences of the Holy Ghost to convert the soul. It is a gross mistake to imagine that this, with its cognate truths, was not discovered and embraced by Wesley until his meeting with Peter Bohler in 1738. Take the following extracts from the first of the sermons above mentioned, and which was preached at St. Mary’s, Oxford, before the university, on January 1st, 1733.[107]

“The circumcision of the heart is that habitual disposition of soul, which, in the sacred writings, is termed holiness; and which directly implies the being cleansed from sin, from all filthiness both of flesh and spirit; and, by consequence, the being endued with those virtues which were also in Christ Jesus; the being so renewed in the image of our mind, as to be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect.”

Here we have propounded, in the plainest terms, as early as the year 1733, Wesley’s famous doctrine of Christian perfection. “This sermon,” said he, in 1765, “contained all that I now teach concerning salvation from all sin, and loving God with an undivided heart.”[108]

In the same sermon he tells us that, “without the Spirit of God we can do nothing but add sin to sin; it being as impossible for us even to think a good thought without His supernatural assistance, as to create ourselves, or to renew our whole souls in righteousness and true holiness. He alone can quicken those who are dead unto God, and breathe into them the breath of Christian life.”

We are further taught that this holiness of heart is to be obtained “alone by faith, which is not only an unshaken assent to all that God hath revealed in Scripture, but in particular to those important truths,—‘Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,’—‘He bare our sins in His own body on the tree,’—‘He is the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.’”

Then follows: “Those who are thus, by faith, born of God, have also strong consolation through hope. This is the next thing which the circumcision of the heart implies; even the testimony of their own spirit, with the Spirit which witnesses in their hearts, that they are the children of God.”

Then, as if intended to answer one of the false accusations which had appeared in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_ only three weeks before, and to justify one of the practices there condemned, he tells his reverend and learned auditors that this heart religion “does not forbid us, as some have strangely imagined, to take pleasure in anything but God; to suppose this, is to suppose the Fountain of holiness is directly the author of sin; since He has inseparably annexed pleasure to the use of those creatures which are necessary to sustain the life He has given us.” But, at the same time, “every good soldier of Christ will not only renounce the works of darkness, but every appetite too, and every affection, which is not subject to the law of God. Vain hope! that a child of Adam should ever expect to see the kingdom of Christ and of God, without striving, without agonizing first, to enter in at the strait gate,—without a constant and continued course of general self-denial.”

“This,” adds Wesley, “is God’s short and plain account of true religion and virtue. Other sacrifices from us He would not; but the living sacrifice of the heart He hath chosen. Let it be continually offered up to God through Christ, in flames of holy love. And let no creature be suffered to share with Him; for He is a jealous God. His throne will He not divide with another; He will reign without a rival. Be no design, no desire admitted there, but what has Him for its ultimate object. This is the way wherein those children of God once walked, who, being dead, still speak to us.”[109]

Such then were the principles held by Wesley and the Oxford Methodists, in 1733. From these he never varied; and dark will be the day when they are either abandoned or forgotten by his followers.

The other sermon, written in 1733, was founded upon the text, “Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption.” Here again we are told that the Holy Spirit “is the great Fountain of holiness to His church. From Him flows all the grace and virtue, by which the stains of guilt are cleansed, and we are renewed in all holy dispositions, and again bear the image of our Creator. He is the immediate Minister of God’s will upon earth, and transacts all the great affairs of the church of Christ.”[110]

Precious truths are truths like these. Without them the church, no matter how learned, rich, respectable, and ritualistic, is utterly powerless in converting men. With them, nothing is impossible; for, in such a case, the church has, for the accomplishment of its purposes, not only the resources of man, but the omnipotence of God.

In the same year, 1733, Wesley issued his first printed production, “A Collection of Forms of Prayer for every day in the Week.” These prayers were originally intended for the use of his college pupils; but the reader may also gather from them some of the principles and aims of the Oxford Methodists.

They longed for the love of God to be the sole actuating power in the use they made of their understanding, affections, senses, health, time, and talents; that God might always be present to their minds; that they might ever have awful thoughts of Him, and never mention His holy and reverend name, unless on just, solemn, and devout occasions; nor even then, without acts of adoration; and that they might glorify Him by every thought of their hearts, every word of their tongues, and every work of their hands, and by professing His truth, even to the death, if it should please Him to call them to it.

They wished to be made all kindness and benignity, all goodness and gentleness, all meekness and longsuffering; and to be filled with the whole spirit of humility, and to have it the constant, ruling habit of their minds. They dreaded applause, and desired never to speak a word that might tend to their own praise, unless the good of others required it. They endeavoured to abstain from all pleasures which did not prepare them for taking pleasure in God.

They acted upon the principle of excluding none from their charity, who were the objects of God’s mercy. They embraced all occasions to assist the needy, to protect the oppressed, to instruct the ignorant, to confirm the wavering, to exhort the good, and to reprove the wicked. They wished to look upon the failings of their neighbours as if they were their own; and never revealed them but when charity required, and then with tenderness and compassion.

Space forbids further reference to these prayers. Suffice it to say that, for reverential feeling, simplicity and beauty of expression, scriptural sentiment, Christian benevolence, and earnest longings for the highest holiness; for adoration, penitence, deprecation, petition, thanksgiving, and intercession,—they have no superiors, perhaps hardly any equals, in the English language. They are little known, and less used; but would be of great service to thousands of Methodists, if sometimes employed as an aid in their private devotions.

In January, 1733, Wesley set out on horseback for Epworth, to see his father, whose health was failing; and, on his way, had a narrow escape, by his horse falling over a bridge, not far from Daventry. His parents suggested to him the propriety of using means to obtain the Epworth living; but he was deterred from acquiescing in the proposal, by a conviction that, “if he could stand his ground at Oxford, and approve himself a faithful minister of Christ, through evil report and good report, there was no place under heaven where he was so likely to make improvement in every good work.”[111]

In May, he again went to Epworth, visiting, on the way, his friend Clayton, at Manchester, where he spent a sabbath, and preached thrice, in three different churches. On his return to Oxford, in June, he found the ill effects of his absence; for three of his own pupils and the whole of Mr. Clayton’s had abandoned the Methodists; and, instead of finding seven-and-twenty communicants at St. Mary’s, he now found not more than five. His friends were deserting him, and his enemies triumphing over him; but, in the midst of all, he stood unmoved. “My friends,” says he, “were either trifling or serious: if triflers, fare them well; a noble escape: if serious, those who are more serious are left, whom the others would rather have opposed than forwarded in the service they have done, and still do, us. As for reputation, though it be a glorious instrument of advancing our Master’s service, yet there is a better than that—a clean heart, a single eye, a soul full of God.”[112] “The thing that gives offence here is the being singular with regard to time, expense, and company. Ill men say all manner of evil of me, and good men believe them. There is a way, and there is but one, of making my peace. God forbid I should ever take it. I have as many pupils as I need, and as many friends; when more are better for me, I shall have more. If I have no more pupils after these are gone from me, I shall then be glad of a curacy near you; if I have, I shall take it as a signal to remain here. What I do is this; when I am entrusted with a person who is first to understand and practise, and then to teach, the law of Christ, I endeavour to show him what that law is. When he appears seriously sensible of this, I propose to him the means God hath commanded him to use, in order to that end; and a week, or a month, or a year after, as the state of his soul seems to require it, the several prudential means recommended by wise and good men. Only two rules it is my principle to observe in all cases; first, to begin, continue, and end all my advices in the spirit of meekness; and secondly, to add to meekness long suffering; in pursuance of a rule which I fixed long since, never to give up any one till I have tried him at least ten years.”[113]

These are significant facts. Methodism at Oxford was organised in 1729. Two years after, while Wesley and his brother were at Epworth, it dwindled into almost nothing; and two years later still, when it had increased to seven-and-twenty communicants, during another brief Epworth visit it was almost utterly destroyed, for the seven-and-twenty were reduced to five. All this goes to show that Wesley was the soul of this mighty movement, and that without him it would have been dissolved and become extinct.

It is far from certain that the seven-and-twenty communicants, just mentioned, were all collegians. On the contrary, there is strong presumptive proof that they were not; and, indeed, that some of them were ladies. One of them seems to have been Miss Potter, probably the bishop’s daughter, concerning whom Clayton writes to Wesley, in a letter dated “Manchester, September 10, 1733,” as follows:—

“Poor Miss Potter! I wonder not that she is fallen. Where humility is not the foundation, the superstructure cannot be good. And yet I am sorry to hear the tidings of her, especially that she has a great man for her confessor, who dissuades her from constant communion. I am sure she has great occasion to use all the means of grace which Providence provides for her. I would not persuade you to leave off reading with her. Who knows whether you may not raise her again to the eminence from which she has fallen? At least, though she neglect the weightier matters of the law, yet keep up in her that reverend respect she bears it, even by the ‘tithing of mint and anise and cummin.’”[114]

Whether there were other ladies besides this one, included in the seven-and-twenty Methodist communicants, it is impossible to say; but none were included in the five. The five poor Methodists remaining, not reckoning Wesley himself, nor Morgan who was dead, nor Clayton who was removed to Manchester, nor Whitelamb who was gone to Wroote, were doubtless Charles Wesley, Benjamin Ingham[115] and James Hervey (both of whom joined them in 1733), John Gambold, and, probably, Charles Kinchin. All honour to such names! They kept the fire burning when it was in danger of going out. Wesley was their master spirit; but they were faithful and willing co-workers.

Mr. Clayton, in the letter just quoted, refers to confession and to constant communion. Did the Oxford Methodists recommend confession? It would seem they did; hence the following extract from a long, unpublished letter, written at this period, and addressed to Wesley, by his sister Emily:—

“To lay open the state of my soul to you, or any of our clergy, is what I have no inclination to at present; and, I believe, I never shall. I shall not put my conscience under the direction of mortal man, frail as myself. To my own master I stand or fall. Nay, I scruple not to say, that all such desire in you, or any other ecclesiastic, seems to me like church tyranny, and assuming to yourselves a dominion over your fellow-creatures, which was never designed you by God.... I farther own that I do not hold frequent communion necessary to salvation, nor a means of Christian perfection. But do not mistake my meaning; I only think communing every Sunday, or very frequently, lessens our veneration for that sacred ordinance, and, consequently, our profiting by it.”

Two other extracts from letters, belonging to this period, may be useful as illustrative of Oxford Methodism. In the month of July, 1733, Mr. Clayton, then resident in Manchester, wrote to Wesley as follows:—

“As to your question about Saturday, I can only answer it by giving an account of how I spend the day. I do not look upon it as a preparation for Sunday, but as a festival itself; and, therefore, I have continued festival prayer, for the three primitive hours, and for morning and evening, from the Apostolical Constitutions, which, I think, I communicated to you whilst I was at Oxford. I look upon Friday as my preparation for the celebration of both the sabbath and the Lord’s day; the first of which I observe much like a common saint’s day, or as one of the inferior holidays of the Church. I have, I bless God! generally contrived to have the eucharist celebrated on Saturdays as well as other holidays, for the use of myself and the sick people whom I visit.

“I was at Dr. Deacon’s when your letter came to hand, and we had a deal of talk about your scheme of avowing yourselves as a society, and fixing upon a set of rules. The Doctor seemed to think you had better let it alone; for to what end would it serve? It would be no additional tie upon yourselves; and perhaps would be a snare for the consciences of those weak brethren who might chance to come among you. Observing the stations” [the fast on Wednesdays and Fridays] “and weekly communion are duties which stand upon a much higher footing than a rule of society; and they who can set aside the command of God and the authority of the Church will hardly, I doubt, be tied by the rules of a private society.

“As to the mixture” [of water with sacramental wine] “Mr. Colley told me it was constantly used at Christ Church. However, if you have reason to doubt it, I would have you inquire; but I cannot think the want of it a reason for not communicating. If I could receive where the mixture was used, I would; and, therefore, I used to prefer the Castle to Christ Church; but if not I should not think myself any further concerned in the matter than as it might be in my power to get it restored.”[116]

Again, in another letter, dated “Manchester, September 10, 1733,” Mr. Clayton writes:—

“How should I direct my instructor in the school of Christ! However, I must be free to tell you my sentiments of what you inquire about. On Wednesdays and Fridays I have, for some time past, used the Office for Passion Week, out of Spinckes’s Devotions, and bless God for it. I have found it very useful to excite in me that love of God, and that sorrow for having offended Him, which make up the first main branch of repentance. Refer your last question to Mr. Law; I dare not give directions for spending that time which I consume in bed, nor teach you, who rise at four, when I indulge myself in sleep till five.”[117]

These are important letters, not only as exhibiting the religious earnestness of Wesley and his friends, but as affording a glimpse of the high churchism of the Oxford Methodists. Wesley seriously contemplated the formation of a society, who should strictly observe saint days, holidays, and Saturdays, besides other ritualistic practices, down to superstitious admixture of sacramental wine with water. In truth, these were ardent spirits. Visiting prisons, and teaching children; rising at five every morning; praying for each other and for their friends; and observing the weekly communion, are things which all will regard with commendation: but the other were silly, popish practices, not only unauthorised and useless, but too much resembling the pernicious nonsense of the high church party of the present day to receive the approval of those who have learned to be thankful for the inestimable blessings of the great Protestant reformation.

The health of Wesley’s father was now extremely feeble; and it became an anxiously discussed family question whether Wesley should be his father’s successor. Samuel was first urged to use means to obtain the next presentation of the Epworth rectory; but he positively declined doing so, and directed his father’s attention to John. The correspondence on this subject extends over the whole of the year 1734. The Epworth living was valuable, as may be judged by the fact that, though then worth only £200 per annum, it is now, through the relative changes that have taken place in the value of money and the price of food, worth near £1000.[118] The dying rector had been at great expense in improving the parsonage and its premises. Here he had diligently and faithfully laboured as an earnest parish minister for nearly forty successive years. Here most of his nineteen children had been born. Here he was about to die himself; and here he was anxious that his wife should die. John was pressed to secure the living, and thereby secure a continuance of the old homestead for his mother and his unmarried sisters. His brother Samuel allowed that at Oxford he would have “more friends, more freedom from care, and more Divine ordinances than he could have elsewhere;” but then at Oxford he was “despised,” and therefore could “do no good there.” To this John answered: “1. A Christian will be despised anywhere. 2. No one is a Christian till he is despised. 3. His being despised will not hinder his doing good, but much further it, by making him a better Christian. 4. Another can supply my place at Epworth better than at Oxford, and the good done here is of a far more diffusive nature; inasmuch as it is a more extensive benefit to sweeten the fountain than to do the same to particular streams.”[119]

In writing to his father, he put the case thus: “The question is not whether I could do more good to others there or here; but whether I could do more good to myself: seeing wherever I can be most holy myself, there I can most promote holiness in others. But I can improve myself more at Oxford than at any other place,” etc.

To this his father properly replied that our main consideration in choosing a course of life “is not dear self, but the glory of God, and the different degrees of promoting it.”[120]

John agreed to this; but argued that “that course of life tends most to the glory of God, wherein we can most promote holiness in ourselves and others;” and that at Oxford he had several advantages for doing this which were almost peculiar to the place. 1. He could always have at hand half-a-dozen friends, nearly of his own judgment, and engaged in the same studies; persons who had wholly and absolutely devoted themselves to God, and who denied themselves and took up their cross daily. 2. He could not only have as much, but as little company as he pleased; for he had no trifling visitors, except about an hour in a month, when he invited some of the fellows to breakfast. 3. He was entirely free from worldly cares, for his income was ready for him on stated days, and all he had to do was to count it and carry it home. 4. He had the privilege of public prayer twice a day, and of weekly communion. 5. At Oxford there was room for charity in all its forms; poor families to be relieved; children to be educated; workhouses and prisons to be visited; and the schools of the prophets, where tender minds were to be formed and strengthened. 6. He had the joint advice of many friends in any difficulty that might arise; the good bishop and vice-chancellor to supply his want of experience; and a fund, which this year would amount to near £80, to supply the bodily wants of the poor, and thereby prepare their souls to receive instruction. In addition to all this, he alleges that the care of two thousand souls at Epworth would crush him; and that, were he to abandon all his Oxford advantages, he would not be able to stand his ground for a single month against intemperance in sleeping, eating, and drinking; against irregularity in study; against a general lukewarmness in his affections, and remissness in his actions; against softness and self-indulgence, directly opposite to that discipline and hardship which become a soldier of Jesus Christ.[121]

The letter from which the above is taken is dated December 10, 1734. His brother Samuel wrote a fortnight later, saying that his father had told him John was unalterably resolved not to accept the living, even if he could get it. Samuel protests against the decision, and says that in Wesley’s arguments he can see his love to himself, but he cannot see his love to his neighbour. Besides, he was not at liberty to resolve against undertaking a cure of souls, having been solemnly engaged to do this at his ordination. Charles might be silly enough to vow he would not depart from Oxford, and thereby avoid orders; but the faith of John was already plighted to the contrary; and the idea scarce ever entered the head of any Christian but his own, that a parish priest cannot attain to the highest perfection possible on this side heaven.[122]

Wesley’s reasons and arguments were doubtless well intended; but they were feeble, sophistical, and inconclusive. It is easy to imagine that they would be painful both to his father and family; and it seems impossible to excuse them except upon the ground that God had elected him for another kind of work, and that by an unseen power he was prevented realising his father’s wishes. Wesley’s father died April 25, 1735, and the Epworth living passed into other hands; but before proceeding farther, we give the last letter Wesley received from him.

The venerable rector was now anxiously employed in the publication of his grand folio volume of 600 pages, “_Dissertationes in Librum Jobi_,” and had requested his son to assist him with the engravings for it.

“EPWORTH, _January 21, 1735_.

“DEAR SON,—About an hour since, your letter of the 13th instant came to hand, and indeed not before I had need of it, especially when I considered how extremely weak I was, and found myself grow sensibly weaker every day. My people have been very kind to me during my long illness, which has brought me now so low that I cannot walk half-a-dozen times about my chamber; but then I am often refreshed with seeing Mr. Hale’s noble present of books to me lying in my window, near half of which I have already spread in my parish, some to those who came to see me, and to others I have sent them, and with very good effect, many having read them, and some lent them to others. A spirit of Christianity, beyond what I have hitherto known, seems to be raised among them; one proof of which is in the greater frequency of the sacraments. Nor is Mr. Whitelamb wanting in any part of his duty, though I am not able to preach or give the sacrament to them myself, except one day, and that with his assistance.

“And now let us go on to matter of less moment, though I hope not quite frivolous. Had I had all Mr. Rivington’s advice at first, all my plates and cuts would have been done before this, and that with less expense, and to greater perfection. The agreement you have made with the engraver seems to be very reasonable. Whether the cuts are to be done on sheets or half sheets I leave to you and Mr. Rivington; but I would have leviathan’s rival, that is, the whale, as well as the crocodile. As for the elephant, he is so common that he need not be added. I am glad the tombs want no more than retouching, and especially that Mr. Garden is not ill pleased with them. ‘Job in Adversity’ I leave to your direction, as likewise the frontispiece, which Mr. Virtue is doing, who now duns me pretty hard for money for it; and I have writ him lately to send me word what he will charge for the whole when it is finished, and what he desires in part, with a promise to send him some money by the first opportunity I have of doing it. As for poor Pentapolis, it must even shift as it can, though my heart is pretty much in it, and I have taken a little pains about it. This I must likewise leave with you; but cannot you send me a copy of the drawings before they are engraven, that I may weigh them, as is proper? As for Job’s horse, I cannot for my life imagine how I shall get him into my Lord Oxford’s stable,—I mean, get liberty to inscribe it to him, unless you yourself would speak to my Lord Duplin about it. Have you yet found any news of ‘_De Morbo Jobi_,’ which has been so long incognito? Or, is there anything else that you find wanting? I heartily commend you and your brother to God, and am this evening

Your affectionate father, SAMUEL WESLEY.”[123]

Wesley endorsed this characteristic letter from his father with the words, “The last I received from him.” Thirteen weeks afterwards, the venerable man rested from his cares and earthly labours.

On June 11, 1734, Wesley preached before the university what his brother Charles calls “his Jacobite sermon,” for which he was “much mauled and threatened.” He was prudent enough, however, before preaching it, to get the vice-chancellor to read and approve of it, and hence was able to set “Wadham, Merton, Exeter, and Christ Church” objectors at defiance.

He then set out for Epworth, accompanied by Westley Hall, who proposed marriage to his sister Keziah, greatly to the satisfaction of all the parties concerned, except Hall’s own mother. On his return to Oxford, he spent some time in London, chiefly in consulting Mr. Law about one of his pupils, referred to in Wesley’s Works, vol. xii., p. 46; but also partly in putting through the press his father’s “Dissertations on the Book of Job.”[124]

About the same period, he began the practice of reading as he rode on horseback,—a practice he continued nearly forty years. He also made frequent excursions to different parts of the country, often on foot; and, during the year, walked more than a thousand miles, constantly preaching on the sabbath, and already acting the part of an itinerant. His walking, preaching, reading, studying, visiting, and fasting began to affect his health; he lost his strength, and frequently spat blood.[125] On the 16th of July, while asleep in bed, he had such an attack of bleeding as led him to exclaim: “O God, prepare me for Thy coming, and then come when Thou wilt!” His friends became alarmed; and his mother wrote letters blaming him for neglecting his health. A physician was called in, his advice adopted, and gradually the well worn devotee regained his lost vigour.[126]

Though Wesley’s letter to his father, dated December 10, 1734, seemed to decide the question respecting his seeking to obtain the Epworth living, his brother Samuel, during the correspondence arising out of it, started an idea which, ghost like, haunted Wesley for months afterwards, and which, we incline to think, had considerable influence in inducing him to change his views, and ultimately to go to Georgia.

Samuel, on Christmas-day, 1734, wrote as follows:—“You are not at liberty to resolve against undertaking a cure of souls. You are solemnly engaged to do it before God, and His high-priest, and His Church. Are you not ordained? Did you not deliberately and openly promise to instruct, to teach, to admonish, to exhort those committed to your charge? Did you equivocate then with so vile a reservation, as to purpose in your heart that you would never have a charge? It is not a college, it is not an university; it is the _order of the Church_, according to which you were called.”[127]

This was touching Wesley in a tender place. On conscientious grounds, he had already refused to apply for the Epworth living; and yet here his brother Samuel maintains that on conscientious grounds, he is bound not to bury himself at Oxford, but to undertake a cure of souls, either at Epworth or somewhere else. His faith is plighted. Before God and His Church he has sworn to be, not a tutor, but a minister of Christ. What was the effect of this? In December, 1734, Wesley refused to apply for his father’s living; and yet, ten months afterwards, he left Oxford and set sail to Georgia. What occurred during this brief interval?

In January, 1735, Wesley wrote to Samuel, saying:—“I do not, nor ever did, resolve against undertaking a cure of souls. There are four cures belonging to our college, and consistent with a fellowship. I do not know but I may take one of them at Michaelmas. Not that I am clearly assured that I should be false to my engagement, were I only to instruct and exhort the pupils committed to my charge. But of that I should think more. I desire your full thoughts upon the whole, as well as your prayers.”[128]

To this Samuel replied, February 8, 1735:—“_The order of the Church_ stakes you down, and the more you struggle you will be held the faster. If there be such a thing as truth, I insist upon it, you must, when opportunity offers, either perform that promise, or repent of it.”[129]

In answer, five days afterwards, John remarked:—“Your last argument is either _ignoratio elenchi_, or implies these two propositions: 1. ‘You resolve against any parochial cure of souls.’ 2. ‘The priest who does not undertake the first parochial cure that offers is perjured.’ Let us add a third: ‘The tutor who, being in orders, never accepts of a parish is perjured.’ And then I deny all three.”[130]

Samuel’s reply was as follows:—“An ordained tutor, who accepts not a cure, is perjured; alter the term into ‘who resolves not to accept,’ and I will maintain it, unless you can prove either of these two: (1) there is no such obligation at taking orders; (2) this obligation is dispensed with. Both which I utterly deny.”[131]

On the 4th of March John replied:—“I had rather dispute with you, if I must dispute, than with any man living; because it may be done with so little expense of time and words. You think I engaged myself at my ordination to undertake the cure of a parish. I think I did not. However, I own I am not the proper judge of the oath I then took; accordingly, the post after I received yours, I referred it to ‘the high-priest of God,’ before whom I contracted that engagement, proposing this single question to him,—Whether I had, at my ordination, engaged myself to undertake the cure of a parish or no. His answer runs in these words: ‘It doth not seem to me that, at your ordination, you engaged yourself to undertake the cure of any parish, provided you can, as a clergyman, better serve God and His Church in your present or some other station.’ Now, that I can, as a clergyman, better serve God and His Church in my present station, I have all reasonable evidence.”[132]

Wesley’s father died within two months after this; and yet, during this short interval, Wesley seems to have been induced to lay aside his scruples and to apply for the Epworth living. He applied, but he was not successful. This is a bold assertion to be made in the teeth of statements directly opposite; statements made and repeated and re-repeated, without dispute, for more than the last seventy years: but before the reader rejects it, let him ponder the significance of the following letter, written by Wesley’s friend, Broughton, and published, for the first time, in the _Wesleyan Times_, of October 28, 1861:—

“LONDON, _April 15, 1735_.

“REV. AND DEAR SIR,—The same evening I received the favour of yours, I waited on St. John, promising myself a kind reception. He rejoiced with me to hear that your father was yet alive; but did not close readily with me in attempting what, if crowned with success, might prove a means of making our declining friend end his days in peace. What shall we say for so sudden, so unwished for a change? Oh, put not your trust in princes! St. John disowns his giving me any encouragement to promise you hopes of success. Did I then write you an untruth? If his charge be just, I did; but his words were, ‘though he had solicited the Bishop of London and Sir Robert on behalf of another, not for Epworth, yet he would be glad to serve Mr. Wesley.’ But where is the obstacle? Why, my lord of London, who is usually consulted by the minister of state on such occasions, spoke some disadvantageous things of you once in the presence of St. John. But I could not but observe to our friend that the misrepresented strictness of life, which gave occasion for these disadvantageous things to be spoken of you, was so far from being an objection to your being favoured by a Christian bishop, that I humbly hoped it would turn to your good account, inasmuch as over exactness of behaviour was the sign of a tender and well regulated mind. But I cannot here help thinking, ‘_Tros Tyriusve illi nullo discrimine agetur_.’ St. John thinks the Bishop of Oxford can be your friend. Yes, I told him, my lord might give you a favourable word, if asked; but I did not think the interest in his lordship was so prevalent as to make him bestir himself on your behalf. However, if you judge it proper to write to the bishop, I will wait upon him, and do the best I can to serve my dear friend.

“Could your father’s book be presented to the queen soon? It might do good. Do you know any great man about the court? The king is not so difficult (I hope), if one could get a hearty friend to espouse you. My interest in the speaker is not powerful enough to bring about so desired a work; yet if there was any other great man to befriend you, a serviceable hint might be dropped. I doubt not but our good and loving God will order this and everything else for your great and best good. This is the wish and prayer of, dear sir,

“Yours most sincerely,

“J. BROUGHTON.”

Broughton was now curate at the Tower, in London.[133] Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke, was a politician of great ability and power. Sir Robert Walpole was prime minister. The Bishop of London was the celebrated Edmund Gibson. The Epworth living was a gift of the crown. Bear these facts in mind, and the above epistle will be easily interpreted.

Wesley’s objections to leave Oxford being overcome, probably by the hard facts and logic of his brother Samuel, he took steps to become his father’s successor. Broughton, who was evidently a man of influence and position, was employed to secure the help of Bolingbroke; and Bolingbroke had promised to use his endeavours to serve Wesley; but, on being pressed to fulfil his promise, shrank from doing so, on the ground that he had heard Gibson speak disparagingly of Wesley in Walpole’s presence; and, as the next presentation of the Epworth living was, _ipso facto_, at the disposal of these two dignitaries, it was almost useless to bring before them Wesley’s wish.

Broughton suggests two other steps to be taken, which might be of service in securing the living: (1) that the good services of the Bishop of Oxford be solicited; and (2) that the dying rector’s “Dissertations on the Book of Job,” dedicated to Queen Caroline, might be presented to her majesty as soon as possible. To adopt the second of these suggestions was impracticable, as the work was only in the course of being printed, and the first opportunity of presenting a copy to the queen did not occur until six months after the rector’s death. Whether the first was carried out we have no means of knowing.

The reader will excuse these lengthy observations, on the ground that they help to clear up what has always been a somewhat painfully mysterious chapter in Wesley’s history. It is not true that he could not be induced to apply for his father’s living. Indirectly, at least, he did apply, but failed; and, remembering this, the wonder is not so great that a few months afterwards he embarked for Georgia.[134]

Little more remains to be said before accompanying Wesley on his mission.

It was in the midst of this correspondence respecting the Epworth rectory, that George Whitefield was introduced to Wesley’s acquaintance, and became one of the Oxford Methodists.[135] Three years before, Whitefield had been admitted a servitor of Pembroke College, and had begun to pray and sing psalms five times every day. He longed to be acquainted with the Methodists, and often watched them passing, through ridiculing crowds, to receive the sacrament at St. Mary’s; but he was a poor youth, the servitor of other students, and shrunk from obtruding himself upon their notice. At length, a woman, in one of the workhouses, attempted to cut her throat; and Whitefield sent an apple-seller, attached to Pembroke College, to inform Charles Wesley of her condition; and this led Charles to invite him to breakfast next morning. He was now introduced to the rest of the Methodists, and adopted all their rules. The master of his college threatened to expel him. Some of the students shot at him their shafts of ridicule; others threw dirt at him; and others took away their pay from him. Being in great distress about his soul, he lay whole days prostrate on the ground, in silent or vocal prayer; he chose the worst sort of food; he fasted twice a week; he wore woollen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes; and, as a penitent, thought it unbecoming to have his hair powdered. Like all his brother Methodists, he observed Lent with the greatest severity, eating no flesh during the six weeks, except on Saturdays and Sundays. On the other days, his only food was coarse bread, and sage tea without sugar. Abstinence and inward conflicts brought on illness; but, after about seven weeks, he was enabled to lay hold on Christ by a living faith, was filled with peace and joy, and became probably by far the most happy member of the Oxford brotherhood.[136]

Mention has been already made of the first of Wesley’s publications,—his “Forms of Prayer,” printed in 1733. In 1735 he issued three others.

First, “A Sermon on the Trouble and Rest of Good Men, preached at St. Mary’s, Oxford, on Sunday, September 21st, and published at the request of several of the hearers.” London: C. Rivington. 1735. This sermon, in two respects, is remarkable; (1) for its un-Wesleyan theology; (2) for its boldly bearding Methodist persecutors in their head-quarters. The preacher tells his hearers that “perfect holiness is not found on earth; but death will destroy, at once, the whole body of sin, and therewith its companion—pain.” Two years before, in his sermon on “The Circumcision of the Heart,” Wesley had given a beautiful definition of “holiness;” but here he teaches that this holiness is not attainable in life; not until the hour of death; a different doctrine this to that which he afterwards embodied in his “Plain Account of Christian Perfection.” But however much the preacher lacked theological correctness, there was no lack of heroic daring: remembering that, for six years past, he and his associates had been the constant butt of collegiate scorn and ridicule, and that his present congregation, in a great degree, consisted of those who had thought it a privilege to make themselves witty at his expense; one cannot but admire his pluck in telling them, face to face, that, “as at first, he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the Spirit, even so it is now, and so it must be, till all things are fulfilled. Despisers were now multiplied upon the earth, who feared not the Son, neither the Father; but blasphemed the Lord and His Anointed; either reviling the whole of His glorious gospel, or making Him a liar as to some of the blessed truths revealed therein. But in heaven good men are hid from the scourge of the tongue. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the prophets do not revile, or separate them from their company. They are no longer despitefully used, and persecuted; neither do they groan under the hand of the oppressor. In a word, in heaven there is no earthly or sensual, no devilish spirit; none who do not love the Lord their God with all their heart.”

The second of Wesley’s publications, in 1735, was “The Christian’s Pattern; or, a Treatise of the Imitation of Christ. Written originally in Latin by Thomas à Kempis. With a Preface containing an Account of the Usefulness of this Treatise. Compared with the original, and corrected throughout. By John Wesley, M.A.” London: C. Rivington. Of this work he, at the same time, published two editions,—one in 8vo, 319 pages, with five engravings; and the other in 24mo, 344 pages, with a frontispiece.

His third publication was a manuscript written by his father, and was entitled, “Advice to a Young Clergyman. By a Divine of the Church of England.” 12mo, 76 pages.

We now bid adieu to Oxford. We have seen Methodism at its fountain-head; we must hereafter trace it, in its streams of blessing, all the wide world over. The principles and practices of Oxford Methodism may easily be gathered from the present chapter. Nothing has been omitted, nothing exaggerated, and nothing altered. The system was cradled in a storm, and more than once, even at Oxford, was in danger of perishing. At least twice, during Wesley’s absence, it was all but wrecked; and, from names casually mentioned, we incline to think its permanently established converts were much less numerous than its timid, time serving backsliders. At all events, but for the ministry of the two Wesleys, of Whitefield, Ingham, Hervey, and Gambold, the memory of Oxford Methodism might, without public loss, have been buried in oblivion. As it is, no English historian can ignore it. In its results it is one of the greatest facts in church annals. At Oxford, it was far from perfect. It was misty, austere, gloomy, and forbidding; but it was intensely sincere, earnest, and self denying. Its principles and its aims may substantially be summed up in the words of Wesley himself, written forty years afterwards:—

“Two young men, without a name, without friends, without either power or fortune, set out from college with principles totally different from those of the common people, to oppose all the world, learned and unlearned; and to combat popular prejudices of every kind. Their first principle directly attacked all the wickedness; their second, all the bigotry in the world. Thus they attempted a reformation, not of opinions (feathers, trifles not worth naming), but of men’s tempers and lives; of vice in every kind; of everything contrary to justice, mercy, or truth. And for this it was, that they carried their lives in their hands; and that both the great vulgar and the small looked upon them as mad dogs, and treated them as such.”[137]

Let us follow them.