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THE LIFE AND TIMES

OF THE

REV. SAMUEL WESLEY, M.A.

Sam^ḷ Wesley.

THE LIFE AND TIMES
OF THE
REV. SAMUEL WESLEY, M.A.,

RECTOR OF EPWORTH,

AND FATHER OF THE

REVS. JOHN AND CHARLES WESLEY,

THE FOUNDERS OF THE METHODISTS.

BY

L. TYERMAN.

LONDON:

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO., STATIONERS’ HALL COURT.

SOLD ALSO AT 66 PATERNOSTER ROW.

1866.

TO

THE REVEREND WILLIAM SHAW,

PRESIDENT OF THE METHODIST CONFERENCE,

This Volume

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,

AS A SMALL TRIBUTE

TO HIS

LONG AND USEFUL LABOURS AT HOME AND ABROAD,

AND AS AN

EXPRESSION OF THE BENEFIT DERIVED FROM

HIS PRIVATE FRIENDSHIP

BY

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.

I have the conviction that due honour has never yet been paid to Samuel Wesley. The praises of his noble wife have been sung loudly and long; and no one acquainted with her character and history, can doubt that Mrs Wesley deserves all the laurels that have been awarded her. While the general public, however, have justly regarded her as a lady of the most eminent abilities, and most exalted piety, they have been in danger of thinking that her husband, though learned, was often foolish; and though pious, was painfully eccentric, stern, and quarrelsome. This is utterly unfounded, and cruelly unjust. I submit, with all due deference to others, that while the Methodists owe an incalculable debt of gratitude to “the mother of the Wesleys,” they owe an equal debt to the honest-hearted father. I trust that the present work contains sufficient evidence of this.

It is also hoped that the following pages will help the reader to a better understanding of the position occupied by Samuel Wesley’s sons, John and Charles; and of the difficulties and discouragements encountered by the illustrious first Methodists.

The “Memoirs of the Wesley Family,” by Dr Clarke, though loosely written, have been of great service in the compilation of the present volume; but a large number of other works have also been consulted. I have carefully examined everything that Mr Wesley published, except perhaps his first political pamphlet; and as that was published anonymously, I cannot be certain that I have seen it. I am not aware that there is any printed matter, casting light on Mr Wesley’s history, that I have not laid under contribution. To have cited all the authorities from which the work has been compiled, would have crowded the margin with an inconvenient number of titles of tracts, pamphlets, and books. A few are given, and the remainder can be easily adduced if needed.

For the chapters on national affairs, I am largely indebted to Macaulay, and to Knight’s “Pictorial History of England;” also to the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian; and to other publications of a kindred character. In some instances, quotations have not been marked by inverted commas; because they have not been made continuously, but pickings from ten or a dozen pages of another work have been put into half a page of this. I hope that this general acknowledgment will save me from the charge of plagiary.

A few original letters are now for the first time published. For three of these, I am indebted to the kind courtesy of the Rev. Elijah Hoole, D.D.

The portrait is taken from the large engraving published in the year of Mr Wesley’s decease, in his “Dissertations on the Book of Job.”

The work has been a labour of love; and if the reader derives as much profit and pleasure in perusing it as the author has had in writing it, I shall be amply satisfied.

L. Tyerman.

Stanhope House, Clapham Park,

January 18, 1866.

CONTENTS.

APPENDICES.

THE LIFE AND TIMES

OF

SAMUEL WESLEY.

CHAPTER I.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO—1640–1665.

Samuel Wesley was born a little more than two hundred years ago; and a brief review of the state of the nation and of the Church at that period will be useful in illustrating some parts of his history.

From March 1629 to April 1640, the houses of legislature had not assembled; never in English history had there been an interval of eleven years between one parliament and another. Charles I. had systematically attempted to make himself a despot, and to reduce the parliament to a nullity.

To make bad things worse, Archbishop Laud, in the year 1640, convened Convocation, which ordered that every clergyman should instruct his parishioners once a quarter, in the divine right of kings, and the damnable sin of resistance to authority. By the divine right of kings was meant, that the Supreme Being regarded hereditary monarchy, as opposed to other forms of government, with peculiar favour; that the rule of succession, in order of primogeniture, was a divine institution anterior to the Christian, and even to the Mosaic dispensation; that no human power, not even that of the whole legislature, could deprive the legitimate prince of his rights; and that the laws by which, in England and in other countries, the prerogative was limited, were to be regarded merely as concessions, which the sovereign had freely made, and which he might at his pleasure resume.

By the same ecclesiastical parliament, all clergymen and all graduates in the universities were required to take an oath, that everything necessary for salvation was contained in the doctrine and discipline of the Church of England, as distinguished from Presbyterianism and Papistry; and they were also required to swear that they would not consent to any alteration of the government of the Church, by archbishops, bishops, priests, and deacons. Those refusing to take such oaths were threatened with heavy penalties.

This assumption of ecclesiastical power, on the part of Convocation, was most offensively absurd. The nation for years had been divided both in politics and religion; and it was not to be expected that such decrees could be issued without provoking resistance and creating trouble. Hence, in the same year, and in the year following, we find a crowd of events which exerted a most powerful influence on the subsequent history of the nation. The House of Commons, which, after an interval of eleven years, was again brought together, appointed a grand committee of the whole house to inquire into the scandalous immoralities of the clergy. Above two thousand cases were presented, and the work of cleansing the Augean stable became so heavy, that the grand committee had to divide itself into four or five sub-committees, called White’s, Corbett’s, Harlow’s, and Dearing’s committees, after the chairman of each. An act also was passed by the House of Commons, that the clergy should not be magistrates, neither should officiate as judges in civil courts. Lord Strafford—eloquent and bold, but imperious and cruel, Charles’s most trusted counsellor, and one whose object it had been to make his royal master as absolute a monarch as any in Europe—was arrested, tried, and beheaded. The Star Chamber and the High Commission courts, the former a political, the latter a religious inquisition, were abolished. Thirteen bishops were impeached by the Lower House of Parliament, Archbishop Laud being one of them. The London apprentices began their riots. Two hundred thousand Protestant men, women, and children, were massacred in Ireland, and thousands more had to flee to England, naked and famished, to obtain subsistence. The papistical butchers, not satisfied with this, proceeded to threaten that, when they had wreaked their vengeance on the handful left in Ireland, they would come to England, and inflict upon the Protestants there the same barbarities.

It was impossible for such events to happen without public feeling being excited to the highest pitch. The parliament was aroused; the country rose to arms; and the civil wars commenced. The Commons passed a resolution that they would never consent to any toleration of the popish religion, either in Ireland or any other part of his majesty’s dominions; and another bill was passed excluding bishops from the House of Lords. From this date, the Church of England, if not entirely demolished, may be regarded as a ruin.

In 1642, a committee was appointed by the House of Commons to inquire “what malignant clergymen had benefices in and about London, which benefices, being sequestered, might be supplied by others, who should receive their profits;” and in the year following, the “Scandalous Committee” of 1640, and the “Plundering Committee” of 1642, (as the royalists called them,) were empowered to act in concert; and, by their united efforts, the Church was well-nigh cleared both of the clergymen who were immoral, and of those whose opinions did not harmonise with the opinions generally entertained by parliament. Many left their cures, and took sanctuary in the king’s armies; others were put under confinement in Lambeth, Winchester, and Ely; and about twenty were imprisoned beneath deck in ships on the river Thames, no friend being allowed to come near them. Several pious and worthy bishops and other clergymen, who desired to live peaceably without joining either side, had their estates and livings sequestered, and their houses and goods plundered, and were themselves reduced to live upon the fifths, a small pension from parliament. Among these may be mentioned, Archbishop Usher, Bishops Morton and Hall, and the no less renowned Jeremy Taylor, who, driven from his living at Uppingham, retired into Wales, and, while supporting himself and his family by teaching a school, there composed some of the greatest of his immortal works.

For the space of about two years, the country might be said to be without any established form of worship. The clergy were left to read the liturgy, or not to read it, as they pleased, and to use equal discretion as to wearing the canonical habits, or the Geneva cloak. The ecclesiastical polity of the realm was in total confusion. Episcopacy was the form of government prescribed by the old law of the land, which was not repealed; but the form of government prescribed by parliamentary ordinance was presbyterian; and yet, neither the old law, nor the parliamentary ordinance, was practically in force. The Church actually established may be described as an irregular body, made up of a few presbyteries, and of many independent congregations, all held down and held together by the authority of government. Cathedral worship was almost everywhere abolished, and many of the sacred edifices themselves defaced and injured. By the parliamentary ordinance of 1643, clergymen, both bad and good, were ejected from their benefices by thousands; altars and stone tables in churches were destroyed; candlesticks, tapers, and basins standing upon communion tables were unsparingly removed; and all crosses, crucifixes, images, and superstitious pictures and paintings demolished. Churches and sepulchres, fine works of art and curious remains of antiquity, met with the same ruthless treatment. In Chichester Cathedral, the rabble, meeting with the portrait of King Edward VI., picked out its eyes, because Edward had established the Book of Common Prayer. In Canterbury Cathedral, where they found the arras-hangings, representing the history of Christ, they swore they would stab the picture of our Saviour, and rip up its bowels, which they did accordingly; while at the south gate, they discharged forty muskets at a carved figure of Christ, and rejoiced exceedingly when they hit it on the head or face. At Lichfield, they stabled their horses in the body of the church, polluted the orchestra, baptized a calf at the baptismal font, and hunted a cat with hounds every day throughout the windings of the sacred edifice.

While such proceedings were taking place in cathedrals and churches, parliament was passing sharp laws against betting, and enacting that adultery should be punished with death. Public amusements, from masques in the mansions of the great, down to wrestling and grinning matches on village greens, were vigorously attacked. All the May-poles in England were ordered to be hewn down. Play-houses were to be dismantled, the spectators fined, and the actors whipped at the cart’s tail. Magistrates dispersed festive meetings, and put fiddlers in the stocks. The zeal of the soldiers was still more formidable, for in every village where they happened to appear, there was an end of dancing, bell-ringing, and hockey.

Meanwhile several sects sprung into existence, whose eccentricities surpassed anything that had ever been seen in England. A mad tailor, named Ludowick Muggleton, wandered from pothouse to pothouse, tippling ale, and denouncing eternal torments against those who refused to believe, on his testimony, that the Supreme Being was only six feet high, and that the sun was just four miles from the earth. Another sect of fanatics, which now sprung up, were the Fifth Monarchy Men, so called because they taught that the four great monarchies of the world were about to be succeeded by the monarchy of Christ, who would reign among mankind for a thousand years. The powers of earth were to be utterly destroyed, and Christ to be king alone. Acting upon their fanatical principles, in 1660 they scoured the streets of London, committing murder, without distinction of age or sex, till they came to Aldersgate Street, where they halted, and proclaimed king Jesus, crying out, “No king but Christ.” These enthusiasts fought like lions; but, of course, were overpowered. A number of them were killed in the skirmish that took place in scattering them; and sixteen, who were taken prisoners, were drawn on sledges from Newgate through Cheapside to a place opposite their meeting-house in Swan Ally, Coleman Street, where they were hanged and quartered, their quarters being afterwards set upon the four gates of the city. George Fox, also, raised a tempest of derision by proclaiming that it was a violation of Christian sincerity to designate a single person by a plural pronoun; and that it was an idolatrous homage to Janus and Woden to talk about January and Wednesday. He hated Episcopacy, steeple houses, and the liturgy; and propounded the most extravagant whimsies concerning postures, dress, and diversions. One of his coadjutors was John Hinks, first a shepherd’s boy, and then a shoemaker, prodigiously ignorant, and yet an enthusiast, who pretended to be inspired. James Naylor was another of Fox’s mad associates, a man who, when he entered Bristol, stripped himself stark naked, had his horse led in triumph by two women, while his nasal-twanged followers strewed branches in his way, and shouted “Hosannah.” Solomon Eccles, one of the Quakers’ chief teachers, went naked into the church at Aldermanbury, in the time of divine service, bedaubed all over with filth, as an emblem of the nakedness and filth of the minister who was preaching. And two women, at Kendal, of the names of Adlington and Collinson, are said to have walked through the streets of that town in the same state of nudity, and who, when friendly hands tried to cover them, rebuked such kindness, by declaring that “it hindered the work of the Lord.”

Such, substantially, was the state of affairs, when, in 1643, the Assembly of Divines met, by an ordinance of parliament, in the city of Westminster, for “settling the government and liturgy of the Church of England, and for vindicating and clearing the said Church from false aspersions and interpretations.” The Assembly consisted of thirty members of parliament, including six noblemen; and of one hundred and twenty-one ministers, including Dr Lightfoot, Edmund Calamy, and Joseph Caryl. Baxter says, the divines were men of eminent learning and godliness, ministerial abilities and fidelity. Each member of the Assembly had four shillings a—day allowed by parliament towards his expenses. They sat five years, six months, and twenty-two days, during which time they had 1163 sessions. A few of the members were attached to Episcopacy; but, finding themselves in a hopeless minority, they soon retired. The great majority were in favour of Presbyterianism; but these, to the last, were vigorously opposed by a minority, consisting of two sections, who, although they generally acted in concert against the common enemy, were also distinguishable from each other. These were, first, the Independents; and, secondly, the Erastians, so called because of their adoption of the principles of Erastus, a German divine of the preceding century, who maintained that the Church, or the clergy, as such, possessed no inherent legislative power of any kind, and that the National Church was, in all respects, the mere subject and creature of the civil magistrate.

Such were the men to whom was committed the work of building up a new ecclesiastical polity. By their advice alterations were made in the Thirty-nine Articles, the intention being to render their sense more express and determinate in favour of Calvinism. In 1645, their “Directory of Public Worship” supplanted the liturgy, and was established by an ordinance of parliament. They also agreed in introducing and enforcing the Solemn League and Covenant, by which Episcopacy was abjured. In 1646, the name, style, and dignity of archbishops and bishops were formally abolished; and, in 1649, the “Confession of Faith,” which laid down a Presbyterian system of ecclesiastical polity, received the sanction of an Act of Parliament.

Many difficulties, however, stood in the way of the actual extension of this new system over the whole kingdom; and, in fact, it never obtained more than a very limited and imperfect establishment. Accordingly, the National Church of England, during the Commonwealth, was by no means exclusively composed of Presbyterians, (though they were the most numerous,) for some of the benefices were still retained by their old Episcopal incumbents; a considerable number were held by Independents, and a few were filled even by the minor sects, that now swarmed in the sunshine of the Protector’s all but universal toleration.

King Charles was beheaded in 1649, and Oliver Cromwell was appointed Lord Protector in 1653. A quarter of a century before he was raised to this high position, Cromwell had openly deserted the Church of England, and attached himself to the Puritans, who were just then rising into wealth and power. Under the Commonwealth, the Dissenters increased in numbers, and exercised a predominating influence in national affairs. Besides being incumbents of parish churches, their ministers officiated as chaplains of political bodies; and preached to mayors and aldermen, as they sat arrayed in golden chains and scarlet robes at Guildhall festivals. The rights of presentation to church livings were still retained to patrons; but, to prevent abuses, Cromwell, in 1653, appointed a Board of Commissioners to examine all candidates for holy orders, and without whose sanction none could be admitted to a church benefice. These “Triers,” as they were called, were thirty-eight in number. Part of them were Presbyterians, part were Independents, and a few were Baptists. Among them were Dr Thomas Goodwin, Dr John Owen, Joseph Caryl, the author of the gigantic Commentary on the Book of Job, and Thomas Manton, whose writings, so full of sanctified genius, will be prized by the Church of Christ to the end of time. Baxter tells us that the Triers, with all their faults, did a great amount of good. They saved many a congregation from ignorant, ungodly, drunken teachers. All that either preached against a godly life, or preached as though they knew not what it was; and all those that used the ministry as a common trade, and merely as a means of getting bread, were usually rejected; while all who were able, serious preachers, and whose lives were holy, were admitted, of whatsoever opinions they were, so long as their opinions were “tolerable.” The authority of Cromwell’s Triers was almost unlimited, and, certainly, was not unneeded. Previous to their appointment, any one who wished might set up to be a preacher, and so give himself a chance of obtaining a living in the Church. Now, every candidate for the pulpit and emoluments of a parish church had to bring to the Board of Triers, sitting at Whitehall, a testimonial, subscribed by the hands of three persons of known goodness and integrity, one of whom, at least, had to be a preacher of the gospel in some constant settled place. On the candidate passing his examination, he was inducted to the church living, to which he had been presented, by a document, given in the name of the Triers, signed by the State Registrar, and sealed with the seal of the Commonwealth. He then took possession, cultivated the glebe lands, prayed, if he choose, without book or surplice, and administered the eucharist to communicants seated at long tables. In some instances there was also formed a sort of independent church outside the parish church, to whom the preacher administered the sacraments, not in the parochial edifice, but in private houses. It is impossible to ascertain the exact number of these beneficed Dissenters, under the Commonwealth, but it may be safely inferred, that they were numerous, when it is borne in mind that, after the elevation of Cromwell to the Protectorate, they were favoured by the ruling powers; and, after the Restoration, were regarded by their opponents with great anxiety.

Of the two, the Presbyterians were more numerous than the Independents, and, in many instances, the feeling between the parties was anything but brotherly. Cromwell had tried to be impartial, and to allow all classes, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, to have a fair share of church emoluments, and thereby he hoped to secure something like church amity, but the effort was futile and the hope not realised.

Among the ministers who, during the Commonwealth, occupied the pulpits of England, there were not a few who will always rank among England’s most powerful preachers, and most profound divines. Besides these there were likewise men in the country belonging to other classes, whose names will ever be invested with a halo of honour. Dr Busby was master of Westminster School, and celebrated alike for his classical abilities and unflinching discipline. Vandyke was putting on canvas his unequalled portraits; and Inigo Jones reviving classical architecture. There were also Andrew Marvell, renowned as the first of patriots and of wits; George Withers, some of whose earlier poetry, especially, abounds in the finest bursts of sunshine; John Milton, Cudworth, Sir Thomas Browne, and others of a like character.

The morals of the nation, up to the time of Charles’s execution, were about as bad as badness could make them. The chief amusements of the court were masques, and emblematic pageants, some of which cost more than £20,000 each. Extravagance in dress and personal adornment had become an absolute phrenzy. James I., when transported from the scantily-furnished halls of Holyrood to the plentiful palaces of the south, burst from a clumsy, ungainly figure into a gilded coxcomb, almost daily figuring in a new suit, and his courtiers copying his example. When Buckingham was sent ambassador to the court of France, his suit of white velvet was set all over with diamonds, valued at £80,000; and, besides this, he had another suit of purple satin, embroidered with pearls worth £20,000. In fact, the beaux of this period were animated trinkets. Prodigality in feasting soon became as conspicuous as extravagance in dress; and gambling kept pace with both. The manners of the court, and of both sexes in the higher classes, were gross in the extreme. English taverns were dens of filth, tobacco smoke, roaring songs, and roysterers; and yet, even in such places, women of rank allowed themselves to be entertained, and tolerated those freedoms from their admirers which are described with such startling plainness in our old plays and poems. The streets of London, and even of the inferior towns, were filled with prowling sharpers; and the highways of England were equally infested with robbers, concealing their faces with visors, and carrying in their pockets false tails for their otherwise well-known horses. Divination was a thriving business; and fortune-telling was frequently a cover to the worse trades of pandering and poisoning. The stars were more eagerly studied than the diurnals; and both cavaliers and roundheads thronged to astrologers to learn the events of the succeeding week. Exorcising devils was common, and the belief in witches became the master superstition of the age; so that between three and four thousand persons are said to have been executed for witchcraft between the year 1640 and the Restoration.

Of course, during the Commonwealth, when Puritan principles were in the ascendancy, a great change came over the general manners and morals of the land. Republican simplicity prevailed in the banquets at Whitehall; Scotch collops, marrow puddings, and hog’s-liver sausages forming standing dishes of Lady Cromwell’s cookery. Religion was the language of the court, and also its garb; prayer and fasting were fashionable exercises; and a godly profession was the road to preferment. Not a play was acted in all England for many years, and from the prince to the peasant and common soldier, the features of Puritanism were almost universally exhibited. Many doubtless were fanatics and others designing knaves, whose whole religion consisted in the use of a religious vocabulary and hypocritical grimace; but making all due allowance for a large amount of unscriptural enthusiasm and pious fraud, there were unquestionably among those sickly dreamers and canting fanatics, thousands and tens of thousands of enlightened, sincere, and earnest Christians.

Cromwell died in 1658. Immediately after his death, the Protectorate broke down under his son Richard, and confusion became worse confounded. The army was unsettled, the parliament divided, the republic was discouraged, trade decayed, and the exchequer empty. The majority of the nation were weary of change, and had no faith in ideal republics; and, by the spring of 1660, public feeling was strongly in favour of the restoration of Charles II. In the month of March, the Rump Parliament was finally dissolved. All the bells in London were set a ringing; and, as Pepys tells us, bonfires blazed on every side, there being not fewer than fourteen burning, at the same time, between St Dunstan’s and Temple Bar.

The Presbyterians now stood foremost, and, in Parliament, were the leaders. The League and Covenant was hung on the walls of the House of Commons, and was ordered to be read in every church once a year; but in March 1660, as an indication of other changes coming, Dr John Owen, Cromwell’s chaplain, was removed from the deanery of Christ’s Church, Oxford, and Dr, afterwards Bishop, Reynolds was appointed in his place. On the 30th of April, a public fast was held, Reynolds and Hardy preaching before the House of Lords; and Gauden, Calamy, and Baxter before the House of Commons. On the 1st of May, Sir John Granville arrived from Breda with despatches from Charles II.; one being addressed to the House of Lords, and another to the House of Commons. The latter contained the famous “Declaration of Breda,” offering indemnity for the past, and liberty of conscience for the future. The declaration was, “We do declare a liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted, or called in question for difference of opinions, which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom.” Within a fortnight after this, Charles was proclaimed king, amid “festivals, bells, and bonfires,” Richard Baxter preaching a sermon on the occasion, before the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London.

The restoration of Charles being settled, several members of the Lords and Commons, on the 11th of May, started off to Holland to meet him. The city of London sent commissioners, and with them went certain Presbyterian ministers, as Reynolds, Manton, and Calamy. These reverend brethren told the king that they had urged the people to restore him to the throne of his father, and declared themselves as no enemies to moderate Episcopacy; but begged that his Majesty would dispense with the surplice being worn, and that, instead of adopting the use of the Common Prayer entirely and formally, he would direct that only some parts of it should be read, with some superadded prayers by his chaplains. At the end of the month Charles landed at Dover. The castle guns bid him welcome. Thousands upon thousands, standing upon the beach and cliffs, waved their hats, and gave right hearty cheers. When he arrived in London, the corporation waited in a tent at St George’s-in-the-Fields to receive him. All the houses in Southwark, Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand were hung with banners and adorned with tapestry. The Livery companies turned out in their velvet coats, silver doublets, and rich green scarfs; while kettle-drums and trumpets made all London ring again. Addresses flowed in from all quarters welcoming the king back to Old England, and, among others, one from the county of Devon, bearing among others the signature of the celebrated Joseph Caryl.

All seemed to be unanimous and jubilant; and yet all this was but the beginning of the tug of war. Charles was a constitutional king, and was to rule through parliaments. The Presbyterians, who were still in power, expected royal favour for recent services, and to be comprehended in some wide church establishment. Independents, Baptists, and Quakers asked for toleration. Roman Catholics, who had been friends to the beheaded father and the exiled son, thought themselves entitled to consideration. While the Episcopalians claimed the new monarch as their own, sought exclusive re-establishment, wished to cast out all Presbyterian intruders, and were inwardly resolved to tolerate no sectaries whatever. Charles’s position was difficult and perplexing.

Alterations were soon made. The dioceses in England had bishops appointed to them, though it was not until the next parliament, in 1661, that the bishops took their places among the peers. The Liturgy was immediately introduced into those parish churches, where the ministers avowed themselves Episcopalians; and, already, the reign of persecution had commenced. Even before the king had landed at Dover, the Episcopal party in Wales were busy sending sixty-eight Quakers to gaol; while the prison at Montgomery was so full of Independents and Baptists that the governor had to pack them into garrets. John Milton was committed to the custody of the sergeant-at-arms, and was declared to be disqualified for the public service; while his “Defence of the English People” and his “Eikonoclastes” were ordered to be publicly burned. Oliver Heywood was insolently harassed for a twelvemonth with citations to appear before the Consistory Court at York. Philip Henry was prosecuted for not reading the Common Prayer, and John Howe was accused of treason for some utterance in the pulpit. During the summer of 1660, a bill was passed by parliament, which aimed at the expulsion of all who had been inducted into church livings during the Commonwealth, and the immediate restoration of all the clergy who had been expelled. This bill included a proviso to the effect that the Presbyterian and Independent ministers should not be bound to give back livings which were legally vacant when they obtained them; but there was another that almost rendered null the previous one, viz., that every incumbent should be excluded that had not been ordained by an ecclesiastic, or had renounced his ordination, or had petitioned for bringing the late king to trial, or had justified his trial and execution, in preaching or in writing, or had committed himself in the vexed question of infant baptism.

The bill failed to give satisfaction to any party. The Episcopalians complained that it was a thing of mean subterfuges and compromises; while the Dissenters alleged that the Episcopalians were monopolists of honours and preferments, and were waiting to renew the persecutions of Archbishop Laud.

Archbishop Usher, who died in 1656, had left behind him a scheme of union, and a proposed plan of church government by suffragan bishops, and synods, and presbyteries conjointly. By this plan he had fondly hoped to reconcile the two great religious parties, the Episcopalians and the Presbyterians; and the latter, being now hopeless of obtaining an entire supremacy, professed their willingness to make Usher’s scheme the basis of negotiation. The principal ministers, who were parties to this proposal, were Dr Reynolds, Dr Manton, Dr Bates, Edward Calamy, and Richard Baxter. They were promised a meeting with some Episcopal divines in the presence of the king; but when the time appointed came, instead of a meeting, the Presbyterians received a paper rejecting their proposal, but telling them that they were all to meet the king on October 22d, at the house of Lord Clarendon, in the Strand, and that his Majesty would then adjust all their religious differences. At the appointed meeting there were present, besides the king, the Dukes of Albemarle and Ormond, the Earls of Manchester and Anglesea, the six bishops of London, Worcester, Salisbury, Durham, Exeter, and Lichfield, and six Presbyterian ministers, viz., Reynolds, Spurstow, Wallis, Manton, Calamy, and Baxter. The Presbyterians entrusted their cause to the eloquence and learning of Calamy and Baxter; while the chief speakers on the Episcopalian side were Dr Gunning and Bishop Morley.

Three days after this important meeting, Charles published what is commonly called “The Healing Declaration.” This royal manifesto, after commending the Episcopalians, and acknowledging the moderation of the Presbyterians, promised—1, To encourage religion; 2, To appoint suffragan bishops where dioceses were thought to be too large; 3, Not to allow church censures to be pronounced by bishops without the advice and assistance of the presbyters; 4, To give deaneries to the most learned and pious presbyters of the diocese; 5, Not to allow persons to come to the Lord’s Supper without confirmation and a credible profession of their faith; and 6, To appoint an equal number of learned divines belonging to the Episcopalians and Presbyterians to revise the Liturgy.

As soon as this Declaration was made public, bishoprics were offered to Reynolds, Baxter, and Calamy. Reynolds accepted the see of Norwich; Baxter and Calamy declined. A fortnight after, royal letters were issued commanding the University of Cambridge to confer the diploma of D.D. on the three eminent Presbyterian ministers, William Bates, Thomas Jacombe, and Robert Wilde, the king being fully satisfied “of their integrity and loyalty;” and, at the same time, a bill was brought into the House of Commons to make the king’s “Healing Declaration” law, but the bill was lost.

As time advanced, the prospects of the Dissenters became more gloomy. On January 2, 1661, an Order in Council was made against Baptists, Quakers, and other sectaries meeting in large numbers and at unusual times. The order also forbade any of their assemblies being held out of their own parishes.

Shortly after this, at the request of Baxter, Lord Clarendon made an arrangement for carrying into effect that part of the king’s “Healing Declaration” which promised a revision of the Liturgy. Twelve bishops and nine coadjutors were appointed to represent the Episcopal party, and twelve leading divines and nine coadjutors to represent the Presbyterian party. The twelve bishops belonged to the dioceses of York, London, Durham, Rochester, Chichester, Sarum, Worcester, Lincoln, Peterborough, Chester, Carlisle, and Exeter. Among their coadjutors were some of the most eminent men of the day, as Dr Heylin, and Dr Pearson, immortalised by his profoundly able work on the Apostles’ Creed. The twelve Presbyterian divines included Reynolds, Manton, Calamy, and Baxter; and their coadjutors included the “silver-tongued” William Bates and Dr Lightfoot. The place of meeting was the old Savoy Palace, and the first day of their coming together was April 15, 1661. Baxter proposed an entirely new Liturgy; and, in the short space of a fortnight, prepared one. His brethren meanwhile were employed in preparing exceptions to the old one, which Baxter wished to set aside. Baxter seemed to be equal to any amount of work assigned to him. When he brought his completed draft of the new Liturgy to his co-commissioners, instead of finding their exceptions to the old Liturgy finished, he found them only just begun; and, as both the draft and the exceptions had to be submitted to the Savoy Conference at the same time, there was no alternative but to wait another fortnight; during which Baxter himself prepared as many exceptions to the old prayer-book as filled eight closely-printed folio pages.

On the Conference reassembling, the Presbyterians read their paper, pleading that, as the first Reformers composed the Liturgy so as to draw the Papists into their communion, the Liturgy ought now to be so revised as to unite all substantial Protestants. Hence it was suggested that certain repetitions should be omitted; that the Litany should be turned into one continued prayer; that neither Lent nor Saints’ Days should continue to be observed; that free prayer should be allowed; that the Apocrypha should not be read in the daily lessons; that the word “minister” should be used instead of the word “priest;” and “Lord’s-day” instead of “Sunday;” that the Liturgy was defective in praise and thanksgiving; that the Confession and Catechism were imperfect; and that the surplice, the cross, and kneeling at the Lord’s Supper, were unwarrantable. All these, however, were regarded as minor objections; and the main ones that were raised were against the baptismal service, the marriage service, the service for the visitation of the sick, and the burial service.

When the objections had been submitted to the Conference, the bishops and their coadjutors rejected them in toto. Baxter was appointed to answer the reply of the bishops, and went out of town, to Dr Spurstow’s house in Hackney, for that purpose. In eight days his rejoinder was finished. Unprofitable disputes followed; the Conference broke up; and nothing but vexation and sorrow came out of it.

The Presbyterians were now treated as the vanquished party; and Baxter especially became the butt for malignant marksmen. Almost every time he preached he was accused of treason; and even his prayers were listened to with suspicion. Still, as the parliament now sitting had been elected before the Restoration, the Presbyterians in that assembly were too numerous and troublesome to permit of summary suppression. Hence, in March 1661, a new election was ordered, and great excitement followed. Alderman Thompson, “a godly man of good parts, and a congregationalist,” was one of the candidates for London; but the Royalists objected to him, because he was “so fond of smoking that his breath would poison a whole committee.” Dr Caryl and other eminent ministers held a fast. Zachary Crofton preached against bishops “every Sunday night, with an infinite auditory, itching, and applause;” and Mr Graffen had a crowd of two thousand in the streets, who could not get into his meeting-house to hear him “bang the bishops.”

The new parliament met on the 8th of May 1661; and the change from Presbyterian to Episcopalian predominancy was manifested in one of the earliest orders,—viz., that the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, on the Sunday seven night, should be administered, at St Margaret’s Church, according to the form prescribed in the Liturgy of the Church of England; and that no one should be admitted a member of that House who neglected to partake of the Communion, either there publicly, or afterwards in the presence of two or more witnesses. In addition to this, it was resolved that “the Solemn League and Covenant,” the well-known symbol of Presbyterian ascendancy—which, for a year past, had been taken down from the walls of the House of Commons—should be burnt by the common hangman; and this was done, the hangman first tearing the document into pieces, and then burning the fragments in succession,—he all the while lifting up his hands and eyes in pious indignation, until not a shred was left.[^[1]]

Before the year was ended, the bishops took their place in the House of Lords; and a bill was passed requiring all members of corporations to swear that the “Solemn League and Covenant was unlawful; and declaring that no one was eligible for office who had not, within one year before, taken the sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England.”

Added to this, another and a far more important bill was introduced:—“A Bill for the Uniformity of Public Prayers and Administration of the Sacraments.” The bill was first submitted to Parliament in December 1661, and became law on the 19th of May 1662. During this interval of five months the greatest excitement prevailed throughout the nation. Loud and fierce were the diatribes uttered from the Episcopal pulpit against Roundheads, Anabaptists, and Quakers. Swarms of pamphlets and broadsides were issued, to support Church and State by argument, but more frequently by ridicule and satire. Many of these, as “Noctroft’s Maid Whipt,” and the “Antidote of Melancholy made up in Pills,” were coarse and filthy in a high degree. Of course, sharp and bitter things were said and written on the Nonconformists’ side, but in none of their publications is there anything like the abominable and indecent scurrility which the royalist press published against them.

Before giving a synopsis of the Act of Uniformity, it may be well to say, that the Book of Common Prayer, which it mentions, was the book as revised by Convocation in November 1661. About six hundred alterations had been made in the body of the volume. Forms respecting the weather, prayers to be used at sea, and emendations in the commination, and in the churching of women services were introduced. The calendar was revised, and the Apocrypha appointed to be read in the daily lessons. The absolution was to be pronounced by the “priest,” instead of by the “minister.” In the Litany, the words “rebellion and schism” were added to the petition against sedition; and the words, “bishops, priests, and deacons,” were substituted for “bishops, pastors, and ministers of the Church.” A few new collects were added, and, in one of them, a new epithet was added to the title of Charles I., he being styled “our most religious king.” None of these things were calculated to make the prayer-book more palatable to the Presbyterian and Dissenting parties, and hence the terrible rupture occasioned by the passing of the Act of Uniformity.

By that act it was provided, that “every parson, vicar, or other minister whatsoever, now enjoying any ecclesiastical benefice or promotion, within this realm of England,” who neglected or refused to declare publicly, before his congregation, his “unfeigned assent and consent to the use of all things contained and prescribed” in the Book of Common Prayer, on some Lord’s-day before the feast of St Bartholomew, in 1662, should be deprived of all his spiritual promotions; and that, henceforth, it should be lawful for all patrons and donors of such church livings to present others to the same, as though the person or persons so offending or neglecting were dead. The act further provided, that all deans, canons, and prebendaries; also all heads, fellows, and tutors of colleges; and likewise all schoolmasters, keeping any public or private schools, should, before the same feast of St Bartholomew, subscribe a declaration to the effect that they would conform to the liturgy of the Church of England, as now by law established; and that they renounced all obligation from the oath commonly called “The Solemn League and Covenant,” and regarded it as an unlawful oath, contrary to the laws and liberties of the kingdom. It likewise enacted that all the church functionaries above-mentioned who refused to subscribe to this declaration were to be deprived of their promotions; and all schoolmasters who refused were to suffer three months’ imprisonment. It also provided that if any minister, not being a foreigner, who was not episcopally ordained, should presume to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper after St Bartholomew’s day, he should, for every such offence, forfeit the sum of £100; and if he presumed to lecture or preach in any church, chapel, or other place of worship whatever, within the realm of England, he should suffer three months’ imprisonment in the common gaol. And another, though minor provision was, that the parishioners of every parish church, at their own cost, should provide for such church, before the feast of St Bartholomew, a true printed copy of the revised Book of Common Prayer; and that they should be fined £3 for every month, after St Bartholomew’s, that they neglected to obey such a mandate.

Such was the substance of that most momentous Act of Parliament. What were the results? Terrible were the struggles in many a good man’s breast during the fourteen weeks elapsing between the 19th of May and the 24th of August 1662. As the corn ripened, and the country rector sat with his wife in the snug parlour, and looked out of the latticed windows on the children chasing the butterflies in the garden, or gathering daisies on the glebe, he had to decide in his heart and conscience whether he should leave all this, or whether he should keep it. He must either conform, or he and his family must go. Such was the ugly alternative. The vicarage was comfortable and commodious; the means of usefulness had bright attractions; and hardest wrench of all it was, to snap the union between the shepherd and his flock. To resolve to go, required now and then a woman’s quiet fortitude to reinforce a man’s more loud resolve.

Meanwhile, mutterings of discontent and growlings of sedition began to be heard on every hand. Rumours circulated that some of the king’s regiments were disaffected; that trained bands were refractory or negligent; that gunsmiths were dressing arms; and that Lancashire ministers talked little less than treason. The Court was uncertain whether to execute or to suspend the Act. Presbyterian lords pleaded for indulgence; but Sheldon was opposed to it. It was the long vacation, and few of the council remained in town to decide the point. The nobility were at their country seats enjoying the summer months. The bishops were performing their visitations. Charles was at Hampton Court, joking with his lords, toying with his mistresses, watching games in the tennis court, and feeding ducks in the royal ponds. Time travelled on, and the 23d of August came. All Quakers imprisoned in the gaols of London and Middlesex were released, because on that day Charles’s consort, Queen Catherine, first came “to our royal palace at Westminster.” The Thames was covered with boats almost without number. Music floated on the water, and thundering peals roared from huge cannon on the shore. Charles and his queen sailed in an open vessel covered with a canopy of cloth of gold, which was supported by Corinthian pillars wreathed with flowers, festoons, and garlands. This was Saturday.

The previous Sunday had been a day such as England never knew, either before or since.[^[2]] Hundreds of faithful ministers on that day preached farewell sermons to heart-broken, weeping flocks. Churches were crowded; aisles and stairs were crammed to suffocation; and people clung to the open windows like swarms of bees. It would have been pardonable if the ministers had mingled with the loving exhortations addressed to the distressed crowds before them sentiments of indignation at the legislative act which was the means of their removal. But, instead of that, the discourses were as calm as the pastors had ever preached, and some of them scarcely alluded to the peculiar circumstances of the time.

A week after, on the day after Queen Catherine’s jubilant reception, the Act of Uniformity was enforced in all its rigour, and upwards of two thousand ministers, with their families, were ejected from their livings.[^[3]]

“What a scene,” says John Wesley, “is opened here. The poor Nonconformists were used without either justice or mercy; and many of the Protestant bishops of King Charles had neither more religion nor humanity than the Popish bishops of Queen Mary.”[^[4]] “By this Act of Uniformity, thousands of men, guilty of no crime,—nothing contrary either to justice, mercy, or truth,—were stripped of all they had—of their houses, lands, revenues—and driven to seek where they could, or beg their bread. For what? Because they did not dare to worship God according to other men’s consciences!”[^[5]]

A large majority of the ministers in the Church conformed; and these may be divided into three classes—first, those who had been Presbyterians or Independents, or other sectaries, and who on former occasions had more or less opposed Episcopacy and the Book of Common Prayer; secondly, those who had already conformed to previous changes—passively submitting to their superiors for the time being, be they who they might; and, thirdly, a class of consistent Episcopalians, including—1. such as had been allowed to hold their livings, and to use the Prayer-book even during the Commonwealth; 2. such as had been ejected from their benefices, but had been reinstated since the Restoration; and, 3. such as had been recently ordained, and inducted into livings during the last twelve months. Many of these Conformists—as Tillotson, Gurnall, Stillingfleet, Cudworth, and others—were men of high character; but many others were low, mean, grovelling spirits, who valued the priest’s office only because it gave them a piece of bread. In a publication of that period, “the parsonage house” is described “as holding scarcely anything but a budget of old stitched sermons, hung up behind the door, with a few broken girths, two or three yards of whipcord, and perhaps a saw and a hammer to prevent dilapidations.” Macaulay, speaking of the rural clergy, says: “Those who could, sported a few Greek and Latin words for the benefit of the squire, and pitched their discourses so as to accommodate themselves to the fine clothes and ribbons in the highest seats of the church, instead of seeking to instruct those of the congregation who had to mind the plough and to mend the hedge.” And again, in reference to the clergy in cities and corporations, he writes: “There were men whose parts and education were no more than sufficient for their reading the lessons, after twice conning over. An unlearned rout of contemptible men,” says he, “rushed into holy orders just to read the prayers, and who understood very little more of their meaning than a hollow pipe would, made of tin or wainscot.” Some idea may be formed of the character of many of the clergy who conformed in 1662, from the fact that three years after, during the great plague in London, instead of firmly remaining at the post of duty when most needed, numbers of the London clergy, like craven spirits, rushed off into the country, leaving their pulpits to be occupied, and their afflicted and dying parishioners to be cared for, by the very ministers who had been ejected by the Act of Uniformity.

The Nonconformist ministers may be divided into several classes:—1. Some were moderate Episcopalians, and would have conformed to the Prayer-book and to the Church government that were in use previous to the Commonwealth, but could not give their unfeigned assent to all things in the Prayer-book as revised by the Convocation of 1661. 2. Some were of no sect or party, but liked what was good in all, without being able to adopt the Prayer-book as prescribed. 3. Some were Presbyterians, of whom Baxter says: “They were the soberest and most judicious, unanimous, peaceable, faithful, able, and constant ministers that he had ever heard or read of in the Christian world.” 4. Some were Independents, of whom the same writer says: “They were serious, godly men, some of them moderate, little differing from the Presbyterians, and as well ordered as any; but others were more raw and self-conceited, and addicted to separations and divisions, their zeal being greater than their knowledge.” Perhaps Baxter was hardly an unprejudiced witness respecting either the Presbyterians or the Independents.

Amongst the ministers expelled by the Act of Uniformity, there were not a few of the most remarkable men that the Church in this country has ever had. Most of them were excellent scholars, judicious divines, faithful and laborious pastors; men full of zeal for God and religion, undaunted in the service of their Master, diligent students, and powerful preachers. Especially were they men of great devotion, pleading for almost hours together at the throne of grace, and there inspired with faith, and love, and zeal, which raised them to the highest rank of heroes, and made them willing, not only to lose their livings, but to suffer even martyrdom itself, rather than to prove traitorous to Christ and to the liberties of His Church. More than two thousand of such men were ejected from the Church benefices of this country in 1662, and a passing glance at some of them may help the reader to remember others.

In this portrait-gallery, let us point to Edmund Calamy, who studied at the rate of sixteen hours a-day, was one of the most popular preachers in the capital, and whose week-day lectures were attended by such numbers of the nobility, that there were seldom fewer than sixty carriages at his church’s gates. William Bates, of graceful mien and comely person, generally reputed one of the best orators of the age,—his voice charming, his language neat, his style pleasing, his learning vast, his piety conspicuous, and his “Harmony of the Divine Attributes” alone sufficient to immortalise his memory. Samuel Annesley, who declared he remembered not the time when he was not converted; the descendant of a good family, whose estate was considerable; a man of a large soul, of flaming zeal, and of extensive usefulness; faithful in the ministry for fifty-five long years, during the last thirty of which he enjoyed an uninterrupted assurance of God’s forgiving love; a man of moderate learning, though an LL.D., but a most devoted Christian, and the father of Susannah Wesley. Joseph Caryl, a man of great piety, learning, and modesty, and author of a marvellous Commentary on the Book of Job, originally published in eleven volumes quarto. Thomas Brookes, a very affecting and useful preacher, rich in homely phrases and familiar figures, and whose “Apples of Gold” are still prized as much as ever. Matthew Pool, who spent ten years upon his “Synopsis Criticorum,” in five volumes folio, and who, during its compilation, used to rise between three and four o’clock every morning. Thomas Manton, a man of great learning, judgment, and integrity, and respected by all who knew him; endowed with extraordinary knowledge of the Holy Scriptures; his sermons clear and convincing; his delivery natural, eloquent, quick, and powerful; his piety answerable to his doctrines; and, to say nothing of his other publications, which were very numerous, his discourses, including those on the 119th Psalm, published in five volumes folio. Thomas Gouge, who, besides preaching and visiting, catechised his church every morning the year round; seldom merry, and yet never sad; a man who set up and established three or four hundred schools in Wales, which, to a great extent, were supported by himself. Thomas Watson, eminent in the gift of prayer, a hard student, a popular preacher, and author of “A Body of Divinity,” in the shape of sermons on the “Assembly’s Catechism.” John Goodwin, learned, clear-headed, and fluent; a thorough Arminian, and the author of “Redemption Redeemed.” John Owen, whose proficiency in learning was such, that he was admitted to the University when he was a child only twelve years old; and who pursued his studies with such diligence that, for several years, he allowed himself but four hours’ sleep a-night; tall in stature, affable in temper, charitable in spirit, and a friend of peace; a man of enormous learning, and whose labours as a minister were almost incredible; eminent for piety, an excellent preacher, and whose writings are almost enough to fill a library. Stephen Charnock, who spent most of his time in his study, except on Sundays, when, by his sermons in the pulpit, he showed how well he had employed the week; a man of strong judgment and lively imagination; well skilled in the Hebrew and Greek of the Old and New Testaments; a recluse, whose library was burnt in the great fire of London, and who was writing his discourses on the “Attributes of God,” when a peaceful death removed him to heaven. Thomas Harrison, of whom Lord Thomund used to say, “He had rather hear Dr Harrison say grace over an egg, than hear the bishops pray and preach.” John Flavel, an unwearied student, with an immense amount of both divine and human learning; a plain but popular preacher, and the well-known author of “Husbandry Spiritualised.” Isaac Ambrose, who, once a year, for the space of a month, retired to a hut, in a wood near Preston, and, avoiding all human converse, devoted himself to religious contemplation. Richard Alleine, pious, prudent, diligent, and whose well-known practical writings have been blessed to thousands. Joseph Alleine, of solid intellect and great piety; a man whose imprisonment for preaching hastened his death at the early age of thirty-five, and whose “Alarm to the Unconverted” has been read by myriads. Oliver Heywood, who, besides his stated work on Sundays, one year preached more than a hundred times, kept fifty fast days and nine days of thanksgiving, and, in the service of his Master, travelled fourteen hundred miles. Philip Henry, who preached a funeral sermon for every person whom he buried, but whose excessive modesty was such that he would publish nothing that he wrote. John Howe, who, when a young minister in Devonshire, used to perform divine service on fast-days (at that time frequent) as follows:—At nine in the morning he prayed for a quarter of an hour; then read the Scriptures and expounded three quarters of an hour; then prayed an hour; then preached another; then prayed half an hour, after which the people sung for fifteen minutes; he then prayed an hour more, preached another, and then, with a prayer of half an hour, concluded a service which lasted from nine in the morning until a quarter past three in the afternoon;—John Howe, in person tall and graceful; with a piercing but pleasant eye; singularly great in ministerial qualifications; his power in prayer marvellous, and his writings too well known to need description. And last, but not least, Richard Baxter, a man to whom Lord Chancellor Clarendon offered a bishopric, and whom Judge Jeffries, another government official, addressed thus:—“Richard, Richard! thou art an old knave.[knave.] Thou hast written books enow to fill a cart, every one of them as full of sedition, indeed treason, as an egg is full of meat;”—Baxter, “a man,” says his contemporary, William Bates, “with a noble negligence of style; for his great mind could not stoop to the affected eloquence of words;”—a man animated with the Holy Spirit, and breathing celestial fire to inspire life into sinners dead in trespasses and sins; a man whose expulsion from the Church gave him time to write and publish most of his invaluable books, some of which have been the means of converting more men from sin to holiness than any other books in modern times;—a man, says Dr Barrow, “whose practical writings were never mended, and his controversial ones seldom confuted;”—a man holding constant communion with God, and living in charity with men; whose life was a living sermon, and his conversation becoming a citizen of heaven.

Such were some of the two thousand martyr spirits who were ruthlessly ejected from their churches and their homes in 1662, and, for years afterwards, had to live in obscurity and silence; yea more, not only were they doomed to silence, but to suffering. In 1664 the “Conventicle Act” was passed, which provided that “every person above sixteen years of age present at any meeting of more than five persons besides the household, under a pretence of any exercise of religion, in other manner than is the practice of the Church of England, shall, for the first offence, be sent to gaol three months, till he pay a £5 fine; for the second offence, six months, till he pay a £10 fine; and for the third offence, be transported to some of the American plantations.” The execution of this execrable act, to a great extent, was committed to the king’s soldiers, who broke open every house where they fancied a few Nonconformists might be gathered together for sacred service. Close, unhealthy prisons were soon crammed with conscientious victims, men and women, old and young; whilst others were ruined in their estates by bribing the corrupt and rapacious myrmidons of a licentious and persecuting court. If a few of these persecuted people happened to be driven to madness and insurrection, as now and then occurred, they were strung up on the gallows, a dozen at a time, the good-natured king rarely exercising the prerogative of mercy on their behalf.

In 1665 the plague broke out in London, and swept away one hundred thousand of the inhabitants. The poltroon ministers in the city churches fled, and the ejected ministers re-entered the forsaken pulpits, and tried to benefit the terror-stricken people, whom the new-fledged parsons had cowardly left to the pestilence and the devil. The parliament, frightened from London, met in Oxford; but there, instead of showing kindness to the men who were so bravely doing duty in the city of the plague, they actually added injury to injury, by passing the execrable “Five Mile Act,” which provided that it should be a penal offence for any Nonconformist minister to teach in a school, or to come within five miles (except as a traveller in passing) of any city, borough, or corporate town, or of any place in which he had preached or taught since the passing of the Act of Uniformity, unless he had previously taken the oath of non-resistance—to wit, that it is not lawful, under any pretence whatever, to take arms against the king, or against those that are commissioned by him, or to endeavour to make any alteration of the government, either in Church or State.

What was the result of all this? An amount of suffering was endured far greater than had been inflicted, in the same space of time, since the days of the Reformation. Jeremy White collected a list of the names of Nonconformist sufferers, amounting to sixty thousand, and he states that of these sufferers five thousand died in prison. Informers skulked about cottages, garrets, back rooms, stables, and outhouses, wherever they suspected a handful of quiet Christians might be assembled to hear the word of life from the lips of an old pastor; and despite curtains, shutters, trap-doors, and other simple devices to ensure safety, seized on their hapless victims, and dragged them before merciless magistrates, who, with savage joy, doomed them to deep, dark prisons. Some, in search of godly quietude, wandered far away, others secreted themselves in fields and woods, but the more daring remained in their former dwellings, and met to worship God, in consequence of which they were led off to prison. Students, deprived of all means of subsistence, had to lay aside their books, take up the spindle, earn a few pence at knitting, and live on the coarsest fare. Closets, beds, tubs, hay-ricks, and other places of concealment were haunted by ruffian soldiers, pointing a musket at the door, or thrusting a sword into the straw. Troopers made no scruple of rushing into a good man’s house, while he was at prayer, and of threatening, while holding a pistol at his head, to blow out his brains, unless he ceased from his whining cant.

These were days of terror and of suffering such as Englishmen now seldom think about. Thousands of disgraceful and heart-rending facts might be stated. Suffice it to remark that, notwithstanding the severity of law, the harshness of magistrates, the brutality of constables, the deceitfulness of spies, and the rudeness of the rabble, Nonconformists continued as numerous as ever. Their firmness of character, their plain, practical, and awakening ministry, the purity of their morals, their strict observance of the Sabbath, their care for family religion, their succession of able and learned preachers, the disgust at the persecutions they were made to suffer, and the reaction produced by pushing High Church principles to an unbearable extent, in the short space of a quarter of a century, brought about the English Revolution of 1688, and obtained for them that which is the birthright of all, liberty to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences.

Samuel Wesley began life amid all this royal perfidy, legalised suffering, and national excitement, and, as we shall shortly see, he was the son of one of the two thousand persecuted and martyr-like ministers, ejected from their churches and their homes by the tyrannic Act of Uniformity, passed and enforced in the year 1662.

[This chapter has been compiled principally from Baxter’s Life and Times; Calamy’s Nonconformist Memorials; Calamy’s Life and Times; Macaulay’s History; Knight’s Pictorial History of England; Stoughton’s Church and State Two Hundred Years Ago; Alleine’s Memorial, by Stanford; Gauden’s Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ Suspiria, 1659; Walker’s Sufferings of the Clergy, 1714; History of Modern Enthusiasm, 1757; Rees’ Encyclopædia; Encyclopædia Britannica; and from tracts and pamphlets too numerous to mention.]

CHAPTER II.
PARENTAGE—1600–1670.

Samuel Wesley was the grandson of Bartholomew Wesley, rector of Catherston, in Dorsetshire. Bartholomew Wesley was born about the year 1600; but the place of his nativity is not known. He received a university education, a fact indicating, to some extent, the circumstances and the religious opinions of his parents. Calamy informs us, that, while at the university, Bartholomew Wesley applied himself to the study of physic, as well as of divinity; and the knowledge which he acquired was of great advantage to him in the dark days of his after life. In 1640 he was inducted to the rectory of Charmouth, and in 1650 to that of Catherston; both of which he held until his ejectment in 1662.

Catherston and Charmouth are villages in the south-western extremity of Dorsetshire; the former about a mile distant from the latter. Catherston stands on an eminence, and Charmouth in the valley adjoining it.

Like many others, Bartholomew Wesley was driven from his rectories by the Act of Uniformity. After this, though he preached occasionally, he had to support himself and his family by the practice of physic. Calamy says he used a peculiar plainness of speech, which hindered his being an acceptable, popular preacher.

Nothing more is known of Bartholomew Wesley, except a story related by Lord Clarendon, embellished by Anthony á Wood, and retailed by Rapin and others. Wood calls him “the fanatical minister, sometime of Charmouth, in Dorsetshire,” who, in 1651, had like to have “betrayed Lord Wilmot and King Charles II., when they continued incognito in that county,” but Wood was a man so bitter and intolerant that all he says ought to be received with caution.

The substance of the story, as given by Clarendon and others, is as follows:—After the battle of Worcester, in 1651, Charles II. wished to escape to France, and it was privately arranged that the vessel, in which he was to cross the channel, was to be near Charmouth on the night of September 22d. A man was sent to engage for that night the best rooms at the inn, at Charmouth, for a pretended wedding party, who wished to stop to refresh themselves and horses. All this being arranged, the party arrived at the inn, and were secretly assured that about midnight the long boat, to take them to the vessel, would be at the place appointed. The King and Lord Wilmot waited at the inn; and Colonel Wyndam and his man Peters went to the sea-side to look for the boat; but looked all night in vain. At break of day, they urged the king and Lord Wilmot quickly to escape from Charmouth for fear of treachery. The reason why the boat had not come, as was agreed, was, because the wife of the man who had charge of it suspected what was transpiring, and locked her husband in his chamber, and would on no account permit him egress. While Lord Wilmot was obtaining this information, a blacksmith of the name of Hammet[^[6]] was requested to shoe his lordship’s horse. The smith, from the fashion of the shoes, declared they had been made, not in the west, but in the north. Henry Hull,[^[7]] the hostler, hearing this, stated that the company, of whom Wilmot was one, had sat up all night, and kept their horses saddled. It was at once inferred, that the party who had departed from Charmouth that morning, was either the king and his friends, or some of the king’s distinguished adherents. The hostler ran to Wesley, the minister, to ask his counsel. Wesley was at his morning exercise, and being somewhat long-winded, he wearied the hostler’s patience, who returned to the blacksmith’s shop without telling his suspicions. In the meantime, Lord Wilmot had mounted and was gone. The blacksmith then told Wesley what had happened. Wesley went to the inn to make further inquiries, and then went with the blacksmith to a magistrate, to give him information, that warrants might be issued for the apprehension of the suspected fugitives. No warrants, however, were obtained; but a party pursued the king and his friends as far as Dorchester, where the pursuit was ended.

Such is the story in brief; but Clarendon adds that the day when Charles and his friends were waiting at Charmouth was a day appointed by the Parliament for a solemn fast, and that a fanatical weaver, who had been a soldier in the parliamentary army, was preaching against the king in a little chapel fronting the obscure inn where his Majesty was stopping; that, to avoid suspicion, Charles was among the weaver’s audience; and that this was the man who hastened to make inquiries at the inn, and that applied to a magistrate for a warrant.

John Wesley’s account of this affair is short. Like Clarendon, he states, that the minister was a weaver, but omits to state that he was his own great-grandfather. He writes:—“Pursuing his journey to the sea-side, Charles once more had a very providential escape from a little inn, where he set up for the night. The day had been appointed by parliament a solemn fast; and a weaver, who had been a soldier in the parliament army, was preaching against the king in a little chapel fronting the house. Charles, to avoid suspicion, was himself among the audience. It happened that a smith, of the same principles with the weaver, had been examining the horses belonging to the passengers, and came to assure the preacher that he knew by the fashion of the shoes, that one of the strangers’ horses came from the north. The preacher immediately affirmed that this horse could belong to no other than Charles Stuart, and instantly went with a constable to search the inn. But Charles had left before the constable’s arrival.”[^[8]]

In a book entitled “Miraculum Basilicon,” by A. J., (Abraham Jennings,) and published in 1664, there are a few other particulars, in reference to this occurrence, possessed of some interest. The author calls Wesley “the puny parson of the place, and a most devoted friend to the parricides;” and designates the “morning exercise” in which he was engaged, when the hostler went to him, “his long breathed devotions, and bloody prayers.” Wesley having heard the rumour about the travellers at the inn, went to the innkeeper to make inquiries. The writer says, “Wesley, this pitiful dwindling pastor, posted to the innkeeper, and with most eager blusterations, catechised him concerning what travellers he had lodged that night; from whence they came, and whither they would, and what they did there? His suspicions being increased by the answers he received, he went to Dr Butler, the next justice of the peace, requiring a warrant, by which he would stir up the people and the soldiers to endeavour the apprehending of the king. The justice having refused to grant the warrant, Captain Massey, who was in the neighbourhood, at once gathered as many soldiers as he was able, and followed after the fugitives in the way towards London, until he came to Dorchester; but, by a most divine instinct, the king turned another way, crossing the country a little beyond Bridport, and so escaped from his pursuer Captain Massey!”

Dr A. Clarke has, with great earnestness, endeavoured to make it clear that Bartholomew Wesley was not the man who tried to entrap King Charles; and, if Clarendon’s description was literally correct, that the preacher was a weaver, there would be presumptive evidence in favour of Clarke’s opinion. It is quite possible that Wesley might have been in the parliamentary army; but, remembering that he received his education in the Oxford University, it is hardly probable that he was a weaver previous to his removal there. The only reasonable way to reconcile Wood’s statement that Wesley was the minister who informed, with Clarendon’s assertion that the preacher was a weaver, is to suppose that, on account of the smallness of his income, Bartholomew Wesley, like many others, found it expedient to have a spinning-wheel, and to weave his home-spun yarns into home-made cloths. Admit such a supposition, and all difficulties vanish. Wesley might have been in the army; in such a sense, he might be a weaver; and he might be preaching, and might have King Charles in his Charmouth congregation on the day already mentioned.

Dr A. Clarke seems to be exceedingly unwilling to admit that Bartholomew Wesley was guilty of an act so mean as that of giving information concerning King Charles. As to the meanness or merit of such an act, opinions will differ. We submit, however, that, in such a case, Bartholomew Wesley only did his duty. Probably he had been in the parliamentary army, and had fought for the emancipation of his country from the perfidious thraldom of the Stuart dynasty. He was now, by the authority of the parliamentary government, the appointed clergyman of the two parishes where he lived. Only twelve days before the attempt of Charles to escape to France from Charmouth, the Parliament had issued a proclamation, threatening those who concealed the king, or any of his party; and on the very day when it was arranged for the plan of escape to France to be carried out, that proclamation had been published two miles hence, in the adjacent town of Lyme. Let the reader bear all this in mind, and he will probably conclude that Dr A. Clarke’s earnest attempt to clear Bartholomew Wesley from the charge of giving information concerning the royal fugitive, was a labour of love not needed; and that the whole affair, instead of injuring the rector’s fair fame, is greatly to his credit. He performed a duty, a painful duty; and for that he deserves, not excuses, but thanks.

Bartholomew Wesley, after being ejected from his church at Charmouth, still continued to reside in the same village, and obtained a livelihood by the practice of physic. He made no secret of the fact that it was his intention and wish to capture the king; and he jokingly told a gentleman that he was “confident that, if ever the king came back, he would be certain to love long prayers; for if he (Wesley) had not been at that time longer than ordinary at his devotion, he would have surely snapt him.”[^[9]] His were days of strife, of change, of oppression, and of sorrow. He lived to a good old age, for he survived his son John, whose death, in 1678, greatly affected him. He preached when he could, and administered physic as far as he was able. A local historian writes concerning the persecuted dissenting Christians in the west: “They were rewarded with cruel mockings, bonds, and imprisonments; they wandered in deserts and in mountains; and in dens and caverns they hid themselves. In the solitudes of Pinney they offered up their prayers, in a dell between two high rocks, which have ever since been called the Whitechapel Rocks; and in an old house at Lyme there was recently discovered an ingeniously concealed oak staircase, capable of admitting only one person at a time, which led to a small apartment that had been used as a chapel.” In such places, Bartholomew Wesley joined his fellow-Christians in the worship which they stealthily presented to Almighty God. He and they have long since passed to the place where “the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”

Samuel Wesley’s father was John, the son of the ejected rector of Catherston and Charmouth, and was born about the year 1636. Even when a boy at school, he had deep religious convictions and feelings, and began to keep a diary of God’s gracious dealings with him, which, with slight interruptions, was continued to the end of life. That diary is now unfortunately lost, or at all events, if it still exists, no one seems to know where it is.

At the usual age he was entered a student of New Inn Hall, Oxford, and, in due course of time, became M.A. At the period when John Wesley matriculated, Dr John Owen, who was Cromwell’s chaplain, filled the office of vice-chancellor, and treated the young student with marked attention. Wesley was serious and diligent, and applied himself particularly to the study of the Oriental languages, in which he made great proficiency.

Owen was elected vice-chancellor in 1652, when John Wesley was about sixteen years of age, and continued in that high office until 1657, which was a few months before Wesley’s entrance upon the ministry; so that it is not improbable that Wesley was at Oxford during the whole of the administration of this distinguished man. Owen found this ancient seat of learning in an exceedingly disordered state. After withstanding a long siege, it had recently been obliged to surrender to the parliament forces, and was now left so desolate, that men said, in their excitement, it looked like Jerusalem in ruins. Broken trees and trampled gardens were seen on every hand. Sculptured stones and pictured windows lay shattered in the grass. Nettles and brambles were growing round the walls of colleges. The rich wood-work in the quadrangle of Christ Church had been used for fuel. The halls had been turned into granaries, and the colleges into barracks. So long had Mars usurped the place of Minerva, and students been accustomed to exchange cap for helmet, that the scholastic air had almost vanished. “There was little or no education of youth. Poverty, desolation, and plunder,—the sad effects of war,—were to be seen in every corner.” To correct these evils, to curb the licentiousness of the students, to maintain the rights of the university, and to support its character for piety and learning, Owen set himself most vigorously, and he happily succeeded. Anthony Wood describes him as putting down “formalities and all ceremony, and as undervaluing his office by going in quirpo, like a young scholar, with powdered hair, snake-bone band strings, a large set of ribbons pointed at his knees, and Spanish leather boots, with large lawn tops, and his hat mostly cocked.” Be this as it might, among the students Owen acted as a father. While he discountenanced and punished the vicious, he encouraged and rewarded the modest and the indigent; and, under his administration, the whole body was reduced to good order, and contained a great number of excellent scholars, and persons of distinguished piety.

At this period, Dr Thomas Goodwin, distinguished for his piety, learning, and industry, was president of Magdalen College; George Porter, a man of great gravity, integrity, self-denial, and charity, was Proctor of the University; Stephen Charnock was Senior Proctor of New College; Ralph Button, whom Baxter describes as “a most humble, worthy, godly man,” was Canon of Christ Church; Thomas Cole, the tutor of John Locke, was Principal of St Mary’s Hall; John Howe was Fellow of Magdalen College; Dr Edmund Staunton, who was a living concordance to the Bible, was President of Corpus Christi College; Dr Wilkins, who married Cromwell’s sister, and was afterwards Bishop of Chester, was Warden of Wadham College; Dr Pococke, the greatest Oriental scholar of his time, was Professor of Arabic. Such were some of the celebrated men who flourished at Oxford at the time when John Wesley was a student there. And among others who, during the same period, received a part or the whole of their academical education in the same university, may be mentioned:—William Penn, the celebrated Quaker; Philip Henry, the eminent Nonconformist; Dr South, so famed for his pungent sermons; Sir Christopher Wren, the illustrious architect; Dr Whitby, the learned commentator; Launcelot Addison, father to Joseph Addison, the essayist; Bishops Spratt and Compton, who afterwards ordained John Wesley’s son Samuel; Bishops Crewe, Cartwright, Hopkins, Ken, Fowler, Wiseman, Hooper, Marsh, Huntingdon, Cumberland, Turner, and Lloyd; Joseph Alleine, subsequently John Wesley’s companion in tribulation; and Charles Morton, in whose academy Samuel Wesley was afterwards a student. Such were the distinguished contemporaries of Samuel Wesley’s father in Oxford University.

John Wesley first began to preach, among seamen, at Radipole, a village about two miles distant from Weymouth. In the meantime the vicar of Winterborn-Whitchurch died, and the people of that parish wished Wesley to preach to them as a minister on probation. He went; his ministry and life gave satisfaction to those who invited him; he passed his examination before Cromwell’s “Triers;” and, by the trustees, was appointed to the living. This was in May 1658, when he was about twenty-two years of age.

Winterborn-Whitchurch is a village about five miles from Blandford, in Dorsetshire, and in 1851 had a population of 595. The income of the living, when it was presented to John Wesley, was about £30 a year. He was promised an augmentation of £100 a year; but, on account of the many changes in public affairs which soon afterwards took place, the promise failed in its fulfilment.

Oliver Cromwell died four months after John Wesley was inducted into this church benefice, and, as a consequence, the nation became more distracted than ever. There was, in fact, no efficient civil government, and the ruling power fell wholly into the hands of the army. In 1659, what was called “The Committee of Safety” was appointed, consisting of twenty-three persons, who were ordered “to endeavour some settlement of affairs, by preparing such a form of government as might best comport with a free state and commonwealth.” The Committee agreed upon seven articles:—1. That there should be no kingship. 2. That there should be no single person as chief magistrate. 3. That the army should be continued. 4. That there should be no imposition upon conscience. 5. No House of Peers. 6. That the legislative and executive powers should be in distinct hands. 7. That parliament should be elected by the people. Inextricable confusion followed. Plotter plotted against plotter, and the cleverest man was he who could best act the hypocrite. General Monk and his army wished for the restoration of Charles; but parliament and the Committee of Safety seemed to be opposed to this; and there was serious danger of a recurrence of civil wars. John Wesley was a young man, twenty-three years of age, and for a time appears to have sympathised with the party represented by the Committee of Safety, and to have taken up the sword on their behalf; but when Charles was restored to the throne of his fathers, in 1666, the young soldier quietly submitted, and took the oath of allegiance and loyalty.

Some of these facts are referred to in the following conversation, taken from Calamy’s “Nonconformists’ Memorial.” It may be added, that Dr Gilbert Ironside had been rector of Steepleton and Abbas Winterborn, parishes in Dorset, not far from where the Wesleys lived. He was consecrated Bishop of Bristol about the time of Charles’s restoration, and was informed that John Wesley would not read the Liturgy. The bishop expressed a desire to see him. Wesley waited upon his lordship; and the following catechetical interview took place:—

Bishop. What is your name?

Wesley. John Wesley.

Bishop. There are many great matters charged upon you.

Wesley. Mr Horloch acquainted me that it was your lordship’s desire that I should come to you; and, on that account, I am here to wait upon you.

Bishop. By whom were you ordained? or are you ordained?

Wesley. I am sent to preach the gospel.

Bishop. By whom were you sent?

Wesley. By a church of Jesus Christ.

Bishop. What church is that?

Wesley. The church of Christ at Melcombe.

Bishop. That factious and heretical church!

Wesley. May it please you, sir, I know no faction or heresy that that church is guilty of.

Bishop. No! Did not you preach such things as tend to faction and heresy?

Wesley. I am not conscious to myself of any such preaching.

Bishop. I am informed by Sir Gerrard Napper, Mr Freak, and Mr Tregonnel of your doings. What say you?

Wesley. I have been with those honoured gentlemen, who, being misinformed, proceeded with some heat against me.

Bishop. There are the oaths of several honest men, who have observed you.

Wesley. There was no oath given or taken. Besides, if it be enough to accuse, who shall be innocent? I can appeal to the determination of the great day of judgment, that the large catalogue of matters laid against me are either things invented or mistaken.

Bishop. Did not you ride with your sword in the time of the Committee of Safety, and engage with them?

Wesley. Whatever imprudences in civil matters you may be informed I am guilty of, I shall crave leave to acquaint your lordship, that his Majesty having pardoned them fully, and I having suffered on account of them since the pardon, I shall put in no other plea, and waive any other answer.

Bishop. In what manner did the church you speak of send you to preach? At this rate everybody might preach.

Wesley. Not every one. Everybody has not preaching gifts and preaching graces. Besides, that is not all I have to offer to your lordship to justify my preaching.

Bishop. If you preach, it must be according to order; the order of the Church of England, upon an ordination.

Wesley. What does your lordship mean by an ordination?

Bishop. Do not you know what I mean?

Wesley. If you mean that spoken of Rom. x., I had it.

Bishop. I mean that. What mission had you?

Wesley. I had a mission from God and man.

Bishop. You must have it according to law, and the order of the Church of England.

Wesley. I am not satisfied in my spirit therein.

Bishop. Not satisfied in your spirit! You have more new-coined phrases than ever were heard of! You mean your conscience, do you not?

Wesley. Spirit is no new phrase. We read of being “sanctified in body, soul, and spirit,” but, if your lordship like it not so, then I say, I am not satisfied in my conscience, touching the ordination you speak of.

Bishop. Conscience argues science, science supposes judgment, and judgment reason. What reason have you that you will not be thus ordained?

Wesley. I came not this day to dispute with your lordship; my own ability would forbid me to do so.

Bishop. No, no; but give me your reason.

Wesley. I am not called to office, and therefore cannot be ordained.

Bishop. Why, then, have you preached all this while?

Wesley. I was called to the work of the ministry, though not to the office. There is, as we believe, vocatio ad opus, et ad munus.

Bishop. Why may you not have the office of the ministry? You have so many new distinctions! oh, how you are deluded!

Wesley. May it please your lordship, because they are not a people that are fit objects for me to exercise office-work among them.

Bishop. You mean a gathered church: but we must have no gathered churches in England; and you will see it so. For there must be unity without divisions among us; and there can be no unity without uniformity. Well, then, we must send you to your church, that they may dispose of you, if you were ordained by them.

Wesley. I have been informed by my cousin Pitfield and others, concerning your lordship, that you have a disposition opposed to morosity. However you may be prepossessed by some bitter enemies to my person, yet, there are others, who can and will give you another character of me. Mr Glisson hath done it; and Sir Francis Fulford desired me to present his service to you, and, being my hearer, is ready to acquaint you concerning me.

Bishop. I asked Sir Francis Fulford whether the presentation to Whitchurch was his. Whose is it? He told me it was not his.

Wesley. There was none presented to it these sixty years. Mr Walton lived there. At his departure, the people desired me to preach to them; and, when there was a way of settlement appointed, I was by the trustees appointed, and by the Triers approved.

Bishop. They would approve any that would come to them, and close with them. I know they approved those who could not read twelve lines of English.

Wesley. All that they did I know not; but I was examined touching gifts and graces.

Bishop. I question not your gifts, Mr Wesley. I will do you any good I can; but you will not long be suffered to preach, unless you do it according to order.

Wesley. I shall submit to any trial you shall please to make. I shall present your lordship with a confession of my faith, or take what other way you please to insist on.

Bishop. No; we are not come to that yet.

Wesley. I shall desire several things may be laid together, which I look on as justifying my preaching:—1. I was devoted to the service from my infancy. 2. I was educated thereto, at school and in the university.

Bishop. What university were you of?

Wesley. Oxon.

Bishop. What house?

Wesley. New Inn Hall.

Bishop. What age are you?

Wesley. Twenty-five.

Bishop. No sure, you are not!

Wesley. 3. As a son of the prophets, after I had taken my degrees, I preached in the country, being approved of by judicious, able Christians, ministers, and others. 4. It pleased God to seal my labour with success, in the apparent conversion of several souls.

Bishop. Yea, that is, it may be, to your own way.

Wesley. Yea to the power of godliness, from ignorance and profaneness. If it please your lordship, to lay down any evidences of godliness agreeing with the Scriptures, and if they be not found in those persons intended, I am content to be discharged from my ministry; I will stand or fall by the issue thereof.

Bishop. You talk of the power of godliness such as you fancy.

Wesley. Yea, the reality of religion. Let us appeal to any commonplace book for evidences of grace, and they are found in and upon these converts.

Bishop. How many are there of them?

Wesley. I number not the people.

Bishop. Where are they?

Wesley. Wherever I have been called to preach—at Radipole, Melcombe, Turnworth, Whitchurch, and at sea. I shall add another ingredient of my mission. 5. When the church saw the presence of God going along with me, they did, by fasting and prayer, in a day set apart for that end, seek an abundant blessing on my endeavours.

Bishop. A particular church?

Wesley. Yes, my lord. I am not ashamed to own myself a member of one.

Bishop. Why, you mistake the apostles’ intent. They went about to convert heathens, and so did what they did. You have no warrant for your particular churches.

Wesley. We have a plain, full, and sufficient rule for gospel worship in the New Testament, recorded in the Acts of the Apostles and in the Epistles.

Bishop. We have not.

Wesley. The practice of the apostles is a standing rule in those cases which were not extraordinary.

Bishop. Not their practice, but their precepts.

Wesley. Both precepts and practice. Our duty is not delivered to us in Scripture only by precepts, but by precedents, by promises, and by threatenings mixed. We are to follow them as they followed Christ.

Bishop. But the apostle said, “This speak I; not the Lord”—that is, by revelation.

Wesley. Some interpret that place, “This speak I now, by revelation from the Lord”—not the Lord in that text before instanced, when he gave answer concerning divorce. May it please your lordship, we believe that “cultus non institutus est indebitus.”

Bishop. It is false.

Wesley. The second commandment speaks the same: “Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image.”

Bishop. That is, forms of your own invention.

Wesley. Bishop Andrews, taking notice of “non facies tibi,” satisfied me that we may not worship God but as commanded.

Bishop. You take discipline, church government, and circumstances for worship.

Wesley. You account ceremonies a part of worship.

Bishop. But what say you? Did you not wear a sword in the time of the Committee of Safety, with Demy and the rest of them?

Wesley. My lord, I have given you my answer therein; and I further say, that I have conscientiously taken the oath of allegiance, and faithfully kept it hitherto. I appeal to all that are around me.

Bishop. But nobody will trust you. You stood it out to the last gasp.

Wesley. I know not what you mean by the last gasp. When I saw the pleasure of Providence to turn the order of things, I did submit quietly thereto.

Bishop. That was at last.

Wesley. Yet many such men are trusted, and now about the king.

Bishop. They are such as, though on the parliament side during the war, yet disown those latter proceedings; but you abode even till Haselrig’s coming to Portsmouth.

Wesley. His Majesty has pardoned whatever you may be informed of concerning me of that nature. I am not here on that account.

Bishop. I expected you not.

Wesley. Your lordship sent your desire by two or three messengers. Had I been refractory, I need not have come; but I would give no just cause of offence. I think the old Nonconformists were none of his Majesty’s enemies.

Bishop. They were traitors. They began the war. Knox and Buchanan in Scotland, and those like them in England.

Wesley. I have read the protestation of owning the king’s supremacy.

Bishop. They did it in hypocrisy.

Wesley. You used to tax the poor Independents for judging folks’ hearts. Who doth it now?

Bishop. I did not; for they pretended one thing and acted another. Do not I know them better than you?

Wesley. I know them by their works, as they have therein delivered us their hearts.

Bishop. Well, then, you will justify your preaching, will you, without ordination according to the law?

Wesley. All these things laid together are satisfactory to me, for my procedure therein.

Bishop. They are not enough.

Wesley. There has been more written in proof of preaching of gifted persons, with such approbation, than has been answered by any one yet.

Bishop. Have you anything more to say to me, Mr Wesley?

Wesley. Nothing. Your lordship sent for me.

Bishop. I am glad I heard this from your own mouth. You will stand to your principles, you say?

Wesley. I intend it, through the grace of God; and to be faithful to the king’s majesty, however you deal with me.

Bishop. I will not meddle with you.

Wesley. Farewell to you, sir.

Bishop. Farewell, good Mr Wesley.

This is a long conversation, but it is instructive and useful, (1.) as casting light upon Church and State affairs, immediately after the restoration of Charles; and (2.) as furnishing several interesting facts in the history of Samuel Wesley’s father. Passing over the first, we learn that John Wesley, like his grandson of the same name, was a man of sound sense and pluck. He adhered to the parliament and to the Commonwealth to the last moment; but when he saw that the Commonwealth was doomed, and that the nation was resolved to restore the Monarchy, like a man of sense, he laid aside his sword and quietly submitted. His continued firm adherence to the cause of the Commonwealth—“to the last gasp,” as the bishop put it—brought him into trouble after the king’s return; but royal clemency was properly exercised towards him, and there was an end of the affair. He had preferred another kind of government; but now that Charles, by the voice of the nation, was seated upon the throne, Wesley took the oath of allegiance, and faithfully kept it.

It is further evident, from the foregoing conversation, that John Wesley was never episcopally ordained. From his infancy, he was devoted, by his God-fearing father, to the work of the ministry, and was educated in reference thereto, both at school and at college. After leaving the university, he became a private member of the church at Melcombe. Authorised by the voice of that church, he began to preach at Melcombe, Radipole, Turnworth, Whitchurch, and other places. By the bishop’s own admission, he was a man of “gifts.” His preaching was the means of converting sinners in every place in which it was exercised. Just at this juncture, Mr Walton, who had been vicar of the parish of Winterborn-Whitchurch for fifty-six years, died. Several able ministers, and judicious Christians, thought young Wesley to be a suitable successor. The trustees, in whom the presentation was vested, offered him the living. Cromwell’s Triers, after having examined him as to his fitness for the ministerial work, gave him their certificate of approval. And then, as the last step previous to his induction—instead of ordination by bishops or by presbyters—the church of which he was a private member set apart a day for fasting and prayer, to seek an abundant blessing on his labours. Thus qualified, called, and commissioned, the young evangelist, at the age of twenty-two, entered upon his ministerial charge; and, laying aside the Liturgy, which had probably been used by the previous vicar during his long ministry of fifty-six years, he introduced the Presbyterian, or the Independent, form of worship, and thereby involved himself in trouble. Some of the parishioners—as Sir Gerrard Napper, Mr Freak, and Mr Tregonnel—disliked the change; and, as soon as a bishop was appointed after the Restoration, they lodged a complaint against their young minister. It is extremely doubtful whether the bishop at that time—1661—had authority to interfere in a case like Wesley’s; but he wished to see him; and, accordingly, knowing that there was no violation of law in his abandonment of the Liturgy during the last three years, Wesley, with a fearless heart and unflinching face, sought the bishop’s presence, and held the characteristic conversation already given.

It is somewhat difficult to determine what Wesley means by his “gathered church,” and by its members not being fit for him “to exercise office-work among them.” The probability is, that at the death of old Mr Walton there were no really converted persons in the parish, and, therefore, none whom Wesley deemed to be fit and proper persons to receive the sacrament. His endeavour, for the past three years, had been to get the people converted, and, to some extent, he had succeeded; but still, he even yet scarce considered his new converts, the members of his gathered church, sufficiently instructed and established to justify him in his exercising “office-work” among them; or, in other words, to justify him in administrating to them the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. If this is not the meaning of this technical and obscure verbiage, the reader, so far as the writer is concerned, must be content to remain in ignorance.

Wesley’s conversation with Bishop Ironside occurred sometime during the year 1661. About the same period he was arrested, on the Lord’s-day, as he was coming out of church, and was carried to Blandford, where he was committed to prison. The reason of this arrest was exactly the same as that which brought him before the Bishop of Bristol. He would not use the Liturgy. His enemies had accused him to the bishop, but without effect, for the bishop as yet was really without jurisdiction. King Charles had appointed bishops to several dioceses, and the Liturgy had been introduced into those churches, where the ministers were avowedly Episcopalians; but it was not until the month of November 1661, that the prayer-book was revised by Convocation; and it was not until August 1662, that the use of it was made binding. It is true that, during the summer of 1660, a bill had been passed by parliament giving power to expel from church livings every incumbent that had not been ordained by an ecclesiastic; and by this act, John Wesley might have been expelled from the living of Winterborn, Whitchurch. But this was not the ground taken by Sir Gerrard Napper and the other parishioners who were inimical to his person and ministry. Probably they were not aware, or were not in a position to prove, that he had not received ordination; and hence their illegal plot to imprison and expel him, because, in conducting divine service in his church, he persisted in his refusal to use the Book of Common Prayer.

It was within two years after the restoration of Charles II. that Wesley was arrested and committed to Blandford gaol on such a charge. Sir Gerrard Napper had been his most furious enemy, and the most forward in committing him; but after Wesley had lain in prison for a length of time, Sir Gerrard broke his collar bone, and, perhaps thinking that the disaster had happened as a judgment upon him for his cruelty to the young minister, he requested some of his friends to bail him, and told them, that if they refused, he would give bail himself. At length, by an order of the Privy Council, dated July 24, 1661, it was directed that he should be discharged from his then imprisonment, upon taking the oaths of supremacy and allegiance. He was taken accordingly before a magistrate, who, for some reason, declined administering the oaths, but issued a warrant, dated July 29, 1661, commanding him to appear before the judges of the assizes, to be holden at Dorchester, the 1st of August following.

He has recorded in his diary the goodness of God in inclining a solicitor to plead for him, and in restraining the wrath of man, so that even the judge, though a man of sharp temper, spoke not an angry word. The sum of the proceedings, as given in his diary, is as follows:—

Clerk. Call Mr Wesley of Whitchurch.

Wesley. Here.

Clerk. You were indicted for not reading the common prayer. Will you traverse it?

Solicitor. May it please your lordship, we desire this business may be deferred till next assizes.

Judge. Why till then?

Solicitor. Our witnesses are not ready at present.

Judge. Why not ready now? Why have you not prepared for a trial?[^[10]]

Solicitor. We thought our prosecutors would not appear.

Judge. Why so, young man? Why should you think so? Why did you not provide them?

Wesley. May it please your lordship, I understand not the question.

Judge. Why will you not read the Book of Common Prayer?

Wesley. The book was never tendered to me.

Judge. Must the book be tendered to you?

Wesley. So I conceive by the act.

Judge. Are you ordained?

Wesley. I am ordained to preach the gospel.

Judge. From whom?

Wesley. I have given an account thereof already to the bishop.

Judge. What bishop?

Wesley. The Bishop of Bristol.

Judge. I say, by whom were you ordained? How long is it since?

Wesley. Four or five years since.

Judge. By whom then?

Wesley. By those who were then empowered.

Judge. I thought so. Have you a presentation to your place?

Wesley. I have.

Judge. From whom?

Wesley. May it please your lordship, it is a legal presentation.

Judge. By whom was it?

Wesley. By the trustees.

Judge. Have you brought it?

Wesley. I have not.

Judge. Why not?

Wesley. Because, I did not think I should be asked any such questions here.

Judge. I would wish you to read the common prayer at your peril. You will not say, “From all sedition and privy conspiracy; from all false doctrines, heresy, and schism. Good Lord, deliver us!”

Clerk. Call Mr Meech.

Meech. Here.

Clerk. Does Mr Wesley read the common prayer yet.

Meech. May it please your lordship, he never did, nor he never will.

Judge. Friend, how do you know that? He may bethink himself.

Meech. He never did; he never will.

Solicitor. We will, when we see the new book, either read it, or leave our place at Bartholomew tide.

Judge. Are you not bound to read the old book till then? Let us see the act.

The act was handed to the judge, and while he was reading it, another cause was called; and John Wesley was bound over to the next assizes. He came joyfully home, and preached each Lord’s-day, till August 17, 1662, when he delivered his farewell sermon to a weeping audience, from Acts xx. 32; “And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and the word of his grace.”

Such is the account given by Dr A. Clarke; an account taken, in substance, from Calamy. Some of the dates are perplexing and doubtful. Clarke states that this odd sort of assize trial took place in August 1661; and yet from the last remark of the Solicitor,—“When we see the new book we will either read it, or leave our place at Bartholomew tide,” it is clear that the “new book” was, to say the least, already sanctioned; and that the Act of Uniformity was already passed, fixing Bartholomew tide as the time when every possessor of a church living must either use the “new Book” of Common Prayer, or be ejected from his church. Admit this, and then it is undeniable that Wesley was tried at the assizes, not in 1661, but in 1662; inasmuch as the “new book” was not prepared by Convocation before November 1661; and the Act of Uniformity, making the use of it binding, was not passed before the 19th of May 1662.[^[11]] John Wesley was kept in prison up to within a month of the mournful 24th of August, when he and two thousand more were ruthlessly ejected from their churches and their homes. At the very utmost, he would not have the opportunity of preaching on more than three Sundays in his church, before Sir Gerrard Napper and his other enemies had their wishes gratified, by seeing him finally expelled. There are some other difficulties in the account given by Calamy and Clarke; but, in a life like this, they are scarcely worth noticing.

Little more remains to be said concerning Samuel Wesley’s father. Where he spent the first six months after his ejectment from his benefice, we have no means of knowing. Probably, however, he remained in the same village, where he had spent the last four years, inasmuch as it was here that his son Samuel was born, only four months after the youthful minister and his wife were cast out of their vicarage.

On February 22, 1663, when Samuel Wesley was only nine weeks old, his father and his mother removed to Melcombe. Before their arrival, their old enemy, Sir Gerrard Napper, and seven other magistrates, by some stretch of authority, had turned out of office the mayor and aldermen of the borough, and had put into their place others more subservient to their will. Accordingly, when young Wesley and his wife, with their infant child, reached Melcombe, they found that the new corporation had made an order against their settlement in the town; and that if they persisted in settling there, a fine of £20 was to be levied upon the owner of the house in which they lived, and five shillings per week upon themselves. Wesley waited upon the mayor and some others, pleading that he had lived in Melcombe previously; and offering to give security for his proper behaviour; but all was of no avail, for, a few days afterwards, another order was drawn up for putting the former one into execution.

These violent proceedings drove John Wesley and his family from the town, where, a few years before, he had lived beloved by all who knew him. He now went to Ilminster, Bridgewater, and Taunton, in all of which places, the Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, treated him with great kindness, and where he preached almost every day.

The author of “Joseph Alleine: his Companions and Times,” states that, from the 11th of March 1663 to the beginning of May in that year, John Wesley was the “enthusiastic fellow-labourer” of Joseph Alleine. Mr Sandford adds—“He” (Wesley) “preached almost every day, dividing his time between Mr Alleine’s people at Taunton and Mr Norman’s at Bridgewater; he also occasionally ministered to congregations of Baptists and Independents at both places.”

Alleine was one of the two thousand ministers ejected in 1662; but he, at once, began to preach in his own house, and in surrounding villages and towns, and generally delivered from seven to fourteen sermons every week. He knew that, at any moment, he might be dragged to prison, and this made him all the more diligent and earnest in improving the time he had.

Mr Norman, mentioned above, was another of the ejected ministers. He had good natural abilities, and a considerable stock of learning, and was an acceptable preacher. With Alleine, and many others, he was sent to prison for venturing to preach the gospel of his Lord and Master. “Sirrah,” said Judge Foster, when Norman was arraigned before him in 1663, “Sirrah, do you preach?” “Yes, my lord,” said Norman. “And why so, sirrah?” “Because I was ordained to preach.” “How was you ordained?” “In the same way as Timothy.” “And how was that?” “By the laying on of the hands of the Presbytery.” Norman was sentenced to pay a fine of £100, and to lie in prison till the fine was paid. As he was being taken to Ilchester Gaol, the officers called at the house of the High Sheriff. “Where is now your God?” tauntingly asked the Sheriff’s wife. “Have you a Bible?” asked Norman. “Yes,” said she. “Bring it,” said Norman. Being brought he read Micah vii. 8, 9, 10. The poor woman seemed to be paralysed with fear, and immediately retired; and the dealings of God with the Sheriff’s family, not long after, caused this text to be remembered.

This happened in the very month that John Wesley left his friends Alleine and Norman, for before that month of May in 1663 expired, both Norman and Alleine were confined in Ilchester Gaol. When Alleine started off to prison, both sides of the streets of Taunton were lined with his weeping friends, and many followed him several miles on foot, and made such lamentations after him that they well-nigh broke his heart. Arriving at the prison gates, and finding the gaoler absent, he took the opportunity of preaching before he entered. He was clapped up in the Bridewell chamber, over the common gaol, Where he found his friend Norman, who had been committed a few days before him. In this low, miserable garret, these godly companions of John Wesley spent both day and night for many months. There were imprisoned with them, in the same room, fifty Quakers, seventeen Baptists, and also thirteen other ministers, all arrested, like themselves, for the high crimes of preaching and praying. The atmosphere was stifling. The summer sun struck fiercely on the roof all day, and so low was the covering of the building, that at night, when lying on their mattresses, the prisoners could touch the glowing tiles. Grasping for life, they had sometimes to break the Windows, or to remove a tile for the purpose of obtaining air. Night and day they were compelled to listen to the songs, the curses, and the clanking chains of the felons in the cells below; and if they ventured out of their deadly vapour-bath into the prison court, they were met by the sights of the loathsome and pestilential wretchedness of the criminals that crossed their paths.[^[12]]

It was by a narrow escape that John Wesley was not put into the same prison as his friends Alleine and Norman.

John Wesley having spent about six weeks at Bridgewater, Taunton, and Ilminster, a gentleman who had a house at Preston, near Weymouth, offered to allow him to live in it without paying rent. Thither, therefore, he removed his young wife and their infant child in the beginning of May 1663, and thus avoided imprisonment with his friends whom he left behind. Excepting a temporary absence, shortly to be noticed, he continued to reside at Preston until his death in 1678.