and other men entered into his labours. He had planted a living Gospel. He had sown the Word. The Word of that kingdom which "is like a grain of mustard seed;" unobserved in the seat of its government, humble in the subjects of its sway, and simple in its forms of administration; but having life in it, and possessing the capacity of continuous expansion. Time would fail to tell of all the scenes of its happy growth on that northern seaboard, or to "write up" the name of every one among the people of whom it could be said, "this man was born there." But one or two of my heart's chronicles I must give.

There was an old local-preacher of Callington, in Cornwall, when I used to visit that place nearly forty years ago. He was one of the old style, both in appearance and manners. Father Cole, as they called him, was somewhat quaint, but pleasant to talk with. He and his wife in their earlier days were among the leading spirits of the little Methodist Society. The preachers sometimes lodged with them when they came on their "round." The entertainment could not have been rich or commodious, but the poor worthy couple did their best; and it was done in "perfect love." They kept a little shop, and one room behind seems to have served for all

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household purposes, all domestic action through the day, and all retirement and rest at night. It might have been thought, by some, impossible to find a lodgment for the preacher in so small a nest; but kind hearts are sometimes rich in devices. The husband and wife cheerfully gave up their own bed, and furnished it freshly for the man of God; and then retiring to the little shop they turned the cover of the hollow counter, up and tucked themselves up for the night in the narrow depth. The preacher was not allowed to know of their contrivance. I venerated Father Cole as a relic of older Methodist times, and always enjoyed his simple, racy tales about the good things which he had felt and seen. One day allusion was made to the old market-town of Harton, near Harty Point; and I was telling him how the saintly William Hayman, while suffering from paralysis, used to ride in turn with his colleagues from Holsworthy, a distance of twenty miles, to preach at Harton in the house of a worthy Methodist family under whose roof a little church was formed. I spoke of this as the earliest attempt at Methodist preaching in that retired nook. "No," said Father Cole, "I was there more than twenty years ago. I will tell you how it was."

"He that gooth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him."-PSALM CXxvi. 6.

N Mr. Wesley's return from Newcastle

ON

he called again at Birstal, to the delight of his faithful friend John Nelson. As he had not had an opportunity of revisiting Epworth before, he turned aside to spend a week in the scenes of his early labours. Mr. Romley, the curate of Epworth, had received great kindness from the Wesley family; but his ignorance seems to have been equalled by his ingratitude. Wesley arrived on the Saturday, and soon met with a few poor folk who remembered him. The next morning he went into the vestry and offered to help Mr. Romley, either by reading prayers or preaching. His assistance was declined. Those who saw their former minister in the church very

naturally took it for granted that he would preach in the afternoon, as he had taken no part in the morning service. The curate, however, kept his pulpit, and to a very large congregation he expounded "Quench not the Spirit." We should have thought that about the last text he would have chosen; but he proved to his own satisfaction that enthusiasm was a most dangerous way of quenching the Spirit.

Mr. Wesley's companion, John Taylor, stood in the churchyard as the congregation left, and gave out that his friend, "not being permitted to preach in the church, designs to preach here at six o'clock."

That evening saw a beautiful and impressive sight: the earnest minister-shut out of the pulpit which his father and he had so often occupied-took his stand on the flat

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stone of Samuel Wesley's grave. On the only spot he could call his own in the village where his childhood had passed, John Wesley once more called sinners to righteousness with more earnestness perhaps than Epworth had ever heard. For a week the evangelist returned each evening to the same place, and always found an earnest and attentive congregation.

The people who for forty years had repaid Samuel Wesley's diligence and care with indifference, or even spite, were touched at last. He had sown in tears, and during John Wesley's short curacy the same disheartening stupor had prevailed; but now the bright day of harvest had dawned, and after this week of special services Wesley gratefully records: "There were scarce any in the town on whom either my father or I had taken any pains formerly, but the seed sown so long since now sprung up, bringing forth repentance and remission of sins.'

Soon after, many of these new converts expressed their intention of confessing Christ by taking the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. They mentioned this to Wesley, who was always careful not to give needless offence. He advised them to speak to the clergyman first. Mr. Romley grieved and irritated them by answering that he would not give it to Mr. Wesley, for he was not fit for it. His followers had often been sent away from the Lord's table, but the first time he himself was so wronged was in the church where he had been a curate.

Such impertinent acts of intolerance were repeated up and down the country, and forgivingly suffered by the Methodists for years; till at last Mr. Wesley yielded to the growing hunger of his children, and consented that those who fed their souls from Sunday to Sunday should give them the tokens of our Saviour's dying love.

Those who blame John Wesley for founding a distinct body separate from the Church conveniently forget that our forefathers were insulted, persecuted, and hated. They were

driven from the churches, repelled from the Lord's table, and denied any benefit from the religion which they were most reluctant to forsake. They could not forget that the Lord's command, coming with all the sacred pathos of a dying wish, was, "Do this in remembrance of Me;" and when man thwarted, was it any wonder that they should turn aside, and make fresh arrangements for themselves? The only wonder in the matter at all is, that they bore this tyranny so long, or more espe

cially that any of their descendants should think it more respectable, forsooth! to join the Church which slandered, robbed, and even murdered their forefathers, hounding unwitting beasts and drunken, brutal men into peaceful companies of women and children.

From Epworth Wesley rode to Sheffield, where David Taylor had been very useful. On the last evening of his stay, he tells us, Among the hearers was one who, some time before, had been deeply convinced of her ungodliness, insomuch that she cried out, day and night, Lord, save, or I perish!' All the neighbours agreeing that she was stark mad, her husband put her into a physician's hands, who blooded her largely, gave her a strong vomit, and laid on several blisters!" Well

might the poor thing have wailed with Job, "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends! for the hand of God hath touched me." This method of ministering to a mind diseased by weakening and torturing the body, of course, proved a failure: "She was, in a short time, judged to be incurable." Her husband "thought, however, he would speak to one person more, who had done much good in the neighbourhood. When Mrs. Johnson came, she soon saw the nature of the disease, baving herself gone through the same. ordered all the medicines to be thrown away, and exhorted the patient to look unto Jesus; which this evening she was enabled to do by faith; and He healed the broken in heart."

She

The

On the 23rd of July, 1742, Susannah Wesley died at her son's house in London. anxious, toil-worn, persecuted life she had led at Epworth had been followed by a season of peace and happiness, first with her eldest son Samuel, and then at the Foundery watching the growing usefulness of John and Charles. Her example and advice made their mark on Methodism in the days of its early growth, and her intercourse with her sons was as cheering and comforting to them as to her. Her death was calm and happy, her last request being, "Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God."

She was buried on the 1st of August in Bunhill Fields. Her son John read the service (his elder brother died three years before) and preached her funeral sermon.

No doubt the recollection of his mother's services reconciled Mr. Wesley to the employment of women preachers. When the harvest was so overwhelmingly plenteous, and the labourers so distressingly few, this plan seemed necessary, or at least justifiable. We cannot deny that it is better for sinners

to be converted under the teaching of a woman than not converted at all: "and how shall they believe in Him of Whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?" There are nevertheless so many objections to this method, that nothing but necessity can excuse it; and it is matter for thankfulness when any Church can provide sufficient men to preach, and leave the women to occupy less public though perhaps equally important spheres of usefulness.

Just after his mother's death Mr. Wesley received a visit from a man called Prig, who had been a member of the Methodist Society, but had taken up other views, and now came to find fault with Wesley. He had lent £100 for the expenses of altering the Foundery; this sum he applied for one morning at eight o'clock, insisting upon its being paid by noon. Taken by surprise in this way, Wesley did not know where to get the money in so short a time. But the silver and the gold are the Lord's, and before ten o'clock three people had called on Mr. Wesley, each offering to lend him £100 for a year. One of them brought

it with him.

It is well known that men can endure

suffering more bravely than they can bear ridicule. The firmness of the Methodists was tried all ways. At Newcastle a farce entitled, "Trick upon trick ; or, Methodism displayed," was advertised, and a large company came to see the first performance. Perhaps there were too many for the strength of the building, for different parts of the seats or stage gave way, until, after five alarms, the terrified people left the place. It was no uncommon thing for ignorant folks to lecture Wesley and his helpers for their errors; but this was taken with a patient forbearance, in many instances, that deserved great praise.

A rather amusing case occurred about this time. Two persons professed that they had a message from God that Mr. Wesley must shortly be "born'd" again. One of them

He

added, they would stay in the house till this took place, unless they were turned out. He answered gravely, "I will not turn you out," and took them into the Society-room. says, "It was tolerably cold; and they had neither meat nor drink however, there they sat from morning till evening. They then. went quietly away, and I have heard nothing from them since."

the lover of what is pure, fresh, and healthy in human life, there is scarcely any thing which appears more melancholy and saddening than the daily scenes at some railway stations and refreshment-stalls in and around London. These scenes appear to be shaping themselves into what may be called Metropolitan indicators of young England's rise in the scale of selfishness.

The young

men and boys who affect to swell the crowd of tobacco smokers in public places, are seemingly becoming incapable of the notion that by indulging their taste at the expense of other people's comfort, they are forming a selfish habit of the most disagreeable kind. To linger in some booking-offices, or even waitingrooms, is to be nauseated amidst fumes from the parched lips of young comers and goers; and to elbow a way to the refreshment-stall through the ceaseless press of gay male customers is to have jets of unfragrant smoke shot against the face, first on one side and then on the other now, from a lad sporting a cigar; and now, from one of the bob-pipe class, sucking in and puffing out vapour from

smouldering compost. If any feeling of annoyance be shown, it is answered probably by an expression of wonder at your interference with public freedom; as if the objectors to smoke were the intruders, and not the smokers. These smokers seem to forget that while they claim their liberty of indulgence, their pleasure is secured by imposing nuisances upon other people. Who are the viclators of freedom? Who commit the first breach of decency or good manners? Certainly not the smoked but the smokers. The pursuit of happiness in tobacco, or its questionable substitutes, tends, seemingly, to render men careless of their neighbours' comfort. So, smokers grow selfish. Selfishness in this case, as in all others, fails to look itself in the face; and blindly ascribes to other characters the insalubrious savour of its own. This disagreeable form of selfishness, like every other, brings its own reward. And it is melancholy to see the faces of young Englishmen, prematurely wasted, worn, paled, parched, and robbed of the full, fresh, youthful bloom which ought to give promise of vigorous manhood.