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THE 



METHODIST MAGAZINE 



AND 



4|VARTERIi¥ RBTIEW. 



VOLUME XIV. 

NEW SERIES, VOLUME 01. 

1832. 



NEW-YORK, 

PUBU8HED BT B. WAUGH AND T. MA80IT, 
VOK THK BtBTHODIST EFISCOTAL CHURCH, AT THE COHFESENCE 

OFFICEi 14- CROSfir^STRBET. 

I 

J. CoUordf Printer. 
1832. 



Erratum. — Page 274, line 3 from bottom, read 1492 for 1692. 




CONTENTS. 



A&T. I. — Tbe Union of Wedeyaa Mcthodisto Page 1 
II.— On Jnstificalioik By tbe Rev. LabaB Clark . 19 
in. — Applicatioa of Natural Science to the Animal and Vege- 
table World 25 

lY.^Advantages and Pleasures of Science . . .39 

V — ^Wesley's Works— The Works of the Rev. John Weriey, 
Ai M;) sometime Mlow of Linoola College, Oxferd. 
' First American Gonuplete and Standard EditMO, £^m 
tbb latest London Edition, with tfae last oorreetione of 
the Aivlhov : compreheiiding also niinieroas totnsla- 
tions, notes, and an ortgiiial preftice, &e» By John 
Emory. Seven volumes ootavcy pp. 0900 49 

Yt—Oji Sacred Poetry 72 

YIL— The Ghristnuw Coafereiiee of 17M .... 96 
YiiL— The American Seamea'a Friend Seoiety . . .105 

IX. — Special Agencies 106 

X. — Jiidge M'Lean's Address— Ain Address^ prepared at the 
request of the Union «nd Jeftvaon Societies, of Angnsta 

College. By John McLean 108 

XL — ^Beza's Translation of the New Testament: • .112 

XII. — On Profiting from the Hearing of Sermons . • 121 

Xni — ^Wesley's Works^ concluded 129 

XIY.— On the Pursuit of Knowledge under IMicultieB • 150 
XY.— Methodist Hyndns . . . . . . .178 

XYL— The Evidences of Christinnity . . . , 191 

Xyn.«—Hi8tory of Methodism ^ New-Roehelle Circuit, 

NewoYprk. By the Rev. Daniel De Vitme • .199 
XYin.— Bishop Whatcoat . . ^ . . . 213 

XIX.-^MethodiBm on Alleghany Circuity Maryland • 215 

XX.— The next Geneml Gonibrence . . . . .217 

XXL— Mr; Weslew's Bishops 238 

XXII. — A Funeral Sermon on Occasion of the Death of 6ene- 
Fsi Samuel L. Winston* Ddivered at Wtfsbhiftton, 
Mississippi, March 11, 1832» ByRev. IflTilliaiaWitians 241 
XXIII. — ^Hastory of Methodist Misstomh-^Authentic Hintory 
^ of the Missions under the care (^the i|iBsiona/)r Soci- 

ety of the Methodist Episcopal Church. By Nathan 
Bam^, D. D. New-York, Published by J« Emory 
& B. Waugh, for the Methodist EpiiK^pal Cbmnk • 249 
XXIY.— History oi Methodism on the ComieelMtut Wentern 

Reaewe, Ohio. By Rev. Alfred Brunson . 255. 

XXY. — ^Adventures 6n the CkAuakm, Biver-^Adventures on 
the Columbia- River, including the Narratinre of a resi- 
dence of six years on the western side of the Rpcky 
Mountains, among various tribes rf ladians^ hitherto 
unknown : together with a journey across the Ameri- 
can eentinem. By Ross CiOL. Bvo» pp. 33A . • 274 



% 

\ 



IV COKTKIITQ. 

Art. XXYI. — The Creneral Conference of 1832 — 1 . Report of the 
Committee on Hi88ion9.-^2. Report of the Committee 
on Bible, Smiday School, and Tract Societies. — 3. Re- 
port of the Committee on Education*— 4. The Pastoral 
Address.*— 5. Report of the Committee oh Temperance 313 
XXTII. — National Societies — ^Report on 'Foreign Biissions, 
read to the General Assembly of the Presbyterian 
Church in the United States, and accepted without an 
expression of the opinion of the Assembly on the same, 

May 31, 1832 351 

XXYIII.— Marshall's Life of Washington— The Life of Geo. t 
Washington, commander in ^ chief of the American 
Forces, during the War which established the Inde- 
pendence of his Country, and first President of the 
tJnited States. Compiled under the inspection of the 
Honorable Bushrod Washington, from original papers 
bequeathed to him by his deceased relative. By John 
Marshall. Second Edition, revised and corrected by 
the Author. In two volumes, 8vo. pp. 982 . • 355 
XXIX.— New Tracts— No. 134. Dr. Fisk's Address to the 
Members of the Methodist Episcopal Church on the 
Subject of Temperance. 12mo. pp. 16. — No. 135. 
A short Account of the Life and Death of Ann Cutler. 
By William Bramwell. 12mo. pp. 20 . . . 357 

XXX.— The Love of God . \ 357 

XXXI. — Some Account of the Old Foundry in London . 358 

XXXIL— Christianity in India .361 

XXXni.— Scholastic Divinity 367 

XXXIV. — Memoirs of the Rev. David Stoner — Memoirs of 
the Rev. David Stoner, containing copious Extracts 
from his Diary and epistolary Correi^ondence. First ^ 
American, from the second English Edition . . 388 

XXXV ^Woiks of the late Rev.- Robert HaU, A. M.— The 

entire Works of the Rev. Robert Hatl, A. M. With 
a brief Memoir, and a Sketch of his literary Character, 
bv the Right Hon. Sir J. Mackintosh, LL. D. M. P., 
dnd 9^'Sketch of his Character as a Theologian, and a 
*Prea[ch^r, b}r the Rev. John'Foster. Published under 
^ the superintendence of Olinthus Gregory, LL. D. F. 
R. A. S., i*i%fessor of Mathematics in the Royal Mili- 
tary Academy- Three vols. 8vo. • • . • 413 
XXXVI.— Nature &nd Constitution of the Visible Church— 
Remarks on the Nature and Constitution of the Visi- 
ble Church of God, in answer to the Rev. Joseph 
Samuel C. F. Frey, as contained in a work entitled 
' * Essays on Christian Baptism.' By the Rev. Peter 
P. Sandford. . ... . . . . 438 

Xl^XVn.— Progress of the Indian Cholera • . . 450 
XXXVin.— The Distinctive PecuUarity of the Christian Re- 
ligion . '* 474 

XXXIX.— Moral and Political Philosophy of William Paley, 

D. D. . . . * . . • • . . 479 



THE 

METHODIST MAGAZIHE, 

AKD 



Vol. XIV, No. 1. JANUARY, 1832. New Series— Vol. IH, No. 1. 



THE UNION OF WESLEYAN METHODISTS. 

[The following article, with the omission of a few passages 
chiefly of a local bearing, is extracted from the Wesleyan Methodist 
Magazine. Much of its matter will be found equaUj applicable 
and interesting here as in England. ] 

Upwards of ninety years have passed away since the establish^- 
ment of Wesleyan Methodism, and the experience of that extended 
period has shown that the fabric is not composed of those unsub* 
stantial materials which its enemies surmised. Assailants have 
arisen at different periods from almost every quarter ; and in the 
earlier stages of its existence, persecution ^fierce as ten furies' 
was ever and anon let loose. Then often came ^ the world's dread 
laugh, which scarce the firm philosopher sustains ;' to this, in many 
cases, was added, proud disdain. But in the midst of this elemental 
strife, which has been a war both of principle and practice, the 
institutions of Methodism remain unshaken ; the outworks have 
been pressed, but no breach is made : so far from that, new de- 
fences are raised, and a more advanced position is taken. ETery 
part both of its doctrines and discipline indicates durability ; its 
adversaries, melted into a better mood, have gradually disappeared ; 
and it is evident, that while the members of the societies are faith- 
ful to themselves, and to the profession they have assumed, no 
injury can be infficted. The lucubrations of unsettled men maj 
excite occasional notice, and produce occasional^ Apprehension ; 
but, like ripples On the wiive, tney are formed but to disappear ; 
and can have not the smallest effect on the* course of the mighty 
stream to which they are indebted for mom^ntary'appearance. 

That the founder of Methodism was a man gifted with first rate 
intellect, is no new discovery ; but his ambition was, not to astonish 
mankind by the parade of talent, natural or acquired. He kindled 
a light, not to dazzle, but to benefit, his fellow creatures. He lived 
for others. He studied for the benefit of others. If his learning 
became prominent, its exhibiticm was incidental, rather than de- 
signed. It came, as a modest servant, only when called for ; and 
among the various excellencies for which his works are remark- 
able/uie luminous simplicity of his style, to the exclusion of verbiage 
and conftusedness, is by no means the least remarkable. But all 

Vol. llL^^anuary, 1832. 1 



1 



i Union of We$ley(in Mtthodisfs. 

this nugbt have subsisted, and {urobably bas beeni found, in others, 
who were nevertheless utterly unqualmed for the work to which, 
in the order of Providence, Mr. Wesley was called. To his mind, 
naturally powerful and comprehenrive, was added a correctness of 
perception, which at the commencement of his public life enabled 
him not only to prepare the most judicious rules for the government 
of the then infant society, but to examine and compare their ac- 
cordance with each other, their bearing upon the general system^ 
and to choose the most proper agents in reducing the whole to 
practical purposes. The consequence is, that where this system 
exists in healthful exercise^ each part is brought sufficiently for* 
ward, and no portion is overlooked ; there is a place for every man, 
and every man is to be in his place. 

Another main advantage included in the entire plan, is, that 
suitable employment is ottered to eveir member. Varied, and of 
unequal power, as b the capacity of the human mind in different 
persons, such are the general duties connected with works of mercy 
and benevolence, which have gradually arisen within the pale of 
Methodism, that no man need stand all the day, or any part of the 
day, idle. As an exercise of humility, he might enter a Sunday 
sbhool, and begin a course of good works, by teaching a little 
child the character of his vernacular tongue. Engagements more 
extensive may follow ; more honourable they cannot be. Mean* 
time, benefits of a lasting order fall out for both parties ; for while 
the ignorant are instructed, or the sick consoled, the benefactor 
feels himself amended. Religion without practice, like water with- 
out motion, is apt to stagnate. This was not unknown to the 
founder, and the old worthies, of these societies ; and therefore it 
is thought that, next to an unblamable life, the most conclusive 
proof that a man can give of the reality of his relipon, is to be 
found attempting to communicate it to others. The natural ten- 
dency of Methodism inclines to this activity. Up and be doing is 
its motto and essence. To still-bom life it is constantiy opposed ; 
and it remembers that, as in the grave there will be leisure enough, 
now is the time, for improvement and usefulness. 

But the establbhment of class meetings may be deemed the 
most important feature* in th^ construction of Methodism. It was 
sometimes observed by Mr. Wesley, that he desired not to go 
before, but to follow, the.Ielidings of the Divine guidance. In the 
printed * Rules of the Society,* the definition of the term class 
meeting may.be found. It is * a company of persons- having the 
form, and seeking the power, of godliness.' The character of 
these weekly assemblies is strictly social. They serve to fill up 
the vacancy between private meditation and public ordinances ; a 
want which, though often perceived, was never supplied till the 
establishment of these meetings. The first great result is to be 
found in the spiritual improvement of the parties concerned ; who 
find, by mutual intercourse, that no temptation hath happened ta 



Ihein, but such as is common to all ; that grace, itt its extensive 
imd fertilizing showers, has descended for general acceptance, and 
is found to be the all-availing an^dote for the moral maladies of 
man. The other effect of these meetings refers to the entire socie* 
ty, of which a class is an essential part. The spirit of Wesleyan 
Methodism, and the unity of its members, is through these means 
principally observable. Thb principle, as a cement of unyielding 
tenacity, holds together the whole body, with a compactness and 
Stability formerly unknovm in ecclesiastical record. But for the 
meetings in question, the seed sown by public ministrations, 
although good, would frequently be lost ; the seriousness of the 
Sabbath would be drowned by the levity of the next week's engage* 
ments ; and in all human probability the labours of the first race 
of Mediodist preachers would have produced merely the revival of 
an age. They would have created no principle of perpetuity ; and 
with respect to the entire system, it might have been the lot of one 
generation to witness its rise and conclusion. 

The founder of Methodism died in 1791. The loss was felt 
throughout every department of the work, of which he was the 
principal director ; and persons were not wanting, who at once 
foretold the dissolution of the whole, as an event unavoidably con- 
sequent upon his demise. These predictions were erroneous. 
The bereavement referred to was a signal test, by wluch the dura- 
bility of the society was tried. It was soon found that God could 
carry on his own purposes, even though the instruments were 
changed. No impression injurious to the reputation, either of the 
system itself, or of the man on whom its management had devolved. 
Was produced. On the contrary, both advanced in popular esteem. 
The religious community patronized by the latt fellow of Lincoln 
college, expanded into circles where access had formerly been 
denied. Instead of diminished vigour, its converts were qumerous, 
and its influence strengthened. It effected purposes more extended 
than had perhaps been fostered by the liberal minded founder. 
The system of Scriptural truth was conveyed to fore^ shores. 
Its members were parcelled out in every clime ; societies were 
formed wherever a door of entrance was afforded ; and of the small 
company of godly persons who met in a small apartment in 1739, 
the spiritual, descendants were found scattered as the salt of the 
earth, not only throughout these kingdoms, but in every other 
place to which navigation has access, from the Straits of Gibraltar 
to the islands of the western main ; and more especially in these 
later days, from Ceylon and Continental In^a, to the bluff' shores 
of the Baltic. We see therefore, that in the fundamental princi- 
ples of Metiiodism, as ori^ally established, the operations of a 
master mind are evinced ; and of the worth and propriety of those 
princifdes one of the most convincing proofi that can be adduced 
is, that after the lapse of ftbout a hundred years they remain sub- 
stantially the same. Circumstantial alterations have, as a matter 



4 Unum of Wesley an Methodists. 

of courge, been necessary ; and in the application of standing law 
to new cases, as they happen to arise, an air of novelty may be 
thrown upon that which cannot claicn it. The newness in the 
legislations of Methodism, about which some have thought it need- 
ful to write, is not to be found in any additional construction of its 
laws, but in the cases which have called forth the application of 
the old laws. The identity of these is strictly preserved. They 
are neither weakened nor alloyed ; and it is matter of satisfac- 
tion to know, that the well regulated and salutary rules, which 
were once propounded with so much care, are not to be considered 
and surveyed as theoretic curiosities, but have sustained the wear 
and tear of every day practice ; and, though sufficiently refined to 
suit the nicer discrimination of the cloistered /eu^, are nevertheless 
obvious enough to be apprehended and relished by the untutored 
many ; and so receive the hearty and unbiased suffrages of con- 
verted multitudes. 

One thing is clear. While these societies preserve their primi- 
tive simplicity, prosperity will follow ; and it is a remarkable fact,' 
that although attempts have been made, the direct tendency of 
which is to undermine their security, they have uniformly failed. 
Another fact, not much less singular, is, that so far as the parties 
are known, almost every attempt of that kind may be traced toi 

Sersons of whose minds the canker of some former unmentioned 
isappointment had eaten up the better part. In such instances, 
copdensed fretfulness, which seemed to gather strength by confine- 
ment, has suddenly exploded, and evils of all dimensions were let 
loose ; as if the fatal dox had just been opened. It is doubtful 
whether hope remained at the bottom ; and the annihilation of the 
Wesleyan polity is predicated as a matter of certainly, little less than 
infallible. It is scarcely needful to add, that in such clamour think- 
ing people never joined ; and it is equally clear, they never will. 
The desultory warfare to which these practices have led, has been 
waged through the medium of printed remarks occasionally put 
forth. These pamphlets, when purchasers failed, were given 
away ; and the authors are generally anonymous. This is a good 
sign. It seems as if they half doubted the goodness of their cause. 
Perhaps they were half ashamed of it ; a feeling by no means to be 
discouraged ; for where' there is shame, there may in time be 
reformation. As a specimen of the rest, it may be worth while to 
glance at some " Remarks," published a few months since. This 
publication is selected, not because of its origmality, either of sen- 
timent or reasoning, for in these respects it is perfectly guiltless ; 
but because it is on the whole, a fair sample of the species, and 
serves to show the havoc which men msdke when they meddle with 
things beyond their reach. On the first page of the performance 
in question, the writer is of opinion that * the love of power is 
natural to man ;' and he then discovers, that * ministers are but 
men.* These positions nobody ever disputed yet; ai^ the only 



flung to be surprised at i% that it should be thought necesaanr to 
teU it to the world in priiit. In a succeeding paragraph it is insmu* 
ated that * Methodist ministers attempt to subvert the liberties of 
the members of the Methodist societies.' To subvert is to destroy ; 
and unless this weighty charge 19 supported bv evidence very dif- 
ferent from any which has yet seen toe light, the pamphleteer must 
not be offended if his statement is disbelieved. As the writer pro« 
ceedSy his self-confidence abounds ; and he thinks that if his views 
are adopted, * the downfall of Methodism may be averted.' The 
motive of the person who wrote this may be good, and he may have 
uttered it without the least vanity ; but he need not be alarmed. 
Methodism prevailed before he was bom. It has done so since ; and 
he may rest satisfied, that, when he ceases to live, Methodism, as it 
now exists, will continue to prevs&l. Who our author may be we 
know not, nor is it of consequence to inquire. We wish he may 
live long to enjoy the present privileges of Methodism. But he 
may be assured that his are not the Atlantean shoulders on which 
are reposed the interests either of the church or the world. The 
morning after his exit from life will be ushered in as if nothing 
particular had happened. The sun will rise as usual Men will 
go forth to their orainary occupations. Methodist chapels will be 
huilt, sermons preached, societies formed, classes met, and soub 
saved. There will be no extraordinary shock in the kingdom, 
either of nature or grace. These considerations are humbling ; 
but as they are true, they must needs be salutary, and are exceed- 
ingly serviceable when men are in danger of thinking of themselves 
more highly than the occasion remiires. The truth is, that the 
existence and continuation of Wesleyan Methodism does not 
depend upon any local influence whatever, much less upon an 
individual ; nor need any author, even though he be the champion 
of some little circle of inquietude, lay upon himself a burden which 
no one will ever think of asking him to bear. Another source of 
uneasy apprehension is, a notion that the preachers are disposed to 
exercise undue power, in the * clandestme expulsion' 01 private 
mend>ers. This, to say the least, is a very unlikely matter ; and if 
die hbtory of any member who has been excluded were fairly 
written, it would be seen that the clandestine doings talked of had 
no existence but in the imagination of the person who invented the 
term. Every person knows that if the rules of the society are 
broken, the causes of such infraction are investigated with the most 
patient attention. Every person knows that if a chaige be brought 
by one party against another, the accuser and accused are heard 
face to face. No case is prejudged ; no connivances are practised ; 
no evidence is suppressed ; no bias is allowed. The door is open, 
both for explanation and defence ; and if expulsion b inevitable, 
the transaction, so far from being clandestine, challenges the light 
of day, and occurs in the hearing of all concerned. In fiict, one 

of two things ought to be done ; charges of the description now 

1* 



6 Union of Wesley an MethodUts. 

alluded to ought to be borne out by proofs, or withdrawn. Until ^ 
this is the case, few will lend an ear, and none will 3^eld their 
assent to alleged faults, which, bottomed in ill-will, are unsup- 
ported by a tittle of evidence. If there ever was a religious com- 
munity on earth, into which the entrance is invitingly open, or 
which retains its members, when once received, till the last possible 
moment, it is that of the Wesleyan Methodists ; and if an error be 
suspected to exist, it must be sought, not in a hasty or abrupt 
excision of deserving persons, but in a weak and improper endur- 
ance of men who, though they profess membership, are evidently 
unsound. They may look well on the outside ; but like a carious 
bone, have neither pith nor power. When discipline presses, there 
is an immediate fracture ; and the amputation of the part, which 
had long been called for, is of necessity performed. 

As the metropolis produced no other cause for murmur, our 
unknown friend has travelled elsewhere, and by a singular, though 
not very happy, transfer of thought, has lugged in, head and shoul- 
ders, some remarks on the differences which once existed at Leeds ; 
but which are now superseded by amendment, and hastening to 
obUvion. On that topic one remark is enough. Without attempting 
to answer that which no man can understand, it is better to state 
what is positively knoion. It is known, not merely by persons remote 
from the spot, but by inhabitants of the town, in question, that the 
elements of insubordination had existed in certain uneasy minds 
long before the developement was produced. The primary cause 
of the secession which .took place is to be found, not so much in 
objections felt to this or that mode of ecclesiastical rule^ as to an 
impatience of all restraint. If the alleged cause of dissatisfaction 
had not been produced, some other would. The affection of these 
malcontents had been withdrawn. Their talk was of oppression ; but 
their conduct, that of determined separatists ; and the division that 
ensued was exactly the result which might have been foreseen. In 
the opinion of the writer before us, these sons of misrule are infallibly 
right. This, he thinks, is ^ confirmed by the Divine blessing rest- 
ing on them.' By such a sign, any act of folly may be sanctioned. 
Some people glide through a long life of error and uselessiness. 
Divine benevolence has fed, and Divine mercy spared, them : the 
excellence of their conduct is therefore * confirmed.* So confi- 
dent is our unknown friend of the truth of his statement, that he 
conceives doubt may be entertained of ^ the sanity or honesty of 
that man who denies it.* This is the precise language into which 
pedple are sure to lapse when other resources fail. To differ from 
such persons is an indication either of lunacy or vice. It is a pity 
that any man should deceive another, and perhaps a greater still 
^that he should deceive himself. Rash assertions, like his, are most 
honored by a speedy recall. If persisted in, he must seek conso- 
lation in solitude ; for great indeed will be the lack of his disciples. 

In the church of God, the spirit of party should be unknown ; 



Union of Wesley an MethoJuts. T 

« 

and he who generates or omits to discoursffe it, produees mischief 
greater than tongue can tell. This evil is Knmd m the pubUcation 
BOW referred to. Whenever the Methodist conference is mentiott- 
edy care is taken to place its acts in direct oppootion to the inter- 
ests, either of local preachers, stewards, or leaders; as if the 
stability of the former could be supported only by an invasion of 
the rights of either of the latter. The temper which suggested this 
intolerable injustice is at variance, not only with that mutual for- 
bearance which Christianity inculcates, but with truth and rectitude 
of principle. The interests of the Methodist society, in the widest 
sense of the word, are happily interwoven. In the web of its 
commingled welfare, every member is a thread, and the strength 
of the whole depends upon the cohesion and affinity of every 
individual part. The conference, so far from indicating lightness 
of esteem for the church, is annually engaged in plans for its bene- 
fit and increase. None of the active departments of Methodism are 
superfluous. None can be dispensed with. Its general management 
is invested by prescriptive right in the conference; and in reference 
to it, each subordinate portion of the society moves in its own order 
and place. These bodies of men, though distinctly named, and 
variously employed, are all labourers in the same vineyard, and 
are identified as coadjutors in the same general cause. And as 
these respectable classes are animated by the same spirit, and press 
on to the same end, classification is unnecessary, and comparisons 
odious. As> it is the study, so it b the practice and delight of the 
conference to ejctend to all the benefit of its counsel and protec- 
tion. Whoever insinuates the reverse of this, and attempts to make 
distinctions where none exist, is inimical to the prosperity of all, 
and friendly to the purposes of none ; and should be kept at a dis- 
tance, as one of those questionable characters, who, though allowed 
to hover upon the skirts of the community, must never be trusted 
with its confidence. 

The abettor of discord is seldom remarkable* for consideration. 
An offence is felt or imagined. Perhaps his fame is sullied, or his 
honor touched. Resentment, who seldom stops to ask questionsy 
and generally labours under dimness of sight, usurps the place of 
reason ; and the man is no longer master of himself. Without 
consulting his understanding, which his hurry will not permit, he 
contends not so much for truth as mastery. Meantime the spirit of 
unity and peace, in the cultivation of which consists the essence of 
religion, is effectually destroyed, and injury inflicted, which, in its 
consequences, may be irreparable. 

How different, how opposed to all this, are those sterling princi- 
ples of order and decorunl maintained by an authority from which 
appeal is vain ! ^ He gave some. Apostles ; and some, prophets ; 
and some, evangelists ; and some, pastors and teachers ; for the 
perfecting of the sidnts, for the work of the ministry, for the edify- 
Jng of the body of Christ : from whom the whole body, fitly joined 



8 Vniim of Weikyah MeAodkts. 

together, aud comptcted by that which every joint supplietiiy 
mccordii^ to the effectual working in the measure of every part, 
raaketh increase of the body unto the edifyii^ of itself in love.* 
That there ihould be no schism m the body : or, as the passage is 
rendered in Wiclifs Testament, of 1380, ' that debate be not in the 
bodi» but that the membris be bisi into the same thin^ ech for othir :* 
a lesson which, though in an old fashioned dress, is by no means 
powerless, or inapplicable in these later days. 

Having waded through the waters of his distress, and collected 
all the injuries which the conference has inflicted upon the socie- 
ties under their care, the invention of our nameless author begins 
to fail ; and he gathers up his ends, by asking, * What can and 
ought to be done? To which he answers, *We say, Let the 
societies generally awake from their slumbers ;' of course, for the 
purpose of war and contention. But another, and a far better 
reply may be made : * Leave off contention before it be meddled 
with.' This gentleman, who supposes that the myriads of the 
Methodist society have been asleep for the last century, will not be 
received as a competent witness ; and had better take care lest, in 
his haste to slander his neighbours, his own name be found recorded 
in the catalogue of persons, drawn by a great writer : ^ Busy 
bodies, who are apt, not only to speak, but print and circulate, 

things which they ought not.' One fact is pretty clear, and, if 

reflection has resumed her office, it may relieve the mind of this 
assailant. His book will not do much harm. . It is true, report 
has stated that a few misguided persons have so far erred, as to 
elope from the society ; and if that step was induced by the pub- 
lication in question, one can only lament that the parties were so 
easily moved. As an effort to create disunion, a more complete 
failure was never exhibited. If this should disappoint, it may at 
the same time instruct, the parties. Having formed a wrong esti- 
mate of the Methodist societies, they may perhaps learn to form 
a right one of themselves ; a task which, if faithfully executed, will 
do them a world of good. The miscalculation of power is singular, 
and could have been entered into only under an aberration of 
tiie faculties : * Awake from your slumber !' says the penman, 
addressing the societies throughout the United Kinjgdom ; as if at 
.a call so puny, the Methodists from all winds would rise and con- 
gregate. But it did not answer. All was quiet, and likely to 
remain so. ^ Let meetings be held^ he again rejoins ; but no one 
listened'; the earth did not pause upon its axis ; the blast was too 
feeble to disturb a gnat ; and if his letter-press thoughts are again 
to be divulged to the public, he will do well to inquire in the first 
chapter. Why he, who has nothing to say, should nevertheless 
determine to write 1 

Persons of cultivated minds are not likely to be moved by the 
sallies of meddling and officious men. It is among the class of 
persons chiefly who are not much indebted to education, that the 



Ufdan of Wesley an MethoiUts. 9 

net 18 thrown, and who, unless sufficiently guarded, are likely to be 
entangled in its meshes. Not that the merits of the case are a whit 
altered, whether it receive support >or not. That which is essen- 
tially untrue remains so, let who will assert the contrary. It is 
enough to know that the nature of truth cannot be altered^ let who 
will speak it ; and that error remains the same, even though a 
cluster of names are collected to avouch it. Twenty ciphers are 
infinitely less than a unit : and if men inconsiderately attest the 
thing which they ought not, they must be content to fall within the 
price usually fixed to goods of no value. But it may happen that 
persons by the force of importunity are drawn in to sanction mea- 
sures at which on reflection the mind must naturally revolt. It is 
probable that the evils of party spirit, are not always considered: 
Party has been defined, ^ the madness of many, for the gain of a 
few.' In our day, it is occasionally the foUy of a {ew^ for the gain 
of none. — ^Let us exhibit a sample. A party man is seldom an 
agreeable companion. His theory is so narrow, and his creed so 
small, that, like his shoes, they seem made for his exclusive use« 
He is amazed that any one should doubt the accuracy of his sys- 
tem, because he is satisfied with it. His judgment is biased, and 
resembles a pair of scales of which the beam is for ever awry. 
Greneral society is so im{)erfect, he cannot endure it ; and in the 
investigation oi its laws, his aim is, not to enjoy that which is right, 
but exult over that which is wrong. He fares therefore as a cer- 
tabi countryman did, who took the trouble of extracting the husks 
from a bushel of wheat : he has the chaff for himself. He surveys 
creation through the medium of a contracted vision, and is apt to 
forget that he is not the only man who has a claim upon the bounty 
of the skies. He pities people who differ from his persuasion, and 
wonders how it is that odiers dream of being right. He revolves in 
a circle, of which the centre is himself. Those who are squeezed in 
with him are the lucky few : all without are nothing, if not some- 
thing worse. Unused to much thinking, and too impatient to pur- 
sue it, petty purposes, and a kind 0/ pin's head policy are all he 
compasses. His cause appears great, because he will lock at no 
other. A maggot in a nut might come to the same conclusion, and 
for a similar reason, because he has a ma^ot mind. He is struck 
with the degeneracy of all around. People, too, are so ignorant. 
And if wisdom should die with him, matters, he is sure, would be 
worse. In these sweeping censures he never suspects the preju- 
dices of his own mind ; though they produce a jaundiced yellowness 
on all he inspects. Of this every body is sensible but himself. 
They smile at his folly ; and were it not that he flies off at a tan- 
gent, some charitable person might undertake to undeceive him. 
He expects, after death, to ga to heaven. It is devoutly hoped he 
mav. That, he thinks, is a place just lai^e enough to contain him- 
self and those who subscribe to his opinions. 

The principles and practice of a consistent member of religious 



10 UnUm 0/ We$Uym M^hodiits. 

society are directly the reverse of that described. Before he enters 
into communion, ne sits down, as every reasonable man ought, and 
counts the cost. When that is done, ne ascertains how for and in 
what respects such a society is suited to his condition. He ac- 
quaints hunself with its general and special laws and regulations ; 
with its privileges and prohibitions ; and with its adaptation to his 
present state. This is performed before he joins the body, not 
after. For want of taking this trouble, some persons he had seen 
who entered the church they knew not why, and on principles they 
never understood ; in consequence of which, though ever learning, 
they scarcely ever advanced. The comer stone of his attachment 
was laid with examination and care. Satisfied as to its security, 
he proceeds with the superstructure ; and finds himself established 
in tne faith. It is scarcely necessary to add, that he feels confi- 
dence in the integrity of the pastors of his church. Were it not 
so, he would not have committed hb spiritual concerns to their 
custody and guidance. For if they are worthy of his trust in that 
which is greater, he thinks it would be unreasonable to suspend it 
in that which is less. He considers that, as the precepts and 
observances of the church are promulged for general use, they 
ought to be honored by general obedience. Nor does he carp 
and qmbble at the whole, because it contains an enactment or two 
which presses hard on his particular interest. Ha tries, on these 
as on all other points, to preserve the even tenor of the Christian 
temper ; and is therefore noted, not so much perhaps for what he 
says, as what he does : matters in which he ima^nes there is some 
difference. He is sensible that, in the church, he is merely one 
member among many ; that others have rights, and require respect, 
as well as he ; and that for the welfare and perpetmty of the body, 
the well-being and convenience of every member must be consulted. 
He perceives that as the eye cannot perform the functions of the 
ear, nor the hands those of the feet, every member and faculty 
must remain in the assigned department. This rule he thinks is 
absolute, and admits of no exceptions ; and that whoever forsakes 
the post of duty, and invades that of others, sins agidnst the whole 
body. In assemblies for temporal affairs, he puts the best con- 
struction upon the acts of others ; and in matters which are non- 
essential would rather yield to public opinion, than support his own 
by cavil and pertinacity. Above every thing else, and this decides 
the superiority of the man, he keeps in mind that the control and 
direction of the pecuniary affairs of the church are important only 
with reference to the spirituality of the members, and the prosperity 
of the cause of God. He sees * there is a house above, not made 
with mortal hands ;' and that when the top stone is put on, and all 
is ready, the scaffolding of human means and ordinances will be 
taken down. Like a man on the verge of an important journey, 
he is intent on his safe arrival and right reception, and has no time 
to quarrel about the vehicle in wluch his place is taken. The 



Unim ef We$kyan MeihodUts. 1 1 

prevalence of these impressions fits him for duty ; and if unwit- 
tingly drawn into the vortex of debate, it improves the atmorohere 
in which he breathes, and like the broken box of spikenard very 
precious, as mentioned in Scripture, throws around a fragrance, 
which a heart disciplined by grace alone can feel. 

Upon the whole, we assume, as a defensible proportion, that 
Wesleyan Methodism, in its present unchanged and unchangeable 
form, is likely to survive its assailants^ ghostly and corporeal ; and 
of the latter, at least, we are disposed to expect not only a suspen-^ 
sidn of hostility, but the establiishment of perfect and permanent 
peace. By the destruction of an enemy is meant, that, by some 
salutary process of moral alchymy, he should be transmuted to a 
friend. The enmity dies, but the man is preserved. From what 
has occurred it is evident that the attempts made to unloose the 
bonds of the society have failed. The members have, in fact, other 
and more important work upon theu* hands, and cannot descend 
from their high calling, either to make systems or to blow bubbles. 
They went round the towers of Methodism before they went mthm 
them. They marked weU her bulwarks before they trusted to than ; 
and having fairly entered her gates, have no disposition to dispute 
points on which their minds, through long and comfortable usage, 
have been taught, almost intuitively, to rest in peace. Besides, 
will any man who condemns existing Methodism, tell how it may 
be mended 1 No one has done so, and on that account people are 
inclined to think no one can. How it may be marred and spoiled 
is easily seen. And yet some sound an alarm, as if the skies were 
about to fall. They put out our light, but do not lend us their 
candle. They say, " See how far we are going forward :** but they 
only turn round. From the pretensions made, one would suppose 
that tomes of ecclesiastical lore had been searched for some new 
law of clerical jurisprudence, and that a mine of intelligence, deep 
and rich, was about to be revealed. But it has turned out like 
some other mines. We have sunk a shaft, and there is nothing 
in it. 

There is another consideration, which ought to be seriously 
We^hed« The utmost degree of success which could attend the 
promoters of the attempts we now condemn, is, that they should 
produce a rent in the church. If,' for instance, the writer to whom 
we have before alluded, had powers of persuasion ten times greater 
than he possesses, and could make proselytes at pleasure, what 
reward awaits him 1 He would be a noted schismatic ; and those 
who follow in his train must share his honor. Is this, can this be, 
a pursuit worthy of an intelligent and enlightened mind 1 Can it be 
supposed by the most romantic descendant of the Spanish knight, 
that human life and human intellect were given for a purpose so 
poor and paltry, so evil and malignant? We presume to answer 
m the ne^tive. If the comfort and spiritual stability of the poor- 
est man, in the poorest village in the kmgdom, were destroyed, by 



12 ' Uman of Wesley an MethodUts. 

the perusal of factious and inflammatory matter, the bare possibility 
of the case ought to be highly admonitory to the inventors of evU 
things. And as authors, like us common men, must die, it m^ht 
not be amiss now and then to Hxrovr forward their reflections to the 
end of life. Perhaps it may then be discovered, that to foment 
division by a prostituted pen, among those who ought to be united, 
b a method of making sad provision for their final hour. 

The observation is trite, that fisicts are stubborn things; and 
apart from mere assertion or averment, the present pacific and 
united condition of the Wesleyan body is a fact, palpable as the 

risen sun ; and encouraging as clear. As to an ^ Address to 

the Members of the Methodist Connection,' which is the title 
chosen on the occasion now under notice, as if the author had 
some peculiar license to deal out general and cxtraordmary epistles 
to the church throughout the world, there can be but one opinion 
upon it. It is a liberty which ought not to have been taken. If, indeed, 
any remarkable event had rendered it necessary that a distinct and 
an immediate appeal should be universally made, no doubt suitable 
persons would be found to execute the task. Here, however, 
nothing of the kind is seen, and the attention of half a million per- 
sons is invoked, to look at a few pages, written by a person whom 
nobody knows, to do an action about which nobody cares. This 
will not do. There is no relish of common propriety in it. Some- 
thing magnificent was probably intended : but the writer mistook 

his power.- The discipline as well as the doctrine of Wesley 

will roll onward for many a year to come, and no man will be 

thanked who throws a nettie on his grave, by impugning them.<( 

Now, if factious remarks are pernicious within the church, what 
are the consequences with regard to the world 1 This is a peunful 
consideration, and worthy the notice of those concerned. From 
open violence the people of Grod have nothing to fear. Truth, in 
one form or other, wiU force its way ; nor can religion be frowned 
from the world. But what is to be said, when men professing 
piety become the accusers of their own church and people ; and 
are detected in the circulation of remarks adapted to expose the 
best of causes to contempt and derision ? And what are we to say, 
when this is done by men, whose supposed experience ought to 
render them respectable 1 

Who would not smile that such a man there be ? 
Who would not weep that Atticus were he? 

The alleged profession of these persons is, to describe the condi- 
tion of Methodism ; but this is all pretence. They never hit a 
single feature, nor succeed in the outlme. It is neither a cabinet 
painting, nor a whole-length portrait. Its character is broad cari- 
cature. The beauties of the original are vilely dropped. Suppos- 
ed deformities are embodied and distorted. New ones are invented 
and superadded. All this, which, setting aside the mischief, may 
be very comical, is set forth upon paper, which any worldling may 



I 
J 



On Justification, 13 

inspect and deride ad he likes. Meanwhile, the most valued inter* 
ests of religion are misrepresented, and exposed to the amusement 
of ga{Hng multitudes, and the gratification of infidelity. The only 
method by which evUs like these may be met is, that every inquirer 
be resolved to see things as they really are, and to examine with 
his own eyes, rather than depend upon those of other people ; not 
to take religion, or any thing connected with it, upon trust, nor pin 
his faith upon another's sleeve. Correct notions of Wesleyan 
Methodism can only be obtained by an examination of its stanaard 
writings and existmg records.—— Peter Kruse. 

Chelsea, ^pril, 183L 



ON JUSTIFICATION. 

BY THE REV. LABAN CLARK. 



* Beins justified fire«Iy by hi« gracd, throuf h the redemption that h in Chritt Jesus : Whom 
God hath set forth to be k propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness 
ibr the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God,' Rom. iii, 24, 15. 

In the preceding chapters, the Apostle sets forth the deplorable 
state of man as fallen and guilty before God. That both Jews 
and Gentiles are under the condemning sentence of violated law : 
and thsit all men have sinned and come short of the glory of Grod; 
Having drawn the most gloomy picture of depraved human nature, 
as actually exhibited in the lives of the Gentiles, who were sunk in 
the grossest idolatry and corruption, be proves the Jew to be no 
better ; for, while he enjoys the light of Divuie revelation, he seek* 
etii not after Grod ; that together they have become unprofitable ; 
destruction and misery are in their ways ; and the way of peace 
they have not known. There is no fear of Grod before their eyes. 

From the fact that all men are found practical sinners, we are 
naturally led to inquire into the origin oi this depravity ; and the 
only satisfactory solution is to be found in these words of the Apos- 
tle : ' ^ By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin ; and 
so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.' The uni- 
versal sinfulness of man is, therefore, to be traced to a principle of 
moral corruption and alienation from God, which our Church saith, 
* is the corruption of the nature of every man that naturally is 
engendered of the offspring of Adam, whereby man is very far 
gone from ori^al righteousness, and of his own nature inclined to 
evil, and that continuaUy.' 

It is in connection with this view of man's fallen and guilty con- 
dition, thdit we are to contemplate Grod's method; of justifying the 
ungodly ; which, according to our text, is freely by Ws grace, through 
the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, through faith in his blood. . 

First The nature and grounds of our justification. 

Though justification is stricfly and properly a juridical term, and 
Vol. III.— Jantiory, 1832. 2 



14 On JusiificatUm. 

implies an act of deci^on and judgment rendered, yet it must be 
very different from the sentence of mere acquittal, which could xmly 
be done on the grounds of perfect innocence ; whereas man has 
been found guilty, and stands condemned as a criminal before the 
Judge, exposed to the penalty and rigour of violated law, from 
which he can have no hope of escape but by an act of mercy on 
the part of the Judge himself 

And being condemned already, he cannot expect to be justified 
by the deeds of the law : for, to say nothing of his inability to 
perform the obedience required, the law is immutable in its nature^ 
and can never remit the claims to perfect and undeviating obedi- 
ence. Every transgression therefore subjects the sinner to the con- 
demning sentence of violated law. * He that offends in one point, 
is guilty of all.' No subsequent obedience can alter, or do away 
the sentence already incurred : * for by the deeds of the law shall 
no flesh be justified in his sight ; for by the law is the knowledge of 
sin.' The more a man becomes acquainted with the law of God ; 
and the clearer his views are of its spirituality, purity, and glorious 
majesty; the more he will discover his own vileness, and the ex- 
ceeding sinfulness of transgression ; until oppressed and overwhelm- 
ed with the weight of his guilt, he cries out, in the bitterness of his 
soul, God be merciful to me a sinner. 

The justification of a sinner can only be by an act of pardon. 
Indeed the terms justification, pardon, forgiveness, or remission of 
sins, are used in the Scriptures as phrases of the same import, and 
are only so many different ways of expressing the same thing. By 
this variety of expression, the idea is preserved which runs through 
the whole Scriptures, that in the remission or pardon of sin almighty 
God acts in his character of ruler and judge, showing mercy to the 
guilty upon terms satisfactory to his justice, when he might have 
passed the rigid sentence of law upon the transgressor to the full 
extent. And the judiciary character of pardon is farther confirmed 
by considering the relation of the parties to each other. God is 
the offended ruler, man the offending subject. He has offended 
not against private obligations only, but against public law ; and 
the act by which he is pardoned must be magisterial and authori- 
tative ; not contrary to, or in violation of law, but by a gracious 
provbion by which the majesty and purity of law is secured. 

Such an act of pardon is free on the part of God, and with6ut 
any claims of goodness or merit on the^ part of the creature, who 
stands guilty and condemned, and who can only receive from his 
merciful Judge the pardon so freely given : hence it is said in our 
text. Being justified freely by his grace, &c. Whatever the terms 
or condition may be on which the pardon is granted, still it is an 
act of God's pure benevolence and grace, in which the creature can 
claim no part of the performance. For God only can forgive sins. 

Conditions prescribed on the part of God, or performed by the 
creature, cannot alter the case ; the act of pardon is the act of 



On Justification. 15 

God alone, and is not to be attributed either in whole or part to the 
creature. Conditions may vary the qualities of the pardon, and 
render it less or more benevolent, according as they are accomnKV* 
dated to our weakness and wants. When therefore the condition 
of our pardon is not only suited to our utmost wretchedness, but 
procured for us, and urged upon us with more than parental kind- 
ness, and with promises of all-suflScient help, — ^persuading us, aiding 
us, and working in us, with all long-suffering and forbearance, — 
we say, that under such circumstances, it is not onl}' free on the 
part of him who grants the pardon, but it is the highest act o( grace, 
and displays the infinite goodness of him who is loving unto every 
man ; not willing that any should perish, but that all should come 
to repentance. Yet the most exalted views we are able to form of 
the goodness of God, in respect to the justification of a sinner by 

Kardon, cannot free the subject from all difficulties ; for God is 
oly and just, as well as good and merciful. How sin may be 
forgiven without leading to such- misconceptions of the Divine 
character as would encourage disobedience, and weaken the influ^ 
enc^ of Divine government, is a problem that is not very easily to 
be solved. . And it is certain, that none of the theories opposed to 
Christianity afford a satisfactory solution. They assume principles 
either destructive to moral government, or which cannot, in the 
present circumstances of man, be acted upon. That government 
which knows no pardon, sinks the guilty to despair ; and a govern- 
ment which admits of no punishment for the guilty, is a contradic- 
tion, and does not exist. It is only in the doctrine of a vicarious 
sacrifice, as -expressed in our text^ that any satisfactory means are 
proposed by which an e^cient moral government can be sustained, 
and yet pardon extended to guilty offenders. Being justified— « 
through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus. 

Secondly. The means, or procuring cause of our justification. 
Atonement by the vicarious death and sacrificial offering of 
Christ upon the cross for the redemption of the world, is the promi- 
nent doctrine of the New Testament, and is the leading object of 
all the revelations which God has made to man. And the various 
prophecies and miracles recorded in the Scriptures have either a 
direct bearing on this subject, or they are so many authentications 
of the truth and importance of the mystery of Our redemption by 
Christ, who hath borne our sins in his own body, and suffered for 
us, the jusi for the unjust, that he might bring us to God. 

Different opinions have been adopted with respect to the suffer-* 
ings and death of Christ as a means of our justification and accept* 
ance with Grod. But the plain, unsophisticated doctrine of the 
New Testament is, that the Son of God, in the person of Jesus 
Christ, came into the world ; and, by the mysterious union of the 
Divine and human natures, was very God and very nian; the. 
one and only mediator between Grod and man. And by taking- 
lipoi4,him our nature, he became the second Adam and representa- 



16 On JmHficaHon. 

tive head ; that, < as hy the offence, of one many were made sin- 
ners ; so by the obedience of one should many be made righteous.' 
^ And being found in fashion as a man he humbled himself, and 
became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.* **He was" 
made under the law, that he might redeem Uiem that were under^ 
the curse of * the law.' By hb perfect obedience he hath magni- 
fied the law ; and by suffenng its penalty, he hath made it honor- 
able in that he was made a curse for us, tasted death for every 
man ; and hath made, by the oblation of himself once offered, a 
full, perfect, and sufficient oblation and satisfaction for the sins of 
the whole world. That it is for his sake alone, and only through 
him that God can be just, and the justifier of him that believeth. 

Redemption is the buying back with a price, or deUverance by 
a ransom paid ; as redeeming a slave from captivity, includes the 
price paid, as well as the deliverance procured ; "and it clearly 
implies one thuig being ^ven as a substitute for another. So Christ 
'^gave himself a ransom for all.' * He died for us,' that is. In our 
stead. He hath redeemed us with his own blood, and on Um was 
laid the iniquity of us all. 

The ransom price must be estimated according to the value of 
the redeemed, or the claims for injuries done. When viewed in 
relation to its immortality and eternal destiny, one human soul is of 
incalculable worth ; but it is the whole world of intelligent beings 
whose eternal destinies were at stake, and for whom the ransom 
was to be provided. This of itself gives a most exalted view of the 
price of man's redemption. 

But the most proper light in which the' atonement of Christ b to 
be viewed, is in relation to the injury done, or the offence given ; 
for he 'died for our offences, was lutiised for our inkjuities, and the 
chastisement of our peace was upon him. The offence is against 
the righteous government of God, or transgression of his holy law. 
Justice therefore demands the satisfaction, and the penalty incur- 
red is, suffering and death : henee it behoved Christ to suffer, and 
rise again from the dead. 

Two important errors are however to be guarded against. Some 
have supposed that for Christ to suffer the penalty of law, argues 
implacability in. God. To this we answer, 1. God, in his punitive 
acts, must not be considered as a party aeting from private revenge ; 
but as a governor or judge who is bound, by his own moral per- 
fections, to maintain the purity and majesty of law for the common 
good of his moral dominions. 2. He is so far from being actuated 
by revenge, that it is expressly said, that he has * no pleasure m the 
death of the wic\ced.' And that ' God so loved the world that he 
gave his only begotten Son, that whoso believeth m him might not 
perish but have everlasting life.' Others have treated the subject 
merely as a business transaction. That as Christ became bur 
security or substitute, and paid the debt which we owed to Divine 
justice, the law can have no more claim on those for whom be 



On JuOiJieatumi IT 

paid the price of his blood. Whether they have extended the 
redemption price to a part only, or to all mankind ; to some ot the 
Bins of all men, or all the sins of some men; their conclusions have 
been equally erroneous. The error chiefly lies in representing 
man as a party in the transaction, stipulating the price of bis own 
redemption either personally or by proxy : whereas it is a mani- 
festation of the righteousness of Grod, in which the sacrifice of 
Christ is a satisfaction to Divine justice, rendering it consistent 
with the rectoral government of God, to show mercy without sur- 
rendering its moral administration, and pardon the sinner that 
believeth in Jesus. It is true that such expressions are employed 
in the Scriptures, as, * Ye are bought with a pirice.' He ^ bath 
bought our pardon,' &c. But it is clear that they are used meta- 
phorically, and ought not to be pressed beyond their proper applica- 
tion ; and they are so far from lessening our moral obUgations, that 
they are used as motives to enforce our obedience, or as offering 
grounds for our pardon. But if our obligations to the law were 
cancelled, there would be no necessity for pardon; much less would 
it be required that we should ^glorify God in our bodies and our 
sjHrits which are his.' 

Again, the notion of paying the debt, and cancelling the claims 
of law, would effectually overthrow the provision for our reforma- 
tion and salvation. The redemption which is by Christ Jesus pro- 
vides for the apostate race of Adam a second state of probation, by 
which the execution of the sentence of violated law is suspended, 
and the offer of pardon is made to the penitent believer. Man is 
thereby placed under a dispensation of grace ; and the Holy Sptrit 
is given, with all. its restraining influence, to check the untoward- 
ness of our corrupt passions, and, by its gracious operations, to 
excite and persuade us to virtue and holy living. Also the accom- 
panying privileges of a Divine revelation, with all the means of 
grace, pointing us to the mercy seat, or ^propitiatoiy sacrifice of the 
Son c^ God. Above all, such a dischaige from the obligation of 
all law, would render the mediation and intercession of Christ 
unnecessary and nugatory ; whereas the Scriptures declare him to 
be the only mediator between God and man ; that the only means 
of access to the Father is through him ; that he has * entered into 
heaven itself, to appear in the presence of God fbr us ;' and that «he 
ever liveth to make intercession for us.' Under this view of our 
redemption by Jesus Christ, an efficient moral government is held 
forth, suited to the fallen condition of man, comporting with the 
purity of moral justice, and is a most perfect manifestation of the 
love of God the Father, who delivered up his Son for us all ; and 
the benevolence of God our Saviour, who gave himself for us that 
he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a 
peculiar people, zealous of good works. 

The atonement is not represented in the Scriptures as being one 
of the means,.among many otkerty by which God could sustain his 

. 2* . 



IS On Juitifieatim. 

moml gOTemment, and yet extend pardon to the guilty ; bat it U 
ttie oti^ means. ^For there is none other name nnder heaven 
given among men whereby we must be saved ;' n^her is there 
salvation in any other. 

That it is the only means of reconciliation, may be ai^ed, 
1. From the nature and penalties of the law. All who adnut the 
moral government of God, must admit his law to be holy, just, and 
good. And as the law was given for the government of moral, 
intelligent beings, and in view of an immortal existence, it must be 
enforced by the highest possible motives to obedience. Their 
obedience was required, not merely by the sovereign will of God 
as having right to command, but as the result of his infimte wisdom 
and goodness, and in reference to the best interest and greatest 
happiness of his creatures. Such motives are found in the rewards 
and penalties which ^re connected with the Divine law, as it has 
been revealed to us. As the rewards offered are nnmortality and 
nevar ending feRcity, so the j>enalty, having respect to a future exist- 
ence, denounces death, spritual and eternal. It has sometimes 
been objected that finite beings cannot incur an infinite penahy ; 
therefore we do not need an infinite Saviour to effect our redemp- 
tion. But man is capable of committing sin ; and the demerit of 
sin is estimated by its general tendency, thenature of law, and the 
•authority of the Law^ver: the tendency of sin is to produce 
disorder and misery among the creatures of God : the nature of 
the law is holy, jiist, and good ; and to violate the law is to offend 
i^ainst the majesty, and to despise the authority of the Law^ver 
himself: therefore the penalty must be equid to the demands of 
infinite justice, which the Scriptures declare to be eternal death. 
This penalty must be suffered by the transgressor, or expiated by 
an infinitely meritorious sacrifice. Hence no other satisfaction 
could aveul for us but the blood of Christ, who through 'the eternal 
spirit offered himself without spot to God. 

2. Atonement by the sacrificial death of Christ is necessary, as 
the only means of rendering pardon consistent with the ri^teous 
administration of Divine government: for Grod is a being of 
infinite holiness, justice, and truth, and cannot, consistently with 
these attributes, pardon sin by mere prerogative, without relaxing- 
his clainis of obedience, and consequently encouraging dispbe^ 
dience. * He is of purer eyes than to look upon sm ;* and his 
hoUness cannot allow him to be indifferent to the sinfulness of his 
creatures, nor liis justice suffer transgression to go unpunished ; liis 
truth is engaged to support the purity of his adipimstration, and 
inflict the penalty mcurred by violation of his law. Goodness might 
have pitied, and mercy, as with a bleeding heart, might have wept 
over the miseries of a guilty race ; but justice, with even hand, 
would hold the tenor of his claim ; and there was none to deliver, 
until Infinite Wisdom, in the second person of the adorable Triuitv, 
proclaimed, * I have found a ransom.' By assimiing our nature in 



On Ju$t^ailiom. IS 



iimon widi his own Dime nature, the Son of CSod undertook the 
mysteriotts work of our redemption, and poured out his soul an 
offering for Bin ; he became the bleedbg victim upon the crofls, diat 
by his own death he might expiate our guilt, and remove the curae 
of violated law by being made a curse for us. Grod was in Christ 
reconciling the world unto himselC Incredulity may look Upon 
the sufferings of Jesus Christ, agonizing in the garden, wearing a 
erown of &oms, and expuiug on the cross to redeem a fallen 
world, and enclaim it is foolishness ! But faith, resting on a Divinely 
Authenticated revelation, proclaims it is the power of Grod-and the 
wisdom of God. ^ Though be suffered in weakness, he was raised 
with power ;' and ^for our sakes be became, poor, that we throiq;h 

s his poverty might be made rich.' Pilate, in the very act of pro- 
nouncii^ sentence of death on Jesus Christ, declared, him to be 
innocent And the centurion, charged with the execution of the 
sentence, standing over agiunst the place where he was crucified, 
when he saw the things that were done, exclaimed, ^ Truly thai was 
the Sonof 6od.' The Divinity itselT, (if I may so speak) fora moment 
concealed his face in the clouds and darkness that are about him, 
when justice and judgment are the habitations of his throne. Jesus 
cried with a loud voice, ^My God, why hast thou forsaken me? 
The Father spares not his only-begotten Bon, but delivers him up 
for us all. The Son became obedient unto death, even the death 
of the cross, that he might bare our sins in his own body on the 

. tree. In the solemn hour of this judicial proceeding, in which the 
immaculate Saviour suffers for a guilty world, the darkened sun, 
rending rocks, and convulsed nature, proclaim to an astonished 
universe the terrible majesty of the Divine law, and the inflexibility 
t>f justice in the moral government of QoA. Mercy and truth have 
met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other; 
juc^ment is broi^t forth unto victory, and mercy rejoiceth over 
judgment 

3. We 9LVgae^ that atonement by the sacrificial death of Christ is 
the only means by which pardon could be granted to the guilty, or 
by which a sinner could be justified bef(^ God : because it is the 
means which Infinite Wisdom has seen fit to employ to accomplish 
the salvation of mankind, and reconcile the world unto himself. 
It would be an impeachment of the wisdom of God, to suppose he 
had employed any excess of means eithei^ in doing or in suffering. 
If sin couM have been put away without a sacrifice, neither tbs 
wisdom nor the justice of Grod would have requu^d it Or if a 
finite sacrifice had been competent to make atonement for sin, he 
would not have given his only-begotten Son, that whosoever be- 
lieveth in him might not perish but have everlasting life. He would 
not have bruised him and put him to grieif^ and made his soul an 
ofierii^^ for sin, if we could have been redeemed by any price 
less than the precious blood of Christ We must rely oft the 
evidencesinmished in the Holy Scriptures, on the subject of atone* 



6Q On Justifieatkn. 

ment being actually made by the incarnation, sufferings, and death 
of the Soil pf Ood. All that canj)e known of a subject so exalted 
and so sublime, must be through Divine revelation ; for when in 
the wisdom of God, the world by wisdom knew not God, it was 
suitable that he should cause the light to shine out of darkness, and 
give unto man the knowledge of the glory of God, by the revelation 
of Jesus Christ. This revelation of redemption by Christ is. con* 
fe^ssedly a mystery ; but without being reauired to comprehend that 
which is incomprehensible, we are fumisned with the most ample 
attestations of its truth and Divine authority, by evidences tnat 
come within the limits of human investigation. Nor is there any, 
want of erplicitness in the Gospel revelation concerning the doc- 
trine of atonement. ^ He came to seek' and * to save that which is 
lost ;' * to save sinners ;' * to give his life a ransom for many ;' * who 
gave himself a ransom for all.' ^He died for us;' * tasted death 
for every man ;' * bore our sins ;' and ' b the propitiation for our 
sins ;' and ^suffered the just for the unjust, that he might bring us 
to God.' These, with many other passages equally plain, prove 
that his death was vicarious, and that^he offered himself a sacrifice 
to procure our pardon. The necessity of an atoning sacrifice to 
put away sin is also witnessed by the legal dispensation in^ the 
sacrificial service of the temple, and by the mouth of all his Pro- 
phets who have foretold these things ; for to him give all the Prophets 
witness, that through bis name whosoever believeth in him shall 
receive remission of sins. 

When we say the atonement is the only mecms by which a sinner 
can be justified before God, we wish to be understood in respect of 
the meritorious and procuring cause of our salvation, and without 
which Grod would not be just, and the justifier of him that be- 
lieveth. 

Other means, such as repentance and faith, are to be considjsred 
only as mstrumental, without which indeed we cannot receive the 
application of the atonement ; but they are necessary only as the 
instrumental, not as the procuring catise of our pardon. And their 
efficacy as such is wholly derived from the merit of Christ's death. 
If Christ had not been exalted to be a Prince and a Saviour to give 
repentance as well as remission of sins, repentance would have 
been (not to say impossible) Unavailing, and faith would have 
had no object to rely upon, no atoning merits of a Saviour to 
plead, no High Priest, and no sacrifice by which a sinner could 
receive forgiveness, or lay hold on eternal life. But now Christ is 
* set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare 
his righteousness for the remission of sms that are. past, through the 
forbearance of God.' 

Third. The condition of our justification is Faith. 

In treating of faith as the condition of man's justification, it wiH 
be necessarv to keep in view that we speak of the justification of a 
sinner who is confessedly under guilt, and already <^ondemned by 



I 



On JiisHficoHim. tl 

the law, and whose jostificatioii can only be by an act of pardon ; 
as a judiciary proceeding in which the immutable principles of 
justice are secured by the sacrifice of Christ, who sufirered tor sin ; 
as a sin offering to procure pardon for the pemtent belieyer. There- 
fore whatever is previous to pardon, must be considered as distinct 
from justification itself. Awakened desires, resolutions of amend- 
ment, and even our penitence, are only so many confessicHis of our 
sinfulness, and at most can only bring us to an affecting discovery 
of our absolute need of an atoning sacrifice to take away our sin ; 
but they cannot be trusted in as a substitute for the atonement. 
And however necessary they may be to prepare men to receive 
Christ as their only Saviour, yet it is by faith alone that we can 
receive him, and by which we rely wholly on his merits for justifi- 
cation or acceptance with Gk»d. 

That we are justified only through faith in Christ, is declared by 
our Church to be a wholesome doctrine, and very fuU of comfi>rt. 
By affirming that the tertne or candiHan of our justification is faith 
alone, we mean that without faith there is no justification : * He 
that belieVeth not is condemned already, and the wrath of God 
abideth on him.' As there is no ether name or merit by which a 
sumer can be saved but that of Jesus Christ, so there is no other 
way of receiving his merits personally applied to us but faith in his 
name. So long then as we are without tnis faith, we are strangers 
to the covenant of promise and without God ; but tiie moment we 
have this faith, we are reconciled to God by the death^ of Us Son, 
and justified freely by his graee. 

The faith of wMch we speak is not the bare consent of the 
mind to any one truth, however important, nor to all the truths of 
revelation together ; aJtbough this consent Is cer^tnly included, 
and a full persuasion of the truth is a constituent part of justifying 
faith; yet a well instructed mind may be fully persuaded, and 
yield a very cordial consent to the doctrines of Christ and the 
atonement, and still remain under the power of guilt and dominion 
of sin. The faith by which we are justified is not only a fiill and 
eordial consent of the mind to the truth of Christ, and the reality 
of his sacrificial death ; but it is a trusting in him, confiding all to 
him, and receiving him with att the heart ; our affections going 
out after him, and our whole trust being placed in nim; relying on 
the merits of his death, we embrace him as of God made unto us 
wisdom and righteousness. 

This fitith is not a dead inoperative faith ; but is an active prin^ 
ciple working by love, and purifying the heart by receiving^ and 
applying the merits of Christ as our only and aU-prevailing sacrifice 
and satisfaction for sin, by which a nnner draws near to God by a 
new and living way, is made a partaker of grace and the fellowsfaip 
of the Spirit by which he is enabled to overcome the worid and 
serve Gtod in newness of life. It is therefore a wholesome doctrine, 



33 On Justification. 

and does not make void the law, but establishes the law ; for with 
the heart, man believeth unto righteousness. . 

It is full of comfort ; for while it strips the sinner of all de|)end* 
ence on himsetf, and shows him the depth of his guilt and wretch- 
edness, it also presents to him the alUatoning merits of the crucified 
Saviour, who is able to save to the uttermost all them that come 
unto God by him ; ready and willing to save Aim, to blot out all his 
iniquities, and justify him freely by his grace. And being justified 
by faith, he has peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ 
He enjoys a consciousness of the Divine favour, an inward tran* 
quillity of soul which ejiables him to say, ' Whom have I in heaven 
but thee, 'and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.' In 
short, this faith acknowledges the penal sanctions of the Divine 
law ; relies firmly on the merits of the Saviour ; obeys the (Jospel, 
(as under law to £)hrist,) and receives comfort from the exceeding 
great and precious promises, that by them we might be partakers 
of the Divine nature. True faith unites the soul to Christ as the- 
branch is united to the vine ; and as the branch receives sap and 
nourishment from the vine, so the believer receives from Christ the 
Holy Spirit, with all its gracious influences, renewing, quickenmg, 
and strengthening the soul in all holy living. ^ As many as re- 
ceived him to them gave he power to become the sons of Grod, 
even to them that believe on his name.' By faith we receive 
Christ, and Christ received bv faith gives the power to become the 
sons of Grod ; therefore faith is the instrument, and Christ the 
meritorious cause of our pardon and reconciliation with God. 

The view we have taken of justification is difierent in its na^re, 
and distinct from what theologians term regeneration ; yet as i(y 
the order of time they cannot be separated ; for the moment God 
for Christ's sake pardons the penitent believing sinner, he also gives 
the Holy Spirit, renews him in righteousness, and begets him again 
to a lively hope in Christ Jesus. Justification is, as before stated^ 
a judiciary act, by which the relative state of a sinner is changed 
by the remission of sins Ihat are past ; whereas j*egeneration is a 
real change of heart by the renewing operations of the spirit of 
grace, through which he becomes a new creature. 

Nor is the above distinction unimportant. For in contemplating 
the economy of our redemption, it is proper and necessary that 
we distinctly understand the nature and character of the atone- 
ment, by which alone pardon can be consistent with justice and the 
moral government of God. It is not only a declaratbn of the 
righteousness of God, which might have been exhibited by the 
sovereign act of punishment without pardon ; but it is a manifesta- 
tion of the love of God, and the effect of Supreme benevolence for 
bis sinful creatures, providing for their greatest happiness^ as moral 
find intellectual beings, without lessening their moral obligations, o( 
I'elinquishtng the claims of moral justice. * GkKl commendeth hiai 
love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.' 



' On Jusiificatunu 23 

The beneyolent character of the atonement is connected with all 
the redeeming acts of grace for the reformation and salvation of 
lost sinners ; not merely in the example of disinterested devoted- 
ness with which Jesus Christ yielded to soifering and death for us ; 
nor yet by the bare offering of himself as a sacrifice to satisfy Divine 
justice ; but as procuring also a dispensation of mercy and grace ; 
preventing, enlightening, persuading, and inclining us to forsake 
sin and turn unto Grod ; and above all, obtaining for us the gift of 
the Holy Spirit to change and purify our hearts, that we may serve 
Gfod in holiness without fear all the days of our life. To pardon 
sin and leave the siniier unrenewed, would produce no reformation. 
But the Gospel system provides for the justification of the believing 

Eenitent by an act of pardon for the alone sake of Christ, in which 
e is restored to the favor of God ; and also for the future obedience 
of the believer by the renewing of the Holy Ghost, in which he 
is restored to the image of Him that created him. Hence the 
Gospel system of justification, through the redemption that is in 
Christ Jesus, has its superior excellence in the moral influence 
and exalted character of its benevolence ; which is not only to 
save the guilty from merited punishment, but to restore the rebel- 
lious sinner to a holy and submissive obedience, that he may adorn 
the doctrine of God his Saviour in all things. ^ 

Having taken this view of the subject, we shall close with the 
following reflections : 

1. Justification by an act of pardon, accompanied with grace, is 
a personal benefit by which the sinner is relea3ed from his actual 
burden of guilt ; the distress and anguish of soul under which he 
laboured and was heavy laden is taken away, and he is enabled to 
say with respect to himself, * Whereas thou wast angry with me, 
thine anger is turned away, and behold thou comfortest me.' This 
is very different from the cold speculations about a fancied right- 
eousness which a sinner claims in the perfect obedience of Christ, 
while he is himself a perfect slave to sin, or the still niore dan- 
gerous deceit of an eternal justification, existing only in the sove- 
reign will and mind of God, without any moral effect perceivable in 
our relative or real change from sin to holiness. As the pardon is 
real and personal, so the benefits accompanying our justification 
are personal and solid. For while the person possesses a lively 
sense of his acceptance with Grod, he enjoys peace of conscience 
and joy in the Holy Ghost ; and walking in the light, he has fel- 
lowship with the Father and the Son. He realizes that the yoke 
of Christ is easy and his burden is light. He is not only delivered 
from the guilt, but from the power and dominion of sin. The love 
of God is shed abroad in his heart, and he rejoices in hope of the 
glory of God. 

2. In considering the atonement made by Christ as the procuring 
cause of our salvation, it brings the pardon directly to the view of 
the trembling, desponding, and guilty conscience, not only as a 



24 On JuBHficaJiim^ 

^atbfactioii to offended justice in behalf of the sinner ; but in its 
benevolent character it pleads perstiasiyely with man to turn from 
the .evil of his ways, ana with aQ the agonies and bitter groans of 
the bleediiig, dying Saviour, asks, * Why will ye die V It does 
not leave him to the appalling thoughts of pardon merely by pre* 
rogmtive as an^ act of entire sovereignty, which, if extended to all 
would annihilate the principles of moral government with respect 
to virtue and vice ; or if limited to a few,, would lead to the awful 
suspense and gloomy uncertainty of our being numbered with the 
elect, and at the same time awaken conscious, indignant disgust 
against the partial acts of arbitrary power. But in the Gospel, 
p«Lrdon is offered freely, through the redemption that is in Christ 
Jesus ; a pardon bought with blood ; and the pardop is ui^d upon 
us with demonstrations of love and good will and with a positive 
assurance that whosoever will may come freely, and him that 
cometh he will in no wise cast out 

3. The sacrifice of Christ is set forth to be a propitiation through 
foith in his blood, for the remission of sins that are past In the 
very terms of our pardon there is a suitableness, a wonderful 
adaptation to the wants and weakness of mankind ; no previous 
works of righteousness, no goodness, no holy dispositions are required 
of the penitent sinner, to entitle him to pardon ; for to him that 
worketh not, but believeth x>n him that justifieth the ungodly, his 
Jaiih is counted to him for ijg^t^^ousness. He need not inquire 
who shall ascend into heaven, or descend into the deep ; for the 
word of faith brings the atoning sacrifice near, even to his heart, 
and presents the promise of pardon to his guilty conscience in the 
language of int^iration, ^ BeSeve in the Lord Jesus Christ and 
thou shalt be saved ;' ^ Whosoever hdieceth in him shall not perish, 
hut have everlasting life.' For God was in Christ reconciling the 
world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them. He 
is therefore invited to come by faith, with all his guilt, and receive 
remission of ^s that are past ; and with all his helplessness to trust 
in the merits of his Saviour, who. is able to save to the uttermost all 
them that come unto Grod by him. 

As fsuth, in the atonement of Christ, is connected with the moral 
precepts of the Grospel, and the purest system of morality ; so it 
presents the most powerful motives to obedience and virtue, by 
exhibiting the awful responsibilities of man to his Grod, the cer- 
tainty of a future judgment, and the realities of an eternal exist- 
ence of happiness or misery. It does not leave the motives to 
obedience to a cold philosophizing speculation ; but it ui^es the 
claims of piety and virtue by the exhibition of the cross of Christ, 
and pleads directly with the heart by the manifestation of the love of 
Crod, the benevolence of the Saviour, and the hope of eternal life. 



96 



APPLICATION OF NATURAL SCIENCE TO THE ANIMAL 

AND VEGETABLE WORLD. 

[The two following articles constitute the latter divisions of an 
Essay on the Objects, Advantages, and Measures of Bcience, which 
forms the preliminary treatise of a series of popular works oh 
literary and scientific subjects, published by the British Society 
for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. This essay was written by 
the president of the Society, — ^the present Lord Chancellor of 
England, who may be justly considered as one of the most remaik- 
able men of the present age. Though principally known among 
us as a statesman and orator, and as a lawyer at the very head 
of his profession, he has yet found time, amid his numerous other 
avocations, to acquire a most extensive knowledge of general 
science, and does ndt think it beneath him to exert the noble 
powers of his mind in diffusing the light of it by the preparation 
and circulation of plain and popular essays such as this, for the pub- 
lic good.] 

For the purpose of illustrating the advantages of philosophy, its 
tendency to enlai^e the mind, as well as to interest it agreeably, 
and aflford pure and solid gratification, a few instances may be given 
of the singular truths brought to light by the application of mathe- 
matical, mechanical, and chemical knowledge to the habits of ani- 
mals and plants ; and some examples may be added of the more 
ordinary and easy, but scarcely less interesting observations, nutde 
upon those habits, without the aid of the profounder sciences. 

We may remember the curve line which mathematicians call a 
cycloid. It is the path which any point of a circle, moving along 
a plane, and round its centre, traces in the air ; so that the nail on 
the felly of a cart wheel moves in a cycloid, as the cart goes along, 
and as the wheel itself both turns round its axle, and is carried along 
the ground. Now this curve has certain properties of a peculiar 
and very singular kind with respect to motion. One is, that if any 
body whatever moves in a cycloid l)y its own weight or swing, 
together with some other force acting upon it all the while, it will 
go through all distances o£ the same curve in exactly the same 
time ; and, accordingly, pendulums have sometimes been contrived 
to swing in such a manner, that they shall describe cycloids, or 
curves very near cycloids, and thus move in equal times, whether 
they go through a long or a short part of the same curve. Again, 
if a body is to descend from any one point to any other, not in the 
perpendicular, by means of some force acting on it together with 
tts weight, the line in which it will go the quickest of all will be " 
the cycloid ; not the straight line, though that is the shortest of all 
lines which can be drawn between the two points ; nor any other 
curve whatever, though many are much flatter, and therefore 
shorter than the cycloid — ^but the cycloid, which is longer than 

Vol. I IL— January, 1832. 3 



S6 AfpUcatiM of JfaJ^id 8€k(m 



many of them, is yet, of all curved or straight lines which can be 
drawn, the one the body will move through in the shortest time. 
Suppose, again, that the body is to move from one point to another, 
by its weight and some ouer force acting together, but to go 
through a certain space — ^as a hundred yards — ^the way it must 
take to do this, in the shortest time possible, is by moving in a 
cycloid ; or the length of a hundred yards must be drawn into a 
cycloid, and then the body will descend through the hundred yards 
in a shorter time than it could go the same distance in any other 
path whatever. Now it is believed that birds, as the eagle, which 
build in the rocks, drop or fly down from height to height in this 
course. It is impossible to make very accurate observations of 
their flight and path ; but there is a general resemblance between 
the course they take and the cycloid, which has led ingenious men 
to adopt this opinion. 

If we have a certain quantity of any substance, a pound of wood, 
for example, and would fashion it in the shape to take the least 
room, we must make a globe of it ; it will in this figure have the 
smallest surface. But suppose we want to form the pound of 
wood, so that in moving through the air or water it shall meet with 
the least possible resistance ; then we must lengthen it out for ever, 
till it becomes not only like a long-pointed pin,, but thinner and 
thinner, longer and longer, till it is quite a straight line, and has no 
perceptible breadth or thickness at all. If we would dispose of the 
given quantity of matter so that it shall have a certain length only, 
say a foot, and a certain breadth at the thickest part, say three 
inches, and move through the air or water with the smallest possi- 
ble resistance which a body of those dimensions can meet, then we 
must form it into a figure of a peculiar kind, caUed the 9oUd of 
lewt resisUmcey because of all the shapes that can be given to the 
body, its length and breadth remaining the same, this is the one 
wluch will make it move with the least resistance through the air, 
or water, or other fluid. A very difficult chain of mathematical 
reasoning, by means of the h%hest branches of algebra, leads to a 
knowledge of the curve, which by revolving on its axis makes a 
solid of mis shape, in the same way that a circle by so revolving 
makes a sphere or globe ; and the curve certainly resembles closely 
the face or head part of a fish. Nature, therefore, (by which we 
always mean the Divine Author of nature,) has fashioned these 
fishes so, that, according to mathematical principles, they swim the 
most easily through the element they live and move in. 

Suppose upon the fa^e part of one of these fishes a small insect 
were bred, endowed with faculties sufficient to reason upon its 
condition, and upon the motion of the fish it belonged to, but never 
to have discovered the whole size and shape of the face part ; 
it would certsdnly complain of the form as clumsy, and fancy &at it 
could have made the fish so as to move with less resistance. Yet 
if the -whole shape were disclosed to it» and it could discover the 



to^ the Animal and Feg^Me WorU. 27 

pitBciple on which that shape was preferred, it would at once per-^ 
ceive not only that what had seemed clumsy was skilfully contrived, 
but that if any other shape whatever had been taken, there would 
have been an error committed ; nay, that there must of necessity 
have been an error ; and that the very best possible arrangement 
had been adopted. So it may be with man in the universe, where, 
seeing only a part of the great system, he fancies there is evil ; and 
yet, if he were permitted to survey the whole, what had seemed 
imperfect might appear to be necessary for the general perfection, 
insomuch that any other arrangement, even of that seemingly im- 
perfect part, must needs have rendered the whole less perfect. The 
common objection is, th^t what seems evil might have been avoid- 
ed ; but in the case of the fish's shape it catdd not have been avoided. 

It is found by optical inquiries, that the rays or particles of light, 
in passing through transparent substances of a certain form, are 
bent to a point where they make an image or picture of the shining 
bodies they come from, or of the dark bodies they are reflected from. 
Thus, if a pair of spectacles be held between a candle and the 
wall, they make two images of the candle upon it ; and if \hej be 
held between the window and a sheet of paper when the sun is 
shiniDg, they will make a jHcture on the paper of the houses, 
trees, fields, sky, and clouds. . The eye is found to be composed of 
several natural magnifiers which make a picture on a membrane 
at th^ back of it, and from this membrane there goes a nerve to 
the brain, conveying the impression of the picture, by means of 
which we see it. Now, white light was discovered by Newton to 
consist of different coloured parts, which are differentiy bent in 
posing through transparent substances, so that the lights of different 
colours come to a point at different distances, and thus create an 
indistinct image. This was long found to make our telescopes 
imperfect, insomuch that it became necessary to make them of 
reflectors or mirrors, and not of magnifying glasses — the same dif- 
ference not being observed to affect their reflection. But another 
discovery was, about fifty years afterward, made by Mr. Dollond, 
that by combining different kinds of glass in a compound magnifier, 
the difference may be greatiy corrected ; and on this principle he 
constructed his telescopes. It is found, too, that the different 
natural magnifiers of the eye are combined upon a principle of the 
same kind. Thirty years later, a third discovery was made by Mr. 
Blair, of the greatly superior effect which combinations of different 
liquids have in <;orrecting the imperfection; and, most wonderful 
to think, when the eye is examined, we find it consists of different 
liquids, acting naturally upon the same principle which was thus 
recently found out in optics by many ingenious mechanical and 
chemical experiments. 

Again, the point to wbich any magnifier collects the light is more 
or less distant as the magnifier is smaller or rounder, so that a small 
globe of glass or any transparent substances makes a microscope. 
And (his property of light depends upon the nature of lines, and is 



38 JppScation of Jfatural SMeneo 

purely of a mathematical nature, after we hare once aacertained by 
experiment, that light is bent in a certain way when it passes througn 
transparent bodies. Now birds flying in the air, and meetii^ with 
many obstacles, as branches and leaves of trees, require to hare 
their eyes sometimes as flat as possible for protection ; but some- 
times as round as possible, that they may see the small objects, 
flies and other insects, which they are chasing through the air, and 
which they pursue with the most unerring certainty. This could 
only be accomplished by giving them a power of suddenly changing 
the form of their eyes. Accordingly there is a set of hard scales 
placed on thet)uter coat of their eye, round the place where the 
light enters ; and over these scales are drawn the muscles or fibres 
by which motion is communicated ; sa that, by acting with these 
muscles, the bird can press the scales, and squeeze the natural 
magnifier of the eye into a round shape when it wishes to follow an 
insect through the air, and can relax the scales, in order to flatten 
the eye agsun when it would see a distant object, or move safely 
through leaves and twigs. This power of altering the shape of the 
eye is possessed by birds of prey in a very remarkable degree. 
They can see the smallest objects close to them, and can yet dis- 
cern larger bodies at vast distances, as a carcass stretched upon 
the plain, or a dying fish afloat on the water. . 

A singular provision is made for kee|Hng the surface of the bird's 
eye clean, for wiping the glass of the instrument, as it were, and 
also for protecting it, wlme rapidly flying through the air and 
throi^h thickets, without hindering the sight. Birds are, for these 
purposes, furnished with a third eyelid, a fine membrane or skin, 
which is constantly moved very rapidly over the eyeball by two 
muscles placed in the back of the eye. One of the muscles ends 
in a loop, the other in a string which goes through the loop, and is 
-fixed in the comer of the membrane, to pull it backward and for- 
ward. If you wbh to draw a thing toward any place with the 
least force, you must pull directly in the line between the thing and 
the place ; but if you wish to draw it as quickly as possible, and do 
not regard the loss of force, you must pull it obliquely, by drawing 
it in two dh^ctions at once. Tie a string to a stone, and draw it 
straight toward you with one haad ; then, make a loop on another 
string, and running the first through it, draw one string in eacb 
hand, not toward you, but side ways, till both strings are stretched 
in a straight line : you will see how much swifter the stone moves 
'than it did before when pulled stn^ht forward. Now this it 
proved, by mathematical reasoning, to be the necessary conse- 
quence of forces applied obliquely : there is a loss of power, but a 
great increase of velocity. The velocity is the thing required to be 
gained in the third eyehd, and the contrivance is exactly that df 
a string and a loop, moved each by a muscle, as the two strings are 
by the hands in die case we have been supposing. 

A tibird eyelid of the same kmd is found in the horse, and called 



to the Animai and Fegetable fVarld. 29 

the haw ; it is moistened with a pulpy substance (or mucilage) to 
take hold of the dust on the eyeball, and wipe it clean off, so that 
the eye is hardly ever seen with any thing upon it, though greatly 
exposed from its size and posture. The swift motion of the haw 
b giren to it by a gristly, elastic substance, placed between the 
eyeball and the socket, and striking obliquely, so as to drive out 
the haw with great velocity over the eye,^and then let it come back 
as quickly. Ignorant persons when this haw is inflamed from cold 
and swells so as to appear, which it never does in a healthy state, 
often mistake it for an imperfection, and cut it off: so nearly does 
ignorance 'produce the same mischief as cruelty ! They might as 
well cut off the pupil of the eye, taking it for a black spot. 

If any quantity of iiatter, as a pound of wood or iron, is fash- 
ioned into a rod of a certain length, say one foot, the rod will be 
strong in proportion to its thickness ; and, if the figure is the same, 
that thickness can only be increased by making it hollow. There- 
fore, hollow rods or tubes, of the same length and quantity of matter, 
have more strength than solid ones. This is a principle so well 
understood now, that engineers make their axles and other parts of 
machinery hollow, and therefore stronger with the same weight, 
than they would be if thinner and solid. Now the bones of animals 
are all more or less hollow ; and are therefore stronger with the 
same weight and quantity of matter than they otherwise would be. 
But birds have the largest bones in-proportion to their weight; 
their bones are more hollow thism those animals which do not fly; 
and therefore they have strength without having to carry more 
weight than is absolutely necessary. Their quills derive strength 
from the same construction. They have another peculiarity to 
help their flight. No other animals have any communication be- 
tween the air vessels of their lungs and the hollow parts of their 
bodies ; but birds have ; and by this means ihey can blow out their 
bodies as we do a bladder, and thus make themselves lighter when 
they would either make their flight toward the ground slower, or 
rise more swiftly, or float more easily in the air. Fishes possess a 
power of the same kind, though not by the same means. They 
have air bladders in their bodies, and can puff them out, or press 
them closer, at pleasure : when they want to rise in the water, 
they fill out the bladder, and this lightens them. If the bladder 
breaks, the fish remains at the bottom, and can only be held up by 
the most laborious exertions of the fins and tail. Accordingly, flat 
fish, as skaits and flounders, which have no air bladders, seldom 
rise from the bottom, but are found lying on banks in the sea, or 
at the bottom of sea rivers. 

If you have a certain space, as a room, to build up with closets 
or littile cells^ all of the same size and shape, there are only three 
figures wUch will answer, and enable you to fill the room without 
losing any space between the cells ; they must either be squares, 
or figures of three equal sides, or figures of six equal sides. With 

3* 



30 Apfikaltion pf J^altwdl Sdtw:€ 

any other figures whatever, space would be lost between the celli. 
This is evidently irue upon considering the matter ; and it is proi^ 
by mathematical reasonings The six-sided ^ure is by far the 
most convenient of these three shapes, because its comers are 
flatter, and any round body placed in it has therefore more space, 
there being less room lost in the comers. Likewise, this figure is 
the strongest of the three; any pressure either from without or 
from witlun will hurt it less, as it has something of the strength of 
an arch. A round figure would be still stronger, but then room 
would be lost between the circles, whereas none at all is lost with 
the six-sided figure. Now, it is a most remarkable fact, that bu$ 
build their ceUs exactly in this shape, and thereby save both room 
and materials beyond what they could save if they built in any 
other shape whatever. They build in the very best possible shape 
for their purpose, which is to save all the room and all the wax 
they can. So far as to the shape of the walls of each cell ; but the 
roof and floor, or top and bottom, are built on equally true 'princi- 
ples. It is proved by mathematicians, that to give the greatest 
strength and save the most room, the roof and floor must be made 
of tfaoree square planes meeting in a point ; and they have farther 
proved by a demonstration belonging to the highest parts of alge- 
bra, that there is one particular angle or inclination oi those planes 
to each other where they meet, which makes a greater saving of 
materials and of work than eny bther inclination whatever could 
possibly do. Now, the bees actually make the tops and bottoms 
of their cells of three planes meeting in a point, and the inclination 
or angle at which they meet is precisely the one found out by the 
mathematicians to be the best possible for saving wax and work. 
Who would dream for an instant of the bee knowing the highest 
branches of mathematics — the fmits of Newton*s most wonderful^ 
discovery — a result, too, of which he was himself ignorant, one of his 
most celebrated followers having found it out T This little insect 
works with a troth and correctness which are quite perfect, and 
accorcUng to the principles at which man has only arrived, after 
ages of slow improvement in the most difficult branch of the most 
difficult science. But the mighty and all wise Creator, who made 
the insect and llie philosopher, bestowing reason on the latter, and 
giving the former to work without it — ^to Him all troths are loiown 
from all etenuty, with an intuition that mocks even the conceptions m 
of the sages of human kind. 

It may be recollected, that when the air is exhausted or sucked 
out of any vessel, there is no longer the force necessary to resist 
the pressure of the air on the outside ; and the sides of the vessel 
are therefore pressed inward with violence : a flat glass would thus 
be broken, unless it were very thick ; a round one, having the 
strength of an arch, would resist better ; but any soft substence, as 
leather or skin, would be croshed or squeezed together at dnee. , 
If the air was only sucked out slowly, the squeezing would be gra* 



to the Animal md Veg^aHe W&tld. SI 

dual, or, if it were only half sucked out, the sldn would only be partly 
squeezed together. This is the very process by which bees reach 
the fine dust and juices of hollow jlowers, like the honeysuckle^ 
and some kinds of long fox-gloye, which are too narrow for them 
to enter. They fill up the mouth of the flower with their bodies^ 
and suck out the air, or at least a lai^e part of it ; this makes the 
soft sides of the flower close, and squeezes the dust and juice 
toward the insect as well as a hand could do, if applied to the 
outside. 

We may remember this pressure or weight of the atmosphere as 
shown by the barometer, the sucking putnp and the air pump. Its 
weight is near 15 poundis on every square mch, so that u we could 
entirely squeeze out the air between our two hands, they would 
cling together with a force equal to the pressure of double this 
weight, because the air would press upon both hands ; and if we 
could contrive to suck or squeeze out the air between one hand 
and the wall, the hand would stick fast to the wall, being pressed 
on it with the weight of above two hundred weight, that is, near 
15 pounds on every square inchof the hand. Now, by a late most 
curious discovery of Sir Everard Home, the distinguished anatomist, 
it is found that this is the very process by which JUe$ and other 
insects of a similar description are enabled to walk up perpendicQ* 
lar surfaces, however smooth, as the sides of walls and panes of 
glass in windows, and to walk as easily along the ceiling of a room 
with their bodies downward and their feet over head. Their feet, 
when examined by a microscope, are found to have flat skins or 
flaps, like the feet of web-footed animals, as ducks and geese ; and 
they have toward the back part or heel, but inade the dan or flap, 
two very small toes so connected with the flap as to draw it close 
down upon the glass or wall the fly walks on, and to squeeze out 
the air completely, so that there is a vacuum made between the 
foot and the glass or trail. The^ consequence of this is, that the 
air presses the foot on the wall with a very considerable force com- 
pared to the weight of the fly ; for if its feet are to its body in the 
same proportion as ours are to our bodies, since we could support 
by a single hand on the ceiling of th^ room (provided it made a 
vacuum) more than our whole weight, namely, a weight of fifteen 
stone, the fly can easily move on four feet in the same manner by 
help of the vacuum made under its feet It has likewise been found 
that some of the larger sea ammals are by the same construction, 
only upon a greater scale, enabled to climb the perpendicular and 
smooth surfaces of the ice hills among which they live. Some 
kinds of lizard have the same power of climbing, and of creeping 
with their bodies downward along the ceiling of a room ; and the 
means by which they are enabled to do so are the same. In the 
large feet of these animals, the contrivance is eaaly observed^ of the 
two toes or tightners, by which the skm of the foot is {wmed dowtk, 
and the air excluded in the act of walkii^ or climbii^^ ; butitisttie 



32 JfypUcaHan of Jfahtrdl ScUnee 

.r 

Teiy same,' only upon a lai^r «cale, with the meehanism of a fl/t 
or a butterfly's foot ; and both operations, the climbing of the sea« 
horse on the ice, and the creeping of the fly on the window or the 
ceiling, are performed exactly by the same power, the weight of the 
atmosphere, which causes the quicksilver to stand in the weather 
glass, the wind to whistle through a key hole, and the piston to 
descend in a steam engine. 

Although philosophers are not agreed as to the peculiar actions 
wUch light exerts upon vegetation, and there is even some doubt 
respecting the decomposition of arr and water during that process, 
one thing is undeniable, the necessity of light to the growth and 
health of plants ; and accordingly (hey are for the most part so 
formed as to receive it at all times when it shines on them. Their 
cups, and the little assemblages of their leaves before they sprout, 
are found to be more or less affected by the light, so as to open and 
receive it. In several kinds of plants this is more evident than in 
others ; their flowers close entirely at night, and open in the day. 
Some constantly turn round toward the light, following the sun, as 
it were, while he makes or seems to make his revolution, so that 
they receive the greatest quantity possible of his rays. Thus clover 
' in a field follows the apparent course of the sun. But all leaves of 
plants turn to the sun, place them how you will, light being essen- 
tial to their thriving. 

The lightness of. inflammable gas is well known. IVhen blad- 
ders, of any size, are filled with it, they rise upward, and float in 
the air. Now, it is a most curious fact, ascertained by Mr. Knight, 
that the fine dust, by means of which plants are impregnated one 
from another, is composed of very small globules, filled with this 
gas— nn a word, of small air balloons. These globules thus float 
from the male plant through the air, and striking against the females, 
are detsdned by a glue prepared on purpose to stop them, which no 
sooner moistens the globules thaif they explode, and their substance 
remains, the gas flying ofi" which enabled them to float. A pro- 
vision of a very simple kind is also, in some cases, made to prevent 
the male and female blossoms of the same plant from breeding 
together, this being found to hurt the breed of vegetables, just as 
breeding in and in does the breed of animals. It is contrived diat 
the dust shall be shed by the male blossom before the female is 
ready to be aflected by it, so that the impregnation must be perr 
formed by the dust of some other plant, and in this way the breed 
be crossed. The l^ht gas with which the globules are filled is 
most essential to this operation, as it conveys them to great dis- 
tances. A plantation of yew trees has been known, in this way, 
to impregnate another several hundred yards ofil 

The contrivance by which some creeper plants are enabled to 
climb walls, and fix themselves, deserves attention. The Virginia 
creeper has a small tendril, ending in a claw; each toe of which has 
a knob, thickly set with extremely small bristles ; they grow into 



to the tdfttmai and VegekMe World. SS 

tiie invinble pores of the wall» aiid> swelling stick there as long as^ 
the {riant grows, and prevent the branch from falling ; but when 
the plant dies, they become thin again, and drop out, so Aiat the 
branch falls down. The Vanilla {riant of the West Indies climbs 
round trees likewise by means of tendrils ; but when it has fixed 
itself, the tendrils drop off, and leaves are formed. 

It is found by chemical experiments, that the juice which is in 
the stomachs of animals, (called the gastric juice, from a Greek 
word signifying the belly 9) has very peculiar properties. Though 
it is for the most part a tasteless, clear, and seemingly a very sim* 
pie liquor, it nevertheless possesses extraordinary powers of dissolv* 
ing substances which it touches or mixes with ; and it varies in 
different classes of animals. In one particular it is the same in all 
animals : it will not attack living matter, but only dead ; the con- 
^quence of which is, that its powers of eating away and dissolvii^ 
are perfectly safe to the animals themselves, in whose stomachs it 
remains without ever hurting them. This juice differs in different 
animals according to the food on which they subsist : thus, in birds 
of prey, as kites, hawks, owls, it only acts upon animal matter, and 
does not dissolve vegetables. In other birds, and in all animals 
feeding on grass, as oxen, sheep, hares, it dissolves vegetable mat* 
ter, as grass, but will not touch flesh of any kind. This has been 
ascertained by making them swallow balls with meat in them, and 
several holes drilled through, to let the gastric juice reach the meat: 
no effect was produced upon it We may farther observe, that 
there is a most curious and beautiful correspondence between this 
juice in the stomach of different animals and the other parts of their 
bodies, connected with the important operations ot eating^ and 
digesting their food. The use of the iuice b plainly to convert 
what they eat into a fluid, from which, by various other processes, 
all their parts, blood, bones, muscles, &c, are afterward formed. 
But the food is first of all to be obtained, and then prepared by 
bruising, for the action of the juice. Now birds of prey have in* 
struments, their claws and beak, for tearing and devourii^ their 
food, (that is animals of different kinds,) but those instruments are 
useless for picking up and crushing seeds : accordingly, they have 
a gastric juice which dissolves the animals they eat ; while biids 
which have only a beak fit for pecking, drinking, and eating seeds, 
have a juice that dissolves seeds, and not flesh. Nay more, it is 
found that the seeds must be bruised before the juice will dissolve 
them : this you find by trying the experiment 4n a vessel with the 
juice ; and accordingly the birds have a gizzard, and animals which 
graze have flat teeth, which grind and bruise their food before the 
gastric juice is to act upon it. ' 

We have seen how wonderfully the bee works, according to rules 
discovered by man thousands of years after the insect had followed 
them with perfect accuracy. The same little animal seems to be 
acquainted with principles of wluch we are still ignorant. We can. 



S4 ' JfypUeathn of Jfaiural Scimee 

by croflfliiig, vary the forms of eattle with astonishing nicety ; but 
we hare no means of altering the nature of an animal once bom, 
by means of treatment and feeding. This power, however, is 
undeniably possessed by the bees. When the queen bee is lost, by 
death or otherwise, they choose a grub from among those which 
are bom for workers ; they make three cells into one, and placing 
the grub there, they build a tube round it ; they afterward build 
another cell of a pyramidal form, into which the grub grows : they 
feed it with peculiar food, and tend it with extreme care. It be- 
comes, when transformed from the worm to the fly, not a worker, 
but a queen bee. 

These singular insects resemble our own species, in one of our 
worst propensities, the disposition to war ; but their attention to 
their sovereign is equally extraordinary, though of a somewhat 
capricious kind. In a few houts after their queen is lost, the whole 
hive is in a state of confusion. A singular humming is heard, and 
the bees are seen moving all over the surface of the combs with 
greieit rapidity. The news spread quickly, and when the queen is 
restored, quiet immediately succeeds. But if another queen is put 
upon them, they instantly discover the trick, and, surrounding her, 
they either suffocate or starve her to death. This happens if the 
&lse queen is introduced within a few hours after the first is lost or 
removed ; but if twenty-four hours have elapsed, they will receive 
any queen, and obey her. 

The labours and the policy of the ants are, when closely examin- 
ed^ still more wonderful, perhaps, than those of the bee. Their 
nest is a city consisting of dwelling places, halls, streets, and squares, 
into which the streets open. The food they principally like is the 
honey which comes from another insect found in their neighbour- 
hood, and which they, generally speaking, bring home from day to 
day as they want it. Later discoveries have shown that they do 
not eat grain, but live almost entirely on animal food and this honey. 
Some kinds of ant have the foresight to bring home the insects on 
whose honey they feed, and keep. them in particular cells, where 
they guard them to prevent their escaping, and feed them with 
proper vegetable matter which they do not eat themselves. Nay, 
they obtain the eggs of those insects, and superintend their hatch- 
ing, and then rear the young insect until he becomes capable of 
supplying the desired honey. They somcrtimes remove them to the 
strongest parts of their nest, where there are cells apparently forti- 
fied for protecting them from invasion. In those cells the insects 
are kept to supply the wants of the whole ants which compose the 
population of the city. It is a most singular circumstance in the 
economy of nature, that the degree of cold at which the ant be- 
comes torpid is also that at wUch this insect falls into the same 
state. It is considerably below the freezing point ; so that they 
require food the greater part of the winter, and if the insects on 
winch tfiey depend for food were not kept alive during the cold in 



J 



U> the JhUmal and VegeUMe World. $6 

which the ants can move about, the latter would be without the 
means of subsistence. 

How trifling soever this little animal may appear in our climate, 
there are few more formidable creatures than the ant of some 
tropical countries. A traveller who lately filled a high station in 
the French government, Mr. Malouet, has described one of their 
cities, and, were not the account confirmed by various testimonies, 
it might seem exaggerated. He observed at a great distance what 
seemed a lofty structure, and was informed by his guide that it 
consisted of an ant hill, which could not be ap]Mroached without 
danger of being devoured. Its height waff from 15 to 20 (eet^ and 
its base 30 or 40 feet square. Its sides inclined like the lower part 
of a pyramid, the point being cut off. He was informed that it 
became necessary to destroy these nests, by raising a sufficient 
force to dig a trench all round, and fill it with faggots, which were 
afterward set on fire ; and then battering with cannon from a dis- 
tance, to drive the insects out and make them run into the flames. 
This was in South America ; and African travellers have met with 
them in the same formidable numbers and strength. 

The older writers of books upon the habits of some animals 
abound with stories which may be of doubtful credit. But the facts 
now stated respecting the ant and bee, may be relied on as authen- 
tic. They are the result of very late observations, and experiments 
made with great accuracy by several most worthy and intelligent 
men, and the greater part of them have the confirmation arising 
from more than one observer having assisted in the inquiries. Tlie 
habits ofoeavera are equally well authenticated, and, being more 
easily observed, are vouched by a greater number of witnessesv 
These animals, as if to enable them to live and move either on land 
or water, have two web feet like those of ducks or water dogs, and 
two like those of land animals. When they wish to construct a 
dwelling place, or rather city, for it serves the whole body, they 
choose a level place with a stream running through it ; they dam 
up the stream so as to make a pond, and perform the operatk)n as 
skilfully as we could ourselves. They drive into the ground stakes 
of five or six feet long in rows, wattling each row with twigs, and 
puddling or filling the interstices with clay which they ram close 
m, so as to make the whole solid and water-tight. This dam is 
likewise shaped on the truest principles ;^ for the upper side next 

* K the base is 12, and the top 3 feet thick, and the height 6 feet, the face must 
be the side of a right-aneled triangle, whose height is 8 feet. This would be th« 
exact proportion which (here ought to be, upon mathematical principles^ to gire th« 
gireatest resistance possible to the water in its tendency to turn the dam round, pro- 
Tided the materials of which it is made were lighter tiian water in the proportion of 
44 to 100. But Uie materials are pnrobablj more than twice as heavy as water, and 
the form of so flat a dike is taken, in all likelihood, in order to ^uard against a mora 
imminent danger — that of the dam being carried away by being shoved forwaidp 
We cannot calculate what the proportions are which give the greatest possible 
resistance to this tendency, without knowing the tenacity of the materials, as weU 
as their specific gravity. It may very proMibly be found that the construction is 
such as to secure the most completely against the two pressures at the same time. 



W JfyptkoHmi rf Jfatwral Seienci 

Ihe water slopes, and the side below is perpendicular ; the base of 
the dam is 10 or 1 2 feet thick : the top or narrow part two or three, 
and it is sometimes as long as 100 feet. The pond being thus 
formed and secured, they make their houses round the edge of it ; 
they are cells, widi vaulted roofs, and upon piles : they are made 
of stones, earth, and sticks ; the walls are two feet thick, and plas- 
tered as neatly as if the trowel had been used. Sometimes they 
have two or three stories for retreating to in case of floods, and 
they always have two doors, one toward the water, and one toward 
the land. They keep their winter provisions in stores, and bring 
them out to use ; they make their beds of moss ; they live on tbe 
bark of trees, gums, and crawfish. Each house holds from twenty 
to thirty, and there may be from ten to twenty-five houses in all. 
Some of their communities are therefore lai^r than others, but 
there are seldom fewer than two or three hundred inhabitants. In 
working they all bear their shares: some gnaw the trees and" 
branches with their teeth to form stakes and beams ; others roH 
the pieces to the water ; others diving make holes with their teeth 
to place the piles in ; others collect and carry stones and clay ; 
others beat and mix the mortar ; and others carry it oh their broad 
tails, and with these beat it and plaster it Some superintend the 
rest, and make signals by sharp strokes with the tail, which are 
carefully attended to ; the beavers hastening to the place where 
they are wanted to work, or to repair any hole made by the^ water, 
or to defend themselves or make their escape, when attacked by 
an enemy. 4 

The fitness of different animals, by their bodily structure, to the 
circumstances m which they are found, presents an endless subject 
of curious inquiry and pleasing contemplation. Thus, the camel 
which lives in sandy deserts has broad spreading hoofs to support 
him on the loose soil ; and an apparatus in his body by which water 
is kept for many days, to be used when no moisture can be had; 
As this would be useless in the neighbourhood of streams or wells, 
and as it would be equally so in the desert, where no water is to be 
found, there can be no doubt that it is intended to assist in jour^ 
neying across the sands from one watered spot to another. There 
is a singular and beautiful provision made in this animal's foot, for 
enabling it to sustain the fatigues of journeys under the pressure of 
its great weight. Beside the yielding of the bones and ligament^ 
or bindings, which gives elasticity to the foot of the deer and other 
animals, tibere is in the camel's foot, between the homy sole and 
the bones, a cushion, like a ball, of soft matter, almost fluid, but in 
which there is a mass of threads extremely elastic, interwoven with 
the pulpy substance. The cushion thus easily changes its shape 
when pressed, yet it has such an elastic spring, that the hones of 
the foot press on it uninjured by the heavy body which they sup- 
port, ana this huge animal steps as softly as a cat 

Nor need we flee to the desert in order to witness an example of 



to the .Sninial and Vegetable tVcrld. S7 

skilful structure in the foot : the harse^s Iknbs display it strikingly. 
The bones of the foot are not placed directly under the weight ; if 
t})ey were in an upright position, they would make a firm pillar, 
and every motion would cause a shock. They are placed slanting 
or oblique, and tied together by an elastic binding on th^ir lower 
surfaces, so as'to form springs -as exact as those which we make of 
leather or steel for carriages. Then the flatness of the hoof which 
stretches out on each side, and the frog coming down in the middle 
between the quarters, adds greatly to the elasticity of the machine. 
Ignorant of this, ill-informed farriers nail the shoe too far back, 
fixing the quarters, and causing permanent contraction — so that 
the contracted hoof loses its elasticity ^ every step is a shock ; in~ 
flammation and lameness ensue. 

The rein-deer inhabits a country covered with snow the greater 
part of the year. Observe how admirably its hoof is formed for 
going ovei^ that cold and light substance, without sinking in it, or 
being frozen. The under side is covered entirely with hair, of a 
warm and close texture ; and the .hoof, altogether, is very broad, 
acting exactly like the snow -shoes which men have constructed for 
giving them a larger space to stand on than their feet, and thus to 
avoid sinldng. Moreover, the deer spreads the hoof as wide as 
possible when it touches the ground ; but, as this breadth would be 
inconvenient in the air, by occasioning a greater resistance while 
he is moving along, no sooner does he lift the hoof than the two 
parts into which it is cloven fall together, and so lessen the surface 
exposed to the air, just as -we may recollect the birds doing with 
their bodies and wings. The shape and structure of the hoof is 
also well adapted to scrape away the snow, and enable the animal 
to get at the particular kind of moss (or lichen) on which he feeds. 
This {^lant, unlike others, is in its full growth during the winter 
season ; and the J'ein-deer, accordingly, thrives from its abundance, 
notwithstanding the unfavorable effects of extreme cold upon the 
animal system. 

There are some insects, of which the males have wings, and the 
females are grubs or worms. Of these, the ghno^worm is the most 
remarkable : it is the female, and the male is a fly, which would be 
unable to find her out, creeping, as she does, in the dark lanes, but 
for the shining light which she gives, to attract him. 

There is a singular fish found in the Mediterranean, called the 
nautUuSy from its skill in nav^ation. The back of its shell resem- 
bles the hulk of a ship ; on this it thrown itself, and spreads a thin 
membrane to serve for a sail, paddling itself on with its feet aa oars. 

The ostrich lays and hatches her eggs in the sands ; her form 
being ill adapted to that process, she has a natural oven furnished 
by thie sand, and the strong heat of the sun. The cuckoo is known to 
build no nest for herself, but to lay in the nests of other birds ; but 
late observations show that she does not lay indiscriminately in the 
nests of all birds ; she only chooses the nests of those which have 

Vol. III.— January, 1832. 4 



S8 Jlpplicalion of ^utund SiAen^ce^ ^e. 

bills of the same kind with herself, and therefore feed on the same 
kind of food. The duck^ and other birds breeding in muddy places, 
have a peculiar formation of the bill : it is both made so as to act 
like a strainer, separating the finer, from the grosser parts of the 
liquid, and it is more furnished with nerves near the point than the 
bills of birds which feed on substances exposed to the light ; so that 
it serves better to grope in the dark stream for food, being more 
sensitive. The bill of the snipe is covered with a curious net work 
of nerves for the same purpose ; but a bird, (the toucan or egg' 
sucker,) which chiefly feeds on the eggs found in birds' nests, and 
in countries where these are very deep and dark, has the most 
singular provisiofi of this kind. Its bill is very broad and long ; 
when examined, it is completely covered with branches of nerves 
in all directions ; so that, by groping in a deep and dark nest, it 
can feel its way as accurately as the finest and most delicate finger 
eould. Almost all^ kinds of birds build their nests of materials 
found where they inhabit, or use the nests of other birds \ but the 
swallow of Java lives in rocky caverns cm the sea, where there are 
no materials at all for the purpose of building. It is therefore so 
formed as to secrete-in its body a kind of sliitie with which it makes 
a nest, much prized as a delicate food in eastern countries. 

Plants, in many remarkable instances, are provided for by 
equally wonderful and skilful contrivances. There is one, the mu^ei- 
pulajfly-trapy or fly-catcher^ which has small prickles in the inside of 
two leaves, or half leaves, joined by a hinge ; a juice or syrup is pro- 
vided on their inner surface, and acts as a bait to allure fUes. There 
are several small spines or prickles standing upright in this syrup, 
and upon the only part of. each leaf that is sensitive to the touch. 
When the fly therefore settles upon this part, its touching as it were 
the spring of the trap occasions the leaves to shut and kill and 
squeeze the insect ; so that its juices and the air arising from their 
rotting serve as food to the plant. 

In the West Indies, and other hot countries, where rain some- 
times does not fall for a great length of time, a kind of plant called 
the wUd-pine grows upon the branches of the trees, and also on the 
bark of the trunk. It has hollow or bag-like leaves so formed as 
to mak^ little reservoirs of water, the rain falling into them through 
channels which close at the top when full, to prevent it from evapo- 
rating. The seed of this useful plant has small floating threads, by 
which, when carried through the air, it catches any tree m the 
way, and falls on it and grows. Wherever it takes root, though on 
the under side of a bough, it grows straight upwards, otherwise the 
leaves would not bold water. It holds in one leaf froni a pint to a 
quart ; and although it must be of great use to the trees it grows 
on, to birds and other animals its use is even greater. Another 
tree, called the waier^wUh, in Jamaica, has similar uses ;' it is like 
a vine in size aJid shape, but growing in very parched districts, is 
yet so full of clear sap or water, that on cutting a piece two or 



Mvantages and Pleasures of Science, 39 

three yards long^ and merely holding it to the mouth, a plentiful 
draught is obtained In the East there is a plant somewhat of the 
same kind, called the bejuco^ whichgrows near other trees and twines 
round them, with its end hanging downwards, but so full of juice, 
that on cutting it, a plentiful stream of water spouts from it ; and 
this, not only by its touching the tree so closely must refresh it, but 
is a supply to animals, and to the weary herdsman on the moimtains. 



ADVANTAGES AND PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 

[See the introduction to the preckling article.] 

After the many instances or samples which have now been given 
of the nature and objecta of natural science, we might proceed to 
a different field, and describe in the same way the other grand 
branch of human knowledge, that which teaches the properties or 
habits otmind — the nUelkciml facuhks of man ; that is to say, the 
powers of his understanding, by 'which he perceives, imagoes, 
remembers, and reasons; — ^his moral faadtiesy that b to say, the 
feelings and passions which influence him ; — and, lastly, as a con- 
clusion or result drawn from the whole, hb duUes both toward him- 
self as an individual, and toward others as a member of society ; 
which last head opens to our view^he whole doctrines of poUtical 
science^ including the nature of governments, of policy, imd gene- 
rally of laws. But we shall abstain at present from entering at all 
upon this field, and shall now take up the subject, more particu- 
larly pointed at through the course of the preceding observations, 
and to Qlustrate which they have been framed, namely,: — ^the use 
and importance of scientific-studies. 

Man is composed of two parts, body and mmd, connected indeed 
together, but wholly different from one another. The nature of 
the union — ^the part of our outward and visible frame in which it is 
peculiarly formed— or whether the soul be indeed connected with 
any particular portion of the body, so as to reside there — ^are points 
as yet wholly hid from our knowledge, and which are likely to 
remain for ever concealed. But this we know, as certainly as we 
can know any truth, that there is such a thing as the mind/; and 
that we have at the least as good proof of its eidstence, independ- 
ent of the body, as we have of the existence of the body itself. 
Each has its uses, and each has its peculiar gratifications. The 
bounty of Providence has given us outward senses to be employed, 
and has furnished the means of gratifying them in various kinds, 
and in ample measure. As long as we only taste those pleasures 
according to the rules of prudence and. of our duty, that is, in 
moderation for our own sakes, and in harmlessness toward our 
neighbours, we fulfil rather than thwaH the purposes of our being. 
But the same bountiful Providence has endowea us with the higher 
nature also — with understandings as well as with senses — with 



40 Advantages and Pleaswres of Science. • 

faculties that are of a more exalted nature, and admit of mofie 
refined enjoyments, than any the bodily frame can bestow ; and 
by pursuing such gratifications rather than those of mere sense, 
we fulfil the highest ends of our creation, and obtain both a present 
and a future reward. These things are often said, but they are 
not therefore the less true, or the less worthy of deep attention. 
Let us mark their practical application to the occupations and en* 
joyments of all branches of society, beginning with those who form 
the great bulk of every community, the working classes, by what 
names soever their vocations may be called— professions, arts, 
trades, handicrafts, or common labour. 

The first olrject of every man who has to depend upon his own 
exertions must needs be to provide for his daily wants. This is a 
high and important office ; it deserves his utmost attention ; it in- 
cludes some of his most important duties, both to himself, his kin- 
dred, and his country ; and although in performing this office he is 
only influenced by his own interest, or by his necessities, yet it is 
one which renders him truly the best benefactor of the community 
to which he belongs. All other pursuits must ^vcway to thig ; the 
hours which he ^ves to learning must be after he has done his 
work ; his independence, without which he is not worthy to be 
called a man, requires first of all that he should have ensured for 
. himself, and those dependent on him, a comfortable subsistence 
before he can have a right to taste any indulgence, either of his 
senses or of his mind ; and tiie more he learns — the greater pro-* 
gress he makes in the sciences — ^the more will he value that inde- 
pehdence, and the more wiD he prize the industry, the habits of 
regular labour, whereby he is enabled to secure so prime a blessmg. 

In one view, it is true, the progress which he makes in science ^ 
may help his ordinary exertions, the main business of every man's 
life. There is hardly any trade or occupation in which useful 
lessons may not be learnt by studying one science or another. The 
necessity of science to the more liberal professions is self-evident ; 
little less manifest is the use to their members of extending their 
knowledge beyond tne branches of study, with which their several 
pursuits are more peculiarly conversant. But the other departments 
of industry derive hardly less benefit from the same source. To 
how many kinds of workmen must a knowledge of mechanical 
philosophy prove useftll ! To how many others does chemistry 
prove almost necessary ! Every one must with a glance perceive 
that to engineers, watch-makers, instrument-makers, bleachers, 
and dyers, those sciences are most useful, if not necessary. But 
cairpenters and masons are surely likely to do their work better for 
knowing how to measure, which practical mathematics teaches'them, 
and how to estimate the strength of -timber, of walls, and of arches, 
which they learn from practical mechanics ; and they who work in 
various metals are certain to be the more skilful in their trades for 
knowing the nature of those substances, and their relations to both 



MvtMages and Pkasurts oj Sdenee. 41 

heat and other metals, and to the ms and liquids they come in 
contact with. Nay, the farm servant, or day labourer^ whether in 
his mastet's employ, or tending the concerns of his own cottage, 
must derive great practical benefit, — must be both a better servant^ 
and a more thrifty, and therefore comfortable, cottager, for know- 
ing something of the nature of soils and manures, which chemistry 
teaches, and somethmg of the haUts of animals, and, the qualities 
and growth of plants, v^hich he learns from natural history and 
chemistry together. In truths though a man be neither mechanic 
nor peasant, but only one having a pot to boil, he is sure to learn 
from science lessons which. will enable him to cook his morsel bet- 
ter, save his fuel, and both vary his dish and Improve it. The art 
of good and cheap cookery is intimately connected with the prin- 
ciples of chemical philosophy, and has received much, and will yet 
receive more, improvement from their application. Nor is it 
enough to say, that philosophers may discover all that is wanted, 
and may invent practical methods, which it is sufficient for the 
working man to learn by rote without knowing the principles. He 
never will work so well if he is ignorant of the principles ; and for 
a plain reason : — if he only learn his lesson by rote, the least change 
of circumstances puts him out Be the method ever so general, 
cases will always arise in which it must be varied in order to apply ; 
and if the workman only knows the rule without knowing the rea- 
son, he must be at fault the moment he is required to make any 
new application of it. This, then, is the first use of learning the 

!)rinciples of science : it makes men more skilful, expert, and use- 
ul in the particular kinds of work by which they are to earn their 
bread, and by which they are to make it go far and taste well when 
earned. 

But another use of suchlcnowledge to handicraftsmen and com- 
mon labourers is equally obvious : it gives every man a chance, 
according to his natural talents, of becoming an improver of the 
art he works at, and even a discoverer in the sciences connected 
with it. He is daily handling the tools and materials with which 
new experiments are to be made ; and daily witnessing the opera- 
tions of nature, whether in the motions and pressures of bodies, or 
in their chemical actions on -each other. . All opportunities of 
making experiments must be unimproved, all appearances must 
pass unobserved, if he has no knowledge of the principles ; but 
with this knowledge he is more likely than another person to strike * 
out something new which may be useful in art, or curious or inte- 
riesting in science. Very few great discoveries have been made by 
chance and by ignorant persons— ^-much fewer than is generally 
supposed. It is commonly told of the steam engine that an idle 
boy being employed to stop and open a valve, saw that he could 
save himself the trouble of attending and watching it, by fixing a 
plug upon a part of the machine which came to the place at the 
proper times, in consequence of the general movement. This is 

4* 



4S Mvmtages and Plea$ure9 of Science. 

possible no doubt ; though nothing very certain is known re- 
specting the origin of the story ; but improvements of any 
value are very seldom indeed so easily found out, and hardly 
another inl^tance can be named of important discoveries so 
purely accidental. They are generally made by persons of 
competent knowledge, and who are in search of them. The 
improvements of the steam engine by ^att, resulted from 
the most learned investigation of mathematical, mechanical, 
and chemical truths. Arkwright devoted many years, five at 
the least, to his invention of spinning jennies, aiid he was a 
man perfectly conversant in every thing that relates to the 
construction of machinery: hehad minutely examined it, and 
knew the effects of each part, though he had not received any 
thing like a scientific education. If he had, we should in all 
probability have been indebted to him for scientific discoveries 
as well as practical improvements. The most beautiful and 
useful invention of late times, the safety lamp, was the reward 
of a series of philosophical experiments made by one tho- 
roughly skilled in every branch of chemical science. The 
new process of refining sugar, by which more nioney has 
been made in a shorter time, and with les& risk and trouble, 
than was ever perhaps gained from an invention, was dis- 
covered by a most accomplished chemist,* and was the fruit 
of a long course of experiments, in the progress of which, 
known philosophical principles were constantly applied, and 
one or two new principles ascertained. But in so far as 
chance has any thmg to do with discovery, surely it is worth 
the while of those who are constantly working m particular 
employments to obtain the knowledge required, because their 
chances are greater than other people's of so applying that 
knowle^e as to hit upon new and useful ideas: they are 
always in the way of perceiving what is wanting, or what is 
amiss in the old methods ; and they have a better chance of 
making the improvements. In a word, to use a common ex- 
pression, they are in the way of good luck ; and if they possess 
the requisite information, they can take advantage of it when 
it comes to them. This, then, is the second great use of 
learning the sciences : it enables men to make improvements ^ 
*in the arts,, and discoveries in' philosophy, which may directly 
benefit themselves and mankind. 

Now, these are the practical advantages of learning ; but 
the third benefit is, when rightly considered, just as practical 
as the other two — ^the pleasure derived from mere knowledge, 
without any view to our own bodily enjoyments ; and this 
applies to all classes, the idle as well as the industrious, if, in- 
deed, it be not peculiarly applicable to those who have the 

* Edward Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk. 



MiHfntages and Pkaxvaru of Sckfkee. i$ 

inestimable blessing of time at their command. Every man 
is by nature endowed with the power of gaining knowledge, 
and the taste for it : the capacity to be pleased with it forma 
equally a part of the natural constitution of his mind. It is 
his own faulty or the fault of his education, if he derives no 
gratification from it. There is a satisfaction in knowing what 
others know-— in not being more ignorant than those we live 
with: there is a satisfaction in knowing what others do not 
know — in being more informed than they are. But this is quite 
independent of the pure pleasure of knowledge — of gratifymg 
a curiosity implanted in us by Providence, to lead us toward the 
better understanding of the universe in which our lot is cast, 
and the nature wherewithal we are clothed. That every man 
is capable of being delighted with extending his information 
upon matters of science will be evident from a few plain con« 
siderations. 

Reflect how many parts of the reading, even of persons 
Ignorant of all sciences, refer to matters wholly unconnected 
with any interest or advantage to be derived from the know- 
ledge acquired. Every one is amused with reading a story : 
a romance may please some, and a fairy tale may entertain 
others ; but no benefit beyond the amusement is derived from 
this source : the imagination is gratified ; and we willingly 
spend a good deal of time and a little money in this gratifica- 
tion, rather than in rest after fatigue, or in any other bodily 
indulgence. So we read a newspaper, without any view to 
the advantage we are to gain from learning the news, but 
because it interests and amuses us to know what is passing. 
One object, no doubt, is to become acquainted with matters 
relating to the welfare of the country ; but we read the occur- 
rences which do little or not at all regard the public interests, 
and we take a pleasure in reading them. Accidents, adven- 
tures, anecdotes, crimes, and a variety of other things amuse 
us, independent of the information respecting public affairs, 
in which we feel interested as citizens of the state, or as 
members of a particular body. It is of little importance to 
inquire how and why these things excite our attention, and 
wherefore the reading about them is a pleasure : the fact is 
certain ; and it proves clearly that there is a positive enjoy- 
ment in knowing what we did not know before ; and this plea- 
sure is greatly increased when the information is such as ex- 
cites our surprise, wonder, or admiration. Most persons who 
take delight in reading tales of ghosts, which they know to be 
false, and feel all the while to be silly in the extreme, are 
merely gratified, or rather occupied with the strong emotions 
of horror excited by the momentary belief, for it can only last 
an instant. Such reading is a degrading waste of precious 
time, and has even a bad effect upon the feelings and the 



44 ^vantages and Pleasures of l^cience. ^ 

judgment. But true stories of horrid crimes, as murders, and 
pitiable misfortunes, as stiipwrecks, are not much more in- 
structive. It may be better to read these than to sit yawn- 
ing and idle — much better than to sit drinking or gaming, 
which, when carried to the least excess, are crimes in them- 
selves, and the fruitful parents of many more. But this is 
nearly as much as can be said for such vain and unprofitable 
reading. If it be a pleasure to gratify curiosity, to know what 
we were ignorant of, to have our feelings of wonder called 
forth, how pure a delight of this very kind does natural 
science hold out to its students ? Recollect some of the 
extraordinary discoveries of mechanical philosophy. How 
wonderful are the laws that regulate the motions of fluids ! Is 
there any thing in all the idle books of tales and horrors more 
truly astonishing than the fact, that a few pounds of water 
may, by mere pressure, without any machinery, by merely 
being placed in a particular way, produce an irresistible force 1 
What can be more strange, than that an ounce weight should 
balance hundreds of pounds, by the intervention of a few bars 
of thin iron 1 Observe the extraordinary truths which optical 
science discloses. Can any thing, surprise us more, than to 
find that the colour of white is a mixture of all others — ^that 
red, and blue, and green, and all the rest, merely by being 
blended in certain proportions, form what we had fancied 
rather to be no colour at all, than all colours together % 
Chemistry is not behind in its wonders. That the diamond 
should be made of the same material with coal; that water 
should be chiefly composed of an inflammable substance ; that 
acids should be almost all formed of diflerent kinds of air, and 
that one of those acids, whose strength can dissolve almost 
any of the metals, should be made of the self-same ingredients 
with the common air we breathe ; that salts should be of a 
metallic nature and composed, in great part, of metals, fluid 
like quicksilver, but lighter than water, and which, without 
any heating, take fire upon jjeing exposed to the air, and by 
burning, form the substance so abounding in saltpetre and in 
the ashes of burnt wood : these, surely, are things to excite 
the wonder of any reflecting mind — nay, of any one but little 
accustomed to reflect. And yet these are trifling when com- 
pared to the prodigies which astronomy opens to our view : 
the enormous masses of the heavenly bodies ; their immense 
distances ; their countless numbers, and their motions, whose 
swiftness mocks the uttermost eflbrts of the imagination. 

Akin to this pleasure of contemplating new and extraordi- 
nary truths, is the gratification of a more learned curiosity, 
by tracing resemblances and relations between things, which, 
to common apprehension, seem widely diflerent. Mathe- 
matical science to thinking minds aflbrds this pleasure in a 



•Advantages and Pleasures of Science, 45 

high degree. It is agreeable to know that the three angles 
of every triangle, whatever be its size, howsoever its sides 
may be inclined to each other, are always of necessity, when 
taken together, the same in amount: that any regular kind of 
figure whatever, upon the one side of a right-angled triangle, 
is equal to the two figures of the sapie kind upon the two 
other sides, whatever be the size of the triangle : that the 
properties of an oval curve are extremely similar to those of 
a curve, which appears the least like it of any, consisting of 
two branches of infinite extent, with their backs turned to each 
other. To trace such unexpected resemblances is, indeed, 
the object of all philosophy ; and experimental science in par- 
ticular is occupied with such investigations, giving us general 
views, and enabling us to explain the appearances of nature, 
that is, to ^ow how one appearance is connected with another. 
But we are now only considering the gratification derived from 
learning these things. It is surely a satisfaction, for instance, 
to know that the same thing, or motion, or whatever it is, 
which causes the sensation of heat, causes also fluidity; and 
expands bodies m all directions ; that electricity, the liglit 
which IS seen on the back of a cat^when slightly rubbed on a 
frosty evening, is the very same matter with the lightning of 
the clouds ; — ^that plants breathe like ourselves, but differently 
by day and by night ;-^that the air which burns in our lamps 
enables a balloon to mount, and causes the globules of the 
dust of plants to rise, float through the air, and continue their 
race ; — in a word, is the immediate cause of vegetation. 
Nothing can at first view appear less like, or less likely to be 
caused by the same thing, than the processes of burning and 
of breathing, — the rust of metals and burning, — an acid and 
rust, — the hifluence of a plant on the air it grows in by night, 
and of an animal on the same air at anytime, nay, and of a body 
burning in that air ; and yet all these are the same operation. 
It is an undeniable fact, that the very same thing which makes 
the fire burn, makes metals rust, forms acids, and causes 
plants and animals to breathe ; that these operations, so un- 
like to common eyes, when examined by the light of science, 
are the same, — the rusting of metals,— the formation of acids, 
— ^the burning of inflammable bodies, — the breathing of ani- 
mals, — and the growth of plants by night. To know this is a 
positive gratification. Is it not pleasing to find the same 
substance in various situations extremely unlike each other ;— 
to meet with fixed air as the produce of burning,— of breath- 
hjg, — and of vegetation ; — to iind that it is the choak damp 
of mines, — the bad air in the grotto at Naples, — the cause of 
death in neglected brewers' vats, — ^and of the brisk and acid 
flavour of Seltzer and other mineral springs ? Nothing can 



46 •Sdvanlages and Pleasures of Science. 

be less like than the working of a vast steam engine, and the 
crawling of a. fly upon the window. We find that these two 
operations are performed by the same means, the weight of 
the atmosphere, and that a sea horse climbs the ice hills by 
no other power. Can any thing be more strange to contem- 
plate 1 Is there in all the fairy tales that ever were ^ncied 
iany thing more calculated to arrest the attention and to 
occupy and to gratify the mind, than this most unexpected 
resemblance between things so unlike to the eyes of ordinary 
beholders ? What more pleasing occupation than to see un- 
covered and bared before our eyes the very mstrument and 
the process by which nature works 1 Then we raise our 
views to the structure of the heavens ; and are again gratified 
with tracing accurate but most unexpected resemblances. 
Is it not in the highest degree interesting to find, that the 
power which keeps this earth in its shape, and in its path, 
wheeling round the sun, extends over all the other worlds 
that compose the universe, and gives to each its proper place 
and motion ; that this same power keeps the moon in her path 
round our earth, and our earth in its path round the sun, and 
each planet in its path ; that the same power causes the tides 
upon our earth, and the peculiar form of the earth itself; and 
that, after all, it is the same power which makes a stone fall 
to the ground 1 To learn these things, and to reflect upon 
them, fills the mind^ and produces certain as well as pure 
gratification. 

But if the knowledge of the doctrines unfolded by science 
is pleasing, so is the being able to trace the steps by which 
those doctrines are investigated, and their truth demonstrated : 
indeed you cannot be said in any sense of the word, to have 
learnt them, or to know them, if you have not so studied them 
as to perceive how they are proved. Without this you never 
can expect to remember them long, ot to understand them 
accurately ; and that would of itself be reason enough for ex- 
amining closely the grounds they rest on. But there is the 
highest gratification of all, in being able to see distinctljr those 
grounds, so as to be satisfied that a belief in the doctrines is 
well founded. Hence to follow a demonstration of a ^and ma- 
thematical truth — to perceive how clearly and how mevitably 
one step succeeds another, and how the whole steps lead to 
the conclusion — ^to observe how certainly and unerringly the 
reasoning goes on from things perfectly self-evident, and by 
the smallest addition at each step, every one being as easily 
taken after the one before, as the first step of all was, and yet 
the result being something not only far from sself-evident, but 
so general and strange, that you can hardly believe it to be 
true, and are only convinced of it by going over the whole rea- 




Advantages and Pleasures of Science. < ' 47 



* \- 



sonin^^^—this operation of the understanding, to those who so 
exercise themselves, always affords the highest delight. The 
contetrnplation of experimental inquiries, and the examination 
of reasoning founded upon the facts which our experiments and 
observations disclose, is another fruitful source of enjoyment, 
and no other means can be devised for either imprinting the 
results upon our memory, or enabling^ us really to enjoy the 
whole pleasures of science. They who found the study of some 
branches dry and tedious at the first, have generally become 
more and more interested as they went on ; each difficulty 
overcome gives sm additional relish to the pursuit, and makes 
us feel, a3 it were, that we have by our work and labour esta- 
blished a right of property in the subject. Let any manpasg 
an evening in listless idleness, or even in reading some silly 
tale, and compare the state of his mind when he goes to sleep 
or gets up next morning with its state some other day when 
he has passed a few hours in going throu^ the proofs, by 
facts and reasoning, of some of the great doctrines m natural 
science, learning truths wholly new to him, and satisfying 
himself by careful examination of the grounds pn which known 
truths rest, so as to be not only acquainted with the doctrines 
themselves, but able to show why he believes them, and to 
prove before others that they are true — he will find as great 
a difference as can exist in the same being ; the difference 
between looking back upon time unprofitably wasted^ and 
tinae spent in self-improvement: he wi|l feel himself in the 
one case listless and dissatisfied, in the other comfortable and 
happy ; in the one case if he do not appear to himself humbled, 
at least he will not have earned any xlaim to his own respect ; 
in the other case, he will enjoy a- proud consciousness of 
having, by his own exertions, become a wiser and therefore 
a more exalted creature. 

To pass our time in the study of the sciences, in learning 
what others have discovered, and in extending the bounds of 
human knowledge, has, in all ages, been reckoned the most 
dignified a^d happy of human occupations ; and the name of 
philosopher, or lover of wisdom, is given to those who lead 
such a Fife. But it is by no means necessary that a man 
should do nothing else than study known truths, and explore 
new, in order to earn this high title. Some of the greatest 
philosophers, in all ages, have been engaged in the pursuits of 
active life ; and an assiduous devotion of the bulk of our time 
to the work which our condition requires, is an important duty, 
and indicates the possession of practical wisdom. This, how- 
ever, does by no means hinder us from applying the rest of 
our time, beside what nature requires for meals and rest, to 
the study of science; and he who, in whatever station his lot 



48 Mvantages and Pleasures of Science. 

may 6e cast, works his day's work, and improyes his mind in 
the evening, as well as he who placed above such necessity, 
prefers the refined and elevating pleasures of knowledge to 
the low gratification of the senses, richly deserves the name 
of a true philosopher. 

One of the most gratifying treats which science affords us is 
the knowledge of the • extraordinary powers with which the 
human mind is endowed. No man, until he has studied philo- 
sophy, can have a just idea of the great things for which Provi- 
dence has fitted his understanding, the extraordinary dispro- 
portion which there is between his natural strength and the 
powers of his mind, and the force which he derives from those 
powers- When we survey the marvellous truths of astronomy, 
we are first of all lost in the feeling of immense space, and q{ 
the comparative insignificance of this globe and its inhabitants. 
But there soon arises a sense of gratification and of new won- 
der at perceiving how so insignificant a creature has been able 
to reach such a knowledge of the unbounded system of the uni- 
verse — to penetrate, as it were, through all space, and become 
familiar with the laws of nature at distances so enormous as 
baffle our imagination— ^to be able to say, not merely that the 
sun has 329,630 times the quantity of matter which our globe 
has, Jupiter 308^, and Saturn 93.2 times ; but that a pound of 
lead weighs at the sun 22 lbs. 15 ozs. 16 dwts. 8 grs. and | 
of a grain; at Jupiter 2 lbs. 1 oz. 19 dwts. 1 gr. g; and at 
Saturn 1 lb. 3 ozs. 8 dwts. 20 grs. jj part of a grain; and what 
is far more wonderful, to discover the laws by which the 
whole of this vast system is held together and maintained 
through countless ages in perfect security and order. It is 
surely no mean reward of our labour to become acquainted 
with the prodigious genius of those who have almost exalted 
the nature of man above its destined sphere ; and, admitted to 
a fellowship with those loftier minds, to know how it comes 
to pass that by universal consent they hold a station apart, 
rising over all the great teachers of mankind, and spoken of 
reverently, as if Newton and Laplace were not the names 
of mortal men. 

The highest of all our gratifications in the contemplations 
of science remains : we are raised by them to an understand- 
ing of the infinite wisdom and goodness which the Creator 
has displayed in all his works. Not a step can we take in any 
direction without perceiving the most extraordinary traces of 
design; and the skill every where conspicuous is calculated 
in so vast a proportion of instances to promote the happiness 
of living creatures, and especially of ourselves, that we can 
feel no hesitation in concluding, t)iat if we knew the whole 
scheme of Providence, every part would be in harmony with 



We$kifs Wwk$. 49 

a plan ofabselute benevolence. Independently^ however, of 
this most consoling inference, the delight is inexpressible of 
being able to^foUow, as it were, with our eyes, the marvellous 
works of the great Architect of nature, to trace the unbounded 
power and exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most mi- 
nute, as well as the mightiest parts of his system. The plea* 
sure derived from this study is unceasing, and so various, that 
it never tires the appetite. But it is unlike the low gratifica- 
tions of sense m another respect : it elevates and refines our 
nature, while those hurt the health, debase the understanding, 
and corrupt the feelings ; it teaches us to look upon all earthly 
objects as insignificant, and below our notice, except the pur- 
suit of knowledge and the cultivation of virtue — that iar to say^ 
the strict performance of our duty in every relation of society ; 
and it gives a dignity and importance to the enjoyment of 
life, wUch the frivolous and the grovelling cannot even 
comprehend. 

[In the conclusion of Mr. Brougham, (now Lord Brougham 
and Vaux,) <that thQ pleasures of science go hand in hand with 
the solid benefits derived from it,' and * that they tend, unlike 
other gratifications^ not only to make our lives more agreeable, 
but better,' we concur. But that the pursuit of science alone, in 
its ordinary acceptation, is ^ the sure path of virtue as well as of 
happiness,' we cannot agree. For, after all, though we may 
understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, (or science,) yet, 
without tlie excellency of the knowledge, — the saving know- 
^^^S^9 — of Christ Jesus our Lord, we are but <as sounding 
brass, or a tmkling cymbal.' This, indeed, we deem the es- 
sential glory and safeguard of all true science ; and, without 
this, all other * profiteUi us nothing.'] 



WESLEY'S WORKS. 

The Works of the Rev. John Wesley, A. M., sometime fellow 
of Lincoln College, Oxford. First American Complete and 
Stc^ndard Edition^ from the latest London Edition, with 
the last corrections of the Jknthor : comprehending also nn- 
merom translations, notes, and an original pr^ace, ^c. 
Bt John Emory. Seven volumes octavo, pp. &060. 

In our number for April last, we gave an account of the 
general contents of the London Complete and Standard Edi* 
tiori of these Works, with the exception of the last volume, 
wMch had not then been received. It came to hand soon 
afterward, and a stereotype edition of the whole Works, from 
the Methodist Episcopal Press, has since been completed and 
published, within the time specified by the publishers in their 

Vol. III.— Jimttary, 1832. 6 



so Wales's Works. 

Prospectus. The last volume of the London edition, respect^ 
ing which information remains to be given, contains a short 
English Grammar ; a short French Grammar ; a short Latin 
Grammar ; a short Greek Grammar ; a short Hebrew Gram* 
mar ; a Compendium of Logic ; the Doctrine of Absolute Pre- 
destination Stated and Asserted ; Letters to various Persons ; 
List of WorlLs Revised and Abridged from various Authors ; 
List of Poetical Works published by the Rev. Messrs. John and 
Charles Wesley, with the Prefaces connected with them ; 
Musical Works published by the Rev. John Wesley, M. A. ; 
An Answer to Several Objections against «The Arminian' 
Magazine ;' Index to passages of Scripture Illustrated, and a 
' general Index to the whole Works. All these are contained 
oho in the last volume of the First Complete and Standard 
American Edition, now before us. 

The publication of a stereotype edition of these Works, in 
America, we regard as an interesting event in our history, and 
as an occasion of congratulation to the friends of evangelical 
truth and of an elevated practical godliness, generally ; but 
especially so to those of the Wesley an Methodist communion. 
It is not our purpose to enter here into any regular review of 
these Works, a task greatly beyond our leisure, as well as our 
ability to do any thing like justice to the subject, — but chiefly 
to furnish such extracts, with occasional remarks, as may 
serve to give those of our readers who have not had an op- 
portunity to peruse the Works themselves, a general idea of 
their doctrinal divinity, and of the entertaining amusement as 
well as the solid instruction to be derived from them ; of the 
lively, perspicuous, and popular style in which they are writ- 
ten ; and how this man of Gody as he Emphatically was, con- 
trived, in whatever he did, or said, or wrote, to keep the glory 
of God, in the salvation of man, still ever in view ; and to 
make the lines of his whole life, in all his travels, in all his 
preaching, and in all his writings, to centre uniformly in this 
point. The extracts which we shall make at present, will 
exhibit first the leading doctrines contained in these Standard 
Works of Wesleyan Methodism ; after which will follow others, 
amusing and entertaining, as well as instructive. The sacred 
Scriptures are, indeed, our only acknowledged ultimate stand- 
ard, both of doctrine and of moral discipline. Yet, in the 
writings of Wesley we believe the best exposition and defence 
of these are to be found, of all uninspired human compo- 
sitions. In these extracts, however, it is intended « neither to 
present in detail all the doctrines of revelation which are 
believed by the Methodists, nor all those which they believe 
in common with Christians in general, nor those only which 
may be thought to be peculiar to themselves ; but to state 



, Wesley^ 8 PTorks. 51 

those which have always had a special prominence among 
them, on account of the great importance which they deem 
them to have in the conversion of sinners, and the edification, 
of believers. These doctrines, as they were frequent sub- 
jects of investigation in the early days of Methodism,, either 
as having been misunderstood and opposed by other denomi- 
nations of Christians, or by individuals among themselves who 
differed in opinion, they consider as having been long ago 
sufficiently estabUshed.' ( Chronicles of Wesleyan Methodism.) 

On Ofigindl Sin, — ^ Original sin is the corruption of the nature 9f 
every man, whereby man is in his own nature inclined to evtl^'so that, 
the flesh lustetfa contrary to the Spirit. And this infection of nature 
doth remain, even in them that are regenerated ; whereby the lust of 
the flesh, called in Greek (ppov^^Mc (fapxo^, is not subject to the law of 
God. And although there is no condemnation for them that believe, 
yet this lust hath of itself the nature of sin.' ( Wesley^ 8 Works^ vol. i, 
p. 108.) The extent of the fall, the astonishing spread of original cor* 
ruption is such, that by nature, among^ the thousands and millions of 
the human race, there is none righteous, no not one. . (Vol. ii, p. 
65.) The consequence of original sin was, that man incurred death of 
every kind, not only temporal, but also spiritual and eternal. By losing 
his original righteousness, he became hot only mortal as to his body, 
but also spiritually dead, dead to God, dead in sin : void of that prin- 
ciple which St. Paul terms *the life of God.' (Vol. v, p. 641.) 

* By one man's disobedience, all men were oonstttuted sinnens ;* ' in 
Adam all died,' spiritually died, lost the life and image of God : that 
fallen, sinful Adam then ' begat a son in his own likeness :' nor was it 
possible he should beget him in any other ; for * who can bring a clean 
thing out of an unclean V That consequently toe, as well as other men, 

* were, by nature, dead in trespasses and sinl^, without hope, without 
God in the world,' and therefore ^ children of wrath ;' that every man 
may say, ' I was shapen in wickedness, and in sin did my mother con- 
ceive me :' that < there is no difference, in that all have sinned, and come 
short of the glory of God :' of that glorious image of God, wherein man 
was originally created. And hence, when ' the Lord looked down from 
heaven upon the children of men, he saw they were ail gone out of the 
way, they were altogether become abominable, there was none right- 
eous, no, not one ;' none that truly sought after God : just agreeable 
to this, is what is declared by the Holy Ghost : < God saw,' when he 
looked down from heaven, < that the wickedness of man was great in the 
earth!' so great, < that every imagination of the Noughts of his heart was 
only evil continually.' This is Gocl's account of man. (Vol. i, p. 392.) 

It remains then, that the only true and rational way of accountiag 
for the general wickedness of mankind, in all ages and nations, is 
pointed out in these words. , In Adam aU dde. In and through their 
first parent, all his posterity died in a spiritual sense ; and they remain 
wholly^' dead in trespasses and sins,' tUl the second Adam makes them 
alive. By this ^ one man sin entered into the world and passed upon 
all men*' And through the infection which they derive from him, all 



62 , Wesley's Works, 

men are and ever were 6y nature entirely * alieoated from the life of 
God, without hope, without God in the world.' (Vol. v, p. 637.) 

On General Redemption. — That Christ died for all men appears 
from th^ following testimonies of the Scriptures. First, the prophet 
Isaiah saith, * Surely he hath home our griefs, and carried our sorrows ; 
yet did we esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. Bui 
he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities^ 
the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stii^es we 
are healed. All we, like sheep, have gone astray; we have turned 
every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity 
of us all,' Isaiah liii, 4-6. Thus Isaiah shows plainly, that the ini-. 
quities of all those who went astray, were laid oipon Christ. And to 
him the testimony of all the other prophets agrees : ^ To him give all 
the prophets witness, that through his name whosoever believeth in 
him shall receive remission of sins/ Acts x, 43. The same saith 
that great prophet John the Baptist, who * came to bear witness of the 
light, that all men through it might believe,' John i, 7. And again, 
« Behold,' saith he, < the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the 
world,' verse 29. Thus have all the prophets with one consent testi- 
fied, that God < laid upon Christ the iniquities of aU that were gone 
astray;' that he is, * the Lamb of God, which taketh away the^sin of the 
world ;' that ' all men through him may believe ;' and that ' through hi« 
name whosoever believeth in him, shall receive remission of sins.' 

Secondly y The angel of God testified the same thing, saying, ^ Fear 
not ; for I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all peo- 
ple,' which were, that there was * born tinto them a Saviour, even 
Christ the Lord,' Luke ii, 10^ -By this also it appears, that Christ 
died for till men. For else it could not have been glad tidings of great 
joy, to all people ; but rather sad tidings to all those for whom he 
died not.. 

T%irdJy, We come now to the words of Christ himself, and therefore, 
if his testimony agrees with these, we must needs be convinced that 
they are true. Now he speaks thus, * As Moses liAed up the serpent 
in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up, that who- 
soever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. 
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
whosoever believeth in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. 
For God sent not his Son to condemn the world, but that the world 
through him might be saved,' John iii, 14, &c. Thus we see the 
words of Christ agree with the words of the prophets ; therefore it must 
needs be owned that Christ died for all. 

Fourthly^ And now we will hear what the Apostles say concerning 
this thing. < The love of Christ,' saith the Apostle Paul, ' constraineth 
us, because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were aU dead ; 
aftd he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto 
themselves, but unto him that died for them, and rose again,' 2 Cor. 
V, 14, &c. And to Timothy he saith, ' There is one God, and one 
Mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus, who gave him- 
self a ransom for all, to be testified in due time,' 1 Tim. ii, 5, 6. 
Again, he saith to Titus, < The grace of God, which bringeth salvation 
t oall men iiath appeared,' Tit. ii* 1 !• And yet again to the He<» 



Wesley's Wwks. Hi 

brews, < That he, by the grace of God, should taste death for every 
man/ Heb. ii, 9. And to this agreeth St. John, witnessing, ^ He is 
the propitiation for our sins^ and not for ours only, but also for Uie sins of 
the whole world,' 1 John ii, 8. And again, speaking of himself and 
the rest of the Apostles, he saith, ^ We have seen and do testify that 
the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world,' 1 Johniv, 14. 
Thus we have the testimony of all the prophets, of the angel of God, 
of Christ himself, and of his holy Apostles, all agreeing together in one 
to prove, that Christ died for all maaklnd. 

^Additional reasons to prove the same point* — Because there is not 
one scripture, from the beginning of Genesis to the end of Revelation, 
that denies it, either negatively, by saying that he did not die for all ; or 
affirmatively, by saying, that he died only for aome* Because he himself 
commanded, that the Gospel should be preached to every creaiure.^^ 
Because he calleth aU men every where to repent. Because those who 
perish are damned for f}ot believing in the name of the ^y bego^en Son 
of Crody therefore he must have died for them. Else they would be 
damned ybr not believing a lie. Because they which are damned might 
have been saved. For thus saith the wwd of God, * They received 
not the love of the truth that they might be saved. Therefore God 
shall send them strong delusions, to believe a lie, that they all may be 
damned,' 2 Thess. ii, 10. Because some <deny the Lord that bought 
them, and bring upon themselves swifl destruction.' But they could 
not deny the Lord that bought them^ if he had not bought them at all. 

Absurdities that follow from the opinion, that Christ died only for th^ 
eleet. If Christ died not for aU, then unbelief is no sin in them that- 
perish ; seeing there is not any thing for those men to believe iinto sal- 
vation, for whom Christ died not If Christ died not for all men, then 
it would be a sin in the greatest part of mankind to believe he died 
for them^ seeing it would be to believe a lie. If Christ died not for 
those that are damned, then they are not damned for unbelief. Other- 
wise, you say, that they are damned for not believing a lie. If Christ 
died not for all, then those who obey Christ, by going and preaching 
the Gospel to every creature, as glad tidings of grace and peace, of 
great joy to aU people^ do sin thereby, in that they go to most people 
with a lie in their mouth. If Christ died not for all men, then God is 
not in earnest in calling ^ all men every where to repent ;' for what good 
could repentance-do those, for whom Chiist died not 1 If Christ died 
not for aU, then why does he say, <He is not willing that any should 
perish?' Surely he is willing, yea resolved, that most men should 
perish ; else he would have died for them also. How shall * God judge 
the worfd by the man Christ Jesus,' if Christ did not die for the world 1 
Or how shall he judge them according to the Gospel, when there was 
never any Gospel or mercy for them ? , 

On Repentance. — ^Repentance, and fruits meet for repentance, go 
before faith. Repentance absolutely must go before faith: fruits meet 
for it, if there be opportunity. 

By repentance is meant conviction of sin, or self-knowledge: that 
our inmost nature is comint. and verv fai " ^ i- 

ness, whereby 

that < carnal mind whick is enmity against 

5* 




54 Wesley's Works. 

to the kw of God, neither indeed can be/ That we are corrupt in 
every power, in every faculty of our soul ; that we are totally corrupted 
in every one of them, all the foundations being out of course. The 
eyes of our understanding are darkened, so that we cannot discern 
God, or the things of God. The clouds of ignorance and error rest 
upon us, and cover us with the shadow of death. We know nothing 
yet, as we ought to know, neither God, nor the world, nor ourselves. 
Our will is no longer the will of God, but is utterly perverse-and dis- 
torted, averse from all good, from all which God loves, and prone to 
all evil, to every abomination which God hateth. Our affections are 
aUenated from God, and scattered abroad over all the earth. All our 
passions, both our desires and aversions, our joys and sorrows, our 
hopes and fears, are out of frame, are either undue in their degree, or 
placed on undue objects. So that there is no soundness'^in our soul ; 
but ^ from the crown of the head, to the sole of the foot,' (to use-the 
strong expression of the prophet,) there are only < wounds, and bruises, 
and pntrifying sores.' 

From this evil root springs unbelief, ever departing from the living 
God : saying, < Who is the Lord, that I should serve him I Tush ! 
Thou God, carest not for it.' Hence independence, affecting to be like 
the Most High : hence pride in all its forms, teaching us to say, ^ I am 
rich, and increased in goods, and have need of nothing.' From this 
evil fountain flow forth the bitter streams of vanity, thirst of praise ; 
ambition, covetousness ; the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and 
the pride of life. From this arise anger, hatred, malice, revenge, envy, 
jealousy, evil surmisings : from this, all the foolish and hurtful lusts, that 
now * pierce us through with many sorrows,' and, if not timely pre- 
vented, will at length < drown our soul in everlasting perdition.' 

On such branches as these can grow only such fruits as are bitter 
and evil continually. Of pride cometh contention, vain boasting, 
seeking and receiving praise of men, and so robbing God of that glory 
which he cannot give unto another. Of the lust of the flesh, come 
gluttony or drunkenness, luxury or sensuality : fornication, uncleanness, 
variously defiling the body, which was designed for a temple of the 
Holy Gbost : of Unbelief, every evil word and work. Time would ftdl 
to reckon up all : all the idle words we have spoken, provoking the 
Most High, grieving the Holy One of Israel ; all the evil works we 
have done, either wholly evil in themselves ^ or at least, not done to the 
glory of God. Our actual sins are more than we are able to express, 
more than the hairs of our head. Who can number the sands of the 
fiea, or the drops of raiii, or our iniquities ? 

To a lively conviction of our inward and outward sins; of our utter 
guiltiness and helplessness, must be added suitable affections : sorrow 
of heart, for having despised our own mercies, remorse, and self-con- 
demnation, having our mouth stopped, shame to lifl up our eyes to 
heaven: fear of the wrath of God abiding onus, of his curse hanging 
over our head, and of the fiery indignation ready to devour those who 
forget God, and obey not our Lord Jesus Christ: earnest desire to escape 
from that indignation, to cease from evil, and learn to do well : for, 

FruUs meet for repentance are included in this grace : such are, for- 
giving our brother. Matt vi, 14, 15, ceasing from evil, Luke iii, 4, 9, 



Weslet/'s Works. ts 

&C| doing good, using the ordinances of God, Matt Tii, 7, and in 
general obeying him according to the measure of grace which we have 
received, Matt, xxv, 29. (Vol. i, pp. 64, 66 ; vol. v, p. 36.) 

On Juatijioatum by Faith. — J^ustification is another word for 
pardon. It 19 the forgiveness of all our sins, and what is iSecessarity 
implied therein, our acceptance with God. The price whereby this 
hath been procured for us, (commonly termed the meritoruma etnwt of 
our justification,) is the blood and righteousness of Christ; or, to ex-> 
press it a little more clearly, all that Christ hath done and sufiered for 
us, till he < poured out Itis soul for the transgressors.' The immediate 
effects of justification are, the peace of God, a ' peace which passeth 
all understanding,' and a 'rejoicing in hope of ^e glory of God, with 
joy unspeakable and fiill of glory •'^ 

And at the same time that we are justified, yea, in diat very nK>ment, 
<9anctificcUion begins. In thai instant, we are * bom again, bom from 
above, born of the Spidt.' This is a real as well as a relative^hange. 
We are inwardly renewed by the power of God. We feel • the love g€ 
God shed abroad in our heart, by the Holy Ghost, which is given unta 
us,' producing love to all mankind, and more especially to the childrea 
of God : expelling the love of the world, the love of pleasure, of ease, 
of honour, of money ; together with pride, anger, self-will, and every 
other evil temper ; in a word, changing the earthly y sensucU, deviliah 
mindy into * the mind which v^as in Christ Jesus.' (Yol. i, p. 385.) 

Three things must go together in our justification : upon God's part, 
his great mercy and grace ; upon Christ's part, the satisfaction of God'Si 
justice, by the ofiTering of his body, and shedding his blood, and fulfil- 
ling the law of God perfectly; and upon our part, true and living faith 
in the merits of Jesus Christ. So that in our justification there is not 
only God's mercy and grace, but his justice also. And so the grace 
of God does not shut out the righteousness of God in our justification, 
but only shuts out the righteousness of man, that is, the righteousnes&r 
of our works. 

And therefore St. Paul requires nothing on the part df man, but only 
a true and living faith. Yet this faith does not shut out repentance,, 
hope, and love, which are joined with faith in every inan that is justi- 
fied. But it shuts them out firom the office of ji^tifying. So that 
although they are all present together in him that is justified, yet they 
justify not altogether. Neither does faith shut out good works, neces- 
sarily to be done aflerward. But we may not do them to this intent, 
to be justified by doing them. Our justification comes freely, of the 
mere mercy of God. For whereas eJl the world was not able to pay 
any part toward their ransom, it pleased him, without any of- our de- 
serving, to prepare for us Christ's body and blood, whereby our ransom 
might be paid, his law fulfilled, and his justice satisfied. Christ there- 
fore is now the r^hteousness of all them that truly believe in him. He 
for them paid the ransom b^ his death. He for them fulfilled the law 
in his life. So that now in him, and by him, every believer may be 
Qftlled a fiilfiller of the law. 

But let it be observed, the trae sense of those words, < We are justi- 
fied by faith in Christ only,' is not, that this our own act, to believe in 
Christ, or this our faith wMch is within us, justifies us, (for that were, 



56 Wesley's tVarks. 

to account ourselves to be justified by some 9^i of virtue that is witbiik 
us :) but that although we have faith, hope, and love within us, and do 
ever so many good works, yet we must renounce the merit of all, of 
&ith, hope, love, and all other virtues and good works, which we 
either hav^ done, shall do, or can do, as far top weak to deserve our 
justification : for which therefore we must trust only in, God's mercy, 
and the merits of Christ. For it is he alone that taketh away our sins. 
To him alone are we to go for this ; forsaking all our virtues,, good 
words, thoughts, and works, and putting our trust in Christ only. 

In strictness, therefore, neither our faith nor our works justify us^ 
i. e. deserve the remission of our sins. Byt God himself justifiea us, 
of his own mercy through the merits of his Son only. Nevertheless, 
because by faith we embrace the promise of God's mercy, and of the 
remission of our sins, therefore the Scripture says. That faith does 
justify, yea, faith without works. And it is all one to say, faith without 
works, md faith alone justifies^ us, therefore the ancient fathers from 
time to time speak thus: faith alone justifies us. And we receive 
faith through the only merits of Chrjst, and not through the merit of 
any virtue we have, or work we do : therefore in that respect we re- 
nounce, as it were again, faith, works, and all other virtues. For our 
corruption through original sin is so great, that all our faith, charity, 
words, and works, cannot merit or deserve any part of our justification 
for us. And therefore we thus speak, humbling ourselves before God^ 
and giving Christ all the glory of our justification. 

But it should also be observed, what that faith is, whereby we arc 
justified. Now that faith which brings not forth good works, is not a 
living faith, but a dead and devilish one. For even the devils believe, 
* that Christ was born of a virgin, that he wrought all kind of miracles, 
declaring himself to be very God, that for our sakes he died and rose 
again, and s^scended into heaven, and at the end of the world shall come 
again, to judge the quick and the dead.' This the devils believe, and 
so they believe all that is written in the Old and New Testaments 
And yet still, for all this faith, they are but devils. They remain still in 
their damnable estate, lacking the true Christian faith. 

The true Christian faith is, not only to believe that the Holy Scrip- 
tures and the articles of our faith are true, but also to-bave a sure trust 
and confidence to be saved from everlarsting damnation by Christ, 
whereof doth follow a loving heart to obey his commandments. And 
this faith neither any devil hath, nor any wicked man. No ungodly 
man hath or can have this sure trust and. confidence in God, that by 
the merits of Christ his sins are forgiven, and he reconciled to the 
fevor of God. (Vol. v, pp. 255^257.) 

Justifying faith then implies, not only a divine IXs^^^o^, (evidence or 
conviction) that God was in Christ * reconciling the world unto himself,' 
but a sxire trust and confidence that Christ died for my sins, that he 
loved me and gave himself for me. And the moment a penitent sinner 
believes this, God psfrdons and absolves him. (^^oL y, p* 35.) 

On the WitnesB of the Spirii, — ^What is the ' Witness or Testis 
mony of God's Spirit,' which by St. Paul is said to be superadded to 
and conjoined with <the testimony of our own Spirit? Rom. viii, 16. 
How does he ' bear witness with our spirit that we ^e the children of 



Wesley's Works. 57 

God ?^— It is hard to find words in the language of men to explain Uhe 
deep things of God.' Indeed, there are none that will adequately ex- 
press what the children of God experience. But perhaps one might 
say, (desiring any, who are taught of God, to correct, to soAen, or 
strengthen the expression,) the testimony of the Spirit, is an inward 
impression on the soul, wherehy the Spirit of God directly ' witnesses 
to my spirit, that I am a child of God ;' that Jesus Christ hath loved me, 
and given himself for me : and that all my sins are blotted out, and I, 
even I, am reconciled to God. 

That this * testimony of the Spirit of God' must needs, in the very 
nature of things, be antecedent to the ^ testimony of our own spirit,' 
may appear from this single consideration. We must be holy of heart, 
and holy in life, before we can be conscious that we are so ; before we 
can have < the testimony of our snirit,' that we are inwardly and out- 
wardly holy. But we must love God before we can be holy at all ; this 
being the root of all holiness. Now we cannot love God, till we know 
he loves us. < We love him because he first loved us.' And we 
cannot know his pardoning love to us, till his Spirit witnesses^t to our 
spirit. Since therefore this ^ testimony of hia Spirif must precede the 
love of God and all holiness, of consequence it must precede our in- 
ward consciousness thereof, or, the ' testimony of our spirit' concern* 
ing them. 

Then and not till then, when the Spirit of God beareth that witness 
to oar spirit, *• God hath loved thee, and given his own Son to be the 
propitiation for thy sins ; the Son of God hath loved thee, and hath 
washed thee from thy sins in his blood :' ^ we love God, because he first 
loved us,' and for his sake we love our brother also. And of this we 
cannot but be conscious to ourselves : < we know the things that are 
freely given to us of God.' We know that we love God and keep his 
commandments. And ^ hereby also we know that we are of God.' 
This is that testimony of our own spirit ; which so long as we continue 
to love God and keep his conimandments, continues joined with the 
testimony of God's Spirit, ^ that we are the children of God.' 

It is not to be understood by any means, by any thing 'which has 
been spoken concerning it, to exclude the operation of the Spirit of 
God, even from the < testimony of our own spirit.' In no wise. It is 
he that not only worketh in us every manner of thing that is good, but 
also shines upon his own work, and cleariy shows what he has wrought. 
Accordingly, this is spoken of by St. Paul, as one great end of our re- 
ceiving the Spirit, 5 that we* may know the things which are freely 
given to us of God :' that he may strengthen the testimony of our con- 
science, touching our * simplicity and godly sincerity,' and give us to 
dbcern in a fuUer and stronger light, that we now do the things which 
please him. 

Should it be inquired ; How does the Spirit of God * bear witness 
with our spirit, that we are the children of God,' so as to exclude all 
doubt, and evidence the reality of our sonship 1 The answer is clear, 
firom what has been observed above. And first, as to the witness of our 
spirit. The soul as intimately and evidently perceives, when it loves, 
delights, and rejoices in God, as when it loves and delights in any thing 
QD earth. And it can no more doubt whether it loves, delights, and 



68 Wesley's Works. 

rejoices or not, than whether it exists or not If therefore this be just 
reasoning — 

He that now loves God, that delights and rejoices in him, with an 
humble joy, a holy delight, and an obedient love, is a child of God : 

But I thus love, delight, and rejoice in God ; 

Therefore I am a child of God. 

Then a Christian can in no wise doubt of his being a child of God. 
Of the former proposition, he has as full an assurance as he has that the 
Scriptures are of God. And of his thus loving God, he has an inward 
proof, which is nothing short of self-evidence. Thus, * the testimony 
of our own spirit,' is with the most intimate conviction manifested to 
our hearts, in such a manner, as beyond all reasonable doubt, to evince 
the reality of our sonship. 

The manner how the divine testinQony is manifested to the heart, we 
fk> not take in hand to explain. Such knowledge is-too wonderful and 
excellent for us : we cannot attain unto < it. The wind bloweth: we 
hear the sound tliereof. But we cannot tell ^ how it cometh, or whither 
it goethi' As no one knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of a 
man that is in him : so the manner of the things of God knoweth no one, 
save the Spirit of God. But the fact we know : namely, that the Spirit 
of God does give a believer such a testimony of his adoption, that 
while it is present to the soul, he can no more doubt of the reality, of 
his sonship, than he can doubt of the shining of the sun, while he stands 
in the full blaze of his beams. (Vol. i, pp. 93-97.) 

On Christian Perfection. — Christian perfection does not imply 
(as some men seem to have imagined) an exemption either from igno- 
tBnce, or mistake, or infirmities, or temptations. Indeed, it is only 
another term for holiness. They are two names for the ssune thing. 
Thus, every one that is holy, is, m the Scripture sense, perfect. We 
may yet observe, that neither in this respect is there any absolute per- 
fection on earth. There is no perfection of degrees^ as it is termed ; 
none which does not admit of a confinual increase. So that how 
much soever any man has attained, or in how high a degree soever he 
is perfect, he has still need to grovo in grace, and daily to advance in 
the knowledge and love of God. (Vol. i, pp. 35-^8.) But we fix this 
conclusion, in conformi^ to the whole tenor of the New Testament, 
that a Christian is so far perfect as not tq commit sin. This is the 
glorious privilege of every Christian, yea,-though he be but a babe in 
Christ. But it is only of those who are strong in the Lord, ' and have 
overcome the wicked one/ or rather of those who < have known him 
that is from the beginning,' that it can be affirmed they are in such a 
sense perfect, as to be freed from evil thoughts, and evil tempers. 

First, from all evil or sinful thoughts. But here let it be observed,- 
that thoughts concerning evil, are not always evil thoughts: that a 
thought concemii^g sin, and a sinful thought, are widely different. A 
man, for instance, may think of a murder which another has committed, 
and yet tiiis is no evil or sinful thought. So our blessed Lord him- 
self, doubtless, thought of, or understood the thing spoken by the devil, 
when he said, ' All this will I give tliee, if thou wilt fall down and wor^ 
ship me.' Tet had he no evil or sinful thought, nor indeed was capa- 
ble of having any. And even hence it follows, that neither have real 



We$leifs Works. 69 

Christians. For < every one that is perfect is as his Master/ Lukevi, 40. 
Therefore if he were free from evil or sinful thoughts, so are they hkewise. 

Andy indeed, whence should evil thoughts proceed, in the servant 
who is CL9 hia Master T ^ Out of the4ieart of man [if at aU] proceed 
evil thoughts,' Mark vii, 21. If, therefore, his heart be no longer evil, 
then evil thoughts can no longer proceed out of it. If the tree were 
corrupt, so would be the fruit ; but the tree is good. The fruit, there- 
fore is good also. Matt* xii, 33. Our Lord himself bearing witness, 
^ Every good tree bringeth forth good fruit. A good tree.cannot bring 
forth evil fruit, as a corrupt -tree cannot bring forth good fruit,' Matt. 
vii,-17, 18. 

The same happy privilege of real Christians, St. Paul asserts from 
his own experience. ' The weapons of our warfare,' saith he, < are not 
carnal, but mighty, through God, to the pulling down of. strong holds, 
casting down imaginations,' [or recuanings rather, for so the word 
'h^yKf^Mve signifies ; all the reasonings of pride and unbelief against the 
declarations, promises, or gifb of God ;] * and every high thing that 
exalteth itself against the £iowledge of God ; and bringing into cap- 
tivity every thought to the obedience of Christ,' 2 Cor. x, 4, &c. 

Secondlyy from evil tempers. This is evident from the above men- 
tioned declaration of our Lord himself: < The disciple is not above his 
Master ; but every one that is perfect shall be as his Master.' He had 
been delivering just before, some of the sublimest doctrines of Chris- 
tianity, and some of the most grievous to flesh and blood. ' I say uHto 
you. Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you : and unto 
him^ that smiteth thee on the one cheek, ofier also the other.' Now 
these he well knew the world would not receive ; and therefore imme- 
diately adds, ^ Can the blind lead the blind t Will they not both fall 
into the ditch V As if he had said, ' Do not confer with flesh and blood 
touching these things, with men void of spiritual discernment, the eyes 
of whose understanding God hath not opened, lest they and you perish 
together.' In the next verse he removes the two grand objections, 
with which these wise fools meet us at every turn, ' These things are 
too grievous to be borne,' or, * They are too high to be attained :' 
Saying, < The disciple is not above his Master :' therefore, if I have 
sufiered, be content to tread in*my steps. And doubt ye not then, but 
I will. fulfil my word : ' For every one that is perfect, shall be as his 
Master.' But his Master was free from all sinful tempers. So there- 
fore, is his disciple, even every real Christian. 

Thus doth Jesus ' save his people from their sins ;' and not only 
from outward sins, but also from the sins of their hearts ; from enl 
thoughts, and from evil tempers. ^ True,' say some, < we shall thus be 
saved fVom our sins ; but not till death, not in this world.' But how 
are we to reconcile this with the express words of St. John 1 ' Herein 
is our love made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of 
judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world.' The Apostle 
here, beyond all contradiction, speaks of himself and other living Chris- 
tians, of whom (^ though he had foreseen this very evasion, and set 
himself to overturn it from the foundation) he flatly affirms, that not 
only at, or afler death, but in this worlds they are as their Master, 
1 John iv, 17. (Vol. i, pp. 365^67.) 



60 Wesley's Works. 

But do those who are justifies), gradwdhf die to sin and grow m^ 
grace^ till at, or perhaps a little before deathy God perfects them in 
love ? We believe this is the case ci most, but not of all. God usoallj 
gives a considerable tiihe for menio receive light, to grow in grace, to 
do and suffer his will before they are either justified or sanctified. But 
he does not invariably adhere to this. Sometimes l^e cuts short kis 
work. He does the work of many years in a few weeks : perhaps in 
a week, a day, an hour. He justifies or sanctifies both those wh'o^haye 
done or suffered nothing, and who have not had time for a gradual 
growth either in light or grace. ^ And may he not da what he will with 
his own ? Is thine eye evil because he is good V It need not therefore be 
affirmed over and over, and proved by forty texts of Scripture, either 
that most men are perfected in love ,at last, that there is a gradual 
wyrk of God in the soul ; or that, generally speaking, it is a long time, 
even many years before sin is destroyed. All this we know. But we 
know likewise, that God may with man'is good leave, cut short his %vork 
in whatever degree he pleases,, and do the usual work- of many years 
in a moment. He does so in many instances. And yet there is a 
gradual work> both before and afler that moment So that one may 
affirm, the work is gradual, another, it is instantaneouiy without any 
manner of contradiction. (Vol. vi, p. 51 70 

Can those who are perfect in love fall fi^m this state? We are well 
assured they can. Matter of fact puts this beyond dispute. Formerly ' 
wa thought one saved from sin could not fall. Now, we Juo w the con- 
trary. We are surrounded with instances of those who lately expe- 
rienced all that we mean by perfection. They had both the fruit of 
the Spirit and the teitness* But they have now lost both. Neither 
does any one stand, by virtue of any thing that is implied in the nature 
of the state. There is no such height or strength of holiness as it ia 
impossible to fall from. If there be any that cannot faU, this wholly 
depends on the prpmbe and faithfulness of God. That those who fall 
fix>m this state may recover it, we have many instances. Nay, it is an 
exceeding common thing for persons to lose it more than once before 
they are established therein. (Vol. v, p. 19.) 

How are we to wait for this change ? Not in careless indifference,^ 
Or indolent inactivity ; biit.in vigorous, universal obedience, in a zeal- 
ous keeping of all the commandments, in watchfulness and painfulness, 
in denying ourselves, and taking up our cross daily ; as well as' in 
earnest prayer and fasting, and a dose attendance on all the ordinances 
of God. And if any man dream of attaining it in any other way, (yea, 
or of keeping it when it is attained, when he has received it even in 
the largest measure,) he deceiveth his own soul. It is true we receive 
it by simple faith. But God does not, wfll not give that ^th, unless 
we seek it with all diligence^ in the way which he hath ordained. 
(Yol. vi, p. 606.) 

On the Perseverance of the Saints. — By the saints is understood, 
those who are holy or righteous, in the judgment of God himself: 
those who are endued with the faith that purifies the heart, that 
produces a good conscience : those who are grafted into the good olive 
tree, the spiritual, invisible church : those who are branches of the true 
vine, of whom Christ says, < I am the vine, ye are the branches :' those 



Wegletfs Works. «1 

wha so effectually know Christ, as by that knowledge to have escaped 
Ae pollutions of the world ; those who see the light of the glory of 
God in the face of Jesus Christ, and who have been made partakers of 
(he Holy Ghost, of the witness and fruits of the Spirit ; those who live 
by fi^th in the Son of God ; those who are sanctified by the blood of 
the covenant : those to whom all, or any of these characters belong are 
intended by the term Saints. 

Can any of these fall away ? BjfaUing awayy is meant, not barely 
falling into sin. This it is granted, they may. But can they fall 
totaily T Can any of these so fall from God, as to perish everlastingly ? 
(Vol. vi, p. 81.) Arguments from experience alone will' never deter- 
mine this point. They can only prove thus much, on the one hand, 
that our Lord is exceeding patient, that he is peculiarly unwilling any 
believer should perish ; that he bears long, very long with all their follies, 
waiting to be gracious, and to heal their backslidings ; and that he does 
actually bring back many lost sheep, who, to man's- apprehensions, 
were irrecoverable : but all this does not amount to a convincing proof, 
that no believer can or does fall from grace. So that this argument, 
from experience, will weigh little with those who believe the possibility 
of falling. 

And it will weigh full as little with those who do not. . For if you 
produce ever so many examples of those who were once strong in 
faith, and are now more abandoned than ever, they will evade it by 
saying, * O, but they will be brought back ; they will not die in theib 
sins.' And if they do die in their sins, we come no nearer ; we have 
not gained one point still. For it is easy to say, * They were only hy- 
pocrites : they never had true failh.' Therefore Scripture alone can 
determine this question. And Scripture does so fully determine it, 
that there needs only to set. down a very few texts, with some short 
reflections upon them. (Vol. vi, p. 51.) 

Firat^ * When the righteous turneth away from his righteousness, and 
committeth iniquity, — ^in his trespass that he hath trespassed, and in 
his sin that he hath sinned, in them shall he die,' Ezekiel xviii, 24. 
That this is to be understood of eternal death, appears from the 26th 
verse : * When a righteous man turneth away from his righteousness, 
and committeth iniquity, and dieth in them Inhere is temporsl death] for 
hb iniquity that he hath done, he shall die :' here ia death eternal. 

Secondly, * War a good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience, 
which ^ome having put away, concerning faith have made shipwreck,* 
1 Tim. i, 18, 19. These men (such as Hymeneus and Alexander) had 
once the faith that purifies ther heart, that produces a good conscience: 
this they once had, or they could not have put it away. They made 
sfaipvirreck of the faith, which necessarily implies the total and final 
loss of it. For a vessel once wrecked can never be recovered. 

Thirdly y * I am the vine, yc are the branches. If a man abide not in 
me, be is cast forth as a branch, and is withered ; and men gather them, 
and cast them into the fire, and they are burned,' John xv, 6. Here 
the persons spoken of, were in Christy branches of the true vine : some 
of these branches abide not in Christy but the Father taketh them 
away : they are cast forthy cast out from Christ and liis church : they^ 
are not only cast forth but withered ; consequently never grafted m 

Vol. III.— January, 1832. 6 



62 WeiJeifs Works. 

again ;'nayy they are not only cast forth and withered, but also cari 
inio ihefirt : and they are humedL 

Fourthly^ ^ Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom 
thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are one,' John xvii, 
11. Great stress has been laid upon this text : and it has been hence 
inferred, that aU those whom the Father had given him (a phrase fre- 
quently occurring in this chapter) must infallibly persevere to the end. 
And yet in the very next verse, our Lord himself declares, that one of 
those whom the Father had given Atm, did not persevere unto the end, 
but perished everlastingly. His own words are, ^* Those that thou 
gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost, but the son of per* 
dition," verse. 12. 

Fifthly^ < It is impossible for those who were once enlightened, and 
have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy 
Ghost, — if they shall fall away, to renew them again to repentance ; 
se^ng they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him 
io an open shame,' Heb. vi, 4, 6. Must not every unprejudiced person 
see, the expressions here used are so strong and clear, that they can* 
not, without gross and palpable wresting, be understood of any but 
true believers? 

Sixthly, ^ The just shall live by faith ; but if any man draw back, 
my soul shall have no pleasure in him,' Heb. x, 38. That is, I will 
utterly cast him off; and accordingly the drawing back here spoken 
of, is termed in the verse immediately following, drawing back unto 

Serdition. But is the person supposed to draw back the same with 
im who is said to live by faith ? To this it may be answered, can any 
man draw back from faith who never came to it? But had the text 
been fairly translated, there had been no pretence for this objection. 
For the original runs thus : h Sixcuos i^ ^titfTSus ^ii&sTou xou iav v^oifTsi' 
Xijrai. If h dixaio^, the just man that lives by faith [so the expression 
necessarily implies, there being no other nominative to the verb'\ draw 
back, my sotU shall have no pleasure in him. But the Apostle adds, ' We 
are not of them who draw back unto perdition.' True, but this is so 
far from contradicting what has been observed before, that it mani* 
festly confirms it. It is a farther proof, that there are those who draw 
back unto perdition, although the Apostle was not of that number. 

Seventhly, * If we sin wilfuUy, after we have received the know* 
ledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin, but a cer- 
tain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation which shall 
devour the adversaries. He that despised Moses's law died without 
mercy under two or three witnesses. Of how much sorer punishment 
shall he be thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of 
God, and hath counted the blood of the covenant, wherewith he was 
sanctified, an unholy thing,' Heb. x, 26-29. It is undeniably plain — 
1. That the person mentioned here, was once sanctified by the blood 
of the covenant. 2. That he afterward, by known, wilful sin, trod 
under foot the Son of God ; and, 3. That he hereby incurred a sorer 
punishment than death, namely, death everlasting. 

The sum of all is this. If the Scriptures are true, those who are 
holy or righteous in the judgment of God himself: those who are en- 
dued with the faith that purifies the heart, that produces a good con- 



Wesley's Works. 68 

science : those who are grafted into the good olive tree, the spiritual, 
invisible church: those who are branches of the true vine, of whom 
Christ says, I am the vine, ye are the branches: those who so effectu- 
ally know Christ, as by that knowledge to have escaped the pollution 
of the world : those who see the light of the glory of God, in the face 
of Jesus Christ, and who have been made partakers of the Holy Ghost, 
of the witness and of the fruits of the Spirit : those who live by faith 
on the Son of God: those who are sanctified by the blood of the cove- 
nant ; may nevertheless so fall from God, as to perish everlastingly. 
Therefore, < Let him uho ttandeth take heed leatheJaU.^* (Vol. vi,p. 90.) 

The following extracts are from the Journal : and in order 
to show the great variety of the topics introduced, and to 
direct the reader's attention to them with the greater facility, 
we shall place ttie subject of each at its commencement, m 
italics. 

The Gospd preached to the poor. — * Tuesday, March 1, [1743.] I 
preached at two in Pelton, five miles south of JN'ewcastle. A mul- 
titude of people were gathered together from all the neighbouring 
towns, and (which I rejoiced at much more) from all the neighbour- 
ing pits. In riding home, I observed a little village called Chowden, 
which they told me consisted of colliers only. I resolved to preach 
there as soon as possible ; for these are sinners, and need repentance.' 
{Vol. iii, p. 280.) 

* Tuesday, 8. — ^In the aflernoon I preached on a smooth part of the 
Fell (or Common) near Chowden. I found we were got into the veiy 
Kingswood of the north. Twenty or thirty wild children ran round 
us, as soon, as we came, staring as in amaze. They could not pro- 
perly be said to be either clothed or naked. One of the largest (a. girl, 
about fifteen) had a piece of a ragged, dirty blanket, some way hung 
about her, and a kind of cap on her head, of the same cloth and colour. 
My heart was exceedingly enlarged toward them ; and they looked as 
if they would have swallowed me up; especially while I was applying 
these words, *^ Be it known unto you, men and brethren, that through 
this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins."' {Ih. p. 281.) 

Instances such as the above are frequent throughout these 
Journals, and afford the most striking and amiable proofs of that 
religion of love, and conformity to the mind of Christ, which 
Mr. Wesley preached. Let those who asperse his memory go 
rather and imitate his example, and they will discover the 
true secret of the popularity of Methodism among (he poor; 
and be much more likely, at the same time, to approve them- * 
selves to our common Master. O, when the Lord of the vine- 
yard shall come to reckon with the labourers, who will then 
despise the lot of Wesley! And how soon, to all the present 
generation at least, will thdh; time roll round ! 

Following up the hlow,^^^ Sunday, 13. I went in the morning in 
order to speak severally with the members of the society at Tanfield. 

* In this snmmary of Mr. Wesley's leading; doctrines, we have availed ounelyea 
of the assistance of the Chronicles of Methodism, by Samuel Warren, LL. D. 



64 WeO^ift Works. 

From the terrible iBBtances I met with here, (and indeed in all partfl 
of England,) I am more and more convinced, that the devil himself 
desires nothing more than this, that the people of any place should be 
half awakened, and then lefl to themselves to fall asleep again. There- 
fore I determine, by the grace of God, not to strike one stroke in any 
place where I cannot follow the blow.' (/6. p. 282.) 

The colliers. — < Thursday, 17. As I was preaching- at Pelton, one 
of the old colliers, not much accustomed to things of this kind, in the 
middle of the sermon, began shouting amain, for mere satidaction 
an^ joy of heart. But their usual, token of approbation (which some- 
what surprised me at first) was clapping me on the back.' {lb.) 

Afwther sort of clergyman, — < While I was speaking, a gentleman 
rode up very drunk ; and after many unseemly and bitter words, la- 
boured much to ride over some of the people. I was surprised to hear 
he was a neighbouring clergyman. And this, too, is a man zealous 
for the Church ! Ah poor Church, if it stood in need of such defend- 
ers!' (/6. p. 284.) . 

Our high church friends would doubtless insist that this 
man was, nevertheless, a true successor of the Apostles, 
whilst, according to their Gospel, such men as Joseph Ben- 
son, Francis Asbury, Richard Whatcoat, (not to name the 
living,) and a long list of others that might be mentioned, 
radsed up in the providence of God as the coadjutors of Mr. 
Wesley, in Europe and America, and who gave full proof of 
their ministry by all the qualifications, marks, and fruits, re- 
quired by theBift/e, — the only test of ministerial validity which 
Protestants ought to admit, — had neither part nor lot in the 
matter ! And why 1 Because, forsooth, they did not possess 
the magic device of a fabulous uninterrupted succession, which 
the Bible no where requires ; which they who allege hs neces- 
sity never did or can prove that they themselves possess ; and 
which, if they did possess it, as to the essence of the ministry, 
is not worth a rush, since the Master has no where required 
it, and the channel through which it professes to have come 
is one which he can never have owned. Nay, the making of 
this circumstance an essential requisite to the mijuistry, we 
believe to be a wicked device of Satan (into which some good 
men may however have fallen) for the hinderance of the Gos- 
pel, by adding to the word what God never authorized, and 
making void his law through tradition. This antichrislian doc- 
trine, which had its origin in the corruptions of Popery, we 
had hoped had pretty well been put to rest, except among 
those who believe, oV pretend to believe, that a man, how- 
ever wicked, who happens to have the indelible character of 
that fabled succession, can turn a wafer into the very true 
and living God ! and a few others who claim a direct descent 
from that same line. Serious efforts, however, have been 
made of late by some individuals to revive it,-^even in Ame- 



WTeslet/'s Workf. 65 

rica. But the people^ for whom the Gospel was especially 
designed, thank God, do not believe it ; and as long as they 
conttnue to regard the Bibk as the only rule, and the suffi- 
cient rule, both of faith and practice, they never will. Let 
others, then, waste their tune if they will in disputing about 
the succession. We Icnow our calling better, and have better 
work. In a subsequent passage Mr. Wesley giv^s another 
specimen of such high-churchmanship, as follows : — 

*• Saturday, 18, [June.] I received a full account of the terrible 
riots which had been in Staffordshire. I was not surprised at all : 
neither should I have wondered if, after the advices they had so oAen 
received from the pulpit, as well as from the episcopal chair, the zeal- 
ous high churchmen had rose, and ciit all that were Methodists in 
pieces.* {lb. p. 286.) 

Redeeming the time, — ' Before I reached Kensington, I found my 
mare had lost a shoe. This gave me an opportunity of talking closely, 
for near half an hour, both to the smith and his servant. I mention 
these little circumstances, to show how easy it is to redeem every 
fragment of time, (if I may so speak,) when we feel any love to those 
souls for which Christ died.' (A. p. 288.) 

A catholic spirit. — < Thursday, 22, [Sept.] As we were riding 
through a village called Sticklepath, one stopped me in the street, 
and asked abruptly, '* Is not thy name John Wesley?" Immediately 
two or three more came up, and told me I must stop there. I did so; 
and before we. had spoke many words, our souls took acqvaintance 
with each other. I found they were called Quakers ; but that hurt 
not me ; seeing the love o( God was in their hearts.' {lb. p. 294.) 

Approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience. — ' By 
how gentle degrees does God prepare us for his will ! Two years ago 
a piece of brick grazed my shoulders. It was n year after that the 
stone struck me between the eyes. Last month I received one blow, 
and this evening two ; one before we came into the town, and one 
after we were gone out ; but both were m nothing : for thoifgh one 
man struck me on the breast with all his might, and the other on the 
mouth with such a force that the blood gushed out immediately, I felt 
no more pain from either of the blows, than if they had touched me 
with a straw.' {lb. p. 298.) 

Venturing life rather than disappoint a congregation. — * Saturday, 
22, [Oct.] I rode from Nottingham to Epworth, and on Monday set 
out for Grimsby; but at Ferry we were at a full stop, the boatmen 
telling us we could not pass the Trent : it was as much as our lives 
were worth to put from shore before the storm abated. We waited 
an.hour; but, being afraid it would do much hurt, if I should disap* 
point the congregation at Grimsby, I afiked the men if they did nof, 
think it possible to get to the other shore : they said, they could not 
tell ; but if we would venture our lives, they would venture theirs. 
So we put off, having six men, two women, and three horses, in the 
boat. Many stood looking after us on the river side, in the middle of 
which we were, when, in an instant, the side of the boat was under 
water, and the horses and men rolling one over another. We expected 

6* 



66 ^ Wedejfs Works. 

the boat to sink every moment ; but I did not doubt of being able to 
swim ashore. The boatmen were amazed as well as the rest ; but 
they quickly recovered and rowed for life. And soon after, our horses 
leaping overboard, lightened the boat, and we all came unhurt to land. 

They wondered what was the matter I did not rise, (for 1 lay along 
in the bottom of the boat,) and I wondered too, till, upon examination, 
I found that a large iron crow, which the boatmen sometimes used, 
was (none knew how) run through the string of my boot, which pin- 
ned me down that I could not stir ; so that if the boat had sunk, I 
should have been safe enough from swimming any farther. The 
same day, and, as near as we could judge, the same hour, the boat in 
which my brother was crossing the Severn, at the New Passage, was 
carried away by the wind, and in the utmost danger of splitting upon 
the rocks. But the same God, when all human hope was past, de- 
livered them as well as us.' {lb. pp. 299-300.) . 

An attempt to burlesque Methodism on the stage. — * Wednesday, 
Nov. 2. The following advertisement was published : — 

For the benefit of Mr. Este. 
Bjtha £dinbwg:b Compaoy of ComediaiM, on Friday, No?ember 4, will be acted, a Comedj, called 

THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS; 

To which will be added, a Farce, called, 

TRICK UPON TRICK, OR METHODISM DISPLAYED. 

On Friday a vast multitude of spectators were assembled in the 
Moot Hall to see this.- It was believed there could not be less than 
fifteen hundred people, some hundreds of whom sat on rows of seats 
built upon the stage. Soon after the comedians had begun the first 
act of the play, on a sudden all those seats fell down at once, the sup- 
porters of them breaking like a rotten stick. The people were thrown 
one upon another, about five foot forward, but not one of them hurt. 
After a short time, the rest of the spectators were quiet, and the 
actors went on. In the middle of the seeond act, all the shilling 
seAts gave a crack, and sunk several inches down. A great noise 
and shrieking followed ; and as many as could readily get to the door, 
went out and returned no more. Notwithstanding this, when the 
noise was over, the actors went on with the play. In the beginning 
of the third act the entire stage suddenly sunk about six inches : 
the players retired with great precipitation ; yet in a while they began 
again. At the latter end of the third act, all the sixpenny seats, 
without any kind of notice, fell to the ground. There was now a cry 
on every side ; it being supposed that many were crushed in pieces : 
but, upon incfttiry, not a single person (such was the mercy of God f) 
was either killed or dangerously hurt. Two or three hundred remain- 
ing still fn the Hall, Mr. Este (who was to act the Methodist) came 
upon the stage and told them, for all this, he was resolved the farce 
should be acted. While h« was speaking, the stage sunk six inches 
more ; on which he ran back in the utmost confusion, and the people 
as fast as they could out of the door, none staying to look behind him. 
Which is most surprising, — tliat those players acted this farce the next 
week, — or that some hundreds of people came airain to see it 1' (lb. 
pp. 302,303.^ r r Q V 

Paying debts.—* Two years ago she [Mary Cheesebrook] catched 
a violent cold, which she neglected till it settled upon her lungs. I 



Wesley's Works. 67 

knew nothing of her illness till it was past cure, she heing then worn 

to a skeleton. Upon my mentioning her case to Mrs. , she sent 

her half a guinea. Molly immediately sent for a poor man, a baker, 
of whom she had lately taken her bread. She owed him about ten 
shillings : but an earnest dispute arose between them ; for the man 
would not take the money, saying, she wanted it more than he. But 
at length she prevailed, saying, she could not die in peace, if she owed 
any man any thing.' (lb, p. 410.) 

A singular idea of Methodism. — ' I was a little surprised at the 
acuteness of a gentleman here, [Rathcormuck, hi Ireland,] who, in 
conversation with Col. Barry, about late occurrences, said, he had 
heard, there was a people- risen up that placed all religion in wearing 
long whiskers ; and seriously asked, whether these were not the same 
who were called Methodists.* (76. p. 453.) [June, 1749.] 

JVei0 cofwerts in the congregation. — ' From the whole, I cannot but 
observe two things : 1. What a blessing it is, when any who finds that 
peace, declares it openly before all the people, that we may break off 
and praise God. If this was always done, it would be good for many 
sods. The first that found it on Sunday evening, spoke before all ; 
and we praised God. The moment she spoke, another, and then 
another, found peace ; and each of them spoke aloud, and made the 
fire run through the whole congregation. I would observe, 2. The 
woman at Rahew had never before seen any one in the like trouble. 
Therefore she could not cry out because she had heard others do it ; 
but because she could not help it ; because she felt the word of God 
<^ sharper than a two-edged sword :" and, generally, the sharper the 
convictions are, the sooner they are over.' {lb. p. 461.) 

The above passage is part of a letter addressed to Mr. 
Wesley by a preacher in Ireland. 

Controversy. — * Wednesday, 3, [April, 1751, ] I made an end of 
visiting the classes, miserably shattered by the sowers of strange doc* 
trines. At one I preached at Tipton Green, where the Baptists also 
have been making havoc of the flock ; which constrained me, in 
speaking on those words, << Arise, and be baptized, and wash away 
thy sins," to spend near ten minutes in ^ntroversy ; which is more 
than Ik had done in public for many months (perhaps years) before.' {lb. 
pp. 610-511.) 

Again, * Tuesday, 19, [Nov.] I began writing a letter to the Com<* 
parer of the Papists and Methodists. Heavy work, such as I should 
never choose ; but sometimes it must be done. W^ell might the ancient 
say, " God made practical divinity necessary, the devil controversial." 
But it is necessary : we must '^ resist the devil," or he will not <' flee 
from us."' (76. p. 524.) 

llse strength^ and have strength. — * Thursday, 16, [April, 1752.] I 
walked over to Burnham. I had no thought of preaching there, 
doubting if my strength would allow of preaching always thrice a day, 
as I had done most days since I came from Evesham. But finding a 
house full of people, I could not refrain. Still the more 1 use my 
strength, the more I have. I am often much tired the first time I 
preach in a day; a little the second time ; but after the third or fourth, 
I rarely feel either weakness or weariness.' {lb. p. 530.) 



68 Wesley's Works. 

Desires of a rich old man. — < Friday, 24. We rode by a fine seat ; 
the owner of which (not much above fourscore years old) says he de- 
sires only to live thirty years longer ; ten to hunt, ten to get money, 
(having at present but twenty thousand pounds a year,) and ten years 
to repent. O that God may not say unto him, '^ Thou fool, this night 
shall thy soul be required of thee !" ' {lb. p. 531.) 

PrMching on a mountainy and lodging under ground. — ' I preached 
[June, 1752,] on the side of a mountain, to a large and earnest con- 
gregation, and then went on to Mellar-barn. I preached at six in the 
town ; and I suppose all the inhabitants, young and old, were present. 
Nor have I often seeii so large a congregation so universally and deeply 
affected. My lodging was not such as I should have chosen ; but what 
Providence chooses, is always good. My bed was considerably under 
ground, the room serving both for a bed chamber and a cellar. The 
closeness was more troublesome at first than the coolness : but I let 
in a little fresh air, by breaking a pane of paper (put by way of glass) 
in the window ; and then slept sound till the morning.' (/6. p. 536.) 

Jl rest week. — 'Saturday, 14, [Oct.] About seven we sailed into 
Eingroad, and happily concluded our little voyage. I now rested a 
week at Bristol and Kingswood, preaching only morning and even* 
ing.'» {lb. p. 644.) 

Rejection for contention^ — not for opinion. — ' Thursday, 26. I spoke 
severally to those of the society, and found they had been harassed 
above measure, by a few violent predestinarians, who had at length 
separated themselves from us. It was well they saved rife the trouble ; 
for I can have no connection with those who will be contentious. 
These I reject, not for their opinion, but for their sin ; for their un- 
christian temper, and unchristian practice ; for being haters of reproof, 
haters of peace, haters of their brethren, and, consequently, of God.' 
(i&. p.552.) 

The above extract shows conclusively, that, although Mr. 
Wesley is well known to have been characteristically indul- 
gent in regard to the individual opinions of the members of 
his societies, yet he would not allow persons to continue in 
them who were *conteutious,' and endeavoured to sow dis- 
sensions, (as our Discipline expresses it,) by inveighing 
against the doctrines" (or the discipline) of the <;ommunity 
into which they had asked and received admission. It was 
for the * sin* of such, however, that Mr. Wesley rejected 
them, and not for their opinions. The distinction must be 
obvious to the plainest capacity. On the same principle, ex- 
elusions from the Methodist Episcopal Church have taken 
place, in some instances, in this country. In these cases, 
that the true ground of such expulsions was not the opi- 
nions of the individuals, or the expression of their opinions, 
is perfectly well known to all the parties concerned. Yet 

* This * rest week' is commended to the attention of those who have the making 
of circuit plans,-*-It reminds us of the anecdote of the German farmer, who said f 
his reapers, in a very sultry day, — * Boys, it is too hot to reap^et us go to th« barn 
and rest,— and we will thresh while we rest.' 



Wesley's Works. 69 

some of the leaders of those who had long been in the habit 
of using the most violent and intemperate language, and of 
systematically and periodically issuing the most inflammatory 
pubhcations for the purpose of overthrowing the very founda*- 
tions of the polity of the church, and who for these causes, 
among others, after full trial with right of appeal, had been 
expelled from the church whose polity and discipline they 
had thus for years, and even with gross abuse and slander, 
laboured to make contemptible and odious, still persist in 
stating to the public that tliey were expelled for their opinions ! 
If they never before proved themselves unworthy of a place 
among us, surely tliey do it at least by thus pertinaciously 
persisting in a course recklessly subversive of the plainest 
obligations of moral propriety.* 

Regard for discipline. — 'Friday, 5, [Oct. 1763.] After sermon I 
e:2cplained to them, at 'large, the nature and design of our societies; 
and desired that if any of them were willing to join therein, they would 
call on me, either that evening or in the morning. I made no account 
of ihat shadow of a society which was before, without classes, withoui 
order, or rules ; having never seen, read, or heard the printed rules ; 

* The following anecdote of Mr. Wesley's characteristic forbearance in matters 
of opinion, provided it did not extend to sowing dissensions by inveighing, &c, is 
from Sutcliife's Life of Yalton, — a work which the author, (the Rev. Joseph Suf- 
d^e, A. M,) has kindly transmitted to us, with manuscript corrections and addi- 
tions by himself; and which we have it in contemplation to issue from our owa 
. press. 

[1765, Oct. 18.1 *I heard Mr. William Darney, at five, expound the ftixty-third 
Psalm. The dry and thirsty state of the wilderness suited my experience. 1 could 
•ay, "O God, thou art my God ; early will I seek thee.'* 

[This preacher was a native of Scotland, and educated in high Calvinistic opi- 
nions. On joining Mr. Wesley, he professed a belief in the Methodist doctrines ; 
yet the doctrine of sanctification, as taught by Mr. Wesley, he did not believe; and 
nis &voriie doctrine of the finaJ and unconditional perseverance of the saints, ht 
never renounced. As a master encourages his workmen, and as a general animates 
his army, so we should ever encourage the saints to persevere ; yet this should not 
be done without all the strong and salutary cautions of the sacrea writings. 

With regard to indwelling sin, St. Clement, a compsinion of St. Paul, and Maea- 
riiis, and all the primitive fathers, teach as the Methodists. But Au^stine, though 
he had taught the same, yet, when aged and sick, fell into nervous infirmities, and 
became timid and fearful lest he should perish : he read the seven penitential psalms 
daily, with tears, and wrote his Retractions ; among which he contended that the 
seventh chapter of the Epistle to the Romans was not, as he had formerly said, "de- 
livered in a figure to bring over the Jews from legal bondage to the liberty of Christ, 
but was St. Paul's own expjerience." — ^Notwithstanding these opinions, Mr. Darney 
was a most laborious missionary man for more than twenty yeaVs, chiefly in the 
manufacturing districts, and in the north of En^and. It is true, he durst not preach 
these doctrines very openly ; but he would do it with a friend, and in remote cor- 
ners of the land. The Calvinists liked to hear him, and gave him the appellation of 
Scotch Will 

Once, indeed, he vms detected in a very remarkable manner, as was related to 
me by an aged Baptist minister in the north. He preached in a yard, and stood on 
a hogshead. In the discourse, he reverted to his favorite subject, perseverance: 
he declared that the saints could never fall ; no, so sure as he stood there, they could 
^ never fall. The preacher here augmenting the powers of emphasis by a too heavy 
stamp of the foot, in went the heiul of Uie hogshead, along with the preacher; ana 
it was with difficulty, he being corpulent, that his friends could extricate him.*] 



70 Wesley's Works. 

which ought to have been given them at their very first meeting.' (A. 
p. 563.) 

The Capua of preachers. — * Monday, 9, [June, 1766. — ^York.] I 
4ook my leave of the richest society, number for number, which we 
have in England. I hope this place will not prove (as Cork has for 
some time done) the Capua of our preachers.' (/6. p. 582.) 

Capua was a rich and flourishing city of Italy, in which An- 
nibal's triumphant army was enervated by indulgence, after 
his great victory at Cannae. 

Days of thanksgiving. — * Tuesday, 24. Observing in that valuable 
book, Mr. Gillies's " Historical Collections," the custom of Christian 
congregations in all ages to set apart seasons of solemn thanksgivings, 
I was amazed and ashamed that we had never done this, after all the 
blessings we had received : and many to whom I mentioned it gladly 
agreed to set apart a day for that purpose.' (lb. p. 583.) 

It was thus that Mr. Wesley, like the industrious bee, gather- 
ed honey from every flower, for the benefit of his societies ; 
and showed himself the true eclectic Christian philosopher. 

In hunger and thirst — ' About five I found the congregation wait- 
ing in a broad, convenient part of the strieet, in Redruth. I was 
extremely weary ; and our friends were so glad to see me, that none 
once thought of asking me to eat or drink ; but my weariness vanished 
when I began to speak. Surely God is in this place also.' {lb. p. 686.) 

A thought on death. — ' Friday 12. [Dec. 1755.] As I was returning 
from Zoar, I came as well as usual to Moorfields ; but there my 
Mrength entirely failed, and such a faintness and weariness seized me, 
that it was with difficulty I got home. I could not buf think, how 
happy it would be (suppose we were ready for the Bridegroom) to 
sink down and steal away at once, without any of the hurry and pt>mp 
of dying ! Tet it is happier still to glorify God in our death, as well 
as our life.* (lb. p. 692.) 

^ Early Sunaay Schools for blacks. — f '< I sent a few of each sort to 
my friend Mr. Wright, minister of Cumberland, about ninety miles 
hence ; where there are not a iew negroes thoughtful about Chris- 
tianity, and sundry real converts: and, he informs me, they have met 
with a very agreeable and promising reception. He takes much pains 
in instructing them, and has set up two or three schools among them ; 
where they attend on Sundays, before and after sermon : for they 
have no other leisure time." ' (lb. p. 696.) 

The above is part of a letter from the distinguished Presi- 
dent DatHeSy then of Vu'ginia, to Mr. Wesley, respecting the 
distribution of some books which he had received from Mr. 
Wesley for charitable distribution. The whole of that portion 
of the letter published by Mr. Wesley in the place above 
quoted, will be found very interesting. 

Humility and charity. — President Davies. — * " Though you and I 
may difier in some little things, I have long loved you and your bro- 
ther, and wished and prayed for your success, as zealous revivers of 
experimental Christianity. If I differ from you in temper and design, 



IVesle^B Works. 71 

or in the essentials of religion, I am sure the error must lie on my side. 
Blessed be God for hearts to love one another !" ' (lb, p. 620.) 

The preceding id an extract of another letter to Mr. Wesley 
from the same excellent man, the Rev. President Davjes,^ 
It is dated, ^ Hanover ^ {in Virginia^} Jan, 28, 1757;' and 
speaks of Mr. Wesley in a style very different from that to 
which his memory is used from some. of our Calvinistic bre-' 
thren in modern days. 

Sitting at prayer. — [June, 1757.] * I was much pleased with the 
seriousness of the people in the evening ; but still I prefer the English 
congregation. I cannot be reconciled to men sitting at prayer, or 
covering their heads while they are singing praise to God.' {lb, p. 633.) 

We earnestly wish that our beloved friends in the goodly 
city of New- York, or elsewhere, who seat our churches in 
such a manner as almost to compel people to ' sit at prayer,' 
would consider this matter. Fgr our own part, we decidedly 
think standing preferable to sitting, in that solemn devotional 
act. But why either ? O comCy let its worship and bow down; 
lei us kneel before the Lord, our Maker. , 

Books for the poor. — ' This morning Dr. Tisdale showed me a pa- 
per, whici) the archbishop had just sent to each of his clergy; exhort- 
ing them to erect a society for the distribution of books among the 
poor. Thanks be to God for this ! Whether we or they, it is all one, 
so God be known, loved, and obeyed.' {lb. pp. 652,653.) 

Curious house of a scholar, — * This [May 16. 1758,] was the hottest 
day I ever felt in Ireland ; near as h&t as any I remember in Georgia. 
The next morning I was desired to see the house of an eminent scho- 
lar near the town. The door into the yard we found nailed up; but 
we got in at a gap which was stopped with thorns. I took the house, 
at first, for a very old barn, but was assured he had built it within five 
years ; not indeed by any old, vulgar model, but purely to his own 
taste. The walls were part mud, part brick, part stone, and part 
bones and wood. There were four windows, but no glass in any, lest 
the pure air should be kept out. The house had two stories, -but no 
stair case, and no door. Into the upper lloor we went by a ladder 
through one of the windows; through one of the lower windows, into 
the lower floor, which was about four foot high. This floor had three 
rooms ; — one thr6e square, the second had five sides, the third, I know 
not how many. I give a particular description of this wonderful edi- 
fice, to illustrate that great truth : — There is no folly too great even for 
a man of sense, if he resolvd to follow his own imagination.' {lb, p. 656.) 

Punctuality and perseverance, — ' Tuesday, 6. I set out at four, (the 
hour I had appointed,) on foot ; the horse brought for me having nei- 
ther bridle nor saddle. After a time, one galloped after me full speed, 
till, just as he overtook me, horse and man came down together. The 
horse's knee spouted out blood, as if an artery had been cut ; but on a 
sudden the blood stopped, nor did he bleed any more all the way to 
Aghrim.' (/6. p. 658.) 

(To be concluded in our next number.) 



7« 



ON SACRED POETRY. 



[In the following article, from the Wesleyan Methodist Ma- 
gazine, besides an able discussion of the general subject, the 
reader will find some valuable criticisms on the composi- 
tion of hymns, and on the Wesleyan hymns in particular ; 
together with a comparison between Charles Wesley and Dr. 
Watts, as hymn-writers, in which a sentiment whicn we for- 
merly expressed on this subject, in dissent from Mr. Mont- 
gomery, is very ably sustained. The essay greatly increases 
in interest in its porgress ; and if we do not greatly mistake, 
few readers will rise from it, at its close, without high grati- 
fication.] 

It is an observation which can scarcely fail to strike every 
intelligent and reflective mind, that notwithstanding all the 
lofty imaginings which have breathed a very soul of poetry 
into much of our current literature ; pervading even such 
portions of it as are not professedly and distinctively poetical ; 
but a very small part of that literature has been devoted to 
the illustration of religious truth, or of experimental piety. Its 
inspiration has, I think, been chiefly drawn from other sources 
tlian those bright and hallowed well-springs of spiritual life 
and freedom which would seem to afford the most delightful 
congenial animation and excitement to a vigorous intellect, 
originally cast by nature in the finest mould of genius, and 
gradually developed, in the unfolding beauty of its vital ener- 
gies, into all the fervid sentiments of pure and elevated poetry. 
The final and efficient causes of this prevailing error, (if error 
it may be correctly deemed,) it is not my purpose thoroughly 
to investigate. They may, perhaps, be found among those 
fluctuating impulses of popular approbation, which, in mo- 
dern times, have both permitted, and, in some sort, required, 
the too reckless indulgence of an exuberant imagination, 
regulated by no uniform and powerfully-controlling law of 
inteltectual operation, and trusting rather for its effect to the 
awakened sympathy of the reader, than to any corresponding 
exertion on his part of the same lofty faculties whereby the 
subject was at first evolved out of the continuous manifest- 
ations of those profound affections in which it had its birth-place 
and its cradle. To me, this supposition appears at once to 
furnish a sufficient explanation of the acknowledged fact ; and 
I incline to believe that, in connection with such an opinion, it 
would be no very difficult undertataking to show how the tole- 
ration — ^not to say positive demand — of a comparatively unin- 
tellectualkindof ppetry should have inducedapalpableneglect, 
by some of our most illustrious authors, of those sublimer 
arguments which are available only to searching, philosophic 



On Sacred Poetrg, 73 

thought, and pa^tient meditation. Unquestionably, however^ 
there has been a dash of wildness, too often bordering on the 
fantastic and grotesque extravagancies of Gennan romance, 
shading and tincturing even the finest conceptions of superla- 
tive genius, which the age— fruitful as it continues happily to 
be of works bearing indeed the impress of exalted ability— 
has produced. I do not here presume to speak in terms of 
authoritative condemnation of this admitted character of 
modern verse ; but I must be allowed to intimate, that, in my 
judgment, it constitutes an offence of considerable magnitude 
against the high and severe canons of the arspoeHea. 

In olden times-^in the glorious youth of British song — it was 
far otherwise : at least, among the mighty masters of the art. 
Let any one of strong and cultivated understanding attempt 
to analyze the specific constitution of the genius of Shak- 
speare, Spencer, or Milton ; and he shall find that the very 
creative power which lies obvious to the most superficial con- 
templation of their imperishablewritings,isnotmore essentially 
an element of their visible strength, than the depth and energy 
of reflection, the intense, abstract thought, by which it , is 
accompanied. Some of your readers will probably be tempted, 
for a moment, to differ from me in the application of my re- 
marks : they may have been accustomed* to suppose, that of 
the three unequally distinguished bards whom I have just 
selected as examples, the last alone affords a practical and 
magnificent illustration of the position which I am anxious 
to establish. Farther on I shall be enabled, by an unavoidable 
implication, to elucidate this point more fully : for the present, 
let it suflSce to observe, with respect particularly to Spencer, 
that the simple exhibition of abstract virtues, or forms of vir- 
tue, of vice and error and hypocrisy, in all the various shapes 
and changmg hues of their appearance, was, in itself, a task 
which not merely demanded, as essential to its strilidng and 
successful execution, the finest tact in the delineation and 
arrangement of the several groups and figures of the picture ; 
but which, at the same time, called for the utmost nicety of 
metaphysical discrimination and distinction, to identify and 
characterize each individual portrait. It is not to be con- 
ceived, indeed, that of all the multitudinous, the active and 
reacting powers of that vastly comprehending mind, imagi- 
nation only was permitted to take part in the construction of 
the immortal fable of the < Faery Queene ;' it is not possible 
to dream that the precise fitness of the sign to the thing signi- 
fied, the mutual adaptation of the substance and the shadow, 
could be determined by the poet, any more than by an equally 
thoughtful admirer of his celebrated allegory, without long and 
scrutinizing investigation of the general idea, with all its attri- 
VoL. III. — January^ 1832. 7 



74 On Sacred Poetry. 

butes, and their necessary or accidental relations* But when 
to this consideration we add another, — that, namely, of the 
obligation which devolved upon the poet to humanize his 
characters, — ^to invest the presentationsof mere abstract qual- 
ities, the most absolute of fictions, with the vital flesh and blood 
of our own sentient being, so that they should pass before us 
on the stage, seemingly warm with the affections of our na- 
ture, and layuig claim to every instinctive sympathy as living 
and breathing creatures, like ourselves ; we come, then, to 
know something of the transcending force and majesty of that 
triumphant genius which was able both to neutralize and ob- 
viate the difficulties that incumbered its exertions, and to sub- 
due and'bend them to its own invincible will ; to convert them 
to its own ends ; and actually constrain them to assist and 
glorify its victorious progress. 

Of Shakspeare, it would be quite irrelevant to say n&ore than 
may serve to exemplify the principle for which I am contend- 
ing. But it is of no slight importance to the present inquiry 
to note distinctly the philosophical tone and bearmg of all his 
most elaborated dramas. This observation has reference, not 
so much to the innumerable passages of isolated moral beauty, 
the grave and pointed aphorisms, the impressive enunciations 
of solemn truths and memorable reasonings on matters of 
abstruse discussion, which are variously introduced by Shak- 
. speare in his inimitable works ; as to the informing spirit and 
final tendency of his more elevated compositions. It were 
abundantly easy to multiply examples of the singularly felici- 
tous method which he adopted, of inculcating with conspicuous 
force and clearness some profound and indistinctly apprehend- 
ed moral truth. The demonstrations of mathematicsd science 
are not more decisive and infallible than the processes otittus^ 
trative ratiocination which he employed, JHe brought home 
the imiriied, and perhaps informal propositions, which formed 
the argument and substance of his labour ; and appealed, for 
their unhesitating acknowledgment and attestation, to those 
fundamental intuitions, arising out of native passion and ex- 
perimental feeling, on \rtiich is based the fabric of all human 
knowledge. 

Now, without attempting to elaborate these introductory 
remarks which, if pursued to any considerable length, might 
lead me into far too wide a field of discussion ; let it be observ- 
ed that the prevailing tendency of genius, in all its moods of 
deep and commanding inspiration, is, necessarily, to the reve- 
lation of that constitution of our spiritual life which has to do 
with the mysterious impulses of religion. Undoubtedly, there 
have been poets of surpassing energy, endowed with endless 
powers of subtlest thinking, and with immeasurable opulence 



On Sacred Poetry. 75 

of imagery, who have looked calmly down into the black abyss- 
es of their own mighty spirits, and have conjured thence the 
appalling forms of spectral horror, and of terrible misgiving : 
men to whom the awful truths of Christianity, as imaged in 
the broken or distorted reflections of souls that quaked and 
shuddered under the heavenly influences against which they 
were still vainly struggling, in impotent and self-confounding 
rebellion, seemed but the nightmare visions of diseased imagi- 
nation, or the frightfully bewildering illusions of insane and 
slavish folly. The specific causes of this stupendous error are 
by no means inexplicable. They have their origin in the per- 
severing depravity of the moral mind ; the stern and insub- 
missive refusal of a perverted will to undergo the holy pro- 
cesses of purity, and of divine purgation from those base 
desires of earth and things of earth, that palsy, as it were, 
its iitful aspirations after nobler good. . 

But, even in these cases of voluntary depravation, we find 
that all truly elevated genius, how widely soever it may have 
casually swerved from its legitimate and appointed purpose, 
istill strives to fathom and explore the invisible recesses of the 
human soul. Its aim is, constantly to look into itself; and 
beypnd its own immediate workings to observe the inward 
sources of its ever active being ; to mark the wondrous com- 
binations, the connections and analogies and mutual depend- 
encies of intellectual and spiritual principles ; to define their 
various eclipses and ascendencies ; and, finally, to reflect upon 
the broad and stsdnless mirror of imagination, their several 
forms of exhibition or evolvement. 

I have been led into this train of reflection, while perusing, for 
the third or fourth time, the fine introductory Essay of Mr. 
Montgomery, prefixed to his beautiful selection of English 
Psalms and Hymns. It is now about two years ^since I had 
first the pleasure of meeting with this unpretending little 
volume ; and, but that commendatory reviews, from far abler 
hands than mine, were not wanting at the period of its publi- 
cation, I should have been tempted, by my cordial admiration 
of the distinguished editor's talents and virtues, to turn critic 
myself. My approbation, however, small as may be its value, 
of that gentleman's mode of executing his delightful task, was 
not, even Mew, by any means, undivided. I could not be per- 
suaded that Mr. Montgomery's general arrangement, and 
frequent alterations in their metrical structure of some of the 
fijQest specimens of sacred poetry in our own or any other lan- 
guage, were either necessary or judicious. But the feelings 
of dissatisfaction, if not disappointment, which have gradually 
taken possession of my mind, were suggested chiefly by an 
apprehension of certain not very palpable deficiencies in the 



T6 On Sacred Poetry. 

prefatory Essay : not that I dreamed of having discovered 
m the matter of that discourse any decidedly objectionable 
propositions, or striking and eminently censurable omissions ; 
but because it seemed to me that Mr. Montgomery ought, on 
such a subject, and with his undisputed powers of energetic 
composition, to have written better than he has done. His 
introduction, I have thought, is too superficial in its criticisms ; 
too hasty and careless in its judgments. The tone of all its 
observations is wanting in distinct and reasonable emphasis : 
nor has the writer condescended to state, with sufficient clear- 
ness, the premises from which his conclusions were deduced. 
It would ill become me to hazard the utterance of a suspicion, 
that the editor of the « Christian Psalmist' had paid but small 
attention to the more extensive bearings of the question which 
he proposed to discuss. As little should I presume to insinu- 
ate that his peculiar opinions were formed without mature 
deliberation, or founded upon va^ue and unintelligible preju- 
dices. Although I must be permitted to dissent from some of 
them, I do not now attack the doctrines of the Essay. As the 
determinate sentiments of a man of unquestionable genius, — 
himself an artist of deserved celebrity in the same department 
with those, the relative value of whose works he undertakes 
to appraise, — I am bound to respect them. I do so cordially. 
But what I am now complaining of is, the absence of recorded 
ireasons which, if they could not justify, might, at least, have 
given a semblance of fairness and consistency to strictures, — 
marked, indeed, with something of judicial authority in their 
enunciation ; but withal so independent of any obvious or ac- 
khowledged rule of critical adjudication, as to present only the 
substance of a few isolated dogmas for admission or denial. 

With these impressions concerning Mr. Montgomery's Es- 
say, I have judged it proper to preface my own observations 
by a general outline of those principles by which I shall en- 
deavour both to try the primary question of the natural fitness 
of poetry, as a form of composition, for subjects of sacred cha- 
racter and interest ; and also to determine the relative excel- 
lence, in that particular style of the art, of the few superior 
poets who have attempted the adaptation of verse to doctrinal 
theology and religious exercises. 

In continuation, then, of the remarks already offered, I have 
a few words to add, in objection to a passage of considerable 
length, and which, perhaps, is as likely at first sight to com- 
mand the assent of pious readers, as any other in the thirty 
pages of Mr. Montgomery's lecture. As the * Christian 
Psalmist' is not in every body's possessiw, I shall give the 
author's notices on this point at length. They are as fol* 
lows : — 



On Soared Poetry. Tt 

^ ^ But turning mor# directly to the subject of these remarks, 
in connection with the contents of this volume ; though our 
elder poets, down even to the Revolution, often chose to exer- 
cise their vein on religious topics ; since that time, there has 
been but one, who bears a great name among them, who has 
condescended to compose hymnSy in the commonly accepted 
sense of that word. Addison, who has left several which may 
be noticed hereafter, though he ranks in the first class of prose 
writers, must take a place many degrees lower in verse. 
Cowper, therefore, stands alone among the " mighty masters'* 
of the lyre, as having contributed a considerable number of 
approved and popular hymns, for the purposes of public or pri- 
vate devotion. Hymns, looking at the multitude and mass 
of them, appear to have been written by all kinds of persons 
except poets ; and why the latter have not delighted in this 
department of their own art is obvious. Just in proportion 
as the religion of Christ is understood and taught in primitive 
purity, those who either: believe not in its spirituality, or have 
not proved its converting influence, are careful to avoid med- 
dling with it: so that, if its sacred mysteries have been less fre- 
quently and ostentatiously honored by the homage of our poets, 
within the last hundred and fifty years, they have been less 
disgraced and violated by absurd and impious associations. 
The offence of the cross has not ceased ; nay, it exists, per^ 
haps most inveterately, though less apparently, in those coun- 
tries where the religion of the state has been refined from the 
gross superstitions of the dark ages ; for there the bumbling 
doctrines of the Gospel are, as of old, a stumbling block to the 
self-righteous, and foolishness to the wise in their own esteem^ 
Many of our eminent poets have belonged to one or the other 
of these classes : it cannot be surprising, then, that they either 
knew not, or contemned the truth as it is in Jesus. 

There is an idle prejudice, ifounded upon the misapprehen- 
sion of a passage in Dr. Johnson's Life of Waller, and a liint 
of the like nature in his Life of Watts, — that sacred subjects 
are unfit for poetry, nay, incapable of being combined with it. 
That their native majesty and grace cannot be heightened by 
any human art or embellishment, is most freely admitted ; but 
that verse, as well as prose, may be advantageously associated 
with whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, 
and of good report, in religion, we have the evidence of the 
Scriptures themselves, " in the law of Moses and the Prophets, 
and in the Psalms f where they testify concerning Christ and his 
sufferings, in strains the most exalted that poesy can boast. We 
have evidence to thesame effect in many of the most perfect and- 
exquisite compositions of uninspired poets, both in our own and 
in other countries. The editor of The Christian Psalmist hopes 

7* 



78 On Sacred Poetry. 

to have an early opportunity of showing that Dr. Johnson's 
assertion respecting the incompatibility of poetrjf with devotion 
is not nearly so comprehensive as it nas been ignorantly as-^ 
sumed to be ;* and that what he has actually asserted on this 
head is invalidated by matter of fact, — ^the only satisfactory test 
of the truth of such positions. At present it will be sufficient 
to affirm in despite of this oracle of criticism, — which, when 
examined closely, will be found as ambiguous and as capable 
of being explained to nothing, as other oracles were wont to 
be, — that, had our greatest poets possessed the religious knowr 
ledge of our humblest writers of hymns, they might have been 
the authors of similar compositions, not less superior to the 
ordinary run of these, than their own best poems are abovo 
the incorrigible mediocrity of their contemporaries. But, in 
their default, we are not without abundant proof, that hymns 
may be as splendid in poetry as they are fervent in devotion ; 
and in this volume will be found many popular pieces, the un- 
taught workmanship of men who had nonames in literature, but 
whose piety inspired them to write in verse, and sometimes 
with a felicity which the most practised masters of song might 
envy, but, unless the " Spirit gave them utterance," could not 
compass with their utmost art.' (Introductory Essay, pp. 8-1 0. ) 
The opinion then, it would seem, of Mr. Montgomery, is, 
that the great poets of this country have abstained from 
writing hymns, and * spiritual songs,' for no other reason, than 
because they were personally unacquainted with the salvation 
of the Gospel ; because they had no experience of the * peace 
of God, which passeth all understanding j' because they knew 
not, and had never felt, the purifying influences of the Holy 
Spirit, by which alone the heart of man can be prepared for 
the reception of the truth. Doubtless, too many of our immor- 
tals have deserved the condemnation which this verdict would 
fanply. Theirs were lives of splendid sin, and desecrated ge- 
nius. Around them, in contrasted masses of storm and sun- 
shine, the elements of gloom and glory gathered confusedly. 
Occasionally, gleams of lightniftg thought, flashes of song 
that dazzled with their fitful radiance, dispersed or parted for 
a moment the congregated clouds and darkness through which 
they struggled, and revealed the clear, calm heaven beyond ; 
but anon. 

Blackness cam6 across it, like a sqtiall 
Darkening the sea ; 

and the benign and gracious lustre faded into still deeper sha- 

* Mr. Montgomery, I believe, has not yet fulfilled his promise. For my own part, 
I should have been delighted, iand shall be yet, to meet with any thing Ym may have 
to Bay in extenoatioa of Dr. Johnson's heresy ; especially as I am one of Chose who 
"ignorantly assume," that the Doctor meant to deny the propriety of all kinds of 
sacred poetry, and who, therefore, think but little of his judgment m the Siatter. 



On Sacrtd Poetry. 79 

dow. Of all this I am thoroughly ccmvinced : I dare not evten 
pretend to qualUy the censure. But I shall not easily be per* 
suaded, that the sole motive of their refraining from the choice 
of sacred subjects arose from moral inability to excel in devo- 
tional composition. 

Throughout the whole of his discourse^ Mr. Itfontgomerv 
appears to have made no distinction between tho several khuu 
of sacred poetry. His generalizing strictures, in their widest 
application, would include alike the epic works of Milton, the 
descriptive sketches of Cowper, and the congregational hymns 
of Watts and Wesley. Nor has he attempted to define the 
peculiar aim and identifying spirit of a hymn. Hence, it be- 
comes a task of no inconsiderable difficulty to discover the 
intended limitations and special qualifications whiclrbelong to 
particular portions of his Essay. Presuming, however, that 
the preceding quotation was meant to have reference properly 
and exclusively to the production of hymns^ I think we shall 
find upon reflection, that it affords a very insufficient solution 
of the difficulty it professes to remove. 

In the first place there arises, at the outset of our discus- 
sion, the very question which, as I have said, Mr. Montgo- 
mery leaves undetermined; a question that relates to the 
essential character of hymns, as constituting one specific 
class of sacred poems. Now, although the same term has 
often been employed to designate, as by a generic and widely 
descriptive title, all those fugitive and fragmentary pieces 
which are designed to set forth the doctrines and experienced 
influences of religious truth,-^in the way either of paraphrase 
and illustration, or of didactic thesis and consecutive reason- 
ing in theologic verse, — ^yet, assuredly, we must produce 
some more strict and definite interpretation of its meaning, 
before we can Uepe to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion 
with respect to the particular constitution of intellect which 
naturally adapts itself to the construction of devotional melo- 
dies. Let us say then, that the distinctive scope and purpose 
of a hymn is to express religious feeling; to utter, in strains 
of solemn and appropriate harmony, the deep, repentant sor- 
row, — the silent peace, and calm, confiding hope, — ^fhe rap- 
turous joy, — the steadfast and enduring faith, which arise 
successively within the stricken and regenerated soul, and 
constitute the uniform experience of believers, ft would be 
idle to argue that all poetry, of whatever class, must emanate 
from the original and inward music of the mind. On this 
pomt there can be no dispute. Be it remembered, however, 
in connection with this uncontested position, that there is, 
demonstrably, a certain accordant state and tendency df the 
imagONttion for every species of poetic thought and labour. 



80 On Sacred Poetry. 

With me, the primary object of this inquiry is to ascertain 
the proper character, and separate intellectual condition^ of 
that kind of genius which has its legitimate exercise in the 
production of hymnic verse. 

As an indispensable preliminary to the adequate investiga- 
tion of this subject, I must crave permission to introduce a 
few somewhat metaphysical observations. TVe are told by a 
profound thinker, that genius is founded ui the capacity^ ex- 
periencCy and desire of happiness; a truth which I hold to be 
of unfailing application to genius, in the widest acceptation of 
the term. There is undoubtedly in the human mind — as in 
the human spirit — a native aptitude, variously moulded and 
proportioned i^ different individuals, for the reception of plea- 
sure, as derived from innumerable sources, all external to 
itself; and allied to this natural susceptibility of delightful 
impressions from without, there is, too, a certain undefinable 
power of taking into itself -r-of identifying with its own es- 
sence — every distinct conception that may occur in the de- 
velopment of its constituent energies, in any measure tending 
to induce-that mysterious and rejoicing consciousness of de- 
light, — the opening of some fountain of its being, unknown 
before, — some latent spring of joy, and beauty, and undying 
power. And thus vivified and strengthened by those extra- 
neous influences which, by the activity of inherent vigour, it 
ever and anon converts into the very l(fe blood of its existence^ 
it is perpetually evolving, out of the enlarged sphere of its 
multiplied desires, new and still unfulfilled capacities, — to be, 
in like manner, supplied themselves, till they in turn shall 
originate and put forth others. The vital sap of the tree per- 
vaduig each young and tender branch is nourished by the 
shower and the dew, which it re-produces in spontaneous 
foliage and blossom. 

Now it should seem that the peculiar aptitude of which I 
speak is in nothing differenced from intuition. Whether the 
sensible effect of its appropriate satisfaction is realized by 
means of the actual communication of some definite idea, or 
simply by the awakening of some umate germ of thought, 
which remains to be expanded into full and ripened compre- 
hension by the successive application of like congenial excite- 
ments,, is a question for those who affect the learned exposi- 
tion of unprofitable subtilties. For us it will suffice to know, 
that intuition must be an inteUectuai emanMion of sympathy 
and passion; it is a clear, rapturous apprehension of some 
particular class of separate or connected and consecutive re- 
lations m the objects whereby it is elicited ; and to which it 
attaches and applies itself, as it were, by the hrresistible affi- 
nities of its nature. That the immediate act of recognition 



On Sacred Poetry. 81 

belongs to intellect alone, we cannot hesitate to affirm ; nor 
can it be denied that the parent fiaculty is properly an attr9i)ute 
af the intelligent reason : but its characteristic expressions are 
ever regulated and impelled by higher and more noble prin- 
dples, — principles inseparably united witbthose pure and ele-* 
vated instincts of our spiritual being which colour and define 
the multifarious operations of mtellectual power in all con- 
ceivable cases. Hence, every isolated Uem of essential trutii 
received into the silent sanctuary of thought, — not as the re- 
sult of any definable process of reasoning and investigation, 
but instantaneously and unreflectingly received, — in the de- 
monstration of its paJpahle \er\iy^ becomes thenceforth a 
matter of feeling and of conscioiLsness^ Transfused and in- 
tegrated by the conforming might of the imagination, it 
mingles deeply and inextricably with the secret sources of 
the sentient life of man, partaking of the immortality of the 
soul into which itenters ; an imparted, indestructible element 
of its glorified and ennobling nature. 

Indeed, the illustrious revelations of the reciprocal and ever 
varying influences of inteUeet and spiritual feeling, which the 
psychological scrutiny of human nature continually unfolds, 
are to be accounted supremely instructive in the profoundest 
lessons of abstruse science, the mightiest results of our phi- 
losophy. And he whose multitudinous and searching iniui- 
turns have taught his vastly comprehending mind to read, in 
the sublime mysteries of its own majestic constitution, those 
splendid memorials of its holy origin and eternal destinies ; to 
behold, all slumbering in their calm and peaceful beauty, far 
away in the realms of unclouded light ; that light which over- 
whelms with its insufferable brightness many a finely thinking 
spirit, that strives, but vainly, to obtain some transient glimpses 
of its glorious visions ; those shadowy essences of immutable 
truth that cannot be discerned, even most dimly, save by the 
highest order of possible intellect, — mirrored as they are, in 
the clear depths of his own kindred soul ; he it is whose mag- 
nificent endowments are kindled, by the breath of native in- 
spiration, into the aspiring fervour of poetry and genius. 

Often has it been my lot to hear it contended, that the idea 
of appointing any fixed and definitive rules, to which the poet 
should be constantly referring while employed in the con- 
struction of his work, is altogether absurd and impracticable. 
To this opinion, in its legitimate signification, I am quite pre- 
pared to assent ; but I apprehend that it by no means involves 
the consequences which certain of the critics of our own day 
would have it to infer. For if it is conceived that this admis- 
sion virtually rejects the severe propriety of the rules of Aris- 
totle, or acknowledges the poet to be, by the exclusive privi- 



82 On Sacred Poetry: 

lege of his art, released from all obligation to abide by them/ 
I must be allowed to disclaim the slightest countenance of a 
notion so crude and fallacious. I take leave to consider the 
celebrated doctrines of the Stagirite,in the light of a philoso- 
phical analysis of the several consecutive processes of mind, 
tiirough all of which the understanding must necessarily pass 
before it can acquire the utmost harmony of form and colour- 
ing which the material is capable of receiving ; as a disclosure 
of that hidden scheme of operation which is perpetually going 
on in the faculties of^ the most elevated genius, dunng th« 
period of composition ; and which must be thoroughly pur- 
sued through all its varied and successive workings, if, event- 
ually, there is to be exhibited, a^ the consummated product, 
that fairest unaginable conception jof human intellect, a per- 
feet poem. True, a bare and servile adherence to the letter 
of these admirable regulations will never of itself give birth to 
the spirit of imnaortal song. There must be powers of deep 
and strong reflection, enriched and nourished by their appro- 
priate aliment : there must be high and fervent aspirations of 
the soul, that rise and glow in burning thoughts, and vividly 
impressive images, and words of flame : there must be unsup- 
pressed, compelling instincts of affection, and yearnmg sym- 
pathies of passion, that hallow and endear the bright creations, 
the beautiful and breathing shapes of nature ; living or life- 
like, fading or decayed, enduring in theur deathless glory, or 
fleeting fitfully and ever changeful in their glittering and gor- 
geous hues, as the fast coming clouds of purple and golden 
tinted shades of evening. And all the earthly and ethereal 
sights and sounds of joy, or hope, or melancholy, that are 
heard and seen,-;-singing in mirth and gladsomeness, or 
pining mournfully,* or drooping, withering silently, in the 
broad world without, — must all be known, and felt, and blend- 
ed, intellecttmlized and unpolluted, in the still and noiseless 
world within, before the requisite internal order and economy 
can either properly subsist, or be made to avail. It is the 
order of native profusion and luxuriance, not of barrenness 
and poverty; instituted not to fertilize and cultivate sterility, 
but to restrain and discipline that accumulated afiluence, 
which, but for its salutary provision, might run to waste and 
ruin from mere excess of produce. Be it observed, moreover, 
that this delightful adaptation and arrangement, which exists 
alil^e in the understanding and imagination, so abundantly 
supplied with all the opulent and overflowing treasures of 
the true poetic temperament, is the essential order of nature. 
Hence it is, that it includes a power of assimilating to itself 
all kindred acquisitions ; provided, as it were, for purposes of 
intellectual alchymy, — ^by which every thing of actual and 



On Sacred Poetry. 85 

experimental knowledge becomes transmuted in its passage 
through the mind, and identified by the stamp and impress of 
originality: all that is gross m essence, or contaminated by 
impure associations, is refined and purified in idea; all that 
is falsely tinselled, submitted to this unfailing test of truth, is 
rejected as unreal and illusive ; all that is intrinsically excel- 
lent, retained and separated from its base alloy* Thus, often 
insensibly commences, even in childhood, the series of uncon- 
scious influences, self-originated and self-contmued, which, 
tending as it proceeds to ennoble and exalt the rising spirit 
in its progress toward maturity, conducts it at length to that 
state of unsubdued and healthful vigour, when, by the neces^ 
sities of its own exertion^ it is compelled, with a greater or • 
less degree of precision, to re-enact the laws and principles 
of action laid down by the Stagirite, and to prescribe their 
observance to itself, while engaged in the labour of production. 

JAinqwm aliud ruUura, diud sapientia di^. 

Now these remarks at once suggest a consideration of the 
causes of difference in the modes of action and visible results 
of genius. The first and most obvious reason of such ac- 
knowledged variation lies in the habitual disposition of an 
individual mind, as determinhig the choice of some congenial 
subject, which, from its very nature, demands a. peculiar 
method of treatment. . But this is not enough. Whence, then, 
the overruling impulses, the prevailing bias? Are they adven- 
titious or essential ? Partly both. Let us try the question by 
an example ; that of Milton. He would seem to have with- 
drawn frgm the wide and tumultuous anarchy, the distracting 
clash and conflict of opinions, which reigned around him. 
He retreated not from the society of men, as such, but from 
the blighting presence of one infatuated race which sought 
to overturn the fabric, and to rase its lowest foundations. 
And then he communed with himself: — 

His soul was like a star^ and dwelt apart. 

< Smit with the love of sacred song,* he rose upon the eagle 
wmgs of faith, into the empyreal regions of perpetual bless- 
edness ; where 

All the sanctities of heaven 
Stood thick as stars ; 

and then, amidst the glorious brightness, he smote his mighty 
harp, which spake in tones 

Loud as from numbers without number^ — sweet ' • 

As from blest voices uttering joy. 

His angels and archangels were but the visibly embodied 
representatives of that sublimer state of ineffable holiness 
and glory,— selected, integrated, realized by high imagina- 



84 On Sacred Poetry. 

tion, — into wluch he felt aad knew assuredly that his own 
unclouded spirit should arise, when separated from its 'mud* 
dy vesture of decay,' and freed from the soiling contact of 
mortality. 

In this distinguished instance, it is evident that the mani* 
festations of genius, its forms of exhibition, were indicated by 
the determinate tendency of the moral constitution. Un- 
doubtedly, there must have been a native fitness of the intel- 
lectual faculties for that peculiar mode of exertion in which 
they were developed; but the spring and motive of their 
mighty exercises was one of passionate, impulsive feeling, 
not of reflective and deliberate volition. 

' But of individual illustrations of my argument, I am not 
now in search. The use which I propose to make of that I 
have adduced, will be apparent presently. Setting aside, 
then, for a moment, all discussion of the constitutional varie- 
ties of intellect, I conceive that the speqific order of genius 
which produces its conceptions in the shape of hymns, that is 
to say, of hymns according to the definition already given, 
must partake of that metaphysical and even theological tone 
which, in the former part of this letter, I have attempted to 
describe. Let me not be suspected here of uttering a trite 
and feeble truism : I am speaking now of an essential and 
inherent property of the mind itself; a something altogether 
independent of the doctrinal belief atid religious experience 
of a converted spirit. I am ascribing to the genius of devo- 
tional poetry an original and necessary attribute of philoso- 
phical apprehension ; an included faculty of intuitive discern- 
ment and intelligence of the inmost workings of our moral 
being ; of all the blank misgivings, the prophetic yearnings, 
the undefined anticipations, the fearful consciousness of un- 
fulfilled capacities of holiness and joy, which agitate the dark, 
unfathomed depths of man's knmortal nature. 

Possessing, as it does, in common with the highest forms 
of imaginative genius^ this wide and comprehensive know- 
ledge of the soul, there are yet other peculiar and incommu- 
nicable qualities that distinguish the creative power of sacred 
song from those exalted classes of poetic energy, to which it 
is thus fundamentally allied. Its inspiration is always uncon- 
tinuous, and concentrated. Its * voice of music' speaks, as it 
werej in momentary gushes of * sweet sound.' Its principle 
bf life i9f unity of thought and purpose. It wanders not from 

* .the oncT imagined influence or feeling which it has to invest 

with all the radiant beauty of unpassioned verse, and to pro- 

.• claim- before the throne of the Eternal. It is hardly neces- 

* sary ta add, that it requires an analogous conformation of the 

moral soul, especially adapted to. the promotion of its activity 



On Sacred Poetry, 85 

and growth; a susceptibility therein of certain animating 
impulses, that shall intensify and put forth its accumulated 
strength. This imperious demand of congenial incitements 
arises, clearly, from the instinctive cravings of its natural 
destiny and condition, as understood before they have received 
theirxjolour and determination from the holier experiences of 
religion. Nor does the need of such impelling motives cease 
with the introduction of a new and kindled spirit of living piety 
into the heart. The effect produced upon the moral sensibi- 
lities of genius by the renovation of that fallen nature in which 
they permanently inhere, is one of purity and elevation. By 
it, they are neither deadened nor extinguished, but exalted 
and enlivened : they are raised above the administration of 
those mean and pitiful excitements of malignity and passion 
which constitute the bane and misery of existence : they be- 
come regenerated to a state of calm and delighted tranquillity, 
and surrender to the inspired utterance of consecrated poesy 
the pure and hallowed pleasures of communion with the glo- 
rified Creator and Redeemer. 

Returning, with the force of this discursive argument, to 
the extract from Mr. Montgomery's Essay, which, by the way, 
some of your readers will perhaps begin to think I have alto- 
gether forgotten, I would inquire, To which of all the iUus- 
trious poets of our country ^ who are there referred to^ belonged 
the real and essential genius of hymn composition? My reply 
to this inquiry, and to the involved and collateral questions 
which* it brings to notice, I must leave to a future communi- 
cation. 

[This essay was originally comprised in two parts. The 
second part commences as follows :— ^] 

In my former letter I have endeavoured to show, that 
there is a specific and peculiar form of genius which alone 
can be successfully employed in the composition of devotional 
hymns. Whether my definition of that particular and deter- 
minate character of intellect is correct, or otherwise, your 
readers will have had abundant time to consider, before these 
farther observations can be submitted to their notice. It 
remains for me to proceed with the application of my argu- 
ment to those portions of Mr. Montgomery's Essay to which 
I have ventured to object. 

' It may be gathered from the concluding remarks rfmy 
previous communication, that I would ascribe the abstii^enc^^ ^ 
of our great poets from the practice of writing hymns, not fo* * 
the want of real experimental piety, and the indomitable pre* ^ 
judices of ignorance and depravity which it induces^ but to thfi' 
absence of that peculiar frame and constitution of mind which^ 
I contend, is essential to the exercises of the artist iii thi§ de- 

VoL. III.— /onttory, 1832. 8 



86 On Sacred Poetry. 

partment of sacred poetry. Let us see what confirmation of 
this opinion may be derived from the strictures of our author* 
In connection with the extract which I have already given, 
Mr. Montgomery has mentioned the names of three distin- 
guished and popular poets, of the last generation, < who, had 
they Consecrated their talents to the service of the sanctuary, 
would have been, of all others^ the most likely to have origi- 
nated hymns, uniting the charms of poesy with the beauties 
of holiness.' And who, think you, sir, were these men, so 
competent to the task of « originating hymns V None other 
than Gray, Collins, and Goldsmith. But -you shall have the 
several specimens of then- ability, as selected by the editor of 
the ' Psalmist' The first is taken from Gray's. * Fragment 
•n Vicissitude :' — 

' See the wretch that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost, 

And breathe and walk again : 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening paradise.' 

* It cannot be questioned,' continues Mr. M., ' that this is 
genuine poetry ; and the beautiful, but not obvious thought, 
in the last couplet, elevates it far above all common place. 
Yet there is nothmg in the style, nor the cast of sentiment, 
which might not be employed with corresponding effect on 
a sacred theme, and in the texture of a hymn. Indeed, the 
form of the stanza, and the tone that tells of persorial expe- 
rience m the fact which the \iTiter mentions, remind one 
strongly of the vivid feeling HXiAfluerU versification, of Charles 
Wesley, in some of his happiest moods ; while the concluding 
idea is precisely the same with that of Dr. Watts, in a hvmn 
which would ifot have discredited Gray himself:— 

" The opening heavens around me shine, 
With beams of saci-ed bliss, 
If Jesus shows his mercy mine, 
_ And whispers I am his." ' 

The second example of this supposed talent for hymn 
writmg, is from Collins : two very exquisite stanzas un- 
doubtedly : — 

* How sleep the brave, who sink to rest. 
By all their country's wishes blest f 
When spring with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than fancy's feet have ever trod. ♦ 
By fairy hands their knell is rui^, . 
* By forms unseen their dirge is sung : 

There honor comes, a pilgrim gray, *' 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay: — 
And freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there,* 



On Sacrtd Poetry. 87 

* These stanzas,' says Mr. Montgomery, * are quite unri- 
valled in the combination of poetry with painting, patlios with 
fancy, grandeur with simplicity, and romance with reality.' 
Be it so : I for one am not disposed to cavil at this criticism ; 
although, in my judgment, the representation of freedom as 
* a weeping hermit,^ dwelling anufhg the tombs of the brave, 
is neither very dignified, nor very simple. But let that pass : 
the general beauty of the lines in questi(m is sufficient to 
redeem them from the condemnation which such venial 
defects might else have merited. Still, however, the objec- 
tion recurs : — ^to assert that a certain author wrote fine poetry 
is, I maintain, a widely different thing from the actual proof 
of his possessing the essential spirit of hymn composition* 
In this latter instance, moreover, Mr. Montgomery has cha- 
racterized the verses, adduced professedly in illustration of 
his argument, by ascribing to them qualities the most remote 
from those which constitute the strength and beauty of devo- 
tional song. Surely the * combination' of various and ahnost 
inconsistent attributes, of which he speaks, would add nothing 
of propriety, of grace, or dignity, to the structure of a hymn. 
But the truth is, that neither Gray nor Collins, under any 
conceivable influence of circumstances, could have producea 
a masterly specimen of sacred melodies : not even had their 
piety been as ardent and sincere as that of their illustrious 
critic and successor. Their genius was altogether of another 
order ; it could never have adapted itself to this mode of 
exertion. 

T<]^me it has always appeared that several of the stanzas 
of Gray's celebrated « Elegy' approach considerably nearer 
to the character of a hymn than the touching passage from 
the Fragment on Vicissitude, which Mr. M. has extracted. 
Take the following : — 

* Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?' 

And again : — 

* For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resi^n'd, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?' 

Here we have not only < the tone that teUs of personal 
experience,' but the startling and impressive appeal of con- 
scious and inevitable truth ; of truth which must be felt in 
the mner spirit of man, and known by the understanding as 
the evident result of feeling. But had the genius of the author 
neen fitted to the construction of hymnic verse, the very same 



88 On Sacred Poetry. 

thought would have been cast in a different mould. It would 
not then have assumed the naked form of abrupt interroga- 
tions, however forcible, and even appropriate to the idea, that 
form might be. As an understood fact, revealed by some 
deep and spiritual instinct, it would have given a new and 
original impulse to the poetic faculty. It would have ' rushed 
up' from the silent solitude of its birth place, and overflowed 
the heart and the imagination of the poet with its own im- 
petuous and fervent energy. The simple declaration of its 
presence in the mind would have been uncongenial and 
superfluous : it would have taken to itself a voice, and become 
incarnated in a living body of words. 

Is not this observation signally exemplified by Mr. Mont- 
gomery himself, in his remark upon the extract from Gray 1 
He says rightly, that the sentiment contained in the last two 
lines is that of Dr. Watts, in the second verse of his admirable 
hymn commencing, 

* My God, the spring of all my' joys.' 

But observe the Mriation of the two poets in their processes 
of mind, and forms of presentation. The words of Gray are 
merely intended to record the delight of a restored suflrerer, 
invigorated and refreshed by the kindly influences of nature. 
They have an air of plain, matter-of-fact narration : they only 
describe the pleasurable emotions, not of the writer, but of 
some other creature. Watts, on the contrary, gives utter- 
ance, in the exultation of a regenerate being, to the rejoicing 
consciousness of his own soul ; the experienced rapture of 
his individual self: — 

* The opening hearens around me shine 
With beams of sacred bliss, ' 
If Jesus shows his mercy mtne, 
And whispers I am his ;* 

and so throughout the whole of the remaining stanzas. In 
the one case, the remembered feeling is separated from the 
actual condition of the poet, and shaped by the will of his 
thought in its expression : in the other, it has anticipated and 
subdued all independent volition ; and become, for the mo- 
ment, the law and centre of the total capacity of intellect. 

Mr. Montgomery, having disposed of Gray and Collins, 
next brings forward Goldsmith, as one of the great lyric poets 
of this country, who needed nothing but evangelical religion 
to enable him to produce hymns of a higher character than 
the greater part of those which we possess. Again I am 
compelled to differ from him ; and that most confidently and 
decidedly. I hold that the union of those peculiar powers, 
which are absolutely requisite to the success of an author 
who should devote bid talents to the writing of hymns, with 



On Sacred Poetry. 89 

the charactertotic qualities of a genius so ^^^^/ta% descrip- 
tive and didactic as that of Goldsmith, is forbidden by the very 
constitution of the hunoian mind. Let the reader judge be- 
tween us. 

On the same ground, I presume to deny the merit of a 
great hymn wrUer even to Cowper himself ; although there 
is scarcely a name in the history of British poetry which com- 
mands from me such deep sympathy and admiration, for the 
moral and intellectual character of the man. But Mr. Mont- 
gomery shall speak for himself on this question : he says, 
* It may be superciliously answered, that all this is mere 
speculation ; and it may be reasonably demanded, that some 
examples of hymns of merit should be adduced to establish, 
beyond dispute, the possible union of poetry with devotion. 
This shall be done in the sequel ; at present, we will only 
offer a small extract from one of the best known hymns of 
the only great poet of our country who has written such 
things ; and we offer it as worthy of being classed with the 
foregoing quotations from Gray, Collins, aii^ Goldsmith ; and 
as showing that a heart filled with the peace of God has lan- 
guage suitable to its enjoyments, and capable of communi- 
cating a sense of them to every other heart, not dead to 
sympathy : — 

" The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With praise and prayer agree ; 
And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
For those that follow Thee. 

There, if thy Spirit teach the soul, 

And grace her mean abode, 
O, with what peace, and joy, and love, 

She communes with her Gk>d ! 

There, like the nightingale, she pours 

Her solitary lays ; 
Nor asks a witness to her song, 

Nor sighs for human praise." ' 

< Now,' proceeds Mr. Montgomery, * if this be not poetry, 
the one and twenty enormous and unreadable volumes of 
Chalmers's English poets must be burned down to the size 
of the " Christian Psalmist,'' before they will yield a residuum 
of finer standard.' {Introductory Essay, pp. 13, 14.) 

Shall I be pardoned by the numerous admirers of Cowper 
and Montgomery, {parnobile frcUrum,) if I venture to affirm, 
once more, that all this is quite beside the markl That the 
beautiful verses cited in this place are really poetry, and 
poetry too of no ordinary stamp of excellence, none but an 
incorrigible dunce could ever dream of disputing. But then, 
as I have said, it is very possible to produce a series of con- 
nected and dependent stanzas in a religious, lyric poem, of 
transcendent vigour and beauty, which, notwithstanding, may 

8* 



90 On Sacred Poetry. 

partake no more of the distinctive character and gpirit of a kynm^ 
than so many detached hexameters from the Satires of Horace. 
Of course, I do not mean to apply the remark, in all its force, to 
these fine lines of Cowper ; especially, as the final couplet of the 
second verse, may perhaps be construed into something like an 
expression of personal ana inward feeling. If.it be so, however, it 
is not sufficiently emphatic and direct. But waiving that point, I 
except broadly to the whole strain, as being altogether too diffu« 
sively sentimental and reflective for a hymn. Indeed, it is neither 
more nor less than a description, by the hand of a master, of that 
state of delighted inspiration arising from certain animating expe« 
riences of calm and holy pleasure, in which the prepared imagina- 
tion of the hymnist would be kindled into song. 

Speaking generally of Cowper, I cannot distinctly call to mind 
more than one of his minor and sacred poems, that might be fisurly 
brought within the limits which I should assign to this species of 
composition. In short, I think that the sombre and meditative 
cast of intellect, induced by constitutional melancholy, or mental 
depression of some kind, precluded the continuous development 
of that intense and vehement ardour of genius which, had it sur- 
vived the derangement of his splendid powers, would have raised 
him to a height of unapproachable distinction as a devotional poet. 
As it is, his was a great and glorious spirit, though it was sorely 
vexed and troubled ; and in all its various moods of sorrow, deep- 
ened almost to madness — in the midst of its most rueful disturbance 
and distraction — there were gleams of its own inextinguishable 
lustre, lighting the deep gloom and shadow of his misery. 

After some passing strictures on the three hymns of Bishop 
Ken, morning, evening, and nudnight, and the well known dox- 
ok)gy, 

' Praise God from whom all blessings flow/ &c, 

Mr. Montgomery arrives at the most important part of his Essay, 
the adjudication of the relative merits of Watts and Wesley. It is 
but justice to the writer to extract this passage at length : — 

* Passing by Mrs. Rowe, and the mystical rhymers of her age, 
we come to the greatest name among hymn writers, for we hesitate 
not to give that praise to Dr. Isaac Watts ; since it has pleased God 
to confer upon him, though one of the least of the poets of his 
country, more glory than upon the greatest either of that or any 
other, by making his Divine Songs a more abundant and universal 
blessing than the verses of any uninspired penman that ever lived. 
In his " Psalms and Hymns,*' (for they must be classed together,) 
he has embraced a compass and variety of subjects, which include 
and illustrate every truth of revelation, throw light upon every 
secret movement of the human heart, whether of sin, nature, or 
grace, and describe every kind of trial, temptation, conflict, doubt, 
fear, and grief; as well as the faith, hope, charity, the love, joy, 
peace, labour, and patience of the Christian, in all stages of his 



On Sacred Poeinf. 91 

emxTse on earth ; together with the terrors of the Lord, the glories 
of the Redeemer, and the comforts of the Holy Spirit, to urge, 
allure, and strengthen him by the way. There is, in the pages of 
this evangelist, a word in season for every one who needs it, in 
whatever circumstances he may require counsel, consolation, re- 
proof, or instruction. We say this, without reserve, of the mate- 
rials of his hymns : had their execution always been correspondent 
with the preciousness of these, we should have had a " Christian 
Psalmist " in England, next (and that only in date, not in dignity) 
to the '^ sweet singer of Israel." Nor is this so bold a word as it 
may seem. Dr. Watts's hymns are full of the " glorious Gospel of 
the blessed God :" his themes, therefore, are as much more illus- 
trious than those of the son of Jesse, who only knew the ^' power 
and glory ^ of Jehovah as he had " seen them in the sanctuary,'* 
which was but the shadow of the New Testament church, as the 
face of Moses, holding communion with Grod, was brighter than 
the veil which he cast over it, when conversing with his country- 
men.' (pp. 19, 20.) 

* ^eaet to Dr. Watts, as a hymn writer, undoubtedly stands the 
Rev. Charles Wesley. He was probably the author of a greater 
number of compositions of this kind, with less variety of matter or 
manner, than any other man of genius that can be named. Ex- 
cepting his " Short Hymns on Passages of Scripture," which of 
course make the whole tour of Bible literature, and are of very 
unequal merit, — Christian experience^ from the deeps of afflicttotiy 
through all the gradations of doubty fear, desrrey faith^ hope^ expecta- 
tion ; to the transports of perfect love^ in the very beams of the beatific 
vision^ — Christian experience furnishes him mth everlasting and inex- 
haustible themes ; and it must be confessed^ thai he has celebrated them 
mth an affluence of diction^ and a splendour of colourings rarely sur~ 
passed. At the same time, he has invested them with a power of truths 
and endeared them both to the imagination and the affections^ with a 
pathos which makes feeling conviction^ and leaves the understanding 
lUtle to do but to acquiesce in the decisions of the heart.^ (pp. 22, 23. ) 

And yet, in spite of his own decisive testimony to the superior 
ability of Charles Wesley, the editor of the ' Psalmist' has given 
the palm to Dr. Watts ! If there be any shadow of truth in my 
conception of the design and purport of a hymn, it must be obvious 
that the last sentence of the preceding paragraph contains the very 
highest praise that could have been bestowed upon the sacred lyrist. 

With respect to the poetic genius of Dr. Watts, it is not denied 
that his gifts were more various and versatile than those of his 
rival. As a lyric paraphrast and illustrator of Scripture, he stands 
almost beyond the reach of competition : and considering the 
extensive and somewhat indefinite notions of Mr. Montgomery, as 
to the legitimate bounds of hymn composition, he can scarcely be 
charged with inconsistency in confounding the character of a 
poetical commentator on Holy Writ, with that of a writer of hymns. 



9S On Sacnd Poetry. 

Notwithstanding it is admitted, even by Mr. Montgomery, that the 
execution of many of Watts's Scriptural poems is by no means 
honorable to their subject ; I am perfectly willing to aUow, that, 
on the whole, they are probably better of their kind than the 
greater portion of C. Wesley*s * Short Hymns on Passages of 
Scripture.' But the question has reference, not to the general 
qualifications of the two authors as poets, or even as writers of 
sacred lyric poetry ; but to their comparative skill in the construe* 
tion of hymnsy for purposes of private or public devotion. 

Beyond what I have already conceded in favor of Dr. Watts, I 
do not mean to insist upon the chaste and vigorous style of Charles 
Wesley ; although that is an excellence of no inconsiderable mag* 
.nitude, and one in which, unquestionably, the ^ poet of Methodisfn' 
transcended all other composers of similar works. The classic 
purity of his taste, and the commanding energy of that kind of 
inspiration which was proper to his genius, could never have been 
satisfied with other than the most thoroughly distinct, harmonious, 
and eloquent diction. The claim of absolute and incomparable 
supremacy hi his art, which I am now advancing on behalf of this 
illustrious and devoted servant of God, I wbh to rest entirely on 
the validity of my original position. 

In my opinion, the very best of Watts's hymns — ^the most deeply 
imbued with the true and powerful spirit of such productions — ^is 
that on which I have briefly commented in an earlier part of this 
letter, 

* My God, the spring of all my joys,' &c. 

It breathes the intense earnestness, the passionate and kindling 
fervour of Wesley himself. It is an almost agonistic effusion of 
irrepressible joy and triumphant faith. Yet there are hymns 
among the most neglected of Charles Wesley's, with which this 
of Dr. Watts, with all its splendour, will not endure comparison ; 
hymns in which the pregnant strength of feeling stru^les to unfold 
and manifest itself, and comes forth in one majestic burst of over- 
whelming eloquence. Such, for example, is the hymn which 
stands at page 165 of the Wesleys' hymn-book : — 

* Depth of mercy, can there be,' &c. 

The fourth stanza of this inimitable performance (which Mr. 
Montgomery has quite overlooked in his enumeration of the finest 
pieces of our author) is, I believe, unequalled for mingled dignity 
and tenderness of sentiment, and pictorial vividness of repre- 
sentation : — 

' Kindled his relentings are, 
Jtfe, he now delights to spai-e ; 
Cries, " How shall I give thee up ?" 
Lets the lifted tJnmder drop. 
There, far tae, the Saviour stands ; 
Shows his wounds, and spreads his hands ! 
God is loDBf I know, Ifael ; 
Jesui weeps, and loves me still!' 



Oft Sacred Pettry, . 9S 

Here the single expression, * lifted thunder,* is worth whole 
reams of prosing amplification on the impending inflictions of 
divine vengeance. Poetically considered, it is indicative of the 
very highest mood of inspiration, in which all the glowing images 
of the mind are fused, condensed, concentrated ; resolved, as it 
were, into their primary and abstract essence, and set apart from 
every thing of adventitious or unnecessary mixture. Feebler 
writers — and, if I mistake not, Dr. Watts among the number — 
would have expanded this metaphor intQ weakness and tenuity ; 
and would thus have spoiled the stanza by the introduction oi a 
vapid and irrelevant illustration. Shak^are makes Coriolanus, 
in a moment of impetuous passion, exclaim, 

' Let them pronounce the gUep Torpncm dtoth P 

a magnificent line ; and one which demonstrates, with singular 
and striking aptness, the practical truth of my assertion, that 
strongly excited feeling, of whatever class, always speaks ^ right 
on ;' and cannot pause in the midst of its career to adorn its natu- 
ral expression with flowers of formal rhetoric. 

But it may be thought that the chief merit of Charles Wesley 
lies in his doctrinal hymns ; which are certainly the most luminoiH 
and masterly expositions of Scriptural theology that were ever givea 
to the poetry of this or any other country. Nor let it be imagined 
that in this portion of his writings there is any thing of peculia> or 
sectarian opinion. The eternal i^fsalities of the Christian religion 
were too deeply impressed upon the heart and conscience of the 
poet to admit of the slightest perversion or modification by his own 
unauthorized predilections, if any such he had. The hymns of 
which I speak have indeed one peculiarity — and that a peculiarity 
of value — ^they have every where appropriated and applied the doc- 
trines which they develop and explain. Every vital truth of 
revelation is in them embodied and expressed as an actual and 
experienced consciousness ; an article of profound conviction and 
irresistible feeling. So utterly and confidingly have the great prin- 
ciples of Christianity been received, adopted, integrated, by the 
individual mind, that they have impressed themselves, as with the 
seal of experimental knowledge, and are given back to the intellect 
as intuitive and indisputable axioms, deduced from the testimony 
of the moral spirit, from its very nature and capacities. Among 
the numerous mstances that might be selected, I know of none 
which so gloriously represents the final state of the whole soul, 
resulting from this inward process of feeling and genius, as tho 
following sacramental hymn, on the doctrine of atonement :-— 

* Victim Divine, thy grace we claim, 

While thus thy precimu death we show ; 

O^ce offer'd up, a spotless Lamb, 
In thy great temple here below ; 

Thou didst for dl mankmd oione^ 

And standest now before the throne^ 



94 On Sacred Poetry. 

Thou Blandest in the holy place. 

As now for guilty sinners slain ; 
The blood of spxinkling speaks and prays. 

All prevalent for helpless man ; 
Tky hiood U $tiU our rmuemfoundf 
And speaks salvation all around. 

The smoke of thy atonement here 

Darkened the sun, and rent the veil. 
Made the new way to heaven appear, 

•ind showed the gre«i /nrinUc; 
Well pleated in thee mar God look* down, 
Jlnd calls his rebels to a crown. 

He still respects tkg sacrifice ; 

Its savour sweet doth always please ; 
The offering smokes through emih and skies, 

Dijfusing l\fe, and joy, and peace.; 
To these thy lower courts it comes. 
And fills them with divine perfumes. 

We need not now go up to heaoen. 

To bring the long-sought Saviour down; 
Thou art U> all already given. 

Thou dost even now thy banquet crown : 
To every faithfid soul appear, 
And show thy real presence here? 

Now, I ask, is it possible to surpass the tone of sublime ^ com- 
munion with the Deity,* on the mightiest mystery of the Grospel, 
which pervades every line of this immortal composition? It would 
almost seem as if some glorified high priest, who * waited for the 
Lord's coming,' had stood before the altar of Jehovah, absorbed in 
solemn contemplation, at the awful moment of the Redeemer's 
death ; and there, surrounded by the perishing symbols of the ancient 
dispensation, — ^now rendered idle and unworthy, — had suddenly- 
been rapt into prophetic vision, and had spoken forth the insuffera- 
ble ecstacy^of his spirit in the words of that memorable and exalted 
strain. As for comparing it with any one of Dr. Watts's most 
admired lyrics, that I shall not attempt : after having looked through 
his poems, I have felt that I should do- injustice to the DoctoPs 
memory — which I venerate — ^by bringing even the loftiest of his 
efforts into juxta-position with this noble melody. 

Of the other writers of fugitive sacred pieces whom Mr. Mont- 
gomery has named, I have no wish to discourse. Bome of them, 
I cannot help thinking, in the teeth of all that may be urged against 
my conclusion, could no more have originated a poem which might 
deserve the dignified title of * hymn,' dian a certain distinguished 
orator of the day can interpret the Apocalypse. Possibly, at some 
future period, I may undertake the task of estimating their pro- 
ductions, but not now. ' 

May I be permitted to offer one farther observation before I clese 
this paper 1 The singular and unrivalled adaptation of Charles 
Wesley's hymns to the use of- singing congregations has I believe 
been but rarely disputed, if at all. It b pretty generally allowed, 
that there is a something in the structure of his verses, if not in 



On Sacred Poetryi 96 

their cast of sentiment, which renders them more easily available 
for the public worship of Grod, than those of any other writer. To 
myself it has frequently occurred, that whatever of correct taste 
or sound judgment, with regard either to the matter or the compo- 
sition of sermons,— whatever power of precise and definitive utter- 
ance of thought upon religious subjects, may belong to the majo- 
rity of persons who attend the Wesleyan ministry, throughout these 
realms, is to be mainly attributed to their acqusuntance with the 
inestimable treasures of the Methodist Hymn Book. The fine 
hymns contained in that admirable volume have so thoroughly fami- 
liarized the memory and judgment of its readers to distinct and 
emphatic annunciations of theological doctrine — to the highest 
style of classical purity and vigour in the mould of sentences, atid 
to the utmost force and perspicuity of language, — ^that they cannot 
well be satisfied with the discourses of a preacher who has not 
these excellencies at command. Nor have the Methodist ministers 
themselves failed to derive corresponding advantages from the same 
unassociated influence. On this head, I shall take leave to quote 
the concluding passage of Mr. Montgomery's Essay : — 

*It is the prerogative of gemus to confer a measure of itself upon 
inferior intelligences. In reading the works of Milton, Bacon, or 
Newton, thoughts greater than the growth of our own minds are 
transplanted into them, and feelings more profound, sublime, or 
comprehensive, are insinuated amidst our ordinary train ; while, in 
the eloquence with which they are clothed,* we leam a new lan- 
guage worthy of the new ideas that are created in us. Of how 
much pure and exalted enjoyment is he ignorant, who never enter- 
tained, as angels, the bright emanatfons of loftier intellects than 
his own ! By habitual communion with superior spirits, we not 
only are enabled to think their thoughts, speak their dialects, feel 
their emotions ; but ouf own thoughts are refined, our scanty lan- 
guage is enriched, our common feelings are elevated ; and though 
we may never attain their standard, yet, by keeping company with 
them, we shall rise above our own ; as trees growing in the society 
of a forest are said to draw each other up into shapely and stately 
proportion, while field and hedge-row stragglers, exposed to all 
weathers, never reach their full stature, luxuriance, or beauty. In 
the composition of hymns, men of wealthier imaginations, and hap-« 
pier utterance, may furnish to others of susceptible hearts, the 
means of bodying their own conceptions, which would otherwise 
be a burden to their minds, or die in the birth, without the joy of 
deliverance. The most illiterate person, who understands his 
Bible, will easily understand the most elegant or emphatic^ expression 
of ali the feelings which are common to cdl ; and instead of being 
passive under them, when they are excited at particular seasons, 
he will avail himself df the songs put into his mouth, and sing them 
mth gladness and refreshment^ a>s if they were his otm. Then, though, 
like Milton's, his genius can ascend to the heaven of heavens, or. 



96 On Sacred Poetry. 

like Shakspcare's, search out the secrets of nature, through all her 
living combinations, blessed is the bard who employs his resources 
thus ; who, from the fulness of his own bosom, pours Aw divinest 
thoughts in his selectest words^ into tfie bosoms of his readers^ and 
enables them to appropriate the rich eonimunications to their personal 
exigencies^ without robbing him, or hindering others" from partaking 
of the same abundant fountain of human inspiration, — ^a fountain 
flowing, like the oil at the command of the prophet, from one ves- 
sel into as many as could be borrowed, without exhausting the 
first, though the whole were filled. If he who pens these senti-. 
ments knows his own heart, — ^though it has deceived him too often 
to be trusted without jealousy, — ^he would rather be the anony- 
mous author of a few hymns, which should thus become an impe- 
rishable inheritance to the people of God, than bequeath another 
epic poem to the world, which should rank his name with Homer, 
Virgil, and " our greater Milton." ' 

Is not this beautiful ? Worthy indeed of the honored name of 
James Montgomery ! 

M. C. H. 

The writer of these letters has just had the pleasure of perusing 
the few admirable strictures on the hymns of Charles Wesley, 
which Mr. Watson has introduced in his recently published Life of 
the Rev. John Wesley ; and, although for the satisfaction of the 
public, he could wish that the subject had been treated of more at 
large by that eminent writer, he is hardly sorry that it should have 
remained open to his own remarks. Some passing notices on the 
metre and versification of these hymns, he has been induced to 
omit, by finding them anticipated in the work to which he refers; 
where, indeed, they are invested with a force of authority which 
he could never have bestowed upon them. 



For the Methodist Magazine and Quarterly Review. 

THE CHRISTMAS CONFERENCE OF 1784. 

Soon as the tempest of war that severed us from the British 
empire, and which, while it lasted, forbade any application being 
ma,de to the father and foun*der of the Methodists, subsided, Mr. 
Asbury, who lived in the entire confidence of both preachers and 
people, did, according to the general wish and expectation, apply 
to Mr. Wesley, who resolved without delay to send us Dr. Coke 
with instructions and forms of ordination for deacons, elders, and 
superintendents, having first set the Doctor apart by the imposition 
of hands to the office of superintendent, and appointed him jointly 
with Mr. Asbury, to preside over the Methodist family in America. 

When the Doctor arrived in America, and first saw Mr. Asbury 
^t Judge Barret's, in the state of Delaware, and showed him his 



The Christmas Cofffarenc^. 97 

ctedentials, Mr. Asbury rejoiced for the consolation, but $8dd, 'Doc- 
tor, we will call the preachers together, and the voice of the preaph* 
crs shall be to me the voice of God.' A conference was acconlingly 
Sigreed upon, to meet in Baltimore the ensuing Christmas. 

Nearly fiftf years have now elapsed since the Christmas Con- 
ference, and l*have a thousand times looked back to that memo- 
rable era with pleasurable emotions ; have often said it was the 
mog* solemn convocation I ever saw ; I might have said sublime, 
for during the whole time of our being together in the transaction 
of businesisof the utlnosi magnitude, there was not, I verily believe, 
<m the conference floor or in private, jhi unkind word spoken, or 
an unbrotheriy emotion felt. Christian love predominated, and 
under its influence"we kindly thought and sweetly spake:the same. 

Th^ annual meetings of the preaclv&rs, sent, as they held them- 
selves to be, to declare the name of the Almighty Jesus, and to 
Begociate a peace between the offended Majesty of heaven and 
guUty man, were to them occurrences of solemn import To see 
each other who had been labouring and suffering reproach in the 
Lord's vineyard, and the glad tidings they expected to hear when 
met, caused each step they took in the long and painful journeys 
they had to perform, to be a drop of balm to their souls; but never 
had they met on so solemn an occasion as this. 

Fifteen yeafs had now elapsed since Boardman and Pilmoor 
had arriv^ in America in the character of itinerants, under the 
direction of Mr. Wesley. This was the thirteenth conference ; and 
m all ihat time if we would dedicate our infants to the Lord in 
holy baptism, or would ourselves recefve the memorials of our 
Saviour's passion, we must go for those solemn rites to those who 
knew us not, who were entirely mistaken in our character.. The 
charge prefen^ed against us was not so much hypocrisy as enthu- 
siasm. They did not blame us for not living up to our profession, 
but for professing to be what we were not, neither could be ; that 
is to. say, admitted to sensible communion With €rod, and inspired 
with the knowledge of salvation [present salvation] by the remis- 
aon of our sins. There were a few who corresponds! with us in 
sentiment and in feeling ; but in the general esthnation we were 
the veriest enthusiasts ^ver the earth saw. 

Humiliating indeed was our condition. Not a man in holy 
orders amoi^ us; and against us formidable combinations form- 
ed; not so much at first among the laity as the clergy. But the 
former hearii^ us denounced from the pulpit, not only as imsound 
in our principles, and enthusiastic in our spirit, but vastly illite- 
rate, — many of us as lilUe more than competent to keep out of 
the way of a cart wheel,— ^were prompted to attack us, both men 
and women -; and it were diverting to have seen how sensible they 
were of their vast superiority. All this we could have well borne, 
(for amidst all we were the^ most growing sect m America, if not 
in Christendom,) had we not had evidence that not being in holy 

Vol. III.— January, 1832. . 9 



96 The CAmdnoa Cof^erence. 

orders did m soma degree paralyze our efforts; — mwj^ very many 
who, through our instrumentaUtyy had beeih brought to kapw the 
blessedness of believing^ having been hindered from umty;^ with us 
because we could not administer to them all the Cffdinance^ of Grod. 

We had now met to congratulate each other, and to praise the 
Lord for having raised the mind of our excellent Wesley above the 
fable of unintem^ted succession, and thereby paved our way to the 
delightful privileges we were henceforth to enjoy. The order of 
things devised hj him for our oi^^izatlon as a church, filled us 
with solemn dehght. It corresponded with what we did suppose 
we had a right to expect our Grod would do for us ; for we verily 
believed his design in raising up.the preachers called Methodists, 
in America, was to reform the continent, and spread Scripture- 
holiness over tbese lands; and accordingly looked to be clothed 
with the panoply of God. We did, therefore, according to the 
best of our knowledge,, receive and follow the advice of Mr. 
Wesley, as stated in our form of discipline. 

After Mr. Wesley's letter, appointing Dr. Coke and Mr.. Asbury 
joint superintendents over the Methodists in America, had been 
read, analyzed, and cordially approved by the conference, a ques- 
tion arose what name we should take. I thought to myself, I was 
content that we should call ourselves the Methodist Church, and 
so whispered to a brother that sat near me. But one proposed, I 
think it was John Dickins, that we shouU call ourselves the 
Methodist Episcopal Church. Mr. Dickins was, in the estimation 
of his brethren, a man of sterling sense and sterling piety ; and 
there were few men on. the conference floor heard with greater 
deference than he. The inost of the preachers had been brought 
up in what was called the Church of England; and all being 

g;reed that the plan of general superintendency was a species of 
piscopacy, the motion was carried, without, I think, a dissenting 
voice. There was not, to the best of my recollection, the least 
agitation on this question. Had the conference indulged the least 
suspicion that the name they were about to take, would in the least 
degree cross the views or feelings of Mr. Wesley, it would have 
been abandoned; for the name of Wesley was inexpressibly dear 
to the Christmas Conference, and to none more so than to Asbury 
and Coke. 

After our organization, we proceeded to elect a suflScient 
number of elders to visit the quarterly meetings, and admmister 
the ordinances ; and this it was that gave rise to the office of pre-* 
siding elders among us. 

From what I have written it will be gathered, that when the 
Methodist Episcopal Church was constituted, I was there. But 
as I was littie more than a spectator at this interesting period of 
our history, I shall take the liberty to speak of the preachers that' 
composed the Christmas Conference, as if not numbered among 
them. In practical wisdom they appear to me to have excelled; 



ITu CAraffiUM Ccv^irmct. 



d& 



tod althou^ few of Aem atected the Bcholar, }r«t learning tbe;* 
held to be a deiirable accompUBhinent ; and while some wer^ 
conversant with the teamed languages, the most of them had a 
general knowledge of polite literature : but» what was best of all, 
the; possessed in a high degree the holy art of winmng souls. In 
preaching and in debate, they were workmen that needed not to 
be ashamed ; for they made a wise disposition and improvement of 
all the knowledge they possessed. Hence their high estimate of 
the Bible. Many of them were in the habit of reading the Holy 
Scriptures on their bended knees ; and some made it a point to 
read their Bible through once a year in that attitude. We may 
therefore venture to say, few men, in any age of the church, knew 
better how to estimate the sum of good which Heaven kindly wills 
to man,- or were equally successful in recommending the Bible, and 
Bible religion, to their fellow men. 

It is not my intention to enter into a minute defence of all the 
usages observed in the Methodist Ejriscopal Church ; but on the 
motive that influenced the conference to retain in the hands of the 
intinerant ministry the chief rule, I will offer a few remarks. 

We were Umerants; and, there is One that knoweth, our highest 
ambition was to propagate Bible religion, and to preserve the 
ministry and membership pure. The plan of general superintend- 
ency had not only been submitted to, out was universally approved 
by both preachers and people. The plan was simple and familiar. 
Every thing went on as before, save the delightful privilege of 
bringing our children to be dedicated to the Lord, and receivmg 
the holy sacrament of the Lord's Supper by our own ministers. 
Ordination was the only thing we hsid seemed to lack, and this 
lack was now supplied. 

That our ecclesiastical polity and discipline would not be form- 
ed upon the model of our qivil institutions, or of other churches, 
did not escape us; but we did believe, and so did our people too, 
that it was expedient tb frame them as we did, in order to keep the 
itinerant system in operatbn; and in this we thought in accordance 
with the father of itinerancy. We denied not the right of any people 
to choose their own pastors, or to have a representative polity if 
they would. But should our societies deem it expedient so to do, 
they would take on themselves a high responsibility, for they would 
destroy the itinerant system.* Moreover, we knew, and our peoiple 
knew, that we were dependent on them for our bread, and that 
they could wield this check over us when they pleased. Such 

* Our viewp are, that, as no specific form of church goyemment is prescribed in 
Scripture, as of exdusive dirine right or obli^tion, in settling the government of any 
church, that form ought to be adopted which, allowing for the difference of times 
and circumstances, is most congenial with Apostolical practice, and best calculated 
to promote the cause of C hrisL On these principles the Methodist Episcopal C hurch 
was organized, and continues its organization, with the concurrent sanction of both 
pniachers and people. We believe, moreover, that no instance can be adduced, 
either from the Holy Scriptures, or from all primitive antiquity, of any such tWng 
as a reptosentativ^ church polity,— Edit. , , 



100 .7%e CMsimat Cmtferma. 

was our talk among ourselves, and among the most intelHgent 
of our people. We assumed nothing; made no new terms of 
communion^ save one on slavery, and that we could never rigidly 
enforce ; and so far were we from discarding Mr. Wesley, that we 
said, dvTkig his life %Dt acknowledge ovrsehes to be Iiis .aona in- the 
Gospel; ready in matters belonging to church gwemment to obey ki$ 
commands. In this we undoubtedly went too far ; we erred in 
judgment, not in motive. Wesley was a man; he was some 
thousand miles from us, and was liable to be influenced against 
us to command what he would not, had he known us better, or 
been with us long enough to have become somewhat imbued with 
the American feeling. 

Had I, at the close of the Christmas Conference, been told that, 
in some future time, even before I should go the way of all flesh, 
men would arise calling themselves Methodists, who would report, 
and even put forth their most skilful exertions to make the world 
believe that Asbury and Coke did, from sheer ambition, conspire 
against M'r. Wesley, whom they professed so much to love and 
honor, and on him surreptitiously father a spurious Episcopacy, 
and thereby with falsehood stain, not only the fame of the man 
Wesley, but the first page of their Discipline, to be perpetuated 
throughout all future generations, I should have said. No, surely, 
that can never be, that from ourselves men should arise who could 
excogitate, or even retail, so foul ^ slander : — that be far from them. 

The things said to have been introduced by stealth, I had seen 
stated and well refuted in the ^ Defence of our Fathers,' and was 
satisfied.* But an old Methodist friend, who had made a con- 
siderable journey to see and converse with me on the affairs of the 
church, convinced me that it was incumbent on me, having long 
had a very intimate knowledge of Asbury and Coke, to say that 
they were, in my belief, in morals and in motive, as pure as Wesley 
himself. They were men, and of course liable to err ; and did, in 
my estimation, sometimes err ; but not in motivcr They were not 
capable of doing things by stealth; nor was the Christmas Con- 
ference to be duped by two or four men, should Whatcoat and 
Vasey be taken into the conspiracy. There were in that assembly 
a goodly number of very wise men; for, lo, they had turned many, 
very many, to righteousness. 

* Were you not,' inquired my friend, ' a member of the Christmas 

* The work here alluded to is entitled, * A Defence of our Fathers, and of the 
Original Organization of the Methodist Episcopal Church, against the Rev. Alexander 
M^aine, and others: with Historical and Critical Notices of Early American 
Methodism. By John Emory.' The favorable testimony thus borne to this wprk 
by Mr. Ware, who was himself a member of the General Conference of 17S4, at the 
time of the organization of the church, and personally acquainted with the facts, ia 
a gratifying confirmation of the truth and correctness of the views which it presents. 
Mr. Ware, it will be recollected too, waif one of the < old. preachers' to whom the 
author of the * History and Mystery,' was said to have applied for information on 
the subject. In the article before us his testimony is given with explicitness and 
candour, and we are happy to have this opportunity to place it on record. — ^Edit. 



TheChriitihusCon/trir^ 101 

CdnfertMeP *I W8».' »Ho¥r did it hfcppett tBat you suffered 
€oke and Asbtiry fe introduce thiiigs iiito your IMscipline that 
wiste false ? they oouW not hare doiie k without youi- knowledge. 
There id,' continued he, « in our parts, a people (few in number) 
wto, by way of distinction^ call themselves Protestant Methodists; 
who say you have for nearly half a century been publishiag lies in 
yout Discipline i and, dtrange to tdl, there is one man among 
them who bad long been a local preacher* in the Methodist Epis- 
eoptnl Church, who says it is true ; and that Asbury did more harm 
td the Americans by introducing Episcopacy amoi^ them, than 
was ever done by his countryman the arch infidel Tom Paific. 
They are^ moreover, at their camp meetings, and by their 
preachers, recommending and selling a pamphlet written by one 
M^Kee, in which all tbe bad things said by Mr. M'Cainc to have 
been dcme by you are repeated^ without taking the least notice of 
Dr. Emory's refutatidn of M'Caine*s slanders, unless it be at the 
tail of bis pamphlet he chaises Emory with quibbling. I was glad 
to have the Defence of the Fathers by me. I had nevertheless a 
vebemefit desire to see you, for you must know if the disgraceful 
things published by M*Caine, and repeated by M*Kee, were true; 
and I could not believe that you would Jie or deceive me.' 

My friend moreover remarked, that the mind of Mr. Wesley 
niust have been greatly soured against Mr. Asbury, when he 
wrote him his severe rebuke for taking the title of bishop. This 
Emory had accounted for in part, in the Defence above mentioned. 
But the motive for publishing to the world that rebuke, after the 
excellent man against whom it was fulminated, had gone to his 
reward, and who, while living, was, next to Wesley, the most 
ardent itinerant ever tbe earth saw, this he could not understand. 
And tf the spirits of just men made perfect could know what was 
done upon earth, he doubted much if this work of supererogation 
received the thanks of Mr. Wesley.* 

I was no less nonplused with the publication of that letter at the 
time it appeared, than my friend ; but that Mr. Asbuiy did receive 
a severe rebuke from the man he delighted to serve and to honor, 
liot long after he received it, I did know ; and that he knew, or 
thou^t he knew, one man who had done much to sour the mind 

'•' The letter above alluded to T?a8 first published in the English edition of Moore's 
Life of Wesley* In republishing that work in America, oonsidering^it on the whole 
as a very valuable one, we did not judge it proper to suppress the letter in question, 
although we considered it as both exceptionable in itdelf, and the publication of it at 
^e time as unnecessary &nd ill-advised. The same view of this subject is expressed 
in on able review of Moore's Life of Wesley, contained in the British Weslejraa 
Methodist Magazine for 1825, and which we have;reason to believe pro^^eded from 
die able and S)quent pen of the Rev. Richard Watson. On the whole, however, 
#e do not now regret if that Letter was destined ever to see the light, that it was 
puUisfaed precisely when and as it was, and lepubltsl^ here by ourselves. It has 
9£brded vm an opportunity to meet it openly, and to throw such light upon it,, as a 
tbkttet of hialoi^, that we are petsuaded ik will for ever hereafter be wholly innoc- 

9* 



iOS Th4 ChrUtnoM Canferenee. 

of his father and Mend against Imn. He afterward told me 
be had received a letter in which Mr. Wesley said, / am tkeveriher 
less glad you stayed in Jhnerkaf and rejoice that the Lord has opened 
80 wide a door before you. Mr. Asbury did not nameythe man who 
he thought had done him this unkindness with Mr. Wesley, but I 
thought I knew to whom he alluded. ' 

He was an elder brother, a chief man, and a high-toned loyalist. 
After independence was declared, he deemed it to be his duty, and 
the duty of all the preachers sent to Americ;a by Mr. Wesley, to 
return home. Not being able to prevail with Mr. Asbury to 
accompany him, he forsook his . charge, and went within the 
British lines, they having possession of Philadelphia, and there 
declared from the pulpit, that it was his belief that Grod would not 
revive his work in America, until they submitted to their rightful 
sovereign, Geoi^e the Third ; and in a similar strain wrote to Mr. 
Asbury. Mr. Asbury replied, his heart was so strongly knit to 
many of the Americans, that he could not tear himself away from 
them. He knew the Americans, and was quite sure they would 
neVier be satisfied with any thing short of independence.; and 
intimated, that he had a presentiment that it was the design of 
Providence that America should be free, and that Grod had much 
people in this new world to be gathered in by Methodist preaching. 
TIhs letter fell into the hands of the American officers, and favor- 
ably impressed them toward Mr. Anbury. This anecdote I received 
from a man who was afterward governor of the state of Delaware. 

The loyalist had from the first thought his brother Asbury had 
a leaning toward the rebels ; and when he knew it to be the case, 
he was very indignant against him. Not only sd, Mr. Asbury had 
also offended him in a debate in conference on the spirit of the 
Americans. This was a dangerous subject to be discussed at that 
time, there being some of the preachers who were as warm on the 
side of freedom, as this elder brother was against it. He had, he 
said, been to the south, and had been alarmed at the noise, the 
wild enthusiasm, that predominated in the southern states among 
the Methodists. A stop must absolutely be put to this wild-fire, 
or it would be ruinous to all we held sacred. He had done what 
he could to kill this hydra, but was ashamed to say, many of his 
brethren, the preachers, were infected with the spirit of anarchy. 
Here Mr. Asbury became alarmed, and deemed it absolutely neces- 
sary that a stop should be put to the debate, and this he thought 
could be most easily and saiely done by a stroke of humour. He 
therefore got up,tind pointing to a distant part of the house, said, — 
I thought, — I thought, — I thought, — and pray, said the loyaKst, 
what did you thougnt 1 — ^J thought I saw. a mouse ! — ^This put a 
stop to the long, and, to all but himself, painful animadversions of 
the loyalist; and however rude it to him might appear, the 
preachers were so electrified with it, that he deemed it best, for 
the present, to let it pass. 



3%e ChrUtmoi Chnjermet. 103 

Mr. Asbury understood Ha superior in office weQ; knew he 
was no less opposed to the spirit of independence that threatened 
the overthrow of kingly power in America^ than to the spirit of 
revivals, which he supposed went to disgrace reUgipn oy the 
destruction of what he called order. As to the sfririt of revivals^ 
Mr. Asbuiy always sided with those who deemed it danpsrous to 
be offended, and to animadvert with severity on those gusts of 
feeling that always did accompany deep and lastmg revivals of 
religion. The friends of order, he Aised to say, may well allow a 
guilty mortal to tremble at Grod's word, for to such the Lord will 
look ; and the saints to cry out and shout when the Holy One is iii 
the midst of them. To be hasty in plucking the tares, were to 
endanger the wheat. Of this we should be aware, lest we touch 
the ark tOLOur own injury and that of others. 

The churched have, I think, erred on the subject of older. 
They have mistaken the order of man for the order of God. I 
once knew a female member of a certain church, remarkable for 
piety and good sense, who, under a pathetic address of her minister, 
was constrained ta cry out and shout, and her voice pierced the 
hearts of many, who trembled and wept ; but her minister rebuked 
her sharply, commanding her to be silent, or io leave the house. 
She immediately left the house, and retired to a wood, where, 
without interrupting or being interrupted, she gave vent to the b^ 
emotions of her soul, while the holy fire burned within. Had the 
minister continued his address, and instead of rebukmg this saint^ 
called upon those who were weeping and trembling around her, 
to get down upon their knees and pray, and the pious part of his 
congregation to join in beseeching the Lord to pardon and shed 
his love abroad in their penitent hearts, there would, I doubt not, 
have been a great and glorious revival of religion. As it was, 
serious impressions Continued With many for a season, md th^n 
died away ; and the good lady, who in case of ^ revival would have 
been a nursing mother, was dubbed an enthusiast. This she bore 
long ; but at length, faavii^ removed to a distant part, opened her 
doors to receive/ Methodist preaching; was the first tnat joined 
them in that part, and was long a nursing mother in our Zion^ 
greatly respected by all who knew her, and gieatly beloved by all 
about her who knew the Lord.* 

* From the diary of this excellent person I took, by her pezmiuion, the Mowing 
sketch without alterations — < The ffrove to which i fled from the rebuke of my 
minister for disturbing what he cculed the order of God^ where .nevertheless the 
presence of my God attended me, and shone so bright that its foliage seemed tinged 
with his glory, was long my favorite retreat Here were the Iraty trees whose 
cooling umbrage in the sultry season I often enjoyed, and whose towering leafless 
Keads I've^seen in winter wave- to Him who bid them be, and ardently desired to be 
as pure from sin as they. 

The last time I visited this delifi;htful recess, on one side a marshy swamp throueli 
whif^h no one oould pass, and on Uie other an open wood through which none eovud 
appiOEUBh unseen, (&r I wished to be unseen by all but Heaven,) I renewed my 
covenant with my God, and received a delightful assurance that he would ^o with 
and keep me in the way I was about to go: and, retiring, I cast back on this rural 
temple a last and lingering look, and sighing, said, adi^u! Adim, ye trembling 



-^ 



104 Tke CkrtMma9 Cmtfirenet. 

Dr. Coke, on hb way to the Chriitmes Conference, pe«ed 
throiq^h onr eirciiit I met him* at CoL Hopper's, in Queen Anne's, 
on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and was not at first sigbl at 
aU pleased with his af^iearance. His stature, Us complexion, 
and his voice, were those of a woman rather than of a man ; and 
Us manners were too courtly for me, so unlike the grave, and as 
I conceived. Apostolic deportment of Mr. Asbury. He had several 
appointments on our circuit; to each of which I conducted him ; 
and before we parted I saw many things in him to admire, and no 
loi^r marvelled as at first, at the selection the father o{ Aie 
Methodists had made of a man to serve us in the capacity he 
sustained. In public he was generally admired; and in private 
very c<Mnmunicative and edifpng* 

At one time, in a large circle, he spoke to the followingf usmort: 
^I am charmed with the spirit of my American brethren. Their 
k>ve to Mr. Wesley is not surpassed by their brethren in Eun^e. 
It is founded on a firm conviction of the excellency, aye, even the 
divinity, of the religion he has been the chief instrument of reviving, 
and that has shed its -ben^n influence on this land of freedom. I 
see, among both preachers and people, a resolution to venture on 
anv bold act of duty when called upon to practise strict piety 
before the ungodly, and to refuse compliance with fashionable 
. vice. I see,' continued he, with a countenance glowing with 
delight, ^ a great and effectual door opened for the promulgation 
of Methodism iii Arnerica, whose civil institutions I greatly admire, 
and whose prosperity I no less wish than that of the land which 
gave me birth. In the presence of brother Asbury I feel myself 
to be a child. He is, in my estimation, the most ApoJstohc man I 
ever saw, except Mr, Wesley.' 

Tins speech of the Doctor made an impression on me not to 
be ibrgotten. He was the best speaker in a small circle, or on a 
conference floor, I ever heard. His voice was too weak to com- 
mand with ease a very large audience. He could nevertheless 
sometimes* do it ; and at those times bis preaehing was very 
impres^ve: Some of the best scholars in America have been 
heard to say, that Dr. Coke spoke the purest English they ever 
heard. His fine classic ta^ did not raise him in his own esti- 
mation above the weakest of his brethren. To them' he paid the 
kindest attention, and the most jealous and timid among them, 
after being a short time in his company, were not only perfectly at 
ease, but happy in the society of a brother who had learned to 
esteem others better than himself. 

Thos. Wae£. 

aspens, emblems of myself: ye tremble without fear, — corroding fear. Adieu, ye 
spaeiouB poplars^ ooin, and elms ; ye sweet magnoliaB, and ye mantling vines : be- 
naatk your ample shade Pre sat, Pve knelt, I've wept, Pve sung, and shouted out amakf 
without rebuke, and- made ye witness to my solemn yows to Him whose saered 
hands and feet were feslened to a tree, and whose blood I hold to Iwthe source, the 
pnee, the sum of all my hopes, for time and for eternal ages* Hallelujah ! Uie 
tiord God omnipotent zttg°^«' 



10$ 



THE AMERICAN SEAMEN'S FRIEND SOCIETY. 

This Society is one of those professing to be ^national/ both in 
its constitution and in its objects. The cause of seamen is doubt- 
less a national cause, and one worthy of the attention and patron- 
age, not only of every Christian, but of every philanthropist- and 
patriot With regard, however, to the particular Society derignated 
by the title at the head of this article, some facts have recently been 
stated which seem to us to have a bearing, so far as the friends of 
Methodism at least may be desirous of a participation in its opera- 
tions, entitled to their attention. The General Agent of this So- 
ciety, is the Rev. Joshua LeavUt, He is also the Editor of the Sailor's 
Magazine, published by the Society; and has been engaged, undei: 
the same patronage, to prepare ^ Sermons' for our brethren om the 
' ocean. Now this same Mr. Leavitt has recently informed us that he 
has, ' from the beginning,' been a frequent contributor to the co- 
lumns of the J^Tew^Yarh EvangelUty often acted as occasional or 
temporary editor, and edited one half of the first forty four num- 
bers.. For much of what has appeared in that paper, therefore, 
editorially or otherwise, in regard to Methodism, it is fairly pre- 
sumable that we are indebted to Mr, Joshua Leamtt Now the 
virulent hostility, and the gross misrepresentations, with which we 
have been asssuled in that paper, 'from the begmning,' are notori- 
ous. Mr. Leavitt, indeed, instead of acting as becomes the Greneral 
Agent of a ' national' Society, (if Methodists and their friends are 
to be considered as any part of this nation,) seems to regard him- 
self, rather, as the leader and generalissimo of Hbe rest of the 
Christian community,' in a war against Methodism. So he talks 
of the questions at issue between his papery and Uhe Advocate;' — 
as if he had really been deputed and authorized by 'the rest of the 
Christian commmiit^' to hold such language. Of aU this, as coming 
from Mr. Leavitt simply, or from the New-^York Evangelist, we 
should have taken no notice. But the question that occurs to our 
minds, is, how it happens that such a man is deemed most suitable 
to be the General Agent of the American Seamen's Friend Society, 
the Editor of the Society's Magazine, and the preparer of Sermons 
for our Sjeafaring brethren. Is not the New-York Evangelist, more- 
over, circulated among seamen tool Is it not also known among 
them that the Editor of that paper is the Editor and Gbeneral Agent 
of the Seamen's Friend Societ^, and consequently, that he has the 
countenance of the Society? The question is not at all as to Mr. 
Leavitt's right, abstractly, and under the commoa responnbilities, 
to contribute to the columns of the Evai^eUst^ to be its editor, 
or to circulate Jt among seamen, as well as others, if he can :— 
but, whether it is best, or even proper, that a man so deeply en- 
gaged in making. such a paper the vehicle of vilifying and traduc- 
ing the most numerous Christian denomination' in the country. 



V 



106 SpeeUd JigeneUs. 

^ ^^ 

should, at the same time, be the €reneral Agent and Editor of a 

* national* Society for the benefit of seamen. 

It may be, indeed, that Mr. Leavitt, m soliciting for the Society, 
at home or abroad, may use, even to profumon, the winning and 
hone^yed language of love and union, out, as matters noTV stand, 
is it to be supposed that wherever Mr. Leavitt comes, or hu produc- 
tions, Methodists, or their friends^ can forget that they see before 
them the productions, or the person, of Xhit * permanent EdUot^ of 
the J^TiM'Ywk EvmigeliH; and that whatever may be upon his 
tongue, that paper wUl show them what is in his heart, mth Mr. 
Leavitt privately, or personally, we have nothing to do. If neces- 
sary, we would help to feed him, and to clothe him ; and pray for 
grace even to love him, — as an enemy. But we do protest, in the 
fitce of the nation, against being compelled to be accessary to the 
giviag of him advantages against us, from his official capacity, which 
as a private individual he could never possess. 



SPECIAL AGENCIES. 

Ths extract which will be found below, furnishes a matter^f- 
fact view of this subject which we deem of more value than 
volumes of speculation. It is taken from a paper addressed ^to 
ministers of the Gospel,' and published in the Sailor's Magazine, 
in immediate connection with a systematic plan devised by the 
Executive Committee of the American Seamen's Friend Society, 
for raising funds to promote the objects of that Society. If the 
operation of special agencies, among churches having a settled 
ministry, be such as b detailed in this extract, and asserted to be 
the resiidt of experience, (as we have no doubt it is,) how much 
more injuriously, taking all its bearings into consideration, woul(} 
it be likely to operate among im, with an itinerant ministiy : and 
at the same time, how infinitely less do we need such an expensive 
and* burdensome fifth wheel. At all events, in the comparative 
infancy of our existing benevolent institutions, our own opmion is, 
that the incomparable means which we already have at command 
for promoting their highest beneficial effects, and at the smallest 
cost to the public, have as yet but been begun to be developed. 
They have bad nothing like a fair or full trial ; and it is certamly 
quite too early at least to discard them, for the purpose of adopting 
an experiment not even novel or doubtful, but one that is stated, 
as we shall see below, to hav^ had an influence positively perni- 
cious, in at least one of the * national ' Societies, — so called. In 
England, our brethren of the Wesleyan Methodist connection 
nuse between two and three hundred thousand dollars annually, 
for miscdonaiy purposes, without special agencies^ If this may be 
done in the missionary cause, why not in others 1 and if in Eng- 



Special Agencies. 107 

land, why not in America 1 Instead, therefore, of discouraging 
the labourers, and thus weakening our own hands, by disparaging 
the means at command under our existing economy, let us rather 
bend our attention to their improvement, and to the deyelopment 
of their latent energies. In some of the great institutions of the 
day, there is too much reason to believe that one of the leading 
objects is the employment and support of the special agents them-, 
selves, especially wheisa this system is connected with theological 
senunaries, and indigent young men sent out to look for congrega- 
tions and a call. In. this way the agencies, like the farmmg of 
taxes, are themselves made a heavy^tax upon the public /while 
the whole amount of their cost is subtracted, at the same time» 
from the main object of benevolence professedly held up to view. 
May it continue to be our glory, not only to endeavour to excel in 
good works, but to do it with the smallest possible burden to the 
people. This is as clearly our duty, as it is theirs to gloitfy God 
with their substance, as well as with their bodies and spirits which 
are his. The extract follows : — '• 

* Benevolent societies have of late years been very much in the 
habit of relying upon special agencies to bring their cause belbre the 
people^ This ha^ relieved the pastors from some c^ the labour, and 
many of them seem to have thrown off all sense of responsibility in re- 
gard to the aid their congregations furnish to the work of the Lord* 
They are willing that societies should jsend agents, and get all they 
can ; but they do not lift a finger to aid nor assume a particle of re- 
sponsibility on the subject. 

The consequence is, that for several years a large amount of the 
labour and care of managers, has been expended in obtaining and 
superintending travelling agents. Many useful preachers have been 
called away from the service of saving souls, to the business of visit- 
ing congregations around the country, for the purpose of doing tha 
which their own pastors ought to have done, and might have done 
better. ' ~ 

Now brethren, these things ought not so to be. . It is not to be be* 
lieved that Crod intends to have the world converted in this way, by 
employing so much of the vital energy of his church in the mere niat» 
ter of collecting money — worrying it out of reluctant hands by '< spe- 
cial efforts" and the like. God loveth a cheerful giver. And your 
people must learn to give cheerfully. O that they might have such 
prompt benevolence that it may be said of them, as of one ancient 
church, '^ they were ready a year ago !" Your people must be brought 
up to feel that they ure greatly and personally responsible kfr the 
spread of the Gospel. And they must learn to look not to travelling 
[special] agents, but to their own minister [or ministers] for all the 
information and incitement necessary in regard to all the various be- 
nevolent enterprizes of Christianity.' — Saihr^s Magariw^ voL iii, 
pp. 345, 346. 



108 



JUDGE M'LEAN'S ADDRESS. 

Jin Address J pirepared <U the request of the Union and Jefferson SocU^ 
Hesy ofMgusta Cottege. ByJohnMLean. CincmnaH, 1831, 
8vo. pp. 28. 

The Honorable John McLean, one of the Justices of the Sa- 
preme Court of the United States, and author of the Address 
before us, of which the title is mentioned above, is, we believe, a 
member of the Board of Trustees of Augusta College, Kentucky* 
This address was designed to be delivered at the last commence- 
ment of that flourishmg institution ; but the execution of this design 
was prevented by an unexpected journey to the city of Washing. 
ton, which Mr. M'Lean was obliged to make ; notwithstanding 
which, the address was subsequently published, by special request. 
We had hoped to be able to present our readers with copious ex* 
tracts (torn it in our present number, but find that we shall be 
compelled to forego this pleasure, .from want of space. Our regret 
at this, however, is alleviated from the consideration that the 
address Hsel^ in the pamphlet form, is accessible to our readers ; 
and although, as it appears there, it suffers much from the mis* 
placed punctuation wiUi which it has been marred, it will never- 
theless well repay those who mav give it a perusal. Augusta 
College has certainly been highly favored in bemg able to secure 
•the counsels and services of such a man, in her Board of Trustees ; 
and it is gratifying to perceive, also, that Judge M'Lean is not a 
mere honorary and idle member, but takes a deep and active 
interest in the cause of education, in its most substantial and prac- 
tical forms, and for the benefit of all classes of the community ; 
and that for the general promotion of this chief gloiy of a nation, 
next to that righteousness which first and most exalts it, he applies 
and exerts the well cultivated ener^es of his highly gifted mind. 

The topics discussed in the address, are, ^ The advantages of 
education^ and the proper improvement of time,* 

On the subject of education generally, the orator says, — 

*It may be assumed, without incurring much hazard, that improve^ 
ments in the system of educatidn have not kept pace with the progress 
of the arts and sciences in general. 

We adhere pertinaciously to opinions early imbibed ; and inculcate 
them on others with the same zeal which influenced our own teachers. 

On no class of society does this feeling operate more powerfully, 
than among those on ivhom devolve the important functions of in- 
slructers. 

From the highest halls of literature, to the humble apartment of the 
village schoolmaster, this Influence is seen and felt. For more than 
hatf a century, the same class books have been read, the same exer- 
cises performed, and the same routine of duty substantially required. 
This does not result so much from the perfection of the system, as 
from the long sanction which has been given to it. 



Judge MLeatCs Address, 109 

He who shall venture to suggest any change in the mode of Infitnic- 
tion, incurs the risk of being denounced as an innovator, and an enemy 
to a regular course of education. In some of the learned schools 
the opinion seems to prevail, that no man can be truly great who has 
not passed through the established orders of study, with measured 
steps and technical exactness. On the other hand, many are found 
to err, in supposing that a regular and laborious course is incompatible 
with genius. No unerring rule can be laid down, by which piind can 
be accurately measured, or its powers most fully developed. 

Superior capacity will show itself in rising above the trammels of 
artificial modes, and very often by acquiring distinction without the 
aids so essential to common minds. However various the forms of 
instruction may be, and however diversified the pursuits of knowledge, 
there is but one object in view, and that is, the acquirement of words 
and ideas. The acquisition of knowledge, and the means of impart- 
ing it to others, constitute, in the broadest sense, education. 

The objection to the prevailing system of education is, that the 
memory is exercised too much, and the judgment too little. 
• Words are' said to be the signs of our ideas ; the representation of 
the picture formed in the mind. It would seem that in the order of 
nature, the idea should be formed before the individual is made to 
exhibit the sign of it ; that the picture should exist before the parts 
are represented. 

The reasoning faculty commences at an early period of life, and if 
it be not as rapidly developed as the powers of memory, it is suscep- 
tible of greater improvement. These qualities of the mind are closely 
connected, and any system of instruction which separates them does 
violence to nature. 

Of what advantage is it to an individual to retain in his memory 
every thing he reads or hears, if he have not the power to combine^ 
&cts, weigh circumstances, and draw conclusions. Memory is com- 
mon, in a greater or less degree, to irrational animals as well as man. 
It is the faculty of reason which gives man the preeminence, and this 
faculty should be exercised through all the stages of his scholastic life. 
The powers of the memory should be limited by those of the under- 
standing, and the whole system of education should be the order of 
nature, for the full development of the human faculties. In this way» 
boys would learn to reason before they led their hornbooks, and the 
studies of arithmetic and granmiar would be pleasing as well as useful.' 
(pp. 3^.) 

The following is the picture of man without education, as drawn 
by the same masterly hand. 

< Shrooded in nioral and intellectual night, man is a savage. His 
home is in the forest — ^the heavens his covering. He delights in vio- 
lence and bloodshed. The animal propensities prevail over the intel- 
lectual. The latter, by becoming subservient to the former, distinguish 
him in the scale of creation as cruel and relentless. Nature unfolds 
to him her beauties in vain. He is neither attracted by their charms, 
n<» led to adore their divine Author. , , % t i. 

Such is man in a state of nature. Not indeed as he came from the 

Vol. III.— ifamwry, 18S8. 10 



1 10 Jtdge JtPLemiU AddrtBS. 

hand of his Creator, but as despoiled of his glory by the power of 
darkness.' (p. 6.) 
The necessity and importance of the assiduous application of the 

Eowers of the mind to whatever it undertakes, the benefits of which 
ave been so strikingly exhibited in Judge McLean's own history, 
he thus portrays : — 

< Without personal application, the highest gifts of nature, and the 
finest opportunities for the acquisition of knowledge, will be of very 
little advantage. How seldom do we find a man of splendid talents, 
and great attainments, who has a son that acquires equal celebrity. 
This may in some degree be owing to the reputation oi the father, 
which the son seeks to appropriate to himself, without using the pro* 
per means to deserve it. 

There ^re few instances where young men of great fortunes become 
eminent. . The reason is, because they feel no necessity of relying 
upon their personal efforts for a subsistence ; and having the means of 
enjoying what are falsely called the pleasures of life, they yield to in-r 
duigence, their minds become relaxed, and their ambition is destroyed. 

No man ever attained much distinction in literature, in the sciences, 
or in any of the learned professions, without great labour. And no 
individual of good capacity, who enjoyed ordinary opportunities for 
study, andJraproved them to the best advantage, ever &iled to become 
distinguished. The great Newton declared, in a letter to Dr. Bentley, 
*< that if he had done the public any service, it was due to nothing but 
industry and patient thought." ' (p. 1*3^.) 

On the discipline and improvement of the mind, he says :— 

< But, method is not only necessary in speaking and writing, but also 
in thinking. This, it is believed, has seldom been properly appreciated. 
It is of the highest importance in the formation of a well regulated 
mind. If the mind be permitted to waste its energies on idle or vi- 
cious subjects of contemplation, how can it be expected to advance ? 
Many persons seem to think the understanding can be improved only 
by reading, writing, or conversation. This is a great mistake. It is 
advanced not less by a correct course of thinking and observation than 
by either of the others.* (p. 20.) 

Again :— 

* The strength of the mmd, like that of the body, may be greatly 
increased. If the body be unaccustomed to muscular action, its pow- 
ers will be feeble, and may be easily overcome ; but, by long usage to 
the severer ex^cises, its strength becomes astonishingly great. It is 
so with the mind. Although the properties of the mind be totally dis- 
tinct from those of the body, tbiey are alike subject to be influenced by 
circumstances ; and the mind which has been accustomed to close ob- 
servation, and a rigid course of investigation, will exhibit powers which 
strike with astonishment other capacities equally good, but less disci- 
plined. 

To form a correct habit of ^thinking, is of the highest importance. 
When this is done, the rapid improvement which follows, of which the 
mind is conscious, not dnly affords high gratification, but stimulates to 



Judge JtPLeanU Address. Ill 

8till greater effort. In this way, the powers of the mind are se 
much enlarged, that what at firat might have been deemed impracti- 
cable by the studenti ia accomplished with ease, and this leads to still 
higher attainments. A perseverance in this course will secure great 
eminence. None have deservedly acquired distinction who did not 
use these means ; and none have failed of their object who did use 
them.' (p. 21.) 

For the encouragement of youth labouring under difficulties in 
the attainment of education, he says : — 

' It is believed that few if any individuals in this country, have highly 
distinguished themselves as professioni^l men, or as statesmen, who had 
not to overcome various obstacles in early life. Many might be named, 
as occupying the first rank, who in youth were thrown upon their own 
resources for the means of subsistence. Under such circumstances, 
they learned to measure time more accurately by their expenditures, 
and saw the necessity of improving every moment.' (p. 23.) 

' Roger Sherman, a distinguished senator from Connecticut, was a 
mechanic ; and, in early life, foUowed his occupation from village to 
village, in the humblest manner. Tet this man, by the force of hia 
own mind, and his untiring application, rose to the first rank of the 
great men of his country. He was eloquent and profound. Few men 
desired to measure strength with him in the field of discussion ; none 
more effectually enchained the attention of his auditors.' (A.) 

On the same subject, he adds, in another place : — 

* Examples of brilliant success, under adverse circumstances, though 
more numerous in this country than any other, are not limited to it. 
In England, we find many such cases. A majority, perhaps, of the 
eminent lawyers there, have risen from obscurity by their own efforts. 
The same may be said, to some extent, of the other professions. 
Whether we look to the bar, the bench, or the senate, in that country, 
we will find that capacity, united with great effort and personal merit, 
throws into the shade all the factitious blandishments of rank and for- 
tune. What a splendid triumph is here awarded to genius; what 
deference, in the midst of a proud aristocracy, to that nobility which 
nature and study impart.' (p. 25.) 

The following eloquent paragraphs with which the address is 
concluded, contain sentiments which we are happy to see incul- 
cated by a jurist and statesman of the eminent distinction of Judge 
M'Lean ; and especially by one, who, among the * principles of 
truth,' (as we know he does experimentally and practically, as 
well as m theory,) embraces the truth of the glomue Gospel, as the 
only solid and safe foundation on which any human soul can build. 

< The brief existence of human life, should operate as a powerftd 
incentive to studious efforts. How short is the span which marks the 
career of mortality. The life of man is like a shadow cast upon the 
plain, which gradually disappears as the sun approaches his meridian. 
How impossible is it to recall misspent hours. If lost, they are lost 
irreparably ; and every passing moment, misemployed, adds to that 
sad account 

He who wbhes to have a name that shall be cherished by posterity ; 



112 BezaU Translatiim of ike Jfew Tesiammt. 

who desires, by his individual efforts, to add something to the amount 
of human happiness, and the glory of his country, has much to do, 
and but little time for action. His days and nights should be devoted 
to the pursuit of this great object. The principles of trutbjju^tice, 
and patriotism, should be the foundation on which he builds. Whether 
his life be public or private, the same moral principles should govern 
him. He should discard, as incompatible with either truth, honesty, 
or patriotism, that political trickery which is shamelessly professed by 
some, and practised by many. By means not only wholly unexcep- 
tionable, but laudable, should he aspire to eminence. And when such 
a career shall be about to close, there will b^ nothing painful in the 
retrospect. Having inculcated, by precept and example, mora! prin- 
ciple, and promoted individual and national prosperity, he has faithfully 
and conscientiously discharged his duty. No crying sins of injustice 
or oppression will lie heavy on his conscience in that honest hour. In 
the conviction that he has been the instrument of much good, and 
leaves an unspotted reputation to his friends and his poun'vry, he will 
find a consolation which receding honors^ however great, if unjustly 
acquired^ can never give.' (pp. 27, 28.) 



BEZ^S TRANSLATION OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. 

TiiEOBORE Beza was the colleague of Calving both in the Church 
and the University, at Geneva, where Calvin possessed and exercised, 
in reality, the power and authority of a bishop. Beza was his intimate 
associate and principal champion, in the grand scheme which he had 
formed for the making of Geneva the head quarters whence his doc- 
trines might be propagated, and proselytes and patrons gained to hi9 
theological system, by means both of the Academy and their writings. , 
Beza's Latin translation of the New Testament, with theological and 
critical notes, was his most celebrated work. It was received, on its 
publication, with great applause ; has passed through many editions ; 
was made the standard, in a great measure, of most of the translations 
of the Calvinistic churches into modern tongues; and was not without 
influence on the English translators of our o\vn common version ; al- 
though it had, perhaps, less influence on them than on the translators 
of other countries. It will not, therefore, be uninteresting or unpro- 
fitable, even at the present day, nor to mere English readers as well 
as others, to see what liberties this celebrated Calvinistic translator 
allowed himself to take with the sacred text, and for what purposes 
and objects. The critique which we subjoin, is compiled from one of 
the Preliminary Dissertations prefixed by Dr. Campbell to his transla- 
tion of the Four Gospels. Of the passages in ancient or modern fo- 
reign languages, quoted by Dr. Campbell, but not translated, we have 
added translations, which are distinguished by being enclosed in 
brackets, as is also what other matter has been added by oursdvea. 
. Beza, with natural talents considerably above the middle rate, had 
a good d^al of learning, and understood well both Greek and Latin ; 
but he neither knew Hebrew (though he haid the assistance of some 
who knew it,} nor does he seem to have been much conversant in the 



Beza^s TraiMlation of the Jfm IkaUmaU. US 

tfanalation of the Seventy. Hence it has happened, that his critical 
acuteness is not always so well directed as it might have been. The 
significations of words and idioms are often determined by him from 
classical authority, which might| with greater ease and more precision, 
have been ascertained by the usage of the sacred writers, and their 
ancient interpreters. As to words which do not ocour in other Greek 
writers, or but rarely, or in a. sense manifestly different from whatihey 
bear in Scripture, Beza's chief aid was etymology. Th^s has occa- 
sioned his fr^uent recourse, without necessity, to circumlocution, to 
the prejudice always of the diction, and sometimes of the sense, and 
has been shown not to be always the surest method of attaining the 
signification wanted. 

But of all the faults with which Beza is chargeable as a translator, 
the greatest is, undoubtedly, that he was too violent a party man to 
possess that impartiality, without which it is impossible to succeed as 
an interpreter of Holy Writ. It requires but a very little of a critical 
eye to discern in him a constant effort to accommodate the style of the 
saored writers to that of his sect. ^ Nay, what he has done in this way, 
is done so openly, I might have said avowedly, that it is astonishing it 
has not more discredited his work. That he has shown throughout 
the whole work, a manifest partiality to the theology then prevalent 
in Geneva, is beyond a doubt. I shall select a few examples out of 
a much greater number, which might be brought. 

The first shall be from that celebrated discourse of our Lord's, 
commonly called his sermon on the mount, wherein these words, 
fjxso'aTS ^ori 8pp8^9} raig aa'xp.ifug^ (Matt, v, 21,) — [Ye have heard that 
it was said to them of old time, — marginal translation — to them,] 
are always rendered, by Beza, Auddstis dictum fuisse a veterihua; 
[Ye have heard that it was said bt the ancients ;] in contradiction to 
all the versions which had preceded, Oriental and Occidental, and in 
opposition to the uniform idiom of the sacred writers. Beza does not 
hesitate in his annotations to assign his reason, which is drawn not 
from any principle of criticism, not from a different reading in any an- 
cient manuscripts, of which he had several, but professedly from 'the 
fitness of this version for supporting his'own doctrine. But this cor- 
rection of the ancient version was every way unsuitable, and the ex- 
pedient weak. It was essential to the Pharisaical notion of traditions, 
to consider them as precepts which God himself had given lo their 
fathers verbally, and which were therefore called the oral law, in 
contradistinction to the written law, or the Scriptures. Consequently 
Beza's representation of their presumption is far short of the truth. 
And let it be observed, that our Lord does not here give any sanction 
to their distinction of the law, into &i'cd and written. He does not 
once say. It was said to the ancients^ but uniformly. Ye have heard that 
it was said. He speaks not of what God did^ut of what they pre» 
tended that he did. 

His words, therefore, and the doctrine of the Pharisees, are alike 
misrepresented by this bold interpreter; and that for the sake of an 
advantage, merely imaginary, against an adverse sect. The one in- 
terpretation is not more favorable to the Socinians than the other. 
But, if it had been otherwise, no person will consider that as a good 

10* 



114 Beza^s Translation of the Jfevo Testament. 

reason for misrepresenting, unless he is more solicitous of accommo* 
dating Scripture to his sentiments, than of accommodating his senti« 
ments to Scripture. The former has indeed been but too common 
with interpreters, though with few so much, and so barefacedly, as 
with Beza. I am sorry to add that, in the instance we have been 
considering, Beza has been followed by most of the Protestant trans- 
lators of his day, Italian, French, and English. 

The following is another example of the strong inclination which 
this translator had, even in the smallest matters, to make his version 
conformable to his own. prepossessions. He renders these words, if\]/^ 
T^vai^i, [with the women, — ^Acts i, 14,] though without either article 
or pronoun, cum uxaribusy [with their wives,] as though the expression 
had been (fuv ratg ^vai|iv aur&}v. In this manner he excuses himself 
in the notes : ^Conveniebat apostolorum etiam uxores confirmari, quas 
vel peregrinationis illorum comites esse oportebat, vel eorum absen- 
tiam domi patienter expectare.' [It was meet that the wives also of 
the Apostles, who were to accompany them in their travels, or pa<- 
tiently to wait for them at home, should be established.] Yery well : 
and because Theodore Beza judges it to have been convenient that 
the Apostles^ wives, for their own confirmation, should be there, he 
takes the liberty to make the sacred historian say that they were 
there, when, in fact, he does not so much as insinuate that there were 
any wives among them. The use of the Greek word yyjyr^ is entirely 
similar to that of the French word femme* Nobody that understands 
French would translate avec Its femmes with the wivesy but with the 
i9omen, whereas the proper translation of avec leurs femmes is, tptth 
their tDtves. 

It is impossible for one who knows the state of things, at the time 
when that version was made, not to perceive the design of this mis- 
interpretation. The Protestant ministers, among whom marriage was 
common, were exposed to much obloquy among the Romanists, through 
the absurd prejudices of the latter, in favor of celibacy. It was, there- 
fore, deemed of great consequence to the party, to represent the Apos- 
tles as married men. But, could one imagine that this consideration 
would have weight enough to lead a man of Beza's abilities and cha- 
racter into such a flagrant, though not very material mistranslation ] 
A translator ought surely to express the full meaning of his author, as 
far as the language which he writes is capable of expressing it. But 
here there is an evident restriction of his author's meaning. Besides, 
there may have been, for aught we know, no wives in the company, in 
which case Beza's words include a direct falsehood. And this false- 
hood he boldly puts into the mouth of the sacred penman. We know 
that Peter had once a wife, as we learn from the Gospel, that his wife's 
mother was cured" by Jesus of a fever. But whether she was living 
at the time referred to^n the -4ct8, or whether any more of the Apos- 
tles were married, or whether their wives were disciples, we know 
not. Now this falsification, though in a little matter, is strongly cha- 
racteristical of that interpreter. I am glad to add, that in this he has 
been deserted by all the Protestant translators I know. . 

-A similar instance the very next chapter presents us with. The 
words sx syxaroKsi-l^sis rviv -^vxr^v juut 9is &^«, [Thou wilt not leave my soul 



Beza^s Translaiiim of the J^Tew TestamefU. 115 

inhell, {hades,) — Aetsii,27,] he translates, JVbfi<2ereltn^e« codoverme- 
iim in aepulcroy [Thou wilt not leave my dsad body in the sepulchre,] 
not only rendering &Srifi sepulcrumj according to an opinion which, 
though shown to be ill founded, is pretty common ; but 4'ux^ cadaveTf 
carcass, wherein, I believe, he is singular. His motive is still of the 
same kind. . The common version, though unexceptionable, might be 
thought to support the Popish limbo. 

This specimen from Beza, it may be thought, should have been over- 
looked, because, though inserted in the first, it was corrected in the 
subsequent editions of his version. This, I confess, was my own opi- 
nion, till I observed, that in the annotations of those very .editions, he 
vindicates his first translation of the words, and acknowledges that he 
had altered it, not from the conviction of an error, but to gratify .those 
who, without reason, were, through ignorance of the Latin idiom, dis- 
satisfied with the manner in which he had first rendered it. 

To Beza's reason for rejecting the common version, Castalio retorts, 
very^justly, that if the possibility of wresting a passage in support of 
error, were held a good reason for translating it otherwise, Beza's own 
version of the passage in questi^^n, would be more exceptionable than 
what he had pretended to correct. < Deinde non minus ex ejus trans- 
latione possit error nasci, et quidem longe pemiciosior. Cum enim 
animam Christi vertat in cadaver, periculum est ne quis animam 
Christi putet nihil fuisse nisi cadaver.' [From his translation of that 
passage, error, and indeed far more pernicious error, may spring. 
For as he turns the soul of Christ into a carcass, the danger is lest it 
should be supposed that the soul of Christ is nothing but a carcass.] 
And even this opinion, which denies that Jesus Christ had a human 
soul, has not been unexampled. It was maintained by Beryllus, bishop 
of Bostra in Arabia, in the third century. But, on this strange prin- 
ciple of Beza's, where is the version of any part of Scripture in v^hich 
we could safely acquiesce? 

A third example of the same undue bias (for I reckon not the last, 
because corrected, whatever was the motive) we have in his version 
of these w^ords, Xsipocov>)(favr8f ds auroi^ ^fSifpvrspx^, [And when they 
had ordained them elders, — Acts xiv, 23,] which he renders Quumque 
ipsi per mffragia creassent preabyteros, [And when by clection they 
had created elders.] The word p^siporovi^o'avrs^, he translates from ety- 
mology, a manner which, as was observed before, he sometimes uses. 
XsipoTovsiv literally signifies, to stretch out the hand* From the use of 
this manner, in popular elections, it came to denote to elect, and thence, 
again, to nominiUe, or appoint any how. Now Beza, that his intention 
might not escape us, tells us in the note, ' Est notanda vis hujus verbi, 
ut Paultim ac Barnabam sciamus nil private arbitrio gessisse, nee ul- 
1am in ecclesia exercuisse tyrannidem : nil denique tale fecisse quale 
hodie Romanus papa et ipsius asseclce, quos ordinarios vdcant.' [The 
import of this word ought to be observed, that we may know -that Paul 
and Barnabas did nothing, by their private judgment, nor exercised 
any tyranny in the Church: in fine, that they did notliing as the Ro- 
man pope and his retainers, whom they call ordinaries, do at this day.] 
Now, though no man is more an enemy to ecclesiastic tyranny than I 
am, I would not employ against it weapons borrowed from falsehood 



119 Btzds Translation of the J^Ttw TtBlament. 

and sophistry. I cannot help, therefore, declaring, that the version 
which the Yulgate has given of that passage, Ei quum cansiituissent 
iUis preshyteros, f And when they had constituted them elders,] fully 
expresses the sense of the Greek, and, consequently, that the words 
per wffragia^ are a mere interpolation, for the sake of answering a 
particular purpose. Use, where it can be discovered,, must determine 
the signification, in preference to etymology. And here we are at no 
loss to affirm that p^siporovsoj, whatever were its origin, is not confined 
to electing, or constituting, by a plurality of voices. 
. But, whatever be in this, in the instance before us, the p^eipftrovr- 
tf«vr6^, or electors, were no more than Paul and Barnabas; and it 
could not, with any propriety, be said of two, that they elected by a 
majority of votes; since there can be no doubt that they must, have 
both agreed in the appointment : and if it had been the disciples, and 
not the two Apostles who had given their sufirages, it would have 
been of the disciples, and of them only, not of the Apostles, that the 
term x^'P^^^viga'awE^ could have been used, which the construction of 
the sentence manifestly shows' that it is not. The sense of the word 
here given by Beza, is therefore tot^}ly unexampled ; for, according 
to him, it must signify not to elect, but to constitute those whom others 
have elected* For, if this be not what he means by per suffragia cre^ 
assentf applied to no more than two, it will liot be easy to divine his 
meaning, or to discover in what manner it answered the purpose ex- 
pressed in his note. And if this be what he means, he has given a 
sense to the word, for which I have not seen an authority from any 
author, sacred or profane. The common import of the word is no 
more than to constitute, ordain, or appoint any how, by election, or 
otherwise, by one, two, or more. When it is by election, it is solely 
from the scope of the passage that we must collect it. In the only 
other place. (2 Cor. yiii, 19,) where it occurs in the New Testament, 
it no doubt relates to a proper election. But it is from the words im- 
mediately connected, ySipoTovvi^sis Cato ruv sxxX*)(fiwv, [who was chosen 
by the churches,] we learn that this is the sense there, as it is from 
the words immediately connected that we learn, with equal certainty, 
that it relates here to an appointment made.by two persons only. 

The word occurs once in composition with the preposition 9'po. 
AXXa fjiaprutfi Toig flTpoxap^gipoToyij^voif vieo rs ©ex, [But unto witnesses 
chosen before of God, — Acts, x, 41,] rendered by Beza himself, sed 
testibus quos ipse prius designaveraty [but to witnesses whom he had 
before designated.] .Here there can be no question that it refers to a 
destination, of which God alone is the author, and in which, therefore, 
there could be no sufirages* For even Beza will not be hardy enough 
to pretendj that such is the force of this verb, as to show, that God 
did nothing but by common consent, and only destined those whom 
others had elected. That the word p^eiporoveoj was commonly used in 
all the latitude here assigned to it. Dr. Hammond has, firom Philo, Jo« 
sephus, and Pagan writers of undoubted authority, given the amplest 
evidence in his Commentary. 

Again, that he might avoid every expression which appeared to fa- 
vour the doctrine of universal redemption, the words of the Apostle, 
concerning God, 'O^ ^avras av^pcMrns ^s'kst (fw^ijvai, [Who will have all 



Beta* 8 Transtation of the J^m Testameni* 117 

men to be saved, — 1 Tim. ii, 4,] literally rendered in the Vulgate, 
Qut omnes homines vtdt salvos fieriy [who wills all men to be saved,] 
he translates, Qmi quosvis homines tmlt servari,* A little after, in the 
Same chapter, 'O Sag kavrov avriXucfov viesg iravrujv, [who pave himself 
a ransom for all,] in the Yulgate Qui dtdit redempiionem semetipsum 
pro omnibus^ [who gave himself a ransom for all.] Beza makes Qui 
sese ipse dedit redemptionis pretium pro quibusvis. [In both the pre- 
ceding instances, and also in that mentioned in the note below, 
Beza, in his version, restricts the number of those whom God wills to 
be saved, for whom Christ gave himself a ransom, and to whom the 
grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared, to less than att;-^ 
although the original of the sacred text uses terms explicitly and un- 
equivocally signifying all.] Once more, in another place of this Epistle, 
*0^ s^i (fawtjf flravTwv avSjjwirwv, fjwxXi^a iri^wv, [Who is the Saviour of all 
men, especially of those that believe, — 1 Tiro, iv, 10,] in the Vulgate, 
Qui est sahator omnium hominum, maxime Jidelium ; [tVho is the Savi- 
our of all men^ especially of those that believe; Beza renders. Qui est 
CONSERVATOR omnium hominum^ muxime vero Jidelium* [Who is the 
PRESERVER of all men, but especially of those that believe.] Let it be 
observed, that this is the only place, in his version, where tfwrtjp [Sa- 
viour] is rendered conseirvatorj preserver : in every other passage but 
one, where he uses a periphrasis, the word is servatoTy answering to 
saJvator in the Vulgate, saviour. If it had not been for the annexed 
clause, fjiaXi^a vi^&jv, [especially of those that believe,} Beza, I suppose, 
would have retained the word servaior^ and had recourse to the expe- 
dient he had used repeatedly for eluding the difficulty, by saying, iSer^ 
vator quoruiwcis hmninum. But he perceived, that ^avruv av§pci>ff'6jv [of 
all men] must be here taken in the most comprehensive sense, being 
contradistinguished to «'i^gjv, [of those that believe.] I do not mean, 
by these remarks, to affirm whether or not the word conservator be 
equivaleift to the import of the original term, as used in this place. It 
is enough for my purpose that, as this difference of meaning does not 
necessarily result, either from the words in immediate connection, or 
from the purport of the Epistle, no person is entitled to alter the ex- 
pression, in order to accommodate it to his own opinions. 

The safest and the fairest way for a translator is, in every disputable 
point, to make no distinction where the divine Spirit has not distin- 
guished. To apply to this the words used by Boys in a similar case, 
< Cur enim cautiores simus, magisque religiosi quam Spiritus Sanctust 
Si Spiritus Sanctus non dubitavit dicere iravTaf et tfwc^p, cur nos vere- 
amur dicere omneS eiservator?* [For why need we be more cautious, 
and more religious than the Holy Spirit? If the Holy Spirit hath not 
hesitated to say all and Samour, why are we afraid to say all and iSo- 
viour?] In the same manner would I expostulate with certain divines 
among ourselves, who, I have observed, in quoting the preceding pas- 

* In the same manner he renders these words (Tit* ii, 11,) Em^vi; yap h X'ptf r» 
OtH fi omntfios ramv av^piawptf, [For the gmct of God, th»t bringeih sahration, hath 
appeared to all men, or, as the marginal version is,— the ^prace of God that bringeth 
salvation to all men, hath appeared,] ^lilaxit enim gratia ilia Dei salutiferaftctHiim* 
[not omnibus} hominibus.' No modern translation that I am acquainted with fol- 
lows Be2a in his interpretation of this verse. 



I 



118 BtzaU Trcmlatim of the J^ew Testomm. 

sages of Scripture) never say, would have edl men to he savedy and, the 
Saviour of all men^ but invariably, aU eorte of men; charitably intend- 
ing, by this prudent correction, to secure the unwary from being se-* 
duced, by the latitudinarian expressions of the Apostle. If thifr be 
not being wise above what is written, I know not what is. In the first 
and second passages quoted, I know no translator who has chosen to 
imitate Beza ; in the third, he is followed by the Geneva French only, 
who says Le conservateur de ious hommes* [The preserver of all men.] 
-But it is proper to add, that it was not so in that version, till it had 
undergone a second or third revisal : for the corrections have not been 
all for the better. 

[After criticising Beza's translation of Heb. i, 3, and the note in 
which he assigns his reasons for rendering it as he does, Dr. Campbell 
thus continues.] 

Here we have a man who, in effect, acknowledges that he would 
not have translated some things in the way he has done, if it were not 
that he could thereby strike a severer blow against some adverse sect, 
or ward off a blow, which an adversary might aim against him. Of 
these great objects he never loses sight. Accordingly, the controvert- 
ist predominates throughout his whole version, as well as commentary; 
the translator is, in him, but a subordinate character ; insomuch th&t 
he may justly be called what Jerom calls Aquila, contentiostts inter-' 
pres, [a controversial translator.] 

Again, in the same Epistle it is said, *0 ds Sacanos sx *!ti€6u)g ^r^tfsrar 
xM sav u«'o<£iXf}Tou, ax svSoxsi ^ -v^'^X^ f*^ ^ aurco. [Now the just shall 
live by faith; but if he draw back, (in the common version, after 
Beza, if any man draw back,) my soul shall have no pleasure in him, 
Heb. X, 38.] In the Yulgate, rightly, Justus autem — ex fide vivei: 
quod si suhtraxerit se, non placebit animce niece. [But the just maa 
shall live by faith : but i{ he draw back, he shall not be pleasing to 
my soul.] In Beza's version, Justus autem ex fide vivet; at 9f c^uis se 
subduxerit, non est gratum anim>o meo* [But the just shall live by faith; 
but if ANT MAN draw back, it is not agreeable to my soul 1 I^ere we 
have two errors. First, the word quis [any man] is, to the manifest 
injury of the meaning, foisted into the text. Yet there can be no 
pretenc«E» of necessity, as there is no ellipsis in the sentence. By the 
syntactic order, 6 ^ixaio^ [the just man] is understood as the nominative 
to Cflro^5iX>iTaj ; [drawback ;] the power of the personal pronoun being, 
in Greek and Latin, sufficiently expressed by the inflexion of the verb. 
Secondly, the consequent displeasure of God is transferred from the 
person to the action : non est gratum, [it is not agreeable ;] as though 
sv wiru [in him] could be explained otherwise than as referring to 
^jxaio^, [the just man.] This peirversion of the sense is, in my judg- 
ment, so gross, as fully to vindicate from undue severity, the censure 
pronounced by bishop Pearson, lUa verba a Theodoro Beza haud bona 
fide s^mt translaia, [Theodore Beza's translation of those words is 
fraudulent,'] But this is one of the many passages in which this 
interpreter has judged that the sacred penmen, having expressed 
themselves incautiously, and given a handle to the patrons of erro- 
neous tenets, stood in need of him more as a corrector than as a 
translator. In this manner Beza supports the doctrine of the perse- 



Bezo^9 Trandaiidn of the JWu^ Testament. 119 

verance of the saints, having been followed, in the first of these errors, 
by the French and English translators, but not in the second ; and 
not by the Italian translator in either, though as much a Calvinist as 
any of them. In the old English Bibles, the expression was, Ifh€ 
vjithdraw himself. 

In order to evade, as much as possible, the appearance of regard, 
in the dispensation of grace, to the disposition of the receiver, the 
words of the Apostle, Tov itgorsgov ovra jSXcW^TjfjLov xai ^iwxri^v, xtu 
tpgt^vtv' aXX' vjksfjl^riv, hn ayvowv ew'oiijfl'a ev aflri^ia, [Who was before a 
blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious : but I obtained mercy, 
because I did it ignorantly in unbelief,] he renders Qut prius eram 
hlasphemus ei persecutor ^ et injuriis alios afficiens: sed misertcordia 
sum donatus. JSam ignorans id faciebam : nempe fidei expers, [Who 
was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious : but I 
obtained mercy. For I did it ignorantly: that is in unbelief.] Here 
I observe, first, that he divides the sentence into two, making a full 
stop at vjKsvji^riv^ [I obtained mercy,] and thus disjoins a clause which, 
in Greek, is intimately connected, and had always been so understood, 
as appears from all the ancient versions and commentaries: and, 
secondly, that he introduces this sentence with namj [for,] as if, in 
Greek, it had been yug^ instead of quia, the proper version of ori, [be- 
cause.] Both are causal conjunctions ; but as the former is generally 
employed in uniting difierent sentences, and the latter in uniting the 
different members of the same sentence, the union occasioned by the 
former is looser and more indefinite than that produced by the latter. 
The one expresses a connection with the general scope of what was 
said, the other with the particular clause immediately preceding. 
This second sentence, as Beza exhibits it, may be explained as an 
extenuation suggested by the Apostle, after confessing so black a 
crime. As if he had said : ' For I would not have acted thus, but I 
knew not what I was doing, as I was then an unbeliever.' It is evi- 
dent that the words of the original are not susceptible of this inter- 
pretation. Beza has not been followed in this, either by Diodati, or 
by the English translators. The Geneva French, and the Geneva 
English, have both imitated his manner. . 

I shall produce but one other instance. The words of the beloved 
disciple. Tins 4 ysyswriii^og sx « 0s», Ajxafnav a itaisi ; [Whosoever is 
bom of God, doth not commit sin, — 1 John iii, 9 ;] rendered in the 
Vulgate, Omnis qui niUus est ex Deo, peceatum non fadt, [Whosoever 
is born of God, doth not commit sin,] Beza translates, Quisquis natus 
est ex Deo J peceato non dat operam ; [Whosoever is born of God, doth 
not DEVOTE HIMSELF TO SIN ;] by this last phrase, endeavouring to 
elude the support which the original appears to give to the doctrine 
of the sinless perfection of the saints in the present life. 

There is still another reason which seems to have influenced Beza 
in rendering ^tjxa^iav iroisi [committeth sin] peecato dat operdm, [de- 
votes himself to sin,] which is kindly to favor sinners, not exorbi- 
tantly profligate, so far as to dispel all fear about their admission into 
the kingdom of heaven. This construction may be thought unchari- 
table. I own I should have thought so myself, if he had not explicitly 
shown his principles, on this subject, in other placea» That expret- 



ISO Bezels TranshMon of the Jfett TesUmetU. 

sioQy in the sennon on the mount, Af^vx^fsirs ait* $fi« hi s^^ot^ojxsvoi njv 
avofi«iav, [Depart from me ye that work iniquity,— -Matt, vii, 23,] he 
renders, Mseedile a me qui operam datis iniquttati, [Depart from me 
ye who devote yourselves to iniquity.] And though he is singular 
in using this phrase, I should not, even from it, have concluded so 
harshly of his motive, if his explanation in the note had not put it 
heyond doubt. Thus, if he wound the sense in the version, he kills 
it outright in the commentary. 

Not only Scripture in general, but that discourse in particular, on 
which Beza was then commenting, speaks a very different language : 
Except your rigkteausnesSy says Jesus, ihaU exceed the ti^hteousnesB 
ofthfi Scribes and Pharisees^ ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom 
of heaven. It would have better suited Beza's system of Christian 
morality, to have said. Except your unrighteousness shall exceed the 
unrighteousness of publicans and harlots^ ye shall in no case be excluded 
from the kingdom of heaven. But as our Lord's declaration was the 
reverse, it is worth while to observe in what manner this champion of 
Geneva eludes its force, and reconciles it to his own licentious maxims. 
[After quoting BezaHs note on the place. Dr. Campbell adds,] 
According to this learned commentator, then, your righteousness 
here means, chiefly or solely, your orthodoxy : I say, chiefly or solely : 
for, observe his artful climax, in speaking of teachers and teaching. 
When first he obtrudes the word doctrine, in explanation of the word 
righteousness, he puts it only on the level with a good life ; it is 
< tum doctrinam tum vitam,' [as well doctrine .as the life.] When 
mentioned the second time, a good life is dropt, because as he afiirms, 
* de doctrina potissimum hie agi liquet,' [it is plain that it is doctrine 
especially that is here treated of.] When the subject is again re- 
sumed, in explaining the latter part of the sentence, every thing 
which relates to life and practice is excluded from a share in what is 
said ; for after this gradual preparation of his readers, they are plainly 
told, * de solis doctoribus hie agit,' [he (Christ) here speaks concern- 
ing teachers only.] Now, every body knows, that Beza meant, by 
orthodoxy, or sound doctrine, an exact conformity to the Genevese 
[Calvin's] standard. The import of our Lord's declaration, then, 
according to this bold expositor, amounts to no more than this, ' If 
^ye be not completely orthodox, [that is, according to Beza, thorough 
Galvinists,] ye shall not be teachers in the church.' In this way of 
expounding Scripture, what purposes may it not be made to serve t 
For my part, I have seen nothing in any commentator or casuist, 
which bears a stronger resemblance to thd.t mode of subverting, under 
pretence of explaining, the divine law, which was adopted by the 
Scribes, and so -severely reprehended by our Lord. In the passage 
taken from John's Epistle, I do not find that Beza has had any 
imitators. 

I might collect many more passages, but I suppose that those 
which have been given will sufficiently verify what has been advanced 
concerning this translator's partiality. Any one who critically exa- 
mines his translation, will see how much he strains in every page, 
especially in Paul's Epistles, to find a place for the favorite terms 
and phrases of his party. 



V 



7 



• THI 

METHODIST magazine:, 

AND 

Vol. XIV, No, 2. APRIL, W3a. New Series— Vol. Ill, No. 2. 



ON PROFITJNa FROM THE HEARING OF SERMONS. 

From the Wcsleyan Methodist Magazine. 

- - On the subject of future and final judgment, although the Scrips 
tures are clear as to the fact, yet do they leave much, which per- 
haps we might desire to know, enveloped in an obscurity which 
we cannot penetrate. What is thus placed in the darkness of 

* heaven's own shadow,* will continue unknown to us till we are 
permitted to behold it in heaven's own light. In all such cases 
conjecture is as improper and injurious as it will always be vain. 
We are, however, carefully to distinguish between curious conjec- 
ture as to what is unrevealed, and legitimate inference from what 
is clearly stated. It is true, indeed, that in all these extensions of 
the line of truth in its own proper direction, great caution, and so- 
briety, and humbleness of mind are necessary; but still, legitimate 
inferences from plainly declared truth, preserving the proper ana- 
logy of faith, are not only neither injurious nor vain,, but positively 
beneficial. Thus was it that the Saviour confuted the materialism 
and infidelity of the Sadducees. Moses had recorded that God 
said, * I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the 
Qod of Jacob.' This was the undisputed fact. Then follows the 
confuting inference, * God is not the God of the dead, but of the 
living ; yetherefore do greatly err.' It will not, I think, be regarded 
as a hazardous, unwarrantable conjecture, if we say that, in giving 
account of ourselves to God, our opportunities of improvement will 
be very seriously considered. When St. Paul tells us that * every 
one of us shall give account of himself to Grod,' the stress of the 
statement is evidently to be placed on "what may be termed the 
individual personality of the account, thus to be rendered, when we 

* all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.^ In the chapter to 
which I am now referring, (Rom. xiv,) the Apostle speaks of those 
differences on comparatively minor points by which some parts of 
the church were then agitated. He requires the persons, thus dif- 
fering, not to judge one another, because each one should \is,ve to 
account to the Sovereign and Judge, not for l^s brethren, but for 
himself. He so speaks as to bring before us a judgment at once 
general, in that it will proceed on the same great principles, and be 

j9nriL 18S2.— Vol. III. 1 1 



•^^prilf 



122 On proJUingfrom the hearing of Sermons. 

governed by the same rules, in reference to all ; and individual and 
particular, in that the peculiar and specific circumstances of each 
separate person will be carefully noted. Connect what St. Paul 
here teacnes with our Lord's solemn declaration in the parable of 
the talents, and with other passages in which we see the same 
' principle incorporated ; and I think that will appear to be a just 
conclusion to which Christians often advert, botn in their private 
meditations, and in the communings of religious fellowship, that 
we shall have to give account of our opportunities and mercies ; — 
that one of the inquiries which will be made in the course of the 
awful judgment, and prosecuted to its conclusion, will be, whether 
we have improved our opportunities, and duly prc^ted by our 
mercies. The thought is exceedingly solemn. Properly pursued 
and .applied, it' may well make the stoutest tremble. No one can 
enter fkirly into the examination which i^ prompts, but he will be 
conducted to results which will humble him to the very dust, and 
lead him, in the lowest prostration of his spirit, to exclaim, ^God be 
merciful to me a sinner V Nor will the influence rest here. He 
who thus humbles himself because of past unfaithfulness, and ear- 
nestly implores the mercy which shall remove all the guilt of it, will 
resolve, God being his helper, to live in greater watchfulness ; and 
in the regular exercise of a holy, active, and profiting diligence. 

I am not going in the present paper to apply this subject very 
widely. And yet, it will be well if my readers will do so for them- 
selves to every subject to which it is capable of being applied. To 
every subject to which it is applicable, it is our duty both in reflec- 
tion and practice to apply it. To all shall it be said, * Give account 
of thy stewardship:' nor can we expect that that account shall be 
rendered with joy, if we have not had a conscientious reference to 
it, in the use and employment of whatever may have been entrusted 
to our keeping. I am going to confine the application of this great 
principle to a very common, though a most important mercy, to 
which I confess I have sometimes feared it has not been applied as 

it ought, THE HEARING OP SERMONS. 

I am now writing for Methodists. Let us, then, take a Methodist 
chapel in any of our circuit towns. There are, at any rate, three 
sermons preached in it weekly, amounting, with occasional services, 
to at least one hundred and sixty in the course of the year. Next, 
take a person who, when about twenty years of age, was brought 
to God. By the grace of God he continues faithful, and by the 
providence of God he reaches his * three score years and ten.' He 
has now been a Christian hearer of Christian sermons for fifty years, 
at the rate of one hundred and sixty annually; that is, he has heard 
eight thousand sermons. Nor must the solemn public reading of 
Scripture be omitted. This is a species of preaching, — ^for so it is 
written, * Moses has them that preach him, being read in the syna« 
gogues every Sabbath day.' He has therefore heard four or five 
tibousand chapters of the word of Qod : and all know how important 



On profitmg Jran^ the hearing of Sermont. 123 

an impression is made on the mind by the solemn, deliberate read- 
ing of Scripture, in connection with the public worship of Almighty 
Grod. Now, if we suppose the preacher to have used the ordinary 
diligence of a man of God, responsible to God for the way in whicn 
he does his work ; who is sent to declare the whole counsel of God ; 
and who feels, at the same time, that he loves the sacred burden 
thus laid upon him : — ^let all this be supposed, and O what a quan- 
tity of truth has thus been presented to the soul ! I will not say, 
passed before it, as the fleecy, sun-lit vapour passes across the 
deep blue sky, unnoted, perhaps unseen ; but presented, earnestly, 
solemnly, pleadingly presented : presented, too, when the hearer 
has just returned from speaking to God in prayer, and when he 
has seated himself in reverential silence that God may speak to 
him. Yes, at moments when our minds have thus been calmed, — 
when we have said, * Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth,* — ^while 
thus we have sat expectingly, saying, ' I will hear what God the 
Lord will speak,' — at such moments, and under such circum- 
stances, has the truth of God been presented to us. An aged 
Christian, who has happily feared the Lord from his youth, has 
thus heard his seven or eight thousand expositions, and earnestly 
enforced applications, of the most important portions of divine 
truth. Truth, the proper element of the soul, has been, in the gra^ 
cious providence of God, thus largely communicated. How richly 
stored with it ought to be the understanding ! How correct the 
conscience in all its judgments ! How pure and elevated the affec- 
tions in all their movements ! Thus well acquainted with the divinely 
inspired Scriptures, which are so profitable for teaching, proving, 
rectifying, and establishing, ought not the man of God to be indeed 
complete, and to be so ' thoroughly furnished unto every good word 
and work,' that at all tiroes, and in all things, he may do the will 
of God ? Is it always sol — But I am not going to reprove. I will 
speak more immediately, though not indeed exclusively, to young 
converts, who desire to be * built up in their most holy faith,' and 

* standing perfect and complete in all the will of God,' to come 

* unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ,' See 
what a rich provision is made for you. Rejoice in it ; but * rejoice 
with trembling.' Recollect the doctrine of human responribiUty in 
its reference to your privileges. And thus seeing at once your 
mercies, your obligations, and your accountability, are you not 
anxiously inquiring, {in common phrase,) how you may make the 
most of your opportunities \ To assist you will be the object of the 
remainder of this paper. 

Injseeking profit from an institution like that of preaching, it is 
essentially necessary that its nature and design be sq far at least 
considered, as they tn^y bear on the question at present before us. 
The Scriptures make that design too obvious to require longcom- 
ment. Preaching, indeed, is only available when used by thelOivina 
Spirit as an instrument in carrying on his work; but still it is an 



124 On profiting from the hearing of Semum$. 

instrument adapted by the Supreme Intelligence for bis intelligent 
creatures : it is therefore calculated, as well as designed, to be an 
instrument in awakening, preserving, and increasing Christian feel- 
ing in the heart, and communicating Christian knowledge to the 
mind. To personal Christianity, an enlightened understanding 
and a fervent spirit are necessary; and the appointed instrument 
of bringing the soul into this state, and preserving us in it, is the 
ministry of the word. The ^sincere milk of the word' is given to us 
* that we may grow thereby;* and then do we ' profit by the word 
preached,' when, \^y means of it, we ' grow in grace, and in the 
Knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.' 

How we may thus grow and profit by the ministry of the word, 
is a question to which I doubt not many valuable answers have 
been given, and are stiU ^ven, regularly and constantly, to the 
members of our societies, by the ministers who labour among them 
and watch over them ; feeling that to him from whom they have 
received their ministry, they must give account how they have 
' fulfilled it.' One or two directions I wish now tQ give. 

I have already said, that while the * ministry of the word' is an 
adapted instrument, it is still an instrument which for its whole 
efficacy depends on the present power of * the Holy Ghost, 
THE Lord, and the Life Giver.' I am not writing for preachers ; 
but I may be allowed to say, that all who minister in holy things 
should deeply and continually feel, — and with a feeling actually 
and strongly operating, — ^that then only are they * able ministers 
of the new covenant,' when a Divine power accompanies all their 
ministrations. That, therefore, in the first place, they should be 
exceedingly careful as to the nature and character of their minis- 
trations ; that these be made the subjects of much and anxious 
thought ; and that they be, as far as possible, made to possess a 
Scriptural fitness for the instrumentality which they are designed 
to constitute ; — and, in the next place, the instrument being thus 
completely prepared, the bow well strung, the arrow weD sharpen- 
ed ; — then, when industry has done all that it can do, let it be felt 
that all is utterly vain, unless ' the power of the Lord be present' 
with the exercise, nerving the arm that draws the string, and direct- 
ing the arrow that speeds from the bow. That sacred presence, so 
essentially necessary, and so graciously promised, let prayer solicit, 
let faith expect. Such is the preacher's duty: let the hearer be 
careful practically to remember his. I lay it down as a funda- 
mental principle in this inquiry, that the more we possess of the 
spirit of devotion, the more profit we are likely to receive from the 
sermon we are about to hear.^ If this be the case, — ^and can we 
hesitate as to its truth 1 — ^let it not only be acknowledged in theory, 
but carefuHy remembered in practice. And is it not so 1 I will 
not answer the question directly. I will, instead, propose one or 
two others. Are all the members of our society careful to remem- 
ber the approach of the hour of public wOTship, and to retire, either 



On j^ofiiing from tlu hearing of S^nwM. IjBI^ 

into their closet^ or, ^ leaeit; into their own hearty for the purpose of 
aelf-recoUection and prayer ? Are they careful to be at the bouse 
of prayer exactly at the time 1 if possible, a little before it t Are 
they careful to join, with due solemnity and devption, m what is 
strictly and properly the wdrship of God ? In the former part of 
our public service toe speak to God ; in the latter, he speaks to us. 
Can we eipect that he will speak to us, if we have been negligent 
in our approaches to him ; or have, it may be, Arough careless- 
ness, omitted them altogether ? 

And here I must advert to an important difference between the 
circumstances of earlier and modem Methodism.. Originally, the 
religious services of the Methodists were rather appendfigti and 
auxiliaries to worship^ than worship itself. It was supposed that die 
duties of worship had been elsewhere observed. Mr. Wesley bim^ 
self considered the preaching of himself and coadjutors to be as the 
sermons before the University, in the University church ; at which 
times the accustomed prayers are not read ; as it is presumed that 
the^e have been both read and attended in the respective chapels 
of the different colleges. The people were gathered together to 
hear preaching. All the service had reference to this. The hymns 
were ordinarily selected so that their subject might be connected 
with thfit of the discourse : and the prayer was a brief addressy in 
which a blessing on the ministry, in tne present exercise of it, was 
earnestly solicited. Mr. Wesley, therefore, always recommended 
(and set an examjde of his own recommendation) short prayers. 
Not that he thought public prayers ought to be so, when they were 
considered as constituting public worship, but because he acted on 
the principle, that the Metnodists heard preaching in his preaching 
houses and roomsy and worshipped elsewhere. Hence, a significant 
reason which he gave on one occasion against leaving the church 
amounted to this, — the Methodists have no regular worship. A very 
different state of things now exists ; we believe, in the order of Divine 
Providence, and according to the will of Grod. The Methodists are 
now become, by the growth and operation of Wesleyan principles 
and plans, a distinct body, enjoying all the privileges of a Christian 
church. Of course all the ooUgations and duties of a church are 
devolved upon them ; and, among the rest, public worship in all its 
parts. Unhappily, I had almost said, a mode of speaking derived 
from the former practice still prevails, and sometimes, I fear, influ« 
ences us. The minister is the preacher. Are we asked where we 
are going 1 The reply is, To preaching. Is there no danger in this 
mode of speaking, I will not say, that too much should be attributed 
to preachingy but too little to worship? It is both dangerous and 
wrong to compare duties among themselves, and to ask which is 
the most important. In the case before us. Christian obligation 
binds us to both ; and I will therefore say to all whom it may con-^ 
cern, Still think highly of preaching, as an invaluable and divinely 
appointed instrument Qf spiritual profit and salvation : the work of 

11* 



1 26 On pmfiting from the heimng af Sermm$. 

Crod never prospers where this is underrated by the worshippers, 
and seemingly considered as a secondary duty by the miniister : — 
but think highly of divine worship too. The mind is never more 
prepared to derive good from the ministry of the word, than when 
a proper portion of time has been spent in humble, fervent, and 
joint communing with God. Let us come to the mercy seat ; for 
God ha A said, * And there I will meet with thee, and I will com- 
mune with thee.' 

But after having received * the engrafted word,' in the spirit of 
devotion, a due retention of it is necessary. Thus itoid the Saviour, 
• Blessed are they who hear the word of God, and keep it.' So 
also St Paul : * By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory 
what I have preached unto you.' And St. James speaks very 
pointedly to the same effect : * He being not a forgetfpl hearer^ but . 
a doer of the work.' 

On the subject of a bad memory complaints abound. In refer- 
ence to the recollection of sermons, everybody almost makes them. 
Now, impossibilities are not required ; and if people cannot remem- 
ber, they are not to be blamed for forgetting. But if we may not 
blame them who reoUy cannot remember, may we not inquire of 
them who complain that they cannot, whether this really be the 
case 1 And, in order to a just settiement of this question, another 
must be asked : Is this weakness of memory uniform 1 Does every 
thing pass away from it ? or sermons only ? If the latter be the 
case, the supposed want of memory may be occasioned by different 
causes : as, iin^t, inatten^ve or umderested hearing. We seldom for- 
get what we hear with feeling. This defect, therefore, will be, to 
a considerable extent, remedied by the direction already ^ven. If 
we hear with a fervently devotional spirit, loving the word which 
we hear, and desiring to remember, that we may practise, we shall 
not easily be * forgetful hearers,' in the Scriptural sense of the term. 
But, secondly, I incline to think that many believe their memories 
to be weak and unretentive, either because they are not precisely 
aware of that which they should endeavour to preserve, or because 
they do not attend to the proper method, they do not employ the 
usual helps of continued recollection. A few words on each of 
these points will be allowed me. First, it is not necessary that we^ 
remember the whole of the sermon, with all its divisions and sub- 
divisions, nor even the exact words of the preacher. Much of what 
he said was properly designed for present impression, to awaken 
feeling, to produce conviction, to lead to self-examination, holy 
resolution, and perfo^roance. He has argued a point of duty. You 
may not remember the ailments, but you do recollect the con- 
clusion. The necessity and importance of the duty are more deeply 
fixed on your conscience, and you see more clearly the best way 
of attendmg to it. And in consequence of the impression thus re- 
ceived, and thus retained, you do attend to it more steadily and 
effectually than ever. Be not discouraged. You are not a* forgetful 



On profiting firam the hearing of SermoM. 127 

hearer.' Though much of the vehicle in whidi the instructioii was 
contained has passed away, yet that remains, in the form of strength- 
ened principle, by which you are * a doer of the work,* You shall 
* b& blessed in your deed.' But, secondly, whil^ there will thus be 
much in the sermon with which it would be unnecessary to encum- 
ber the memory, yet seldom shall we hear one in which there will 
not be found something worth our particular and special recollec- 
tion ; and which, perhaps, passes away for ever for want of due 
t»re in gathering and storing it. Separated by a divine call, and 
by the most solemn engagements, from the pursuits ^ and study of 
the world and of the flesh,' bound to be * diligent in reading the 
Holy Scriptures, and in such studies as help to the knowledge of 
the same;' engaged to labour to bring those committed to his 
charge ^ to that agreement in the faith and knowledge of Grod, and 
to that ripeness and perfectness of age in Christ, that there be no 
place ^mong them, either for error in reUgion, or viciousness in 
life ;' thus ^ given to prayer and the ministry of the word,' the Chris- 
tian minister must, every time he ministers, bring something out of 
his well stored and increasing treasury, which his people ought 
carefully to gather into theirs. Now, this is not done by ial^ng 
down the heads of the sermon; a practice of very uncertain advan- 
tage, and which almost necessarily distracts the mind, and Averts 
it from that to which it yet seems to be attending. I have occa- 
sionally, in 'reference to this subject, recommended young converts, 
who wished to derive as much profit from the ministry of the word 
as possible, and to preserve it as long as possible, to employ the 
following method : — Let a suitable book be provided, and called 
the Sermon Book. Let its place be on the closet shelf, among the 
works of devotion which stand there. You have heard a sermon. 
Retire into your closet, and ask. What have I heard which it will 
be useful to preserve ? It would be, in most cases, comparatively 
useless merely to note down the name of the preacher, the text, 
and perhaps the leading divisions of the discourse. This, indeed, 
might do for some, whose memory is very quick and retentive, and 
in whonrtbe associating power is vivid and strong. Ordinarily, few 
if any advantages are derived from it. But you can recollect the 
general impression made by the sermon ; and you note down, — 
' Heard an impressive sermon on the necessity of growth in grace.' 
You may perhaps connect with the record a reference to your own 
feelings, — ' I fear I have not been suflicientiy attentive to this : let 
me be more careful for the future.' Or it may be, that while you 
sit in your closet runlinating, and in a manner rehearsing the ser- 
mon, the substance of some important paragraph recurs to your 
mind. You put down, — * I was much struck by a remark in the 
Course of the sermon, that we too often barely struggle out of the 
assailing temptation, and are at first scarcely aware of our own 
dubious victory y whereas it is our privilege, and therefore our duty, 
to be more tlm conquerors^ through Him that hath loved us.' 



129 Oil profiting from the hearmg of Semionf. 

Might you Bot add, — * I fear I have been too often cpntenting mj« 
self with imperfect, instead of complete victories V Sometimes we 
may recollect an important illustration of Christian experience; at 
others* of Christian duty. The evil of some common practice may 
be presented to us ; a useful method of Christian improvement may 
have been suggested ; or a new and delightful view of Christian 
blessedness given. Now, in process of time, what a valuable col- 
lection of pithy, almost proverbial records, on important Christian 
subjects, would be collected. I admit that this will require mental 
eflfort, and pious perseverance. But can we expect to remember 
that which we take no trouble to recall And if we make this 
trouble an objection, let us seriously inquire if we are not in danger 
of forgetting that all the Scriptural descriptions of piety include 
Essentially the notion of effort, often of vigorous and long-continued 
effort. The Heathen saw that ^ nothing was given to man without 
labour.' And if our labour avail to recal what we have heard, and 
so to fix, before it went away for ever, what may he of lasting profit 
to us, in the * tablets of our memory,' it is well bestowed. Though 
at first it may be attended with effort, the experience of its useful- 
ness will make it pleasant ; and pleasantness, combining with ad- 
vantageous custom, will soon render it easy. And, after all, it must 
not be foi^otten, that something of this sort is a duty. There, are 
the texts which I have already quoted. We are required, positively 
reqmred, not only to hear the word of God, but to fcecp it. The 
' memory is one oi our mental faculties, and is, along with the rest, 
to be devoted to God. Nor shall his gracious help be wanting. 
He will not withhold from this important branch of our intellectual 
and moral constitution that ^ sanctification of the Spu*it,' by which 
it shall be sufficiently strong and retentive for the work of our sal-_ 
vation. At any rate, whatever methods individuals may adopt for 
their own personal profit, let us all keep in view the account we 
have to render, and by habitual preparation for it, be ^ looking for, 
and hasting unto, the coming of the day of God.' What will it avail 
us that we have heard sermons, and admired them, and even been 
quickened and animated by them, and there rested 1 That sermons 
are designed to quicken the fervour of holy feeling, I know; I know, 
too, that they are designed to make the people of God, in spiritual 
understanding, men. Tiiey are designed to be instrumental in 
communicating what we are required to fix and preserve in the 
intellectual capacity of our moral nature, even those measures of 
truth which may be necessary for our full spiritual freedom. The 
ministry of the word is for the conversion of sinners, for the edifir 
cation of saints ; and the day approaches j when it will be inquired, 
and in reference to our everlasting blessedness or misery, inquired^ 
whether we were converted and edified by it. ^ Happy the people 
who are blessed with a ministry at once enlightened and fervent, — 
a ministry which arouses the feelings, informs the understanding,., 
strengthens the judgment, liberates, refines, and elevates the con- 



Wesley's Works. 129 

science ; and so brings forward the work of God in the soul, that 
all who attend on it ^come in the unity of the faith, and ot the 
knowledge of the Son of God, unto a pedect man, unto the measure 
of the stature of the fulness of Christ.* And happy the ministers 
who see the people of their charge thus endeavourmg to avail them- 
selyes, to the utmost, of the advantages of an instructive and affec- 
tionate ministry; to whom is given this delightful joy, only less than 
thiit which arises from the consciousness of the love of God to their 
own souls, the joy of seeing their children walking before God in 
TRUTH, and LOVE, and holiness. Happy even on earth is the 
intercourse of such ministers and people* O how supremely happy 
shall be their fellowship in heaven ! 

E. T. 

WESLEY'S WORKS. 

(Concluded from p. 7L) 

The Works of the Rev. John Wesley, A. M., sometime feUoto of 
Lincoln College^ Oxford, First American Complete and Standard 
Edition, from the latest London Edition, with the last corrections of 

. the Author : comprehending also numerous translations, notes, and 
an original preface, ^c. By John Emort. Seven volumes octavo, 
pp. 5000, 

The Rev. Henry Moore, author of the Life of John and Charles 
Wesley, when on the Cork circuit in Ireland, in the year 1784, 
says^ — ' In the book-room, kept by that holy man, Mr, James Ward, 
I found what was indeed a treasure to me — ^Mr. Wesley's Works, 
in thirty-two volumes. These I read, or rather devoured, one by 
one, and chiefly on horseback. Every sentence of them seemed 
spirit and life to my soul ; and this year's study was more to me 
than (I am persuaded) many -years would be under the ablest 
masters, who had not so abundantly tasted of the powers of the world 
to come, as this man of God had.' 

The edition of Mr. Wesley's Works from which Mr. Moore 
derived so much pleasure and profit, was that printed by Pine, of 
Bristol, — the first ever publbhed, and which was in many respects 
extremely defective and erroneous. Yet even that edition Mr. Moore 
regarded as so great a treasure, that he not merely read, but rather 
* devoured' it ; and so industriously redeemed his time for the pur- 

Eose, that most of this reading was done * on horseback.' Henee 
is special profiting by that year's study, in the Works of such a 
master. 

It is an opinion pretty generally prevalent amotig us, we beEeve, 
that the early race of Methodist preachers possessed in a preeminent 
degree the wisdom to win souls, and to spread the Gospel in its 
simplicity and power, and its depth and height, as well as in its 
length and breadth. We have often pondered. on the causes of 
this> and have no doubt that, in addition ^o their exemplary piety, 



130 Wedqfs Works. 

and faith, and zeal, with God's blessing, their very peculiar success 
in the above respects was promoted in a high degree by their eager, 
and ardent, and prayerful study, first and principally of the Bible, 
and next after it of the standard works of Methodism — ^those of 
Wesley and Fletcher in particular. Hence they were always 
armed at all points, in their own proper work, (for they meddled 
with nothing else,) and were thoroughly furnished unto every good 
work. It is true, indeed, that these writings were accumulated 
gradually ; and in the early periods of our history in America, 
those of Mr. Wesley in particular were but scantily possessed 
among us. Yet even the few volumes with which we were first • 
favored, and to which others were added from time to time, with 
the Works of Fletcher, and the Bible, the Discipline, and the 
Hymnbook, constituted a Library which the preachers, and a very 
large |)ortion of the members, made their oti>n,^-not merely by 
purchase and possession, and thereafter to be laid up and for- 
gotten, — ^but by a familiar acquaintance with their contents. It 
was rare, we apprehend, that a Methodist family could be entered 
without being found in possession of more or less of these works. 
Theur well-thumbed pages, too, gave ample demonstration that 
they were not kept either merely for show, or as useless lumber. 
Then* doctrines, and arguments, and discussicms, as ex]ik>sitions 
and defences of Bible truth, constituted the familiar topics of con- 
versation whenever the preachers, in their rounds, visited such 
families ; and hence the mutual edification and delight with which 
these fireside pastoral visits were so highly zested. The counte- 
nances of our old men, and of our mothers too, are still kindled up 
with a glow of pleasure at the recollection or the mention of them, 
as ^ the by-gone days ' of the introduction and infancy of Method* 
ism. They seem, indeed, almost to eryoy over again, in relating 
them, those ^ happy seasons,' those ' delicious hours,' spent in 
company and in conversation with the venerable dead. 

,It is only within a few years past that any edition purporting to 
contain Wesley's Works generally, (and that but a small one,) was 
ever published in America ; and a complete and standard edition 
never till now. Such an edition has been long and greatly wanted ; 
and now that we have the pleasure to be able to furnish it, we trust 
that very many thousands in our Israel,, and in this great and 
growing community generally, will find it what Mr. Moore did 
even the very imperfect edition by Fine, — a treasure indeed. 

We shall subjoin some additional short extracts from the Jour- 
nal, of a miscellaneous, and chiefly of an entertaining character ;. 
placing the subject of each extract at its. commencement, in italics, 
as in our former article. 

VinHngftcm hmue io Aot»e.— *< Friday, 29. [Dec. 1758.] I found 
the society had. decreased since. L— C-«— went away ; and yet they 
had had full as good preachers. But that is not sufficient* By re- 
peated experiments we learo, that though a ipan preach like an angel, 



WeBley*s Workt. ISl 

he win neither collect, nor preserve a society which is collected, with- 
out visiting them from house to house.' (Vol. iy, p. 14.) 

An ancient building, of Roman 6rtcA;«.— * To-day I walked^all over 
the fainous castle, perhaps the most ancient building in England. A 
considerable part of it is,- without question, fourteen or Meen hun^d 
years old. It wad mosUy built with Roman bricks, each of which is 
about two inches thick, seven broad, and thirteen or fourteen long. 
Seat of ancient kings, British and Roman, once dreaded far and near ! 
But what are they now; ? Is not ^ a livuig dog better than a dead lion V 
And what is it wherein they prided themselves, as do the present great 
ones of the earth? 

A little pomp, a little sway, 

A sunbeam m a winter's day, 

Is all the great and mighty have 

Between Uie cradle and the grave !' — (J5.) 

Two reat'days. — Care for the poor, ^c. — * Saturday, 30. I returned 
to London, and received a pressing letter from Bristol ; in consequence 
of which, I took horse on Monday morning, January 1, 1759, and came 
thither the next evening. After resting^two days (only preaching morn- 
ing and evening) I examined severally the members of the society. 
This was one great end of my coming down. Another was, to provide 
for the poor. Accordingly, on Sunday, 7, I. preached a sermon for 
them, to which God was pleased to give his blessing ; so that the col- 
lection was a great deal more than double of what it used to be.' (i&.) 

Spectcdors at the Lord^s Supper, ^c. — * Sunday, April 1. [1759.] 
I met them all at six, requiring every one to show his ticket when he 
came in : a thing they had never heard of before. I likewise insisted 
on another strange regulation : — that the men and women should sit 
apart. A third waa made the same day. It had been a custom ever 
since the Tabernacle was built, to have the galleries full of spectators 
while the Lord's Supper was administered. This I judged highly im- 
proper; and therefore ordered none to be admitted but those who 
desired to communicate. And I found far less difficulty than I expected 
in bringing them to submit to this also.' (i&. p. 17.) 

A faithful servant, — an evangelical clergyman, — and the happy conver- 
nan of an infidel General, — < It was on this day [April 13, 1759,] that, 
after the batUe of Bergen, in Germany, <^ among the many wounded who 
were brought into Frankfort-on-the-Maine, there was the Right Honor- 
able George Charles Dykern, Baron, Lieutenant-General of the Saxon 
troops, in the service of the lung of France. He was born of an ancient 
and noble family in Silesia, on April 10, 1710, so that it was just on his 
birth-day he received his wound. He waa of equal abilities as a minis-^ 
ter in the closet, and a general in the field. In his younger years he 
had gone through a reg^ar course of study in the university, and made 
great proficiency in philosophy, especially in mat)iematics. Afterward 
he studied polemic divinity, till he reasoned himself into ^an infidel. 
During his illness he showed not the least desire of pious company or 
serious discourse, till the^ surgeon lot his valet de chambre know that 
he could not live long. The man then asked his master whether he 
did not choose to be visited by a clergyman. He answered with 
warmth, << I shall not trouble those gentlemen : I know well myself 



ISS Weskf's Works. 

wto to believe and do.^' His man, not discouraged, continued thus, 
<* My lord, have you ever found me wanting in my duty all the time 
I have been in your service t" He answered, " No," " Then," re- 
jilied he, '< I will not be wanting now. The surgeons count you past 
hopes of recovery ; but every one is afraid to tell you so. You stand 
H|>on the brink of eternity. Pray, sir, order a clergyman to be called." 
He paused a little, but soon gave his hand to his servant, thanked him 
• for his honesty, and ordered him to send for me. (Dr. Fresenius, 
Senior of the Clergy at Frankfort.) When I came, the man told me 
plainly, the general was a professed iniidel. I went in, and, after a 
short compliment, said, '< I am told, my lord, your life is near an end ; 
therefore I presume, without any ceremony, to ask you one plain ques- 
tion : ts the state of your soul such that you can entertain a solid hope 
of salvation ?" He answered, " Yes." " On what do you ground this 
hope ?" He replied, *' 1 never committed any wilful sin. I have been 
liable to frailties; but I trust m God's mercy, and the merits of liis 
Son, that he will have mercy upon me." These words he uttered 
very slowly, especially '< the merits of his Son." I madie the following 
reply : ^^ I am apt to believe you are not tainted with the grossest 
vices ; but I fear you a little too presumptuously boast of never having 
committed wilful sin. If you would be saved, you must acknowledge 
your being utterly corrupted by sin, and consequently deserving the 
curse of God and eternal damnation. As for your hoping for God's 
mercy, through the merits of his Son, I beg leave to ask, Do you 
believe God has a Son ; that his Son assumed our nature, in order to 
be our Saviour ; that, in the execution of his office, he was humbled 
unto death, even the death upon the cross ; and that hereby he has 
given an ample satisfaction for us, and recovered our title to heaven ?" 
Me answered, " I cannot now avoid a more ninute description of the 
true state of my soul. Let me tell yoa, doctor, I have some knowledge 
of philosophy, by which I have chosen for myself a way of salvation. 
I have always endeavoured to live a sober life to the uttermost of my 
power, not doubting but the Being of all beings would theti graciously 
accept me. In this way I stood in no need of Christ, and therefore 
did not believe on bim. But if I take the Scriptures to be a divine 
revelation, this way of mine, I perceive, is not the right one. I must 
believe in Christ, and through him come to God." I replied, ^< You 
say, if you take the Scriptures to be a divine revelation !" He fetched 
a deep sigh, and said, <' O God, thou wilt make me say, Because I 
take the Scriptures to be thy word." I said, '^ There are grounds and 
reasons enough to demonstrate the divine origin of Christianity^ as I 
could show from its most essential principles, were not the period of 
your life so short ; but we need not now that diffusive method, faith 
being the gifl of God. A poor sinner, tottering on the brink of eter- 
nity, has not time to inquire about grounds and reasons. Rather 
betake yourself to earnest prayer for faith, which, if you do, I doubt 
not but God will give it you." I had no sooner spoken these words, 
but pulling off his cap, and lifting up his eyes and hands, he cried out, 
<< O Almighty God, I am a poor cursed sinner, worthy of damnation ; 
but. Lord Jesus, eternal Son of God, thou diedst for my sins also. 
It is through thee alone I can be saved. O give roe faith^ and 



Wesley's Works. 183 

strengthen that faith !" Being extremely weak^ he was obliged to 
stop here. A little afler he asked, << Is faith enough for salvation V* 
" Yes, sir," said I, " if it be living faith." « Methinks," said he, " it 
is so already; and it will be more so by and by : let us pray for it." 
Perceiving he was very weak, to give him some rest I retired into the 
next room, but he soon sent to call me. I found him praying, smd 
Jesus was all he prayed for. I reminded him of some scriptures- 
treating of faith in Christ, and he was much delighted with them. 
Indeed he was quite swallowed up by the grace of Jesus, and would 
bear of nothing but *' Jesus Christ, and him crucified." He cried out, 
" I do not know how it is with me. I never in my life felt such a- 
change. I have power to love Jesus, and to believe in him whom I 
so long rejected. O my Jesus, how merciful art thou to me !" 

About noon I stepped home ; but he sent for me directly, so that I 
could scarce eat my dinner. We were both filled with joy, as par- 
takers of the same grace which is in Jesus Christ ; and that in such 
a manner as if we had been acquainted together for many years. 
Many officers of the army came to see him continually, to all of whom 
he talked freely of Jesus, of the grace of the Father in him, and of 
the power of the Holy Ghost through him ; wondering without ceasing 
at his having found Jesus, and at the happy change by which all things 
on this side eternity were become indifierent to him. 

In the aflemoon he desired to partake of the Lord's Supper, which 
he received with a melting, praising, rejoicing heart. All the rest of 
the day he continued in the same state of soul. Toward evening he 
desired that if his end should approach I would come to him, which 
I promised ; but he did not send for me till the next morning. I was 
told by his valet that he slept well for some hours, and then, awaking, 
prayed for a considerable tim?, continually mentioning the name of - 
pur Lord, and his precious blood ; and that he had desired several of 
the officers to make his conversion known to his court : (that of the 
king of Poland.) After some discourse, I asked, " Has your view of 
Christ and his redemption been neither altered nor obscured since 
yesterday?" He answered, " Neither altered nor obscured. I have 
no doubt, not even a remote one- It is just the same with me, as if I 
had always thus believed and never doubted : so gracious is the Lord 
Jesus to me a sinner." 

This second day he was unwearied in prayer and exercises of faith. 
' Toward evening he sent for me in haste. When I came, I found him 
dying, aqd in a kind of delirium ; so I could do no more than give him 
now and then a word of comfort. I prayed afterward for him and 
those that were present, some of whom were of high birth and rank. 
I then, by imposition of hands, as usual, gave him a blessing ; which 
being done, he expired immediately. A royal prince who was there 
(prince Xavier, of Saxony) could not forbear weeping. The rest of 
the officers bewailed the loss of their general, yet praised God for 
having shown such mercy toward him. 

I wrote an account of it without delay to his mother, and had an 
immediate answer. She was a lady of seventy-two, of exemplarv 
piety. She praised God for his mercy; adding, that He had now 
Vol. III.— ^priiy 1832. 12 



1S4 Wesley's Works. 

Answered the prayers which she had never ceased to offer on his 
hehalf for eleven years." ' {lb. pp. 1&-20.) 

Physicians ana ministers. — < Reflecting to-day on the case of a 
poor woman who had continual pain in her stomach, I could not but 
remark the inexcusable negligence of most physicians in cases of this 
nature. They prescribe drug upon drug, without knowing a jot of 
the matter concerning the root of the disorder. And without know- 
ing this, thefi cannot cure, though they can murder, the patient. 
Whence came this woman's pain ? (which she would never have told 
had she never been questioned about it :) from fretting for the death 
of her son. And what availed medicines, while that fretting continued 1 
Why then do not alb physicians consider how far bodily disorders are 
caused or influenced by the mind ; and in those cases, which are 
utterly out of their sphere, call in the assistance of a minister ; as 
ministers, when they find the mind disordered by the body, call in the 
assistance of a physician? But why are these cases out of their 
sphere 1 Because they know not God. It fbllows, no man can be a 
thorough physician without being an experienced Christian.' {lb. p. 23.) 
Field preaching. — * Sunday, 20. I preached at eight^ iii an open 
place at the Gins, a village on one side of the town. Many were 
there, who never did and never would come to the room. O what a 
victory would Satan gain, if he could put an end to field preaching ! 
But that, I trust, he never will : at least not till my head is laid.' 
{Ibi p. 24.) 

Attention to order in the house of God. — ' Thursday, 30* I preached 
at the Tabernacle in Norwich, to a large, rude, noisy congregation. 
I took knowledge what manner of teachers they had been accustomed 
to, and determined to mend them or end them. Accordingly, the 
next evening, after sermon, I reminded them'of two things : the one, 
that it was not decent to begin talking aloud as soon as service was 
ended ; and hurrying to and- fro, as in a bear garden. The other, 
that it was a bad custom to gather into knots just after sermon, and 
turn, a place of worship into a cofiee house. I therefore desired that 
none would talk under that roof, but go quietly and silently away. 
And on Sunday, September 2, I had the pleasure to observe that all 
went as quietly away as if they had been accustomed to it for many 
years.' {Tb. p. 44.) 

A diligent preacher. — ' On Wednesday evening, having (over and 
above meeting the societies) preached thirty times in eleven days, I 
found myself a little exhausted ; but a day's rest set me up.' (ife. p. 76.) 
Methodism the old religion. — An objector had said, ' " But, if 
Methodism, as its professors pretend, be a new discovery in religion :" * 
Mr. Wesley answers, — « This is a grievous mistake ; we pretend no 
such thing. We aver it is the one old religion ; as old as the Reforma- 
tion, as old as Christianity, as old as Moses, as old as Adam.' {Tb. p. 86. ) 
The uninterrupted succession. — < But to turn the tables : I said, " If 
the Romish bishops do." For this I absolutely deny. I deny that 
the Romish bishops came down by uninterrupted succession from the 
Apostles. I never could see it proved ; and, I am persuaded I never 
shall. But unless this is proved, your own pastors, on your princi* 
pies, are no pastors at all.' {lb. p. 90.) 



Wesley's Works. 135 

A thought on controvsrsy. — * Monday, 20. I eajne to a full explaoa- 

lion with that good man, Mr. Y . Lord, if I must dispute, let ii 

be with the children of the devil ! Let me be at peace with thy 
children !' {lb. p. 107.) 

Prtaching (Aroady — or in the heart of the to%f>n. — * Tuesday, 19. 
[Jan. 1762.] I rode to Bury, and was glad to find a little, serious 
company still. But there cannot be much done here till we preach 
abroad, or at least in the heart of the town. We are now quite at 
one end ; and people will not come from the other tiU they have first 
** tasted the good word." ' (/6. p. 116.) 

The soul by tniduction. — * Wednesday, 27. I had a striking proof 
that Go4 can teach by whom he wiU teach. A man full of words, but 
not of understanding^, convinced me of what I could never see before, 
that anima est eoi traduce ; that all the souls of his posterity, as well 
as their bodies, were in our first parent.' {lb.) 

* Wednesday, 7. [Nov. 1770.] I read and abridged an old treatise 
on " the Origin of the Soul." I never before saw any thing on the 
subject so satisfactory. I think he proves to a demonstration, that 
God has enabled man, as all other creatures, to propagate his whole 
species, consisting of soul and body.' (76. p. 343.) 

A faithful clergyman : — JVfr. Grimshaw. — * And for a course of 
fifteen years, or upwards, he used to preach every week, fifteen, 
twenty, and sometimes thirty times, beside visiting the sick, and 
other occasional duties of his function. It is not easy to ascribe such 
unwearied diligence, chiefly among the poor, to any motive but the 
real one. He thought he would never keep silence, while he could 
speak to the honor of that God who had done so much fi>r his soul. 
And while he saw sinners perishing for lack of knowledge, and no 
one breaking to them the bread of life, he was constrained, notwith- 
standing the reluctance he felt within, to give up his name to still 
greater reproach, as well as all his time and strength, to the work of 
the ministry.' {lb. pp. 118, 119.) 

Singular taste of an Irish bishop. — * Sunday, 11. [July.] I went to 
the cathedral ; one of the best built which I have seen in Ireland. 
The pillars are all of black marble ; but the late bishop ordered them 
to be whitewashed !' {lb. p. 128.) 

Methodists alone can hurt Methodists. — ^ Sunday, 29. [May, 1764.]j 
The ground being wet with heavy rain, I preached in the house both 
morning and evening. I soon found what spirit the people were of. 
No jar, no contention is here ; but all are peaceably and lovingly 
striving together for the hope of the Gospel. And what can hurt the 
Methodists, so called, but the Methodists ? <^nly let them not fight 
one another, let not brother lift up sword against brother, and '' no 
weapon formed against them shall prosper." ' {lb. pp. 177, 178.) 

Scenes of itinerancy. — Wales. — * Knowing they were scattered up 
and down, I had sent two persons on Sunday, that they might be there 
early on Monday, and so sent notice of my coming all over the country. 
But they came to Oxwych scarce a quarter of an hour before me ; so 
that the poor people had no notice at all. Nor was there any to take 
US in ; the person with whom the preacher used to lodge being three 
miles out of town. After I had stayed a while in the street, (for there 



136 Wesley's Works, 

was no public house,) a poor woman gave me house room. Having 
l^ad nothing since breakfast, I was very willing to eat or drink ; but 
she simply told me she had nothing in the house but a dram of gin. 
However, I afterward procured a dish of tea at another house, and 
was much refreshed. About seven I preached to a little company, 
and again in the morning. They were all attention ; so that even 
for the sake -of this handful of people I did not regret my labour.' 
{lb. p. 190.) 

Papular preachers.—^ Tuesday, 16. In the evening the whole 
congregation seemed not a little moved while I was enforcing those 
solemn words, '* He died for nil, that they which live should not 
henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them, 
and rose again." The same was observable, and that in a higher 
and higher degree, the two following evenings. If J could stay here 
a month, I think there would be a society little inferior to that at 
Bristol. But it must not be ; they who will bear sound doctrine only 
from me, must still believe a lie.' {IK p. 195.) 

Fear of honor. — * Sunday, 12. At eight I preached there again, to 
an equal number of people. About eleven Mr. Knox went with me 
to church, and led me to a pew where I was placed next the mayor. 
What is this? What have I to do with honor ^ Lord, let me always 
fear, not desire W {lb. p. 202.)* 

* In one of the publications of the Rev. Henry Moore, there is the following 
incidental illustration of the above passage :-^ I arrived in Coleraine in the month 
of May, 1779. The society there was newly formed; and I found it in a very 
different state from that at Londonderry, its elder -sister, by many years. The 
inhabitants in both places were, as they are at this day, an '* understanding people," 
&nd almost exclusively Protestant. The preachers met with no violent opposition 
in either place ; and the common people were allowed to hear without any interrup- 
tion, or apparent displeasure, from their more polished neighbours. At Londonderry 
very few except the common people attended the preaching at its first introduction, 
until a remarkable event roused the attention of some of the principal inhabitants. 
A small tract, published by the society in Dublin, was sent down and circulated 
throughout the city. It ^ve an account of the happy death of a Mr. Wearc, 
belonging to one of the regiments of cavalry then quartered in Dublin. His conduct 
was generally sober and decorous; but having been wounded in the h6ad while 
engaged in foreign service, he could never aflerwaixl bear even what is called a 
mmlerate quantity of liquor. In an unhappy time of diseased inebriety, he drew his 
sword and wounded a person who had insulted him. The wound proved mortal ; 
and being apprehended while asleep in his bed at the barrack, he was brought to 
trial and condemned to die, although he protested in the court, with every appear- 
ance, of sincerity, (in which he persisted to the last,) that he had not the smallest 
recollection of the unfortunate deed. He was visited in the prison by our friends, 
and God gave him " repentance unto life." He lived and died a witness of the full 
power of the Gospel, *' even righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost." 

This tract made some noise m Londonderry. Mr. Knox, the father of the gen- 
tleman already mentioned, was a member of the corporation, and perhaps the most 
respected of the whole body, on account of his great ability and admirable character. 
He was, with his excellent partner, sincerely attached to the Established church ; 
but, like many otliers, they legalized the Gospel, and expected acceptance and 
happiness as the result of their religious performances, rather than, as sinners, by 
the atonement of " the Son of God." Much uneasiness and discouragement wu, 
of course, the result of their deep mistake, when Mrs. Knox met with the account 
of the conversion and happy death of Mr. Weare. She read, — ^rather she devoured 




read it, believed, and « gave glory to God !" They both became constant henxen j 



li 



i 



WmUi^b WwU. 1S7 

Gay c^mfpofiy. — < At the desire of the good old widow, Bfrs. M-^*-, 

I went with Mr. S to C . Ix>rd and Lady M— ^ werp 

there before us ; to whom I was probably 

A not-expected, muGh-unweleome guest 

But whatsoever it was to them, it was a heavy aflemoon to me ; as I 
had no place to retire to, and so was obliged to be in genteel company 
for two or three hours together. O what a dull thing is life without 
religion ! I do not wonder that time hangs heavy upon the hands of 
all who know not God, unless they are perpetually drunk with noise 
and hurry of one kind or another.' (i&. p. 252.) 
' How not to make a bad matter worse. — * Wednesday,i2. [Sept. 1767.] 
Upon inquiry, I found the work of God in Pembrokeshire had been 
exceedingly hindered, chiefly by Mr. Davies's preachers, who had 
continually inveighed against ours, and thereby frightened abundance 
of people from hearing or coming near them. This had sometimes 
provoked them to retort, which always made a bad matter worse. 
The advice, therefore, which I gave them was, 1. Let all the people 
l^acredly abstain from backbiting, tale-bearing, evil-speaking. 2. Let 
all our preachers abstain from returning railing for railing, either in 
public or in private ; as well as from disputing. 3. Let them never 
preach controversy, but plain, practical, and experimental religion.' 
{lb. p. 261.) 

Butler'a AntUogy Freethinkers. — * Friday, 20. [May, 1768.] I 

went on in reading that fine book, Bishop Butler's <' Analogy." But 
r doubt it is too hard for most of those for whom it is chiefly intended. 
Freethinkers, so called, are seldom close thinkers. They will not be 
at the pains of reading such a book as this. One that would profit 
them must dilute his sense, or they will neither swallow nor digest it.^ 
{lb. p. 278.) 

Singing. — * When we came to Neath, I was a little surprised to 
hear I was to preach in the church ; of which the churchwardens had 
the disposal, the minister being just dead. I began reading prayers 
at six, but was greatly disgusted at the manner of singing. 1* Twelve 
or fourteen persons kept it to themselves, and quite shut out the con- 
gregation. 2. These repeated the same words, contrary to all sense 
and reason, six or eight or ten times over. 3. According to the 
shocking custom of modern music, difierent persons sung difierent 
words at one and the same moment ; an intolerable insult on common 
sense, and utterly incompatible with any devotion.' {lb. p. 288.) 

Dr. Wr angel — In the obituary notice of that late venerable and 
eminent saint, John Hood, by Dr. T. F. Saiigent of Philadelphia, 
published some time since in the Christian Advocate and Journal, 
our readers may recollect the reference made, on the testimony of 

and soon after joined the society, at the room hired for the preaching, in « that day 
of small things ;" but, through the curiosity excited in the city by Mr. and Mrs. 
Knox becommg Methodists, it soon was far too small for those who wished to hear, 
among whom were many of the lugher class ; and a chapel became necessarjr, which 
was soon after erected. Methodism was thus rendered strangely popular itt Lon- 
donderry ; and when Mr. Wesley visited that city, he remarks, with surprise, ancf 
even with fear, thai he was become an honorable man, being placed, at church, in 
the next pew to the iqayor 1' 

18* 



138 Wesley's Works. 

Mr. Hood, to the early eflFort on the part of a Swedish mmistcr. 
Dr. Wrangel, to induce Mr. Wesley to send missionaries to America. 
The following extract fully confirms and illustrates this testimony, 
and very honorably attests, at the same time, the evangelical and 
amiable character of Dr. Wrangel. 

« Friday, 14. [Oct. 1768.] I dined with Dr. Wrangel, one of the 
king of Sweden's chaplains, who has spent several years in Penn- 
sylvania. His heart seemed to be greatly united to the American 
Christians ; and he strongly pleaded for our sending some of our 
preachers to help them, multitudes of whom are as sheep without a 
shepherd. Tuesday, 18. He preached at the new room, to a crowded 
audience, and gave general satisfaction by the simplicity and life which 
accompanied his sound doctrine.' {lb. p. 293.) 

Music of the ancients. — ' Saturday, 22. I was much surprised in 
reading an '* Essay on Music," wrote by one who is a thorough master 
of the subject, to find that the music of the ancients was as simple as 
that of the Methodists ; that their music wholly consisted of melody, 
or the arrangement of single notes ; that what is now called harmony, 
singing in parts, the whole of counterpoint and fugues, is quite nove], 
being never known in the world till the popedom of Leo the Tenth. 
He farther observes, that as the singing different words by different 
persons at the very same time necessarily prevents attention to the 
sense, so it frequently destroys melody for the sake of harmony ; 
meantime it destroys the very end of music, which is to affect the 
passions.' {lb.) 

" Prea4:hing in a stable. — * Monday, 17. In the evening, and twice 
on Tuesday, I preached to a genteel yet serious audience, in Mr. 
M'Gough^s avenue, at Armagh. But God only can reach the heart. 
Wednesday, 19. As it rained, I chose rather to preach in M'Gough's 
yard. The rain increasing, we retired into one of his buildings. This 
was the first time that I preached in a stable ; and I believe more good 
was done by this than all the other sermons I have preached at 
Armagh.' {lb. p. 302.) 

Mrs. Rotoe^s Devout Exercises of the Heart. — * Sunday, 2. [July, 
1769.] I read Mrs. Rowe's " Devout Exercises of the Heart." It is 
far superior to any thing of hers which I ever read, in style as well as 
in sense. Her experience is plain, sound, and Scriptural, no way 
whimsical or mystical; and her language is clear, strong, and simple, 
without any of that affected floridness which offends all who have a 
tolerable ear, or any judgment in good writing.' (/6. p. 310.) 

First Methodist mission to America. — * On Thursday, [Aug. 3, 1769, 
at the Conference at Leeds,] I mentioned the case of our brethren at 
New- York, who had built the first Methodist preaching house in 
America, and were in great want of money, but much more of 

?reachers. Two of our preachers, Richard Boardman and Joseph 
^illmoor, willingly offered themselves for the service ; by whom we 
determined to send them fifly pounds, as a token of our brotherly love.' 
{lb. p. 312.) 

. Homer's Odyssey.-^^^ Last week I read over, as I rode, great part of 



Wesley's Works. 139 

Homer's Odyssey. I always imagined it was, like Mihon's << Para- 
dise Regained,"— 

The last &int effort of an expiring muse. 

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

Wisdom nerer lies ) 
And, 

Him, on whatever pretence, that lies can tell, 
My soul abhors him as the gates of helh 

Meantime, he himself, on the slightest pretence, tells deliberate lies 
over and over ; nay, and is highly commended for so doing, even by 
the goddess of wisdom !' {lb. pp. 315, 316^ 

JVetr-ForA; and PhUadBlphia in 1769. — < Tuesday, 26. [Dec. 1769.] 
I read the letters from our preachers in America, informing us that 
God had begun a glorious work there ; that both in New-xork and 
Philadelphia multitudes flock to hear, and behave with the deepest 
seriousness ; and that the society in each place already contains above 
a hundred members.' (/6. p. 320.) 

The societies in these cities now are : — 

New-York 4953 

PhOadelphia 4859 

Baltimore, (East and West,) not then reckoned, now numbers in 
our societies, 7457. In each city we have included both the white 
and coloured members, agreeably to the Minutes of 1831. — ^What 
hath God wrought \ 

Sanctified knowledge.-^^ Sunday, 4. [Nov. 1770.] At seven I met 
the society at Norwich, and administered the Lord's Supper to about 
a hundred and fourscore persons* Monday, 5. I met the leadenr^ 
and inquired into the state of the society. In all England I find no 
people like those of Norwich. They are eminently ** unstable as 
water." Out of two hundred, whom I left here last year, sixty-nine 
are gone already I What a blessing is knowledge when it is sanctified ! 
What stability can be expected without it ? For let their aflfections be 
ever so lively for the present^ yet what hold can you have upon a people 
who neither know books nor men ; neither themselves, nor the Bible ; 
neither natural nor spiritual things V {lb. p. 343.) 

Emery preacher^ s heart and hand to be in every good thing, — ' Mon- 
day, 17. [June, 1771.] I met the singers, for the last time. I joined 



1 



140 Wesley's Works. 

them together two years ago ; but, as the preachers foUpwing took no 
care or Siought about them, they of course flew asunder. And no won- 
der ; for nothing will stand in the Methodist pfon, unless the preacher 
has his heart and his hand in it Every preacher, therefore, should 
consider it is not his business to mind this or that thing only, but every 
thing.' (76. p. 354.) 

Fashionable hoarding schools, — * Monday, 6. [April, 1772.] In the 
afternoon I drank tea at Am. O. But how was I shocked ! The children 
that used to cling about me, and drink in every word, had been at a 
boarding school. There they had unlearned all religion, and even 
seriousness ; and had learned pride, vanity, affectation, and whatever 
could guard them against the knowledge and love of God. Methodist 
parents, who would send your girls headlong to hell, send them to a 
fashionable boarding school.' {lb. p. 369.) 

Beattie and Hume. — * Tuesday, 5. I read over in my journey Dr. 
Beattie's ingenious << Inquiry after Truth." He is a writer quite equal 
to his subject, and far above the match of all the minute philosophers, 
David Hume in particular ; the most insolent despiser of truth and 
virtue that ever appeared in the world. And yet it seems some com- 
plain of this Doctor's using him with too great severity ! I cannot un- 
derstand how that can be, unless he treated him with rudeness, Twhich 
he does not,) since he is an avowed enemy to God and man, ana to all 
that is sacred and valuable upon earth.' {lb. p. 372.) 

Mr. Wesley at Conference. — < On Tuesday, Aug. 4, our Conference 
began. Generally, during the time of Conference, as I was talking 
from morning to night, I had used to desire one of our brethren to 
preach in the morning. But, having many things to say, I resolved, 
with God's help, to preach mornings as well as evenings. And I 
found no difierence at all : I was no more tired than with my usual 
labour ; that is, no more than if I had been sitting still in my study, 
from morning to night.' {lb. p. 382.) 

Ji great genius. — 'Friday, Nov* 6. [1774.]. In the afternoon, John 
Downes (who had preached with us many years) was saying, <' I feel 
such a love to the people at West-street, that I could be content to die 
with them. I do not find myself very well ; but I must be with them 
this evening." He went thither, and began preaching, on, ''Come unto 
me, ye that are weary and heavy laden." After speaking ten or twelve 
minutes, he sunk down, and spake no more, till his spirit returned to 
God. 

I suppose he was by nature full as great a genius as Sir Isaac New- 
ton. 1 will mention but two or three instances of it : — When he was 
at school, learning algebra, he came one day to his master, and said, 
"Sir, I can prove this proposition a better 'way than it is proved in the 
book." His master thought it could not be ; but upon trial acknow- 
ledged it to be so. Some time after, his father sent him to Newcastle 
with a clock, which was to be mended. He observed the clockmaker's 
tools, and the manner how he took it in pieces, and put it together 
again ; and when he came home, first made himself tools, and then 
made a clock, which weiit as true as any in the town. I suppose such 
strength of genius as this has scarce been known in Europe before. 

Another proof of it was this : — Thirty years ago, n^ile I was shav- 



Wesley's Works. - 141 

ing, he was whitding the top of a stick : I asked, *' What are you doing?'' 
He answered, << I am taking your face, which I intend to engrave on a 
copperplate." Accordingly, without any instruction, he first made him- 
self tools, and then engraved the plate. The second picture which he 
engraved was that which was prefixed to the << Notes upon the New 
Testament." Such another instance, I suppose, not all £ngland, or 
perhaps Europe, can produce.' (76. p. 426.) 

Political love and hatred. — * I know they that love you for political 
service, love you less than their dinner; and they that hate you, hate 
you worse than the devil.' {lb. p. 443.) 

Mr.Wtsletfs first extempore sermon. — < Sunday, 28. [Jan. 1776.] I 
was desired to preach a charity sermon in Allhallows church, Lombard- 
street. In the year 1735, about forty years ago, I preached in this 
church, at the earnest request of the churchwardens^, to a numerous 
congregation, who came, like me, with an intent to hear Dr. Heylyn. 
This was the first time that,, having no notes about me, I preached 
extempore.' (/6. p. 448.) 

Ji blind genius. — * Here [Carlisle] I saw a very extraordinary genius, 
a man blind fi*om four years of age, who could wind worsted, weave 
flowered plush on an engine and loom of his own making ; who wove 
his own name in plush, and made his own clothes, and his own tools 
of every sort. Some years ago, being shut up in the organ lofl at 
church, he felt every part of it, and afterward made an organ for him- 
self, which, judges say, is an exceeding good one. He then taught 
himself to play upotf it psalm tunes, anthems, voluntaries, or any thing 
which he heard. I heard him play several tunes with great accuracy, 
and a complex voluntary. I suppose all Europe can hardly produce 
such another instance. His name is Joseph Strong. But what is he 
the better for all this, if he is still « without God in the world ?" ' (76. 
pp. 452,453.) 

Atownofbeggars.^-^'H^exe [near Keith, in Scotland] Mr. Gordon 
showed me a great curiosity. Near the top of the opposite hill, a new 
town is built, containing, I suppose, a hundred houses, which is a toten 
of beggars. T^is, he informed me, was the professed, regular occupa- 
tion of all the inhabitants. Early in spring they all go out, and spread 
themselves over the kingdom ; and in autumn they return, and do what 
is. requisite for their wives and children.' (lb. p. 454.) 

Scottish universities. — ^ faithful lecturer. — * What is lefl of St. 
Leonard's College [in St. Andrew's] is only a heap <ff ruins. Two col- 
leges remain. One of them has a tolerable square ; but all the windows 
are broke, like those of a brothel. We were informed the students do 
this before they leave the college. Where are their blessed governors 
in the mean time 1 Are they all fast asleep ? The other college is a 
mean building, but has a handsome library newly erected. In the two 
colleges, we learned, were about seventy students ; near the same 
number^ as at Old- Aberdeen. Those at New Aberdeen are not more 
numerous : neither those at Glasgow. In Edinburgh, I suppose, there 
are a hundred. So four universities contain three hundred aad ten stu- 
dents! These aJl come to their several colleges in November, and 
return home in May ! So they may study five months in the year, and 
lounge all the rest ! where was the common sense of those who 



142 • ' Wesley's Works. 

instituted such colleges 1 la the English coHeges, erery one may reside 
all the year, as all my pupils did : and I should have thought myself 
little better than a highwayman, if I had not lectured them every day 
in the year, but Sundays.' {lb. p. 455.) 

Cooping ont^s self in a house. — ^ Thursday, 30. [Jan. 1777.] I had 

a visit from Mr. B , grown an old, feeble, decrepid man ; hardly 

able to face a puiOT of wind, or to creep up and down stairs ! Such is 
the fruit of cooping one's self in a house ; of sitting still, day after day !' 
{lb. p. 466.) 

Cure for a pain in the breiist. — ^ In the evening I preached at York. 
I would gladly have rested the next day, feeling my breast much out of 
order. But notice having been given of my preaching at Tadcaster, I 
set out at nine in the morning. About ten the chaise broke down. I 
borrowed a horse ; but as he was none of the easiest, in riding three 
miles I was so thoroughly electrified, that tbe pain in my breast was 
quite cured. I preached in the evening at York ; on Friday took the 
diligence ; and on Saturday aAemoon came to London.' (/6. p. 470.) 

Hoto to advise those who have left the Society, — < On Monday, Tues- 
day, and Wednesday, I visited many of those who had leA the Society ; 
but I found them so deeply prejudiced, that, till ^eir hearts are changed, 
I could not advise them to return to it' {lb. p. 493^ 

Taking the numbers in Society. — * Sunday, 2J. [Feb. 1779.] I re- 
turned to Norwich, and took an exact account of the Society. I wish 
all our preachers would be accurate in their accounts, and rather speak 
under than above the truth. I had heard again and again of the increase 
of ^e Society. And what is the naked truth 1 Why, I left in it two 
hundred and two members ; and I find one hundred and seventy-nine !' 
{lb. p. 602.) 

Leatfing estates to those thai neither love nor fear God. — ^ Monday, 5. 
I preached at North wich. I used to go on from hence to Little Leigh ; 
but since Mr. Barker is gone hence, that place knows us no more. I 
cannot but wonder at the infatuation of men that really love and fear 
God, and yet leave great part of, if not all their substance, to men that 
neither' love nor fear him ! Surely if I did little good with my money 
while I lived, I would at least do good with it when I could live no 
longer.' {lb. p. 504.) 

Dr. Smollet. — < Thursday, 22. I was a little surprised at a passage 
in Dr. SmoHet's " History of England." Vol. xv, pp. 121, 122 :— 

^* Imposture and fanaticism still hang upon the skirts of religion. 
Weak minds were seduced by the delusions of a superstition, styled 
Methodism, raised upon the affectation of superior sanctity, and pre- 
tensions to. divine illumination. Many thousands were infected with 
this enthusiasm by the endeavours of a few obscure preachers, such as 
Whitefield, and the two Wesleys, who ibund means to lay the whole 
kingdom under contribution." 

Poor Dr. Smollet ! Thus to transmit to all succeeding generations 
a^ whole heap of notorious falsehoods ! '< Imposture and fanaticism !" 
Neither one nor the other had any^share in the late revival of Scriptural 
religion, which is no other than* the love of God and man, gratittkte to 
our Creator, and good will to our fellow creatures. Is this delusion 
and superstition 1 No, it is real wisdom ; it is solid virtue* Does this 



Weshy's Works. 143 

fanaticism *<hang upon the skirts of religion?" Nay, it is the very i 

essence of it Does the Doctor call this enthusiasm ? Whyl Beca(\3e j 

he knov^s nothing about it Who told him that these "obscure preach- 1 

ers" made '< pretensions to divine illumination?" How oflen has that 
silly calumny been refuted to the satisfaction of all candid men ? How- 
ever, they *< found means to lay the whole kingdom under contribution. " 
So does this- frontless man, blind and bold, stumble on without the 
least shadow of truth !' (i&. p. 505.) 

Baron Swedenborg. — < In travelling this Week I looked over Baron 
Swedenborg's<< Account of Heaven and Hell." He was a man of 
piety, of a strong understanding, and most lively imagination ; but he 
had a violent fever when he was five-and-fifty years old, which quitg 
overturned his understanding. Nor did he ever recover it ; but it con- 
tinued " majestic, though in ruins." From that time he was exactly in 
the state of that geptleman at Argos, — 

Qui se eredebat miroa audire tragizdos, 
In vacuo Uehu sessor pkauorqut theatro. 

Who wondrous tragedies was wont to hear, 
Sitting alone in the empty theatre. 

His words, therefore, from that time were agri aomniay the dreams 
of a disordered imagination ; just as authentic as Quevedo's *' Visions 
of Hell." Of this work in particular I must observe, that the doctrine 
contained therein is not only quite unproved, quite precarious from 
beginning to end, as depending entirely on tjie assertion of a single 
brain-sick man; but that, in many instances, it is contradictory to Scrip- 
ture, to reason, and to itself. But, over and above this, it contains 
many sentiments that are essentially and dangerously wrong. Such is 
that concerning the Trinity; for he roundly affirms God to be only one 
person, who was crucified': so that he revives and openly asserts the 
long exploded heresy of the Sabellians and Pa^passians ; yea, and that 
of the Anlhropomorphites ; affirming that God constantly appears in 
heaven in the form of a man. And the worst is, he flatly affirms, << None 
C€ui go to heaven, who believes three persons in the Godhead :" which 
is more than the most violent Arian or Socinian ever affirmed before* 

Add to this, that his ideas of heaven are low, grovelling, just suiting 
a Mohammedan paradise ; and his account of it has a natural tendenoy to 
sink our conceptions, both of the glory of heaven, and of the inhabitants 
of it ; whom he describes as far inferior both in holiness and happiness 
to Gregory Lopez, or Monsieur De Renty. And his account of hell 
leaves nothing terrible in it; for, first, he quenches the unquenchable 
fire. He assures us there is no fire there ; only he allows that the 
governor of it, the devil, sometimes orders the spirits that behave ill, to 
be <* laid on a bed of hot ashes." And, secondly, he informs you, that 
all the damned enjoy their favorite pleasures. He that delights in filtli 
is to have his filth; yea, and his harlot tool Now, how dreadful a ten- 
dency must this have in such an age and nation as this 1 I wish those 
pious men, Mr. Clowes and Clotworthy, would calmly con^der these 
things, before they usher into the world any more of this madman's 
dreams !' {lb. pp. 505, 506. ) 

Singingy — again, — * I came just in time to put a stop to a bad cus- 
ioxn^ which was creeping in here : a few men, who had fine voices, 



144 Wesley's Wwks. 

sung a psalm which no one knew, in a tune fit for an opera, wherein 
thAe, four, or five persons, sung different liords at ^e same time! 
What an insult upon common sense ! What a burlesque upon public 
worship! No custom can excuse such a mixture of profaneness and 
absurdity.' (/6. p. 540.) 

A green old age, — * Thursday, 28. [June, 178 1.] I preached at eleven:- 
in the main street at Selby, to a large and quiet congregation ; and in 
the evening at Thome. This day I entered my seventy-ninth year ; 
and, by the grace of God, I feel no niore of the infirmities of old age 
than I did at twenty-nine.' {lb. p. 547.) 

Robertson^ s History of America. — < To-day I finished the second 
rolume of Dr. Robertson's '< History of America." His language is 
always clear and strong, and fi'equently elegant ; and I suppose his 
history is preferable to any history of America which has appeared in 
the £nglish tongue. But I cannot admire, first, his intolerable prolixity 
in this history, as well as his "History of Charles the Fifth." He pro- 
mises eight books of the History of America, and fills four of them wilb 
critical dissertations. True, the dissertations are sensible, but they 
have lost their way ; they are not history : and they are swelled beyond 
all proportion ; ^doubtless for the benefit of the author and the book- 
seller rather than the reader. - I cannot admire, secondly, a Christian 
divine writing a history, with so yery little of Christianity in it. Nay, 
he seems studiously to avoid saying any thing which might imply that 
he believes the Bible. I can stUl less admire, thirdly, his speaking so 
honorably of a professed infidel ; yea, and referring to his masterpiece 
of infidelity, "Sketches of the History of Man ;" as artful, as unfair, as 
disingenuous a book, as even Toland's " Nazarenus." Least of all can 
I admire, fourthly, his copying after Dr. Hawkesworth, (who once pro- 
fessed better things,) in totally excluding the Creator from governing 
the world. Was it not enough, never to mention the providence of God, 
where there was the fairest occasion, without saying expressly, " The 
fortune of Certiz," or " chance^' did thus or thus ? So far as fortune or 
chance governs the world, God has no place in it. 

The poor American, though not pretending to be a Christian, knew 
better than this. When the Indian was asked, "Why do you think the 
beloved ones take care of yot< ?" he answered, "When I was in the bat- 
tle, the bullet went on this side, and on that side ; and this man died, 
and that man died ; and I am alive ! So I know the beloved ones take 
care of WW." 

It is true, the doctrine of a particular providence (and any but apar- 
Hcular providence is no providence at all) is absolutely but of fashion 
in England : and a prudent author might write this to gain the favor of 
his gentle readers. Yet I will not say this is real prudence ; because 
he may lose hereby more than he gains ; as the majority, even of Bri- 
tons, to this day, retain some sort of respect for the Bible. 

If it was worth while to mention a little thing, after things of so much 
greater importance, I would add, I was surprised that so sensible a 
writer, in enumerating so many reasons why it is so much colder in the 
southern hemisphere than it is in the northern ; why it is colder, for 
instance, at forty degrees south, than at fifty north latitude ; should 
forget the main, the primary reason, namely, the greater distance of 



WesUy's JVorh. 145 

the sun ! For is it not well known, tiiat the sun (to speak with the vul- 
gar) is longer on the north side the line than the south ? that he is 
longer in tlie six northern signs than the southern, so that there is a 
difference (says Gravesande) of nine days? Now, if the northern 
hemisphere be obverted to the sun longer than the southern, does not 
this necessarily imply, that the nortliern hemisphere will be warmer 
than the southern? And is not this the primary reason of its beinir 
^0?' (i5.p. 548.) 

We believe .the true difference of time ia which the sun is longer 
in the six northern signs of the zodiac than in the six southern, is 
about seven days and two-thirds. 

Mr. Fletcher. — * Monday, 6. {Aug. 1781.] I desired Mr. Fletcher, 
Dr. Coke, and four more of our brethren, to meet every evening, that 
we might consult together on any difficulty that occurred. On Tuesday 
our Conference began, at which were present about seventy preachers, 
whom I had severally invited to come and assist me with tiieir advice, 
io carrying on the great work of God. Wednesday, 8. I desired Mr. 
Fletcher to preach. I do not wonder he should be so popular ; not 
only because he preaches with all his might, but because the power of 
God attends both his preaching and prayer.' {lb. p. 550.) 

JVIr. Wesley among little chiMren, — the poor^-^-^nd the sick. — * Fri- 
day, 5. [April, 1782.] About one I preached at Oldham ; and was sur- 
prised to see all the street lined with little children ; and such children 
as I never saw till now. Before preaching they only ran round me and 
before me ; but afler it, a whole troop, boys and girls, closed me in, 
and would not be content till I shook each of them by the hand. Being 
then asked to visit a dying woman, I no sooner entered the room, than 
both she and her companions were in such an emotion as I have sel- 
dom seen. Some laughed ; some cried ; all were so transported that 
they c6uld hardly speak. O how much better is it to go to the poor, 
than to the rich ; and to the house of mourning than to the house of 
feasting!' (76. pp. 567,658.) 

Thus did this great and holy man, going about doing good, 
imitate the sublime example of his Lord and Master, in spirit as 
well as in practice. O that there were. such a heart in us, — to 
follow him as he followed Christ ! 

HoUaruL-^Rotterdam. — *In the evening, [June, 1783,] we again 
took a walk round the town, [Rotterdam,] and I observed, 1. Many of 
the houses are higher than most in Edinburgh. It is true they have not 
so many stories ; but each story is far lofUer. 2. The streets, the out- 
side and inside of their houses in every part, doors, windows, well- 
staircases, furniture, even floors, are kept so nicely clean that you can- 
not find a speck of dirt. 3. There-is such a grandeur and elegance in 
the fronts of the large houses, as I never saw elsewhere ; and such a 
profusion of marble within, particularly in their lower floors and sta*j> 
cases, as I wonder other nati<Hia do not imitate. 4. The women a^d 
children (which I leadt of all expected) were in general the most beau- 
tiful I ever «aw. They were surprisingly fair, and had an inexpressible 
air of innocence in their countenance.r 6. This was wonderfully set off 
by their dress, which was simplex munditiiSf plain and neat in the i.i^h- 

VoL. III.— ^ipril, 1832. IS 



146 WtiUffB Wbrks. 

est degree. 6. It has lately been observed, that growing vegetables 
greatly resist putridity; so there is a use in their numerous rows of 
trees which was not thought of at first. The elms balance the canals, 
preventing the putrefaction which those otherwise might produce. 

One little circumstance I observed, which I suppose is peculiar to 
Holland : to most chunber windows a looking-glass is placed on the 
outside of the sash, so as to show the whole street, with aH the passen- 
gers. There is isomething very pleasing in these moving pictures. Are 
they found in no other country!' (76. pp. 674, 676.) 

Mr. WesUxfs weigkt.-^^ When I was at Sevenoaks I made an odd 
remark. In the year 1769, I weighed a hundred and twenty-two 
pounds. In 1783, 1 weighed not a pound more or less.' {lb, p. 686.) 
^ His thorough itinerancy. — < In the evening I talked largely with the 
preachers, and showed them the hurt it did both to them and itie people, 
for any one preacher to stay six or eight weeks together in one place. 
Neither can he find matter for preaching every morning and evening, 
nor wilt the people come to hear him. Hence he grows cold by lying 
in bed, and so do the people. Whereas if he never stays. more than a 
fortnight together in one place, he may find matter enough, and the 
people will gladly hear him. They immediately drew up such a plan 
for this circuit, which they determined to pursue.' {lb, p. 692.) 

By * morning' preaching, throughout Mr. Wesley's Works, we be- 
lieve he alwstys means the early preaching, at about five o'clock, A. M. 

A great house. — ^* Friday, 14. [May; 1784.] We. saw, at a distance, 
the Duke of Gordon's new house, six hundred and fifty feet in front. 
Well might the Indian ask, " Are you white men no bigger than we 
red men? Then why do you build such lofly houses?" ' (Jb. p. 693.) 

Mr. Wesley at eighty-one.-^^ To-day [June 28, 1784.J I entered 
on my eighty- second year, and found myself just as strong to labour, 
and as fit for any exercise of body or mind, as I was forty years ago. 
I do not impute this to second causes, but to the Sovereign Lord of all. 
It is He who bids the. sun of life stand still, so long as it pleascth him. 
I am as strong at eighty-one as I was at twenty-one ; but abundantly 
more healthy, being a stranger to the headache, toothache, and other 
bodily disorders which attended me in my youth. We can onlv say, 
" The Lord reigneth !" While we live, let as live to him^' {lb. p.''698.) 

Sunday schools. — * Sunday, 18. [July, 1784.] I preached, morning 
and afternoon, in Bingley church ; but it would not near contain the 
congregation. Before service I stepped into the Sunday school, which 
contains two hundred and forty children, taught every Sunday by several 
masters, and superintended by the curate. So, many children in one 
parish are restrained from open sin, and taught a little good n^anners^ 
at least, as well as to read the Bible. I find Siese schools springing up 
wherever I go. Perhaps God may have a deeper end therein than 
men are aware of. Who knows but soipe of these schools may become 
nurseries for Christians?' (i&. p. 699.) 

The Sunday schools in those days, it will be recollected, were 
ordinary Schools, only taught on Sundays, by hired masters. The 
sagacity of Mr. Wesley's observation, at the close of the extract, 
has been amply verified in modem experience. 



Wesley's Works. 147 

Care of the poor.-—-^ Tuesday, 4. [Jan. 1786.] At this season we 
usually distribute coals and bread among the poor of the society. 
But I now considered they wanted clothes, as well as food. So on 
this, and the four following days, I walked through the town, and 
begged two hundred pounds, in order to clothe them that needed it 
most. But it was hard work, as most of the streets were filled with 
melting snow, which often lay ankle deep ; so that my feet were 
steeped in snow water nearly from morning till evening. I held it out 
pretty well till Saturday evening \ but I was laid up with a violent flux, 
which increased every hour, till, at six in the morning, Dr. Whitehead 
called upon me. His first draught made me quite easy ; and three , 
or four more perfected the cin-e.' (lb, p. 607.) 

A remarkable providence^ — ^ A remarkable circupistance, we were 
informed, occurred near this place about three weeks before. A poor 
woman, who owed her landlord fourteen pounds, scraped seven to- 
gether, which she brought him. But he absolutely refused to take less 
than the whole, yet detained her in talk till evening. She then set out 
on a car. When she was within a mile of home, she overtook a soldier, 
who said he was exceedingly tired, and earnestly entreated her to let 
him ride with her on the car, to which she at length consented. When 
they came to her house,' finding there was no town within two miles, he 
begged he might sit by the fireside till morning. She told him she durst 
not sufier it, as hers was a lone house, and there was none in it but 
herself and her girl : but at last she agreed he should iie in' the girl's 
bed, and she and the girl would lie together. At midnight, two men, 
who had blackened their fa6es, broke into the house, and demanded 
her money. She said, <<Then let me go into the next room and fetch 
it." Going in, she said to the soldier, ^< You have requited me well for 
my kindness, by bringing your comrades to rob my house." He asked, 
"Where are they?" She said, " In the next room." He started up, 
and ran thither. The men ran away with all speed. He fired after 
them, and shot one dead ; who, being examined, appeared to be her 
landlord ! So that a soldier was sent to protect an innocent woman; 
and punish a hardened villain f (A. p. 612.) 

T%e Irish poor, — < The poor in Ireland, in general, are well behaved : 
all the ill breeding is among well-dressed people.' {lb. p. 615.) 

Is not this very often found to be the case elsewhere also ? 

An Irish charter school. — * Having heard a remarkable account of 
the charter school here, [Ballinrobe,] I resolved to see it with my own 
eyes. I went thither about five in dbe afternoon, but found no master 
or mistress. Seven or eight boys, and nine or ten girls, (the rest being 
rambling abroad,) dirty and ragged enough, were left to the care of a 
girl, half the head taller than the rest. She led us through the house. 
I observed first the school room, not much bigger than a small closet 
Twenty children could not be taught there at once, with any conve- 
nience. When we came into the bed chamber, I inquired, " How many 
children now lodge in the house?" and was answered, << Fourteen or 
fifteen boys, and nineteen girls." For these boys there were three beds, 
and five for the nineteen girls. For food I was informed, the master 
was aillowed a penny farthing a day for each ! Thus they are clothed, 



148 Wesley's Works. 

lodged, and fed. But what are they taught? As far as I could learn, 
just nothing ! Of these things I informed the commissioners for these 
schools in Dublin. But I do not hear of any alteration. If this be a 
sample of the Irish charter schools, what good can we expect from 
them?' {lb. p. 616.) 

JWio and cheap inode of building a chapel. — < The preaching house 
here [Sheerness J is now. fmished ; but by means never heard of. The 
building was undertaken a few months since, by a little handful of men, 
without any probable means of finishing it. But God so moved the 
hearts of the people in tho Dock, that even those who did not pretend 
to any religion, carpenters, ^shipwrights, labourers, ran up, at all their 
vacant hours, and worked with all their might, without any pay. By 
this means a large square house was soon elegantly finished^ both within 
.and without ; and it is the neatest building, next to the new chapel in 
London, of any in the south of England.' (lb. p. 646.) 

•Methodist Sunday schools. — * Thence [August, 1787] we went on te 
Bolton. Here are eight hundred poor children taught in our Sunday 
schools, by about eighty masters, who receive no pay but what they 
are to receive from their great Master. About a hundred of them (part 
boys and part girls) are taught to sing ; and they sung so true, that, all 
singing together, there seemed to be but one v6ice. The house was 
throughly lulled, while I explained and applied the first commandment. 
What is all morality or religion without this? A mere castle in the air. 
In the evening, many of the children still hovering round the house, 1 
desired forty or fifly to come in and sing. 

Vital spark of heavenly flame. 

Although some of them were silent, not being able ta sing for tears,.yet 
the harmony was such as I believe could not be equalled in the king's 
chapel.' (/6. pp. 672„673.) 

Mr. Wesley's family. — * Sunday, 9. [Dec. 1787.] I went down at 
half-hour past five, but found no preacher in the chapel, though we had 
three or four in the house : so I preached myself. Aflerward, inquiring 
why none' of my family attended the morning preaching, they said, it 
was because they sat up too late. I resolved to put a stop to this ; and 
therefore ordered, that, 1. Every one under my roof should go to bed 
at nine ; that, 2. Every one might attend the morning preaching : and 
so they have done ever since.' (lb. p. 684.) 

He was then eighty-four years of age. 

•^cwnoiwprcac/ii»^Ao««e.—< Wednesday, 14. [May, 1788.] At five 
I was importuned to preach in the preaching house ; but such a one I 
never saw before. It had no windows at all : so that although the sun 
shone bright, we could see nothing without candles. But I believe our 
Lord shone on many hearts, while I was applying those words, " I will, 
be thou clean.**' (Ih. p. 693;) 

Prea^ching in a cow house. — * Monday, 27. [April, 1789.] I reached 
Enniscorthy about noon ; and presently after, as it had continued %o 
raiuyl preached in the place prepared for me, which was a large, though 
not very elegant cow house. However, God was there ; as likewise in 
the assembly room at Wexford, where I preached to a large congrega* 
tion in the evening.' (76. p. 717.) 



Wesky^s fF0'ks. 149 

ConswnpHon: — hutiermiik diet, — *I was concerned to find John 
Stephens, a lovelj young preacher, in a deep consumption ; from which, 
I judge) nothing can recover him, unless^ perhaps a total buttermilk 
diet.' (ii,p.722.) 

Trustees .'-^breach of trust,-^* August U [1789.] We considered the 
case of Dewsbury House, which the self-jelected trustees have robbed 
us of. The point thej contended for was this, — that they should have 
a right of rejecting any preachers they dise^proved of. But this, we saw^ 
would destroy itinerancy. So they chose J. A. for a preacher, who 
adopted W. £. for his curate. Nothing remained but to build another 
preaching house, toward w^hich we subscribed two hundred and six 
pounds on the spot.' (lb. p. 727.) 

Mr. Wesley at eightif-six. — * Sunday, 27. [Sept. 1789.] I preached 
at the new Room, morning and evening, and in the afternoon at Temple 
church ; but it thos fuU as much as I could do. I doubt I must not 
hereafler attempt to preach more than twice a day.' {lb. p." 731.) 

Mr. Wesley an old man. — * Friday, Jan. 1, 1790. I am now an old 
man, decayed ffom head to foot My eyes are dim ; my right hand 
shakes much ; my mouth is hot and dry every morning ; I have a lin- 
gering fever almost every day; my motion is weak and slow. How- 
ever, blessed be God, I do not slack my labour : I can preach and 
write still.' (/6. p. 735.) 

Stranger^ Society. — * Suhday, 14 [March, 1790] was a comfort- 
able day. In the morning I met the Strangers' Society, instituted 
wholly for the relief, not of our Society, but for poor, sick, friendless 
strangers. I do not know that I ever heard or read of such an institu- 
tion till within a few years ago. So this also is one of the fruits of 
Methodism.' (i6.p.737.) 

Union churches. — Talking in churches, — * Thursday 18. We went 
on to Stourport, which is now full twice as large as it was two years 
ago. The first chapel was built about three years ago, by the joint 
contributions of Arminians and Calvinists, agreeing that they should 
preach by turns. But in a short time the poor Arminians were locked 
out. On this one or two gentlemen built another, far larger and more 
commodious. But it was not large enough to contain them in the even-* 
ing, to whom I explained that solemn passage in the Revelation, << I 
saw the dead, small and great, stand before God." They seemed to be 
all serious and attentive as long as I was speaking ; but the moment I 
ceased, fourscore or one hundred began talking all at once. I do not 
remember ever to have been present at such a scene before. This 
must.be amended ; otherwise (if I should live) I will see Stourport no 
more-' {lb. p. 73iS.) 

False musters. — ' Sunday, 12. I intended to preach abroad; but the 
weather would not permit. Monday, 13, and the three following days,. 
I met the classes of the society, which contains nine hundred and forty-* 
four members. Still I cotnplain of false musters. It was told in Lon- 
don that this society contained above a thousand members ; and yet it " 
falls so far short of a thousand. There is altogether a fkult in this 
matter.' (/6. p. 746.) 

Mixing wt^fe^ofctrntte*—* Tuesday, 5. lOei. 1790.] I went to Rye. 
Though the warning was short, the congregation was exceeding large, 

13* 



150. On tlu pursuU of kiiowledge under difficulties. 

and behaved v^th remarkable seriousness. While our people mixed 
with the Calvinists here, we were always perplexed, and gained no 
ground ; but since they kept to themselves, they have continually in- 
creased in grace as well as in number.' -(/6. p. 748.) 

A nobU Sffy. — < After dinner we spent an hour in the duke of Dorset's 
house. I could not but observe some change for the worse here. The 
silk covers are removed from seveni of the pictures, particularly that 
of Count Ugolino and his sons ; and it is placed in a worse -light; so 
that I could hardly discern the little boy that, when he saw his father 
gnawing his own arm for anguish, cried out, << Papa, if you are hungry, 
do not eat your own arm, but mine." ' (/6.) 

Tlielasi entry in Mr. Wesleif 8 journal. — < Sunday, 24. [Oct. 1790.] 
I explained, to a numerous congregation in Spitalfields church, *•*• the 
whole armour of God." St. Paul's, Shadwell, was still more crowded 
in the afternoon, while I enforced that important truth, " One thing is 
needful ;" and I hope many, even then, resolved to choose the better 
part.' (/6. p. 750.) 

He was then over eighty-seven years of age, and died on the 
second of March foltowing, in his eighty-eighth year. 

Our limits do not admit of extending our extracts farther ; 
although a large portion of the miscellaneous Works, embracing 
the whole of Mr. Wesley's numerous and. characteristic Letters, 
his controversial tracts, and a great variety of other occasional 
pieces, yet remain untouched. That our readers generally, how- 
ever, will be desirous of possessing themselves of these Works 
entire, we cannot doubt ; and are gratified that they have now an 
opportunity to do so to any extent, and on very moderate terms. 
Nearly the whole of the first edition, of two thousand copies, was 
engaged even before its completion, and a second has already been 
published. And as these Works are now stereotyped, they will be 
printed in sufficient numbers, and with sufficient rapidity, we trust, 
to supply the public demand to any amount. Whatever profits 
may arise from the sales, as from the sales of all other publications 
from the Methodist Episcopal press, will be wholly applied to reli- 
gious and charitable uses, and to the spread of the Gospel by 
itinerant preaching. 



ON THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

* That the soul be witliout knowledge, it is not good,' Prov. xix, 2. 

Inspiration and experience both concur in this sentiment. The 
sacred writer, indeed, may have had-special though not exclusive 
reference to religious knowledge ; (the supreme excellence and 
value of which we not only grant, but assume, throughout ;) yet the 
importance of general knowledge, and its immense practical influ- 
ence in facilitating the acquisition even of the necessaries of life, as 
well as in multiplying its more refined comforts, have been too long 
and too extensively felt to admit of a doubt at the present day. Its 



On the pursuit ^f knowledge under d^ffictdties. 161 

power, also, to add to the pleasures of individual and social exist* 
ence, by refining the feelings, elevating the affections above the 
grosser gi-atifications of our animal nature, and opening to the ever 
expanding mind of man new and ez^haustless sources of enjoyment, 
is confessed by all who have so much as tasted ' the Pierian spring.* 

The question, then, presents itself with force, — how happens it 
that so few enter upon, and persevere in this pursuit 1 Why are men 
so backward to partake of these exalted advantages and delights? 
Among various answers which may be given, the following appears 
the most striking. The poor are deterred by the obstacles which 
their unpropitious eircumstances present ; the rich are drawn off 
by the allurements of cheaper though less noble gratifications ; and 
all are too prone to follow that universal though erroneous dictate 
of our fallen nature which prompts us to prefer the pleasure which 
precedes pain to that which follows it ; for such, like all other solid 
pleasures, are those of the understanding. To the first, whose 
situation gives them an imperious claim to the sympathies of the 
philanthropist, the following article is particularly addressed. Its 
object is, to encourage them to encounter bravely all their diffi- 
culties, and to cheer those who have already commenced, to per- 
severe in their noble undertaking, by holding forth the prospect of 
ultimate success. Indeed, their circumstances are far from being 
as unfavorable as might at fii-st be imagined. Cut off by their situa- 
tion from entering the circles of gaiety and dissipation, they have 
none of the temptations of fashionable pleasures to allure them 
from the pursuit of knowledge. Though deprived, from their limited 
means, of many of the helps (so called) to learning, yet wealth is 
not the key which unlocks the temple of science ; and it may well 
be questioned whether the aid which it procures always proves 
such : for as the body, when well provided for, may attain its full 
growth, yet will not possess vigour unless properly exercised, so 
the powers of the mind, unless exerted, cannot be developed. 

To show that these are not mere idle speculations, we have 
selected a few brief notices of some of those whose names arc 
emblazoned on the records of fame, as having successfully com- 
bated every difficulty in the pursuit of knowledge, and from their 
example, better perhaps than from any arguments which we could 
advance, the reader may learn that neither humble station, want of 
instructers, nor even natural defects, form any insuperable barrier 
to great literary attainments. Of men who have risen from the 
humblest stations to the highest eminence, the history of literature 
affords many instances. A few, however, will answer our purpose. 

* The late PROFtessoR Hetne, of Gottingen, was one of the greatest 
classical scholars of his own or of any age, and during his latter days 
enjoyed a degree of distinction, both in his own country and through- 
out Europe, of which scarcely any contemporary name, in the same 
department of literature, could boast. Yet he had spent the first 
thirty-two or thirty-three years of hia life, not only in obseunty, but 



1£2 On ihe'pursmt of knowledge under d^ficulHes. 

in an aloiost incessant struggle with the most depressing poverty. 
He had been biMm, indeed, amidst the miseries of the lowest indigence, 
his father being a poor weaver, with a large family, for whom his best 
exertions were often unable to provide bread. In the '' MemcHrs of 
his own Life," Heyne says, " Want was the earliest companion of my 
childhood. I well remember the painful impressions made on my 
mind by witnessing the distress of my mother when without food for 
her children. How of\en have I seen her, on a ^Saturday evening, 
weeping and wringing her hands, as- she returned home from an un- 
successful effort to sell the goods which the daily and nightly toil of 
my father had manufactured !" His parents sent him to a child's 
school in the suburbs of the small town of Chemnitz, in Saxony, where 
they lived ; and he soon exhibited an uncommon desire of acquiring 
information. He made so rapid a progress in the humble branches of 
knowledge taught in the school, that, before he had completed his 
tenth year, he was paying a portion of his school fees by teaching a 
little girl, the daughter of a wealthy neighbour, to read and write. 
Having learned every thing comprised in the usual course of the 
school, he felt a strong desire to learn Latin. A son of the school- 
master, who had studied at Leipsic, was willing to teach him at the 
rate of four pence a week; but the difficulty of paying so large a fee 
seemed quite insurmountable. One day hq was sent to his godfather, 
who was a baker in pretty good circumstances, fdr a loaf. As he went 
along, he pondered sorrowfully on this great object of his wishes, and 
entered the shop in tears. The good tempered baker, on learning the 
cause of his grief, undertook to pay the required fee ibr him, at which, 
Heyne tells us, he was perfectly intoxicated with joy; and as he ran, 
all ragged and barefoot,- through the streets, tossing the loaf in the air, 
it slipped from his hands and rolled into the gutter. This accident, 
and a sharp reprimand from his parents, who could ill afford such a 
loss, brought him to his senses. He continued his lessons for about 
two years, when his teacher acknowledged that he had taught hini all 
he himself knew. At this^ime, his father was anxious that he should 
adopt -some trade, but Heyne felt an invincible desire to pursue his 
literary education ; and it was fortunate for the world that he was at 
this period of his life furnished with the means of following the course 
of his inclination. , He had another godfather, who was a clergyman 
in the neighbourhood ; and this person, upon receiving the most flat- 
tering accounts of Heyne from his last master, agreed to be at the 
expense of sending him to the principal seminary of his native town 
of Chemnitz. His new patron, however, although a well endowed" 
churchman, doled out his bounty with most scrupulous parsimony; 
and Heyne, without the necessary books of his own, was often obliged 
to borrow those of his companions, and to copy them overlbr his o%vn 
use. At last he obtained the situation p( tutor to the son of one of the 
citizens ; and this for a short time rendered hi^ condition more eom- 
fortable. But the period was come when, if he was to proceed in the 
career he had chosen, it was necessary for him to enter the university ; ' 
and he resolved to go to Leipsic. He arrived in that city accordingly 
with dnly two florins (about four shillings) in his pocket, and nothing 
more to depend upon except the smaU assistance he might receive 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, 153 

from his godfather, who had promised to eontinue his bounty. 'He 
had to wait so long, however, for his expected supplies from this 
source, which came accompanied with much gnidgmg and reproach 
when they did make their appearance, that, destitute both of money 
and books, he would even have been without bread too, had it not 
been for the compassion of the maid servant of the house where he 
lodged. What sustained his courage in these circumstances (we here 
use his own words) was neither ambition nor presumption, nor even 
the hope of one day taking his place among the learned. The stimu- 
lus that incessantly spurred him on was the feeling of the humiliation 
of his condition — the shame with which he shrunk from the thought 
of that degradation which the want of a good education would impose 
upon him — ^above all, the determined resolution of battling courageously 
with fortune. He was resolved to try, he said, whether, although sha. 
had thrown him among the dust, he should not be able to rise up by 
his own efforts. His ardour for study only grew the greater as his dit 
ficulties increased. For six months he only allowed himself two nights' 
sleep in the week ; and yet all the while his godfather scarcely ever 
wrote to him but to inveigh against his indolence, — often actually ad- 
dressing his letters on the outside, " To M. Heyne, Idler, at LeipsicJ^ 
In the mean time, while his distress was every "day becoming more 
intolerable, he was offered, by one of the professors, the situation of 
tutor in a family at Magdeburg. Desirable as the appointment would 
"have been in every other respect, it would have removed him from 
the scene of his studies — and he declined it. He resolved rather to 
remain in the midst of all his miseries at Leipsic He was, however, 
in a few weeks after, recompensed for this noble sacrifice, by procur- 
ing, through the recommendation of the same professor, a situation 
similar to the one he had refused, in the university town. This, of 
course, relieved for a time his pecuniary wants ; but still the ardour 
with which he pursued his studies continued so great, that it at last 
brought on a dangerotts illness, which obliged him to resign his situa- 
tion, and very soon completely exhausted his trifling resources, so that 
on his recovery he found himself as poor and destitute as ever. In 
this extremity, a copy of Latin verses which he had written having 
attracted the attention of one of the Saxon ministers, he was induced, 
by the advice of his friends, to set out for the court at Dresden, where 
it was expected this high patronage would make his fortune ; but he 
was doomed only to new disappointments. Afler having borrowed 
money to pay the expenses of his journey, all he obtained from the 
courtier was a few vague promises, which ended in nothing. He was 
obliged eventually, after having sold his books, to accept the place of 
copyist in the library of the Count de Bruhl, at the miserable annual 
salary of one hundred crowns (about 17[. sterling) — a sum which, even 
in that cheap country, was scarcely sufficient to keep him from perish- 
ing of hunger. However,^ with his industrious habits, he found time, 
beside performing the duties of his situation, to do a little work for the 
booksellers. He first translated a French romance, for which he was 
paid twenty crowns. For a learned and excellent edition which he 
prepared of the Latin poet TibuUus, he received in successive pay- 
ments, ope hundred crowns, with which he discharged the dpbts he 



154 On the purmt of knowledge under difficuUiee. 

had contracted at Leipsic. In this way he contrived to exist for a few 
years, all the while studying hard, and thinking himself amply com- 
pensated for the hardships of his lot, hy the opportunities he had of 
pursuing his favorite researches, in a city so rich in collections of 
books and antiquities as Dresden. After he had held his situation in 
the library for above two years, his salary was doubled ; but before he 
derived any benefit from the augmentation, the Seven Years' War had 
commenced. Saxony was overrun by the forces of Frederick the 
Great, and Heyne's place, and the library itself to which it was 
attached, were swept away at the same time. He was obliged to fly 
from Dresden, and wandered about for a long time without any em« 
ployment. At last he was received into a family at Wittenberg ; but 
in a short time the progress of the War drove him from this asylum also, 
and he returned to Dresden, where he still had a few articles of fumi« 
ture, which he had purchased with the little money he saved while he 
held his place in the library. He arrived just in time to witness the 
bombardment of that capital, in the conflagration of which his furniture 
perished^ as well as some property which he had brought with him 
from Wittenberg, belonging to a lady, one of the family in whose house 
he lived, for whom he had formed an attachment during his residence 
there. Thus left, both of them, without a shilling, the young persons 
nevertheless determined to share each other's destiny, and they were 
accordingly united. By the exertions of some common friends, a retreat 
was procured for Heyne and his wife in the establishment of a M. de 
Leoben, where he spent some years, during which his time was chiefly 
occupied in the management of that gentleman's property. 

At last, at the general peace in 1763, he returned .to Dresden ; and 
here ended his hard fortunes. Some time before his arrival in that 
city, the professorship of Eloquence, in the University of Gottingen, 
had become vacant by the death of the celebrated John Mathias Gesner. 
The chair had been oflered, in the first instance, to David Ruhnken, 
one of the first scholars of the age, who declined, however, to leave 
the University of Leyden, where he had lately succeeded the eminent 
Hemsterhuy 8 as Professor of Greek. Fortunately, however, for Heyne, 
Ruhnken was one of the few to whom his edition of Tibullus, and 
another of £pictetus, which he had published shortly aAer, had made 
his obscure name and great merits known; and with a generous 
anxiety to befriend one whom he considered to be so deserving, he 
ventured, of his own accord, to recommend him to the Hanoverian 
minister, as the fittest person he could mention for the vacant office. 
Such a testimony from Ruhnken was at once the most honorable and 
the most efiicient patronage Heyne could have had. He was imme- 
diately nominated to the professorship; although so little known, that 
it was with considerate difficulty he was found. He held this appoint- 
ment for nearly fiily years ; in the course of which, as we have already 
remarked, he may be said, by his successive publications, and the 
attraction of his lectures, to have placed himself nearly at the head of 
the classical scholars o( his age ; while he was at the same time loved 
and venerated as a father, not only by his numerous pupils, but by all 
ranks of his fellow citizens, who, on his death, in 1812, felt that their 
University and city had lost what had been for half a century its chief 
distinction.' 



On the pwrsuU of^ knowledge under JRffietdHe$. 155 

* VjLLEifTiNE Jamerat Duval, a very able antiquarian of the last 
century, and who at the time of his death held the office of keeper of 
the imperial medals at Vienna, as well as that of one of the preceptors 
to the prince, afterward the emperor Joseph II., was the son of a 
poor peasant of Champagne, and lost his father when he was ten 
years of age. He was then taken into the service of a farmer in the 
village ; but being soon^ after turned off for some petty fault, he re- 
solved to leave his native place altogether,* that he might not be a bur- 
then to his mother. So he set out on his travels, without knowing in 
what direction he was proceeding, in the beginning of a dreadful win- 
ter ; and for some time begged in vain even for a crust of bread and 
shelter against the inclemency of the elements, till, worn out with 
hunger, fatigue, and a tormenting headacbcj he was at last taken in 
by a poor shepherd, who permitted him to lie down in the place where 
he shut up his sheep. Here he was attacked by smallpox, and lay ill 
nearly a month ; but having at last recovered, chiefly through the kind 
attentions of the village clergyman, he proceeded on his wanderings a 
second time, thinking that by getting farther to the east he should be 
nearer the sun, and therefore suffer less from the cold. Having arrived 
in this way at the foot of the Yosges mountains, nearly a hundred and 
fifty miles from his native village, he remained there for two years in 
the service of a farmer, who gave him his flocks to keep. Chancing 
then to make his appearance at the hut of a hermit, the recluse was 
so much struck by the intelligence of his answers, that he proposed he 
should take up his abode with him, and share his labours, an offer 
which Duval gladly accepted. Here he had an opportunity of reading 
a few books, chiefly of a devotional description ; and, after some time, 
was sent with a letter of recommendation from his master to another 
hermitage, or religious house, near Lun^ville, the inmates of which 
set him to take charge of their little herd of cattle, consisting only of 
five or six cows, while one of them took the trouble of teaching him to 
write. He had a few books at command, which he perused with 
great eagerness. He sometimes, too, procured a little money by the 
produce of his skill and activity in the chase, and this he always be- 
stowed in the purchase of books. One day, while pursuing this occu- 
pation, he was lucky enough to find a gold seal, which had been dropt 
by an English traveller of the name of Forster. Upon this gentleman 
coming to claim his property, Duval jestingly told him that he should 
not have the seal, unless he could describe the armorial bearings on 
it in correct heraldic phrase. Surprised at any appearance of an ac- 
quaintance with such subjects in the poor cowherd, Forster, who was 
a lawyer, entered into conversation with him, and was so much struck 
by his information and intelligence, that he both supplied him with a 
number of books and maps, and instructed him in the manner of study- 
ing them. Some time after this, he was found by another stranger 
sitting at the foot of a tree, and apparently absorbed in the contempla- 
tion of a map which lay before him. Upon being asked what he was 
about, he replied that he wau studying geography. And "whereabouts 
in the study may you be at present," inquired the stranger. "I am 
seeking the way to Quebec," answered Duval. " To Quebec ? What 
should you want there ?" " I wish to go to continue my studies at the 



156 On the purmt of kn&whdge under ^JlicuUiesi 

university of that city." The stranger belonged to tbe establishiQent 
of the princes of Lorraine, who, returning from the chase, caoie up 
with their suite at the moment ; and the result was, thaf., after putting 
a great many questions to Duval, they were so delighted with the 
vivacity of his replies, that they proposed to send him immediately to 
a Jesuit's college in the neighbourhood. Here he continued for some 
time, until he was at last taken by his patron, the duke of Lorraine, 
afterward the emperor Francis L, to Paris, where he speedily distin-. 
guished himself, and eventually acquired a high place among the 
literary men of the day,' 

< Dr. Alexander Murray was born in the parish of Minnigaff, 

[Scotland,] in the shire of Kirkcudbright, on the 22d of October, 1775. 
lis father was at this time nearly seventy years of age, and had been 
a shepherd all his life, as his own father, and probably his ancestors 
for many generations, had also been. Alexander's mother was also 
the daughter of a shepherd, and was the old man's second wife; several 
sons, whom he had by a former marriage, being all brought iip to the 
same primitive occupation. This modern patriarch died in the year 
1797, at the age of ninety-one ; and he appears to have been a man 
of considerable natural sagacity, and possessed, at least, of the simple 
scholarship of which the Scottish peasant is rarely destitute. 

It was from his father that Alexander received his first lessons in 
reading. This was in his sixth year ; and he gives an amusing account 
of the process. The old man, he tells us, bought him a catechism, 
(which in Scotland is generally printed with a copy of the alphabet,. 
in a large type, prefixed ;) but " as it was too good a book," h« pro- 
ceeds, '^ for me to handle at all times, it was generally locked up, and 
he, throughout the winter, drew the figures of the letters to me, in his 
written hand, on the board of an old wool card, with the black end of 
an extinguished heather stem or root, snatched from the :fire. I soon 
learned all the alphabet in this form, and became writer as well as 
reader, I wrought with the board and brand continually. Then the 
catechism was presented, and in a month or two I could read the easier 
parts of it. I daily amused myself with copying, as above, the printed 
letters. In May, 1782, he gave me a small psalm book, for which I 
totally abandoned the catechism, which I did not like, and which I 
tore into two pieces, and concealed in a hole of a dyke. I soon got 
many psalms by memory, and longed for a hew book. Here difficulties 
jrose. The Bible, used every night in the family, I was not permitted 
to open or touch. The rest of the books were put up in chests. I at 
length got a New Testament, and read the liistorical parts with great 
curiosity and ardour. But I longed to read the Bible, which deemed 
to me a much more pleasant book ; and I actually went to where I 
knew an old loose-leaved Bible lay, and carried it away in piecemeal. 
I perfectly remember the strange pleasure I felt in reading the histo- 
ries of Abraham and David. I liked moi^rnful narratives ; and greatly 
admired Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Lamentations. I pored on these 
pieces of the Bible in secret for many months, bu^ I durst not show 
them openly ; and as I read constantly and remembered well, I soon 
astonished all <xur honest neighbours with the large passages of Scrip- 
ture I repeated before them. I have forgot too much of my BibHcal 



Qtt the pursmt of knowledge under difficultiee. ' 1 S7 

knowledge, but I can fitill rehearse all the names of the patriarchs 
from Adam to Christ, and varrous other narratives seldom committed 
to memory." * . 

His father destined him for his own occupation of shepherd, but 
the son's attachment to books made him neglect his, business, and 
he was blamed by his father as lazy iand useless. The kindness of 
a relation, however, who promised to bear the expenses of his 
schooling, introduced him to pursuits more congenial to his incli- 
nations. He was sent to school at New GaUoway. 

*Our home-taught and mostly self-taught scholar, as he tells us him- 
self, made at first a somewhat awkward figure on this new scene. 
"My pronunciation of words,." says he, "was laughed, at, and my 
whole speech was a subject of fun."^ " But," he adds, *< I soon gained 
confidence; and.before the vacation in August, I oflen stood dux [head] 
of the Bible class. I was in the mean time taught to write copies, and 
use paper and ink. But I both wrote and printed, that is, imitated 
printed letters, when out of school." 

His attendance at school, however, had scarcely lasted for three 
m(^ths, when the poor boy fell into bad health,- and he was obliged 
to return home. For nearly five years after this he was left again to 
be his own instructor, with no assistance whatever from any one. He 
soon recovered his health, but during the long period we have men- 
tioned, he looked in vain for the means of again pursuing his studies 
under the advantages he had for so short a time enjoyed. As soon as 
he became sufficiently well he was put to his old employment of assist- 
ing the rest of the family as a Bhepherd boy.' 

When twelve years old, however, <as there seemed to be no likeli- 
hood that he would ever be able to gain his bread as a shepherd, his 
parents were probably anxious that he should attempt something in 
another way to help to maintain himself. Accordingly, in the latter 
part of the year 1787, he engaged as teacher in the families of two of 
the neighbouring farmers; for his services in which capacity, through- 
out the winter, he 'was remunerated with the sum of sixteen shillings f 
He had probably, liowever, his board free in addition to his salary, of 
which he immediately laid out a part in the purchase of books. One 
of these was " Cocker's Arithmetic," " the plainest," says he, " of all 
books, from which, in two or three months, I learned the four principal 
rules of arithmetic, and even advanced to the Rule of Three, with no 
additional assistance except the use of an old copy book of examples 
made by some boy at school, and a few verbal directions from, my 
brother Robert, the only one of all my father's sons, by his first mar- 
riage, that remained with us." ' . . - 

His father having at length removed to the neighbourhood of a 
school, he was enabled to attend it for a month or two during the 
summer, while he supported himself m winter by teaching.^ This 
course he pursued for two or three years, during which time the . 
different periods of his school attendance, added together, make 
not more than thirteen months; yet in this short period, he had 
conunenced aiid made great progress in the study of the French, 
Ijatin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. 

Yoh. III.— ^prO, IS32. 14 



158 On the putmit of knowledge under difficulties. 

« Having introduced himself to Mr. Maitland, the clergyman of the 
parishy hy writing letters to him in Latin and Greek, he got from that 

fentieman a number of books, and these, which included Homer, 
longinus, the "(Edipus Tyrannus" of Sophocles, a volume of Cicero's 
*< Orations,'' &c, he read and studied with great diligence. Nor were 
"his studies confined to the classic tongues. Having purchased a copy 
of Robertson's Hebrew Grammar, he got through it, with all the intri* 
cacies of the doctrine of the points, of which the author is an uncom- 
promising champion, in a month. He was soon afler fortunate enough 
to procure a dictionary of this language, from an old man living in the 
neighbourhood, whose son had been educated for the church ; and as 
the volume happened to contain the whole of the Book of Ruth in the 
original, he considered it an invaluable acquisition. But a still greater 
prize than this was a copy of the entire Bible in Hebrew, which was 
lent to him for a few months by a woman, wit*h whom it had been left 
by her brother, a clergyman, in Ireland. ^* I made good use," says he, 
** of this loan : I read it throughout, and many passages and books of 
it a number of times." This summer must, indeed, to use his own 
words, have been ''devoted to hard and continued reading." He had, 
in fact, it would appear, actually made himself familiar, and that 
chiefly by his own unassisted exertions, with the French, Latin, Greek, 
and Hebrew languages, and perused several of the principal authors 
in all of them, within about a year and a half from the time when they 
were all entirely unknown to him ; for it was at the end of May, 1790> 
that he commenced, as we have seen, the study of French ; and all 
this work had been' done by the end of November in the year follow- 
ing. There is not, perhaps, on record a more extraordinary instance 
of youthful ardour and perseverance. It may serve to show what is 
possible to be accomplished.' 

His extraordinary talents were not, however, doomed to remain 
long buried in obscurity. Through the intervention of a friend, 
who had formed a high and just idea of his genius and learning, 
he was admitted into the university of Edinburgh, where Jbe was 
very^ soon able to support himself by the employment which he 
obtained as t teacher, and by his literary labours. 

' All his difficultieB might be said to be over as soon as he had found 
his way to the university, and his talents had thus been transferred to 
a theatre where they were sure to acquire him distinction. 

For the next ten or twelve years of his life he resided principally in 
Edinburgh. During that time, beside passing through the course of 
education necessary to qualify him for the ministry of the Scottish 
church, he continued to devote himself with all his old enthusiasm to 
the study of languages, in whi<^ he was so admirably qualified to ex- 
cel. No man that ever lived, probably, not excepting sir William 
Jones himself, has prosecuted this- branch of learning to such an extent 
as Murray. By the end of his short life, scarcely one of either the 
oriental or the northern tongues remained uninvestigated by him, in 
so far as it was possible to acquire the knowledge of it from sources 
then accessible in this country. Of the six (jr seven dialects of the 
Abyssinian or Ethiopic language in particular, he had made himself 



On the pfunuit of knowledge under d^fficutHes, 159 

certainly mdch mol-e completely master than any European had ever 
been before ; and this led to hiii being selected by the bookseliera in 
1802 to prepare a new edition of Bruce's Travels, which appeared in 
seven volumes octavo three years afler, and at once placed him in the 
first rank of the oriental scholars of the age. 

In 1806 he left Edinburgh, in Order to officiate as clergyman in the 
parish of Urr in Dumfiie^phire. And here he remained pursuing his 
&vorite studies for six years. '^ He devoted his leisure moments while 
at Urr," says a writer to whom he was known,* "to the composition 
of his stupendous work on the languages of Europe, without commu- 
nicating his design almost to a single individual ; and a person might 
have spent whole weeks in his company without hearing a word of his 
favorite pursuits, or of the extent to which, in the department of phi- 
lology, he had carried his researches." Events, however, at last called 
him forth from this retirement, to win and for a short time to occupy 
a more conspicuous station.' 

In 1812, he was elected to the professorship of Oriental Lan- 
guages in the University of Edinburgh. His nomination to this 
higb office was accompanied by the warmest recommendations 
from a host of distinguished names. Scarcely, however, ha4 ^ 
time to fulfil the high expectations of his friends, and to show how 
admirably he was adapted for his new situation, when his brilliant 
career was cut short by an early death. On the 13th of April, 
1813, having been engaged during the day in bis studies, he retired 
in the evening to the bed from which he never rose ; and before 
the close of another day he was among the dead. 

* Thus perished in his thirty-eighth year one who, if he had lived 
longer, would probably have reared for himself many trophies, and 
•extended the bounds of human learning. His ambition had always 
been to perform in the field to which he more especially dedicated his 
powers, something worthy of remembrance ; and his latter years had 
been given to the composition of a work (his History of European 
Languages already mentioned) — ^which, if time had been allowed to 
finish it, would unquestionably have formed a Splendid monument of 
his ingenuity and learning. It has been published since his death, in 
So far as it could be recovered from his manuscripts ; and although, 
probably, very far from what it would have been had he lived to ar- 
range and complete it, is still a wonderful display of erudition, and an 
important contribution to philological literature. - 

Of Murray's short life scarcely half was passed amidst those oppor- 
tunities which usually lead to 9tudy and the acquisition of knowledge. 
The earlier portion of it was a continued struggle with every thing 
that tends most to repress intellectual exertion, and to extinguish the 
very desire of learning. Yet in all the poverty and the many other 
difficulties and discouragements with which he had for his first eighteen 
years to contend, he went on pursuing his work of self-cultivation, not 
only as eagerly and steadily, but almost as successfully as he after- 
ward did when surrounded by all the accommodations of study. It 
is a lesson that ought to teach us how independent the mind really is 
* *Literary History of Galloway,' by T. Mwmy, p. 3JM. 



160 On the pursuit of knowledge tinder difficuUies. 

of circumstances, which tyrannize over lis chiefly \hf ouyh our habits 
of submission, and by terrifying us with a mere show of unconquerable 
resistance. The worst are generally more formidable in their appear- 
ance than in their reality, and when courageously attacked are more 
than half overcome. Had there been any obstacles of a nature suffi- 
cient to check the onward course of this enterprising and extraordi- 
nary boy, how often would he have been turned back in the noble 
career upon which he had entered ! But one after another, as they 
met him, he set his foot upon and crushed ; and at last, afler years of 
patient, solitary, unremitting labour, and of hoping almost against pos- 
sibility, he wafr rewarded with all he had wished and toiled for.' 

Equally interesting^ is the history, and no less remarkable, the 
rise of one whose name is perhaps more generally known to our 
readers — ^the late editor of the British Quarterly Review. 

* William GiPFORD was born in 1765, at Ashburton, in Devonshire. 
His father, although the descendant of a respectable and^eyen wealthy 
family, had early ruined himself by his wildness and prodigality ; and 
even after he was married had run^offto sea, where he remained serv- 
ing on board a man-of-war for eight or nine year^. On his return 
home, with about a hundred pounds of prize money, he attempted to 
ob.tain a subsistence as a glazier, having before apprenticed himself 
to that business ; but in a few years he died of a broken-down consti- 
tution before he was forty, leaving his wife with two children, the 
youngest only about eight months old, and with no means of support 
except what she might make by continuing the business, of which she 
was quite ignorant. In about a twelvemonth she followed her husband 
to the grave. " I was not quite thirteen," says her son, " when this 
happened ; my little brother was hardly two ; and we had not a rela- 
tion nor a friend in the world." 

His brother was now sent to the workhouse, and he was himself 
taken home to the house of a person named Carlile, who was his god- 
father, and had seized upon whatever his mother had left, under the 
pretence of repaying himself for money which he had advanced to her. 
By this person, WilUam, who had before learned reading, writing, and 
a little arithmetic, was sent again to school, ^nd was beginning to 
make considerable progress in the last branch of study; but in about 
three months his patron grew tired of the expense, and took him home, 
with the view of employing him as a ploughboy. An injury, however, 
which he had received some years before, on his breast, was found to 
unfit him for this species of labour; and it was'next resolved that he 
should be sent out to Newfoundland to assist in a storehouse. But 
upon being presented to the person who had agreed to fit him out, he 
was declared to be " too small"^ — and tljis scheme also had to be aban- 
doned. ** My godfather,-*' says he," had now humbler views for me, 
and I had little heart to resist any thing. He proposed to send me on 
board one of the Torbay fishing boats : I ventured, however, to remon- 
strate against this, and the matter was compromised hf my consenting 
to go on board a coaster. A coaster was speedily found for me at 
Brixham, and thither I went when little more than thirteen.'* 
, In this vessel he remained for nearly a twelvemonth. " It wilt be 
easily conceived," he remarks, " that^my life was a life of hardship* 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficuUki. 161 

-1 was not only " a ship boj on the high and giddy mast/' but also in 
the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot ; yet, if I was resW 
less and discontented, I can safely say it was not so much on account 
of this, as of mj being precluded from all possibility of reading ; as my 
master did not possess, nor do I recollect seeing during the whole time 
of my abode with him, a single bpok of apy description except the 
« Coasting Pilot." 

While in this humble atuation, however, and seeming to himself 
almost an outcast from the world, be was not altogether forgotten. 
He had broken off all connection with Asbburton, and where his god- 
father lived ; but '* the women of Brixham," says he, ^' who travelled 
to Ashburton twice a week with fish, and who had known my parents, 
did not see me without kind concern, running about the beach in a 
ragged jacket and trowsers." They oden mentioned him to their 
acquaintances at Ashburton ; and the tale excited so much commisera- 
tion in the place^i that his god&ther at last found himself obliged to 
send for him home. At this time he wanted some months of fourteen.' 

Having returned to school, his progress was so rapid that he 
enterts^ned hopes of being able soon to support himself by teaching; 
and, as his first master was now grown old and infirm, and was not 
likely to hold out above three or four years, he fondly flattered 
himself that he might, notwithstanding Ins youth, be appointed to 
succeed him. Of the result, let us hear his own account, — 

<I was in my fifleenth year when I built these castles: a storm, 
however, was collecting, which unexpectedly burst upon me, and 
swept them all away. 

On mentioning my little plan to Carlile, he treated it with the 
utmost contempt ; and told me, in his turn, that, as I had learned 
enough, and more than enough, at school, he must be considered as 
having fairly discharged his duty; (so, indeed, he had ;) he added, that 
he had been negotiating with his cousin, a shoemaker of some respecta- 
bility, who had liberally agreed to take me without a fee as an appren- 
tice. I was so shocked at this intelligence that I did not remonstrate ; 
but went in suUenness and silence to my new master, to whom I was 
soon after bound,* till I should attain the age of twenty-one. 

Up to this period his reading had been very limited,' the only books 
he had perused, beside the Bible, with which he was well acquainted^ 
having been a black-letter romance, called Parismus and Parismehes, 
a few old magazines, and the Imitation of Thomas h. Kempis. " As 
I hated ray new profession," he continues, " with a perfect hatred, I 
made no progress in it; and was consequently little regarded in the 
family, of which I sunk by degrees into the common drudge : this did 
no.t much disquiet me, for my spirits were now humbled. I did not, 
however, quite resign my hope of one day succeeding to Mr. Hugh 
Smerdon, and therefore secretly prosecuted my favorite study at every 
interval of leisure. These intervals were not very frequent; and when 
the use I made of them was found out, they were rendered still less 
so. I could not guess the motives for this at first ; but at length I dis- 

* < My indenture, which now lies before me, is dated the Ut of January, 177^' 

14* 



162 On the pursuit of knowledge under difficuUie^. 

covered that my master destined his youngest son for the situation to 
which I aspired. 

I possessed at this time but one book in the world-: it was a treatise 
on algebra, given to me by a young woman, who had found it in a 
lodging house. I considered it as a treasure ; but it was a treasure 
locked up; for it supposed the reader to be well acquainted with 
simple equations, and I knew nothing of the matter. My master's son 
had purchased " Fenning's Introduction :" this was precisely what I 
wanted — but he carefully concealed it from me, and I was indebted 
to chance alone for stumbling upon his hiding place. I sat up for the 
greatest part of several nights successively, and, before he suspected 
that his treatise was discovered, had completely Mastered it. I «ould 
now enter upon my own ; and that xarried me pretty far into the 
science. This was not done without difficulty. I had not a farthing 
on earth, nor a friend to give me one: pen, ink, and paper, therefore, 
(in despite of the flippant remark of Lord Orford,) were, for the most 
part, as completely out of my reach as a crown and sceptre. There 
was, indeed, a resource ; but the utmost caution and secrecy were 
necessary in applying to it. I beat out pieces of leather as smooth 
as possible, and wrought my problems on them with a blunted awl ; 
for the rest, my memory was tenacious, and I could multiply and. 
divide by it to a great extent." 

No situation, it is obvious, could be more unfavorable for study 
than' this ; and yet we see how the eager student succeeded in tri- 
umphing over its disadvantages, contriving to write and calculate 
even without paper, pens, or ink, by the aid of a piece of leather and 
a blunted awl. Where there is a strong determination to attain an 
object, it is generally sufficient of ^ itself to create the means; and 
almost any means are sufficient. We mistake in supposing that there 
is only one way of doing a thing, namely, that in which it is commonly 
done. Whenever we have to prove it, we find how rich in resources 
is necessity; and how seldom it is that, in the absence of the ordinary 
instrument, she has not some neve invention to supply its place. This 
is a truth which studious poverty has often had experience of, and 
been all the better for experiencing; for difficulties so encountered 
and subdued not only whet ingenuity, but strengthen a man's whole 
intellectual and moral character, and fit him for struggles and achieve- 
ments in after life, from which other spirits less hardily trained turn 
aw^iy in despair. 

At last, however, GiffiDrd obtained some alleviation of his extreme 
penury. He had scarcely, he tells us, known poetry even by name, 
when some verses, composed by one pf his acquaintances, tempted 
him to try what he could do in the same style, and he succeeded in 
producing a few rhymes. • As successive little incidents inspired his 
humble muse, he produced several more compositions of a similar 
description, till he had got together about a dozen of them. " Cer- 
tainly," says he, ^^ nothing on earth waaever so deplorable ;" but-such 
as they were they procured him not a little fame among his associates, 
and he began at last to be sometimes invited to repeat them to other 
circles. " The repetitions of which I speak," he continues, *^ were, 
always attended with applause, and sometimes with favors more sub- 



On the pwrsnU of knowledge under d^culties. 163 

« 

Btantial; little collections were now and then made, and I have 
received sixpence in an evening. To one who had long lived in the 
absolute want of money, such a resource seemed a Peruvian mine : I 
furnished myself by degrees with paper, &c, and, what was of more 
importance, with books of geometry and of the higher branches of 
algebra, which I cautiously concealed. Poetry, even at this time, was 
no amusement of mine : it was subservient to other purposes ; and I 
only, had recourse to it when I wanted money for my mathematical 
pursuits." 

But even this resource was soon taken from him. His master, 
having heard of his verse making, was so incensed both at what he 
deemed the idleness of the occupation, and especially at some satirical 
allusions to himself, or his customers, upon which the young poet had 
unwisely ventured, that he seized upon and carried away all his books 
and papers, an4 even prohibited him in the strictest manner from ever 
again repeating a line of his compositions. This severe stroke was 
followed by another, which reduced him to utter despair. The master 
of the free school, to whom he had never resigned the hope of suc- 
ceeding, died, and another person was appointed to the situation, not 
much older than Gifford, and who, he says, was certainly not so well 
qualified for it as himself. *^ I look back," he proceeds, << on that part 
of my life wJhich immediately followed this.event with little satisfaction ; 
it was a period of gloom, and savage unsociability : by degrees I sunk 
into a kind of corporeal torpor ; or, if roused into activity by the spirit 
of youth, wasted the exertion in splenetic and vexatious tricks, which 
alienated the few acquaintances which compassion had yet left me." 

But his despondency and discontent seem to have gradually given 
way to the natural buoyancy of his disposition ; some evidences of 
kindly feeling from those around him tended a good deal to mitigate 
his recklessness ; and, especially as the term of his apprenticeship drew 
toward a close, his former aspirations and hopes began to return to him. 
He had spent, however, nearly six years at his uncongenial employ- 
ment, before any decided prospect of deliverance opened upon him. 
<< In this humble and obscure state," says he, <* poor beyond the com- 
mon lot, yet flattering my ambition with day dreams which perhaps 
would never have been realized, I was found, in the twentieth year of 
my age, by Mr. William Cookesley, — a name never to be pronounced 
by me without veneration. The lamentable doggrel which I have 
already mentioned, and which had passed from mouth to mouth among 
people of niy own degree, had by some accident or other reached his 
ear, and given him a curiosity to inquire after the author." Mr. Cookes- 
ley, who was a surgeon, and not rich, having learnt Gifibrd's history 
from himself, became so much interested in his favor, that he deter- 
mined to rescue him from his obscurity. '< The plan," says GifiTord, 
<< that occurred to him was naturally that which had so oAen suggested 
itself to me. There were^ indeed, several obstacles to be overcome. 
My hand writing was bad, and my language very incorrect ; but nothing 
could slacken the zeal of this excellent man. He procured a few of 
my poor attempts at rhyme, dispersed them among his friends and 
acquaintance, and, when my name was become somewhat familiar to 
them, set on foot a subscription for my relief. I still preserve the 



164 On the pursuit of knowkdge under diffkulties. 

original paper ; its title was oot very magnificeot, though it exceeded 
the most sanguine wishes of my heart. It ran thus : ^ A subscription 
for purchasing the remainder of the time of William Gifibrd, and for, 
enabling him to improve himself in writing and English grammar.' 
Few contributed more than five shillings, and none VFent beyond ten 
and sixpence,—- enough, however, was collected to free me from my 
apprenticeship,* and to maintain me for a few months, during which I 
assiduously attended the Rev. Thomas Smerdon." 

The rest of the story may be very compendiously told. The diffi- 
culties of the poor scholar were now over, for his patrons were so much 
pleased with ihe progress he made during this short period, that, upon 
its expiration, they renewed their bounty, and maintained him at school 
for another year. ^' Such liberality," he remarks, *< was not lost upon 
me ; I grew anxious to make the best return in my power, and I 
redoubled my diligence. Now that I am sunk into indolence, I look 
back with some degree of skepticism to the exertions of that period." 
In two years and two months from what he calls the day of his eman- 
cipation, he was pronounced by his master to be fit for the university ; 
and a small office having been obtained for him by Mr. Oookesley's 
exertions at Oxford, he^was entered of Exeter OoUege, that gentleman 
undertaking to provide the additional means necessary to enable him 
to live till he should take his degree! Mr. Gifibrd's first patron died 
before his proteg^ had time to fulfil the good man's fond anticipations 
of his future celebrity ; but he aflerward found, in Lord Grosvenor, 
another much more able, though it was impossible that any other could 
have shown more zeal, to advance his interests. A long and prosperous 
life, during which he acquired a distinguished name in the Hterary world, 
was the ample compensation for the humiliation and hardships of his 
youth.' 

To the names of these illustrious conquerors of disheartening 
circumstances, we may add those of Dr. John Pride aux, bishop 
of Worcester, whose parents were so poor that they were with 
difficulty able to keep nim at school until he had learned to read 
and write ; and who obtained the rest of his education by walking 
on foot to Oxford, and getting employment, in the first instance^ 
in the kitchen of Exeter College : of Sir Edmund Saunders, 
Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench, who was originally an 
errand boy at the Inns of Court : of Linnjeus, the founder of the 
science of botany, who was at first apprenticed to a shoemaker, 
and was only rescued from his humble employment by accidentally 
meeting a physician, who, struck with his intelligence, sent him to 
the university. 

But it may be urged by some, that although the original circum- 
stances of those whose examples we have cited, were indeed suffi- 
ciently unpromising, yet, by some dispensation of Providence, or 
freak of fortune, (as the phrase of some is,) they were all eventuaUy 
transplanted to soils eminently favorable to a hterary growth. 
.Without attemptmg to rebut, by any regular argument, the infer- 

* * The sam my master received was six pounds.' 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. 165 

ence which would be drawn from this, we would only remark, that 
though it is certdnly desirable to have the fostering hand of educa- 
tion to dig about the root of the tender plant, and to direct its first 
shootings ; and though the plant thus nurtured may arrive earlier 
at maturity, and be more beautiful in its proportions, yet has it 
often happened, that one which has sprung up on some untrodden 
wild, undisturbed by foreign aid, has attained a more vigorous 
growth, a hardier constitution, and. a longer life. There is a native 
energy in the human mind which, when once aroused, will sur- 
mount the most discouraging obstacles. In the catalogue of those 
whose names are known to fame, may be found many who have 
eminently exemplified the truth of our remark. And in presenting 
a few of these to our readers, we might place at their head the 
name of our own Franklin, but that his history is familiar to every 
American reader. We all know the obscurity of his origin, the 
vicissitudes of fortune through which he passed, the final success 
with which his exertions were crowned, and the honors which 
were lavished upon him by a grateful and admiring country. We 
prefer, therefore, to adduce ouier examples which, though no less 
remarkable, are less generally known. 

* Thomas Simpson was bom in the town of Market-Bosworth, in 
Leicestershire, in the year 1710. His father was a working stufi* weaver, 
and was either so poor, or so insensible to the importance of education, 
that, after keeping his son at school only so long as to enable him to 
make a very slight progress in reading, he took him home with the view 
of bringing him up (o his own trade. Thomas, however, had already 
acquired a passionate love of books, and was resolved at all hazards to 
make himself a scholar. So, beside contriving to teach himself writing, 
he read with the greatest eagerness every volume that came in his way, 
or that he could by any means procure ; and spent in this manner not 
only all his leisure,* but even occasionally a portion of the time whfch 
his father thought he ought to have employed at his work. Instead of 
giving any encouragement indeed to his son's fondness for study, his 
father did all in his power to cure him of what he deemed so idle and 
pernicious a propensity ; and at last, it is said, after many reprimands, 
forbade him even to open a book, and insisted upon his confining him- 
self to his loom the whole day. This injudicious severity, however, 
defeated its own object. The young man's repeated attempts to evade 
the harsh injunction that had been laid upon him, led to perpetual 
quarrels between himself and his father, till he was one day ordered 
by the latter to leave the house altogether, and to go seek his fortune 
where and in whatever way he chose. In this extremity he took refijge 
in the house of a tailor's widow, who let lodgings in the neighbouring 
village of Nuneaton, and with whose son, two years older than himself^ 
he had been previously acquainted. Here he contrived to maintain 
himself for a while by working at his business ; and had at least a little 
time to spare beside for his favorite enjoyment of reading, when he 
could any where borrow a book. It chanced, however, that, among 
other humble travellers who sometimes took up their abode with the 
widow, was a pedlar, who followed the profession of an astrologer and 



166 On the pursini of knowledge under d^fictdties. 

fortune teller, as well as that ofan itinerant merchant, and was acccHtl- 
ingly accounted a man of no little learning hy the rustics of those parts. 
Young Simpson's curiosity had been, some time before this, greatly 
excited by a remarkable eclipse of the sun, which happened on the 1 1th 
of May, 1724 ; but, if this was the incident that gave his mind its first 
bias toward the studies in which he afterwaid attained so high a dis* 
tinction, it was to his casual connection with the astrologer that he 
owed the rudiments of his scientific knowledge. This personage, with 
whom he had become very intimate, had, it appears, a few books relat- 
ing to the mystery he professed, and to the branches of real learning 
held to be connected with it. Among these were Cocker's *' Arithme- 
tic," which had, fortunately, a treatise on algebra bound up with it — 
as well as the less useful addition of a work written by Partridge, the 
famous almanac maker, on the calculation of nativities. Both these ' 
volumes, the pedlar^ on setting out upon a tour to Bristol, left in the 
hands of^ his young friend. These were the first scientific work^ Simp- 
son had ever had an opportunity of perusing, and they interested him 
exceedingly — even the book on nativities, notwithstanding the absurdi- 
ties it was filled with, probably not a little exciting his wonder and 
curiosity, both by its mysterious speculations on the prophetic language 
of the stars, and such spattered intimations as it afforded in regard to 
the sublime realities of astronomy. He studied his manuals with such 
ardour and assiduity, that the pedlar, upon returning from his excursion, 
was quite confounded at his progress ; and looked upon him as so mar- 
vellous a genius, that he proceeded forthwith to draw his horoscope, 
(to speak in the jargon of|the art,) or, in other words, to calculate the 
position of the planets on the day he was born, in order that he might 
ascertain the splendid destiny in store for him. He predicted, that in 
two years more this^miraculous pupil would actually turn out a greater 
philosopher than himself. Afler this, it cannot surprise us that our 
young aspirant should give himself to his occult studies with greater 
devotion than ever ; and we find him, in fact, ere long, commencing 
business as fortune teller on his own account, and rapidly rising in 
reputation in that capacity until he became the oracle of the whole 
neighbourhood. He now gave up working as a weaver ; but, to occupy 
his leisure, he added to his principal profession that of a schoolmaster : 
so that, his gains being now considerable, he looked upon himself as in 
the spcure high road to prosperity, and accordingly took to himself a 
wife in the person of his landlady, the tailor's widow, whom we have 
already mentioned. This was a somewhat singular match ; for, if the 
account commonly given of the lady be correct, which account makes 
her die in the year 1782, at the age of one hundred and two, she must 
have been at the time of this her second marriage about three times as 
old as her husband. Indeed, as we have already observed, she had 
(beside a daughter) a son by her former husband two years older than 
her new one. Nevertheless it is recorded, that she presented the latter 
with two successive additions to the family — ^the juvenile piMrtion of 
which (excluding thefather) naw consisted, therefore, of four individuals. 
It is necessary to mention these circumstances, in order to give a 
true picture of Simpson's situation at this period of his life, and of the 
multiplied difficulties through which he must have fought his way to the 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. 167 

eminence he eventually attained. No starting plaee for a literary 
career, one should think, could well be more awkward and hopeless, 
than that of a man who, beside many other disadvantages, had already 
a family to maintain before he had almost commenced his education, 
and no other means of doing so except a profession which necessarily 
excluded him from any association with the literary world in general, 
much more effectually than if he had eaten the bread of the humblest 
or most menial industry. It was quite necessary, indeed, that, if he was 
ever to give himself a chance either of advancement or respectability, 
he should exchange his trade of a fortune teller and conjurer for some 
more reputable vocation, even although it should be, at the same time, 
a more laborious and less lucrative one. This desirable result, in fact, 
was at last brought about by one of those accidents, which so oflen in 
human life bring with them d. temporary inconvenience only to turn a 
man into some path of permanent prosperity, which, but for this com- 
pulsion, he would have overlooked or never entered. Among the cre- 
dulous persons who applied to Simpson to resolve, by his art, their 
doubts and misgivings touching the distant or the future, was a young 
girl, whose sweetheart, a sailor, was at the time at sea, and who wished 
to learn what be was about, either by having him presented to her in 
vision, or by a conference with a spirit who might be able to give her 
the requisite information. It was resolved, therefore, to use the jargon 
of imposture, to raise a spirit ; and^ for this purpose, a confederate of 
the conjurer's was attired in certain tefrific habiliments, and concealed 
among a quantity of straw in the comer of a hay lofl, that he might 
step forth on due invocation. The sublime, however, had been carried 
a little too far in the decoration of this figure ; for so^ passing hideous 
was the apparition, that it actually drove the poor girl almost out of her 
senses, and sent her off in such a state of illness and distraction that 
for some time her life was despaired of. The popular feeling was so 
strongly excited against Simpson by this misadventure, that he was 
obliged to leave that part of the country altogether ; upon which he fled 
to the town of Derby, about thirty miles distant, determined to^have 
nothing more to do with conjuring. Here he wisely returned to his 
originsd occupation of a weaver; and joining to his labours at the loom 
during the day, the teaching of a school at night, contrived for some 
time, though with much difBculty, to earn in this way a scanty subsisti- 
ence for himself and his family. 

It was during his residence at Derby, amid the fatigues of hard and 
unceasing labour, and the cares and vexations of poverty, that this 
extraordinary man made his most important advances in scientific 
knowledge. His principal source of. information was the ''Ladies' 
Diary,"* of which he was a regular and attentive reader. It was in this 
publication that he first read of that branch of mathematical learning 
called Fluxions^ or the Differential Calculus, the recent discovery of 
sir Isaac Newton and Leibnitz ; but the places in which it was noticed 
scarcely informed him of more than its name, and its immense import- 
ance in all the higher investigations of mathematics. But this was 
enough for such a mind as his. He determined to make himself master* 
of the subject, and could not rest until be had possessed himself of the 

'*' A celebrated matheniatical periodical. 



168 (hi the purmi of knatoledge under difficulties. 

means of commencing the study of it The only treatise on fluxions 
which had at that time appeared in English, was a work by an author 
of the name of Hayes ; but it was a dear and somewhat scarce bookj 
so that he found it impossible to procure a copy of it. Fortunatelyi 
however, in the year 1730 appeared Edmund Stone's Translation, of 
the Marquis de PH6pital's French work on the subject. This Simpson 
borrowed from a friend ; and, immediately setting about the study of it 
with his characteristic ardour, prosecuted it with so much success that 
he not only made himself in a short time familiar with the new science, 
but qualified himself to compose a work of his own upon it, which, 
when published a few years aher, turned out to be much more complete 
and valuable than either that of Hayes or that of Stone. .When he had 
finished this performance, he set out for London, leaving his wife and 
family in the mean time at Derby. He reached the capital without 
even a letter of introduction, and with scarcely any thing except his 
manuscript in his pocket. He was at this time in his twenty-fiflh.or 
twenty-sixth year. Having established himself in humble lodgings in 
the neighbourhood of Spitalfields, he maintained himself in the first 
instance, as he had been wont to do in the country, by working at his 
trade during the day, while he occupied his evenings in teaching mathe- 
matics to such pupils as he could procure. In this latter employment, 
his engaging method of instruction, and admirable talent for explaining 
and simplifying the difficulties of his subject, in a short time procured 
him notice and friends ; and hid success was so considerable, that he 
was enabled to bring his family to town. He now also ventured to 
announce the publication of his <^ Treatise on Fluxions," by subscrip- 
tion ; and it accordingly appeared in quarto, in the year 1737. From 
this era, his fortunes and his celebrity went on steadily advancing.' 

< Among self-educated men there are few who claim more of our 
admiration than the celebrated James Ferguson. If ever any one 
was literally his own instructer in the very elements of knowledge, it 
was he. Acquisitions that have scarcely in any other case, and probably 
never by one so young, been made without the assistance either of 
books or a Uving teacher, were the discoveries of his solitary and almost 
illiterate boyhood. There are few more interesting narratives in any 
language than the account which Ferguson himself has given of his early 
history. He was born in the year 1710, a few miles from the village of 
Keith, in Banfishire, [Scotland ;] his parents, as he tells us, being in 
the humblest condition of life (for his father was merely a day labourer,) 
but religious and honest. It was his father's practice to teach his 
children himself to read and write, as they successively reached what 
he deemed the proper age ; but James was too impatient to wait till 
his regular turn came. While his father was teaching one of his elder 
brothers, James was secretly occupied in listening to what was going 
on ; and, as soon as he was left alone, used to get hold x)f the book and 
work hard in endeavouring to master the lesson which he had thus 
heard gone over. Being ashamed, as he says, to let his father know 
what he was about, he was wont to apply to an old woman who lived 
in a neighbouring cottage to solve his difficulties. In this way he 
actually learned to read tolerably well before his father had any susih- 
cion that he knew his letters. His father at last, very much to his sur- 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, 169 

prise, detected him one day reading hy himself, and thus found out his 
secret. 

When he was abouT seven or eight years of age» a simple incident 
occurred which seems to have given his mind its first bias to what 
became aflert^ard its favorite kind of pursuit. The roof of the cottage 
having partly fallen in, his father., in order to raise it again, applied to 
it d^ beam, resting on a prop in the manner of a lever, and was thus 
enabled, with comparative ease, to produce what seemed i9 his son 
quite a stupendous efiect. The circumstance set our young philosopher 
thinking ; and, after a while, it struck him that his father in using the 
beam had applied his strength to its extremity, and this, he immediately 
concluded, was probably an important circumstance in the matter. He 
proceeded to verify his notion by experiment ; and having made several 
levers, which he called bars, soon not only found that he was right in 
his conjecture, as to the importance of applying the moving force at 
the point most distant from the fulcrum, but discovered the rule or law 
of the machine, namely, that the effect of any form or weight made to 
bear upon it is always exactly proportioned to the distance of the point 
on which it rests from the fulcrum. " I then," says he, ** thought that 
it was a great pity that by means of this bar, a weight could be raised 
but a very little way. On this, I soon imagined that by pulling round a 
wheel, the weight might be raised to any height, by tying a rope to the 
weight, and winding the rope round the axle of the wheel ; and that the 
power gained must be just as great as the wheel was broader than the 
axle was thick ; and found it to be ex^tly so, by hanging one weight 
to a rope put round the wheel, and another to the rope that coiled 
round the axle." The child had thus, it wUi be observed, actually dis- 
covered two of the most important elementary truths in mechanics — 
the lever, and the wheel and axle ; he afterward hit upon others ; and, 
all the while, he had not only possessed neither book nor teacher t« 
assist him, but was without any other tools than a simple turning lathe 
of his father's, and a little knife wherewith to fashion his blocks and 
wheels, and the other contrivances he needed for his experiments. 
After having made his discoveries, however, he next, he tells us, pro- 
ceeded to write an account of them ; thinking his little work, which 
contained sketches of the different machines drawn with a pen, to be 
the first treatise ever composed of the sort. When, some time afler, 
a gentleman showed him the whole in a printed book, although he found 
that he had been anticipated in his inventions, he was much pleased, as 
he was well entitled to be, on thus perceiving that his unaided genius 
had already carried him so far into what was acknowledged to be the 
region of true philosophy.' 

Some of his earlier years were spent in keeping sheep ; at which 
time his attention was turned to the study of astronomy, a study in 
which he ever afterward took the greatest delight 

'After the labours of the day, young Ferguson used to go at night 
to the fields, with a blanket about him and a lighted candle, and Utere, 
laying himself down on his back, pursued for long hours his observa- 
tions on the heavenly bodies. " I used to stretch," says he, " a thread 
with small beads on it, at arms length, between my eye and the stars ; 

Vol. Ill,— .V^/, 1832. 16 



170 On the purtuit of knowledge under difficulties. 

ftliding the beads upon it, till they hid such and such stars from mj eye, 
^n order to take their apparent distances from one another ; and then 
laying the thread down on a paper, I marked the stars thereon by the 
beads." '< My master," he adds, *' at first laughed at me ; but when I 
explained my meaning to him, he encouraged me to go on ; and, that I 
might make fair copies in the day time of what I had done in the night, 
he of\en worked for me himself. I shall always have a respect for the 
memory of that man." ' 

From an intelligent and obliging friend to whom he had been 
introduced, Ferguson received instructions in decimal fractions 
and algebra, having already made himself master of vulgar arith- 
metic, by the assistance of books. Scarcely, however, had he time 
to learn the value of such an instnicter, when he was compelled to 
part with him. 

* His friend, on parting, had made him a present of a copy of Gor- 
don's Geographical Grammar. The book contains a description of an 
artificial globe, which is not, however, illustrated by any figure. Never- 
theless, " from this description," says Ferguson, << I made a globe in 
three weeks at my father's, having turned the ball thereof out of a piece 
of wood ; which ball I covered with paper, and delineated a map of the 
world upon it ; made the meridian ring and horizon of wood, covered 
them with paper, and graduated them ; and was happy to find that by 
my globe (which was the first I ever saw) I could solve the problems." ' 

From the cruelty of a master, into whose service he had entered, 
he received such bodily injury that he was confined to his bed for 
two months after his return home. 

* Reduced as he was, however, by exhaustion and actual pain, lie 
could not be idle. " In order," says he, " to amuse myself in this low 
state, I made a wooden clock, the frame of which was also of wood, 
and it kept time pretty well. The bell on which the hammer struck the 
hours was the neck of a broken bottle." A short time afler this, when 
he had recovered his health, he gave a still more extraordinary proof 
of his ingenuity, and the fertility of his resources for mechanical inven- 
tion,- by actually constructing a timepiece, or watch, moved by a spring. 
But we must allow him to give the history of this matter in his own 
words : — 

" Having then," he says, " no idea how any timepiece could go but 
by a weight and a line, I wondered how a watch could go in all posi- 
tions ; and was sorry that I had never thought of asking Mr. Cantley, 
who could very easily have informed me. But happening one day to 
see a gentleman ride by my father's house (which was close by a pubUc 
road,) I asked him what o'clock it then was 1 He looked at his watch 
and told me. As he did that with so much good nature, I begged of 
him to show me the inside of his watch ; and though he vms an entire 
stranger, he immediately opened the watch, and put it into my hands. 
I saw the spring box, with part of the chain round it ; and asked him 
whai4t was that made the box turn round t He told me that it was 
turned round by a steel spring within It. Having then never seen any 
odier spring than that of my ftither's gun lock, I asked how a spring 
within a box could turn the box so oAen round as to wind all the chain 



On the pursuit of knowledge under diffktdHei. 171 

upon it ? He answered, that the spring was long and-thin ; that one end 
of it was fastened to the axis of the box, and the other end to the inside 
of the box ; that the axis was fixed, and the box was loose upon it. . I 
told him that I did not yet thoroughly understand the matter. 'Well, 
my lad,' says he, < take a long, thin piece of whalebone ; hold one end 
of it fast between your finger and thumb, and wind it round your finger ; 
it will then endeavour to unwind itself; and if you fix the other end of 
it to the inside of a small hoop, and leave it to itself, it will turn the 
hoop round and round, and wind up a thread tied to the outside of the 
hoop.' I thanked the gentleman, and told him that' I understood the 
thing very well. I then tried to make a watch with wooden wheels, 
and made the spring of whalebone ; but found that I could not make 
the wheel go when the balance was put on, because the teeth of the 
wheels were rather too weak to bear the force of a spring sufficient to 
move the balance ; although the wheels would run fast enough when 
the balance was taken oflT. I enclosed the whole in a wooden case, 
very little bigger than a breakfast teacup ; but a clumsy neighbour one 
day looking at my watch, happened to let it fall, and turning hastily 
about to pick it up, set his foot upon it, and crushed it all to pieces ; 
which so provoked my father, that he was almost ready to beat the man, 
and discouraged me so much, that I never attempted to make such 
another machine again, especially as I was thoroughly convinced I 
could never make one that would be of any real use." ' 

Having supported himself for some time by performmg for his 
neighbours various little services for which his ingenuity fitted him, 
he was at length enabled, by the liberality of his friends, to remove 
:to Edinburgh, in order to practise the art of painting, for which he 
had considerable natural talent. In this he succeeded beyond his 
most sanguine expectations. Yet, although he followed this business 
for twenty-six years, he seems never to have been much attached 
to it. Astronomy was his favorite pursuit. 

* Having introduced himself to the celebrated Maclaurin, he found in 
him a zealous patron, and one extremely disposed to assist him in his 
philosophical studies. One day Ferguson having asked the professor 
to show him his orrery, the latter immediately compUed with his request, 
in so far as to exhibit to him the outward movements of the machine, 
but would not venture to open it in order to get at the wheel work, 
which he had never himself inspected, being afraid that he should not 
be able to put it to rights again if he should chance to displace any part 
of it. Ferguson, however, had seen enough to set his ingenious and 
contriving mind to work ; and in a short time he succeeded in finishing 
an orrery of his own, and had the honor of reading a lecture on it to 
Maclaui^u^'s pupils. He some time after made another of ivory (his first 
had been of wood ;) and in the course of his life he constructed, he tells 
us, six more, all unlike each qther. 

His mind was now becoming every day more attached to philosophi- 
cal pursuits; and, quite tired, as he says, of drawing pictures, in which 
he never strove to excel, he resolved to go to London, in the hope of 
finding employment as a teacher of mechanics and astronomy. Having 
written out a proof of a new astronomical truth which had occurred to 



ITS On the punmt of knowledge under diffiadtws. 

hiiD| namely, that the moon must move always m a path concave to 
the sun, he^showed his proposition and its demonstration to Mr. Folkes, 
the president of the Royal Society, who thereupon took him the same 
evening to the meeting of that learned body. This had the effect of 
bringing him immediately into notice. 

In 1748 he began to give public lectures on his favorite subjects, 
which were numerously and fashionably attended, his late majesty, 
George III, who was then a boy, being occasionally among his 
auditors. He had till now continued to work at his old profession of 
a portrait painter ; but ptbout this time he at last bade it a final fare- 
well, having secured another, and, in his estimation, a much more 
agreeable means of providing a subsistence for himself and his family. 
Soon after the accession of George III, a pension of fifly pounds per 
annum was bestowed upon him from the privy purse. In 1763 he was 
elected a Fellow of the Royal Society; the usual fees being remitted, 
as had been done in the cases of Newton and Thomas Simpson. He 
died in 1776, having for many years enjoyed a distinguished reputa- 
tion both at home and abroad : for several of his works had been 
translated into foreign languages^ and were admired throughout Eu- 
rope for the simplicity and ingenuity of their elucidations. Of his 
Dialogues on Astronomy, Madame de Genlis says, '^ This book is 
Written with so much clearness, that a child of ten years old may 
Wderstand it perfectly from one end to the other." ' 

To these instances of zealous and honorable devotion to litera- 
ture and science, in men of humble station, and of their success in 
enconntering all difficulties, we subjoin the following anecdote of 
Edmund Stone, a mathematician of some eminence, not so much 
with a view of adding the weight of his example, although h^ too 
was self-educated, as because it describes in an interesting manner 
the course which all, in similar circumstances, have pursued, in 
order to attain a similar object. 

^ His father, we are told by the Chevalier Ramsay, was gardener to 
the duke of Argyle, who, walking one day in his garden, observed a 
Latin copy of Newton's ^^Principia" lying on the grass, and thinking 
it had been brought from his own library, called some one to carry it 
back to its place. " Upon this," (the narrative proceeds) " Stone, who 
was then in his eighteenth year, claimed the book as his own. 'Yours?' 
replied the duke. ' Do you understand geometry, Latin, and Newton?' 
' I know a little of them,' replied the young man. The duke was sur- 
prised ; and, having a taste for the sciences, he entered into conversa- 
tion with the young mathematician. He asked him several questions ; 
and was astonished at the force, the accuracy, and the candour of his 
answers. < But how,' said the duke, ' came you by the knowledge of 
all these things? Stone replied, ' A servant taught me^ ten years since, 
to read. Does one need to know any thing more than the twenty-four 
lei#ers in order to learn every thing else that one wishes V The duke's 
ouribsity redoubled : he sat down on a bank, and requested a detail of 
the whole process by which he had become so learnedf * 

^ I first learned to read,' said Stone ; ' the masons were then at work 
upon your house. I approached them one day, and observed that the 



Oh the pursuit of knowledge under d^fieuIHes. 173 

architect used a rule and compasses, and that he made calculations* 
I inquired what might be the meaning and use of these things, and I 
was informed that there was a science called arithmetic. I purchased 
a book of arithmetic, and I learnecf it. I was told there was another 
science called geometry; I bought the necessary books, and I learned 
geomiBtry. By reading, I found thiit there were good books in these 
two sciences in Latin ; I bought a dictionary, and I learned Latin. I 
understood, also, that there were good books of the same kind ia 
French ; I bought a dictionary, and I learned French. And this, my 
lord, is what I have done : it seems to me that we may learn every 
thing when we know the twenty-four letters of the alphabet." ' 

Such were a few of those illustrious worthies, who, though their 
lot was originally cast in the humbled stations, rose, many of them 
without aid, to stations more eminent and more»enviable than any 
which wealth or birth can confer. And who that is sensible of the 
true source of the excellence of bur nature, can contemplate, with- 
out admiration, these triumphs of the mind over fortune ? What 
shall we say, then, when we see men, in addition to the obstacles 
which their circumstances have thrown in their way, combatting 
nature herself, and not deterred from the pursuit of knowledge by 
physical defects which close its most important avenues to the 
mind. But even such are not wanting. The names of many 
m^ht be produced, who, though labouring imder that severest of 
all physical deprivations — blindness, have attained distinguished 
eminence in intellectual pursuits. One or two may suffice on the 
present occasion. 

* Nicholas Saunderson was born at the village of Thurston, in 
Yorkshire, England, in 16S2. He was only a year old, when he was 
deprived, by small-pox, not only of his sight, but even of his eyes them- 
selves, which were destroyed by abscess. Yet it was probably to this 
apparent misfortune that Saunderson chiefly owed both a good educa- 
tion, and the leisure he enjoyed, from his earliest years, for the culti- 
vation of his mind and the acquisition of knowledge. He was sent 
when very young to the free school at Penniston, in the neighbourhood 
of his native place ; and here, notwithstanding the mighty disadvan- 
tage under which it would seem that he must have contended with 
his schoolfellows, he soon distinguished htaiself by his proficiency in 
Greek and Latin. It is to be regretted that we have no account of 
the mode of teaching that was adopted by his master in so singular a 
case, or the manner in which the poor boy contrived to pursue his 
studies in the absence of that sovereign organ to which the mind is 
wont to be chieflr indebted for knowledge. Some one must have read 
the lesson to him, till his memory, strengthened by the habit and the 
necessity of exertion, had obtained complete possession of it, and the 
mind, as it were, had' made a book for itself, which it could read 
without the assistance of the eye. At all events, it is certain that the 
progress he made in this part of his education was such as is not often 
equalled, even by those to whom nature has given all the ordinary 
means of study ; for he acquired so great a familiarity with the Greek 
language, as to be in the habit of having the works-written in it read 

15* 



174 On the pursuit of knowledge under difficultiei. 

to him, and following the meaning of the author as if the composition 
had been in English, while he showed his perfect mastery over the 
Latin, on many occasions in the course of his life, by both dictating 
and speaking it with the utmost* fluency and command of expres* 
sion. 

On being brought home from school, young Saunderson was taught 
arithmetic by his father, and soon evinced as remarkable an aptitude 
for this new study as he had done for that of the ancient languages. 
A gentleman residing in the neighbourhood of his native village gave 
him his first lessons in geometry ; and he received additional instruc- 
tion from other individuals, to whose notice his unfortunate situation 
and rare talents introduced him. But he soon got beyond all his mas- 
ter?, and lefl the most learned of them without any thing more to 
• teach him. He then pursued his studies for some time by himself, 
needing no other assistance than a good author and some one to read 
to him. It was in this way he made himself acquainted with the works 
of U^e old Greek mathematicians, Euclid, Archimedes, and Diophantus, 
which he had read to him in the original. 

But he was still without a profession, or any apparent resource by 
which he might support himself through life, although he had already 
reached his twenty-fourth or tweaty-fifth year. His own wish was to 
go to the university; but the circumstances of his father, who held a 
place in the excise, did not enable him to gratify this ambition. At 
last, however, it was resolved that he should proceed to Cambridge, 
not in the character of a student, but to open classes for teaching 
mathematics and natural philosophy. Accordingly, in the year 1707, 
he made his appearance in that university, under the protection of a 
friend, one of the fellows of Christ's College. 

His ability and success as a teacher continued and augmented that 
crowded attendance of pupils, which, in the first instance, he had 
owed perhaps principally to the mere curiosity of the public. Every 
succeeding university examination afforded additional evidence of the 
benefit derived from his prelections. His merits, consequently^, were 
not long in being appreciated both at Cambridge and among scientific 
men in general. He obtained the acquaintance of Sir Isaac Newton, 
his veneration for whom was repaid by that illustrious philosopher 
with so much regard, that when Whiston was expelled from his chair 
in 1711, Sir Isaac exerted himself with all his influence to obtain the 
vacant situation for Saunderson. On this occasion, too, the heads of 
colleges applied to the crown in his behalf, to issue a mandate for 
conferring upon him the degree of Master of Arts, as a necessary 
prefiminar]( to his election ; and their request being complied with, he 
was appointed to the professorship. From this time Saunderson gave 
himself up almost entirely to his pupils. Of his future history we need 
only relate that he married in 1723, and was created Doctor of Laws 
in 1728, on a visit of George II. to the university, on which occasion 
he delivered a Latin oration of distinguished eloquence. He died in 
1739, in the 57th year of his age, leaving a son and daughter.' 

In connection with the name of Sanndel^on, we take gr^at 
pleasure in mentioning that of a countryman of our own, who, 
labouring under the same misfortune^ pursued a similar honorable 



On the pursuit of knmokdge under difficulHes. 175 

&nd successful course, — ^the late Mr. Nelson, Classical Professor 
in Rutger's College, New Jersey. The foUowing tribute is paid 
to his memory by the Rev. Professor M'Vick^r, in his very interest* 
ing biography of the late Rev. Edmund D. Griiffin. 

' The life of Mr. Nelson was a striking exemplification of that reso- 
lution which conquers fortune. Total blindness, after a long, gradual 
advance, came upon him about his twentieth year, when terminating 
his college course. It found him poor, and left him to all appearance 
both pennyless*and wretched, with two sisters to maintain, without 
money, without friends, without a profession, and without sight. 
Under such an accumulation of griefs most minds would have sunk, 
but with him it was otherwise. At all times proud and resolute, his 
spirit rose at once into what might well be termed a fierceness of inde- 
pendence. He resolved within himself to be indebted for support to 
no hand but his own. His classic education, which, from his feeble 
vision, had been necessarily imperfect, he now determined to cont- 
plete, and immediately entered upon the apparently hopeless task, 
with a view to fit himself as a teacher of youth. He instructed his 
sisters in the pronunciation of Greek and Latin, and employed t)ne or 
other constantly in the task of reading aloud to him the classics usually ' 
taught in the schools. A iiaturalfy faithful memory, spurred on by 
such strong dxcitement, performed its oft repeated miracles ; and in 
a space oS time incredibly short, he became master of their contents, 
even to the minutest points of critical reading. In illustration of this, 
the author remembers on one occasion, that a dispute having arisen 
between Mr. N. and the classical professor of the college, as to the 
construction of a passage in Virgil, from which his students were recit- 
ing, the professor appealed to the circumstance of a comma in the 
sentence as conclusive of the question. " True," said Mr. N., colour- 
ing with strong emotion ; " but permit me to observe," added he, turn- 
'ing his sightless eyeballs toward the book he held in his hand, " that 
in my Heyne edition it is a colon, and not a comma." At this period, 
a gentleman, who incidentally became acquainted with his history, in 
a feeling somewhere between pity and confidence, placed his two sons 
under his charge, with a view to enable him to try the experiment. 
A few months trial was sufiicient ; he then fearlessly appeared before 
the public, and at once challenged a comparison with the best esta- 
blished classical schools of the city. The novelty and boldness of tlie 
attempt attracted general attention ; the lofty confidence he displayed 
in himself excited respect ; and soon his untiring assiduity, his real 
knowledge, and a burning zeal, which, knowing'no bounds in his own 
devotion to his scholars, awakened somewhat of a correspionding spirit 
in their minds, completed the conquest. His reputation spread daily, 
scholars flocked to him in crowds, competition sunk before him, and 
in the course of a very few years he found himself in the enjoyment 
of an income superior to that of any college patronage in the United 
States — witk to him the infinitely higher gratification of having riaett 
above the pity of the world, and fought his own blind way to honor- 
able independence. Nor was this all : he had succeeded in placing 
classical education on higher ground than any of his predecessors or 
contemporaries had done ; and he felt proud to think that he was in 



176 On the pursuU of knowledge under difficuUki. 

some measure a benefactor to that college which a few years before 
he had entered in poverty and quitted in blindness.'* 

Thus have we presented to our readers, in as brief a manner as 
the nature of the subject would admit, an account of some of the 
most remarkable men who, in the pursuit of knowlec^e, have suc« 
cessfuUy struggled with the most aiscouraging obstacles. And as 
this article has already been protracted to a greater length than we 
had originally designed, we snail swell it with no fa^^her reflections 
of our own, but simply subjoin the following just and appropriate 
remarks, which we find in the volume to which we have been 
indebted for most of our materials, f 

^ Originally, all human knowledge was nothing more than the 
knowledge of a comparatively small number of simple facts. All 
the rest of our knowledge, and these first rudiments of it also, a 
succession of individuals have gradually discovered in separate por- 
tions, by their own efforts, Bnd without having any teacher to in- 
struct them. In other words, every thing that is actually known 
has been found out and learned by some person or other, without 
the aid of an instructer. This is the first consideration for all those 
who aspire, in the present day, to be their own instructers in any 
branch of science or literature. Furnished as society now is, in all 
its departments, with accommodations in aid of intellectual exertion, 
such as, in some respects, even the highest station and the greatest 
wealth in former times could not command, it may be safely assert- 
ed, that hardly any unassisted student can have at present difficulties 
to eocaunter, equal to those which have been a thousand times 

f* The case of the celebrated Didtmus, of the renowned school of Alexandria) in 
Eeypt, after the time of Origen, is very analagous to that of Mr. Nelson, above 
related, yet still tnore remarkable. Mr. Nelson did not lose his sight till ' about his 
twentieth year, when terminatinc his college course,' and when, consec[uently, he 
had already received a very considerable share of education ; whereas Didymus lost 
his sight when only about five years of age. Yet he lived to become an eminent 
scholar, and president of the famous school of Alexandria ; as Mr. Nelson did to 
become a professor in the respectable college above mentioned. The account of 
Didymua which follows, is extracted from the Occasional Sermons of Robinson, of 
Cambridge. 

' This child lost his sif ht when he was about five years of age. He had pleased 
himself with the hope of becoming a scholar, and had enjoyed his sicht lon^ enough 
to learn the meignitude of his loss. When his heart was ready to burst with grief, 
he heard someb^v read the nineteenth of Matthew, where the Lord speaks of the 
difficulty of the salvation of a rich man, and makes use of these wordsy toUh men this 
is impoisible, biU with God aU things are possible. His troubled heart laid hold of the 
last words, v>ith God all things are possiHe, and he became a petitioner toGod to 
repair his loss by enlightening his mind. A friend said, Be not uneasy, Didymus, 
for though it hath pleased Providence to deprive you of natural sight, such as flies 
and other little animals enjoy, yet he hath given ^ou such powers as those with 
which angels behold the majesty of God. In brief^ Didymus by indefati^ble 
attention oecame a scholar, eminent in several sciences, so that he was appointed 
to preside in the school, where he educated many, who were afterward great men. 
He dictated and published many books, and in very advanced age, some say his 
ninety-third year, he departed this life adorned with reputation by his survi- 
vors.' — ^Edit.] 

t Library of Entertaining Knowledge, published under the superintendoQCO of 
the Society for the diffusion of useful Knowledge. 



On the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, 177 

already triumphantly overcome by others. Abore all, books, and 
especially elementary books, have, in our day, been multiplied to 
an extent that puts them within the reach almost of the poorest 
student ; and books, after all, are, at least to the more mature un- 
derstanding, and in regard to such subjects as they are fitted to 
explain, the best teachers. He who can read, and is possessed of 
a good elementary treatise on the science he wishes to learn, hardly, 
in truth, needs a master. With only this assistance, and sometimes 
with hardly this, some of the greatest scholars and philosophers that 
ever appeared have formed themselves. And let him who, smitten 
by the love of knowledge, may yet conceive himself to be on any 
account unfortunately circumstanced for the business of mental 
cultivation, bethink him how often the eager student has triumphed 
over a host of impediments, much more formidable in all probability 
than any by which he is surrounded. Want of leisure, want of 
instructers, want of books, poverty, ill health, imprisonment, uncon- 
genial or distracting occupations, the force of opposing example, 
the discouragement of friends or relations, the depressing considera- 
tion that the better part of life was already spent and gone, — ^these 
have all, separately or in various combinations, exerted their influ- 
ence either to check the pursuit of knowledge, or to prevent the 
very desire of it from springing up. But they exerted this influence 
in vain. Here then is enough both of encouragement and of direc- 
tion for all. To the illustrious vanquishers of fortune, whose triumphs 
we have recorded, we would point as guides for all who, similarly 
circumstanced, may aspire to follow in the same honorable path. 
Their lives are lessons that cannot be read without profit ; nor are 
they lessons for the perusal of one class of society only. All, even 
those who are seemingly the most happily situated for the cultiva- 
tion of their minds, may derive a stimulus from such anecdotes. 
No situation, in truth, is altogether without its unfavorable influ- 
ences. If there be not poverty to crush, there may be wealth and 
ease to relax the spirit He who is left to educate himself in every 
thing, may have many difficulties to struggle with ; but ha who is 
saved every struggle is perhaps still more unfortunate. If one mind 
be in danger of starving for want of books, another may be surfeited 
by too .many. If, again, a laborious occupation leave to some but 
little time for study, there are temptations, it should be remembered, 
attendant upon rank and afBuence, which are to the full as hard to 
escape from as any occupation. If, however, there be any one who 
stands free, or comparatively free, from every kind of impediment 
to the cultivation of his intellectual faculties,' surely he must be 
utterly inexcusable if he do not acquire such an extent of know- 
ledge, as shall afford aliever-failing source of benefit and pleasure 
to himself, and of usefulness to society. 



178 



METHODIST HYMNS. 

extracted chiefly from the Weeleyan Methodist M mgatine. 

The first Christians were directed, by Apostolical authority, to 
* let the word of Christ dwell in them richly in all wisdom ; teach- 
ing and admonishing one another,' and at the same time ^ speaking 
to themselves,' ^ in psalms and hynms and spiritual songs, singing 
with grace, in their hearts to the Lord,' and thus * making melody' 
to him ; Eph. v, 19 ; Col. iii, 16. It will be observed, that what- 
ever form of versification might be employed, the * word,' that is, 
the doctrine^ * of Christ' was to be the subject of their songs. By 
this is to be understood the system of evangelical truth ; which is 
denominated * the doctrine of Christ,' not only because it relates 
directly to his person and mediatorial work, but because it ema- 
nated from him. He taught it, in the first instance by his personal 
ministry ; and it was afterward more fully declared to the church 
and the world by Apostles whom he appointed to that work, and 
who preached and wrote under his immediate sanction and autho- 
rity. In various kinds of metrical composition, settmg forth in har- 
monious and elevated strains the glorious doctrines of Christian 
truth, the followers of Christ were to address themselves and each 
other, in order to their mutual comfort and edification ; exciting in 
each other's minds holy thoughts and feelings, stimulating each 
other to the cultivation of a. joyous hope, and to cheerful diligence 
in the various duties of life and of religion. Under the full influence 
of the Holy Spirit, and in the exercise of every heavenly and devout 
affection, they were also to celebrate the praises of their Creator, 
Redeemer, and Sanctifier; and especially, the incarnation, the 
merit, the intercession, the grace, the fidelity, the glory, the power, 
the mediatorial reign, of the Son of God. In their addresses to the 
Lord, the * melody' of the * heart' was to be carefully maintained ; 
formal songs, as well as formal pravers, were to be guarded against; 
and every mental chord, attuned by divine grace, was to vibrate to 
the love of Christ, and * make music for the King of kings.' In all 
acts of social worship, heart was to respond to heart ; and the same 
spirit of faith and love to animate and direct the united assembly. 
The spirituality, the simplicity, the affection, the holy fervour, thus 
inculcated upon the early churches, constituted some of the most 
prominent peculiarities of their character, and are not obscurely 
mtimated in the celebrated letter of the Heathen Pliny to Trajan ; in 
which he states, concerning the persecuted Christians in Bithynia, 
that ' they were accustomed on a stated day to meet before day- 
light, and to repeal among themselves a hymn to Christ as to a God, 
and to bind themselves by an oath, with an obligation of not com- 
mitting any wickedness.' 

The example of the early Christians, as to devotional singing, 
and the use of sacred verse, has been strictly followed by the Me- 
thodist societies from their origin. The Messrs. John and Charles 



Methodist Hymns. 179 

Wesley, who had the honor of forming those societies, belonged to 
a family, several members of which were distinguished by learning 
and genius. Their father and elder brother were both men of 
profound erudition, and of considerable poetical talent. The two 
brothers whom Providence raised up as the founders of Methodism 
were not inferior to them in either of these respects ; and in the 
faithful application of their talents and acquirements to the spiritual 
benefit of mankind, they were perhaps never excelled. Their edu- 
cation was strictly religious and moral ; but was defective in one 
point of the utmost importance. They were not made acquainted 
with the extent of the Christian salvation, nor with the particular 
manner in which it is obtained. They knew not, that it is the com- 
mon privilege of Christians to be made free from the guilt and 
power of sin, and to be permanently happy in the enjoyment of the 
Divine favor ; and that men are brought into this state of rest and 
purity, not as the result of long and severe self-mortification, but 
by the exercise of faith in Christ, preceded by a penitent conviction 
of the absence of all good, and of the presence of all evil, in their 
nature. Perceivmg the desirableness and necessity of personal 
holiness, they were diligent in the pursuit of it ; but, as they sought 
it not by faith, but as it were by the works of the law, they were 
for a long time sore let and hindered in their spiritual course. The 
dark cloud which rested upon their spirits appeared to become 
increasingly dense ; the chains with which their minds were bound 
seemed to become heavier, and to be riveted to them with greater 
force. Their struggles for liberty were therefore ineffectual ; and 
they could only cry, in the bitterness of their grief, *0 wretched 
man that I am ! who shall deliver me V In this state their ministry 
was of a somewhat gloomy cast ; and they wrote little for the bene- 
fit of mankind ; for they had no joyous message to deliver to the 
world, nor did their hearts expand with the love of Christ, and with 
universal benevolence to men. The day of liberty at length arrived. 
In the memorable year 1738, under more enlightened instruction 
than they had previously received, they were led to the exercise of 
that personal trust in Christ to which the promise of pardon is an- 
nexed. They received a full and a joyous consciousness of personal 
i'ustification ; and the love of God was shed abroad in their hearts, 
)y the Holy Ghost which was given unto them. From that time 
their views, their spirit, and the character of their ministry, were 
changed. . They saw in Christianity an adequate remedy for all the 
evils of human nature ; they beheld with yearning pity a world 
around them perishing in misery and sin; their 'hearts were all 
flaming with the love of Christ,' who had done so much for them ; 
and the prevailing sentiment of each was, — 

* What shall I do to make it known, 
What- thou for all mankind hast done.?' 

They preached the Gospel of Grod our Saviour with a zeal and an 
energy that roused and astonished the nation ; tracts, original and se- 



180 Methodist Hymni. 

lectedy were printed and circulated by them with incessant rapidity ; 
and, under tne impulse of their natural genius, they both poured 
forth the feelings of their renovated minds m hallowed verse. Under 
an inspiration more holy than that which Milton had ever felt, they 
delighted to 

*Feed on thoughts that voluntarv moye 
Harmonious numTOrs ; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note.' 

Within one year after their conversion they published, with their 
joint names, a volume of * Hymns and Sacred Poems,' consisting 
principally of their own compositions ; with translations from the 
German, and a few hymns which they copied and ^improved from 
the elder English writers. A few months afterward this volume 
was followed by a second ; a third appeared in the course of the 
next year ; and a fourth was published after a lapse of two or three 
years more. Each of these volumes bekrs the same title, and the 
names of the two brothers. The friendship that subsisted between 
them was of the purest kind. They had no jealousy of rivalship ; 
the hymns were left undistinguished ; and neither of them claimed 
the honor of his own productions. The superior merit of thede 
volumes was felt by every reader of taste and judgment. In strength 
and elegance of diction, in poetic beauty, and in manliness of 
thought, they surpassed all similar compositions that had ever 
appeared in the English language. One of the volumes contained 
the well-knovm •Wrestling Jacob;' and the excellent Dr. Watts, 
who was the first that wrote chaste and elegant hymns in this 
country, adapted to public and private worship, and who was then 
living in the general esteem and admiration of good men, did not 
scruple to say, * That single poem is worth all the verses I have 
ever written.'* The volumes just specified were succeeded by 
' Hymns on the Lord's Supper,' — * Hymns of Petition and Thanks- 
^ving for the Promise of the Father,' — *A Collection of Psalms 
and Hymns,' — * Hymns for times of Trouble and Persecution,' — 
and ' Hymns and Spiritual Songs, intended for the use of Christians 
of all denominations.' On the several titles of these publications 
also the names of the two brothers appear. As Mr. Charles Wesley 
became comparatively stationary, while his brother continued hi^* 
itinerant labours through the three kingdoms, he possessed much 
greater leisure for the exercise of his poetical talents ; and hence 
the hymns which he composed became decidedly more numerous 
than those of his brother ; who turned his attention more especially 
\o prose compositions, practical and controversial, original and 
abridged from other writers, religious, scientific^ and historical. 
Mr* Charles Wesley, therefore, published in his own name two 
volumes of 'Hymns and Sacred Poems,' — *Short Hymns on Select 
Passages of the Holy Scriptures,' in two volumes, — and * Hymns 
for the use of Families, and on various occasions,' in one volume. 

> Wesley's Works, roL vii, p. 485. 



Methodist Hymns* 181 

In addition to these important and valuable works, adapted to the 
purposes of devotion, there issued from the Methodbt press iMtatly. 
thirty other distinct poetical publications, mostly of a smaller size, 
but of a similar kind. These consisted of original hymns suited to 
th^ principal festivals of the Christian Church ; to funeral occasions ; 
to the peculiar circumstances of Great Britain and of Europe ; to 
the use of children ; to preparation for death ; and some of them 
were intended to elucidate and apply the peculiar doctrines of 
Christianity; particularly the Trinity, and redemption by the death 
' of Christ From all these works Mr. Wesley was induced, in the 
year 1780, to compile *such a hymnbook as might be generally 
used in all' the Methodist ^ congregations throughout Great Britain 
and Ireland.' 

On the excellencies of the hymnbook which was formed under 
these circumstances it is unnecessary to expatiate. The hymns 
which it contains underwent a careful revision as they passed 
through the hands of Mr. Wesley ; and several of them were greatly 
improved by his fine classical taste. A very few of them are selected 
from Dr. Watts ; but the greater part were written by Mr. Charles 
Wesley. The influence of this book upon the general character of 
the Methodist body, it is impossible to calculate. The volume em- 
bodies all the p^uliar doctnnes contained in the standard works of 
the Connection, and is therefore a most valuable auxiliary to the 
Methodist ministry. After a careful perusal of it, Mr. Fletcher, the 
revered vicar of Madeley, is rejx)rted to have said, in his broken 
English, and with his characteristic ardour, ' Dat book is de most 
valuable. gift dat God has bestowed upon de Metodist societies^ 
next to de Bible:' a sentiment in which I believe every competent 
judge will concur. 

[ExceUent, however, as the volume above mentioned was, and 
well adapted to the purposes for which it was designed at the time 
of its compilation, it has for some time past been found inadequate 
to the wants of the British Connection. Since the year 1780, when 
that volume was com^hled, the circumstances of that Connection, 
as well as our own, have been greatly altered. The sacraments of 
baptism and the Lord's Supper were not then generally administer- 
ed in the Methodist chapels ; nor were the chapels themselves, in 
England, open for divine worship in the forenoon of the Lord's day. 
That hymnbook was consequently particularly deficient in hymns 
suited to such services, and also in such as are proper for funerals, 
festivals, ordinations, missionary meetings, and others* of a benevo- 
lent and religious character at present connected with the institu- 
tions of Methodism, but which did not exist at that time, or existed, 
if at allj to a comparatively very small extent. In the American 
Methodist Hymnbook, these defects have already, by the watchful 
care and judicious provfaion of the General Conference, been in a 
great measure supj^ed. In this hymnbook, the great body of the 
most excellent of the Wesleyan hymns have been retained, whilst 
Vol. llL—^pril, 18S2. 16 



183 Methodist Bynmi. 

many other choice h3rinii89 suUed to our altered circuinstftiices and 
w }iaf tic ular occasions, have been added. Our English brethren, 
under a conviction of their pressing want of it, have lately made 
umilar additions to their collection, in the form of a supplement to 
their hymnbook. Among the hymns introduced into this supple- 
ment, and classed among the finest compositions of that incompa- 
rable hymn-writer, Mr. Charles Wesley, we are pleased to see those 
two old favorite hymns in our American collection commencing] 
* And let this feeble body fail,' — and, * How happy every cMld of 
grace,' which for sweetness of sentiment, and felicity of expression, 
describing the calm and holy triumph of Christian faith, were per- 
haps never exceeded. Some of the stanzas of these hymns, upon 
many occasions, have been among the last expressions to which 
dying Christians have given utterance, before they dropped the 
mantle of mortality, and entered upon the purer worship of heaven. 
The reader of ecclesiastical history will recognize in these beautiful 
hymns thie identical spirit which animated the martyrs and confess- 
ors of primitive times. They exhibit that superiority to the world, — 
that full assurance of the Divine favor, — that perfect conviction of 
a meetness for glory, — that feeling of relationship to God and to 
the family of heaven, — ^that longing after immortality, — ^that eager 
desire to join in the songs of paradise, and to gaza upon the glori- 
fied humanity of Christ, which distinguished the first Christians, 
when * the Spirit of glory and of God' so richly rested upon them. 
The hymns of Mr. Charles Wesley, who has been justly deno- 
minated • the poet of Methodism,' are of a decidedly evangelical 
character. Some modem writers of hymns have delighted to de- 
scant upon the gentler passions of human nature, and the beauties 
of creation, with an occasional reference to the truths and blessings 
of Christianity ; and were such names as Daphne and Phillis to be 
substituted for names of a more sacred import, many of their pro- 
ductions might pass for the amorous ditties of languishing swains 
and shepherdesseii of a former age. Feeble sentimentality of this 
nature never flowed from the masculine and classical pen of Charles 
Wesley. In his hymns the great doctrines of Christianity are not 
introduced in the form of elegant allusion, as if * to point a moral, 
or adorn a tale.' They constitute the very substance of the hymns ; 
and no ingenuity can separate the one from the other. If those 
doctrines be taken away, the hymns are annihilated. Of late years 
several collections of hymns have been made for the use of Socinian 
congregation^; and it is remarkable bow many hymns, written by 
orthodox Christians, even by Watts and Doddridge, by a slight 
alteration have been rendered acceptable to men who cannot see 
in Christianity either a Divine atonement, or a sanctifying Spirit. 
Gre^ as is the poetical excellence of Charles Wesley's hymns, 
they are rarely found in collections of this nature. They are made 
of too unbending materials ever to be adapted to Socinian worship. 
The glory of Christ, as God incarnate ; the perfection and efficacy 



Methadist HymiM. 183 

pf his sacrifice ; his intercession, founded updn. his atoning death ; 
the personal, present, and free justificatbn of guilty men through 
his sacrificial blood ; the gift of the Holy Spirit, in honor of Christ ; 
his operation upon the heart of man, producing penitence, faith, 
perfect purity, and every grace ; — ^these are the lofty themes of his 
unmortal songs ; and are * far above, out of the sight' of these gro- 
velling religionists virho can see in Christianity little else than a 
republication of the law of nature : a law which is only suited to 
man in innocence ; and which therefore leaves the convicted sin- 
ner in misery and despair. 

Some of Mr. Charles Wesley's hymns are hortatory, and others 
are didactic : but the greater part of them are experimental. He 
regarded the impressive facts and truths of Christianity as designed, 
not merely to gain a cold assent, and to excite admiration ; but to 
exert a far more powerful and salutary influence upon the sprit 
and conduct of fallen man. . ' By the law is the knowledge of sin ;' 
and sin appears * exceeding sinful,' that men may repent of it, abhor 
it, forsake it, and weep and pray for deliverance from it. Christ 
crucified is exhibited to the view of perishing sinners, that they may 
trust in him as their Saviour, and love him with an affection which 
many waters cannot quench. The Holy Spirit is promised, that 
men may Wait upon God in fervent and believing prayer for so 
great a gift ; that they may open their hearts to his consolations ; 
and surrender themselves to his sanctifying influence, and holy 
direction. The mediatorial authority of Christ is to be practically 
acknowledged, in acts of piety to God ; in zeal for his gloiy ; in 
love to his Church ; and in justice, benevolence, and pity to the 
world at large. The miseries of hell are declared, that men may 
dread and avoid them ; and the joys of heaven are unveiled, to be 
desired, and sought^ after, and laboured for. Such were the views 
of this Christian poet, wiose compositions identify the truths of 
revelation with personal religion, from its commencement to its 
consummation ; from the first dawn of light upon the understand- 
ing, through the successive stages of penitence, pardon, regenera- 
tion, and perfect love. In reference to these subjects, as well as 
in r-egard to the sorrows and restoration of backsliders, in his hymns 
there is no art, no exaggeration, no colouring, no fiction, no unhal- 
k>wed sally of imagination ; all is sincerity; all is truth: and as face 
answers to face in a glass, so do the inmost sentiments and feelings 
of awakened sinners, and regenerated worshippers of God, answer 
to the hymns of this blessed man, who above all others may be 
denominated the poet of the heart. His wonderful facility of ver- 
sification is manifest in the variety of his metres ; and the astonish- 
ing tact with which he applied historical facts to the subject X>f 
religious experience must have impressed every attentive reader of 
his poetry. Jacob's conflict with the angel, David^s encounter vrith 
the^ giant of Gath, Zerubbabel's erection of the second temple, 
Pamel in the den of lions, the pool of Bethesda, and many others, 



184 J\fethodist Hymns, 

might be adduced as happy examples. His version of the eighteenth 
Psalm also is a wonderful instance of this kind. 

Poets in general are understood to write for fame ; and their 
success in a great measure depends upon the originality of ^heir 
thoughts and manner. But the case is widely diflferent with those 
who write deyotional hymns for the use of individuals and of 'con- 
gregations. Their exclusive objects are, the glory of God, and the 
' spiritual interests of his worshippers. They undertake to guide the 
thoughts and feelings of men in acts the most sacred ; in direct and 
solemn approaches to their God and Saviour, before whom even 
angels tremble. With them thjsrefore self is to be annihilated ; and 
appropriate sentiments and expressions may be occasionally adopt- 
ed from every source, provided no unholy association be connected 
with them. The thoughts in some of Mr. Charies Wesley's hymns 
are borrowed from Milton, and from Dr. Young. The line, 

'Careful without care I am,* 

seems to have been suggested by a pun uttered by the witty martyr. 
Careless, who suffered in the bloody reign of Queen Mary, and of 
whom Fox has given an interesting account in his ^Acts and Mo- 
numents.' Matthew Henry and Dr. Gell are mentioned by Mr. 
Charles Wesley, as writers whose sentiments he had occasionally 
adopted. It is remarkable that an excellent jcouplet, in one of his 
hymns, is copied from the former of these men, with the addition 
of a single syllable, Mr. Henry says, when speaking of the fulness 
of Christ, there b in him 

'Enough for all, enough for each, 
Enough for ever[more.'] 

I have a distinct recollection of the passage, though I cannot turn 
to it at present, in the voluminous 'Exposition' of that useful writer. 
Dr. Gell was an extraordinary man. He was a London clergy- 
man, who flourished during the commonwealth, and appears wisely 
to have stood aloof from the spirit of political faction which was 
then rampant* He wrote discourses upon the principal passages 
of Holy Scripture, containing, with much valuable theology, an 
amended translation of the Bible. His work on the five books of 
Moses was published by himself, in a folio volume, in the year 1659. 
Before any more was printed, the author died ; and the principal 
part of his manuscripts perished in the great fire of London. Some 
of them, however, relating to the New Testament, were preserved, 
and given to the world in two thin folio volumes in 1676. The 
Doctor's sentiments are occasionally of a mystical cast ; but he was 
a profound scholar, an original thinker, intimately acquainted with 
the work of God in the human heart, and aii eminently holy man. 
One of his greatest peculiarities as a divine vras, that he strenuously 
advocated the doctrine of salvation from all sin in the present life. 
The works of this great and good man Mr. Charles Wesley read 
with approbation and advantage ; but it would exceed the limits of 



Mtihodist Hymns. 18$ 

thb letter, to point out all the passives in them vfhich he adopted 
as the basis of particular verses. 

The thoughts contained in a few of his hymns are derived from 
his brother's ' Notes upon the New Testament ;' and the following 
paragraph from Dr. Brevint will show the origin of the fine hymn 
quoted with such deserved commendation in the October Maga- 
zine, and beginning, 

* Victim Divine, thy grace we claim,' &c. 

* This victim, having been offered up in the fulness of times, and 
in the midst of the world, which is Christ's great temple, and hav- 
ing been thence carried up to heaven, which is his sanctuary, from 
thence spread salvation all around ; as the burnt offering did its 
smoke. And thus his body and blood have every where, but espe- 
cially at this sacrament, a true and real presence. When he offered 
up himself upon earth, the vapour of his atonement went up, and 
darkened the very sun.; and by rending the great veil, it clearly 
showed he had made a way into heaven. And since he has gone 
up, he sends down to earth the graces that spring continually, both 
from his everlasting sacrifice, and from the continual intercession 
that attends it. So that we need not -say, "Who will go up to 
heaven?" since, without either ascending or descending, tins sacred 
body of Jesus fills with atonement and blessings the remotest parts 
of this temple.' 

It would be easy to pursue this subject to a much greater length ; 
but I forbear, at present. 

That Mr. Charles Wesley desisted from his itinerant mmistry, 
and became comparatively stationary, has often been referred to 
as^ a subject of blame. I confess I cannot view it in this light To 
me it appears exceedingly doubtful, whether a life of incessant 
travelling and preaching, like that to which his brother submitted, 
was his providential calling. His ministry was indeed exceedingly 
powerful ; but he had not the talent for governing the societies 
which his brother possessed ; and whether, with his peculiar views 
as a Churchman, his regular intercourse with the preachers and 
the societies, through the three kingdoms, would have been gene- 
rally beneficial, either to himself or them, I thinli is justly question- 
able. At the same time, the cultivation of his talents as a writer of 
hymns, was certainly his indispensable duty; and his leisure, after 
he became resident alternately in London and Bristol, afforded him 
an opportunity of doing this to an extent which he would otherwise 
not have had. Truly Christian hymns, adapted to the purpose of 
social worship, have a most intimate connection with tne spiritual 
interests of the Church of God ; the talent for such compositions is 
extremely rare ; it was possessed by him in a degree of perfection 
which has perhaps never been equalled ; and most important bene- 
fits have already resulted from his labours in this department of 
usefulness. His hymns are sung in all the Methodist congregations 

16* 



186 MethodUt Hymns. 

throughout the world ; several of them are used by Dissenting 
congregations, and in congregations belonging to the Established 
Church ; and to what extent they will be used in future ages, as 
prejudice dies away, and spiritual religion shall prevail among the 
different denominations of Christians, is only known to God. AU 
ready have millions of religious people sung with delight and profit 
the strains which he put into their mouths, and which, in all pro- 
bability, would never have existed, had he not, to a considerable 
degree, desisted from his itinerant labours. His personal ministry 
could only have directly benefited his contemporaries : by his poet- 
ical compositions he promotes the edification of the Church through 
all time, and in islands and continents v^here his living voice could 
never have been heard. Into almost every collection of hymns, 
designed for congregational uae, and published within the last sixty 
years, a considerable number of his compositions have been intro-*^ 
duced. This is the case particularly in regard to the collections of 
Messrs. Berridge, Madan, Skelton, Conyers, Maxfield, Dr. WilKams 
and Mr. Boden, Dr. Burder, Dr. Rippon, Lady Huntingdon, Mr. 
Montgomery, the Rev. Josiah Pratt, &c, &c. If Mr. Charles Wes- 
ley desisted from his itinerant ministry through infirmity, it must at 
least be acknowledged that this infirmity has been overruled by God 
for the greatest possible good. The same remark will apply to that 
extraordinary variation of feeling to which his mind appears to have 
been constitutionally subject, and which led him to write hymns 
adapted to every state and temper. 

That the two brothers, Messrs. John and Charles Wesley, should 
have been raised up together, with their peculiar characteristics 
and endowments, so perfectly one, and yet so dissimilar, has long 
appeared to me a most providential coincidence. Each had his 
work assigned him, and was qualified for it above every other man. 
John possessed a clear and discriminating mind, admirably adapted 
to a lucid and correct exposition of the truth ; a singular aptitude 
in the regulation and government of societies ; a steady zeal, which 
|io discouragements could move ; a perfect readiness and dexterity 
in argument ; and a constitution which bade defiance to every hard- 
ship. He possessed also a fine literary taste, and wrote some beauti- 
ful hymns ; but, as a poet, he had not the energy and fire, the mvida 
VIS aiwrn^ of his brother ; and it is more than doubtful whether he 
could have produced such a volume as the Methodist hymnbook. 
Charles was one with him in judgment and affection. They thought 
alike on all theological subjects, and their fraternal attachment to 
each other nothing could dissolve. Yet Charles could never have 
written the doctrinal sermons, and the Notes on the New Testament. 
He could not have formed the plan of Methodist discipline, nor 
have induced its observance by the preachers and people; nor 
could he have successfully encountered such polemics as Church, 
Warburton, Lavington, Taylor, Law, and Middleton. He could, 
however, embody Christian truth and experience- in beautiful and 



Methodist Hymns. 18Z 

energetic verse; and without his hymns, Methodism, t^onsidered as 
a system of spiritual and moral machinery, designed to assist in the 
renovation of the world, would have been essentially defective. 
For no other hymns in the English language come up to that 
standard of religious experience which the Methodist doctrines 
exhibit. Even those of Doddridge and Watts, excellent as they 
are in many respects, neither represent the witness of the Spirit, 
nor salvation from all sin, as the present privilege of all the children 
of God ,' and they are very spanng in the exhibition of God's uni- 
versal love to mankind. It was once said, by an acute observer of 
human nature, ^ Let who will make the laws of the state, only let 
me make the songs of the peopJe, and I will form their character.* 
The remark will apply to reli^ous as well as civil society. The 
Methodist doctrines, delivered merely in the form of written and 
oral instruction, however well understood, and cordially believed,— 
and the Methodist discipline, however strenuously inculcated, and 
scrupulously observed, — would have failed to form the character 
of the societies, without the sacred songs of Charles Wesley. The 
zeal, activity, and liveliness, for which other denominations of 
Christians have often given them credit, are to be attributed in a 
considerable degree to this cause. 

When the brothers went forth to preach in Moorfields, upon 
Kennington Common, or in the neighbourhood of Bristol and of 
Newcastle, they called upon the immense multitudes by whom 
they were surrounded to unite in the singing of hymns adapted to 
the seiinons which they delivered ; hymns in which the misery of 
sinners, the willingness of Christ to save even the vilest and worst, 
and the blessedness consequent upon pardon, were set forth in the 
strongest and most appropriate language. Men who were unac- 
customed to reflection, and who lost all recollection of thesermon, 
sometimes carried away a verse of a hymn, which ultimately proved 
the instrument of conversion. When societies were formed, con- 
sisting of persons whp were awakened, and of those who had found ' 
peace with God, hymns, suited to the t>ccasiotts of their assembling, 
were provided for their use ; so that every one, however illiterate, 
'had n psalm,' had a hymn expressive of his state and feelings. 
The memory retains select parts of the Wesley hymns with ease 
and tenacity ; they are associated with the best feelings of the heart ; 
and not only in the house of God, but amidst secular avocations, 
and under circumstances of perplexity and afiiiction, by the bless- 
ing of God upon them, the mind is cheered and elevated, and 
directed to its source and centre. It would be impossible for an 
aged Methodist to say how often a reference to his hymnbook has 
been a means of conveying strength and comfort to his heart. 

Pew persons are aware of the number of hymns which flowed 
from the prolific mind and pen of this devoted servant of God. 
The opinion respecting their character, as being so very limited in 
their range of topics, which Mr. Montgomery has expressed, and 



188 Methodist Hymnt. 

upon which the very able writer of the two letters on Sacred 
Poetry has animadverted,* is evidently the result of an imperfect 
acquaintance with them. That the two Wesleys published several 
volumes of hymns which Mr. Montgomery has never seen, is mani- 
fest ; for many of the hymns which he has marked as anonymous 
in the ' Christian Psalmist' appear in volumes to which their names 
are attached ; and not a few of the hymns which he has attributed 
to the Moravians were by them borrowed from the Wesleys. It is 
also worthy of record, that the poetical works of Mr. Charles Wes- 
ley, (consisting mostly of hymns,) which were left by him in manu- 
script, at the time of his death, appear to have been as voluminous 
as those which he committed to the press. They comprise a version 
of the Psalms of David, the greater part of which appeared in the 
early volumes of the Arminian Magazine ; hymns on the four Gos- 
pels, and the Acts of the Apostles, which exist in five ample and 
closely written quarto volumes, and are a poetical commentary on 
those sacred books ; three volumes of hymns and miscellaneoug 
poems ; and a large number of other compositions, some finished, 
and others not, which are found on loose slips of paper, or bound 
up with printed hymnbooks, to which they were intended to form 
additions. The hymns on the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles 
were finished in 1765, and were carefully revised at six different 
times, up to the year 1787, only a few months before the author's 
death. Mr. John Wesley has recorded his opinion, that several of 
these compositions are equal to any thing that his brother ever 
wrote. Very few of these manuscripts have yet seen the light. 
The time, however, no doubt, will come when the hymns and other 
poetical works of this very eminent man will be published in an 
elegant and uniform edition. They constitute such a body of devo- 
tional poetry, as no other man, in all probability, ever produced ; 
and illustrate, and apply to practical purposes, every doctrine of 
revelation, and the principal facts of the Old and New Testament. 
I have often thought that one of the high^t compliments ever 
paid to the hymns of the Messrs. Wesley, came from the Rev. 
Augustus Toplady ; who was himself the master of a very vigorous 
style, and no mean poet. His hatred of Mr. Wesley's theology, and 

Erejudices against Mr. Wesley's person, were of the most violent 
ind ; and have given a malignant and revolting character to nearly 
the whole of his writings. And yet, notwithstanding all this hostility, 
when he published a collection of hymns for the use of his congre- 
gation, he selected a large proportion of them from Mr. Wesley's 
hymnbook ; making occasional alterations in them, that they might 
speak the language of Calvin, as to the extent of the atonement, 
and other points connected with it. In this case the poetic genius 
of Charles Wesley achieved an object, which neither the logic of 
his venerated brother, nor the learning and charity of Mr. Fletcher, 
could ever accomplish. It vanquished the bigotry, and commanded 

[' See the article on Sacred Poetry, in our last number.] 



Methodist Hymns. 189 

the public homage of Toplady. It planted a smile of approbation 
and delight upon the Countenance of the most surly polemic that 
ever lived : a man who perhaps never, but in that single instance, 
showed respect to an Anti-Calvinist. 

Within the last few years some very feeble and unworthy attacks 
have been made upon Mr. Charles Wesley, as a writer of hymns, 
by the Christian Observer ; which is the more surprising, consider- 
ing the general candour and ability with which that periodical is 
conducted. Some time ago, in an ill-natured article, evidently 
written by a very ignorant man, one of the hymns of this Christian 
poet was designated as a specimen of * religious foppery,' because 
it happened to contain a word which the angry censor did not un- 
derstand. More recently, it has been denied by two writers in that 
work, that Mr. Charles AVesley was the author of the fine hymn 
beginning, 

' JesuB, lover of my soul,' &c. 

One of them, if I recollect correctly, attributed it to Mrs. Madan ; 
the other, to the Rev. Robert Robinson ; without adducing any 
authority for their opinions, and without appearing to have any 
object in view, except that of plucking a leaf from the crown 
wnich encircles the head of the poet of Methodism. The poetical 
talents of Mrs. Madan, who, I presume has been dead several 
years, I believe were never previously heard of; and Mr. Robinson, 
whose levity and wit were much more apparent than his piety, 
certainly n/ver wrote any thing that was Zthy of being cafied^a 
hymn. Two or three compositions of this kind bear his name, but 
they are extremely bald, and display a total want of acquaintance 
with the principles of correct versification. The hymn in question 
was published by the Wesleys when Robmson was not more than 
seven or eight years of age ; and when the lady just mentioned, in 
all probability, was not much farther advanced in life : and it had 
been m general use among the Methodists many years before Mr. 
Madan was brought under reli^ous impressions. 

The Methodists, as a body of religious people, have everjr reason 
affectionately to cherish and to venerate the memory of Mr. Charles 
Wesley, no less than that of his more distinguished brother. It is 
difficult to say which of them God has made a greater blessing to 
that body ; and it will be well for every member of the society to 
recollect and feel the obligations under which he lies for the ser- 
vices of those eminent men. It is a favorable circumstance, that 
the standard of Scriptural piety, to which all are bound to aspire, 
is always before them in the hymnbook which is their constant 
companion, and the use of which forms a part of their daUy employ. 
The sweetness, the life, the power of the Methodist singing, in many 
congregations, was formerly proverbial ; and several instances are 
upon record of persons who by this means were drawn to*attend 
a ministry which proved to them a ^savour of life unto life.* In 
some cases there has been a lamentable falling off in this respect ; 



190 Methodist Hynrns. 

and the devotional feelings of the most pious and int^l%ent wor* 
shippers have been outraged bj an excess of musical instruments, 
and by tunes of the most light and airy character, f^vils of tins 
kind should be resisted ; simple melodies should be greatly prefer- 
red to elaborate harmony ; and the entire congregation stimulated 
to unite in sinnng the praises of God. Above all, the spirit of ele- 
vated piety which breathes through the inimitable hymns of the 
Methodists should be diligently cherished ; and the hymns them- 
selves be sung with the understanding, and corresponding emotions. 
Should the Methodists become worldly in their spirit, and lukewarm 
and formal in their devotions, the writings and example of their 
founder, and especially their hymns, will testify against them, and 
put them to open shame ; but if they maintain that vigorous piety, 
that active, fervent love to God and man, which was so strikingly 
exemplified by their fathers, and with which their hymns are so 
thoroughly imbued, as a part of the spiritual Church of God, they 
will still be the light of the world, and the salt of the earth. 

I forbear to point out the beauties of particular hymns ; as the 
subject is too copious for discussion in a periodical so limited as 
this Magazine. For the same reason, I pass over the peculiar 
circumstances under which many of the hymns were written; 
although the notices which might be supplied on this subject would 
show the propriety and force of many expressions, and would also 
throw light upon several interesting points of Methodist history. 
A life of the Rev. Charles Wesley, comprising a historical and 
critical account of his hymns, and an estimate of his poetical genius, 
is a desideratum in Methodist literature ; and justly deserves the 
attention of the gifted author of the very excellent and popular life 
of his brother, which has been recently published.* 

DiDTMUS. 

[♦ Life of the Rev. John Wesley, A. M., some time Fellow of Lincoln College, 
Orford, and Founder of the Methodist Societies. By Richard Watson. First 
American official Edition, with Translations and Notes. By John Emory.] 



191 



THE EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY. 

1. *^ Summary of the Principal Evidences for the Truth and Divine 
Origin of the Christian Revelation. Designed chiefly for the use 
of Young Persons. By Bielhy PorteuSy D. D. Bishop of London : 
With JSTotes and Questions^ by Robert Emory. ^ew-York: Pub^ 
lished by J. Emory and B. Waughy for the Methodist Episcopcd 
Churchy at the Conference Office^ 14 Crosby -street. 18S2.* 

2. *.5n Apology for the Bible, in a series of letters^ addressed to 

Thomc^ PainCf author of the Age of Reason. By R. Watson, 

D.D. F. R. S. Lord Bishop of Landaff, ^. J^ew-York : Pt«i- 

lished by JST. Bangs and J. Emory , [now J. Emory and B. Waugh,] 

for the Methodist Episcopal Church, at the Conference Office, 14 

Crosby-street.^ 

i. ^ Leslie^ s Method vdth Deists: wherein the Truth of the Christian 
Religion is demonstrtUed : in a Letter to a Friend.^ [Pubtished 
and botmd with the preceding work.] 

4. ' Theological Institutes ; or, a View of the Evidences, Doctrines, 
Morals, and Institutions of Christianity. By Richard Watson. 
JVcto- Forfe ; Published by J. Emory and B. Waugh, for the Me^ 
thodist Episcopal Church, at the Conference Office, 14 Crosby ^ 
street.^ Part I. 

Cheistiat^ity having, on its introduction, to encounter the op- 
position of both Jews and Gentiles, that it might obtain some footing 
in the world peculiar and remarkable means were employed to 
overcome the unbelief of its opponents. And when our Saviour 
and his apostles were called upon for the proofs of their high pre- 
tensions, they had but to point their interrogators to the wonders 
which were daily wrought among them, and which could come 
from God alone, — * The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are 
cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised.' 

It was not long, however, before, either in the order of provi- 
dence, or from the weakness of faith, the working of miracleB 
ceased. And when, shortly afterward, the new religion became a 
matter of state policy, Christianity, leaning on the civil arm for 
support, rather than on that of its Divine Author, lost its original 
simplicity. The evil was greatly increased in those ages of moral 
and intellectual darkness which shortly ensued, during which many 
abuses crept in, engendered by ignorance, the mother of supersti- 
tion. This was the gloomy period in the history of the Church, 
when the religion of Jesus Christ was propagated not by ' the de- 
monstration of the Spirit and of power,' but by the enticing arts of 
men ;-r— when pious frauds, (that deadly instrument of the devil, by 
which Christianity was wounded in the house of her friends,) were 



192 The Evidences of CkrieUanity. 

practised upon the credulity of the people. This was the period 
when worship was performed in an unknown languagci when men 
were burned for reading the Scriptures in their mother tongue, 
when, in short, all Ae avenues of religious knowledge were closed 
against the mass of the laity. 

He, however, who had said that ^ the gates of hell should not 
prevail' against his Church, did not suffer it to continue under these 
dark clouds. About the close of the fifteenth century the revival 
of leahiing commenced, and the light of returning science revealed 
to th^ benighted inhabitants of Europe the degradation of their 
civil and religious condition. The eyes both of the friends and the 
enemies of Christianity were opened ; the one to see the absurdity 
of the devices by which it had been attempted to uphold it, the 
other to learn that it needed no such support. Hitherto, indeed, 
there had been scarce any such distinction as friends and enemies. 
The religion which was then preached required no sacrifices, but, 
rather, being a national affair, and the only road to wealth and 

Preferment, was readily embraced even by the most abandoned. 
Vheuy however, the true Christianity of the Gospel was revived, 
and faithful ministers arose, declaring that there could be ^ no fel- 
lowship between Christ and Belial,' at once the natural enmity of 
the carnal mind was awakened. A formidable host was arrayed 
in opposition. Men of genius and learning, (though we must be- 
lieve of small judgment,) attempted to prove, from the abuses of 
Christianity, that the whole system was an imposture. But there 
were not wanting, in this fearful crisis, champions of the cross, 
BO wise inferior in number and in strength, and having the advan- 
tage of a better cause. Yet these felt ttue necessity and propriety 
of employing new weapons, better suited to the dignity of Chris- 
tianity, and to the majesty of truth. They knew that whatever 
there might be in the religion which they advocated, above reason, 
there was nothing in it contrary to reason ; and that the truth of 
Grod and of hia message Was susceptible of a satisfactory and tri- 
umphant vindication from all the aspersions which might be cast 
upon it by the pride, the prejudice, or the sophistry of infidels. 

Buch men, combating with such weapons, have been raised up 
in every subsequent age of the Church ; and the result of their 
labours is, that it is scarce possible to find, at the present day, si 
single argument against our holy religion, which has not been 
already advanced, and as often refuted. Among these defenders 
of the faith who have deserved so well at our hands. Bishop Por- 
teus, the title of whose work we have placed first at the head of 
our article, holds a distinguished rank: indeed, if we had regard to 
utility alone, we should be disposed to assign him the first. Large 
works, filled with learned and abstruse arguments in support of 
Christianity, although they may be valuable to those who are 
capable of understanding and appreciating them, and have leisure 
to study them, yet are unsuitable and unacceptable to the great 



The Evidences of Christimiity. 19S 

mass of the people. In this little work, the author has condensed 
most of the principal ailments in favor of Christianity within a 
small compass; and has brought them down to a level with the 
lowest capacity. Let it not be supposed, however, that they are 
on this account by any means commonplace or shallow. For the 
proof of their soundness we must refer the reader to the work itself; 
and we assure him that he will find it well worth the perusal, not 
merely of * young persons,* but, of all persons. The value of the 
edition of this work now before us has been enhanced, moreover, 
by the addition of short notes, which we think will be found both 
interesting and useful ; and also by appropriate question^ subjoined 
^o each chapter. These are designed both to assist in directing 
,the attention of young readers to those points and observations in 
tlie body of the matter most worthy of their notice, and also to 
assist their teachers and friends in examining them on what they 
have read ; — a course which we recommend, by all means, to be 
regularly and punctually pursued. The examiners will find their 
profit in it, as well as the examined. This process is rendered 
particularly easy and instructive, with the aid of the present edition, 
by the help of the figures in the body of the matter, referring to 
the corresponding questions at the close of each chapter ; all of 
which is clearly explained in the advertisement prefixed to the 
work. Indeed, with the aid of this little manual, thus improved 
by these collateral helps, there are few persons, young or old, who 
may not easily and pleasurably, in a short time, and within a short 
compass, make themselves masters of such a body of sound and 
rational arguments in support of the Christian revelation, as few 
infidels, on any grounds of solid argument at least, will be able to 
gainsay or resist. 

It is a matter of vital importance, in the study of the evidences 
of Christianity, clearly to apprehend the nature of the evidence for 
which we are to look. If we reflect for a moment on our stock of 
knowledge, we shall find that our convictions of various truths rest 
on yery diflFerent grounds. There are some, of which we can say 
that we know them ; others, that we believe them. We know that 
the three angles of every triangle are equal to two right angles. 
We do not doubt that there is such a country as England, and that 
such a, king as Henry VIII. formerly reigned over it. - But surely 
we give our assent to these propositions from very different rea- 
sons: — ^it is impombU that the first should be false; that the latter 
may be, is possible^ though not probable. But because there are 
some truths which, from the very nature of things, cannot be &- 
nwnstraUdy shall we therefore withhold our assent to them, and 
remain for ever in doubt 1 Because it cannot be shown, with raa- 
tbematicat certainty, that fire will bum, shall we ,therefore rashly 
rdsh into it 1 because it cannot be demonstrated that our food has 
n<^ been poisoned, shall we refuse to partake of it? because it it 
pomMe to doubt whether the missile which we see approaching us 
Vol. III.— April, 183«. 17 



1 94 jT^ EvidenceB of Christianity. 

IS a material substance,- shall we quietly receive its shock 1 Who 
would not be pronounced a madman, that should have the teme- 
rity thus to put into practice the principles of skepticism 1 

Since, therefore, we cannot subject our historical knowledge, 
like our scientifical, to rigorous demonstration ; nor, like our natu- 
ral knowledge, to the test of experiment and induction, we must 
be content with that which alone the nature of the subject admits. 

* Yet such a mode of reasoning,' as an able writer has observed, 

* begets an entire acquiescence, and leads us to embrace, without 
wavering, the facts and reports of history. For as it is absurd to 
demand mathematical demonstration in matters of fact, because 
they admit not of that Knd of evidence, it is no less so to doubt of 
their reality when they are proved by the best arguments their 
nature and quality will bear.* 

Applying, then, these principles to the historical facts recorded 
in the sacred 'writing, let them be investigated with at least the 
fairness and candour with which we investigate other historical 
facts. Let their principal proofs be collected into one point of 
view, as Bishop Porteus has exhibited them, and then, to use his 
language, — 

^When we consider the deplorable ignorance, and inconceivable ' 
depravity of the Heathen worid before the birth of Christ, which 
rendered a Divinie interposition essentially necessary, and therefore 
highly probable; the appearance of Christ upon earth, at the very 
time when his presence was most wanted, and when there was a 
general expectation throughout the east that some great and extra- 
ordinary personage was soon to come into the world ; the transcend- 
ent excellence of our Lord's character, so infinitely beyond that of 
every other moral teacher ; the calmness, the composure, the dignity, 
the integrity, the spotless sanctity of his manners, so utterly incon- 
sistent with every idea of enthusiasm or imposture; the sublimity and 
importanee of his doctrines ; the consummate wisdom and perfect 
purity of his moral precepts, far exceeding the natural powers of a 
man bom in the humblest situation, and in a remote and obscure 
comer of the world, without learning, education, languages, or books; 
the rapid and astonishing propagation of his religion, in a very shoit 
space of time, through .almost every region of the east, by the sole 
efforts of himself and a few illiterate fishermen, in direct opposition to 
all the power, the authority, the learning, the philosophy, the reigning 
vices, prejudices, and superstitions of the world ; the complete and 
marked opposition, in every essential point, between the character 
and religion of Christ and the character and religion of Mahomet, 
exactly such as might be expected between truth and falsehood ; 
the minute description of all the most material circumstances of the 
birth, life, sufferings, death, and resurrection, given by the ancient 
prophets many hundred years before he was bom, and exactly fulfil- 
ted in him, and him only, pointing him out as the Messiah of the 
Jews, and the Redeemer of mankind ; the various prophecies deliver- 
ed by Christ himself, which were all punctually accomplished, more 
especially the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans ; the many 



The Evidences of ChristianUy. 19d 

astonishing miracles wrought hj Jesus, in the open face of day, before 
thousands of spectators, the reality of which is proved by multitudes 
of the moat unexceptionable witnesses, who sealed their testimony 
with their blood, and was even acknowledged by the earliest and 
most inveterate enemies of the Gospel ; and, lastly, that most asto- 
nishing and well authenticated miracle of our Lord's resurrection, 
which was the seal and confirmation of his own Divine origin, and that 
of his religion : — ^when all these various evidences are brought together, 
and impartially weighed, it seems hardly within the power of a fair 
and ingenuous mind to resist the impression of their united force. If 
such a combination of eviclence as this is not sufficient to satisfy an 
honest inquirer into truth, it is utterly impossible that any event which 
passed in former times, and which we did not see with our own eyes, 
can ever be proved to have happened, by any degree of testimony 
whatever. It may safely be affirmed, that no instance can be pro- 
duced of any one fact or event, said to have taken place in past ages, 
and established by such evidence as that on which the Christian reve- 
lation rests, that afterward turned out to be false. We challenge the 
enemies of our faith to bring forward, if they can, any such instance. 
If they cannot, (and we know it to be impossible,) we have a right to 
say, that a religion, supported by such an extraordinary accumulation 
of evidence must be true ; and that all men, who pretend to be guided 
by argument and by proof, are bound, by the most sacred obligations, 
to receive the religion of Christ as a real revelation from God.' 

Never did that literary giant, Dr. Johnson, among the many 
lessons of wisdom which flowed from his lips, utter a justep senti- 
ment than when, in his last moments, he declared, that 'in revealed 
religion there is such evidence as on any subject ngt religious 
would bave left no doubt. Had the facts recorded in the New 
Testament been mere civil occurrences, no one would have called 
in question the testimony .by which they are established; but the 
importance annexed to them, amounting to nothing less than the 
salvation of mankind, raised a cloud in our minds, and created 
doubts unknown on any other subject.' 

The same sentiment has been thus well expressed by Chalniiers: 

< It appears to us, that the peculiar feeling which the sacredness of 
the subject gives to the inquirer is, upon the whole, unfavorable to 
the impression of the Christian argument. Had the subject not be^n 
sacred, and had the same testimony been given to the facts that are 
connected with it, we are satisfied, that the history of Jesus in the 
New Testament, would have been looked upon as the best supported 
by evidence of any history that has come down to us. It would assist 
us in appreciating the evidence for the truth of the Gospel history, if 
we could conceive for a moment, that Jesus, instead of being the foun- 
der of a new religion, had been merely the founder. of a new school of 
philosophy, and that the different histories which have come down to 
us, had merely represented him as an extraordinary person, who had 
rendered himself illustrious among his countrymen by the wisdom of 
his sayings, and the beneficence pf his actions.^ We venture to say, 
that had this been the case, a tenth part of the testimony which has 



1 96 The Evidences of ChrUHmity, 

actually been given, would have been enough to satisfy us. Had it 
been a question of mere erudition, where neither a predilection in fa- 
vor of a religion,' nor an antipathy against it, could have impressed a 
bias in any one direction, the testimony, both in weight and in quan- 
* tity, would have been looked upon as quite unexampled in the whole 
compass of ancient literature.'* 

In the third work of which the title is given at the head of this 
article, Mr. Leslie lays down four rules, wUch, he maintains, when 
all found exemplified in any alleged matters of fact, mfallibly de-> 
monstrate that such facts cannot be false. These rules are, — 

< 1. That the mktter of fact be such, aa that men's outward senses, 
their eyes and ears^ may be judges of it. 

2. That it be done gubliely, in the face of the world. 

3. That not only public monuments be kept up in memory of it, 
but some outward actions to be performed.. 

4. That such monuments and such actions or observances be insti*- 
tuted, and do commence from the time that the matter of fact was 
done.'t 

These rules, he argues, and we think successfully, are all found 
to meet in the leading facts respecting Moses and Christ ; wUcb, 
therefore, must be true. For, although he does not assert that 
every filing which wants these four marks is false, yet he does 
assert that nothing can be false which has them all. Whether his 
argument, which is certainly very ingeniously and ably unfolded 
and supported, be not a conclusive one, we must submit to the 
reader's decision. In the course of the work, Mr. Leslie mentions 
several other topics incidentally, as collateral heads of proof; but 
rests his cause, nevertheless, on the above position, as a short and 
easy method of demonstrating the truth of Scripture history. The 
result he thus sums up: — 

*And it now lies upon the deists, if they would appear as men of 
reason, to show some matter of fact of former ages, which they allow 
to be true, that has greater evidence of its truth than the matters of 
fact of Moses and of Christ ; otherwise they cannot, with any show of 
reason, reject the one and yet admit of the other. 

Bift I have given them greater latitude than this ; for I have shown 
such marks of the truth of the matters of fact of Moses and of Christ, 
as no other matteris of fact of those times, however true, have, but 
these only : and I put it upon them to show any forgery that has all 
these marks. 

This is a short issue. Keep them close to this. This determines 
the q^use all at once.' 

Bishop Watson's Apology for the Bible, the second woric of 
which the title is mentioned at the head of our article, was written, 
as the title shows, in answer to Paine's Age of Reason. It was, in 

'^ Evidence and Authority of the Christian Revelation : By the Rev. Thomal 
Chalmers, D.D. 

t We quote from the edition issued from the Methodist Episcopal press, and 
bound with Bishop Watson's Apology for the Bible. 



The Evidences of ChristianUy. 1 97 

consequence, designedly composed in a popular style, with a hope 
that it might thereby stand a cRance of being perused by that class 
of readers for whom Paine's work had been artfully calculated, 
and whom it was most likely to injure. It has been thought by 
some, that in Dr. Watson's treatment of Paine and his outrageously 
indecent and scurrilous work, his characteristic courtesy was in 
some instances carried too far. It is evident, indeed, that he did 
not kn&w the man. For ourselves, we could have wished, too, 
that Dr. Watson had not suffered himself to be provoked to defile' 
his otherwise pure and amiable pages with even occasional quota- 
tions of such abominable passages as were vented by Paine. It 
ought not to be ibrgotten, however, that it was Paine he was 
answering ; and that in answering such a man, it was not possible 
to avoid stooping low,— very low. The ability with which he 
executed his task, however, and the practical utility of the work, 
have been too long and too extensively established to need the 
addition of our humble testimony at the present day. It bears the 
characteristic impress of Bishop Watson's elevated mind, and is as 
distinguished for its candour as for its ability. The edition before 
us has been much increased in value, too, in several respects. 
At its close is added 'Leslie's Method with Deists : wherein the 
Truth of the Christian Religion is demonstrated : in a Letter to a 
Friend.' The front of the volume is ornamented with a likeness of 
Bishop Watson, and with an additional handsomely engraved his- 
torical frontispiece. It contains also, prefixed to the Apology, 
* Meifnoirs of Bishop Watson.' From these * Memoirs,' we extract 
the following short passages respecting Bishop Watson personally, 
for which we 'think our readers will thank us, as we have been 
thankful to find them in this edition : — 

<It has been a custom with me, [he said of himself,] from a very 
early age, to put down in writing the most important events of my life, 
with an account of the motives which, on any occasion (^moment, in- 
fluenced my conduct. This habit has been both pleasant and useful 
to me ; I have had great pleasure in preserving, as it were, my iden- 
tity, by reviewing the circumstances which, under the good providence 
of God, have contributed to place me in my present situation ; and a 
frequent examination of my principles of action has contributed to esta- 
blish in me a consistency of conduct, and to confirm me, I trust, in 
that probity of manners in my seventy-fifth year, with which I entered 
into the world at the age of seventeen.' 

* On the death of Dr. Rutherfortb, he was made Regius t^rofessor of 
Divinity in the University of Cambridge. " I reduced," says he, ** the 
study of divinity into as narrow a compass as possible, for I determined 
to study nothing but my Bible ; being much unconcerned about the 
opinions of councils, fathers, churches, bishops, and other men, as 
little inspired as -myself. This mode of proceeding, being opposite to 
the general one, and especially to that of the master of Peterhouse, 
who was a great reader, he used to call me the self-taught divine. My 
mind was wholly unbiassed ; I bad no prejudice against, no predilec- 

17* 



193 The Eindenees of Christianity. 

tion for the Church of England; but a sincere regard for the Church of 
Christy and an insuperable objection to every degree of dogmatical 
intolerance. Holding the New Testainent in ray hand, I used to say, 
<£n sacrum codicem!' [Behold the sacred book!] There is the 
fountain of truth, why do you follow the streams derived from it by the 
sophistry, or polluted by the passions of man V^ ' 

We have named the Theological Institutes of the Rev. Richard 
Watson with the smaller wc^ks mentioned at the head of our 
article, because the First Part of these Institutes contains a sum- 
mary of the * Evidences of the Divine Authority of the Holy Scrip- 
tures ;' which, as it is among the latest published, and having the 
advantage of all that had preceded, so we have no hesitation in 
expressing our conviction that it is among the ablest, if it be not the 
ablest. Our limits, however, will not admit of our extracting more 
from this excellent work, than the impressive and truly Christian 
paragraph with which Mr. Watson concludes this Part of the 
Institutes. 

< Such are the leading evidences of the truth of the Holy Scriptures, 
and of the religious system which they unfold, from the first promise 
made to the first fallen man, to its perfected exhibition in the New 
Testament. The Christian will review these solid and immovable 
foundations of his faith with unutterable joy. They leave none of his 
moral interests unprovided for in time ; they set before him a certain 
and a felicitous immortality. The skeptic and the infidel may be 
entreated, by every compassionate feeling, to a more serious considera- 
tion of the evidences of this divine system and the difficulties and 
hopelessness of their own; and they ought to be reminded, in the 
words of a modern writer, << If Christianity be true, it is tremendoualy 
true." Let them turn to an insulted, but yet a merciful Saviour, who 
even now prays for his blasphemers, in the words he once addressed to 
Heaven in behalf of his murderers. Father, forgive them; for 

THEY know not WHAT THEY DO !' 

After all, it may perhaps be anxiously inquired, whether all 
mankind must necessarily be dependent on learned^ historical, or 
logical investigations, for satisfaction as to the vital saving truth 
of Christianity. Without disparaging in the least the highly valuable 
and successful labours of those who have wrought in this noble 
field, and to whom the world is so largely indebted, — we answer, — 
No. 'Alas !' (to use the language of the eloquent Robinson, on 
another occasion,) * Alas ! you children and servants, you poor and 
illiterate people, you sick and dying penitents, what would become 
of you,* were this the case 1 — No. — * The Gospel [as the same 
writer adds] bears an exact analogy to the world of nature ; and 
as the sun and the stars, the earth and the sea, the world and all 
its treasures, lie open to all mankind, and are enjoyed by the pea- 
sant as truly as by the philosopher, so are the truths of Christianity, 
supposing, all along, the language, in which they are proposed, to 
be understood.' The study of the historical evidence, though highly 






History of Methodism on ^ew-Rochelk Circuii^ 199. 

proper and useiul, yet is not the only channel to a sound and sav- 
ing faith in the truth of Christianity. How can it he * in the face of 
the obvious fact, that there are thousands and thousands of Chris- 
tians, who bear the most undeniable marks of the truth having come 
home to their understanding " in demonstration of the Spirit and of 
power ]" They have an evidence within themselves, which the 
world knoweth not, even the promised manifestations of the Saviour. 
This evidence is a "sign to them that believe."^ (Chalmers.) Yet 
there are signs also * to them which believe not,' and which it is 
our duty to endeavour to make ourselves masters of, and to exhibit 
to them, and to press upon them, in the hope that they, too, may be 
reclaimed from their infidelity, and be made partakers of like pre- 
cious faith with us. 

But let it never be forgotten that ^it is not enough to entkle a 
man to the name of a Christian, that he professes to believe the 
Bible to be a genuine communication from €rod. To be the dis- 
ciple of any book, he must do something more than satisfy himself 
that its contents are true — he must read the book — he must obtain 
a knowledge of the contents. And how many are there in the world 
who do not c&U the truth of the Bible message in question, while 
they suffer it to lie beside them unopened, unread, and unattended 
to !' {Ibid.) Yes, — unattended to : for, to be a Christian, it is not 
enough to believe the Bible, historically, and with such a faith to 
read it also. It must be attended to. Its precepts must be obeyed : 
its promises must be embraced. Then, and not till then, will it 
be, according to its great tind benevolent design, — 'a^savour of life 
unto life.' 



HISTORY OF METHODISM ON NEW-ROCHELLE CIRCUIT, 

NEW-YORK. 



BY THE REV. DANIEL DE VINNE. 



This circuit, at present, embraces nine townships in the county 
of West Chester, situated within thirty miles of the city of New- 
York. It received its name from the town in which the first Me- 
thodist society in the circuit .was formed. The town was named 
New-Rochelle by its original settlers, the Huguenots, in honor of 
RochelUy the last and principal fortress of the Protestants in France ; 
on the fall of which they wholly lost their civil and religious liberty. 

The history of the French Protestants is before the world, and, 
for the cruelty and treachery of their enemies, stands unparalleled 
in the annals of religious persecution. Previous to the reduction of 
the strong city of Rochelle, they lost about thirty thousand of the 
best blood of the nation, both among the nobility and the common 
people ; and after this period, for about fifty years, they suffered 
every indignity, injustice, and cruelty, which their barbarous ene- 
mies could devise. In consequence of the revocation of the edict 
of Nantz, their worship was entirely suppressed ; their churches 



too History of MethodUm on J^ew-Roche^^ (HteuU. 

demolished, and five hundred thousand of tbem driven to foreign 
countries.* These exiles were among the most industrious, re-» 
fined, and intelligent of the nation, and by their expulsion the pros- 
perity of France was checked, and that of every other nation which 
gave them protection greatly promoted. In the history of these 
transactions, we have a manifest instance of the retributive justice 
of God. That very race of nobles, priests, and kings, which mas- 
sacred these unoffending Christians, or hunted them as partridges 
on the mountain, were obliged themselves, in the next century, to 
fly before the awfully desolating reign of terror, in the French 
revolution, which butchered them in the field, in the prison, or on 
the scaffold ; and even to this day their descendants are either 
fugitives in foreign countries, or- remain despised and powerless ^ 
home. It is awfully dangerous to persecute God's people. 

Finding an immediate asylum in Holland, England, and other 
Protestant countries of Europe, after a short residence in them, a 
considerable number emigrated to America, and settled in New- 
York and South Carolina. A part of those who landed at the 
former place, fixed their residence in a section of the country which 
at that time was comparatively a wilderness, and to, which they 
gave the name of New-Rochelle, in sorrowful remembrance of the 
city from which their oppressors had driven them. But, by their 
industry and enterprise, this forest was soon converted into fields 
of swelling grain, and gladdened with rising cottages, in which was 
heard the voice of thanksgiving and prayer. As religion had been 
the all-absorbing object for which they had suffered, and for which 
they had left all that they ever knew or loved before, they were not 
unmindful of its duties in their new habitation ; and early on Satur- 
day, having closed the labour of the week, without carriage or 
beast to bear them, apparelled in a costume approaching the sim- 
plicity of patriarchal times, they set off to the city of New- York, to 
enjoy the opportunity of hearing a Gospel sermon, and seeing their 
brethren and companions in exile and tribulation for the testimony 
of Jesus Christ. After a few years they were enabled to erect a 
house of worship in their own town, in which the Gospel was 
preached in their own language, and a service instituted agreeing 
with their own views of apostolic simplicity. 

But long before the introduction of Methodism, in this country, 
the tone of vital religion had fallen extremely low, and no efforts 
were making, or even in prospect, to raise it. The descendants 
of the Huguenots, from worldly prosperity or association with Irre- 
ligious Protestants, had greatly deteriorated from the standard of 

♦ [The famous edict of Nantz, by which the free exercise of their religion wa» 
granted to the Protestants, was passed by Henry IV. in the year 1598. This edict 
was revoked by Louis XIV. about the year 1684. After thftt period, all the terrors 
of military execution were employed to make the Protestants profess the religion 
of the Pope. A twentieth part of their whole number was put to death in a short 
time^ and a price was set on the heads of the rest, who were hunted like wild 
beasts. Such were some of the tender mercies of the religion of Rome, in (he day«, 
of its power. — ^Edit.] 



History of Methodism on Jfew-RochelU Circuit, SOI 

their best days ; and, with the disuse of their language, were almost 
entirely merged in the communion and the supine formality of the 
then Church of England. The Episcopalians of that Church, through 
the patronage of the. mother country, had houses of worship in 
New-Rochelle, East Chester, and Rye; and the Presbyterians, 
through their own efR)rts, had one in the latter place, in a dilapi- 
dated state, and another in White Plains, which was burned during 
the revolutionary war. But in these places the doctrines of the^ 
Gospel were very imperfectly taught ; for, whatever other learning" 
their ministers had, most of them were very ignorant of the plan of 
salvation, and performed their public office by reading short moral 
essays, or preaching sermons involved in the mazes of inexplicable 
decrees. In most places the people were taught that fSith was only 
a subscription to an orthodox creed, that water baptism was rege- 
neration, and the reception of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper 
an entire cancelling of sin. Nor was Christian discipline better 
understood or enforced. The ministers of the dominant party being 
three thousand miles from the seat of ecclesiastical power, and not 
amenable to ^ny tribunal in this country, ]Qoked with rather an 
indifferent eye upon the morals of their flock, and regarded balls, 
cards, theatres, and similar diversions, more in the light of innocent 
recreations than infractions of the spirit and letter of the Grospel. 
The Friends or Quakers had also two meeting houses, both of 
which were welt attended, and were perhaps at that time in their 
most prosperous state. 

The French philosophy, or Deism, had diffused its poison among 
the more educated ranks of society, and was beginning already to 
' loosen the bond of moral obligation among the Uliterate ; and un- 
less some speedy and efficient counteracting principle had been 
applied, the cause of Christianity must have sunk very low under the 
swelling current of so foul a stream. But while infidelity was assum- 
ing an appearance so formidable, and nominal Christianity was be- 
traying her own cause by her vices and general supineness, the great 
Head of the Church was raising up a redeeming power, through 
the instrumentality of the Wesleys in Oxford. 

The rise of our Church, on this circuit, was at once remarkable, 
and illustrative of the special providence of God, which always 
opens the way for his ministers in the prosecution of their work. 
In the year 1771, Joseph Pilmoor, who was one of the first regular 
itinerant Methodist preachers that came to America, and Robert 
Williams, who afterward became an itinerant preacher, made a 
missionary^exeursion from New- York to the town of New-Rochclle, 
and hearing that there was a religious meeting at Mr. Frederick 
Deveaii's, near the Friends' meeting house, went to it. The wife 
of Mr. Deveau, who was at that time very sick, had a little before 
dreamed that she had been in a swamp, dark and miry, without 
path, light, or guide, and that having wandered until feint and 
weary, «be was about to give out to die, when two men appeared 



20S History of Meiho^Usm on ^euf-Rochette CbrcuU. 

in the swamp, one of whom carried a light, and ofiFered to lead her 
out, upon which she followed them, and vi as brought safely to her 
family. This dream she considered ominous, and it made such an 
impression upon her, that she said afterward she could describe 
the very person who had led her out of the swamp. At the close 
of the exercises, which were conducted by the Rev. Ichabod Lewis, 
Presbyterian minister of White Plsdns, Mr. Pilmoor desired per- 
mission to speak to the people before they withdrew. The minister 
wished first to know to what Church he belonged ; and, being told» 
said he did not know who the Methodists were, and demanded his 
credentials of ordination ; but, upon learning that he was not 
ordained, he refused positively to let him speak. Mr. Pilmoor, 
feeling still very desirous to address the congregation, and being 
shown the proprietor of the house, asked his permission, who, going 
to the adjoining room in which his wife lay to consult her, opened 
the door, so that she saw Mr. Pilmoor standmg in the other room, 
and immediately exclaimed, ^ There is the very man who led me 
out of the swamp, and he must preach.' Having in this providen- 
tial manner obtained leave, he began ; upon which Mr. Lewis left 
the house, and while this man of God was offering a full, free, and 
present salvation, Mrs. Deveau was, indeed, brought out of the 
swamp of spiritual mire and darkness, into the glorious light of a 
present peace and pardon ; and having lived a few days in the full 
possession of this blessed evidence, died triumphant in the Lord. 
This meeting was on Thursday, and on the next Saturday Mr- 
Pilmoor preached to the whole neighbourhood, whom this remark- 
able providence had called together, and his word was as 'one having 
authority, and not as the scribes ;' it was 'spirit and it was life,' so that 
many could say, ' We have seen strange things to-day.' These facts 
are well attested by eye and ear w^itnesses, and are only capable of 
explanation on the acknowledgment of God's especial interposition 
in the furtherance of his own cause. Indeed it appears that the 
gi*eat mass of the people at this day were so dull oi spiritual appre- 
hension, or so skeptical about revealed truth, that unless Goa, in 
condescension to their stupidity, had given them to see ' signs and 
wonders, they would not have believed.' 

On Tuesday, the 10th of December, 1771, Mr., afterward 
Bishop, Asbury came to Mr. Deveau's, in whose family he was 
affectionately received, and, having preached in his house, spent 
about ten days in visiting and preaching at Rye, Mamaroneck, and 
East Chester. In these places he was heard with respect and 
attention, although he describes the state of religion as extremely 
low, having little more than the name and form of godliness. These 
visits were afterward repeated every time he returned from the 
south to New- York, which was once in six months ; and, some 
time in the year 1773, a regular class was formed, which, one year 
from this period, he says, ' was lively and engaged with God, 
although they had but a few sermons for twelve months.' During 



History of Methodism on Jfew-Rochdle Circuit. 203 

the revolutionary war this infant society was deprived of the preach- 
ing of the Gospel. The last sermon with which they were favored 
previously to that bloody period, was in October of the year 

• 1774, at which time Mr. Asbury says, *I preached at Mr. B.*s, 
[Bonnette's,] and the next day at Mr. D.'s ; [Deveau's ;] the power 
of the Lord attended in both places. We have a small society here 
of about thirteen, most of whom enjoy peace and consolation in Jesus 
Christ.' {Journal^ vol. i, p. 100.) From this period until the return" 
of peace, they had no one to take pastoral chaise of them, but they 
had been early taught to look to the greaf Shepherd, and not to 
forget the assembling of themselves together. By frequent meet- 
ings for prayer and exhortation, and the conscientious observance 
of the general rules of our society, this little company, during the 
eight years of our revolutionary struggle, was preserved unbroken 
and undiscouraged, as a germ for future growth and extension. In 
this instance a striking difference is discoverable between the sys- 
tem of Mr. Wesley and that of Mr. Whitefield. Few ministers ever 
preached with greater immediate success than the latter ; yet no 
very permanent revival followed ; whereas, on the plan of the for- 
mer, almost every place in which he laboured retained some fruits 
of his ministry, because the seed was not only sown, but hedged, 
cultivated, and watered ; and we should ever remember that our 
growth, which has astonished both ourselves and the world, is 
ascribable, under God, as certainly to our excellent rules as to our 
Scriptural doctrine. 

At the restoration of peace, the British army having evacuated 
this part of the country, the Methodist ministers had again ac- 
cess to the people, and found still a remnant of the class formed 
by Mr. Asbury. Mr. Peter Bonnette was regarded as their 
leader, although he had been often obliged, during the war, to flee 
both from them and his family. This gentleman was descended 
from the Huguenots. His grandfather fled from Rochelle on the 
revocation of the edict of Nantz, and was among the first settlers 
in the town of New-Rochelle. When about fourteen years of age, 
he experienced religion ; but not finding many who understood the 
nature of spiritual things, his religious progress was much impeded. 
The Calvinistic creed of his forefathers he did not embrace, and 
on hearing the Gospel as taught by the Methodists, he immediately 
joined them, and after having laboured in every possible way to 

- promote the interest of the Church to which he belonged, died 
triumphant in the Lord, in the year 1823, at the advanced age of 
eighty-seven ; having been a professor of religion seventy-three 
years, a member of the Methodist Church fifty-one, and a class 
leader and exhorter about forty. Through his assistance and in- 
fluence a church was erected, in 1788, in the town of New-Ro- 
chelle, which, except the old one \n John-street, New-York, was 
the first east of New- Jersey, in the United States. This place of 
worship was.soon filled with a large and attentive congregation. 



t64 History of Metkodtun an ^ew-Rochelle Circuit. ^ 

The society now revived and flourished, increasing in numbers 
and piety, and having not only a commodious house in which to 
worship, but being admitted to all the means of grace. The sacra- 
ments, which before they sought in the English Church, they had 
now for the first time administered in their own. Some High Church 
Episcopalians, in this country, have charged us with schism, in 
lef^ving their communion ; but this accusation is very unjust. We 
never left them. It might as well be said that they left us, and 
indeed more properly. The Church, of England, in this country, 
became extinct in 1776, on the declaration of our independence ; 
and the Mediodist Episcopal Church was organized in the close of 
the year 1784, between four and five years before the organization 
of the present Protestant Episcopal Church, which took place m 
1789. The annals of Christianity, moreover, cannot perhaps pro- 
duce an instance of a religious community, so numerous and ex- 
tensive, believing themselves possessed of all Scriptural authority 
to constitute themselves a distmct and independent Church, which 
so hesitatingly used 'that authority as the founders of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church. They even withheld the sacred ordinances from 
thousands of their own members, and suffered hundreds of .them to 
die without ever receiving baptism, or the Lord's Supper, before 
they exercised the liberty to which God had called them, and freed 
themselves from the shackles of previous circumstances and pre- 
judices. It was not, indeed, until the Church of England had 
ceased to exist in the United States, and almost all her ministers 
had left, not only us, but their owU' flocks and country, and not 
until the Engli§h bishops had peremptorily refused^o ordain minis- 
teris for the starving flocks in America, that the Methodist ministers, 
by the advice of Mr. Wesley, resolved to use the Scriptural powers 
committed to them, in ministering to the tens of thousands over whom 
they were assured the Holy Ghost had made them overseers ; so 
that, even on the ground of necessity, admitted by High Churchmen 
themselves, their case was a clear one. 

About the year 1785, Mr. Peter Bonnette became the pioneer 
to the Rev. Cornelius Cook, who was the first Methodist preacher 
that ever visited White Plains. This place, during the revolution- 
ary struggle, sufiered beyond description. After the battle on Long 
Island, General Washington retired to these heights, where he was 
soon attacked by the main British army ; but, by a detachment of 
sixteen hundred men, he kept them in check until the Americans 
had secured themselves in the fastnesses of the hills, and opened 
ft communication across the North River. On the approach, how- 
ever, of the enemy, the village was burned, and the adjacent country 
laid waste. At the close of the war it might be said of the inha- 
bitants of this towir, as a great general said of himself after a battle, 
they had ' lost every thing but their honor.' Their houses and 
fences were torn down and burned, their cattle were killed or 
driven away, and jeven the semblance of religion which they once 



IBstary of MHhodism <m J^ew-Roehelle Circmt. 205 

Imd was gone ; their only church was in ashes, their minister driren 
away, and the congregation disorganized and scattered. The only 
star which gleamed in this lurid sky was that of liberty, and this, 
at that time, had just risen, and sparkled in its early beauty, glad- 
dening the heart of the war-worn patriot, arid pointing him to the 
future greatness and glory of his country. 

On the application of Mr. Bonnette, Mrs, Ann Miller opened 
her house for the preaching of the Grospel by- the Methodists. This 
lady was the widow of Col. Elijah Miller, who, with his two sons, 
died ift the American service, during the early part of the war. As 
Mrs, Miller was the first one who opened her doors to the Methodist 
preachers in White Plains^ and the only one, for a long time, who 
gave them a piece of bread, or provender for their horses, her me- 
mory is still grateful, and her history will ever be identified with 
that of the Methodist Epscopal Church in this town. In the words 
of her biographer, * The place of her birth was the same with that 
of her death, for it was not known that she was fifty miles from 
home during her whole life, which was ninety-two years ; yet few 
who travel could tell of more strange vicissitudes. Her house was 
for some time General Washington's head quarters ; her land was 
covered with tents ; and on an eminence, the highest in all the 
Plains, overlooking her house in the rear, a permanent fort was 
erected ; so that not a day passed for many years without the noise 
of war, to which was frequently added the sight of garments rolled 
in blood. The fife, the drum, the thundering cannon, and the hiss- 
ing ball, the moans of death, and the cries of wounded officers and 
soldiers, were almost familiar to her. Hundreds of these globular 
instruments of death were deeply lodged around her habitation, 
without injuring her or her children ; neither was her house or 
field taken by the enemy, though continually girt around and be- 
sieged. She lived as in the fire, unhurt, uncontaminated ; for 
while she gave relief to the war-worn soldier, she gave instruction 
to her children.' She lived, however, to see the cloud which threat- 
ened her country entirely scattered, and the little despsed com- 
pany, of which she afterward became a member, increase to a 
mighty array ; and having seen the children of her children's chil- 
dren in great prosperity, died triumphant, in hope of a blessed 
resurrection. 

At the time above mentioned the name and reproach of Method- 
ism had scarcely reached White Plains, and a request to receive a 
minister to preach the Gospel was very readily granted. The 
system of reading sermons had made high tub pjilpits necessary, 
and the good lady seems to have thought that a discourse could not 
be well spoken out of one ; and accordingly a fixture was put up 
in the best room, and much preparation was made for the ensuing 
occasion. On the day appointed a large congregation were col- 
lected, and all were solicitous to see the reverend gentleman who 
was to address them. It was soon whispered through the^ company 

Vol, III.— 4>ra, 1832, 18 



306 mstary of Methodim on J^eiB^RodfeOe Circuii. 

that he had arrived ; but his appearance was altogether the reverae 
of what they had anticipated. Instead of the fsir, closeted divine, 
of soft raiment and silken hand, his whole appearance bespcdce 
fatigue, hardships, and. exposure to the rains and sun. Without 
entering this temporary pulpit, but standing by a chair, he preached 
a plain, close, heart-searching sermon. The curiosity of the con- 
gregation soon ceased ; and, most of them, forgetting both the 
speaker and his manner, were wholly occupied with the tremen- 
dous truths which he delivered, and the awful situation of their own 
hearts. On that day two weeks, he appointed to visit the place 
again. At the first meeting Mrs. Miller was much disappointed. 
Her views of clerical dignity were in no way met, and soon the 
offence of the cross commenced, for many were beginning to speak 
evil of this way, and people ; at the next time, however, she was 
so much affected under the word, that she thought they might be 
the servants of the Lord, and as such she was willing to entertain 
them ; which she did afterward for several years. 

In 1787, New-Rochelle circuit, which at that time embraced 
Mount Pleasant, Courtland, and part of other circuits, appears, for 
the first time, on the minutes. Samuel Q. Talbert was appointed 
to it ; but, before his appointment, Cornelius Cook and Woolman 
Hickson had laboured with great success, having revived the so- 
ciety in the town of New-Rochelle, and established preaching at 
White Plains, North Castle, Kingstreet, and several other places on 
the circuit ; so that at the close of this year, Mr. Talbert returned 
522 members. Mr. Cook may be regarded as the apostle of this 
circuit ; of whom his biographer says, * He was a faithful labourer, 
a patient sufferer, and died in peace, August 1789,' at Mr. Jack- 
son's, in Dutchess county, on whose farm he was interred. About 
four years ago the remains of this man of God were disinterred, 
and removed to the church yard of the Methodist Episcopal Churchy 
Unionville ; and, at the expense of several public 8[nrited individuals 
in that place, a fine marble, with an appropriate inscription, was 
erected to his memory. 

Having preached for some time at Mrs. Miller's, Mr. Talbert, 
according to our rules, proposed to meet, apart from the congrega- 
tion, those who were convinced of sin, and were desirous to save 
their souls. At this time a repQrt was very extensively circulated, 
that the Methodist preachers were the secret agents of the king 
of England, and that they received from him twelve shillings for 
every one who joined them ; and, so confident of the truth of this 
statement were some, that it produced in the first class meetmg, in 
White Plains, a very comic occurrence. At the proposition of the 
minister^ several retired into an adjoining room, (which, by the by, 
was the very one in which General Washington had his head 
quarters during his stay in these parts,) and, having shut the door 
he exhorted them to express the state of their minds freely to him 
and each other. Mr. I. P. H,, who had been a magistrate and 



Hutary of Methodism on ^ew^Rochelk CireuiL 207 

capttdn of militia under the crown, and who still in his heart faVored 
the royal cause, came into this select meeting under the above mis* 
take. Mr. Talbert, having addressed those present, came first to 
him, and very solemnly ssked him the state of his mind ; to which 
he readily replied, ^ I am a friend to government.' The preachier 
not understandmg him, i^d varying his question, put it s^ain, upon 
which he bounded from his seat, and vociferated, ^ To be plain 
witti you, I'm for King Greorge.' To this Mr. Talbert gravely re- 
plied, ^ I perceive thou art in the gall of bitterness and bonds of 
iniquity ;' at which he looked indignant, and finding that he had 
altoge&ier^ mistaken his way, and the character of this people, be- 
came very desirous to withdraw from the room. This, however, . 
has not been the only slander raised agaitist the Methodists, nor the 
anly blunder their enemies have committed, in receiving malicious 
reports for correct information.* 

During this year a class was formed, consisting of five whites and 
one coloured woman, of which Robert Vredenburgh was appointed 
leader: Mrs. Miller hesitated to join them, fearing they were like 
the New Lights, and that they would soon dwindle away, as the 
latter had done in other places. The individuals of this first class 
were without property or influence, and the commencement itself 
may be regarded as extremely humble, or, in the estimation of the 
world, a complete failure ; yet, for the instruction and encourage- 
ment of ministers in similar circumBtances, it should be recorded 
that from this low beginning the Lord has raised up one of the most 
established and respectable societies in our country. Pride and 
human policy, in every religious enterprise, would first enlist the 
^at and wealthy ; but the Lord, in planting Churches and spread- 
mg his Gospel, usually chooses the very opposite course, honoring 
the simple-hearted, laborious poor to lay the foundation of the edifice, 
and afterward bringing in the rich and influential to carry up the 
superstructure. The society having now regular preaching once 
in two weeks, the preachers began to introduce the usages and 
temporal economy of the Church ; and, after two weeks' previous 
notice, a collection was taken up for the support of the Gospel ; 

* [After reading the above anecdote, in the manuscript of our .correspondent, 
fearing that some mistake had been committed, at least as to the date, we wrote 
to him on the subject, and received the following re^ : — ] 

* White Plains, Feb. 17, 1832. 

* Dear Brother, — On the reception of your letter, I called upon A. Miller, 
Esq., m^ ^^^ voucher, concerning the man who was for King Greorge ; and he 
says again that my statement is ccrrut, for he heard the declaration himsey. And 
as to the date, he farther says it was a few years after the peace, in the year in 
which Samuel GL Talbert was on this circuit; and the Minutes fixes this m 1787. 
Mr. Miller has been about forty years a member of the Church ; most of which 
time he has held the office of an exhorter, and has, for several years, represented 
the county of Westchester in the legislature ; so that there can be no question as 
to veracity or judgment. As to the improbability of such a declaration in 1787, — 
U must be observed that it was made in a select meeting, and under the impression 
that all present were favorable to his views. At all events, as to the matter of 
fact it cannot be doubted. In the article furnished, I have labpred to be entitled to 
the credit of correctness, as I could not expect any other praise.' 



208 Histary of Methodism m J^ew-Rochdh CircuU. 

which amounted to rme pencCf New-York currency. This fact is 
inserted, not only to set the state of olden times in contrast with 
the present, but also to show the disuiterestedness of the early 
Methodist preachers, who, notwithstanding the almost entire failure 
of temporal support, never yisited the place once the Jess, nor 
abated one jot of their zeal in labouring among the people. These 
men and their successors may be charged with ten diousand sinis- 
ter motives, but where has been the body of men who, without 
purse or scrip, stipulation or assurance from missionary funds, 
would have gone to the distant and dispersed families of our then 
destitute country, and would have, like them, laboured and sacri- 
ficed their lives in preaching the Gospel 1 

In 1792, six members were added to this little company in one 
day ; which was considered, at this time, a gracious and wonderful 
revival ; and so it proved ; for this addition almost entirely changed 
the character of the society, giving to it a weight and stabUity which 
it had not before possessed. Most of this new accession were sub- 
stantial farmers, who had experienced the hardships of the revolu- 
tion, and who still retained its spirit of enterprise ; and having now 
embarked in a new species of warfare, were equally fearless in the 
cause of the Prince of Peace. Having no preaching on the Sab- 
oath, as soon as the morning meal was past this little company 
repaired to the log house of Robert Yredenburgh, situated on an 
eminence in the woods, the door of which had been perforated by 
the bullets of the British ; and there, without any other bread than 
that which came down from heaven, they sung, and prayed, and 
wept, and prayed again, until the retiring sun hastened them to 
their homes. In these exercises the burden of the Lord was upon 
them ; they saw the world lying in the wicked one, while there was 
such a fulness and freeness in the Gospel to save ; and such was 
their struggle of soul for a revival of religion that they could not 
refrain crying mightily to God ; and, to use the expression of one 
of them who still lives, ' There were tears enough shed in this log 
house to have scrubbed it out.' Time has thrown down this house, 
and decayed its logs ; but the very site on which it stood is ap- 
proached with reverence, and even the remaining stones 4iave been 
often embraced as a part of the building where the-Shekinah rested, 
and which had been the spiritual birthplace of so many souls. 
Little did these despised ones, who retired to the woods to worship 
God, ever think that they should live to see the slender scion of 
that Church, which they had just joined, become a mighty oak, 
spreading its colossal branches over the fairest part of North Ame- 
rica, and refreshing and defending under its shade mote than half 
a million of converted souls. These prayers were not in vain ; they 
were the precursors of better days ; for, not long after this, under 
the ministry of S. Hutchinson and P. Moriarty, the Holy Spirit, 
who had so often visited the little bethel in the woods, was poured 



History of Methodism on Kew-RochetU Circvit. 20d 

out Upon the people^ and forty were united to the Church in one 
day. - . 

The society still increasing in numbers, gifbsi, and influence, 
some time in the year 1795 it was resolved to build a church. The 
undertaking was a great one. Their numbers, compared with the 
object, were few ; and even these were young and just recoverii^ 
from a desolating vrar. But the cause was one ; it was the cause 
of God : and for this every one, even the poorest laid themselves 
under contribution. Those who could not give money nor mate- 
rials, could labour with their hands ; and even maidens and chil* 
dren were emulous to have a board or a nail in the house of God ; 
for the sake of which they consented to deny their taste, and to 
wear a cheaper and coarser apparelling. Such efforts can accom- 
plish almost any thing, and a church forty keX square, the second 
on the circuit, went up, to their inexpressible joy, and to the cha- 
l^n and astonishmient of their enemies. But the .Lord, by an 
inscrutable providence, suffered these efforts to be severely tried ; 
for, on the aay that this church was finished, painted, and ready to 
be dedicated, the shavings, which had not been removed sufficiently 
far from the building, being set on fire, communicated to the house, 
and in one hour this building, the object of so many prayers and 
such general and honorable efforts, was enveloped, from the foun- 
dation to the roof, in one entire flame. The alarm flew, the farmer 
and the tradesman dropped their work, and the matron ran with her 
child ; but they arrived only in time to hear the last crash of the 
falling flame, and to see the smoking ruins. They looked at each 
other and wept ; and the unconscious children wept at the tears of 
their parents. The conflagration of the village, during the preced- 
ing war, produced a great sensation, but never gave current to 
more sincere tears than the loss of this house of God. The ene- 
mies of the cross triumphed at the downfall of ' this pestilent sect ;' 
and supposing them for ever unable to rebuild, foretold their extinc- 
tion, and almost pronounced their funeral 

But these were the chivalrous days of Methodism in White 
Plains. The Lord, who had proved them by the loss of one house, 
could ^ve them both the means and the disposition to erect an- 
other ; and so it was, for a general meeting was called that very 
night for this purpose ; and so confident were they that another 
church would be erected, that some were actually in the woods 
felling trees and preparing timber for a new house, before the smok- 
ing embers of the former one were extinguished. That night the 
society resolved to build again, and having subscribed six hundred 
dollars, agreed to exceed even their former dimensions. Accord- 
ingly our present house of worship was soon erected, dedicated, 
and cleared of debt. This was the second on the circuit, and for 
thirty-four years has been a bethel to the Zion traveUer, and the 
spiritual birthplace of many happy souls. Since its erection, the 
society has enjoyed almost uninterrupted prosperity, without depart-^ 

18* 



210 Hutary of Methodism on JN'ew-RocheUe Ctrcutf. 

ing, we trust, in any thing material, from the land marks of oiur 
fathers. We have many yet among us who saw our beginnings 
and who can refute the calumnies of those who wish to reform us, 
but who neglect first to reform themselves. The Church in this 
place has been long blessed with a gifted and liberal-minded mem- 
bership, men whose zeal in the cause of God has greatly strength- 
ened the hands of the ministers on the circuit, and whose judgment 
has assisted them in the administration of discipline, so that for 
thirty years there has not been one instance of a Church trial in 
this village. 

While religion was spreading throughout the circuit, a train of 
providences brought the Methodists into the town of Rye ; and in 
February, 1806, the Rev. James Coleman formed a class of ten, 
over whom he placed Mr. Ezekiel Halstead, although at that time 
a member of the Presbyterian Church. This gentleman, who was 
afterward their permanent leader, and who became the most effi- 
cient person in promoting the interest of our Church in that town, 
was bom in Rye, in the year 1761. He was an attendant on the 
services of the Church of England, but lived in unconcern about 
his soul until he was about twenty-seven years of age ; at which 
period, having his children baptized according to the ritual of that 
Church, he was brought into great distress, from a conviction that 
in the service he had promised what was improper, and feared that 
he had lied to the Lord. This circumstance led him more closely 
to examine the nature of religion, and to implore forgiveness for all 
his sins. After three months' painful and diligent inquiry, he found 
peace, receiving the testimony that Grod was reconciled to him, and 
shortly after, with his wife, joined the Presbyterian Church, at 
Horse Neck, under the pastoral care of the Rev. Dr. Lewis. 

Having travelled on happily in this way for about fourteen years, 
he lost his excellent wife, who died in full assurance of a glorious 
resurrection. Afterward he became united in marriage to Mrs. 
Elizabeth Griffin, who was a member of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church; and, in accompanying her to public worship, he was led, 
for the first time, to hear the Methodist prieachers. Previous to 
this, like many others, he had heard a thousand evil reports about 
this people, which, upon an acquaintance with their doctrine, spirit, 
and manner of living, he found not only false, but was convinced 
that they were followers of the Lamb, and a highly favored people 
of God. Being greatly exercised in relation to uniting himself with 
them, he made it a matter of prayer that God would give him a 
witness in this particular ; which he graciously did in the following 
manner: — In December, 1805, a prayer meeting was appointed in 
his own to^vn, to which his daughters requested him to accompany 
them. On the way to it he earnestly besought the Lord, if it were 
his duty to.join the Methodists, that he would signally bless him and 
his children at this meeting. During the exercises, his three daugh- 
tei^, with several others, fell to the floor, under the power of God, 



Mstary of Methodim m Jfew-RoehelU Grcm^ SI 1 

and after remaining for some time in thig^helpless but happy satua* 
tion, they arose^ and praised God, who had pardoned their. siuSi 
and filled them with such inexpressible joy. His own soul was 
also exceedingly blessed, enjoying at that season a manifestation of 
the Divine presence far beyond what he ever supposed. attainable 
in this world. His doubts were now at an end, and in a few 
months he became a member of the Methodist EfHscopal Church. 
His union with them gave great offence, and his former pastcnr, 
csJling upon him, told him that ^his proud heart, which was lifted 
up with the idea of becoming a teacher, was the cause of his union 
with the Methodists, and that he was laying the ground for bitter 
repentance.' At his solicitation, Mr. Halstead promised to attend a 
Church meeting, and ask for a discharge ; but, to his astonishment^ 
when he got there a long' confession was presented to him, on ac* 
count of his error in joining the Methodists ; upon which he told 
them, that in this case he had committed no sin, and that the pro* 
vidence of God had led him among the Methodists. In four weeks 
from this time a committee waited upon him, to recover iiim, if 
possible, from the error of his ways, and expostulated with him, 
^not to leave men of sound minds and liberal education, to follow 
after such ignorant men as the Methodist preachers.' During these 
altercations his mind was kept in great peace, and the more he was 
called upon to defend his course, the more he was blessed and con- 
vinced that the people with whom he had united himself were the 
people of God. 

Feeling the word of the Lord like fire shut up in his bones, he 
began to exhort his neighbours ; and seeing that his labours were 
blessed, the preachers encouraged him to appoint prayer meetings 
in other towns, which he did ; and at them souls were awakened 
and converted; so that in a short time he was obliged to take 
charge of two classes, beside the one in his own town, which 
began with ten, but soon became forty. In the year 1807, under 
the ministry of the Rev. 6. Hibbard, M. Bull, and H. Redstone, 
there was a gracious revival, into the spirit of which all entered. 
At. this season Mr. Halstead writes thus : — 'We have had prayer 
meetings the last thirteen nights successively. I have gone from 
house. to house through the greatest part of the town, and sung 
and prayed with nearly every family.' From this time his whole 
soul was in the work ; his house was always open to the Methodist 
preachers, and with his property he was ever ready to serve the 
cause of the Lord. The Presbyterian house of worship, which was 
without a minister, and in a decaying state, was, through his instru- 
mentality^ repaired, and occupied by the minister of our Church. 
The Lord also greatly blessed his family. Long before his decease, 
he had the happiness of seeing all his children, with the exception 
of one, brougl^ to the Lord; and that one, with an only and beloved 
brother, for whom he had prayed a thousand times, was, last sprmg, 
inverted to God, and united to the people of his choice ; so tlmt 



212 Hi8(&ni of Jlfethodim an J^ew^RoeheUe Citeuii* 

infltead of bringing disgrace on his family, and deep repentance on 
himself, as had been predicted, he lived to see his children in great 
respectability ; and having enjoyed, during the twenty-five years of 
his union with the Methodists, a happiness beyond what before he 
had ever anticipated, he died, March, 18S0, in full assurance of a 
blessed immortality. 

About the year 1810, the fourth church on the cbcuit was 
erected in ^e village of New-Rochelle", the society in which has 
been gradually increasing, under various vicissitudes of prosperity 
and adversity. Within this township our two churches are situated, 
about a mile and a half distant, on each side of the farm and grave 
of the late Thomas Pdne, the infidel. And notwithstanding the 
extraordinary efforts of this apostle of infidelity, the cause of Chris- 
tianity flourished to such an extent in his own town, and during 
his own life, that from his door he might have seen the rising 
churches, and almost hear the crowded congregations praising that 
Jesin whom he so impiously blasphemed. After spending his fury 
to overthrow Christianity, he beheld, every succeeding year of his 
Ufe, new altars rising in our beloved country, which emitted a 
purer and a brighter flame, and were surrounded by more nume- 
rous and more devoted worshippers. 

From this period, the doctrines and usages of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church became generally known throughout the circuit; 
and under the ministry of a succession of faithful and eneigetic 
men, a steady tide of prosperity has flowed on for many years, 
during which churches have been erected in Mamaroneck, King- 
street, Sawpits, and Greenburgh. Last year was a season of great 
increase, between two and three hundred probationers having been 
received into the societies on this circuit. At present we are in 
great peace, bemg one in sentiment on the great doctrines of our 
Churcn ; and, after all that has been written to the contrary, loving 
our Discipline and itinerancy as much as or more than ever. We 
now number about eight hundred Church members; occupy eight 
churches well attended, in which the Gospel is regularly preached ; 
have our various benevolent societies ; and, in the village of White 
Plains, about twenty-seven miles from the city of New-York, and 
«x from the North and East rivers, have under our patronage a 
flourishing academy, capable of accommodating one hundred stu- 
dents, at present superintended by the Rev. John M. Smith. 

In reviex^ng the history of Methodism on this circuit from its 
commencement, we can only exclaim, * What hath God wrought !' 
^ Surely there is no inchantment against Jacob, neither is there any 
divination against Israel !' Our doctrine, which has been misrepre- 
sented and caricatured by a thousand slanderous tongues, has now 
become the most poptQar. Our itinerancy, whose plan of preach* 
iog has been called ^ run about and occasional,' has established in 
this country the most elGcient and permanent method of preaching 
the Ctospel ; and, although the reputed des|risers of learning, we 



Bishop Whatcoat. 21S 

have issued more books to instruct the ignorant in the duties of 
religion than any other people ; and, according to our ability, hare 
never been backward to establish schools, academies, and col- 
leges. 



BISHOP WHATCOAT. 

For the Methodist Magazine and Quarterly Renew. 

Dear Brethren, — I have noticed in the Methodist Magazine 
and Quarterly Re^ew, new series, vol. ii, No. 3, the following 
remarks : — ^ it is matter of great regret, that so few memorials of 
Mr. Whatcoat are extant. From the few that do remain, as well 
as from the universal and uniform testimony of those who knew 
him in life, we believe him to have been one of the most holy and 
spiritual men of thai, or perhaps of any other age. As an illustra- 
tion of those spiritual breathings which animate whatever fragments 
from his pen we have ever seen, we have the pleasure to rescue 
from oblivion the brief specimens which follow; and shall be much 
obliged to any of his surviving friends, or the representatives of de- 
ceased ones, who may enable us hereafter to add to the collection.* 
On reflection, I believe I can contribute a small mite to this desir- 
able end. 

^ My first knowledge of this venerable saint, to the best of my 
recollection, was in the year 1791, more than forty years ago, 
in company with Bishop Asbury, in Georgia ; when I heard turn 
preach at a meeting house in Burke circuit, twelve miles below 
Augusta. From repeated interviews with him, both as presiding 
elder and bishop, from that time to his death, I can bear testimony 
to the truth of his character as above stated. In addition to my 
personal acquaintance with him, I will transcribe for your perusal 
a few short, comprehensive letters, in a religious correspondence, 
taken from the originals in his own handwriting. The first bears 
date Portsmouth, Va., August 7, 1797. Mr. Whatcoat was then a 
presiding elder on the Norfolk district, and directed this letter to me 
on the Gloucester circuit, in the Richmond (now James River) 
district, on which the Rev* Mr. (now Bishop) M'Kendree was then 
presiding elder. 

* Dear Brother, — ^A few days since I received yours of July 
6th. I rejoice to hear that Zion lifts up her head in your parts. 
Thanks be to God, we have some prospect of a revival on this 
district. A glorious work is going on in Greensyille circuit, much 
like yours. At our quarterly meeting for Cumberland circuit, also 
at Walker's church, the Lord came down in great power : six or 
eight souls were powerfully converted. I hope the work will spread 
from circuit to circuit Thanks be to God, nitherto the Lord hath 
helped me, and I have strong hopes that I shall reach the blessed 
shore. A Utde while, and He that shall come moll come, wd wiD 



214 BUkap WhtUcoat. 

not tarry. Go on, my brother ; it is a glorious cause. If we die 
in the siege, the crown is just before us : and the devil is at the 
heels of thousands, driving them down to ruin. O what need of 
courage ! May the Lord, Jehovah, be thy strength, &c, &c. 

Thine, in love, 

Richard Whatcoat.' 

The second is dated Camden, S. C, January 8tji, 1801. 

* Mr Very Dear Brother, — My desire is that God may give 
you health, peace, long life, and multitudes of spiritual children. 
Surely the Lord will comfort Zion. After we have been tried, we 
shall " come forth as gold, meet for the Master's use." He " that 
believeth shall not make haste." ^^ The Lord sitteth on the water 
floods." Thine, as ever, 

Richard Whatcoat.' 

The third bears date, Richmond, N. C, 20th January, 1801. 

* Dear Brother, — At present I am oppressed with a consider- 
able cold, but all things shall work for good to the Lord's people ; 
it is enough if w^ stand fast in the will and work of the Lord. I 
hope you find the kind Physician able to heal and support you, in 
body and soul, for the work he has appointed you to do. We must 
do what we can, — not always what we would : the Lord knows 
what is best for us. As far as I know my own heart, I want to be, 
and do, what the Lord would have me. My soul is on stretch for 
immortality. If I live to return, I hope to see Zion in prosperity 
in your part of the Lord's vineyard. God has blessed your labours, 
and I hope your faith will grow exceedingly, and your love abound 
more' and more toward the Christian cause and all mankind. Accept 
my love and prayers for you, and for Zion's prosperity, &c, &c. 

Richard Whatcoat. 

To the Rev. Stith Mead, presiding elder, 
Georgia district, at Augusta.' 

The fourth bears date New-York, May 31st, 1802. 

* Dear Brother, — I received yours of the 7th inst., and rejoice 
to hear of your success in the Lord's vineyard ; may one become 
a thousand ! What is too hard for the Captain of our salvation to 
accomplish if he should exiert his mighty voice ? He has wrought 
wonders among us ; glory to his great name ! O that we may live 
up to our privilege, abounding in the work of the Lord, as knowing 
that in due time we shall reap, if we faint not. May the good Lord 
crown your latter labours with greater success than your former. 
So prays your sincere brother, 

Richard Whatcoat.' 

The fifth is dated Cambridge, N. Y., June 27th, 1803.- 

* Dear Brother,—- My earthly house totters and shakes under 
the weight of sixty-seven years of travel and labour, so that I can 



Methodism on AUeghawy Circwtj JUaryland. 215 

do but little ; but our gracious God, whom we serve, can do what- 
ever he pleaseth. A little while, and Heaven will crown our best 
wishes, I rejoice to hear of Zion's prosperity. " Be thou faithful 
unto death,'' and I hope we shall join to sing redeeming love in 
yon bright world. Grod bless you, and crown- your labours with 
great success. Thine in love, 

Richard Whatcoat.* 

All the above were received from that holy man of Gk)d, by 

Your affectionate friend and brother, 

Stith Mead. 




METHODISM ON ALLEGHANY CIRCUIT, MARYLAN] 

A RETROSPECTIVE vicw of thosc by-gouc days when Methodii^ 
was first introduced into this country, has a natural tendency^lO' , . 
impress the mind with solemnity, inasmuch as so many touching " 
scenes and incidents are necessraurily interwoven in the subject ; 
and it is so diversified with lights and shades, that alternate joys 
and sorrows must rest upon the mind of the narrator, especially if 
personally acquainted with, and identified in, those scenes and 
incidents. 

I Ihink the honor of pioneers to this work, in Alleghany circuit, 
ought to be divided between our Tenerable Bishop Asbury, John 
Hagerty, and Richard Owings ; the latter a local preacher of Bal- 
timore county, Maryland ; but which of these was first in point of 
time, neither tradition nor memory furnishes sufficient data to 
determine. It is however my impression that they all came in the 
year 1 782. They laid the Ibundation, and others have built thereon. 
The seed was sown, and some few believed their report, and be- 
came members of the then infant society. 

These venerable brethren were succeeded in 1783 by Francis 
Poytheress and Benjamin Roberts; in 1784 by Wilson Lee and 
Thomas Jackson ; in 1785 by Lemuel Green, William Jessop, and 
John Paup. This was the year of my personal emigration from 
spu*itual Egypt to &e land of promise ; and after this time, being 
no longer ^ a stranger aadforeignery^ I can speak with more certainty 
of succeeding times. But, perhaps, before I proceed farther, I 
ought to remark that our Baptist brethren were, I think, a little 
earlier in the work, in this section of the country, than we were. 
They made some proselytes, but gradually declined, and removed 
away ; so that but few remain at this day. 

Prom the year 1785, being myself personally and actively en- 
gaged, I saw with much pleasure the work spreading and prosper- 
ing in ever}' direction ; and no doubt the occasional visits of Bishop 
Asbury had a strong tendency to cement and establish Methodism 
in this country. The Church was much enlarged, and gained a 
vetj considerable accession of numbers and stability soon after this 



S16 Mkihodism oft Alleghany Cifeuit^ MdrykMd. 

period, viz. in 1786, through the labour^ of Enoch Matson. The 
societies were also much increased, and a great revival followed 
the labours of Philip Bruce, in 1788; but from this period to 1802-8 
the work lax^^uished, and gradually sunk into so low a state, that 
the few who remained faithful hung then* harps upon the wil- 
lows. 

But thanks to our good God, who looked upon us in our low 
estate. Toward the close of the year 1802, Bishop Whatcoat passed 
through these parts, blew up the old sparks, and rekindled the holy 
fire in some degree. The author of this narrative followed the 
Jbishop through Winchester, Leesburgh, and down to Fairfax, in 
Virginia, near to the city of Washington ; a distance of about one 
hundred and thirty miles. He sought and ardently longed for a 
revival and resuscitation in his own soul, which he found, and 
returned home about Christmas ; and with the aid of brother L. 
Martin, a local preacher from Montgomery county, Maryland, 
immediately went to work, preaching and holding prayer meetings ; 
and these were the halcyon days of his pilgrimage. Something over 
one hundred souls were added to the Church in tWs winter, 1803. 
This blessed work, although it subsided for a season, was renewed 
with accumulated strength and vigour in 1805, through the power- 
ful preaching of the great and good James Ward. We had some 
good times -and sweet seasons after that period also, under the 
labours of that living flame, Louis R. Fechtig; and especially m 
the year 1820, when brother James Taylor rode Alleghany circuit. 
I am informed, too, by the preacher how in chaise of this cir- 
cuit, that there is at present a considerable revival in the west end 
of the circuit, in the Alleghany mountains ; and that he thinks 
about one hundred have been added to4ie Church. 

May I be permitted to add, that in reviewing past scenes and 
ancient days, on which seems to rest a dark cloud of almost oblivion, 
I seem to converse with the spirits of the venerable dead, and to 
revive the joys of the happy season^ the delicious hoiyrs, spent by 
my own fireside with those great and good men. Bishops Asbury, 
Whatcoat, and Geoi^e ; and my dear brothers Matson, Ward, 
Hitt, Fechtig, &c, &c, &c. O, I hope, I trust, to be received by 
some of those happy spirits, and my dear sainted wife, and welcomed 
at last into those happy regions where parting, and sickness, and 
death itself shall never come ! 

John J. Jacob. 
December S,18SI. 

P. S. It is possible the subject matter of the foregoing narrative 
might have been rendered more pleasing, if it had been interspersed 
with some interesting anecjjotes ; but, knowing that you have many 
Cither subjects, and much matter more valuable, the author has 
auned at brevity. 



217 



THE NEXT GENERAL CONFERENCE. 

The history of American Methodism may. be advantageousry 
considered under four distinct and peculiarly marked periods. 
The first embraces that portion of it which extends from the year 
1766, when Methodist preaching was introduced into this country 
and the first Methodist Society was formed, to the organization 
of the Methodist Episcopal Church in the close of the year 1784; 
being a space of somewhat more than eighteen years. The second 
extends from the organization of the Church in 1784, to the time 
of the first regular general conference, under tWs organization, 
in 1792 ;— a period of something less than eight years. The third, 
from that general conference to the adoption of the plan of dele- 
gated general conferences in 1808 ; — a period of sixteen years. 
And the fourth, from that time to the present ; — ^a period of nearly 
twenty-four years. A brief review of these several divisions, atf it 
will serve to show, on one hand, the providential care by which this 
form of Christianity was originally adapted to the circumstances in 
which it took its rise, so will it show, on the other, how, in its order 
and polity, it has been gradually accommodated to the changes of 
circumstances in which it has been placed ; and how, in both 
hemispheres, it has attained at length a state of maturity which 
leads Us to believe that Providence now throws upon its friends the 
solemn responsibility of settling its institutions upon a basis of per- 
manent stability. It will be seen that our brethren in Europe nave 
already, in a great measure, effected this most important object on 
their part, though in a manner somewhat difierent from that which 
seems to present itself to us, and to which, in view of the approach- 
ing general conference, it is the design of this article specially to 
invite the attention of our readers, and particularly of the preachers. 
The conclusion which we shall ultimately submit for their consi- 
deration ia one which, in our own minds, is the result of deep soli- 
citude for the perpetuity and the highest efiiciency of this great 
system for the evangelization of the world, and one to which we 
have been led by a closely connected chain of reading, obser- 
vaiion, and reflection, especially within the last few years. The 
principal views which have influenced us will be developed m the 
progress of this article. , 

Methodism in America, during the first period of its history, was 
identified with Methodism in England. In doctrine, and moral 
discipline, and ultimate object, it is so still. In these respects, 
Wesleyan Methodism is one, throughout the world. During that 
period, however, it was one also in its external form and govern- 
ment. Its government was then strictly patriarchal. The Rev. 
John Wesley was acknowledged and obeyed as, under God, its 
father and founder, as well in America as. m Europe. To un- 
derstand then its peculiar organization and the distinguishing fea- 
tures of its polity throughout that portion of its history, it is indis- 

YohAlh— April, m2. 19 



218 The next General Confer enoe. 

pensably necessary to look back to the rock whence it was hewn, 
and to the hole of the pit whence it was digged ; just as, in order 
to a thorough knowledge of the constitutional peculiarities and 
characteristics of the raan, it is of essential importance to know 
from whom he derived his birth ; by what breasts he was nourished 
in infancy ; what discipline contributed to the formation a,nd deve- 
lopment of his bodily and mental powers ; in what schools he was 
taught ; and by what associations and connections his thoughts, 
and feelings, and habits, were influenced, and moulded, as he grew 
up to youth and manhood. 

A very respectable English writer, the Rev. John Beecham, of 
the British Wesleyan connection,, has endeavoured, in a work pub- 
lished in 1839, to make it appear that in the earliest censtitiltion 
of Methodism, even so early as at the first conference in 1744, the 
supreme authority in the connection was vested in the conference, 
composed of Mr. Wesley as an integrant part, and of other mini»- 
ters and preachers : and that, whatever deference was paid to Mr. 
Wesley as the father of the connection, the ultimate deci^on of 
such points as came before them rested with the conference, by a 
majority of its votes. In support of this position Mr. Beecham has 
adduced, we acknowledge, several very plausible arguments. Yet, 
after all, the whole of them, it seems to us, are entirely over- 
thrown by Mr. Wesley's own account- of the matter, as stated m 
the minutes of one of the conversations held in conference, in the 
year 1747. In that account he says : — 

' In 1744 I wrote to several clergymen, and to all who then served 
me as sons in the Gospel, desiring them to meet me in London, and to 
give me their advice concerning the best method of carrying on the 
work of God. And when their number increased, so that it was not 
convenient to invite them all, for several years I wrote to those with 
whom I desired to confer, and they only met me at London, or else- 
where ; till at length I gave a general permission, which I afterward 
saw cause to retract. Observe : I myself sent for these of my own 
free choice. And I sent for them to advise, not govern me. — ( Wesley^Si 
Worksy vol. Vy pp. 220, 221.) 

Again : — 

'But some of our helpers say, '^ This is shackling ^ee-born English- 
men ;" and demand a free Conference, that is, a meeting of all the 
preachers, wherein all things shall be detenAined by most votes. I 
answer, it is possible, after my death, somethiDg of this kind may take 
place ; but not while I live. To me the preachers have engaged them- 
selves to submit, to serve me as sons in the Gospel ; but they are not 
thus engaged to any man or number of men beside. To me the people 
in general will submit ; but they will not thus submit to any other. It 
is nonsense, then, to call my using this power " shackling free-born 
Englishmen." None needs to submit to it unless he will ; so that there 
is no shackling in the case. Every preacher and every member may 
leave me when he pleases. But vvhile he chooses to stay^ it is on the 
same terms that he joined me at first. 



s. 



The next Cteneral Conference. 219 

" But this is making yourself a pope." This carries no face of truth* 
The pope affirms that every Christian must do aH he bids, and beUeve 
all he says, under pain of damnation. I never affirmed any thing that 
bears any the most distant resemblance to tliis. All I affirm is, the 
preachers who choose to labour with me, choose to serve me as sons 
in the Gospel ; and the people who choose to be under my care, choose 
to be so on the same terms they were at first.* {Ibid, p. 221.) 

If, then, Mr. Wesley himself understood the 8u|)ject, and his own 
practice in the conferences which he convened and in which he 
presided, it seems to us incontestable that, at that early period in 
the history of Methodism, he himself, after hearing the opinions 
and advice of those whom he had invited to meet him for this pur- 
pose, ultimately decided the questions which came before them. 
And however differently we might otherwise have been disposed 
to construe a minute in one of the conversations in the conference 
of 1744, abstractly considered, yet Mr. Wesley's own open and 
official explanation of his proceeding, only three years after, impe« 
riously obliges us, we think, against all argument whatever, to take 
the matter of fact as it stands averred on his own unquestionably 
competent and credible testimony. 

In the notes on the Discipline of the Methodist Episcopal Church, 
prepared by Bishops Coke and Asbury at the request of the gene- 
ral conference, and published with the edition ot the Discipline in 
the year 1797, a comparison is drawn, in the notes on section iv, 
between the powers exercised by Mr. Wesley, and those of our 
bishops. Among other important points of difference, showing 
how much the powers of the bishops had been diminished below 
the patriarchal standard of Mr. Wesley's powers, it is there said, 

' Mr. Wesley, as the venerable founder (under God) of the whole 
Methodist Society, governed without any responsibiUty whatever ; and 
the universal respect and veneration of both the preachers and people 
for him, made them cheerfully submit to this : nor was there ever, per- 
haps, a mere human being who used so much power belter, or with a 
purer eye to the Redeemer's glory, than that blessed man of God.' 

Now, as Dr. Coke and Mr. Asbury had both travelled under 
Mr. Wesley's direction in England, and Dr. Coke in particular had 
been for many years one of his most intimate confidential agents, 
their testimony, as to the matter of fact stated in the above quota- 
tion, would of itself be decisive, even in the absence of any other. 
The Rev. Henry Moore also, in his Life and Experience written 
by himself, affirms that * Mr. Wesley would never put any question 
to the vote.' In his subsequent remarks, indeed, on this fact, we 
cannot by any means concur. Were their correctness admitted, they 
would go to prove, not only that Mr. Wesley was governed by the 
majority in conference, but by a minority; — ^nay, that a single 
refractory dissentient had it in his power to prevent, at least, that 
venerable man of God from acting. The contrary of this view of 
the subject we believe to be susceptible of perfect demonstration ; 
but we shall not pursue this topic farther at present, and will only 



^20 Tlu next General Conference, 

add our extreme regret to see in this part of Mr. Moore's work 
the admission of sentiments which, if allowed, must ultimately, 
in our poor opinion, lead to the absolute dissolution of all govern- 
ment. 

The authority, then, exercised by Mr. Wesley in the first and 
infant stage of Methodism, in Europe and America, was strictly 
patriarchal. 

The minutes of the first Methodist conference held in America, 
were headed thus : — 

* Minutes of some Conversations between the Preachers in connec- 
tion with' the Rev. Mr. John Wesley. Philadelphia, June, 1773.' 

The first question asked in that conference was, — 

* Ought not the authority of Mr. Wesley and that conference, to 
extend to the preachers and people in America, as well as in Great 
Britain and Ireland V 

The answer was, — * Yes.* 

At that time Thomas Rankin was the general assistant, that is, 
exercised the chief authority in the American connection, in the 
name and place of Mr. Wesley, and by his direction and appoint- 
ment. And that in that period of the history of American Me- 
thodism, the general assistant here, like Mr. Wesley in England, 
decided the questions which came before the conference, after 
hearing the discussions of the body, is indisputably manifest from 
the minutes of a conference held in Kent county, Delaware, in 
April, 1779. The 12th and 13th questions and answers in that 
conference were as follows : — 

< Question 12. Ought not brother Asbury to act as general assist-^ 
ant in America ? 

Answer. He ought : first, on account of his age ; second, because 
originally appointed by Mr. Wesley; third, being joined with Messrs. 
Rankin and Shadford, by express order from Mr. Wesley. 

Question 13. How far shall his power extend? 

Answer. On hearing every preacher for and against what is in de- 
bate, the right of determination shall rest with him, according to the 
minutes.' 

This we consider a very strong argument too, if any argument 
were needed, in support of the view above given as to the authority 
exercised by Mr, Wesley in conference. It is altogether impro- 
bable that a greater authority would have been accorded to an 
assistant in the American conference, than was wielded by Mr. 
Wesley himself in the English conference. On the contrary, 
there can be little or no doubt, we think, that the design was to 
conform the mode of proceeding in the American conference as 
nearly as could be to that in the English. 

On the same ground, and under the same influences, the admi* 
nistrative government of the societies m America was conformed, 
as nearly as circumstances would admit, to the English modeh 
And hence here, as. well as there, the assistai^ts on the circuits 



TThe next General Conference. 221 

both received and excluded members upon their own iudgmehi» as 
well in regard to facts as to the application to them of the general 
rules and minutes. 

In the organization of the Methodist Episcopal Church, which 
took place at the conference of 1784-5, a very important change 
was made. Mr. Wesley's patriarchal authority, by his own volun- 
taiy act, then ceased. It has been said that no nation ever volun- 
tarily gave up the dominion of any province, how troublesome 
soever it might be to govern it, and how small soever the revenue 
which it afforded might be in proportion to the expense which it 
occasioned.* But in this remarkable instance, Mr. Wesley evinced 
that he was actuated by principles and motives wholly different 
from those of worldly politicians and statesmen, whose pride, am- 
bition, and personal interests, together with those of their friends and 
retainers, are too often the true though secret causes of measures 
fraught with immense mischief, however ostensibly and profess- 
edly founded on principles of public policy. The United States of 
America were compelled to separate themselves from the political 
and ecclesiastical power of Great Britain by force of arms. The 
power of Mr. Wesley Over the societies here, on the contrary, as 
soon as he perceived that its continued exercise was neither neces- 
sary nor expedient,, was freely and promptiy reUnquished. A new 
and independent organization, incontestably episcopal in fact, was 
recommended by himself, with suitable forms of ordination and 
other services also prepared by him, for its perpetuation. This form 
of organization was unanimously adopted by the general confer- 
ence of 1784-5, and was concurred in thereafter, and has been 
ever since, by both' preachers and people, throughout the whole 
Connection, with unexampled unanimity.f The few exceptions 
which have existed at different times since that epoch, and under 
various influences, chiefly of a personal and local character, have 
only served more fully to establish the fact that our Church order, 
recommended by Mr. Wesley, and adopted by our fathers, is deeply 
rooted both in the affections and in the judgment of our extensive 
communion. To sever them from this attachment, enemies, and 
some even among ourselves, have risen up, who have spared no 
airguments, no sophistry, no arts of misrepresentation and slander, 
no ridicule, no abuse. All, however, has been insuflicient for thi« 
purpose ; and consequently these efforts, like turbulent 'traves foam- 
ing out their own shame, while they have evinced their own futility, 
have served, at the same time, to show the solidity and the stead- 
fastness of the rock on which we are founded. 

The truly Christian and highly creditable disinterestedness with 
which Mr. Wesley relinquished power, when the necessity or ex- 
pediency of its farther exercise was obviously superseded by provi- 

* Smith's Wealth of Nations. 

t For a fuller and more particular discussion of these points, see the work enti- 
tled ' A Defence of our Fathers, and of the original organization of the Methodist 
Episcopal Chorch—- with historical and critical n Dtices of early American M^odism.' 

19* 



222 The ne»i Gewral Ctnrferenu. 

dential circumstances, has been already mentioned. The tery 
important limitations voluntarily put upon the powers of the 
episcopacy, in the general conference of 1784r-6, are not less 
remarkable. To these limitations, there is not a tittle of evidence 
that Dr. Coke and Mr. Asbury, our first bishops, made the slightest 
objection. Nay, it was Bishops Coke and Asbury tbemselTCS who 
asserted these imitations, and became, at the request of the gene- 
ral conference, their expositors and recorders. The bishops of 
the Methodist Episcopal Church, after its organization in 1784-5» 
were to possess vastly less power than had been theretofore exer- 
cised by Mr. Wesley, as well in America as Europe,— or than even 
his general assistants here, first Mr. Rankin, and after him and for 
a much longer time, Mr. Asbury, had exercised. 

In the Notes on the Discipline, by Bishops Coke and Asbury, 
we find, on section iv, *Of the Election and Consecration of 
Bishops, and of their Duty,' the folk)wing strong remarks, in full 
corroboration of the above views : — ^ 

'In considering the present subject, we must observe, that nothing 
has been introduced into Methodism by the present episcopal form of 
government, which was not before fully exercised by Mr. Wesley, fle 
presided in the conferences ; fixed the appointments of the preachers 
for their several circuits ; changed, received, or suspended preachers, 
wherever he judged that necessity required it ; travelled through the 
European connection at large ; superintended the spiritual and tempo- 
ral business ; and consecrated two bishops, Thomas Coke and Alex- 
ander Mather ; one before the present episcopal plan took place in 
America, and the other aflerward, beside ordaining elders and deacons. 
But the authority of Mr. Wesley and that of the bishops in America 
differ in the following important points : — 

1. Mr. Wesley was the patron of all the Methodist pulpits in Great 
Britain and Ireland /or life^ the sole right of nomination being invested 
in him by all the deeds of settlement, which gave him exceeding great 
power. But the bishops in America possess no such power. The 
property of the preaching houses is invested in the tmstees ; and the 
right of nomination to the pulpits, in the general conference — and in 
such as the general conference shall, from time to time, appoint. 
This division of power in ihvor of the general conference was abso- 
lutely necessary. Without it the itinerant plan could not exist for any 
long continuance. The trustees would probably, in many instances, 
rom their located situation, insist upon having their favorite preachers 
stationed in their circuits, or endeavour to prevail on the preachers 
themselves to loc€Ue among them, or choose some other settled miiaster 
for their chapels. In other cases, the trustees of preaching houses in 
different circuits would probably insist upon having the same popular 
or favorite preachers. Here, then, lies the grand difference between 
Mr. Wesley's authority, in the present instance, and that of our Ame- 
rican bishops. The former, as (under God) the father of the connec- 
tion, was allowed to have the sole, legal, independent nomination of 
preachers to all the chapels : the latter are entirely dependent on the 
general conference*' 



The next Gfenmil C^t^ennce. S23 

Again': — 

* 2. Mr, Wesley, as the venerable founder (under God) of the whole 
Methodist society, governed without any responsibility whatever ; and 
the universal respect and veneration of both the preachers and people 
for him, made them cheerfully submit to this : nor was there ever, 
perhaps, a mere human being who used so much power better, or 
with a purer eye to the Redeemer's glory, than that blessed man of 
God. But the American bishops are as responsible as any of the 
preachers. They are perfecUy subject to the general conference. 
They are indeed conscious that the conference would neither degrade 
nor censure them, unless they deserved it. They have, on the one 
hand, the fullest confidence in their brethren ; and, on the other, 
esteem the confidence which their brethren place in them, as the 
highest earthly honour they can receive. 

But this is nx)t all. They are subject to be tried by seven elders 
and two deacons, as prescribed above, for any immorality, or supposed 
immorality ; and may be suspended by two-thirds of these, not only 
from all public offices, but even from being private members of the 
society, till the ensuing general conference. This mode subjects the 
bishops to a trial before a court of judicature considerably inferior to 
that of a yearly conference. For there is nqt one of the yearly con- 
ferences which will not, probably, be attended by more presiding 
elders, elders, and deacons, than the conference which is authorized 
to try a bishop, the yearly conferences consisting of from thirty to 
sixty members. And we can without scruple assert, that there are 
no bishops of any other episcopal Church upon earth, who are subject 
to so strict a trial as the bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church 
in America. We trust they will never need to be influenced by motives 
drawn from the fear of temporal or ecclesiastical punishments, in order 
to keep /rom vice : but if they do, may the rod which hangs over them 
have its due effect ; or may they be expelled the Church as << salt 
which hath lost its savour, and is thenceforth good for nothing but to 
be cast out, and trodden under foot of men !" 

3. Mr. Wesley had the entire management of all the conference 
funds, and the produce of the books. It is true, he expended all upon 
the work of God, and for charitable purposes ; and rather than appro^ 
priate the least of it to his own use, refused, even when he was about 
seventy years of age, to travel in a carriage, till his friends in London 
and Bristol entered into a private subscription for the extraordinary 
expense. That great man of God might have heaped up thousands 
upon thousands if he had been so inclined ; and yet he died worth 
nothing but a little pocket money, the horses and the carriage in 
which he travelled, and the clothes he wore. But our American 
bishops have no probability of being rich, for not^ a cent of the public 
money is at their disposal : the conference have the entire direction 
of the whole. Their salary is sixty-four dollars a year, and their tra- 
velling expenses are also defrayed. And with this salary they are to 
travel about six thousand miles a year, <^ in much patience," and 
sometimes ^< in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, in labours, in 
watchings, in fastings," through <^ honor and dishonor, evil report and 
good report : as deceivers, and yet true ; as unknown, and yet well 



224 TAe ne^pt Omeral Conference. 

known ; as dying, and, behold,*' they << live ; as chastened, and not « 
killed ; as s<»rrowful, yet alway rejoicing ; as poor^ yet making many 
rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things;" and, we trust, 
they can each of them through grace say, in their small measure, with 
the great apostle, that <^ they are determined not to know any thing, 
save Jesus Christ, and him crucified ; yea, doubtless, and count all 
things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus 
their Lord : for whom they have suffered the loss of all things, and do 
count them but dung, that they may win Christ.'' 

We have drawn this comparison between our venerable father and 
the American bishops, to show to the world that they possess not, 
and, we may add, they aim not to possess, that power which he exer- 
cised and had a right to exercise, as the father of the connection : 
that, on the contrary, they are perfectly dependent ; that their power, 
their usefulness, themselves, are entirely at the mercy of the general 
c(H)ference, and, on the charge of immorality, at the mercy of two- 
thirds of the little conference of nine. 

To these observations we may add, 1. That a branch of the epis- 
copal office, which, in every episcopal Church upon earth, since the 
first introduction of Christianity has been considered as essential to it, 
namely, the power of ordinatiany is singularly limited in our bishops. 
For they not only have no power to ordain a person for the episcopal 
office till he be first elected by the general conference, but they pos- 
sess no authority to ordain an elder or a travelling deacon, till he be 
first elected by a yearly conference ; or a local deacon, till he obtain 
a testimonial, signifying the approbation of the society to which he 
belongs, countersigned by the general stewards of the circuit, three 
elders, three deacons, and three travelling preachers. They are 
therefore not under the temptation of ordaining through interest, affec- 
tion, or any other improper motive, because it is not in their power 
so to do. They have, indeed, authority to suspend the ordination of 
an elected person, because they are answerable to God for the abuse 
of their office, and the command of the apostle, '< Lay hands suddenly 
on no man,'' is absolute ; and, we trust, where conscience was really 
concerned, and they had sufficient reason to exercise their power of 
suspension, they would do it, even to the loss of the esteem of their 
brethren, which is more dear to them than life ; yea, even to the loss 
of their usefulness in the Church, which is more precious to them than 
all things here below. But every one must be inunediately sensible 
how cautious they will necessarily be, as men of wisdom, in the exer- 
cise of this suspending power. For unless they had such weighty 
reasons for the exercise of it, as would give some degree of satisfac- 
tion to the conference which had made the election, they would throw 
themselves into difficulties out of which they would not be able to 
extricate themselves, but by the meekest and wisest conduct, and by 
reparation to the injured person. 

2. The bishops are obliged to travel, till the ffeneral conference 
pronounces them worn out or superannuated ; for that certainly is the 
meaning of the answer to the sixth question of this section. What a 
restriction! Where is the like in any other episcopal Church? It 
would be a disgrace to our episcopacy to have bishops settled on their 
plantations here and there, evidencing to all the world, that instead 



The ne^t General Conference. 226 

of breathing the spirit of their office, they could without remorse lay 
davm their crown^ and bury the moBt important talents God has given 
to men ! We would rather choose that our episcopacy should be blot- 
ted out from the face of the earth, than be spotted with such disgrace- 
ful conduct. All the episcopal Churches in the world are conscious of 
the dignity of the episcopal office. The greatest part of them endea- 
vour to preserve this dignity by large salaries, splendid dresses, and 
other appendages of pomp and splendour. But if an episcopacy has 
neither the dignity which arises from these worldly trappings, nor that 
infinitely superior dignity which is the attendant of labour, of suffi^ring 
and enduring hardship for the cause of Christ, and of a venerable old age^ 
the concluding scene of a life devoted to the service of God, it instantly 
becomes the disgrace of a Church, and the just ridicule of the world !'* 

By the general conference, mentioned in the passages above 
quoted, the bishops meant, of course, the general conference as 
then constituted ; viz. of all the travelling preachers in full connec- 
tion at the time of holding the conference. It was early perceived, 
however, that this constitution of the general conference was at- 
tended with many and great inconveniences. In the year 1800, 
at the session held in Baltimore, commencing on the sixth of May, 
a resolution was introduced for the establishment of a delegated 
general conference, as a substitute for the existing plan ; but was 
not then adopted. The ill constituted and obnoxious couwnL was 
probably still too fresh in the recollections of the preachers. In 
the first meeting of that body, which assembled in Baltimore on the 
first of December 1789, the members of it themselves, indeed, 
seem to have been sensible of a fundamental defect in the principle 
of its organization ; and in one of their first acts gave evidence, we 
think, that they at least sincerely aimed at the good of the general 
cause, though they had been extremely unfortunate in the untried 
expedient which they had adopted for effecting their object. The 
act to which we allude was a resolution that, as it was 'almost the 
unanimQus judgment of the mmisters and preachers that it is highly 
expedient there should be a general council [conference] formed 
of the most experienced elders in the connection, who, for the 
future, being elected by ballot in every conference, at the request 
of the bishop, [Asbury,] shall be able to represent the several 
conferences and districts in the United States of America,* they 
therefore concluded that such a council [conference] should be so 
appointed and convened. This resolution certainly looked to a 
proper delegated general conference, though but in embryo, and 
without the necessary guards of suitable limitations and restrictions 

[^ It is a remarkable fact that for more than fifteen years, tIz. from the Christmas 
eooference of 1784^5 to the general conference of 1800, no regular provision when- 
ever :«ras made for the support of our bishops. Previously to the last mentione<} 
period. Bishop Asbury was supported principally by the kindness of private friends, — 
the deficiency beine made up generally by particular societies. Dr. Coke, we pre- 
sume, received nothing. And even after 1800, when a third bishop (Whatcoat) 
vas added to the number, the allowance was only eighty doUars a year, and .their 
traveUingr expenses ; of which each of the seven conferences, then nrst este^blisho^ 
with ire^ar oounclaxiea, was to pay its proporUonable part,] 



S26 The next General C<mferenee. 

on its powers. There does not appear, however, to have been^ven 
any attempt afterward to carry it into effect, and the second and 
last council met in' Baltimore in December; 1790, under its origi- 
nal organization. This meeting terminated this jejune and short- 
lived experiment, and although a resolution was passed for a third 
session two years thereafter, it was never executed. The general 
conference of 1792, the first strictly so called, was the happy 
succedaneum whose judicious measures tended greatly to correct 
the disorders which nad previously been creeping into the body, 
and to check the spirit of faction and division which, through the 
agency particularly of Mr. O'Kelly and his partizans, had grown 
up to a permcious and alarming height. The bishops themselves 
requested that even the name of the council might not be again 
mentioned in the conference ; after which, by common consent, it 
was given, as every one felt it ought to be, to the moles and to the 
bats. Brotherly love was restored, and, with a very partial excep- 
tion, chiefly under the influence of Mr. O'Kelly above alluded to, 
peace and harmony prevailed. 

From the year 1792 to 1804, both inclusive, the general confer- 
ences, which were held regularly once in fouryears from the time 
of their first proper establishment in 1792, continued to be com- 
posed of all the preachers in full connection at the time of the 
session. In 1804, at the session held in Baltimore, commencing 
on the seventh of May, it was proposed that the general conference 
should be composed of such members as had travelled under the 
direction of an annual conference for six years or more. This 
motion was lost. Another was then made, and carried, that all 
the preachers who should have travelled four years from the time 
they were received on trial by an annual conference, and were in 
full connection, should compose the general conference. This 
was accordingly the constitution of that body in 1808. The few 
intervening years* experience, however, had produced a general 
conviction that this patching system afforded but a very partial and 
altogether inadeauate remedy for tlie growing burdens and evils 
that were felt under the existing plan. The great and increasing 
extent of the connection, spread over such an immense and con- 
stantly enlarging field of labour, the number and annual increase 
of the preachers, the. injury to the work from the absence of so 
many of them for so long a time, the burden of expense and toil 
from the long journeys which a large portion of them had to per- 
form in going to and from the conferences, the inconveniences and 
delay ui business from so large a body when assembled, together 
with the burden on our friends (however kind and willing) in fur- 
nishing accommodations for so large a number, and last, though 
by no means least, the great inequality and disadvantages under 
which the distant conferences laboured under this system, — all 
these considerations, growing in their weight with every year's 
delay, tended to produce and to fix the conviction which we have 
mentioned ; and by the time of the session of the general confer- 



TThe^next General Conference. 227 

ence held in Baltimore in 1808, commeBcing on the sixth of May, 
the minds of the members generally were pepared for acting effi- 
ciently and decisiTely on the subject. 

In the period which we have been reviewing, a very material 
alteration was made in the rule for the trial of members, and sub- 
sequently became the basis of one of the articles of restriction on 
the powers of the delegated general conference, as established in 
1808. Originally, as we have stated, in the infancy of our socie- 
ties, while as yet they were merely religious associations collected 
by the preachers within the Church of England, without any re- 
gular Church organization, and under a strictly patriarchal govern- 
ment, the preachers, by Mr. Wesley's direction, as his assistants and 
helpers, and in conformity to his example, received persons into the 
society, or expelled them from it, as they alone judged proper, and 
without any process or form of trial whatever. Between 1784 and 
1800, the practice was, that, when a member of the society was to 
be tried for any alleged offence, the officiating minister or preacher 
should call together all the members, if the society was small, or a 
select number if it were lai^e, to take knowledge, and give advice, 
and bear witness to the justice of the whole process. Still, how- 
ever,, the society, or the select number, as the case might be, were 
not properly the triers of the accused party, but were simply the 
advisers in the case, and witnesses of the propriety and justice of the 
pVoceedings ; that no expulsion might take place privately, or with- 
out the check of the public judgment, founded on full and correct 
knowledge. It was in the year 1800 that the farther change was 
made, by which the society or the select number were constituted 
the absolute judges of the guilt or innocence of the accused ; whose 
judgment, when once pronounced, could not be set aside, neither 
by the officiating minister, nor by any presiding elder or bishop, nor 
by an annual or even a general conference. In this absolute 
supremacy of our local Church authorities, in all matters coming 
within their proper jurilsdiction agreeably to the discipline, (for it 
extends to all such,) and also in our established provision for regular 
appeals, there is a most material and weighty difference between 
the universal practice and the acknowledged law of the Church 
as existing among us in America, and that which prevails, we be- 
lieve, among our brethren of the European connection. And if any 
persons have entertained an opinion that the institutions of that 
connection are in any regard more liberal and popular than our 
own, (an opinion, if it exists, founded certainly more on the ap- 
pearance than the realities of things,) we are persuaded that the 
single distinction which we have now stated, will greatly more than 
ccfuntecbalance every other difference that can be named appa- 
rently against us» In that connection, too, the rule for the trial of 
members we believe still is, that no person shall be expelled from 
the society on any charge of immorality, till such immorality be 
proved at a leade.rs? meeting ;— that is, in the presence of a lead- 
ers' meeting. This rule is intended^ as ours previously to the year 



228 The tuxt General Conference.^ 

1800 was, to guftrd against clandestine expulnons, and to operate 
as a preventive of partiality or injustice in the proceedings of the 
superintendent, or minister in charge ; for, as is well remarked by 
the conference in noticing this regulation, that superintendent 
would he bold indeed who would act with partiality or injustice in 
such circumstances ; and if such there ever should be, the confer- 
ence piledges itself as ready to do all possible justice to any injured 
brethren. Yet still the superintendent b the judge, in the first m- 
stance, both of the law and the fact, as the conference is also, on 
any complaint, in the last resort. We mention these facts with no 
design whatever to reflect on our esteemed and beloved brethren of 
^that connection, whose institutions and rules may be best adapted to 
the circumstances and wants of that country, as we believe ours are 
to oui*s. We mention them simply to silence and to shame the voice 
of calumny against ourselves, and to show that, as under our civil 
government there is no omnipotence eyen of the president and con- 
gress here as in the parliament of England, so neither does our 
general conference, with the bishops at its head, assert or claim for 
itself any such absolute authority, but acknowledges itself to be 
bound by limitations and restrictions which secure to all their 
acknowledged rights and privileges, according to the supreme and 
irreversible judgment of the various ultimate local authorities, to the 
extent of their jurisdiction, agreeably to the discipline of the Church 
under which tney are voluntarily and freely associated. 

Previously to Mr. Wesley's death, he performed two great oflS- 
cial acts which constitute the ground work of the present maturity 
and stability of European Wesleyan Methodism. The first of these 
was a digest of the most important rules in the economy of primi- 
tive Methodism, Preparatory measures for this revised code were 
commenced so early as the year 1769, in consequence of a reso- 
lution then adopted, on his suggestion, by the preachers in con- 
nection with him, ^to preach the old Methodist doctrines^ contained 
in the minutes of the conferences,' and * to observe and enforce the 
whole Methodist Discipline^ laid down in the said minutes.' This 
digest commences with the year 1744, when the first conference 
was held, and is continued down to 1789, when the last revision 
of it toot place, about two years before Mr. Wesley's death. It is 
this work which, in the British connection, is denominated ^The 
Large Minutes,' and constitutes the official settled summary of 
their fundamental plan of discipline. It is according to this autten- 
tic instrument that the candidates for admission into the itinerant 
ministry are examined, and of which, after passing their probation 
acceptably, they receive a copy, signed by the president and secre- 
tary of the conference ;—■ the giving and receiving of which con- 
summate the solemn act of their admission into full connection. 
This important collection, from under Mr. Wesley's own hand, 
with hia last revision and correction a little before his death, may 
be found in the Complete and Standard Edition of his Works, voL 
V, pp. 211-239. Those who shall exanune it, and compare it with 



F, 



The next General Conference. 22Q 

ow present discipline, and especially with the minutes published 
soon after the general conference of 1784, will find that this same 
primitrre Wesleyan standard, which constitutes the basis of the 
European Methodist discipline, has, from the foundation of our 
Church, allowing for the peculiarities of its oi^nization and for 
local circumstances, been that of the discipline of American Me- 
thodists also. And as it continues to be the acknowledged and 
established test of genuine Wesleyan discipline in the venerable 
stock from which we derived our origin, so may the primitive code 
drawn from it, and incorporated into our own system, continue to 
be the landmark by which we may be guided in any measures 
wUch may remain to be adopted, or to be consummated, for the 
unity and the perpetuity of Methodism in America. 

The other great measure of Mr. Wesley to which we have 
alluded, is *The Deed op Declaration,'* by which he gave a 
legal specification <rf the name and powers of ' the Conference of 
the People called Methodists,' and provided for the perpetuation of 
the doctrines and the itinerant system of Methodism, and for the 
inalienable appropriation of the chapels of the connection to the 
urposes for which they were built — all in accordance with the 
undamental principles of the existing economy. This deed, which 
marks so important an epoch in the history of European Method- 
ism, was executed by Mr. Wesley on the 28th cof February, 1784; 
so that, in one and the same ]^ar, he was led to the adoption of 
two of the most important and remarkable measures for the settle- 
ment of Methodism in the two hemispheres, — measures so diverse 
in their character, and yet so admirably adapted to the exigencies 
which called for them, in the respective countries, that those who 
$hall contemplate with attention and candour the beneficial results 
of both, for now nearly half a century, and with still increasing 
efficacy in a' multiplying ratio, can scarcely fail to be struck with 
that amazing power of mind by which, through the blessing of God 
upon his counsels and plans, he was so wonderfully enabled to 
adapt the best means to the best ends, — ^these being alwSiys with 
him, in despite of every minor consideration, the greatest glory to 
God, and the greatest good to man. These two instruments, the 
Large Minutes, and the Deed of Declaration, which Dr. Warren, 
in his Chronicles of Wesleyan Methodism, denominates * the Jachin 
and Boaz ' of the European connection, have settled both the 
doctrines and the general economy and discipline of that body on a 
foundation which can be overthrown only with the overthrow of the 
body itself. The Deed of Declaration, in particular, urefragably esta- 
blishes the following important points in regard to that connection. 
1. That it was Mr. Wesley's wish and design that the conference, 
after his death, should exercue the powers specified in the deed, as 
he himself, with the counsel of the conference, had previously exer- 
cised diem. This we think sufficient for the leading object of Mr. 
Beecham's work above mentioned. 

♦ See Wesley's Works, vol. iv, p. 753. 

Vol. Ill %a, 1832. 20 



280 The next Qtneral Canfereaee. 

2. That the acta of the majority d* the coofefence, to the extent of 
ita legitimate powers, shoula be of binding obligation on the whole 
body, to all intents, purposes, and constructions whatsoever. This^ 
so far at least as Mr. Wesley's judgment and the fundamental law of 
his connection are concerned, seems to us an ample answer to Mr. 
Moore's claim of such a * liberty' for minorities, and even for indivi« 
duals, as could not fail, we think, if allowed, to involve any associated 
body in anarchy, and to bring it to dissolution. 

3. The unalterableness, even by the conference itself, of the stand* 
ard doctrines of the connection, which are recognised in the Chapel 
Trust Deeds, and these again in the Deed of Declaration. 

4. The perpetuity of the itinerant system. The conference, by the 
express provision of the deed, has no power to appoint any preacher 
to any of the chapels for more than three years successively, except 
ordained ministers of the Church of England. And it is also farther 
provided by the Chapel Trust Deeds, that the same preacher shall 
not be sent to any chapel even for more than two years successively, 
without the consent of the trustees of the said chapel for the time 
being, and the men-leaders of classes of the society assembling thereat, 
or the major part of them ; which consent shall be signified in writing, 
and be delivered to the conference on the first day of their assembling* 

Afler Mr. Wesley's death, it is true, the British Wesleyah connec- 
tion sufiered agitations of so violent a character as threatened, in fact, 
its very existence. These, however, were caused, primarily and 
mainly, by the disputes which arose respecting the administration of 
the sacraments, the burial of the deaS, service in Church hours, &c;— - 
disputes which were indigenous in that connection, and which, from 
the time of our severance from the English state and hierarchy, never 
could be made to grow on oiir soil. They sprung from the conflicting 
views of those who had been gathered into the societies from the 
national Church on the one hand, and from among Dissenters on the 
other ; but were amicably and happily adjusted by the * Plan op 
Pacification' agreed upon in the year 1795, together with a solemn 
confirmatory act in regard to the Large Minutes, adopted and sub- 
scribed by the conference at Leeds in 1797* Since that time, our 
British brethren, freed from those acrimonious contentions by whieh 
they had. been so fearfully convulsed, have enjoyed a degree of har- 
mony and prosperity which has enabled them to devote a united and 
calm attention to the improvement of their system of finance, to the 
extension of missions, to the proper settlement, relief, improvement, 
and increase of their chapels and parsonages, and, in short, to the 
infusion of increased vigour into the springs and operations of their 
whole system, in relation to the entire work, at home and abroad* 
Behold how good, and how pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell 
together in unity ! 

We will now return from this foreign excursion,— foreign in one 
sense, yet, we trust, not so from either the object or the interest of our 
M3ubject, — and step back again to resume the consideration of our own 
^ei^ home afiairs. 

In establishing a delegated genera] conference, the able and expe- 
rienced men who were chiefly instrumental in efiecting that mucl^ 
needed and judicious measure, perceived the fitness and indeed the 



T%e next General Conferenee, 831 

oMigation of the occasion, to give to the then existing economy a 
character of stability, which should place it beyond the power of the 
delegated body itself to change the fundamental princ^les of either 
its doctrines'or its discipline. Without this limitation, nothing can be 
plainer or more certain than that the measure itself could not have 
been carried. Now it ought to be carefully noted^ that, in this ar- 
rangement, respect was had to the interests and privileges, not of the 
preachers only, but of the people also ; and that the great desidera- 
tum, — the important object in view, was, the preservation, strength- 
ening, and perpetuation, of the ^ union of the connection;^ in order to 
which it was felt that, at the same time with the settlement of the 
constitution of a delegated general conference, assurance should be 
given that * the doctrines, form of government, and general rules' 
under which the whole Church was associated by mutual and volun- 
tary compact, should be preserved < sacred and inviolable.' This was 
explicitly declared in the preamble of the report of the committee by 
whom the articles for the constitution of the future general conferences 
were drawn up and reported. It was not, indeed, thought proper to 
impress a feature of absolute immutability on the system, in regard 
even of what were deemed its fundamentals. Yet it was judged pro- 
per, for the satisfaction and assurance of the whole body of our com- 
munion, to whom it was dear, to settle it on such a basis as should 
render any change in these respects extremely difficulty and indeed 
impracticable, except in some such exigence as should render the 
conviction of its propriety and necessity almost, if not quite, unani- 
mous* This accounts for the strictness of the proviso at the close of 
the artijples of limitation on the powers of the general conference. 
We are free to confess, that we once thought this proviso too strict, 
and that it placed the possibility of change almost too absolutely out of 
reach. Some additional years of reflection, however, with a careful 
study of the occasion, nature, design, and bearing of this important 
instrument, considering it both in itself, and as compared with the mea- 
sures which Mr. Wesley was led to adopt for the stability and perma- 
nency of the European connection, have produced, we feel in duty 
bound to acknowledge, such a modification of our views on this sub- 
ject, as we shall now submit to the candid consideration of those who 
have, as we trust they will believe we have, the greatest and common 
good of our whole body, and of the sacred cause committed to our 
trust, sincerely at heart. 

We ask the general conference, and the preachers generally, to 
look first at the subject matter of the several restrictions themselves ; 
and then to consider the parties interested in their preservation. 

With one, single exception, for making which we shall presently 
assign our reasons, what are the restrictions 1 

* 1. The general conference shall not revoke, alter, or change our articles 
of religion, nor establish any new standards or rules of doctrine contrary 
to our present existing and established standards of doctrine. 

8. They shall not change or alter any part or rule of our government, 
80 as to do away episcopacy, or destroy the plan of our itinerant general 
superintendency. 

^ 4. They shau not revoke or change the general rules of the united so- 
cieties. 

$. They shall not do away the privileges of our ministers or preachers 



232 The next General Conference. 

of trial by a committee, and of an appeal: neitlier ahali they do a\^ay the. 
privilej^s of our members of trial oefore the society, or by a committee, 
and ofan appeal. 

6. They shall not appropriate the produce of the Book Concern, nor of 
the Charter Fund, to any purpose other than for the benefit of the travel- 
ling, supernumerary, superannuated and worn-out preachers, their wives, 
widows, and children. Provided, nevertheless, that ui)on the joint recom- 
raendaticMi of all the annual conferences, then a majority of two-thirds of 
the general conference succeeding, shall suffice to. alter any of the above 
restrictions.' 

It will be perceived that, in this quotation, we have omitted the 
restriction numbered 2, which provides that the general conference 
shall not allow of more than one representative for every five members 
of the annual conferences, nor less than one for evety seven. It is 
plain, we think, that this item ought never to have been placed where 
it is. It is one which certainly bears no analogy, in the nature and 
importance of its subject matter, to at least four of the other restric- 
tions among which it was embodied, — perhaps originally from inadver- 
tence, if not from accident. That the ratio of representation should 
be fixed, within a reasonable range, and with suitable checks on any 
alterations of it, is plam. But surely it was going too far to place 
this point on a par with those great pillars of our ecclesiastical edifice 
among which it stands. This, latterly, has been deeply felt. So long 
since, indieed, as before the last general conference, the Mississippi 
conference originated a resdlution which all the annual conferences, 
except one, concurred in, and with great unanimity, we believe, in 
each, agreeing to alter this article, without disturbing any other part 
of the instrument. Not having been able, however, to effect this de- 
sirable object in this way, from want of the assent of the dissentient 
conference, and the existing ratio rapidly increasing in its oppressive 
burdensomeness, the last general conference recommended, and all the 
annual conferences have since concurred in a measure which tends, 
confessedly, and very considerably, to weaken the force of the whole 
instrument. This was the price of relief, — and, as it seemed, the 
indispensable price,*-in the single article under consideration. In 
such circumstances, it may not perhaps become us to call this a retro- 
grade movement, or to question the soundness of its policy. Yet we 
must gay, that our views in relation to it, which were briefly expressed 
in our number for April 1831, remain unaltered. The recommendation 
of the last general conference, and the subsequent concurrence in it of 
the annual conferences which had previously assented to the Missis- 
sippi resolution of 1826 above alluded to, have not resulted, we «re 
persuaded, from any change of judgment, but from the necessity of the 
case, and for the sake of the required and the desired unanimity. 
We have reason to believe, too, that a considerable change has been 
in progress in the views of the conference formerly dissenting ; though 
we have no certain means of knowing the precise extent to which this 
change has advanced* Of one thing, however, we are well assured, 
and that is, that the individual conference alluded to, whatever im- 
pression any of our brethren may ever have entertained to the contrary, 
is as sincerely solicitous to preserve, in their purity and efficiency) both 
our doctrines and the fundamental principles of our organization and 
economy, as any other conference in the union. We say this, as well 



I%e next General Conference. 333 

from intimate and extensive personal acquaintance with that body, 
as from the ample practical proofs which it has given, particularly in 
the fiery ordeal through which it has passed since the last general 
conference. From its local position-and other circumstances, large 
calculations doubtless had been made in reference to it, by the oppo- 
nents of our system. But their disappointment has been as complete, 
as it has been mortifying to them, and gratifying to us ; and we now 
have the happiest evidences that there never has been a period in our 
whole history heretofore, when, in every essential matter, as well in 
our polity as in our doctrines, we were, as an entire body both of 
ministers and people, more sincerely and heartily cemented and bound 
together in love than at this moment. 

Is this, then, a time for loosening our * belts' or our < buckles V On 
the fundamental points specified in the restrictions, with the single 
exception above discussed, eon we be belted or buckled < too tight V 
Do not the times, and all our experience, (if we may repeat our own 
former language,) admonish us rather to give stability and permanency 
to our now well tried and well approved system, than to retrograde a 
single hair's breadth toward that state of looseness and insecurity in 
which we were previously to the general conference of 1808 1 Why, 
then, should we again even turn our face toward it, or weaken the 
barrier erected by the provident wisdom of our fathers to preserve us 
from it 1 Ought a delegated general conference to have been left in 
possession of power, without the consent, to say the least, of all the 
annual cosferences, to dissolve our very organization, to revoke or 
change the general rules of our societies, to do away the privileges of 
our ministers and members in regard to trials and appeals, and to alter 
or even revoke our articles of religion, and to establish new standards 
of doctrine difibrent from or contrary to our existing standards ? Most 
assuredly, we think, not: nor can we perceive a single good reason 
why we should desire even the power to loosen one of these founda- 
tion st<mes of our ecclesiastical edifice, — much less the whole of them. 
Indeed, for ourselves we candidly eonfess, if any change in regard to 
these must be made, we would prefer, rather than to loosen them, to 
see ihem made immoveable, like the great principles established in 
Mr. Wesley's Deed of Declaraticm, the benefii^ial operation of which 
has been practically proved for now nearly half a century. 

Will it be said that this is a departure from a liberal and popular 
view of the subject 1 In our humble judgment it is precisely the re« 
verse : and it is this conviction, too, which on close investigation and 
reflection, has contributed to operate so material a modification in our 
sentiments. It is for the continuance of restraint on our own power, 
and with a special reference to the interests of those who are not 
directly represented among us, that we here contend. In this view 
let it only be considered for a moment, who are the parties interested 
in preserving inviolate the guarantees established in the instrument in 
question. £re they the preachers only? — We speak as to wise men ; 
let them judge what we say. 

We beg that it may be distinctly understood, however, that it is at 
the utmost distance from our design, in any of our remarks now or 
heretofore made, to throw any obstacle whatever in the way of the 
action of the genttral conference on the resolution recommended by the 



234 The next General' Conference. . 

last general conference, and adopted since by all the annual confer^ 
ences. The ratio of representation ought to be and must be changed. 
In this, so far as we know, there is no difference of opinion among us/ 
But, m our estimation, it is a matter worthy of the most deliberate and 
enlightened consideration, whether the residue of the subject may not 
yet be advantageously reviewed ; and whether some recommendation 
may not be originated by the ensuing general conference, which, when 
concurred in by all the annual conferences, may serve to repair at 
least any breach which may have been made in the guarantees which 
had previously existed, — should such a course, on a mature review, 
be deemed advisable. This is the point to which we alluded in the 
introductory part of this article. And in inviting attention to it at this 
particular juncture, as we must do or be too late to do it at all, we 
trust that we have no need to add an assurance, or to invoke the can- 
dour of brethren to believe, that our remarks have no reference what- 
ever to any questions of a subordinate character which may ever have 
been agitated among us ; but are intended to be confined strictly and 
solely to the propriety of the existence of guarantees not less strong 
at least than those in the restrictive limitations, for the satisfaction 
and assurance of €dl the partite interested, in regard to those great 
points which constitute the very basis on which our whole fabric rests, 
and in reference to which our houses of worship and preachers' houses 
have been built and settled. 

The consideration last mentioned is one, in our view, regarding it 
both retrospectively and prospectively, which amounts to a degree of 
magnitude and importance little short of absolute imperativeness. 
By giving certainty and permanency to the great principles of their 
economy as well as their doctrines j our British brethren have been 
enabled, in conformity thereto, so to settle the form of their deeds of 
trust as to secure their chapels and preachers' houses, irrevocably and 
inalienably, to the uses and purposes for which they were built. This 
also enabled them, in the year 1808, farther to establish <m the same 
basis the very important regulation that the preachers should not 
occupy any chapel, thereafter to be built, until it was first settled 
according to rule : so that, whilst all persons were free to be or to 
become Methodists or aot, or to contribute for the erection of Method- 
ist chapels or not, yet the conference refuses to recognise any as such 
unless they agree to conform to the essential principles of Methodist 
order. This, in our humble judgment, is as it should be. But never 
shall we be able to accomplish this most desirable object, nor perhaps 
' can we be reasonably entitled to its accomplishment, till the funda- 
mentals at least of our system are settled on a basis of certainty and 
stability. And is a more propitious epoch than the present, for this 
purpose, likely shortly to occur ? On some minor points, it is true, 
there have been, and possibly may yet be, differences of opinion among 
brethren. But if a design ever existed, or ever was cherished any 
where among us, to sap the foundations of our economy, that leaven, 
we repeat our persuasion, has been pretty thoroughly purged out: 
and even as to any such minor differences, whatever settlement of 
them might be judged expedient on abstract principles, or did they 
now for the first time come before us in originating the details of a 
plan, yet, considering all the circumstances in which we are placed,— 



The next General Ctmference. 235^ 

and especially those produced by the events of the last few years,—* 
with the peace and harmony we now enjoy, and the cheering prospects 
opening before us,— it may well be worthy of calm and deliberate re- 
flection whether it be not possible to employ our invaluable moments 
in general conference both more usefully and more agreeably than by 
perpetuating controversies which are^ confessedly, of minor moment. 
If we be inquired of what those primary principles in our system are, 
to which we have alluded in the course of this article, we answer, — 
that for ourselves we think them expressed with sufficient compre- 
hensiveness in the restrictive limitations, — ^with the exception, for the 
reasons above stated, of the second item. As regards the sixth item, 
which, also, some might not be disposed to reckon among funda- 
mentals, we formerly expressed our opinion that it ought to be retained 
where it is, for the more perfect assurance of our deficient, suffering, 
and worn-out brethren, and of widows and orphans ; and that if to 
these objects of our tenderest and strongest sympathies we can give 
but a pittance, we should at least assure them, by the strongest gua- 
rantee in our power, that the means of afibrding them this partial 
relief, however Inadequate in itself, shall be carefully husbanded, and 
sacredly applied. This will serve, not only to impart a degree of 
present relief to those already actually sufiering, but also, in some 
measure, to console those yet in health and strength, and. to encourage 
them to labour on, though in prospect of age and infirmity and wsint, 
and of widows and orphans hereafter to be left to the care of their 
brethren and to the good providence of God. 

We regret that we are under the necessity of throwing off these 
remarks in haste ; but the truth is, the press has overtaken us, and 
already waits for the sheets from our pen. Indeed, we take this 
occasion to say, that an editor placed as we have been, in the responsible 
superintendence of so weighty a charge as that of our general Book 
Concern, with all its numerous and various operations and interests, 
is most disadvantageously situated for conducting a periodical of such 
a character as w& have desired to make this. With the assistance of 
our able and faithful colleague in the business department, we have 
done what we could, — not what we would. We are well convinced, 
at the same time, that, however burdensome md trying such a con- 
nection inevitably must be to an editor, the harmonious and efficient 
action of all the parts of this most important institution require that a 
v^ close and intimate association should continue to subsist between 
its editorial and business departments; Whether any improvement 
can be made in its organization, so as to maintain its unity and energy, 
with a continued extension of its operations commensurately with the 
growth of the country and the Church, and with a special reference to 
the interests of our benevolent institutions, and particularly of our 
Sunday schools, as well as of the general book business, yet so as 
not to impose on its managers a murderous weight of' care and toil, 
w31 doubtless occupy the early and close attention of fte general 
conference. 

It had been our purpose to subjoin a few additional remarks on some 
other points which we presume will importunately press themselves on 
the consideration of that body i — such, for example, as the cause of 
missions, both domestic and foreign, Sunday schools, Bibles and tracts. 



tS9 7%« mxt Omerul Canformei. 

educflttkm, temperance^ housee of worship and preachere' houses, the 
mean* of improving in our personal qualifications for the ministry, con- 
nected with those of improyement in the financial measures necessary 
for the support of the regular work, and of those faithful labourers who 
have been truly superannuated and worn out in it^ and of the widows 
and origans of such as endure to the end ; together with the watchful 
piMervation of that vital principle of itinerancy which constitutes the 
main spring of our whole system, and to which we greatly fear, that, 
under various plausible pretexts, a disposition is creeping in and gaining 
in strength among us, to admit of too many excepHotis : — exceptions 
to an extent, which, if we continue to multiply them at the rate of our 
late progress in this respect, bid fair speedily to swallow up the rule. 
We find, however, diat our limits foihid us even to enter on these 
tempting and firuitfiil themes, or to do more than barely to name them ; 
and that, for the residue of our article, we must content ourselves with 
a few brief and general reflections* 

The first which we will submit is, on what has frequently appeared 
to us a most lamentable waste of time, particularly in the commencement 
of the sessions of our general conferences, in settling rules of order, 
and other naatters of a veiy subordinate character. Surely this ought 
not so to be. The importance of a multitude of rules, very minutely 
specified, we are persuaded has been greatly overrated. A few 
general ones as to the order of business, with the experience and 
good sense of the presidents, guided by the usual order of deliberative 
bodies, and subject of course to an appeal to the conference itself on 
any grave occasion, seem to be all that are really necessary. And 
for the framing of such, or even of a minuter code if deemed better, 
could we not trust a judicious committee, say even so large a one, if 
desired, as of one delegate fi*om each annual conference, especisdly 
with the rules of all preceding general conferences before them. 
And rather than to consume invaluable and irredeemable time in 
debating on the report of such a committee, would it not be better to 
wait till experience should show the expediency Qr necessity of any 
addition or amendment : for, after all our debating, it may happen, and 
fi^uently has happened, that the points debated never prove, in the 
process of business, ofthe practical value of a straw. 

We have been struck with a remark which we have met with in 
reading, respecting the convention which met to form the constitution 
ofthe United States. It is said that a disposition was soon discovered 
in some ofthe members to display themselves in oratorical flourishes; 
but that the good sense ofthe convention put down all such attempts. 
And of Dr» Franklin in particular, who was esteemed as the Mentor 
of the body, it is remarked, that he was distinguished not less by the 
simplicity with which he expressed his thoughts, than by their appro* 
priateness and strength. How much more should this amiable, we 
had almost said enviable, characteristic, distinguish the minister of 
God, in a deliberative ecclesiastical assembly, where, as says our - 
Discipline, every thing should be considered * as in the immediate 
presence of God,' and every speaker should * have an especial care to 
set God always before' him. To simplicity, let brevity, observance 
of order and the point in hand, be added, on the part of the speaker^ 
with silent attention on the part of others, and aU the parts of business 



The next General Conference. 237 

would proceed, we venture to say, not only with greater expedition^ 
but with greater satisfaction, as well to every speaker ultim&telyy 
and to the entire body, as it certainly could not fail to do to the pre- 
siding officers. .Plain sound sense, concisely, appositely, and clearly 
expressed, is worth infinitely more on such occasions, and indeed on 
any occasion, than all the pretty, jingling, empty words, that can be 
heaped together: and surely *it is as consistent both with comptss 
and depth of thought, and with beauty and strength of diction.' 

Let it only be considered, that, if there be two hundred members 
present, every minute wasted is equal to two hundred minutes of the 
time of an individual ;— every hour, to two hundred hours ; — and 
every day, to two hundred days ! Besides that, in this way, impor- 
tant business may not only be delayed, but absolutely hindered, from 
want of time, ultimately, to attend to it. Within the first two or 
three days, it seems to us peculiarly desirable that the committees 
should be appointed and organized as fully as practicable, and the 
various subjects for their consideration referred to them. And per- 
haps, to enable them with despatch to prepare business for the 
action of the conference, it might be well that the time occupied in 
conference during the three or four remaining days of the first week, 
should be short ; in order that the committees, embracing in fact, as 
they doubtless will, a large portion of the whole body, may have Op- 
portunity, during the intervals,, for suitable consultation and delibera- 
tion, and to prepare their respective reports. This, in our judgment, 
would be a means of expediting and not of delaying business, in the end. 

In the respects just named, our brethren of the British connection 
certainly have greatly the advantage of us. Their standing com- 
mittees are appointed a year beforehand, and meet several days be-, 
fore the sitting of each conference ; so that, when the conference 
meets, the subjects for its consideration have already been maturely 
digested and prepared. The members of the committees, at the 
same time, are ready to enter Immediately and fully into the discus- 
sions in conference, and consequently to spend a full proportion of 
time, equally with others, in conference hours. It is from this cause 
also, that, from the very commencement of their sessions, they can, 
both with convenience and propriety, spend more time in actual con- 
ference than, in our circumstances. We either can or ought. These 
advantages result from the narrow limits of their field of labour, and 
their assembling in a general conference, in effect, annually. The 
essential difference of our circumstances, unavoidably debars us from 
similar advantages. Whether it be not possible, however, in some 
way, to lessen our disadvantages, at least in regard to some of the 
subjects which uniformly come before every general conference, may 
be worthy of consideration. With regard to the annual conferencee, 
that a considerable improvement might be made, in relation to the 
appointment and the meetinga of standing committees, we are well 
persuaded. 

Regarding, then, the present as a most propitious era for the 
perfecting and strengthening of our bonds of union, for the per- 
petuation of our true Wesleyan economy, and for the developing of 
its yet latent energies, rather than for weakening and unsettling it, 
we look forward to the meeting of the next general conference 
with more than an ordinary degree of pleasing anticipation. Tkiil 



938 *Mr. Weileg'8 Bishops.' 

subjects may not come before us which it will require all the wis- 
dom and all the piety of such a body to adjust, on principles uni« 
Tersally satisfactory, is not to be supposed. Like the broad surface 
of our civil union, that of our ecclesiastical union is spread over an 
immense field, and embraces a great variety of interests and views. 
To generalize and to harmonize these, so as to sacrifice nothing 
essential in either doctrine or discipline, and yet to allow reasonabto 
liberty in things unessential, seems to us the great desideratum. In 
doctrines, indeed, we have the happiness of a unanimity, throughout 
the whole extent of our work, unexampled perhaps in almost any 
other denomination. This is surely a ground of eminent felicitation ; 
and certainly imposes on us an obligation, with a grateful sense of so 
high a blessing, to take the more earnest heed that we fiaill not out by 
the way on smaller matters. In order to this, (in the language cf 
our excellent discipline againj) let us, in the intermediate hours, re- 
deem all the time we can for private exercises, and therein give our- 
selves to prayer for one another, and for a blessing on our labour. 
And may we not hope that in these fervent and united petitions to 
Him who is * great in counsel, and mighty in work,' we may be 
joined, with one accord, by the common supplications of the whole 
Church. Such praying breath cannot be spent in vain. May it rise 
in pure and ceaseless clouds from every quarter of our wide-spread 
charge, and go up with acceptance to the throne of Him whose is the 
kingdom, and the power, and the glory. 



•MfLWESLETS BISHOPa* 

Some of our Protestant Episcopal brethren (very kindly perho^s, though certainly 
very recently,) seem to have taken upon themselves the care of Mr. Wesley's ^;ood 
nAm«s And th« charge of vindicating the character of that * highly eminent minister 
of Jesus Christ' from the reproach incident to the idea of his haTing contributed to 
the institution of the episcopacy of the Methodist Episcopal Chiurch ! ' No, Sir,' — 
exdaims one of these modem friends, a writer in the Episcopal Recorder, — 

* Mr. Wesley had more correct prinoiples, than to attempt t6 create an order higher thaa 
his own, or g\ye a title which could by any possibility of construction, intimate-the most di»- 
tant intention to create such an order ; he simply tet apart Doctor Coke (who was likewise 
a presbyter of the Church of England) to act in conjunction with Mr. Asbury, as tuperin^ 
tenderUM o^er the societies in this country, which had been established through his instru- 
mentality.' 

Now, our new friend, who subscribes himself < Titus,' must excuse us for sayinff to 
to him that his logic has two small faults. The first is, that it is a total ignoratio dm* 
chi; and the second, a petUio princtpH : — it entirely mistakes (charity forbidding us to 
say misrepresents) the question ; and at the same time it assumes what is not granted. 
* Mr. Wesley had more correct principles than to attempt to create an order higher 
than his own.' Certainly he had. But what does this arguing reprove? Has Titus 
yet to learn that Mr. Wesley, that ' highly eminent minister,' uter a careful and coi^ 
sciettious examination of the subiect, dcM^red himself conyinced * that bishops and 
presbyters are the aanu ordery and consequently have the same right to ordam V — 
Alas! Titus, ihi omnit effiutu labor! — ^There aU your labour's lost f — ^You beat the 
air, and evince an amazing want of acquaintance with the * history' of the ease, or 
else a lamentable want of candour in statins it. 

The reader will be pleased to note carefully that the quesdon here, between Titua 
and us, is not whether bishops and presbyters are the same order, or not ;— but whaC^ 
was Mr, Wedey*s opinion on this suDJect. Our assertion is, that, at the time alluded 




Mr. Wesley^f BishopB.^ 239 



mi^ht h^re leare him, haTing shown Uiat he has assailed a pondon which, anon^ 
us, he will find no adversary to defend; and in regard jo which if he wiU fi^t, U 
must be with a mere fiction of his own imagination. 

But, althoi:^h Mr. Wesley held the identity of the order of bishops and presbyteni 
in the fMimitlve Church, and consequently that the right of oxdaining, whidi flows 
firom the intnnsical power of order, was equally in bow, yet it was farther his op^ 
nion, and also is ours, that presb^^ters may agree, for the sake of avoiding confusion, 
to restrain themselves as to the individual exercise of this righ^ and to commit its 
execution to one or more chosen from among themselves, on whom shall be devolved 
the exercise of this power and of an enlarged jurisdiction as to presidency and ovw- 
Bi^t. This was the true origin and the true nature of that episcopacy which took 
pULce in the Christian Church after the death of the Apostles^ and is the principle of 
that which exists in the Methodist £piscopal Church. Will Titus undertake the 
task of proving; that such a frame of polity, en the pruieipU$ hdd by J^r. WetUu, is 
either unlawful or absurd? Until he accomplishes this, his sarcasm falls harmless 
at our feet. 

On what principle it was that Mr. Wesley, assisted by other presbyters, considered 
himself justified in ordaining Dr. Coke for the office of a general superintendent in 
the American Methodist Church, then about to be organi^, is already sufficiently 
' matter of history.' His acknowledged power of jurisdiction, in relation to the socie- 
ties of which, under God, he had been me founder, was sudi as no other man, pres- 
byter or not, did or could possess. ^ This power he was solicited to exercise in behalf 
of his suffering societies in America, at a time when their case was clearly one of 
the exigence of necessity, — when the Church of England in America had become 
exUnct, and the Protestant Episcopal Church had never existed. This was a case 
which justified his proceeding, and that of the original organizers of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church, on* principles conceded even by high-church authorities them- 
selves. For this branch of the argument, were it necessary to enter into it, we might 
rest our defence on the principles asserted in a pamphlet published in Philadelphia, 
in 1783, by Dr. (now Bishop) WkUe, entided 'The Case of the Episcopal Churdies 
in the United States considered.' The arguments and authorities there adduced, so 
&r as regards the general principle in question, were as strikingly adapted to the ne- 
cessities of the Methodist societies in America, at that period, as to the case of the 
Episcopal Churches. Perhaps Titus has seen that pamphlet. If he has not, perhaps 
the publisher of the Episcopal Recorder can furnish him with it It has been before 
the public now nearly fifly years, and we are not aware that it has ever been re- 
tracted. Indeed, in any case, we might well say of it as Dr. White so appositely 
remarked of Stillingfleet's Irenicum, — it would be ' easier retracted Uian rejutedj* 

But Titus adds, * these gentlemen, [Dr. Coke and Mr. Asbury,] considering that ntperin' 
tmdent was a long Latin word, and hiUhop a Scriptural one, assumed the latter as their titlct 
in the face of Mr. Wesley's disapprobation and reprehension.' 

Is it then merely the * title'- borne by our bishops that offends Titus 7 or does he mean to 
stake both his understanding and his conscience on the desperate position that the solemni- 
ties used by Mr. Wesley in setting apan Dr. Coke, and through him Mr. Asbury, were not 
. intended as an ordination, and as the institution of an epitcopaey in facty on Mr. Wesley's 
principles of episcopacy, for the American Methodist societies 7 If this be what he means to 
usinuate, (with the kind design of garnishing Mr. Wesley's sepulchre to be sure, but of 
slaughtering before it, at the same time, the American Methodist bishops,) we beg leave, 
since he has so much regard for * matters of history,' to quote for his information a passage 
from a review of Moore's Life of Wesley, for which we helieve ourselves indebted to the pen 

* The editor of the Recorder has asserted that Stillbiglleet < afterward publiclv renounced and op- 
posed' the opinions defended in the Irenicum. We shall be very much obliged to him to inform as 
where this may be found, in StUlingJleeVa own tcords. The special pleading by which he has 
attempted to sustain his assertion, scarcely even touches the case. Stillingfleet himself denies that 
in the business which he had in hand in ' The Unreasonableness of Separation,' the work to which 
the Recorder refers, there was any contradiction of what he had sakl in the Irenicum. The great 

B>int maintained in the Irenicum is, that no one form of church-government is so founded upon 
iviae right that all ages and Churches are bound unalterablv to observe it. If it can be shown 
that StilliQgfleet afterward publicly renounced and opposed this position, we pledge ourselves, on 
conviction, for ever thereafter to renounce his name, as authority on this point, though still not his 
argumeTita, or tAe authorities quoted by him.— As to the passage cited by him from the preface to 
the book of ordinaUon. Bishops White and Hoadlv shall answer both for Stillingfleet and us. — ' Br. 
Galamy having considered it as the sense of the Church [of England,] hi the weface to the ordinal, 
that the three orders were of Divine appointment, and urged it as a reason for nonconformity ; the 
Bishop [HoadW] tdth evident propriety , remarks, that the service pronounces no such thing; and 
that therefore Dr. Catamy created a difficidty, where the Chvch had made none ; there being " some 
difference," says he, ** between these two sentences— —bishops, priests, jand deacons, are three dis- 

lina orders in the church by Divine appointment, and------|/n>m the apostles^ time there havia 

been in Clirist's Church, bishops, priests, had deacons."—* The same diecinction is aceuratelf 
drttttn and /uUy proved by StiilingAeet in the Irenicmn.*— Case ^ the Episcopal Ckurekee eon- 
sidered, p. 98, and note. 



246 < Mr. WtAa^i SUhops.^ 

of th« R«T. Richard Wat8on«->& writer who, perhaps, may be nippoeed ai tineerely coff* 
ceraed for Mr. Weiley'f juai fame ai even Titua. 

* The author has spent some time in showing that ej^scopacy, by name, was not introduced into 
the American Methooist Society by the sanction of Mr. Wesley, who. though he in point of fact did 
ordain biehops for the American societies, intended them to be called " ntperintendenU.^^ To the 
statement ouhis as an historical fact, no objection certainly lies i but the way in which it is enlarged 
upon, and the insertion of an objurgatory letter from Mr. Wesley to Mr. Asbury on the subject,— can 
hare no tendency but to convey to the reader an impression somewhat unfavourable to Dr. Coke 
and Mr. Asbury, as though they were ambitious of snow and title. Mr. Moore, indeed, candidly 
enoogh relieves this, by admitting that, on Mr. Wealey^a jmnciple itaetf, and in hie own viete, they 
were urue Scriptural episcoooi, and that Mr. Wesley's objection to the name, in fact, arose from its 
association in nis mina ratner with the adventitious honours which accompany it in Church esta- 
blishments, than with the simplicity and pre-eminence of labour, care, and privation, which it hae 
from the first exhibited in America, and from which it could not, from circumstances, depart Ac- 
cording to this showing, the objection was grounded upon no principle, and was a mere matter of 
taste or expediency.— whether the name had or had not the sanction of Mr. Wesley, is now of the 
least poaetble eoneequence, as the aaiaeopacy iteelfwAB or bib crbatino.* Wesleyan Methodiet 
Ma4[axine for 1835, p. isa.'* 

One other historical authority we will quote for Titus's information :— 
< Peace being now established with the United States ; and Mr. Asbury and the «ther preachers, 
having been instrumental of a great revival during the war, solicited fMr. Wesley] \» send them 
help. Hence, in February this year [1784] he called Dr. Coke into his chamber, and spoke to 
him nearly as follows : That as the American brethren wanted a form of discipline, and minisienal 
aid j and as he ever wished to keep to the Bible, and as near to primitive Christianity as he could, 
he had always admired tiie Alexandrian mode of ordaining bishops. The presbyters of that great 
4U|^etolicaI Chiu'ch, would never allow any foreign bishop to interfere in their ordinations ; but on 
we deatli of a bishop, for two hundred years, tiJl the time of Dionysius, they ordained one of their 
own body, and by the imposition of their own hands. Adding withal^ that he wished the doctor to 
go over and establish that mode among the American Methodists. 

All this was quite new to the doctor. The idea of an Alexandrian ordination was at first some- 
what revolting to his prejudices. However, being about to set out for Scotland, he weighed the 
subject for two months, and then wrote his entire approbation of the plan. Accordingly, he was 
ordained bishop, and brothers Whatcoat and Yasey, presbyters.* Crotether^a Portratture oJiU- 
thodiam, second edition, pp. 413-13.' ^ 

This is the 'fact' as to the things though it is admitted that Mr. Wesl^'s desire was thai 
Dr. Coke and Mr. Asbury should retain the tUXe of superintendents. The reasons for this, 
however, did not exist in America as they appeared to Mr. Wesley in England. And bad 
he been in America, and witnessed the style and the labours of Methodist bishops, (who« we 
undertake to say, pracHcallyt and as to the Divine seal on their commission, exhibit at least 
as near a resemblance to the apostolical pattern as any in existence,) we are persuaded that 
the reprehension which, under the influence of misrepresentations and some peculiarly ex- 
citing causes about that period, he subsequently expressed in regard to the titie, would have 
been greatly mitigated, it not wholly prevented. Be this, however, as it may, the change of 
the^ long Latin word' superintendent for the ' Scriptural one' bishop, was sanctioned by the 
American conference, in the exercise of a lawful liberty. But it was a change in the name 
only. No change whatever was made in the thing. And it is the things — the simple /act of 
episcopacy, in the language of Bishop White, — for which we are concerned. 

Titus's taunt is grounded on the assumption that I he title ' bishop.' in itself, ew vi termini, 
imports an order essentially higher than that of a presbyter. But this is a sheer begging of 
the question ;— an assimaption which certainly has no warrant in the authority of Mr. IVea^ 
ley. Neither has it any in philology, or in Holy Scripture. TVe use the term in its true and 
legitimate sense ; — primarily, as signifying an order identical with that of presbyter ;•— 
secondarily, as the title of a superior officer in that order ;-'a primus inter pares. — to whom 
is committed an extended jurisdiction, with the executive power of ordination and oversight. 
This we think a sufficirat reason both for our original adoption of it, and for refusing to 




tp,' who abui 

misconstrued, in our use of it, if this be a valid objection, what title is there, civil or eccle- 
siastical, which, on this principle, ought not to be repudiated. Nay, the better course, we 
think, is to *' rescue' the title * from the reproach incident' to its abuse, by explaining, defend* 
ding, and retaining iu in iu proper sense. This, by God's blessing, we have already in a 
great measure effected, and hope yet, by the same grace* to prosecute it to so complete a 
triumph, that Protestant Episcopalians themselves shall be made ashamed of their * extra- 
vagant pretension,' and of the * strange [twin] doctrine' of *uncovenanted mercies ;' as we 
have good reason to believe very many of them already are. 

In one respect, however, we are happy to be able to agree with Titus, we mean in the 
well merited eulogy which he pronounces on Mr. Wesley,— that * highly eminent minister of 
Jesus Christ, who lived and died a presbyter in the Church of England, and whose indefa- 
tigable and laborious ministerial exertions, through a long life, tended more to the advance- 
ment of vital godliness in England, Ireland, America, and other parts ofthe world, than those 
U any other man since the reformation.' fVe should be willing to ascend even higher. 
Yet, from such a one as Titus, thus much, porhaps, ought to content us. Possiblj, indeed, 
■jnce even A« makes so ingenuous a concession, he may at least bear with our weakness 
should we indulge the idea, that, if iha| extraordinary roan was not an apostle to others, yet 
doubtless he was to us, the seals of whose apostleship, or of whose bishopship if you please, 
we betaeve to be more numerous, both on earth and in heaven, * than those of any other man,' 
not only smce the reformation,' but since the apostolic age. 



I 



jons ]"'H»irsTiirri , 



METHODIST MAGAZINE, 



Vol. III.— J«Jj, l»3a- "' 



THE 

METHODIST MAGAZINE, 

AND 



Vol. XIV, No. S. JULY, 1832. New Series— Vol. Ill, No. 3. 



A FUNERAL SERMON, 

On x)cca8ion of the death of General Samuel L, Winston, Delivered at 
Washington^ Mississippij March 11, 1832. 

BY REV. WILLIAM WINAN8. 

The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to 
God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ, 1 Cor. xv, 56, 57. 

It is a well known fact, that, in the economy of Providence, 
death is made to minister to life. The seed which is sown in the 
earth dies to impart nourishment to the plant which springs from 
it ; and, in innumerable instances^ the life of one animal is sustained 
at the expense of that of another. The economy of grace is similar 
to that ot Providence. All spiritual life, in the case of sinful man^ 
is the fruit of death. In accordance with the scheme of both 
Providence and grace, we would render the melancholy occasion 
of our present meeting tributary to the purpose of our existence — 
to our eternal salvation. We would press into the service of our 
souls the death of our brother and friend, whose obsequies we 
meet to celebrate. Our business is not with the dead : to them 
we prea,cb not : for them we pray not. They are in weal or wo 
beyond our reach, and beyond the reach of change. Nor is it our 
business to eulogize their memory. But we would seize the occa- 
sion, when the heart is softened by affliction, to attempt the making 
of those impressions which in seasons of prosperity it is too unapt 
to receive. In our exposition of the text we snail keep this object 
in view ; and we shall do this the rather, as we consider the history 
of our lamented friend a practical comment on the doctrines of 
the text. We observe, — 

That death, to the unregenerate of our fallen race, has ever been 
considered an enemy. Few of those have been able to contem- 
plate his approach without consternation ; and the few who have 
succeeded m quieting their apprehensions, have done it at the 
expense of that rational sensibility which exalts man above the 
beasts that perish. An instance of more brutish stupidity could 
not be evinced than that of meeting death with compDsure unas- 
sured of the Divine favor. 

Vol. III.— July, 1832. 21 



242 Funeral Sermon on the death of 

But whence is it that death is so terrihle to man 1 Is it because 
it removes him from the enjoyments of the present life 1 This 
might be assumed if only the wealthy, the gay, those in good 
health apd surrounded by ample means of both selfish and social 
enjoyment, looked upon death with alarm. But, when it is seen 
that poverty, that sorrow, that affliction, that a deprivation of 
pleasure and of friends — 'that any of these, or that all of them 
together, are insufficient to reconcile man to death, or to disarm 
him of those terrors by which he aflfrights the child of sm, we are 
compelled to seek some other solution of the question. 

Nor is it that annihilation is apprehended, as the consummation 
of death. Man, however educated, /eeb in himself an instinctive 
evidence that he is destined to immortality ; nor did vice ever put 
man, prone as he is. to absurdity, upon a more difficult attempt 
than that of discrediting this testimony which the Author of nature 
has so legibly impressed upon his intellect and passions. That 
love of lire, that invincible abhorrence which every man feels to a 
deprivation of being, or what amounts to much the same thing, of 
consciousness, have all the force of demonstration, in support of 
the immortality of man ; especially when it is seen that this love 
and this abhorrence are strong in those who suffer the extremity 
of human misery, as well as in the most happy of mankind. 

But may we not account for the terribleness of death to man, 
by the uncertainties of that destiny which is to follow upon it 1 Scr 
far from it, that, if there was not some other, and very different 
ground of apprehension, there are thousands of the human family 
whose spirit of adventure, whose love of novelty and passion for 
discovery, would send them, before their time, to explore that terra 
incogmta, **that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no 
traveller returns." They would pant for those " new scenes, that 
untried being," which await those who die ; and, sick of treading 
the beaten track of life's perpetual round, would hasten away to 
scenes more adventurous, and perhaps more various. 

The question, therefore, recurs upon us. Why is death terrible 
to manf and is answered by our text — *The sting, of death is 
sin.' It is sin, and sin only, that renders death formidable to man. 
But what is sin 1 Sin, some will tell us, is moral wrong, an incon- 
gruity to the fitness of things, a derangement of the order and 
harmony of the moral world. And all this is true : but who, on 
simply considering sin in this abstract light, will be able to trace 
its relation to death, or discover that it is this which renders death 
so terrible to man ? Were it allowed us thus to consider the sub- 
ject, we should mock at the terrors of death, and laugh at the 
shaking of his spear, confident in its weakness. But when we 
learn that the strength, the energy, the efficiency of sin is derived 
from * the law' — ^the law of God, and that it is, consequently, 
guaranteed and enforced by the authority and sufficiency of the 
Deity himself, the subject assumes a quite different aspect. Death, 



Oeneral Samuel L, WiMUm, 248 

thus armed and thus supported, becomes insupportably terrible 
and invincibly formidable to man. It is thus that he has held 
mankind in bondage to fear in every age. It is thus that his 
terrors have made the most stout-hearted quail and faint at his 
approach. It is because he is thus armed and supported that man, 
even in the extremity of human suffering, chooses to continue in 
life a little longer. Disarm the tyrant of his stmg, or withdraw the 
energy which renders this wjeapon effective, and thousands who 
now shudder at the thought of death, would hail his coming as the 
period of calamities utterly intolerable in any other view than as 
they can be removed only by his agency. It is guilt alone which 
makes man afraid to die ; and guilt has this effect only because it 
involves the displeasure of the righteous Governor oi the world, 
from a violation of whose law this guilt proceeds, and whose 
character, as Lawgiver and Grovemor, renders it requbite that he 
should secure the inviolability of his law and the order of his 
dominions, or avenge their violation upon the head of the guilty. 
This connection between sin and the penalty of the Divine law, 
and between that penalty and the displeasure of the omnipotent 
Ruler of the universe, establishes in the human mind a conviction 
that, either in this life or in some future state of beip^ the guilty 
must suffer for their crimes ; and, as retributive suffering is seldom 
seen to fall upon the offender in this life, it is inferred, with moral 
certainty, that it is to be endured in a future state. Hence, death 
is intimately associated in the mind of the sinner with the fearful 
reckoning with Divine justice to which his offences espose him, 
and with the punitive sufferings which are to be the award of that 
reckoning. To the apprehension of the sinner, death is always 
(Closely followed by hell. To his affrighted imagination, Uhe 
twrant^ brandishing his spear, appears, and hell is close behind.' 
These views of the subject are the sober inductions of reason, irom 
principles firmly fixed in the very constitution of the human mind : 
but they do not derive their whoh support from such inductions. 
The concJtisive authority of Scripture confirms the inductions of 
reasoning, and assures us that, * as it is appointed unto men once 
to die,' so * after tins, the judgment* will sit upon the conduct of 
man, when he must give an account of his deeds, and receive 
according to what they have been, * whether they have been good, 
or whether they have been evil ;' so that they who have sowed 
< to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption :' but they that 
have sowed *io the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.' 
What wonder, then, that death is terrible to the guilty 1 What 
wonder that the boldest* whose hearts are not steeled against feel- 
ing, if they are not confident of the (£vine favor, should tremble 
at the prospect of being arrested by this invincible agent of the 
Divine wrath, and of being handed over to the tribunal from whose 
sentence there is no appeal, whose awards are irreversible, whose 
punisbments are unmitigable and eternal ? Not to tremble in such 



244 Funeral Sermon on the death of 

circumstances would evince, not bravery, but brutal insensibility— 
not magnanimity, but madness. 

But may not tins enemy be propitiated by man? No: he 
scorns alike the bribery of wealth, the blandishments of beauty, 
the pride of power, the amiableness of virtue, the charms of youth, 
and the venerableness of age. True to the trust committed to 
him, no argument can swerve him, no wit can dazzle, no flattery 
can soothe. His commission he executes to the letter, though the 
heart of brotherhood, of parental, of filial, or even of conjugal 
affection bleed in consequence. Of all the human family, two 
only, and these by especial dispensation from God, have passed 
from life without being victims to death. 

But if dfeath may not be eluded by man, may he not be dis- 
armed ? Cannot man, armed in the panoply of his own virtues, 
repel or render innoxious the sting to which this adversary owes 
the terrors by which he is rendered so formidable to man 1 As 
successfully would he man a straw against a whirlwind. To 
accomplish this, there must be in those virtues atoning merit, tcT 
satisfy the claims of violated law, and the demands of insulted 
justice. There must be an energy equal to the healing of the 
breach, occasioned by sin, in the order and harmony of the moral 
world. The law must be indemnified for its violation ; and suffi- 
cient satisfaction rendered to magnify and make it honorable. 
Its dignity had been insulted, its sanctity sullied, its authority 
brought into question: — these injuries must be atoned, or death 
remains armed in all his terrors. And can the independent virtues 
of man, even supposing him capable of such virtues, accomplish 
all this 1 No : nor any part of it. 

Is there, then, no possibility of man's escaping from these 
terrors 1 There is ; and the knowledge of the fact inspired the 
apostle, as it should do every man, with ardent gratitude to God. 
He had contemplated death in all the terrors derived from a 
violated law exacting upon man, under the guarantee of omnipo- 
tence, for his sins; and, while overwhelmed with the anguish 
which such a view of the wretched condition of man was calcu- 
lated to produce, he casts his eye to Calvary, and, in view of the 
blood-stsdned banner of the Redeemer, under which man may 
achieve a victory over death, he breaks out with, * Thanks be to 
God !* Nor was there ever greater cause for thankfulness, 
whether we consider the greatness of the benefaction, or the man- 
ner in which it was wrought. ' It is, considered in all its relations 
and dependencies, nothing less than complete deliverance from the 
dreadful consequences of both ori^nal and personal transgression. 
It implies pardon, sanctification, the assurance of hope, and resur- 
rection from the dead. It raises man from the ruins and ignominy 
of the fall, to * glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life.' The 
manner in which this deliverance was wrought is equally calcu- 
lated to inspire gratitude. It was not by a simple benevolent 



General Samuel L, Winston. 245 

volition of the Deity : it was not by a mighty exertion of Omnipo- 
tence : it was by giving up his own Son to be a propitiation for the 
sins of the world. We said before, that the life of the world was 
derived from death. It was the death of Jesus of which we spake. 
The cross on which he expired, watered by his blood, is fruitful 
of eternal salvation to all those who conform themselves to 
the requirements of that plan on which the Gospel proposes to 
save man. 

But how does the death of Jesus bring life to the world 1 How 
is man, through him, made to triumph over death ? Had he been 
a mere creature, no matter of what dignity or worth, he could not 
have procured this benefit for man by his death ; and for these 
reasons : — 1. He would have had nodiing to ofiFer to satisfy the 
claims of law and justice against man, — ^because the whole ability 
of the creature, of every creature, is evidently due to the constant 
service of the (^ator ; and, therefore, can have no merit, imputa- 
ble to another. 2. No creature has life inherently and independ- 
ently; and, consequently, had Jesus been a creature, he could 
not have accomplished the salvation of man by his death : for he 
himself would, in that case, have either remained the prisoner of 
death, or have been dependent on another for his resurrection. 
But he was not a mere creature. In his person were united, in a 
manner inscrutable to man, the proper natures of God and man, 
of Creator and creature : — ^the one could suffer and die, — ^the 
other could impart ^rtue and merit to those sufferings and that 
death, available to the salvation of man ; and could resume "the 
life which had been laid down. It is not for man to explain or to 
understand the particulars of this most important transaction. He 
cannot comprehend the manner of that incarnation of Deity upon 
which the whole efficacy of this beneficent scheme was based ; 
nor the reason why the sufferings and death of Jesus redound to 
the salvation of man ; nor how the resurrection of Jesus secures 
the resurrection of the dead of Adam's family. Nor is it important 
that we should comprehend these matters.. It is enough for all 
the purposes of faith and comfort, that we are made acquainted 
with the facts themselves. A more important inquiry is, *By 
what means we may secure to ourselves the benefits of this scheme 
in their full extent ]' This is an inquiry to the last degree import- 
ant to every individual : but, unfortunately, too many will turn 
away from this inquiry, because it leads to no new discovery. The 
answer must b^ the same which has been reiterated till it has palled 
upon the taste of the fastidious, — ^till it has become stale and unin- 
teresting to the lover of novelty. This is, however, a case of quite 
too much importance to permit us the liberty of disguising or em- 
bellishing the truth, with a view to pleasing the imagination. The 
old directions, * Repent and believe the Gospel !* are the only 
ones which would not betray the inquirer to perdition. However 
tasteless from repetition, however revoltmg to pride and self-love, 

21* 



246 FuMral Sermon on the death of 

these directions must be heard and followed ; or, as sure as there 
is a just God in heaven, we must be damned. Death will remain 
our mveterate, our invincible, our eternal foe. By * repentance 
toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ,* — a repent- 
ance arising from conscience of sin, and sorrow for having sinned, 
and showing itself in humility, confession, reformation, and seeking 
God in the means of pace ; — ^faith that relies on Christ for salva- 
tion, trusts the word of God, works by love, purifies the heart, and 
creates the soul anew in Christ Jesus ; — by this repentance and 
faith, man, with reference to what concerns his salvation, becomes 
identified with the omnipotence of his Redeemer ; and, having 
overcome his spiritual foes as they arose agamst him, he is enabled 
to conquer the last that assails him, — God gives him the victory 
over death through our Liord Jesus Christ. 

You, my brethren, wish for this victory : you say, with Balaam, 
^ Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be 
like his.' But are you willing to have it on the terms prescribed 
in the Gospel 1 Hitherto many of you have not been thus willing. 
Hitherto you have obstinately rejected the counsel of God against 
yourselves, or carelessly neglected the great salvation ofiered you 
through Jesus Christ. Perhaps the example of one you knew, — 
. one dear to many of you, a neighbor, a brother, a friend, may 
have more success with you than the most forcible reasonings, or 
the most authoritative precepts. Such an example I am now to 
propose to you. You knew Samuel L. Winston too intimately for 
it to be necessary to enter into a detail of his history. You knew 
him when he was of the world, devoted to its interests, directed by 
its maxims, and controlled by its opmions and customs; and you 
haVe known him since the important epoch when, renouncing the 
world, he became the pledged follower of Jesus Christ. I will not 
presume that ri^d Scrutiny into his character, even during the 
latter period, would have found it faultless :— he himself would 
have decided more humbly with regard to his course :— but this F 
am happily able to say, that, late in life, when in full and constant 
expectation of his appearing before the bar of Him whose know- 
ledge of all things is perfect, who loveth truth and hateth iniqCiity, 
he did assure a friend that, from that time when, by uniting him- 
self to the Church, he publicly announced to the world his purpose 
of being a Christian, he had never, for a moment, swerved from 
that purpose. 

There is one part of liis conversation with that friend which 
deserves to be especially noted. His friend having observed to 
him, that as he had been travelling, his opportunities of religious 
improvement had been small, and his exposure to temptation 
greater than in ordinary circumstances ; and having intimated the 
inquiry whether his soul had not, consequently, sufiered loss, he 
replied to this intimation, that, * during his joumeyings, he had, as 
much as possible, avoided contact with the world, by obtaining a 



General Samuel L. Winstim. 247 

private apartment; and, where he could not do this, by retiring 
into himself : — ^that, consequently, he had not suffered loss.' Now, 
let it be remarked, that necessary intercourse with the world, any 
more than an intercourse which aims at the religious advantage of 
the world, does not place the Christian without the pale of Divine 
protection ; and, therefore, though a man be and live thus m the 
world, he is not of it, nor corrupted by it : ^whereas, that Christian 
who chooses his pursuits and associations in the world, naturally 
subjects himself to its influence ; and, by violating a plain com- 
mand of God, alienates the Divine protection ; and, imbibing the 
spirit, adopting the maxims, and submitting to the customs of the 
world, to which he has united himself, he loses the life of religion 
from his soul, remits the strictness of external performances, 
indulges in conformity to the world, and, in short, renounces the 
profession as well as the practice of godliness, and becomes two- 
fold more the child of perdition than he was before he embraced 
religion. It was a conviction of the danger of voluntary and 
needless intercourse witb the world, which suggested to our 
deceased friend the precaution to which he imputed the impunity 
with which he passed through scenes usually so pernicious to 
unwary Christians. And O ! how many fatal instances exist of 
shipwreck of faith and a good conscience from a disregard of the 
-apostle's injunction to * come out from among the wicked and to 
be separate !* Are there not many, even in this congregation, 
conscious that they are now on the broad road to damnation, who 
can trace their fall from grace and their return to the ways of sin 
principally, if not entirely, to their needless connection with the 
world, and to their criminal friendship for it 1 Be warned, then, 
Christians, young Christians especially, against mixing with the 
world on any other than strictly Christian principles. Know that 
whoever is a * friend of the world is an enefhy to God.' Use the 
same precaution to which our lamented friend ascribed his safety, 
while necessarily hi the world. Fear not the imputation of sin- 
gularity. You musU in reference to the world, be sbgular, or you 
must be damned. There is no other alternative. 

Brother Winston was apprized that he was near his end. He 
wisis not disgusted at life, he was not weary of the world : but he 
was reconciled to die. *• I shou^d,' he said to the friend alluded 
to above, * I should like to remain longer with my little family, but 
I am prepared and willing to die.' It was natural, it was virtuous 
to wish to remain. with his family, to comfort them, to protect them, 
and especially to train up his children, whom he had solemnly 
dedicated to God, in the ways of godliness : but it was to rise above 
nature, and to attain to the sublime of Christian virtue, to be will- 
ing to leave objects so dear, in obedience to the Divine mandate, 
and thus to rise superior to all fear of death, all dread of judgment, 
and thus calmly, confidently, and joyfully, to enter the valley and 
shadow of death. 



248 Sermon en the death of Gen. S. L, Winston. 

Nor was the triumph of Christian temper shown by our friend in 
this victory over the fear of death alone. One who watched his 
sufferings with almost unexampled vigilance and perseverance has 
assured me that, during his long-protracted and agonizing suffer- 
ings, nothing like a murmur ever escaped his lips ; and another, 
who saw much of his sufferings, spoke with admiration of the sweet- 
ness of temper, the humility and the gratitude which he displayed 
to those who ministered to him in his affliction. Confidence in 
God, love to him, to his people and to mankind, resignation to the 
Divine will, patience under sufferings, peace of conscience, hope of 
glory, and joy in God, were fruits of that religion which he had 
nourished in his heart, wluch were now gathered in fuU maturity, 
affording ample evidence of the goodness of the tree which pro- 
duced them. 

And can we doubt, with these evidences before us, the final 
safety and happiness of our friend 1 Can we doubt the triumph of 
one who entered upon his conflict with the last enemy thus armed 
and thus sustained 1 No : we cannot, we do not doubt it. We 
sorrow for our loss of a near relation, a dear friend ; and it is right 
we should sorrow ; 'twere worse than brutal not to do so : but * we 
sorrow not as those without hope.* We sorrow not for him. Death 
to him was a discharge from a perilous war-^^the end of long« 
continued and severe affliction — ^the beginning of full, unspeakable, 
eternal felicity. He might have said, — ^in effect he did say, 
* Weep not for me : but weep for yourselves and your children.' 
I shall * overcome through the blood of the Lamb ;' and, having 
thus overcome, I shall ' sit down with Jesus in his throne, as he 
overcame and is set down with his Father in his throne.' He will 
say to me, * Well done, good and faithful servant ! enter thou into 
the joy of thy Lord.' There the * wicked cease from ti*oubling ; 
there the weary are at rest.' * I have fought the good fight, I have 
finished my course, I have kept the faith : henceforth there is laid 
up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous 
Judge, will give me at that day.' Then * weep not for me, but 
weep for yourselves,' whom I leave in an enemy's land, in a 
region of sin and sorrow, where, in order to make your calling and 
election sure, you must pass through many fiery trials, many sore 
and hazardous conflicts. ^ Iniquity shall abound, .the love of many 
shall wax cold,' you shall be tempted, scorned, persecuted : but, if 
you have entered upon the Christian course, and if you * endure to 
the end, you shall be saved.' Weep for yourselves ; you especially 
whom I leave in your sins. For you there is no hope but in the 
most poignant sorrow, working repentance, casting down all proud 
imaginations, stripping you of all dependence on yourselves, bring- 
ing you, humblea, stricken, heart-broken, to the feet of Jesus in 
that faith which, * renouncing all, both righteous and unrighteous 
deeds,' casts you, with full and exclusive confidence, upon the 
merits of Jesus Christ for salvation. 



History of MethodUt JifymiM. . 249 

Such wasxthe language of the facts in the death scene of our 
beloved brother Wmston. And will you be deaf to this appeal, as 
you have been to so many ()thers 1 Will you, who this day feel 
the intimacy ofyour relationship to the deceased in the grief his loss 
has excited, reject the admonition that sounds as it were from his 
just closing tomb 1 If ever again you see the face of that neigh- 
or, brother, father, friend, and husband, with pleasure, * prepare 
to meet your God.' Then, soon, O how soon ! will you meet 
him, with a pleasure now utterly inconceivable as well as inde- 
scribable — a pleasure heightened by the assurance that that meeting 
is never to be succeeded by separation. 

'Who meet on that delightful shore, 
Shall never part again.' 



t 



HISTORY OF METHODIST MISSIONS. 

Authentic History oftheJ\IissUyns under the care of the Missionary Sod* 
ety of the Methodist Episcopal Church. By Nathan Bangs, D. D. 
JVctr- Yorky Published by J. Emory <^. B. Waughyfor the Methodist 
Episcopal Churchy 1832. 12mo, pp. 258. 

The announcement of this publication, so long expected, was 
greeted -by the Church with (no ordinary satisfaction. It is now 
more than three years since the public were informed that such a 
history was contemplated, and the friends of Methodism and its 
missions, in the United States and elsewhere, have been eagerly 
expecting its appearance. The reviewer is among those who 
regard the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church 
as an institution possessing high and holy claims to the attention 
and liberality of the friends of the Redeemer's kingdom of every 
denomination ; and one whose organization, progress, and success, 
need only be known to be every where appreciated and amply 
sustained. He therefore hailed the publication of the present 
history, as one calculated to supply a desideratum to the Church 
and to the world ; and be has risen from its perusal with a convic- 
tion that it cannot be read without intense interest, and hopes it 
may obtain a circulation commeni^urate with its intrinsic value. 

As an introduction to this history of our own missions, the author 
has very appropriately presented the reader with a brief outline of 
the origin and progress of missionary labor among the Protestants 
indifferent parts of the world, both among Christian and Heathen 
nations. And without any invidious distinction between the 
various missionary enterprises which have been prosecuted since 
the reformation, all of which have been laudable and useful, one 
cannot help remarking the prominent part which Dr. Coke and 
the other Wcsleyan Methodists have performed, and the astonish- 
ing success which has ever attended their labors. Nor can it be 
overlooked, that the missions commenced by Dr. Coke in 1786, 



250 Histary of MethodUt MuriOM. 

in the West Indies, and subsequently prosecuted by him in Ire- 
land, Wales, Nova Scotia, Gibraltar, and France, are still in suc- 
cessful operation. For when this great apostle of missions fell a 
martyr to his zealous and untiring labors, on his voyage to the 
East Indies to carry the Gospel thjther, in 181 S, the Wesley an 
Methodist Missionary Society was forthwith organized, and ^ took 
up the missionary cause where the indefatigable Dr. Coke left it, 
and has carried it forward with a zeal and liberality worthy of all 
praise.' Already the labors of this noble institution have extended 
to the four quarters of the globe, to New Holland and the isles of 
the sea, and their success has probably exceeded that of all other 
missionary societies in existence in either hemisphere. 

Having included in the introduction a sketch of all the Protest* 
ant missions that have been in operation for the last three hundred 
years, the author next proceeds to narrate the origin and organi- 
zation of the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, which was instituted in the yeai 1819, the proposition for 
its establishment being made at a meeting of the book agents and 
preachers stationed in New-York. Of the nine brethren whose 
names are given as including all who were present when it was 
determined to form the society, two of them. Rev. Freeborn Gar- 
" rettson, and Rev. Thomas Thorp have fallen asleep in Jesus, and 
now rest from their labors, while seven of them yet live to see the 
pleasure of the Lord prospering in their hands. At the general 
conference of 1820, the objects of the society were cordially sane« 
tioned and recommended to the several annual conferences for 
their support, and immediately thereafter the active operations of 
the society were commenced according to the provisions of the 
constitution. 

The author now enters upon the history of the aboriginal mis- 
sions in the United States and territories, to the salvation of whom 
the labors of this society have thus far been chiefly devoted. And 
the first of these is the Wyandott mission, at Upper Sandusky, 
Ohio. This mission had been commenced in 1816 by a free 
colored man, named John Steward, who was- a member of our 
Church in Powhattan county, Virginia, and who, actuated by love 
to Christ and the souls of men, and impelled by an impression that 
it was his duty to travel to the north-west, he knew not whither, 
went alone and on foot until he came to Sandusky, where by a 
most singular train of providences he was induced to remain, and 
where he was eminently owned and blessed of God. For though 
he had to speak to the Indians through an interpreter — and he a 
wicked and ungodly Indian, and though this interpreter would often 
say to the pec^le after repeating what Steward had said, * So he 
says, but I do not know whether it is so or not, nor do I care ; all I 
mind is to interpret faithfully what he says ; you must not think thiU 
I care, whether you -believe it or not f and notwithstanding the word 
preached was accompanied by such an exposition, and passed 






Mstary of Methodist Mkrions. 351 

through so unworthy a medium ; yet it became the * power of Crod* 
not only to those who heard, but to Jonathan the interpreter him- 
self ; for the truth so often repeated by him at length got hold of his 
own hearty and brought him to Christ the Saviour of sinners, and 
he became a living witness of the power of Christianity, and a 
valuable sud to Steward in his missionary labors. In the year 
1819 Steward was regularly licensed to preach by the Church at 
Urbana, and appointed a missionary to Upper Sandu^y, where he ' 
continued to prosecute his labors of love assisted by a number of 
the local preachers in the vicinity ; and in the same year a society 
was oi^anized by Rev. J. B. Finley presiding elder of the district 
in which the mission was located. In 1820 Moses HinHe, sen., 
was appointed missionary to Upper Sandusky, and in 1821 Rev. Mr. 
Finley was placed in chaise of the mission, which had by this 
time become deeply interesting and prosperous. 

This chapter contidns a narrative of a succession of events the 
most remarkable, amusing, and instructive, of any which the history 
of the aborigines has l^er furnished. The labors, sufferings, 
persecutions, and triumphs, of that most extraordinary man, iiim 
Steward, whom the God of missions had visibly thrust out, and who 
died a martyr to the Gospel he preached with the demonstration of 
the Spirit and with power, is of itself a monument of Divine grace 
worthy of the devout contemplation of every pious mind. And the 
description given of the love-feast held by Mr. Finley'^on his^^first 
visit to the mission ; the subsequent interview of the converted 
chiefs with Bishop M'Kendree and the Ohio conference; the 
visits of Bishops M'Kendree and Soule to the mission and their 
interviews with the converted natives, present incidents of the 
most affecting kind, and of the most cheering character. No one 
can read this chapter without a conviction that the God of provi- 
dence and grace has placed the seal of his approbation upon this 
* labor of love.' It is said that when it was read by the committee 
of the board who were examining it for publication, every metaber 
became affected to tears, and the reading was interrupted by the 
melting emotions it occasioned in the hearts of all present. 

The Asbury mission among the Creek Indians was commenced 
by the South Carolina conference in 1822 under the (Jirection of 
the Rev. Dn Capers, and continued until 1830, under circum^ 
stances of a painful and afBicting character when it had to be 
reluctantly abandoned, not however without some individual 
instances of usefulness ; and those who have gone to their new 
home west of the Mississippi, will be followed by the missionaries, 
and may yet ' know the joyful sound.' The narrative of the origin 
and progress of this mission from the pen of Dr. Capers recorded 
in this chapter will be found to be of a most interesting and affect- 
ing character. 

The Cherokee mission was commenced by the Tennessee con- 
ference in 1822, and under the superintendence of Rev. Wm. 



25% Hbtary of JHethodUt MsnMS. 

M'Mahon, had been greatly prospered a few years since. Of late, 
however, difficulties of a peculiar and painful character have greatly 
distracted this unhappy pec^le, and interrupted the prc^;res8 of the 
Gospel among them. The authentic account given in this chapter 
of the past and present state of the work among the Cherokees is 
highly valuable, and will not be read without exciting commisera- 
tion in their behalf in every sensitive mind. 

The Choctaw mission under the direction of Rev. Alex. Talley^ 
had an unexampled success during the five years which followed 
its commencement in 1825 by the Mississippi conference, but this 
nation b also distracted by state policy, and the natives are rapidly 
emigrating to the distant west. Thither Mr. Talley has accom- 
panied them, who, with a few native laborers, continue to spend 
and be spent in the cause. This chapter is rich in incident and 
variety, and contains information of the state of the country 
acquired by Mr. Talley in his tour of observation, made on behalf 
of these Indians to the Rocky mountains, which is highly im- 
portant. 

After an account of the Oneida mission among the Mohawks 
and Onondagas under the Rev. D. Barnes which is greatly pros- 
pered, and also that among the Shawnees and Kanzas by the 
Missouri conference, the author introduces the original missions in 
Upper Canada, where the Lord has so signally and extensively 
blessed the labors of his servants as to attract the attention of the 
Christian world in both hemispheres. The extent of the field 
which is here open to missionary enterprise, the zeal and industry 
of the Rev. Wm. Case and his associates in this great work, and the 
astonishing results which have followed the native preachers and 
exhorters who are proclaiming in their own tongue the unsearch- 
able riches of Christ, are presented by our author in a manner 
calculated deeply to afiect every reader, and the anecdotes which 
abound in this part of the history cannot fail to amuse and 
instruct. To enlarge, however, here would do injustice to the 
publishers, and would too much extend the review. 

The domestic missions, in remote and destitute settlements, as 
well as among the slaves of the south, form the fifth and last chapter 
of our history, and with some concluding remarks close the volume. 
These missions are comparatively few, for in general the success 
attending these has been such, that they are speedily formed into 
circuits and incorporated into the several annual conferences. A 
great amount of good has been done by this department of the 
society's labors. 

Beside the multitudes under religious instruction by our mission- 
aries, it is found that thirteen thousand six hundred and thirty-four 
souls have been received into the Church upon our misi^on stations,' 
and there are now eight hundred and twenty-four children in- 
cluded in the l^everal mission schools. This then has been the 
visible result of the labors of the society in thirteen years, and 



History of Methodist Mssions. S53 

the whole expense has been $80,483 20. These results^ from so- 
small an expenditure, if compared with the expenditure and results 
of other missionary societies, will abundantly testify to the excel- 
lence and superiority of our plans, and show that in accordance 
with Methodist policy, the institution is laboring to effect "^be 
greatest possible good at the lowest possible expense ; a consider- 
ation which will not be overlooked by those who are casting in of 
their abundance into the treasury of the Lord. 

The circulation of this history of missions among our ministry 
and people is designed and calculated to inform the public, and 
especially all who have in any wise contributed to the objects, what 
has been the result of their liberality ; and this information is given 
more fully, and with greater minuteness of detail, than is possible 
in the annual reports. Here too we can compare the amounts 
received and expended in each successive year of the society's 
laborsj from which it appears that the demand made on the funds 
for the support of missions is gradually though steadily increasing, 
and it will be found that during the last two years the expenditures 
have exceeded the receipts more than three thousand dollars ; and 
notwithstanding the balance reported the last year as unappropri- 
ated, it is clear, in view of the ordinary ratios of extension of 
labor, that unless increasing liberality be manifested on the part 
of the frifends of the society, the treasury will be exhausted. This 
is much to be apprehended when we consider that arrangements 
are now made for /orwgti missums^ to be commenced the present 
year, which will ^eatly increase the demands on the funds. 

There can be little doubt, however, that there is ability and dis- 
position on the part of the Christian public lo sustain an institution, 
whose history exhibits so unequivocal evidences of being favored 
with the smiles and benediction of Heaven. And the effect of the 
present publication will be, wherever it is read, to make the public 
better acquainted with the economy of our Church, and the policy 
of our missionary exertions : at the same time it will cheer the 
hearts and strengthen the hands of Ihe auxiliary societies, by fa- 
miliarizing them with some of the scenes of labor, privation, and 
suffering on the part of the missionaries to whose support and that 
of their families they are contributing. And it is truly desirable, 
that when auxiliary societies are employed in raismg money, and 
individuals besitowing their bounty, they should not merely k^ow 
that the amount is forwarded to the treasurer of the missionary 
society at New-York, but they should know that those whom they 
support in the work are preaching in the wilderness of North 
America, among the negro plantations of the south, amid the 
swamps and marshes of the far west, the same Gospel which has 
brought consolations to them so exceedingly precious. And they 
should know too that this Grospel is sent not in word only, but in 
demonstration of the Spirit, and that many are * plucked as brands 
from the burning.' This valuable tistory will accomplish all this, 

Vol. III.— /u/y, 1832. 22 



254 Hiatory of Methodist MisHons. 

and ought to give an impulse to the cause, which it has nerer 
received. 

Since its publication the session of the General Conference has 
taken place, and on recommendation of the managers of thejparent 
society, new fields have been opened for foreign missions. One or 
more missionaries have been appointed to the colony at Monrovia 
in Africa, another to Green Bay, and an exploring agent is to be 
sent to South America to provide for the immediate organization 
of a mission in that idolatrous country, while the boai^ are em- 
powered to contribute $1500 per annum to the support of the 
missions ui Upper Canada,, which are under the control of the Ca- 
nada conference. Thus it would seem apparent, that more men and 
means are loudly called for in this holy enterprise, and who would 
withhold his prayers or his contributions? If we love our neighbor 
as ourselves, must we not a<lmit the obligation to send him the 
Gospel of free salvation whatever else we withhold 1 While so 
many millions of our race groan under evils which the Gospel will 
remove, who can be indifferent when an effort is made to send them 
that Gospel, and especially when we are commanded to preach 
that Gospel to every creature. And as faith cometh by hearing, 
and Jbearing by the word of God, how can he preach except he be 
sent? - 

To all who bear the name of Methodists, it is only necessary to 
say in the language of the author, ^ Methodism has. been missionary 
in its character from its beginning,' and to remind them of the 
maxim of Mr. Wesley, * the world is my parish.' We ourselves 
are the fruit of missionary labors, and we must partake of this 
missionary spirit, or we should either change our name or change 
our character. And what encouragement do we find in the fact so 
prominent in tMs history, that wherever our society have begun a 
mission in a Heathen land, the God of missions has taken the work 
into his own hands, and raised up native messengers of his truth, 
speaking to every man in his own tongue the unsearchable riches 
of Christ. Thus the gift of tongues, or its equivalent is given with 
the outpouring of the Spirit, and thus it is that a nation will be 
bom in a da;^, and the earth be filled with the knowledge of God. 
In conclusion it may he remarked, that the author of &e History 
of Missions has performed a most desirable work, and one which 
cannot fail to be of essential service to the Church and to the cause 
of missions. It remains to be seen whether the results of its publi- 
cation shall be such as it merits, especially since its author refused 
remuneration for his labor, preferring that the cause itself should 
be benefited by its publication. Let it be «een in every family, 
and found in every Sabbath school library bearing the name of 
Methodist. 

R. M. D. 



255 



HISTORY OF METHODISM 
ON THE CONNECTICUT WESTERN RESERVE, OHIO. 

6T REV. ALFRED BRUNSON. 

This Resenre is one hundred and twenty miles long, and 
averages forty-three miles and three quarters in breadth, and eon- 
tarns an area of three millions three hundred and sixty thousand 
acres. It is bounded on the east by Pennsylvania, on the south 
by the forty-first degree of north latitude, west by a line parallel 
with the western line of Pennsylvania, one hundred and twenty 
miles distant,, and north by Lake Erie. 

It derived its name from the following circumstances :— At the 
time Charles II., king of England, was granting charters to the 
colonies on this continent, the geography of it was but little known. 
The country had been explored coily as far west as the mountains, 
and the adventurer, after passing the dividing ridge, seeii^ the 
waters run to the west, supposed they emptied themselves into the 
great western ocean, which had been discovered by the Spaniards, ' 
distant, probably, as far as the Atlantic was on the east And 
from this view of the continent, the king, in granting a charter to 
the colony of Connecticut in 1662, extended the territory thereof 
between the forty-firet and fortysecond degrees of north latitude, 
from Rhode Island to the great western ocean. 

Charters for other colonies were given in the same way, and 
others again were so bounded as to cross these grants, which led 
to considerable collision among the colonists afterward. The 
Wyoming country on the Susquehannah river, in Pennsylvania, was 
settled by people from Connecticut, authorized by the government 
of that colony, which ckdmed aU that part of Pennsylvatua lyiiq; 
between the two lines above named, by a charter dated anterior to 
that of William Penn. The cotony of Virg^ia also claimed under 
her charter, to run her northern boundary * north-west from old 
Point Comfort to the great western ooean ;' which would include 
the south and west part of Pennsylvania, including fort Pitt, this 
Reserve, and all the north-west part of the continent. These con- 
flicting claims led to some difficulty between the colonies. 

But the concerns of the revolutionary war called (he attention 
of the parties from the dispute; and the Wyoming settlement 
being principally destroyed by the British, Indians, and Tories, 
and fort Pitt being a mUitary post, the matter rested till the close 
of the war, when the bounds and claims of all the states were 
finally settled. Virginia relinquisfied her claims to the territory, 
included in the states of Maryland and Pennsylvania, and to what 
was called *the territory north-west of the Ohio,' reserving the 
right of soil to the lands lying between the Sciota and the Little 
Miami, for (he purpose of remunerating her revolutionary soldiers, 
which is now called * The Virginia Military District.' Ard Con- 



256 Methodism on the Western Reserve. 

necticut rclinquislied her claim to all her chartered limits, west 
of the east line of the state of New-York, reserving three millions 
three hundred and sixty thousand acres, west of the western line 
of Pennsylvania, which lies as above described, and is called * The 
Connecticut Western Reserve,^ 

Of this Reserve five hundred thousand acres oflFthe west end, 
now constituting Huron county, were appropriated to tfte relief of 
those who suffered in the revolutionary war by the enemies burn- 
ing their towns, and are called ' The Fire Lands.^ Thirty thott- 
sand acres were sold to Gen. Parsons, to remunerate him for 
services done the state; and the remaining two millions eight 
hundred and thirty thousand acres were sold by the state, to a 
company formed for that purpose,- for the round sum of one 
million two hundred thousand dollars, or about forty-three cents 
per acre. This money constitutes the most if not all of *the 
Connecticut School Fund ;' the avails of which is said to pay 
nearly half the expense of the common schools in that state.^ 

The company purchased these lands in the year 1796, the year 
of Wayne's treaty with the Indians, by which the Indian title was 
extinguished as far west as the Cuyahoga. And in the summers 
of 1796 and 1797, the lands were surveyed into townships of 
five miks square^ and distributed to the purchasers in proportion to 
their respective payments ; to some a township, or more, or less, 
as the case required ; which was surveyed again into smaller tracts 
by the owners, and put into the market as suited their convenience. 

The first settlement was formed by the surveyors, at Cleveland, 
in 1796. In 1797 the settlement in Youngstown was commenced, 
and in 1798 those of Warren, Canfield, Deerfield, Harpersfield, 
and Burton. From this time the country has settled with such 
rapidity, that now it is divided into eight counties, and contains, 
according to the last census, about one hundred and twelve 
thousand inhabitants, of the most thriving and enterprising 
character. 

♦ Some difficulties arise in giving the exact area, price per acre of this Reserve, 
&C, on account of the conflicting data I have to go by. The state of Connecticut, 
it sterns, intended to reserve just three millions of acres; but when the reservation 
was surveyed, it contained, according to the map taken from those surveys, about 
two hundred and ten townships of five rnUes square each. And as each township 
of that size must contain sixteen thousand acres, the whole area must contain three 
millions three hundred and sixty thpusand aci-es. The note appended to Sumner's 
Map of the Reserve, gives the length at one hundred ^nd twenty miles, and the 
average breadth at fifty-two, and the area at just three millions of acres. But this 
length and breadth would give an area of three millions nine hundred ninety-rthree 
thousand and six hundred acres, which is nearly one million too much. But as 
the length is known to be one hundred and twenty miles, and the breadtli, accord- 
ing to tne map, cannot be over forty-three miles and three quarters, the area must 
be neither more nor less than three millions three hundred and sixty thousand acres. 
■And as it is kiiown that the fire lands contain five hundred thousand acres, and that 
General Parsons' purchase was thirty thousand acres, the remainder must be two 
millions eight hundred and thirty thousand acres. And as the purchase money of 
this remainder is known to have oeen one million two hundred thousand dollars, the 
price >per acre must have been nearly forty-three c«nt& 



Methodism on the Western Reserve. 257 

The face of the country is sufficienily level to make beautiful 
farms, and sites for towns ; and sufficiently rolling to give water 
fall for mills and manufacturing establishments. In many places 
falls can be obtained of from ten to one hundred feet in the space 
of a few rods, on streams o£ considerable depth. The inhabitants 
are mostly from New-England ; and they brought with them the 
habits, manners, inteUigence, and enterprise of &ose states. And 
consequently the settlements, schools, churches, &c> are mostly 
of the New-England stamp. There is one college, to which is 
attached a theological seminaiy, under Presbyterian influence, and 
five or six incorporated academies on the Reserve ; beside district 
schools ini every township, which are considerably assisted by 
funds drawn from the county treasury, and some selected schools 
supported by the proprietors. 

Methodism was introduced into the Reserve nearly with the first 
settlers. The first society was formed in Deerfield in 1801,. by 
the voluntary association of some members who had emigrated 
from Massachusetts, consisting of Lewis Day, Lewis Ely, their 
families, and a few more. The next year a society was formed in 
Hubbard, in the same way, at George Frazier's, who had emi- 
grated from the eastern shore of Maryland. In the year 1802 
Henry Shual, (then an exhorter, but now a local preacher,) went 
from Georgetown, Pa., nearly forty miles througn the woods, to 
hold a meeting with the brethren in Deerfield, and as he was 
pleased with the country, he made a purchase, and soon after 
settled his family there. In the same year William Veach, now a 
local preacher, and Amos Smith, a local preacher, settled in Hub- 
bard, and Obed Crosby, a local preacher, settled in Vernon. 

The first regular Methodist preacher who came to the Reserve, 
was Shadrach Bostwick, who was transferred from the New- 
York conference, held that year at Ashgrove, to the Baltimore 
conference in 180S, and stationed a missionary at Deerfield. He 
forme<ra circuit of a few appointments, which he travelled by fol- 
lowing Indian trails, marked trees, bridle paths, &c ; but in the 
winter was obliged to des»t travelling for want of roads and 
bridges : he returned sixteen members to conference that year. 
In the same year, on the l(Hh of August, Noah Fidler, who 
travelled the Shenango circuit ifa Pennsylvania, came over the 
state line into Hubbard, and received the Uttle society, which con- 
sbted of ten or twelve members, into his circuit. And. in 1804 
brother Bostwick was continued on Deerfield, and extended his 
circuit to Hubbard and Vernon, distant nearly fifty miles from 
Deerfield, and returned to conference that year thirty members. 
At this time Thornton Fleming was presiding elder. 

In 1805 brother Bostwick located, and the few appomtments on 
the Reserve were attached to the Erie circuit, which was under the 
charge of David Bert and Joseph A. Shukelford, who returned 
five hundred and fifty-five members ; but What part of these were on 

22* 



258 Methodism an the Western Reserve. 

the Resei*ve it is now impossible to tell. That year was distinguished 
in the annals of old Erie circuit for an extensive revival of religion ; 
but whether it extended to the Reserve I am not able now to tell. 
Thb country at that time was mcluded in the Monongahela dis* 
trict, Baltimore conference. And this year James Hunter wa» 
presiding elder. 

In 1806 Thornton Fleming returned to the district, and Robert 
R. Roberts and James Watts rode the circuit. In 1807 Erie 
circuit was rode by C. Reynolds, A. Daniels, and T. Divers. In 
1808 by Job Guest and William BUtler. In 1809 by J. Charles, 
J. M. Hanson, and J. Decellum. What number of members 
were on the Reserve in these years, I have not the means of stating, 
but the numbers must have increased considerably fast, as we find 
that thirty increased to three hundred and thirty-seven in the 
space of five years. 

In 1810 the Reserve was again put into a circuit by itself^ called 
Hartford, and rode by James Charles and James Ewin, who 
returned three hundred and thirty-seven members. Jacob Gruber 
presiding elder. In 1811 the circuit was called Trumbull, and 
rode by William Knox and Joshua Monroe, who returned four 
hundred and forty-five members. 

In 1812 a new district was formed, called Ohio, Jacob Young 
presiding elder ; and the circuit being divided, Thomas J. Crock- 
nell and John Somerville rode Trumbull^ and returned in six 
months four hundred and forty members ; and Abraham Daniels 
rode Grand mer, for the same length of time, and returned one 
hundred and forty members; maldng in all five, hundred and 
eighty. This year the Ohio conference met for the first time, in 
Chilicothe, October 1. And from this time forward the minutes 
for any given year, in the Ohio and Pittsburg conferences, (within 
which the Reserve is included,) were taken in the fall of the year, 

Srevious to the one in which they appear in the printed minutes, 
"bus the minutes for 1813 were taken in October, 1812. And to 
preserve a proper distinction in dates, I shall hereafter give both 
years, a part of which was included in the conference year; it 
being understood that the first year named in each date was the 
year (in the fall of which) the preachers came on the circuits, 
districts, &c ; and the second year named is the year (in the fall 
of which) the preachers left the circuits, and returned the num- 
bers attached to their respective circuits, and the year in which 
their appointments appear in the printed minutes. It was in the 
fall of this year, 1813, that I moved my family on the Reserve, 
and have since that time had more or less of a personal acquaintr 
ance with the movements of Methodism in the country. 

1812-13. The appointments were, Ohio District, Jacob 
Young presiding elder. TrumbuU circuU, James M^Mahon. Grand 
wer, John M'Mahon and Robert C. Hatton. But brother Hattbn 
was soon removed to Erie circuit. And TrumbuU and Grand 



JHethodism on the Western Reserve. 259 

river circuits were united again, and rode by the two brothers, 
(M'Mahons,) who returned six hundred members. 

1813-14. OHto District, Jacob Young presiding elder. The 
circuit was this year called JSTew Cannecticutj and rode by John 
Solomon and Oliver Carver, who returned, according to the 
minutes, eleven hi^ndred and ten members. 

1814-15. Ohio DiSTkicT, Jacob Young presiding elder. 
James M'Mahon and Lemuel Lane on the circuit, who returned 
eleven hundred and ten members. 

1815-16. Ohio District, David Young pre^ding elder. 
(Though by a change Jacob Young continued on the district.) 
•Ufahoningj John Waterman and Bhadrach Ruark. • Grand river^ 
Samuel Brown. But brother Brown was soon removed to another 
circuit, and brothers Waterman and Ruark rode the whole, and 
returned only four hundred and eighty-six members. What was 
the cause of this great reduction in numbers I am not able to state 
precisely ; but it is my impression that it was occasioned by c6r« 
recting an error in the returns of 1814, which was not corrected 
the next year, because the preacher in charge was prevented from 
attending conference, by sickness in his family ; and as is usual 
when no returns are made, the old numbers are taken. 

1816-17. Ohio District, James B. Finley presiding «lder. 
Grand river and Mahoning^ Henry Baker and John P. Kent, 
transferred from Erie, who returned six hundred and twenty-five 
members. During this year a new circuit was formed, west of the 
Cuyahoga, called Huron, which returned one hundred and forty- 
eight members, making in all seven hundred and sevelity-three. 

1817-18. Ohio District, James B. Finley presiding elder. 
Grand river and Mahoning, Daniel D. Davidson and Ezra Booth ; 
to whom was soon after added by the presiding elder, Edward H. 
Taylor. Huron, John C. Brook. But brother Brook, finding 
ample room for a four weeks' circuit east of it, which he called 
Cuyahoga, did not go west of the Black river. And brother 
Finley gave me a list of the few appointments left out,, which I 
soon succeeded in enlarging into a four weeks' circuit, called 
Huron, and returned one hundred and forty-two members. In the 
returns for this year, Grand river and Mahoning is credited on 
the minutes with six hundred and forty-eight members ; but Cuya^ 
hoga and Huron have no credit. But the latter I know to have 
had one hundred and forty-two members, and I suppose the former 
to have had at least two hundred and fifty, making in all ten 
hundred and fifleeh. 

1818-19. From this time the Reserve is included in two or 
more districts. The appointments and numbers were as follows. 
Ohio DtstRict, J. B. Finley presiding elder. Mahoning, Calvin 
Ruter and John Steward, who was exchanged in six months with 
Samuel Adams. Numbers returned from Mahoning this year six 
hundred and seventeen. 



260 Methoditm on the Western Reserve. 

Tuscarawas District, Charles Waddle presiding elder. 
CuyahogOf Ezra Booth and Dennis Goddard, wm returned three 
hundred and nine. Huron, William Westlake, two hundred and 
nine^. Grand rwer, Ira Eddy, three hundred and forty-four, in 
all fifteen hundred and sixty. 

1819-20. Ohio District, T^liam Swayze preading elder. 
Mahonmgt James M'Mahon and Henry Knapp ; the last hy the 

? redding elder. Return, seven hundred and fifty. Lancaster 
>iSTRicT, C. Waddle presidmg elder. Huron, Denms Goddard, 
two hundred and twenty-seven. Grand river, Ira Eddy, three 
hundred and fifty-three. Cuyahoga, Ezra Booth and John Man- 
ary. But the latter did not travel : four hundred and fifty, in all 
seventeen hundred and eighty. 

1820-21. Ohio District, William Swayze presiding elder. 
Mahomng, James M'Mahon and Ezra Booth. Numbers, eight 
hundred and seventy-five. ' Cuyahoga, Alfred Brunson, who was 
exchanged with J. M'Mahon in the beginning of the year ; so that 
I rode Mahoning with Ezra Booth, and he and Francis Duglass 
(by the presiding elder) rode Cuyahoga. Numbers, four hundred 
and ninety. Grand river, Philip Green and William H. Collins ; 
the latter by the presiding elder; five hundred and forty-six. 
Lancaster District, Jacob Young presiding elder, but soon 
exchanged with C. Waddle. Huron, D. Groddard. Orin Gillmore 
six months, by the presiding elder ; three hundred and thirty, in 
all two thousand two hundred and f(»*ty-one. 

1821-22. Ohio District, W. Sivayze presiding elder. Ma- 
honmg, Charles Elliott, D. Goddard, and John Crawford, by the 
presiding elder, ten hundred and seventy. Grand river, A. Brun- 
son and Henry Knapp, seven hundred and eighty-six. Cuyahoga, 
Ira Eddy, and B. O. Plimpton by the presiding elder, six liun- 
dred. Lancaster District, C. Waddle presiding elder. Huron, 
Philip Green, three hundred and forty-five, in all twenty-eight 
hundred and one. 

1 82^23. Ohio District, W. Swayze presiding elder. Grand 
river, E. H. Taylor and J. Crawford, five hundred and thirty. 
Youfigstotm, William Tipton and Albert G. Richardson, seven 
hundred and seventy-seven. Deerfidd, E. Booth and William 
Westlake; no numbers in the minutes, probably four hundred. 
Hudson, Ira Eddy, but his health failing he was dismissed, and 
Julius Brunson took his place ; numbers, four hundred and fifteen. 
Brunsunck, Charles Truscott and James Rowe. Brother Truscott 
only reached his circuit to die a most triumphant death, having 

E reached but one sermon; four hundred and forty. Lancaster 
District, J. Young presiding elder. Huron, Nathan Wtflker 
and John Walker, three hundred and thirty-six, in sill twenty-eight 
hundred and ninety-eight. . 

1823-24. Ohio District, Charles Elliott presiding elder. 
Grand river, A. Brunson and Robert Hopkins, four nundred and 



Methodism an the Western Reserve. « 261 

eighty-five. Yavngstowny Samuel Adams and Sylvester Dunham, 
seven hundred and one. Hartford^ Charles Thorn, three hundred 
and twenty-two. Deerfieldy D. Goddard; Elijah H. Field and 
John Chandler, each a part of the year ; four hundred and thirty- 
seven.' Portland Diatrict, W. Swayze presiding elder. Hud- 
son^ W, H. Collins and Orin Gillmore, three hundred and fifty- 
seven. Brunswick^ Solomon Minear and John Pardo, three 
hundred and ninety-nine. Black rweVy Zara H. Coston, one 
hundred and fifty-six. Huron^ Trtie Pattee and James M'Intyre, 
four hundred and five, in all thirty-two hundred and sixty-two. 

1824-25. Ohio District, C. "Elliott presiding elder. Ftmng-f- 
totm, J. Somerville and A. Brunson, six hundred and thirty-two. 
Hartfordy Thomas Carr, and Joseph S. Davis by the presiding 
elder, four hundred and fifty-six. Deerjieldy Ira Eddy and B. O. 
Plimpton, five hundred and twelve. Hudson^ P. Green and 
William C. Henderson, four hundred and forty-two. Grand rivery 
David Sharp and S. Dunham, four hundi'cd and ninety-four. 
Portland District, James M'Mahon presiding elder. Hurouy 
True Pattee and J. M'Intyre, four hundred and five. Black rivery 
James Taylor, one hundred and eighty-eight. Brunsioicky Orin 
Gillmore and Jacob Ragan, four hundred and fifty-one. SanduS' 
hj ci^y appears to have been set off as a station in the course of 
this year, and returned ninety-eight members, in all thirty-six 
hundred and seventy-eight. 

At the general conference in 1824, the Pittsburg annual con- 
ference was established, and in September, 1825, it had its first 
session in Pittsburg. In dividing the Ohio conference, the 
Reserve was divided b^ the line oC the Ohio and Erie canal, so 
that hereafter the appomtments will be noted in each conference, 
respectively. 

1825-26. Pittsburg Conference,, Ohio District, Charles 
Elliott presiding elder. Grand rivery P. Green and J. S. Davis, 
four hundred and fifty-seven. Deerfieldy J. Somverville and 
Ira Eddy, five hundred and thirty-seven. Hudsony R. Hopkins, 
three hundred and fifty-nine. Hartfordy T. Carr and J. Chandler, 
five hundred. Youngstowny E. H. Taylor and William R. Bab- 
cock, five hundred and thirty-one. Ohio Conference, Port- 
land District, J. M'Mahon presiding elder. Hurony S. Ruark, 
three hundred and seventy-nine. Black rivery E. H. Field, two 
hundred and thirty-one. Brunsvncky J. Crawford and J. C. Tay- 
lor, five hundred and two. Sandusky cityy John W. Clark, one 
hundred and fifty, in all thirty-six hundred and forty-six. 

1826-27. Pittsburg Conference, Ohio District, Charles 
Elliott presiding elder. Grand rivety T. Carr and John Scott, 
three hundred and seventy. Deerfieldy P. Green and Peter D. 
Horton, four hundred and forty-seven. Hudsony J. Crawford and 
W. R. Babcock, four hundred and fourteen. Hartfordy W. C. 
Henderson and J. L. Davis, four hundred and fifty-eight. Youngs* 



262 Methodism on the Western Reserve. 

town^ R. C. Hatton and R. Hopkins, five hundred and seventy-six. 
JFFffufoor, Ira Eddy, (a new circuit) one hundred and seventy- 
seven. Ohio Conference, Portland District, J. M'Mahon 
presiding elder. Hurony S. Ruark, three hundred and forty-five. 
Black rtver, Henry O. Sheldon, three hundred and thirty-four. 
Brunswkky S. Minear and Adam Poe, six hundred and three. 
Sandusku dty^ Arza Brown, two hundred and seventy-seven, in 
all four thousand and one. 

1827-28. Pittsburg Conference, Ohio District, Daniel 
Limerick presiding elder. Youngstoxwif R. C. Hatton and S. 
Adams, five hundred and seventy-four. Hartford^ Nathaniel 
Ruder and Hiram Kinsley, four hundred and fifty-eight Grand 
rivery Thomas Carr and W. R. Babcock, three hundred and seventy. 
Cleveland, J. Crawford and Cornelius Jones, three hundred and 
ten. Deerfieldy E. H. Taylor and Qeorge W. Robinson, four 
hundred and forty-seven. Windsor^ W. C. Henderson, one hun- 
dred and seventy-seven. Ohio Conference, Portland Dis- 
trict, James M'Mahon presiding elder. Black river, S. Ruark, 
three hundred and thirty-four. Brunswick, J. M'Intyre and H. O. 
Sheldon, six hundred and three. Huron, J. Hazard and A. Poe, 
three hundred and forty-five. Sandusky, Arza Brown, two 
hundred and seventy-seven, in all thirty-eight hundred and 
lunety-five. 

1828-29. Pittsburg Conference, Ohio District, Ira 
Eddy predding elder. Youngstown, B. O. Plimpton and E. W. 
Behon, five hundred and sixtv-four. Hartford, J. Somerville and 
J. Scott, four hundred and ttiirty-eight. Canton District, W. 
Swayze presiding elder. Deerfidd, J. W. Hill and J. C. Ayers, 
five hundred and fifty-six. PFmdsor, J. Chandler, two hundred 
and seventy-six. Cleveland, Ignatius H. Tacket and C. Jones, 
five hundred and twenty-eight. Grand river, J. Crawfonl and 
Lorenzo D. Prosser, four hundred and eighty-eight. Ohio Con- 
ference, Portland District, Russel Bigelow presiding elder. 
Brunswick, J. M'Mahon and L. Gurley, seven hundred and 
seventy. Huron, John Hazard and C. S. Carpenter, four hun- 
dred and forty-two. Black river, Shadrach Ruark and J. C. 
Havens, three hundred and sixteen. Sandusky city, John Janes, 
twenty-six, m all forty-four hundred and four. 

1829-30. Pittsburg Conference, Ohio 'District, Ira 
Eddy presiding elder. Youngstown, B. O. Plimpton and Richard 
Arihstrong, five hundred and thirty-seven. Hartford, Job Wilson, 
and Clark Brown by the presiding elder, four hundred and fifty- 
seven. Canton District, W. Swayze presiding elder. Dccr- 
Jield, J. W. Hill and C. Jones, six hundred and thirty-seven. 
Windsor, J. Scott, three hundred and forty-nine. Cleveland, 
J. Chandler, John M'Lean, and T. Vaughn. ' But the latter left 
hb work, and then the_ cohneotion, and John J. Swayze took his 
place, by the presiding elder, five hundred and sixty-six. Grand 






I 



♦ 



Methodism en the Western Reserve. 263 

rivery J. Crawford and Caleb Brown, five hundred and ninety-four. 
Ohio Conference, Portland District, Rj Bigelow presiding 
elder. Brunswick^ Jacob Dixon and Elmore Yocuni, seven hun- 
dred and thirty-two. Huron, John Janes and Joab Ragan, five 
hundred and fifty-seven. Black river, Cyrus S. Carpenter and 
Henry Colclazer, four hundred and thirty-six. Sandusky city, 
William Reynolds, sixty, in all forty-njne hundred and twenty-five. 
1830-31. Pittsburg Conference, Ohio District, Ira 
Eddy presiding elder. Cleveland, B. O. Plimpton, five hundred 
and sixty-six. Grand river, J. W. Hill, J. M'Lean, and D. God- 
dard by the presiding elder, 'five hundred and ninety-four. Cleve- 
land, Caleb Brown and John Ferris ; but the heaJth of the latter 
. failing he was dismissed by the presiding elder, and William Butt 
took his place, five hundred and sixty-six. Deerfield, C. Jones 
and John Moffit, six hundred and thirty-seven. Yotmgstoim, A. 
Brunson and T. Carr, five hundred and thirty-seven. JVindsor, 
Philip Green and P. D. Horton ; but the latter was>80on removed 
to Newcastle, and Andrew M'Common tgok his place, by the 
jwesiding elder. Hartford, James Hitchcock and Daniel Richie, 
three hundred and forty-nine. Ohio Conference, Portland 
District, R. Bigelow presiding elder. Brunswick, John Hazard 
and James Wilson, seven hundred and thirty-two. Huron, E. B. 
Chase and A. Minear, five hundred and fifty-seven. * Blcu^k river, 
C. S. Carpenter and E. C. Gavitt, four hundred and thirty-six. 
Sandusky city, W. Reynolds, sixty, in all five thousand and thirty- 
four. 

1831. The stations of the preachers are as follows ; — ^but the 
numbers they return cannot be reported ,tiU the ensuing fall. Pitts- 
burg Conference, Ohio District, Ira Eddy presiding elder. 
Euclid and Cleveland, A. Brunson, D. Goddard, and John J. 
Steadman. Deerfield, B. O. Blimpton and T. Carr. Youngstown, 
C. Jones and John Luccock. JVindsor, D. Richie and John E. 
Akin. Hudson, J. W. Hill. Hartford, P. Green and William 
Carroll. Jlsktcibula, C. Brown and P. D. Horton. Chardon, 
Isaac Winans, J. M'Lean, and Thomas Jamison. Ohio Confer- 
ence, Portland District, R. Bigelow presiding elder. Bruns- 
wick, J. Wilson and Lorenzo Bevans. JVorwoZfc, Adam Minear 
and C. S. Carpenter. Elyria, W. Reynolds and George Elliott. 
Sandusky dty, Leonard B. Gufley. Thus in thirty years from 
the formation of the first society of twelve or fifteen members, our 
Church has grown on this Reserve into ten circuits and two stations, 

containing members, and calling for the labors of twenty- 

six itinerant preachers, and perhaps thirty or forty local preachers. 
It is proper to remark here, that some of the circuits named as 
being on the Reserve, include appointments not on it ; arid some 
circuits, the main body of which lies off from the Reserve, included 
appointments on the Reserve. But from the best calculation I can 
make, the numbers in each case will be about the same, so that in 



264 Methodism on the Western Reserve. 

giving the whole numher, we are not far from being correct. 
But those friends who live in those societies attached to circuits 
not mainly on the Reserve, will not find in this history the names 
of the preachers who have served them, except in the first settle- 
ment of the country. 

Of the preachers who have labored in word and doctrine on 
this Reserve, some have located, some have withdrawn from the 
connection, some have died in triumph, some have backslidden and 
been expelled, and some are bending under the infirmities of age ; 
but far the greater portion are still in the work, resolved to live 
and die on the walls of our Zion ; being truly devoted to their call- 
ing, united in sentiment and effort, and zealous in the pursuit of 
lost sinners. 

In giving the numbers and growth of our Church on the Reserve, 
we do not pretend that aU of them were either converted to Grod 
or first joined our communion here. We have many respectable 
members who found the pearl of great price before they saw the 
. woods of Ohio ; and though some who were Methodists in the 
east or south, seemed to leave their religion behind when they 
emigrated to this country, yet our good and faithful friends who 
kept the fear of God before then* eyes and his love in their hearts, 
were generally the first who solicited preaching in the different 
settlements, and would be like the stalk from which the new 
branches shoot, in forming hew societies. - 

The difficulties attending the pioneers of the Grospel on the 
Reserve were very considerable. The distance between settle- 
ments was generally great, and the roads very bad. The. .roads 
at first were nothing more than paths made by cutting out the 
imder brush and blazmg or marking the trees ; and when the 
under brush was not cut out, the traveller was obliged to follow 
the marks on the trees. And as the soil is composed mostly of a 
mixture of rich clay and loam, and as the face of the country is 
rather flat than otherwise, (though in fact it rises and falls gradually 
for several hundred feet,) having some ei^i^sive tracts on the 
highest parts of the land that are flat and whitish, the roads, espe- 
cially in wet seasons, become very muddy; and when half frozen 
in the spring and fall, our horses suffered extremely, and were 
sometimes so lamed as to be unfit for travelling for some length 
of time. 

There are, however, some extensive tracts of this country 
where the land is rolling and the soil sandy, so as to afford dry 
roads at most seasons of the year. To this class belongs the 
ridge or natural turnpike along the margin of Lake Erie, which 
never fails to attract the attention of the traveller, as a natural 
curiosity. Thb ridge runs parallel with the lake nearly its whole 
length, distant from one to three miles, and varying in its form, 
character, and usefulness. In some places it is a dry, barren sand 
bank thirty or forty feet high, varying in width from one to twenty 



] 



Methodism on the Western Reserve. 265 

rods ; in other places it spreads out into rich and fertile plains, 
forming some of the most beautiful farms the eye of man ever 
beheld ; and in other places it is divided into two or three ridges, 
running parallel with each other. In Huron county, which lies 
on the west end of the Reserve, there are a number of ridges, 
bearing timber, and of a dry sandy soil, which intersperse the 
untimbered prairies, and form the best, and in many instances, the 
only dry road to be had. But the traveller was not allowed to 
continue an iinihtemipted journey over these natural turnpikes ; 
he frequently found a water course, a swale, or a swamp athwart 
his path, through which, in bad weather, he was obliged literally 
to wallow or swim his horse. And in passing across a prairie from 
one ridge or point of timbered land to another, in foggy or snowy 
weather, it was no uncommon thing to be out of sight of timbered 
land ; and in the first settlement of the country, sjich was the 
dimness of the paths in such places, and especially in snow storms, 
that without a corApass the traveller was in danger of losing his 
way and wandering over thousands of acres, if not perishing by 
the frost before he could reach a human habitation. What ren- 
dered these prairies more difficult and dangerous to pass in the 
vrinter, spring, or fall, was their being frequently covered with 
water from one tp two feet deep for several rods together ; and if 
frozen, but not so as to bear man or befist, one or both were liable 
to be wounded by the ice.* 

* The origin of this ridge and diese prairies, has been a topic of considerable 
speculation, and a variety of opinioi^s have been advanced on the subject, as well 
as the origin of the ancient fortifications which abound on the Reserve, and also 
other psurts of the western country. In this ridge have been found, by digging cel- 
lars, wells, &c, at depths varying frqra three to thirty feet, sticks, leaves, d.arcoal, 
shells of water fish, &c, which prove it to have been thrown up by water. And as 
we have no account that water ever overflowed the earth since mere were people 
on it to make charcoal, iezcept at Noah's flood, it appears most reasonable to sup- 
pose that this, ridge was formed at the time those waters subsided. Of this I am 
satisfied, not only from the facts just named, but from observing the face of the 
country^ and comparing it with the sea shore after the tide has sutoided in time of 
hieh wmds, where the water, driven by the fierce winds, firequently beats up 
ridges of sea weed, sticks, leaves, shells, sand, &c, and then falls away and leaves 
them* And the evidence thus iumished, that water once covered the face of the 
earth, is no small proof of the truth of the Mosaic account of the flood. 
/■ And as to the prairies I am equally well satisfied, notwithstanding all that has 
been said about the soil not being; nftturally inclined to bear timber, or that the 
waters of tliC flood xJeslroyed it, uiat it -was fire that destroyed the timber. The 
earth was made to bear the tree, ' whose -seed is in itself,' as well as ' tlie grass ;' 
and it is a fact well known to die settlers on these woodless plains, that if Uie fire 
is kept away the timber will ^row. The observingtraveller will perceive fiirther 
evidence of this fact, in passmg over the lands. He will see sprouts of a year's 
growth, and on examining the root, will find one sometimes six or twelve inches in 
diameter; jind the reason^^the top bears no more proportion to the root, is because 
the top is so frequently burned off. The way and manner of it I suppose to have 
been this, — It is well known that the Indians are in the habit of burning over wood 
land in the spring of the year, so as to promote the early growth of the grass and 
herbage, for the purpose of attracting the deer to their favorite hunting ground. 
This burning of the leaves, herbage, grass, and fallen twigs of the trees, naturally 
kills all the under brush, and frequently scalds the bark of the larger trees, which 
by another year becomes dry and bums wiUi.the other combustible suostance 

Vol. III.— /ti/y, 1832. 23 



366 J^Ieihodknk on the Western Reserve* 

And though there are still some extensive forests, through whlcb 
the roads are very bad, yet the country in general is so far im- 
proved, that the leadmg and principal roads are tolerably good for 
a horse, and sometimes for a carriage. And such is the improve- 
ment in the means of conveyance, that we have no less than six 
lines of daily stages from the lake, through the Reserve tov^rard the 
Ohio river, and one daily line up and down the lake, beside seven 
steamers on the lake during the season of navigation. But as a 
Methodist preacher is required to go to every place where he can 
obtain attentive hearers within his assigned field of labor, and as 
we design to carry the Grospel to the people as soon as they are 
well setded in their new habitations, we cannot have the privilege 
of following the good roads ordyy but must frequently yet go through 
the woods and brush, mud and beach roots, and over old logs and 
tree tops in quest of immortal souls. 

In the early settlement of the country we had but few bridges, 
and of course were obliged to ford the streams of water in general ; 
and frequently in the winter season had to cross on the ice, or 
force our horses between or over the cakes of it when it was 
broken, and the stream swollen ; and this too when the water was 
to the saddle skirts, and even to our knees as we sat upon our 
horses. And several of the preachers have, in such times, been 
thrown from their horses and plunged into the water. Sometimes 
to cross the high waters we. would, take our saddle and saddle 
bags to a canoe and swim the horse by its side ; and if we could 
get ourselves over without our horses, we have gone to our appcdnt- 
ments on foot rather than disappoint a waiting congregation. 

In consequence of having but few roads, in an early day, and 

around it, which extends the wound still deeper. The fibre of the tree becomes 
dead when thus deprived of its bark, and soon begins to decay, which exposes it 
still more to the annual fires ; and in a few years the tree becomes so weakened that 
a strong wind will blow it over, rending the trunk frequently into splinter^ The 
body and limbs of the tree in this situation soon become dry, and every returning 
fire contributes to lessen' its bulk, till it finally disappears. In the mean time the 
lessening of the timber gives more room and opportunity for the grass and herbage 
to grow ; and this in its turn provides more fuel to help bum down the trees. The 
reason why streaks of timber land intersperse these prairies is evidently this : tke 
land on which the timber grows, being dry ridges, does not produce as much grass 
and herbage as the flatter prairie ground does, and of course, when the fire passes 
over it, the heat is not sufficiently intense to scald through the thick l»irk of the 
large trees, because the quantum of fuel is less than in more grassy plfices. But 
even in these places the under brush is frequently destroyed by the devouring ele- 
ment. But if these prairies were left without timber because the flood went over 
them, why were not other lands, over which the flood spread, left in the same 
timberless situation? The truth is^ many generations of timber have grown «nd 
decayed on the face of the earth since the waters of the flood subsided, sq that these 
lands being now without timber is no evidence that the flood was the cause of it. 
These remarks are the result of actual and personal observation during many a 
dreary as well as many a pleasant day's ride over these natural and ble^ meadows. 
But I never saw nature clad in its native beauty till I saw them. Nor did I ever 
see so ample a field for botanical observation and experiment as these prairies and 
the surrounding wood lands. Here nature seems to bloom in its most verdbnt and 
lively hues, in a variety of opening flowers, from the earliest opening of spring tiU 
tlie closing in of the * aatumnal gloom.' 



Methodism on the Western Reserve. 267 

these "but poor and diflficult to find, the preachers have often been 
lost in the woods, and been obliged to take up their lodgings with 
the beast of the forest. In the second year that the Rev. James 
M'Mahon travelled on the Reserve, he lay in the woods between 
Vienna^ and Hubbard, in a light snow storm. And in the same 
year his colleague, the Rev. Lemuel Lane, in attempting to find 
his way through the woods by a pocket compass, in hopes to save 
some miles* travel in going to a quarterly meeting in Burton, missed 
his way and lay in the woods. The next day he reached a house 
about ten o'clock, and after refreshing himself and horse, com- 
menced his journey again, and then missing his way, he was 
obliged to lie out the second ni^ht. On one of the nights the 
wolves attacked him very fiercely, and every attempt to drive 
them off With sticks, clubs, and hallooing, proved ineffectual. At 
length he thought of the saying, that music would charm a wild 
beast, and he commenced singing, at which the wolves retreated 
and left him to repose as well as he could on the snow.* 

The fare and lodgings of the preachers in the early part of this 
history, was, as might be expected in a new country, sometimes 
rather rough. But as it was the best the people had, and appeared 
in general to be given with hearty good will, it was cordiaUy and 
thankfully received. But there was, and is still, a considerable dif- 
ference in this respect, owing to the different tastes, iixiprovements, 
and means of the people. Some of the settlers were men of busi- 
ness, science, taste, and ambition ; some had failed in business in 
the east or south, and came here to begin the world anew ; some 
were young and single, while others were just married ; some 
were rogues and runaways, but the great bulk of the settlers were 
farmers and mechanics of small capital, but of industrious and en- 
terprising habits, while some were very poor, and others were meii 
of large capital. In this way the country commenced and con- 
tinued settling and improving till it has become one of the most 
flourishing, improved, and wealthy sections of the state. 

Owing to these circumstances, as we visited and continued to 
visit all sorts and descriptions of people who have souls to save^ we 
of course had and still have all kinds of fare. Sometimes sleep 
enveloped in curtains,.and perhaps the next night lie on a straw bed 
on the floor ; one night in a tight well finished frame, brick, or 

* I have been told by some of the^ early settlers, that the Rev. Joseph Badger, 
the &st Presbyterian preacher who Tinted the Reserve, was lost one hieht in the 
woods, and attacked by a bear; to avoid whioh he hitched his horse to a oush and 
climbed a tree, one which he supposed was too small for his enemy to work upon to 
advantage. But bruin was about to make the attempt, when the horse shook him- 
self, and a pair of horse shoes in the saddle bags rattled and jin£[led together, the 
noise of which seems to have created some suspicions in bruin that possibly thera 
was danger ahead ^ so he walked back a few steps, and seating hrnisel^ waited 
patiently till morning, while the Rev. gentleman sat perched in the thick boughs of 
a small beach tree. At day break the bear moved o^ apparently with great 
reluctance, and the preacher went his own way, no doubt thankful for his pre- 
tervationu 



268 Methodism an the Western Reserve. 

stone house, and perhaps the next in an open log cabin, where the 
snow would drift in our faces, or the rain run through a leaky roof 
upon us while in bed ; or if we had a clear sky, * the stars I could 
see through the chinks of my log room, bright twinkling on me.' 
Bui in general we found the people neat and clean about their 
houses and persons, though in some few instances it was otherwise. 
Our food was sometimes of the best the earth can afford, and at 
others the poorest on which man can subsist, If we had pork, 
beef, venison, bear meat, wild turkey, rabbits, squirrels, partridges, 
pigeons or domestic poultry, with bread and vegetables, we called 
it first rate : if we had corn bread baked in the embers, or on a 
board or chip before the fire, or mush and milk without meat or 
vegetables, it would rank at second rate : but potatoes or turnips 
alone, either boiled or roasted in the embers, has in a few instances 
been our fare. But our poorest food being served up by our good 
friends with all the solicitude of a * Martha's care,' knowing that it 
was as good, if not the best the house afforded, it was accepted with 
as much thankfulness as it was given with pleasure, though we 
were frequently obliged to eat, preach, and sleep, all in the same 
room. Nor are we insensible of the guidance and assistance of a 
kind Providence in these things, as we have heard our friends tell, 
in their solicitude to render us as comfortable as possible, how 
Providence had favored them in obtaining game from the woods, 
or vegetables from the earth, at the time of the preacher's periodical 
visits. 

Our horses, in the meantime, have varied in their keeping, 
as much as their riders. Sometimes they had a shelter, and some- 
times none. One night in a good stable with plenty to eat, and 
the next lie by a hay stack without shelter or grain, and the third 
perhaps in a hovel, and to feed on straw, com stalks, or a little 
bran. And though we still have some appointments with roads 
and lod^ngs as is above described ; yet, on the whole, most of the 
circuits on the Reserve are now well supplied in these respects. 
But the changes to which an itinerant preacher is exposed in his 
fare, lodging, &c, which are often very great and very sudden, 
materially oSect his health, and must in time wear out the strongest 
constitution. 

In an early day our rides between appointments were frequently 
long imd tedious ; and as we had opponents as well as other diffi- 
culties to encounter, we could not always be sure of a night's 
lodging without paying well for it, if we happened to fall short of 
our appointed stopping place. One of the preachers, who was in 
ill health, could not reach a distant appointment, and stopped for 
the night at a *****, recently from the land of * steady habits.' 
The preacher had bread and milk for supper, something of similar 
quality for breakfast, and his horse was fed on poor hay. But his 
host not considering him an ambassador of Jesus Christ, considered 
himself under no obligations to keep him for nothing, and as he was 



Methodism (m the Western Reserve, 369 

a Methodist^ he seemed to think it no charify to keep htm, so in 
the morning he demanded a doUcw for the night's lodging. But the 
poor preacher had no money, and was therefore obliged to give his 
note, payable in four weeks, and (I think) leave a book in pawn, 
for security. But I am happy to have it to say that all the ***** 
on the Reserve are not of this class : we have found some of them 
pious and friendly. 

Among the dfficulties attendant on die jfirst planting of Method- 
ism on the Reserve, was one of serious magnitude, arising from 
the distance of the country firom the homes of the preachers, and 
the usual places of holding the conferences. At first the preachers 
came from Baltimore, nearly four hundred miles distant ; then 
from the lower part of Ohio, or Kentucky, from two to four hun- 
dred miles. The time necessarily occupied in travelling this dis- 
tance before and after conference was very considerable ; and as 
the preachers were mostly young and single, and as none who had 
families moved them to the circuit (on account of its poverty) for 
many years, much time was occupied by them in visiting their 
families and friends, (which the single men usually did about con- 
ference time,) so that on the whole eight or nine months in the 
year was as much, generally, as we had preaehing from our itinerant 
brethren. And the people thought, also, that some of the preachers 
were not altogether free from what is called national or provincial 
prejudice against them, because they were called yankees ; «nd had 
di£kr6Qt manners, and customs, and different modes of cooking, eat- 
ing, &c, to what they had been accustomed in other parts. It was 
libewise thought by the people that some of the preachers were 
too reluctant in coming to and continuing on the circuit on account 
of its hard fare, bad roads, and poor pay. In addition to this, the 
distance and poverty of the circuit were such, that few but single 
men, who were mostly young and inexperienced, were sent to it 
for several years : all these things served to lower the prospects and 
rising hopes of the societies. 

But in 1814 Rev. James M'Mahon married and settled his 
family i)n the Reserve. In 1818 the writer of this sketch, who had 
a family in the country, commenced travelling under the presiding 
elder. In 1819 Rev. Ira Eddy and Rev. Ezra Booth, both 
married, and Rev. Wm. Swayze moved to the Reserve ; and in 
1820 Rev. Philip Green married, and all living in different sec- 
tions of the Reserve, and having their attachments, interests, and 
feelings identified with the country, of course felt a greater interest 
in its prosperity than a transient person could be expected to do. 
And not having several hundred miles to travel to visit friends, and 
since 1825 not having so far to go to conference, more time is 
spent in laboring with the people in word and doctrine, and of 
course more good is done. Several other preachers have since 
married, and several young men have been raised up for Ae ttine. 
rancy on the Reserve, and several local preachers who had families, 

23* 



270 Methodism on the Western Reserve. 

years, and expenence, have entered the itinerant field ; in all which 
cases similar results have followed, as in the cases first napoed. 

The Methodist Episcopal Church on the Westetn Reserve has 
had to share, with other parts of our Zion, in the troubles which 
disaffection to our good and wholesome discipline produces ; and 
though they have not been equal to those in some places, yet they 
have exceeded those of others. It is a remark worthy of note, 
that the spirit which opposes Methodism, has evinced its opposition 
in different ways. At first it opposed (xar doctrines, but when 
fairly foiled in this, it attacked our discipline and government, 
through the means df mistaken zealots or designing partizans ; 
knowing very well that if our economy should be clogged in its 
operations, or thwarted in its designs, our doctrines and d^eir natural 
effects would spread with less rapidity, — if not finally lose their 
distinctive character altogether ; which, if we may judge from 
the great and simultaneous efforts of some late writers, printers, 
preachers, booksellers, pedlars, travelling agents, &c, would be 
paramount (in their view) to the destruction of every other evil. 

The first attempt at revolutionizing our economy on the Reserve, 
was made by one Ross, a disciple of O'Kelly, who formed a 
society of ten or twelve members in Youngstown, about the year 
1810. But such was the rapidity of its retrograde march that in 
two years it existed only in the story of by-gone days. About the 
year 1813 Mr. Ross made another attempt, and tormed a small 
society in Brouville, under the name of Christians^ which went to 
pieces in about the same length of time. 

In 1819, the disciples of Elias Smitn, of exceptionable and 
changeable memory, made their appearance on the northeast part 
of the Reserve, and attempted to build up their cause by producing 
secessions from other Churches, but especially from ours. This 
they wished to do by annulling all creeds, disciplines, mles, 
regulations, &c, and all distinction between sects and parties, and 
having all join them, forming one general Church under the spe- 
cious name of C/imf-ians, with no other creed or discipline than 
the New-Testament, allowing every one to construe it for himself. 
They essayed to preach our doctrine of free grace, because it vras 
much more popular than its counterpart, * the horrible decrees ;' 
but they considered us in a dreadful bondage, as to the govern- 
ment and economy of our Church. And with all the kindness 
and soothing tales of halcyon spirits, offered to our people an asylum 
from the tyranny of bishops, presiding elders, circuit preachers, &c ; 
and perhaps some dozen or twenty, who found the restraints of 
our wholesome discipline rather disagreeable to their dominant pro- 
pensities, found relief from episcopal oppression in a fraternity of 
Arians, professedly without government.* But our troubles from 

* One of the seceders from our Church, fit thie time, delirered an address to his 
new brethren on the superior advantages of their new association, in substance as 
follows ; « My brethren, we have r^stson to be thankful that we haye escaped from 



Methodism on the Western Reserve* 271 

this source were soon at an end, for scion they fell to pieces by thek 
own weight, and have long eonce fell into obscurity and forgetfuhiess. 
About the year 1821, a new sect appeared on the margin of 
lake Erie, called * Reforined Methodists.' They rose, I think, 
about the year 1814 in Massachusetts and Vermont, professedly for 
the purpose of rescuing the members of our Church from the 
oppression of that dreadful little thing called ^ the discipline.' Their 
first missionary and principal preacher in this coun^, despising 
the idea of presiding eldership, as a species of popery, gave him- 
self the more modest title of district elder. 

The first success he met with, was in the acquisition of one 
Montgomery, a local preacher. This man had been rejected by 
the annual conference, and ^erward had his license discontinued 
on account of improper conduct. But on the appearance of this 
sect of self-styled reformers, he thought it advisable if possible to 
recover his license, which would serve to recommend him to their 
notice, and then secure himself a name and a place where he would 
not probably be disturbed in the privilege of doing as he pleased. 
Accordiogly, he made such concessioqs to the Church for the past, 
and promised such reformation for the future, as to induce the 
quarterly meetii^ conference to renew his license. About three 
months after this, he pretended to be preparing for a journey to 
the west, to visit a sister, and requested and obtained a certificate to 
accompany his license, so as to be entitled to the privilege of a 
preacher on his journey. But instead orgoing the journey as he 
pretended, in four months after he withdrew from the Church ; and 
when asked for his license and certificate, he gravely informed the 
preacher that they were not in his hands, as he Iiad previously 
given them to Mr. Cass. 

Montgomery, it seems, made large calculations on the weight of 
his influence, and expected to lead off half or two-thirds of the 
circuit, (Grand river,) but he succeeded in leading astray only two 
or three individuals. Knowing the disposition and tact of such 
self-deceived zealots to call all kinds of opposition, though it 
should be the mildest and most friendly arguments that could be 
advanced, by the odious name of persecution ; and knowing the 
sympathies of human nature in such cases, and believing that tf 
any body, or any thing, (even if it was Satan himself,) was to pass 
through the country as a preacher, and complain of being perse- 
cuted, it would excite pity in the breast of some people who 
would thereby be induced_to befriend him ; the preachers on the 
circuit determined to say notbmg about them m public, and as little 
about them in private as duty to their immediate charge would 
allow of, lest it should be called persecution. But notwithstanding 
this caution, the cry of persecution was raised, and such pathetic 
appeals were made to the sympathies of the pubhc, attended, too, in 

the episcoped bondage we were under. Thank God, we have liberty now, we can 
4o as we please, and the preiichen hftve nopoicer to brin^ us loan account for it ! ! !' 



272 JI£$tkodUm on the Wistem Restrve. 

some instances, with tears, that a momentary exdtement was raised 
in their favor. But persons in whom t^ pity began to operate, felt 
desirous of hearing this wonderful abuse tor themselves which was 
said to come from the episcopal Methodists, and attended our 
meetings for that purpose : but, to their astomshment, they heard 
not a word about the reformers, and having heard the reformers 
say every thmg that was bad, almost, about us, they concluded, and 
very justly, too, that the persecution was on the other Ai% ; which, 
in its turn, produced a reaction in our favor. And had not the 
preachers on the circuit the next year pursued a di£ferent course, 
it is probable that our opponents would not have been able to form 
a angle society : but as it was, they formed two or three small 
societies which soon dwindled into insignificance. 

Like others of their name and profession, they went not * into the 
highways and hedges,' to * call sinners to repentance,' but strove 
to *,enter into other mens' labors,' and lead the unwary astray, under 
the specious pretence of being delivered from ^episcopal bondage.^*' 
But what few societies they succeeded in forming on the Reserve, 
.in this or any other way, have become Arians in their sentiment, 
and have mostly been scattered by theh* own internal discords, 
leaving but small fragments of them, which are fast dwindling into 
forgetfulness. 

About the year 1827, the subject of radicalism from the Balti- 
more school, made its appearance in and about Youngstown on the 
southeast part of the Reserve^ which produced some excitement. 
And in the summer of 18S0, a secesi^on of about rttrfy took place, 
in that and an adjoming town; and an attempt was made to take 
with them the new meeting house, in which unjust measure, how- 
ever, they were disappomted. The measures used to promote 
their cause, were, as usual, loUd declamation agamstj and gross 
misrepresentation o/, our economy. And not only so, they went 
from house to house, from shop to shop, from store to store, and 
from tavern to tavern, to tell their slanderous tales, and advise the 
people not to- hear us preach. The result was, the public lost confi- 
dence in both parties,— our congregations were so diiainished that 
both together could not get the congregation we used to have before 
the division took place. But at length the*excitement subsided, 
and the public mind became weary with hearing the * hue and cry' 

* At the close of one of Montgomery's harangues against the government of our 
Church, *the brethren' were invited to 'free their mmds;' when an old father in 
Israel arose and said, < We have heard a great deal about the episcopal Methodists, 
as if they were the worst people in the world. But they are good enough for me 
3ret ; they took me out of the ashes and made a man of me, and PU never leave 
them. If they turn me out, I will lie at the door till they wUl take me in again.' 
What rendered these remarks particularly appropriate at the time, was the fact, 
which was generally well known, that our opponent owed what little standing he 
had in the world to his having been a Methodist, and for him to inveigh with un- 
christian virulence against his greatest earthly benefactors, was treated as an act 
of great ingratitude. This circumstance put an end to the pretended reform in that 
place, and public sentiment there and elsewhere has long since consigned the man 
to the narrow limits of his own domestic circle. 



Methodism an the Western Reserve. iti 

> 

about the tyranny of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Our con- 
gregations began to increase, — ^several obtained religion and joined 
our Church, — the members were quickened and encouraged, and 
radicalism seemed to be fast on the wane* 

But though they seemed to prosper for a while, the injudicious 
conduct of one of their prmcipal preachers so disgusted tnose who 
became acquainted with it, that tney have but few in number who 
embrace their peculiarities, while our own Church has gained in 
credit for its integrity and purity, as well as in the number of its 
members. 

But we have had more serious opposition to contend with in 

!* )ropagating Methodism on the Reserve, from another and more 
brmidable source than that of radicalism. I allude to the Calvin- 
ists. The people here are mostly of New-England descent, and the 
majority of them came here .attached to the ' standing order' either 
by membership or the prejudice of education. We had, therefore, 
and in many places still have to meet the strong prejudices of New- 
England Calvinism. This sect, when headed by Oliver Cromwell, 
so far gained the ascendency in England as to govern the state 
and oppress the Episcopalians. But when the latter regained the 
ascendency at the restoration of the monarchy, it was considered 
an impious encroachment on the liberty of conscience, and induced 
many to remove to the wilderness of America. 

Soon after the political revolution in Connecticut in 1816, a 
clergyman of this stamp took a ^ mission to the Heathen,' and 
visited the Reserve apparently with a full expectation of forming an 
ecclesiastical establishment, in the likeness of its New-England 
parent. He cautioned the people very afifectionately and pathe- 
tically to guard against the influence of the Methodists and Church- 
men, (he might have added the Baptists, Quakers, and every other 
sect, except his own,) * for,' said he, * they have ruii\ed Connecti- 
cut, — they have brought about a revolution in the government of 
the state, and we have no hopes of preserving a pure Church there 
any longer ; our only hope is now centered in the Western Reserve.' 
But the poor man had forgotten that he was in Ohio, where the" 
constitution and laws place all men on a level in these respects.^ 

But the more wise and prudent of them seem to have known that 
the only means of gaining and holding the ascendency in this country 
is by nioral and not by legal influence ; to secure which, a variety 
of means and measures have been adopted, and as far as practi- 
cable, carried into eflect. And from their varied and simultaneous 

* About this time an outer-court Presbyterian was expatiating on the impropri- 
ety of suffering so many sects of Christians to exist in the country. * There ought,' 
said he, ' to be but one church and one minister in a town,' (meaning each five miles 
square,) * and all the people should be compelled to pay to his support.' Well, said 
a oy-stander, you would allow the majority to rule in such a case, I suppose ? * O ! 
yes,' was the reply. Well, I understand, said the speaker, that the Methodists 
are far more numerous in the state than any other sect ; would you be willing to 
pay to U\em ? * No j I s— «-r I won't}' said he, *for they are not fit to live on the 
earth.' 



274 MvetUures on the Columbia Rwer. 

exertions to keep the Methodists (above all others) on the back 
ground, it would seem as if they considered us the greatest enemies 
of the Christian religion existing on the soil. 

The uniformity with which the missionaries who come among 
us from the east press their claims and extend their operations, 
leads us to suspect that they undergo a thorough training before 
they leave home ; and it is somewhat remarkable that they seem 
to direct all their measures with a view to oppose and render in- 
effectual the labors and plans of the Methodists. I should be 
exceedingly sorry to indulge in uncharitable thoughts respecting 
the designs of any sect of professing Christians, but I cannot help 
suspecting that Methodism is the main object of their attack. This 
I judge from a variety of circumstances, not necessary to be 
mentioned. But whatever may be the object of them or others, I 
trust in God, that we, as a people, will mind our own work, and go 
on in his name to preach salvation bv grace through faith in Jesus, 
until all the sinners in this Reserve shall be converted to God. 

Notwithstanding all the ways and means used to impede our 
progress, the march of Methodism has been onward. Our meet- 
mgs, and especially our camp meetings and other popular meetings 
have been, for many years, numerously attended, and have resulted 
in the salvation of many hundreds of precious souls. Our ministry 
is fast improving in experience and useful knowledge, as they 
advance in years : and both preachers and people, taken as a whole, 
were never more spiritual in their ministrations and devotions than 
at the present time. Men of science, business, and property, are 
overcoming the prejudices of the day, and uniting with us, not for 
the sake of worldly gain, but for c<Hiscience' sake. Some scores 
of chapels already ^tand on the firm and sure basis of our deed 
of settlement, and scores more are now in contemplation or in 

{)rogress. And we have pleasing prospects of future usefulness 
rom the promising talents which begin to develope themselves in 
many of the youth who have placed themselves in our ranks. For 
all which, together with all other mercies and blessings, we feel 
thankful to God. 

ffubbardy Ohio, Feb. 4, 1832. 



ADVENTURES ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER. 

Jldventures on the Columbia River, i$uluding the Narrative of a rein- 
dence of six years on the western dde of the Rocky mountains^ among 
various tribes of Indians hitherto wiknoion : together with a journey 
across the American continent. By Ross Cox. 8vo. pp. 335. 

The discovery of the new world by Christopher Columbus, in 
the year 1692, gave a new impulse to the human mind, and opened 
a wide and variegated field for the exercise and displav of its ener- 
gies. And from that memorable era to the present tune the abo« 



Adventures on the Columbia River. 275 

riginal inhabitants of this extensive continent have been the constant 
objects of attention, either as forming a theme of speculation for 
the philosopher, as subjects on which tiie Christian missionary could 
exercise his benevolence in reclaiming them from their savage 
barbarity, or as beings destined to become the sport of fortune 
with whom the mercenary white man might carry on a lucrative 
traffic, and enrich himself with the spoils of the untaught Indians. 

What considerate American can read the history of his country 
without alternate feelings of admiration and regret, of joy and sorrow, 
at the manner in which its native inhabitants have been treated? 
Even in tracing the adventurous history of the bold and intrepid 
Columbus, whose name is now and ever will be associated with 
the heroic benefactors of mankind, we cannot but feel some abate* 
ment of our admiration of his character when we recoUect the sad 
necessity he felt himself under to introduce native slavery into his 
newly acquired colonies. And our apologies — fiw we are com- 
pelled to apologize for this part of big conduct— detract from the 
glory of his achievements, while they afford demonstrations that 
the force of his circumstances- compelled him to be unjust, arid to 
resort to a species of cruelty even at the very time he was filling 
the world with the fame of hb valorous deeds and his perilous 
enterprises. 

But what shall we say for some of his successors ? Not content 
with robbing Columbus of his justly acquired fame as the disco- 
verer of a new continent, and the founder of a new and mighty 
empire, in which the old world could empty itself of its surplus 
population, and enrich itself with the spoils of the vanquished inha- 
bitants, by associating the name of the country with the name of his 
rival, they made themselves odious in the eye of posterity by their 
deeds of cruelty toward the natives whom they had conquered. 
Almost all our pleasure is indeed lost in reading the history of the 
discovery and settlement of Spanish America by the necessary 
association of Spanish cruelty with its heroic and chivalrous deeds. 
Christianity, especially, bleeds at every pore, being ^ stabbed in the 
house of its friends,' while its professed advocates were attempting 
to introduce it among the untaught inhabitants of Mexico and South 
America. Who would now think of converting pagans to the 
sublime doctrines and mild precepts of Christianity with the cru- 
cifix in one hand and the sword in the other ! Yet this was the 
way in which the Mexicans were compelled to renounce the gods 
of their fathers and embrace the religion of their conquerers. 

Is it any wonder that these natives imbibed an unconquerable 
hatred against the hard-hearted ijivaders of their soill Is it any 
matter of wonder that they rebelled against them 1 To have sub- 
mitted without a stru^le to treatment so cruel, to conduct so perfi- 
dious, to practices so destructive of their liberties, independence, 
and happiness, would have betrayed an abjectiveness of mind and 
an insensibility of nature not to be found among any beings posisessed 



276 Mtentures on the Cohmhia Siver. 

of reason or animation. Even the bnite beast will straggle for his 
life and liberty while under the hand of his conqueror and oppressor, 
so long as life remains. And surely it is not in human nature to 
iBubmit in quietness to be stripped at once of its only covering from 
the storm and tempest, to be turned out houseless and compelled to 
roam friendless and forlorn, or be driven under the merciless lash 
of its cruel oppressor and tormentor, without a sigh or groan. 

But such was the condition of many of the native clans of South 
America. And it would seem as if these states were even now, 
as they have been for some time past, groaning under the hand of 
a retributive justice, which ^ visits the iniquities of their fathers upon 
the children unto the third and fourth generations of them that hate* 
Grod, and who refuse to appease his wrath by repentance and resti- 
tution. 

Let us, however, torn away our eyes from beholding this horrid 
picture of human perversity, sufferiug, and misery, where courage 
and humanity, abjectness, tyranny and wickedness, alternately 
struggled for the mastery, and while pity weeps at beholding 
such sad evidences of human degradation and misery, let us turn 
our attention to another region of our country, on which, though 
often stained with the blood of the slain, we find some bright spots 
to relieve the eye from the pain of seeing nought but * garments 
rolled in blood,' defenceless villages ravaged, innocent victims fall- 
ing under the sword of the vanquisher, women despoiled of their 
virtue, and whole nations reduced to slavery under the hand of an 
odious despotism : we say, let us turn from these scenes of deso- 
lation and wo, on which the eye seems to linger with a sort of 
instinctive but sorrowful sympathy for the oppressed sufferer, to 
a more favored portion of our country. 

North America presented to the European adventurer another, 
and, in many respects, altogether a different race of human beings. 
Like the country which he inhabited, wild and uncultivated, 
a climate less enervating and more conducive to health of body 
and vigor of intellect, our ancestors found a race of barbarians, 
though lofty in stature and intellect, yet wild and untutored, and 
though savage in their manners, yet quite friendly toward their visit- 
ers. Here, also, a more Christian-like intercourse with the natives 
marked the conduct of the emigrants. With their minds strongly, 
though somewhat superstitiously — having but just escaped from 
the relics of popery and the land of civil and religious despotism — 
imbued with religious truth, at an early period of their settlement 
they endeavored to introduce to the natives of these forests the 
blessings of Christianity. And in this work of mercy and charity 
they happily succeeded in many instances and to a considerable 
extent. Many of the savages, we have reason to believe, were 
savingly converted to the Christian faith, at different periods of the 

settlements of New-England, as well as in other parts of our 
country. 



%Sdten^e$ im the CohmAia River. S7Y 

But notwithstanding these etforts of piety and benevolence, coup* 
-led as they were with a desire to civilize these wild'barbananS) they 
gradually receded before the- advance of civilized man, and, either 
voluntanly for a stipulated price, or compelled from the cfacumr 
stances in which they were placed, resigned their inheritance to the 
invaders of their soil. As if made to roam in the wilderness and 
to obtain a scanty livelihood by their bows and arrows, they sought 
shelter in the wilds from the sun of civilization and the lights of 
revelation. And even those who embraced Christianity, and be- 
came in some measure civilized, did not long retain their standing 
in their adopted community, but gradually melted away or mingled 
again with the Pagans of the forest 

Such has been the fate of the original possessors of the American 
soil. We cannot help thinking, however, that it might have been 
otherwise. Had our forefathers brought to these sons of nature 
the blessings of Christianity and civilization pure and unmixed with 
European policy and European vices, we have reason to conclude 
that other results would have been witnessed. Instead <^ deterio- 
rating in their morals and degenerating in their habits and manners— 
as they evidently have since the period they were visited by the white 
man, an era in their history might have commenced at that time 
which should have dated the beginning of their glory and renown 
among the nations of the earth. Though savage in their manners-* 
being ignorant of letters and the arts of civilized life^ — ^they were 
strangers to many of those vices by which the Europeans were 
distinguished and disgraced, and by which the Indians were cor* 
rupted and destroyed. To those destructive diseases of the body, 
which are the necessary accompaniments of luxury, and the pre- 
cursors of premature old age and death, they were strangers ; and 
though unrestrained from sensual indulgence by the rites and laws of 
matrimony, and though the passion for revenge in their numerous wars 
was allowed fuUscope, yet they were not then stimulated in either 
of these thmgs by intoxicating liquors. No ! To the Europeans-^ 
to the ciyilized and Christianized Europeans— were they indebted 
for the use of this liquid poison ! How mortifying to reflect timf 
those who came among them under the professions of friendship, at 
the very time they held out to them in one hand the blessii^ of 
Christianity, should have presented to them with the other the cup 
which contained the means of their destruction ! Is it aiqr won- 
der that a hatred almost irreconcilable and interminable should 
have entered their hearts agains^ those invaders of their rights and 
destroyers of their quietude I How many have fallen under the 
merciless tomahawk and cruel scalping knife, who might have 
escaped had it not been for the fury imused into tbebr brams by the 
use of ardent spirits ! The present generation have no other means 
left to roll off this m^hty load of gmlt, winch has been accumulat- 
ing for years, and which, in many instances, is still growing heavier 

Vol. III.-^At^y, 1832. 24 . 



278 Mveniuret an the Columbia Rher. 

and heavier by the repetition of the same odious practice, than by 
making a speedy restitution to these injured tribes. 

This work has recently been begun, and with a promising suc- 
cess. But still the philanthropist and the Christian missionary 
have to contend with those evUs we have been deprecating. To 
the disgrace of our countrymen, the same mercenary spirit which 
impelled «ome of our ancestors — ^for thank God they were not.ott 
involved in the same horrid traffic and crime — ^to cheat the Indian 
by first making him drunk, mvites many a mercenary trader to 
carry on the siame demoralizing practice from the hope of temporal 
gain. If our nation is free from a temporizing policy toward the 
natives, carried on with a view to deprive them of their inheritance 
and drive them still farther back into the wildemesfrr- which we 
awfiilly fear is not the case — are there not thousands of individuals 
who, lost to all sense of justice and humanity, are still sucking their 
life blood from their veins ? Actuated by a cupidity, as sordid as 
it is dio^raceful, do they not still hurl among them the bottles and 
kegs of whiskey and rum, for the base purpose of decoying them 
into the fatal snares wUch they have laid for their unwary feet % 
Does not the hope of temporal gain still swallow up every moral 
principle, and stifle in its mercenary progress every sting of con* 
science ? Such is the direful influence of the root of all evil, the 
, love of money. 

Even while we are writing the sound of war is heard from the 
west. The Sioux and the Foxes have again lifted the fatal hatchet, 
and are burying it in the heads of their white neighbors. Why is 
this 1 Is there not a cause 1 Cannot the Indian reason ? Is he 
not as much alive to his own interests as the white man 1 May he 
not. conclude that he mi^t as well die fightmg for his rights, for 
his inheritance, as to be for ever driven by those who ought to 
protect him, bjack, and yet farther back, until he shall reach the 
utmost verge pif the far west, and thence plunge hopelessly into the 
western ocean ? And can we blame him 1 Can we accuse him 
of unmanly feelings or of unnatural love and hatred 1 Is it not 
natural for him to love. his country, his kindred, his fireside, though 
it be only in the middle of a wigwam ? And is it not equally 
natural for him to hate those who tiius oppress him, deprive him of 
his rights, despoil him of his inheritance, and drive him firom his 
native soil and hunting ground 1 Let us put ourselves in his place, 
and We shall be at no loss to answer tiiese questions. Let us 
at last awake to our own true mterests, to the Indian's interest, and 
to the interests of humanity. Let us redeem our character as a 
nation, as Christians, and as indiriduals who have ourselves an 
immortal interest at stake. Let us fly to their relief with the bless- 
ing of Christianity in the one hand, and the arts and comforts of 
civilized and domestic life in the other. In a word, let us arouse 
from tiie slumber of aj^es, and exert ourselves in the name of the 
Lord Jesus who died for aU men, to wipe off the reproach under 



Mventures an the Columbia River. 279 

which we groan, for having so long not only n^Iected them, but 
even looked upon them with the eye of avarice and malevolence. 
-God has placed them within our reach, and placed the means in 
our hands wherewith we may enrich them with all the blessings 
peculiar to the age and dispensation in which and under which we 
live. ^ The red man is our brother — let us treat him as such, and 
he will love us in return. 

But it is time to turn our attention to the work placed at the 
head of this article. 

* The following narrative,' says the author in his preface, * embraces 
a period of six years, five of which were spent among various tribes on 
the banks of the Columbia river and its tributary streams; and the' 
remaining portion was occupied in the voyage outward, and the journey 
across the continent. 

During this period the author ascended the Columbia nine times, 
and descended it eighty wintered among various tribes ; was engaged 
in several encounters with the Indians; was lost fourteen days in a 
wilderness, |ind had many other extraordinary escapes. . 

He kept journals of the principal events which occurred during tho 
greater part of this period, the substance of which will be found em- 
bodied in the following pages. Those who love to read of " battle, 
murder, and sudden death," will, in his description of the dangers and 
privations to which the life of lui Indian trader is subject, find much 
to gratify their taste ; while to such as are fond of nature, in its rudest 
and most savage forms, he trusts his sketches of the wild and wander- 
ing tribes of western America may not be found uninteresting.' 

To study the Indian character in connection with his pursuits 
and peculiar modes of life, has been the favorite employment of the 
philosopher and civilian, ever smce the former has been discovered 
in his native wilds. There is, indeed, something so peculiarly 
romantic in the life and condition of the Indian, in his habits and 
means of living, as to make his history a subject of absorbing 
interest. Hence the intensity with which the incidents of his life 
are traced, and the avidity vrith which the volume is perused which 
treats of Indian manners, life, and customs. 

The present volume opens with an account of the author's de- 
parture upon his voyage from the city of New York, on the 17th 
of October, 1811, with a gentle breeze from the northward, and, 
after encountering all that variety of weather, of perils, and deliver- 
ances common to voyages in that direction, on the 26th of M arch, 
1812, the ship anchored outside of the bar in Whytetee (Owhy- 
hee?) bay. Here, on landing, they were entertained by the 
natives with great hospitality. At the time of this visit the Chris- 
tian religion had not been introduced into any of these islands, and. 
of course Mr. Cox had an opportunity of seeing the islanders in 
all the loveliness of nature's best style, which, indeed, fully evinced 
the necessity of a renovation in order to raise them to the true 
dignity of human beings. Their manner of Ufe, their sports and 



280 Mveniures en the Cobmhia River. 

plays were all such as to convince their visiters that Pi^^anism 
associates v^ith itself, and tolerates with impunity, aH those vices 
which degrade and bmtify the human character, however else the 
intellect may be improved or the morals guided and guarded. 
* Since then,' says Mr. Cox, * thanks to the indefatigable and 
praiseworthy exertions of the missionaries, this rude but nobIe« 
nearted race of people have been rescued from their diabolical 
superstitions, and the greater part of them now enjoy the blessings 
of Christianity.' Of the manner in which thb great reformation 
was effected, and the subsequent change in the life and manners 
of these blanders, so beneficial to themselves, as well as honorable 
to their Christian teachers, our readers are presumed to be well 
acquainted. 

After spending the time from March 26th to April 5th, at this 
island, they set sail for Columbia river, on the northwest coast of 
America, and on May 1st, in lat. 41 deg. north, they came in sight 
of Cape Orford, at the mouth of this mighty river. The foDowing is 
the author's account of his entrance and reception at this place : — 

< We coasted along shore until the 5th, when we had the happiness 
of beholding the entrance of the long-wished*for Columbia, which 
empties itse&into the Pacific in lat. 46 deg. 19 min. N., and long. 124 
deg. W. Light baffling winds, joined to the captain^s timidity, obliged 
us to stand off and on until theBth, on which day we descried a white 
flag hoisted on Cape Disappointment, the northern extremity of the land 
at tile entrance of the river. A large fire was also kept burning on the 
cape all night, which served as a beacon. A dangerous bar runs across 
tiie mouth of the Columbia; the channel for crossing it is on the 
northern side close to the cape, and is very narrow, and from thence to 
the opposite point on the southern side, which is called Point Adams, 
extends a chain or reef of rocks and sandbanks, over which the dread- 
ful roaring of the mighty waters of the Columbia, in forcing their pas- 
sage to the ocean, is heard for miles distant. 

Early on the morning of the 9th, Mr. Rhodes was ordered out in the 
cutter, on the perilous duty of sounding the channel of the bar, and 
placing the buoys necessary for the safe guidance of the ship. While he 
was performing this duty we fired several guns ; and, about ten o'clock 
in themoming, we were delighted with hearing the report of three cannon 
from the shore in answer to ours. Toward noon an Indian canoe was dis- 
covered making for us, and a few moments af^er a barge was perceived 
following it. Various were the hopes and fears by which we were agi- 
tated, as we waited in anxious expectation the arrival of the strangers 
from whom we were to learn the fate of our predecessors, and of the 
party who had crossed the continent. Vague rumors had reached 
the Sandwich Islands from a coasting vessel, that the Tonquin had 
been cut off by the Indians, and every soul on board destroyed ; and, 
since we came in sight of the river, the captain's ominous forebodings 
had almost prepared the weaker part of our people to hear that some 
dreadful fatsJity had befallen our infant establishment. Not even the 
sound of the cannon, and the sight of the flag and fire on the cape 



Aiveiitwrts on the Columbia Rher. 281 

were proofs strong enough to shake his doubts. *^ An old bird was 
not to be caught with chaff:'' he was too well acquainted with Indian 
cunning and treachery to be deceived by such appearances. It was 
possible enough that the savages might have surprised the fort, mur- 
dered its inmates, seized the property, fired the cannon to induce us 
to cross the bar, which, when once effected, they could easily cut us 
off before we could get out again. He even carried his caution so far 
as to order a party of armed men to be in readiness to receive our 
visiters. The canoe arrived first along side : in it was an old Indian, 
blind of an eye, who appeared to be a chief, with six others, nearly 
naked, and the most repulsive looking beings that ever disgraced the 
fair form of humanity. The only intelligence we could obtain firom 
them was, that the people in the barge were white like ourselves, and 
had a house on shore. A few minutes afterward it came along side, 
and dissipated dl our fearful dreams of murder, &c, and we had the 
delightful, the inexpressible pleasure of shaking hands with Messrs. 
Duncan, M'Dougall and Donald M'Lennan ; the former a partner, 
and the latter a clerk of the company, with eight Canadian boatmen. 
After our congratulations were over, they informed us, that on receiv- 
ing intelligence the day before fi*pm the Indians that a ship was off the 
river, they came down from the ibrt, a distance of twelve miles, to 
Cape Disappointment, on which they hoisted the flag we had seen, 
and set fire to several trees to serve in lieu of a light house. 

The tide was now making in, and as Mr. Rhodes had returned from 
placing the buoys, Mr. M'Lennan, who was well acquainted with the 
channel, took charge of the ship as pilot ; and at half past two P. M., 
we crossed the bar, on which we struck twice without sustaining any 
injury ; shortly after which we dropped anchor in Baker's bay, after a 
tedious voyage of six months and twenty-two days. Mr. M'Dougall 
informed us that the one-eyed Indian who had preceded him in the 
canoe was the principal chief of the Chinook nation, who reside on the 
northern side of the river near its mouth ; that his name was Com- 
comly, and that he was much attached to the whites : we therefore 
made him a present, and gave some trifling articles to his attendants, 
after which they departed.' 

This part of our country is now attracting* the attention of the 
American people, and will doubtless soon become a place of con- 
siderable traffic, and should be seized upon by the Christian missbn- 
ary as a central position for the commencement and prosecution of 
aboriginal missions on the west ^de of the Rocky mountains. And, 
as perhaps it may not be much known to our readers what haa* 
been done to secure a settlement in that place, we will present 
them with the following account of the incidents attenduig the 
visit of the ship Tonquin, which left New-Yoric for this plaee in 
1810, one year before our author embarked on a rimilar enter- 
prise. The following extract wiU be read with deep and lively 
interest, as not only exlubiting the dangers and hardships to which 
those are exposed who navigate these seas, and who visit such 

84* 



382 .SdventwreB wi the Colvmbia River. 

« 

inhospitable climes, but also some traits of the Indian character in 
the interior of that wilderness : — 

' After the vessel was securely moored. Captain Sowles joined our 
party, and we took our leave of the good ship Beaver ; in which, after 
a voyage of six months and three weeks, we had travelled upward of 
twenty thousand miles. 

In the evening we arrived at the company's establishment, which 
was called Fort Astoria, in honor of Mr. Astor. Here we found 
five proprietors, nine clerks, and ninety artizans and canoe-men, or, as 
they are commonly called in the Indian country, voyageurs. We. 
brought an addition of thirty-six, including the islanders ; so that our 
muster-roll, including officers, &c, amounted to one hundred and forty 
men. " ^ 

The accounts which we received from our friends at Astoria were 
highly discouraging as to our future prospects, and deeply melancholy 
as to the pa^. But that my readers may understand the situation of 
affairs at the time of our anival, it will be necessary to take a short 
retrospect of the transactions that occurred antecedent to that period. 

The ship Tonquin, to which I have alluded in the introduction 
sailed from New- York on the 6th September, 1810. She was com- 
manded by Captain Jonathan Thorn, a gentleman who had been for- 
merly a first lieutenant in the navy of the United States ; and while in 
that service, during their short war with Algiers, had distinguished him- 
self as a bold and daring officer. His manners were harsh and arbi- 
trary, with a strong tincture of that peculiar species of American amor 
patricRy the principal ingredient of which is a marked antipathy to 
Great Britain and its subjects. 

Four partners, namely, Messrs. Alexander M'Kay, Duncan M'Dou- 
gall, David and Robert Stuart, embarked in her, with eight clerks, 
and a number of artizans and voyageurSf all destined for the company's 
establishment at the Columbia. Those gentlemen were aU British sub- 
jects ; and, although engaged with Americans in a commercial specu- 
lation, and sailing under the flag of the United States, were sincerely 
attached to their king and the country of their birth. Their patriotism 
was no recommendation to Captain Thorn, who adopted every means 
in his power to annoy and thwart them. To any person who has been 
at sea it is unnecessary to mention how easy it is for one of those nau- 
tical despots to play the t3rrant, and the facilities which their situation 
aflbrds, and of which they too often avail themselves, of harassing 
evenr one who is not slavishly subservient to their wishes. 

Messrs. M'Kay, M'Dougall, and the Stuarts, had too much High- 
land blood in their veins to submit patiently to the haughty and 
uncivil treatment of the captain ; and the consequence was, a series of 
quarrels and disagreeable recriminations, not merely in the cabin,, 
but on the quarter-deck. 

They touched at the Falkland Islands for a supply of water ; and* 
while Mr. David Stuart and Mr. Franchere, with a party, were on 
shore, the captain, without any previous intimation, suddenly gave orders 
to weigh anchor, and stood out to sea, leaving the party on one of the 
most desert and uninhabitable island in the world. TheigenUemen on 



Adventures an the Cobmhia Siver. 28S 

boaird expostulated in vain against this a<^t of tyrannic cruelty^ when 
Mr. Robert Stuart, nephew to the gentleman who had been left on 
shore, seized a brace of pistols, and presenting one at the captain's 
head, threatened to blow oat his brains if he did not instantly order the 
ship to lay to and wait for his uncle's party. Most part of the crew and 
officers witnessed this scene ; and as they appeared to sympathize 
deeply with young Stuart, the captain thought it more prudent to sub- 
rait, and gave orders accordingly to shorten sail and wait the arrival of, 
Mr. Stuart*s party. 

The determined resolution evinced by yoimg Mr. Stuart on this 
occasion, and the apparent apathy of his officers, who stood quietly 
by while a pistol was presented to his head, were never forgiven by 
Captain Thorn* 

The Tonquin doubled Cape Horn in safety, and arrived in the middle 
of February at the Sandwich Islands, from which place they took ten na- 
tives for the establishment, and sailed for the coast on the 1st of March. 

On the 23d of March they arrived at the mouth of the Columbia ; 
and although it blew a stiff breeze, the cjEiptain ordered Mr. Fox, the 
chief mate, with two American sailors an<j[ two Canadian voyageurs^ to 
proceed in the long-boat toward the bary for the purpose of sounding, 
the channel. From the threatening appearance of the sky, and the 
violence of the gale, Mr. M'Eay thought this a most hazardous under* 
taking, and implored Captain Thorn to postpone it until the weather 
became more moderate. His orders however were peremptory ; and 
finding all remonstrance useless, Mr. Fox with his little crew embarked, 
and proceeded to fulfil his instructions. That unfortunate officer 
seemed to have a presentiment of his approaching fate, for on quitting 
the vessel he took an affectionate farewell of all his friends ; to some of 
whom he mentioned he was certain they would never see him again. 
His prediction was verified ; but we could never ascertain correctly the 
particulars of their fate. It is supposed, however, that the tide^etting 
in, joined to the violence of the wind, drove the boat among the break* 
ers, where it and its unfortunate crew must have been dashed to pieces. 

The ship stood off and on during the 24th, and on the 25th, the 
wind having moderated, she stood in for Cape Disappointment. Mr» 
Aikin, one of the officers, accompanied by Weekes, ihe smith, Coles^ 
the sailmaker, and two Sandwich Islanders, were sent ahead in the 
joUy-boat to ascertain the lowest depth of water in the channel ; the 
ship in the meantime following afler, under easy sail. Aikin reported 
by signal that there was water sufficient ; upon which the captain 
ordered all sail to be crowded, and stood in for the bar. The jolly- 
boat was. now ordered to fall back and join the ship; but having 
unfortunately got too far to the southward, it was drawn within the 
influence of the current, and carried with fearful rapidity toward the 
breakers. It passed within pistol shot of the vessel, its devoted crew 
crying out in the wildest accents of despair for assistance. This, 
however, was impossible, for at that moment the Tonquin struck on the 
bar ; and the apprehension of instant destruction precluded the possi- 
bility of makmg any attempt to save the jolly-boat, which by this time 
was carried out of sights The wind now moderated to a gentle breeze ; 



I 

284 AdoMura en the Columbia Rher. 

but owing to the tide setting out strongly, the water became so low that, 
the ship struck several times ; and to add to the horror of their situa- 
tion, they were quickly surrounded by the darkness of night. During 
an awful interval of three hours the sea beat over the vessel ; and at 
times some of the crew imagined they heard the screams of their lost 
companions borne by the night winds over the foaming billows of the 
bar. A little after twelve o'clock, however, the tide set in strongly, 
with a fresh breeze from the westward ; and all hands having set to 
woric, they providentially succeeded in extricating themselves from their 
perilous situation, and worked the ship in Baker's bay, inside Cape 
Disappointment, where they found a safe asylum. It blew a perfect gale 
the remainder of the night. 

On the morning of the 26th some of the natives came on board. — 
They appeared to be very friendly, and betrayed no symptoms of fear 
or distrust. Parties were immediately despatched toward the northern 
shore, and round the cape, in order to ascertain, if possible, the fate of 
the two Boats. 

Shortly after one of them returned, accompanied by Weekes, who 
gave the following account of his miraculous escape from a watery 
grave : — ** When we passed the vessel, the boat, owing to the want of 
a rudder, became quite unmanageable, and, notwithstanding all our 
exertions, we were carriea into the northern edge of the great chain of 
breakers. The tide and current, however, were setting out so strongly 
that we were absolutely carried through the reef without sustaining any 
injury, but immediately on the outer edge a heavy sea struck us, and 
tiie boat was upset. Messrs. Aikin and Coles disappeared at once, and 
I never saw them afterwards On recovering my first shock, I found 
myself close to the Sandwich Islanders, who had stripped off their 
clothes with extraordinary despatch. We all seized the boat, and after 
much difficulty succeeded in righting it. We then got out a little of the 
water, which enabled one of the islanders to enter the boat, and he 
quickly bailed out the remainder. His companion also recovered the 
oars, and we then embarked. I endeavored to persuade the two poor 
islanders to row, well knowing, the exertion would keep them alive ; 
but it was quite useless, they were so spent from fatigue, and benumb* 
ed by the cold, that they refused to do any thing, and threw themselves 
down in the boat, apparently resigned to meet their fate. I had no 
notion, however, of giving up my life in that manner, and therefore 
pulled away at the oars with all my strength. About midnight, one 
of my unfortunate companions died, and his surviving countryman 
flung himself on the body, from which I found it impossible to dislodge 
him. I continued hard at work during the night, taking care to keep 
to the northward of the bar, and at daylight found myself close to a 
sandy beach, on which the surf beat heavily. I was nearly exhausted, 
and therefore determined to run all risks to get ashore. I fortunately 
succeeded, and ran the boat on the beach. I then assisted the 
islander, who bad some signs of life still in him, to land ; but the poor 
fellow was too weak to follow me. I was therefore obliged to leave 
him, and shortly after fell on a well beaten path, which in a few 
hours brought me in sight of the ship, when I met the party who 



MvcfUutes on the Cobmbia River, 285 

cofiducted me on board* Thanks to the Almighty for my wonderful 
escape!" 

The people who went in search of the surviving islander did not 
find him until the following morning, when they discovered him in a 
deplorable state, close to some rocks. They carried him to the ship ; 
and in a few days, by the proper and humane treatment of *Mr. 
Franchere, he was perfectly restored to his health. 

Some time was occupied ailer their arrival in looking out for a 
proper place to build their fort ; and at length, on the 12th of April, 
they selected a handsome and commanding situation, called Pmiit 
George, twelve miles from the cape, and on the South side of the 
*river. The keel of a schooner of thirty tons' burden was also laid at 
the same time, the skeleton of which had been brought out from 
New-York. 

During the month of May, Messrs. M'Eay, Stuart, Franchere, and 
Matthews, made several excursions up the river as far as the first 
rapids, in which they were well received by the natives, from whom 
they collected a quantity of furs. 

It having been arranged that the Tonquin was to make a coasting 
excursion as far as Cook's river^ and touch at the various harbors 
between that place and the Columbia, she weighed anchor on the 
first of June, and dropped down to Baker'a ba}-. Mr. M'Kay, and 
Mr. Lewis, one of the clerks, embarked in her for the purpose of 
obtaining a. correct knowledge of the various tribes on the coast, it 
being intended that after her cruise to the northward the ship was to 
return to the Columbia, take what furs they might have purchased 
during her absence, which the captain was to dispose of in Canton, 
from whence he was to return to New- York with a cargo of Chinese 
goods. 

Mr. Mumford, the chief mate, in consequence of a dispute with 
Captain Thorn, refused to proceed farther with him, -and was engaged 
by the company to take the command of the little schooner when 
finished. 

The Tonquin took her final departure from the Columbia on the 
5th of June, with a fair wind, and passed the bar in safety. 

In the month of July, Mr. David Thompson, astronomer to the 
Northwest Company, of which he was also a piroprietor, arrived with 
nine men in a canoe at Astoria, from the interior. Thhi gentleman 
came on a voyage of discovery to the Columbia, preparatory to the 
Northwest Company forming a settlement at the entrance of the 
river. ^He remained at Astoria until the latter end of July, when he 
took his departure for the interior; Mr. David Stuart, with three 
clerks and a party of Can^adians, accompanying him, for the purpose 
of selecting a proper place on the upper parts of the river for a trading 
establishment. 

Early ii\ the month of August a party of Indians from Gray's 
harbor arrived at the mouth of the Columbia for the purpose of fish- 
ing. They told the. Chinooks that the Tonquin had been cut off by 
one of the northern tribes, and that every soul on board had been 
massacred. This intelligence was not at first believed; but several 
other mmors of a sijaiiai: nature having reached Astotia^ caused 



S86 Jldventurei m the Columhia Rker, 

conmderable uneasiness, particularly ks the month passed away with- 
out any news of a satisfactory nature having been received. 

During the month of September, the people at the fort were kept 
in a state of feverish alarm by various reports of an intention on the 
part of the natives to surprise and destroy them. October commenced, 
and the period fixed for the return of the Tonquin had long since 
elapsed, still no intelligence of her arrival, with the exception of 
farther reports of her destruction, accompanied by additional evidence, 
of a nature so circumstantial as to leave little doubt but that some 
dreadful fatality had occurred. 

Oh the 5th of October, Messrs. Fillet and M'Lennan, two of the 
clerks who had gone to the interior with Mr. D. Stuart, returned to 
Astoria, accompanied by a free hunter named Bruguier, and two 
Iroquois hunters. They stated that Mr. Stuart had chosen a place, 
for a trading post about seven hundred miles up the Columbia, at the 
mouth of a river called Oakinagao, and among a friendly tribe, who 
appeared to be well furnished with beaver. About this period the 
schooner was completed and launched. She was called the Dotty ^ 
in honor of Mrs. Astor ; and as provisions at the fort became scarce, 
she was despatched up the river for a supply, under the command of - 
Mr. R. Stuart and Mr. Mumford. 

The dark and dismal months of November and December rolled 
over their heads without bringing them any certain intelligence of the 
Tonquin. During this period it rained incessantly ; and the Indians 
had withdrawn themselves from the banks of the Columbia to their 
winter quarters in the sheltered recesses of the forests, and in the 
vicinity of springs or small rivulets. 

They continued in this state of disagreeable anxiety until the 18th 
of January, 1812, when their drooping spirits were somewhat raised 
by the arrival of Mr. Donald M'Kenzie, with two canoes from the 
interior. This gentleman was accompanied by Mr. M'Lellan, a pro- 
prietor, Mr. Read, a clerk, and ten men. He had lefl St. Louis in 
the month of August, 1810, in company with Mr. Hunt. They 
passed the winter of that year at a place called Nadwau, on the 
banks of (he Missouri, where they were joined by Messrs. M'Lellan, 
Crooks, and Miller, three American traders, connected with Mr. Astor. . 

In the spring of 1811, they ascended the Missouri in two large 
barges, until they arrived on the lands of a powerful tribe named 
the Arikaraws. Here they met a Spanish trader, Mr. Manuel Lisa, 
to whom they sold their barges and a quantity of their merchandise. 

Having purchased one hundred and thirty horses from the Indians, 
they set off in the beginning of August on their land journey, to cross 
the Rocky mountains. Apprehensive of coming in contact with the 
Black Feet, a warlike and savage tribe, who have a strong antipathy 
to the white men, they were obliged to proceed as far south as the 
latitude of 40 deg.; from whence they turned into a north-west course. 
This brought thenr to an old trading post, situated on the banks of a 
small river ; and as they had no doubt it would bring them to the 
Columbia, they immediately set about making canoes for the purpose 
of descending that river. 

Mr, Miller, not liking the aspect of affairs at this place, requested 



MveifUures on the Columbia Rieer: 287 

permissioii to return to the United States, which was granted ; and a 
few men were allowed U> accompany him on his way back. 

The party, which now consisted of about sixty people, commenced 
their voyage downward ; but fVom the rapidity of the current, and 
the number of dangerous rapids, they determined, after having lost 
one man and a portmn of their baggage, to abandon such a perilous 
navigation, and undertake the remainder of their journey on foot. 

In pursuance of this resolution they divided into four parties, uhder 
the commands of Messrs. M*Eenzie, Hunt, M'Lellan, and Crooks ; 
still keeping in view their original intention of following the course of 
the river. Messrs. M'Eenzie and M'Lellan took the right bank, and 
Messrs. Hunt and Crooks the leA. They were under a strong impres- 
sion that a few days would bring them to the Columbia, but they Were 
miserably disappointed. For three weeks they followed the course 
of the river, which was one continued torrent ; and the banks of 
which, particularly the northern, consisted of high precipitous rocks, 
rising abruptly from the water's edge. The greater part of this 
period was one of extreme suffering. Their provisions became shprtly 
exhausted, and they were reduced to the necessity of broiling even 
the leather of their shoes to sustain nature ; while, to complete their 
misfortunes, they were often unable to descend the steep declivities 
of the rocks for a drink of the water which they saw flowing beneath 
their feet. 

From the tormenting privations which they experienced in follow- 
ing the course of this stream, they called it Mad river; and in speak- 
ing of it afterward, the Canadians, from the bitterness of their recol- 
lections,* denominated it la maudite riviere enragh. Mr. Hunt's 
party did not suffer so much as those on the right bank, in conse- 
quence of occasionally meeting some of the natives ; who, although 
they always fled on perceiving them, left their horses behind. The 
party were obligied to kill a few of these animals, and in payment for 
them left some goods near their owners' huts. 

After a separation of some days the two parties came in sight of 
each other ; and Mr. Hunt had a canoe made out of the skin of a 
horse, in whicb he sent some meat over to his famishing friends. He 
also suggested the idea of their crossing over in the canoe one by one 
to the south side, where they would at all events have a better chance 
of escaping death by starvation. This was readily agreed to ; but the 
attempt was unfortunately unsuccessful. One of the best swimmers 
embarked in the canoe ; but it had scarcely reached the centre of the 
river when, owing to the impetuosity of the current, it upset, and the 
poor voyageur sunk to rise no nmre. 

Finding the impracticability of their reunion by this means, they 
continued to pursue their respective courses, and in a few days 
after M'Kenzie's party fell on a considerable river, which they subse- 
quently ascertained to be Lewis' river. Here they met a tribe of 
friendly Indians, from whom they purchasied several horses, and with 
renovated spirits they pursued tlieir journey along the banks of the 
principal river. Among this tribe they found a young white man in 
a state of mental derangement He had, however, lucid intervals, 
and informed diem that bis name was Archibald Petton, and that he 



K 



288 JiJhmtuns en the Cobmbia Kur. 

was a native of Connecticut ; that he had ascended the Missouri with 
Mr. Henry, an American trader, who built the house our people saw 
at the upper part of Mad river; that about three years ago the place 
was attacked by the savages, who massacred every man belonging to 
the establishment! with the exception of himself; and that having 
escaped unperceived, he wandered about for several weeks, until he 
met the friendly tribe with whom we found him. The dreadful 
scenes he had witnessed, joined to the sufferings he had gone through, 
produced a partial derangement of his intellect. His disorder was of 
a harmless nature ; and as it appeared probable that civilized com- 

nionship would in the course of- time restore him to his reason, 

r. M'Kenzie very humanely brought him along with the party. 

On arriving at the entrance of Lewis' river, they obtained canoes 
from the natives in exchange for their horses ; and meeting with ixo 
obstruction from thence downward, arrived at Astoria on the 18th of 
January, 1812. Their concave cheeks, protuberant bones, and 
tattered garments, stronffly indicated the dreadful estent of their pri- 
vations ; but their health appeared uninjured, and their gastronomic 
powers unimpaired. 

From the day that the unlucky attempt was made to cross in the 
canoe, Mr. M'Kenzie had seen nothing of Mr. Hunt's party, and he 
was of opinion they would not be able to reach the fort until the 
spring was far advanced. He was however mistaken ; for on the 
16th of February, Mr. Hunt, with thirty men, one woman, and two 
children, arrived at Astoria. 

This gentleman stated that shortly after his last separation from the 
northern party he arrived among a friendly tribe, whose village was 
situated in the plains. They treated him and his party with great 
hospitality; in consequence of which he remained ten days with them, 
for the double purpose of recruiting his men, and looking for one of 
his hunters, who had been lost for some days. Having received no 
intelligence of the man, Mr. Hunt resumed his' journey, leaving Mr. 
Crooks, with five men who were much exhausted, among the Indians, 
who promised to pay every attention to them, and conduct them part 
of the way downward on their recovery. 

Mr. Hunt in the meantime fell on the Columbii^, some distance 
below its junction with Lewis' river; and having also obtained 
canoes, arrived safely on the day above mentioned. The corporeal 
appearance of his party was somewhat superior to that of Mr. 
M'Eenzie's, but their outward habiliments were equally ragged. 

The accession of so many hungry stomachs to the half-starved 
garrison at Astoria would have produced serious inconvenience had 
not the fishing season fortunately commenced earlier than was antici- 
pated, and supplied them v/ith abundance of a snuill delicious fidi 
resembling pilchard, and which is the same mentioned by Lewis and 
Clarke as anchovy. 

On the 30th of March, the following departures took place : Mr. 
Head for New-York, charged with despatches to Mr. Astor, acconu 
panied by Mir. M'Lellan, who quitted the country in disgust. This 
gentleman had landed that a fortune was to be made with extraordi- 
nary celerity on the CdumUa ; but findii^ his calculations iiad 



Adventures on the Columbia Rker. 289 

«:ste6ded the bounds oif probability, he preferred renewing his ad- 
dresses to the fickle jade in a country less subject to starvation and 
fighting* 

Messrs. Farnham and M'GiUts^ with a party, also embarked for the 
purpose of proceeding to the head of Mad river, for the trading goods 
which Mr, Hunt had deposited there en cache; and Mr. Robert 
Stuart set off at the same time with a fresh supply for his uncle's 
establishment At Oakinagan, 

It is now time to return to the Tonquin, of which no news had 
been heard during the winter, with the exception of the flying rumors 
abready alluded to. That vessel, as mentibned in the preceding 
chapter, sailed from the Columbia on the 6th of June, 1811, on 
a trading speculation to the northward ; and Mr. M'Eay took on 
board, as an interpreter, a nativer of Gray's Harbor, who was well 
acquainted with the various dialects of the tribes on the coast. From 
thi6«Indian the following melancholy particulars were learned. 

A few days after their departure from the Columbia they anchored 
opposite a large village, named JVcw Whittyy in the vicinity of JShotka, 
where Mr. M'Kay immediately opened a smart trade with the natives. 
He went on shore with a few men ; was received in the most friendly 
manner, and slept a couple of nights at the village. During this 
period several of the natives visited the vessel with furs. The un» 
bending manners of the captain were not calculated to win their 
esteeoQ ; and having struck one of their principal men whom he had 
caught in a theft, a conspiracy Was formed by the friends of the chief 
to surprise and cut off the vessel. The faithful interpreter, having 
discovered their designs, lost no time in acquainting Mr. M'Kay, who 
instantly hurried on board for the purpose of warning the captain of 
the intended attack. That evening Mr. M'Eay told the interpreter 
that the captain only laughed at the information, and said he could 
never believe that a parcel of lazy, thieving Indians would have the 
courage to attack such a ship as his. The natives, in the meantime, 
apprehensive from Mr. M'Kay's sudden return that their plans were 
suspected, visited the ship in small numbers, totally unarmed, in order 
to throw our people off their guard. Even the chief who had been 
struck by Captain Thorn, and who was the head of the conspiracy, 
came on board in a manner seemingly friendly, and apparently forget- 
ful of the insult he had received. 

Early in the morning of the day previous to that on which the ship 
was to leave New Whitty; a couple of large canoes, each containing 
about twenty men^ appeared along side. They brought several small 
bundles of furs; and, as the sailors imagined they came for the purpose 
of trading, w^re allowed to come on deck.. Shortly after another 
canoe, with an equal number, arrived also with furs; and it was 
quickly followed by two others, full of men carrying beaver, otter, and 
other valuable skins. No opposition was made to their coming on 
board ; but the officer of the watch perceiving a number of other 
canoes pushing off, became suspicious of their intentions, and warned 
Captain Thorn of the circumstance. He immediately came on the 
quarter-deck, accompanied by Mr. M'Eay and the interpreter. The 
latter on observing that they all wore short cloaks or mantles of skins, 

Vol. III.— Jtdyy 1832. 25 



290 Aiieeniwrts on the CdunUna Biver. 

wbich was by no means a general custom, at once knew their designs 
were hostile, and told Mr. M'Kay of his suspicions. That gentleman 
immediately apprized Captain Thorn of the circumstances, and 
begged of him to lose no time in clearing the ship of the intruders. 
This caution was however treated lightly by the captain, who 
remarked, that with the arms they had on board they would be more 
than a match for three times the number. The sailors in the mean* 
time had all come on deck, which was crowded with the Indians, 
who completely blocked up the passages, and obstructed the men in 
the performance of their various duties. The captain requested them 
to retire, to which they paid no attention. He then told them he was 
about going to sea, and had given orders to the men to raise the 
anchor ; that he hoped they would go away quietly ; but if they 
refused he should be compelled to iforce their departure. He had 
scarcely finished, when at a signal given by one of the chiefs, a loud 
and frightful yell was heard from the assembled savages, who cgm* 
menced a sudden and simultaneous attack on the officers and crew 
with knives, bludgeons, and short sabres, which they had concealed 
under their robes. 

Mr. M'Eay was one of the first attacked. Onelndfan gave him a 
severe blow with a bludgeon, which partially stunned him; upon 
which he was seized by &ve or six others, who threw him overboard 
into a canoe along side, where he quickly recovered, and was allowed 
to remain for some time uninjured. 

Captain Thorn made an inefiectual attempt to reach the cabin for 
his firearms, but was overpowered by numbers. His only weapon 
was a jack-knife, with which he killed four of his savage assailants by 
ripping up their bellies, and mutilated several others. Covered vtith 
wounds, and exhausted from the loss of blood, he rested himself for a 
moment by leaning on the tiller wheel, when he received a dreadful 
blow from a weapon called a pautumaugan* on the back part of the 
head, which felled him to the deck. The death-dealing knife fell 
from his hand ; and his savage butchers, afler extinguishing the few 
sparks of life that still remained, threw his mangled body overboard. 

On seeing the captain's fate, our informant, who was close to him, 
and who had hitherto escaped uninjured, jumped into the water,- and, 
was taken into a canoe by some women, who partially covered hi§ 
body with mats. He states that the original intention of the enemy* 
was to detain Mr. M'Kay a prisoner ; and after securing the vessel, 
to give him his liberty, on obtaining a ransom from Astoria ; but on 
finding the resistance made by the captain and crew, the former 
of whom had killed one of the principal chiefs, their love of gain gave 
way to revenge, and they resolved to destroy him. The last time the 
ill-fated gentleman was seen, his head was hanging over the side of a 
canoe, and three savages, armed with pautumaugans, were battering 
out his brains. 

In the meantime the devoted crew, who ^ had maintained the 
unequal conflict with unparalleled bravery, became gradually over- 
jpowered. Three of them, John Anderson, the boatswain, John 

* A spectts of half sabre, half club, frffloa two to three feet in lenirtb, six inchesin 
breadth, and double edged. 



/ 



MverUures (m the Columbia River, 291 



Weekes, the carpenter, and Stephen Weekes, who had so narrowlj 
escaped at the Columbia, succeeded, after a desperate struggle, 
in gaining possession of the cabin, the entrance to which they securely 
fastened inside*. The Indians now became more cautious, for they 
well knew there were plenty of firearms below; and they had 
already experienced enough of the prowess of the three men while 
on deck, and armed only with handspikes, to dread approaching them 
' while they had more mortal weapons at their command. 

Anderson and his two companions seeing their commander and the 
crew dead and dying about them, and that no hope of escape remained, 
and feeling moreover the uselessness of any farther opposition, deter- 
mined on taking a terrible revenge. Two of them therefore set about 
laying a train to the powder magazine, while the third addressed 
some Indians from the cabin windows, who were in canoes, and gave 
them to understand that if they were permitted to depart unmolested 
in one of the ship's boats, they would give them quiet possession of 
the vessel without firing a shot; stipulating however that no canoe 
should remain near them while getting into the boat. The anxiety of 
ihe barbarians to obtain possession of the plunder, and their disincli- 
nation to risk any more lives, induced them to embrace this proposi- 
tion with eagerness, and the pinnace was immediately brought 
astern. The three heroes having by this time perfected their dreadful 
arrangements, and ascertained that no Indian was watching them, 
gradually lowered themselves from the cabin windows into the boat ; 
and having fired the train, quickly pushed off toward the mouth of the 
harbor, no obstacle being interposed to prevent their departure. 

Hundreds of the enemy now rushed on deck to sei^e the long- 
expected prize, shouting yells of victory; but their triumph was 
of short duration. Just as they had burst open the cabin door, an 
explosion took place, which in an instant hurled upward of two 
hundred savages into eternity, and dreadfully injured as many more. 
The interpreter, who had by this time reached land, states he saw 
many mutilated bodies floating near the beach, while heads, arms, 
and legs, together with fragments of the ship, were thrown to a con- 
siderable distance on the shore. 

The first impression of the survivors was, that the Master of Life 
had sent forth the evil spirit from the waters to punish them for their 
cruelty to the white people. This belief, joined to the consternation 
occasioned by the shock, and the reproaches and lamentations of the 
wives and other relatives of the sufferers, paralyzed for a time the 
exertions of the savages, and favored the attempt of Anderson and 
his brave comrades to escape. They rowed hard for the mouth of 
the harbor, with the intention, as is supposed, of coasting along the 
shore to the Columbia ; but af^er passing the bar, a head wind and 
flowing tide drove them back, and compelled them to land late at 
night in a small cove, where they fancied themselves free from danger; 
(Vnd where, weak from the loss of blood, and the harassing exertions 
of the day, they fell into a profound sleep. 

In the meantime the terror of the Indians had in some degree sub- 
sided, and they quickly discovered that it was by human agency so 
many of their warriors had been destroyed. They therefore deter- 



292 Jidventures an the Columbia Rker. 

mioed on having the lives of those who caused the explosioii ; ftnd 
being aware, from the state of the wind and tide, that the boat could 
not put to sea, a party proceeded, afler dark, cautiously along the 
shore of the bay, until they arrived at the spot where their helpless 
victims lay slumbering. Bleeding and exhausted, they opposed but a 
feeble resistance to their savage conquerors; and about midnight their 
heroic spirits mingled with those of their departed comrades. 

Thus perished the last of the gallant crew oCthe Tonquin : and in 
reflecting on their melancholy fate, it is deeply to be regretted that 
there was no person of sufficient influence at Astoria to bring about a 
reconciliation between Captain Thorn and Mr. M'Kay ; for were it 
not for the deplorable hostility and consequent want of union that 
existed between these two brave men, it is more than probable this 
dreadful catastrophe would never have occurred.* 

On the morning of the 11th of May, the day after our arrival, while 
walking with some of my companions in front of the fort, indulging in 
gloomy reflections on the fnie, of the Tonquin, and the unpromising 
appearance of our general affairs, we were surprised by the arrival of 
two canoes with Messrs. Robert Stuart, M'Lellan, Heed, and Farn-* 
ham, together with Messrs. David Stuart, and R. Crooks. The un- 
expected return of the four flrst individuals, who had only led the 
fort on the 30th of March, was caused by a serious rencounter which 
they had with the natives in ascending. On arriving at the portage of 
the falls, which is very long and fatiguing, several of the Indians in a 
friendly manner tendered their horses to transport the goods; Mr. 
Stuart, having no suspicion of their dishonesty, gladly apcepted the 
ofier, and entrusted a (ew of them with several small packets of mer- 
chandise to carry. On arriviiig, however, in a rocky and solitary part 
of the portage, the rascals turned their horses' heads into a narrow 
pathway and galloped off with the goods, with which they escaped. 
Their comrades on foot in the meantime crowded about the voyageurs 
who were carrying the packages, and as Mr. Stuart observed the 
necessity of greater precaution, he took his post at the upper end of 
the portage, leaving Messrs* Reed and M'Lellan in charge of the 
rear guard. Mr. Reed was the bearer of the despatches, and had a 
tin case, in which they were contained, flung over his shoulders. Its 
brightness attracted the attention of the natives, and they resolved to 
obtain possession of the prize. A group therefore patiently watched 
his motions for some time, until they observed he had separated him* 
self from M'Lellan, and gone ahead a short distance. The moment 
they supposed he was alone they sprung on him, seized his arms, and 
succeeded in capturing the tin case after a brave resistance, in 
the course of which he was knocked down twice, and nearly killed. 
Mr. M'Lellan, who had been an attentive observer of the whole 
transaction, instantly flred, and on^ of the robbers fell ; upon which 
his companions fled, not, however, without securing the plunder. Mr. 
M'Lellan, imagining that Mr. Reed bad been killed, immediately 
joined Mr. Stuart, and urged that gentleman to fly from ft place 

* From the particular descdption given by our informant of the dress and 
personal appearance of Anderson and the two Weekes's, we had no doubt of 
their identity. 



Mventures on the Columbia River, 29«) 

«o pregnant with danger. This, however, he refased, until he was 
satisfied respecting Mr. Reed's fate ; and taking a few men with him, 
he repaired toward the spot where Reed had been attacked. The 
latter had in the meantime somewhat recovered from the efiects of 
his wonnds, and was slowly dragging himself along, when Mr. Stuart's 
party came to his assistance, and conducted him to the upper end of 
the portage in safety. The loss of the despatches determined Mr. 
Stuart to postpone J^r. Reed's journey to New-Tork, and the whole 

§arty proceeded to Oakinagan, the post established by Mr. David 
Stuart. They remained here only a few days, and early in May lefl 
it on^ their return to Fort Astoria. On their way down, near the 
entrajice of the Shoshon^ river, they fell in with Mr. R, Crooks 
and a Kentucky hunter, named John Day, in a state of miserable 
destitution. 

I have already mentioned that this gentleman, with five of his men, 
owing to their inability to continue the journey from excessive fatigue, 
had been left by Mr. Hunt among a tribe of friendly Indians, supposed 
to be a branch of the extensive Snake nation. Finding, however, 
that they had nothing to expect from the strangers, these savages, 
shortly after the departure ef Mr. Hunt, robbed them of every article 
in their possession, even to their shirts, in exchange for which they 
gave them a few old skins to cover their nakedness. 

The miserable party, thus attired, and without any provisions, 
recommenced their journey to the Columbia, on the banks of which 
they arrived a few days previous to the descent of Mr. Stuart's party. 

Here was a frightful addition to our stock of disasters. Fighting, 
robbery, and starvation in the interior, with drownings, massacres, 
and apprehensions of farther attacks from the Indians on the coast, 
formed a combination sufficient to damp the ardor of the youngest, or 
the courage of the most enterprising. The retrospect was gloomy, 
and the future full of ^^ shadows, x1ouds> and darkness." The scene 
before us, however, was novel, ^d:foi a time our ideas were diverted 
from the thoughts of <' battle, murder^ and sudden death," to the 
striking peculiarities connected with our present situation. 

The spot selected for the fort was on a handsome eminence called 
Point George^ which commanded an extensive view of the majestic 
Columbia in front, bounded by the bold and thickly wooded northern 
shore. On the right, about tbrde miles distant, a long, high, and 
rocky peninsula, covered with timber, called Tongue Pointy extended 
a considerable distance into the river from the southern side, with 
which it was connected by a narrow neck of land ; while on the ex* 
treme leA, Cape Dieappointmenty with the bar and its terrific chain of 
breakers, were distinctly visible. 

The buildings consisted of apartments for the proprietors and clerks, 
with a capacious dining hall for both, extensive warehouses for the 
trading goods and furs, a provision store, a trading shop, smith's forge, 
' carpenter's workshop, &c. The whole surrounded by stockades 
forming a square, and reaching about fifteen feet above the ground. 
A gallery ran round the stockades, in which loopholes were pierced 
sufficiently large for musketry. Two strong bastions, built -of logs, 
commanded the four sides of the square : each bastion had two stories, 

25* 



£94 Jiiventurei on the Cotmnbia Rher. 

ia whieh a number of chosen men slept every nisht* A six pounder 
was placed in the lower story, and they were both well provided with 
small arms. 

Immediately in front of the ibrt was a gentle declivity sloping 
down to the river's side, which had been turned into an excellent 
kitchen garden; and a few hundred yards to the left, a tolerable 
wharf had been run out, by which bateaux and boats were enabled 
at low water to land their cargoes without sustyning any damage* 
An impenetrable ferest of gigantic pine rose in the rear; and the 
ground was cot^ered with a thick underwood of brier and huckleberry, 
intermingled with fern and honeysuckle. 

Numbers of the natives crowded in and about the fort« They were 
most uncouth looking objects; and not strongly calculated Ho impress 
us with a favorable opinion of aboriginal beauty, or the purity of 
Indian manners.. A few of the men were partially covered, but the 
greater iiumber were unannoyed by vestments of any description. 
Their eyes were black, piercing, and treacherous ; their ears slit up, 
and ornamented with strings of beads ; the cartilage ci their nostrils 
perforated, and adorned with pieces o( hyaqvau placed horizontally ; 
while their heads presented an inclined plane from the crown to the 
upper part of the nose, totally unUke . our European rotundity of 
cranium ; and their bodies besmeared with whale oil, gave them an 
appearance horribly disgusting. Then the women,— O, ye gods ! 
with the same auricular, olfactory, and craniological peculiarities, 
they exhibited loose hanging breasts, short dirty teeth, skin saturated 
with blubber, bandy legs, and a waddling gait ; while their only dress 
conasted of a kind of petticoat, or rather kilt, formed of small strands 
iji cedar bark twisted into cords, and reaching from the waist to the 
knee. This covering in calm weather, or in an erect position, served 
all the purpose? of concealment ; but in a breeze, or when indulging 
their favorite position of squatting, formed a miserable shield in defence 
of decency : and worse than all, their repulsive familiarities rendered 
them objects insupportably odious; particularly when contrasted 
with the lively eyesj handsome features, fine teeth, open counte« 
nance, and graceful carriage of the interesting islanders whom we 
had lately lefl. 

From these ugly specimens of mortality we turned with pleasure 
to contemplate the productions of their country^ among the most 
wonderful of which are the fir trees. The largest species grow to an 
immense size, and one immediately behind, the fert, at the height of 
ten feet from the surface of the earth, measured forty-six feet in cir* 
cumference ! The trunk of this tree had about one hundred and fifty 
feet free from branches. Its top had been some time before blasted by 
lightning ; and to judge by comparison, its height when perfect must 
have exceeded three hundred feet ! This was however an extraordi- 
nary tree in that country, and was denominated by the Canadians Lt 
Roi de Pine.* 

The general size, however, of the different species of fir, far ex* 

* A pine tree has been subseauenlly discovered in (he Umpqua country, to the 
flouthward of the Columbia, the circumference of which is fifty-se ven feet : its height 
two hundred and sixteen feet without branches! 



Mvmtures on the Cohanbia River. 295 

ceeds any thing on the east side of the Rocky mountaiiis ; and prime 
sound ptnefrom t\To hundred to two hundred and eighty feet in height, 
and from twenty to forty feet in eircumference, are by no means un- 
common. 

Buffon asserts that ^'living nature is less active, less energetic 
in the new world than the old," which he attributes to the prevalence 
of moisture and deficiency of heat in America. This assehion 
was ably combated by the late Mr. Jefferson ; but without entering 
into the arguiiients of these celebrated philosophers, we may safely 
state, that if America be inferior to the old continent in the animal 
world, she can at least assert her superiority in the vegetable. 

En passani^ I may here remark, that although constant rains pre- 
vail eight months out of the twelve, and during the remaining (our, 
which are the summer months, the heat is far from, excessive, the 
large and stately elk, which are numerous about the lower shores of 
the Columbia, are equal, if not superior in size to those found in the 
hottest and driest parts of the world.* 

On the 29tb of June, 1812, Mr. Cox, in company with three 
proprietors, nine clerks, fifty-five Canadians, twenty Sandwich 
Islanders, and Messrs. Crooks, M'Lellan, and R. Stuart, who with 
eight men w^re to proceed to St. Louis, set oflF from Astoria for 
the interior of the country. They travelled in bateaux anfl light 
built wooden canoes, the former carrying eight and the latter six 
men. The following is Ms description of the Columbia river below 
the rapids :— 

^ The Columbia is a noble river, uninterrupted by rapids for one 
hundred and seventy miles ; one hundred of which are navigable for 
vessels of three hundred tons. It is seldom less than a mile wide ; 
but in some places its breadth varies from two to five miles. The 
shores are generally bold and thickly wooded. Pine in all its varieties 
predominates, and is mixed with white oak, ash, beech, poplar, alder, 
crab, and cotton-wood, with an undergrowth of briers, &c, through 
which our hunters made many ineffectual attempts to pass. The 
navigation is often obstructed by sand banks, which are scattered over 
different parts of the river below the rapids, and are dry at low water. 
In the neighborhood of these sand banks the shores are generally low, 
and present, some fine fiat bottoms of rich meadow ground, bordered 
by a profijsion of blackberry and other wild firuit shrubs : in the deep 
and narrow parts of the channel the shores are bolder* The river, up* 
to the rapids, is covered with several islands, firom one to three miles 
in length ; some of which are fine meadows, and others well wooded. 
Great caution is required to avoid sunken trees, called snags or 
planters, and by the Canadians chicatSf which are generally concealed 
under the surface of the water ; and which, if they come in contact 
with canoes sailing rapidly, may cause them to sink if assistance be 
not at hand. 

About three miles above the fort a long and narrow point of land, 
rather high, runs near half a mile into the river from the south side : 
it is called Tongue Point, and in boisterous weather is very difficult to 
double. On quitting Astoria it blew pretty fresh, and we took in a 



296 JldverUures <m the Columbia River. 

good deal of water in doubling this point. We stopped ior the night 
about six miles above Tongue Point, on the south side, close to an 
old uninhabited village, but having no lack of animated beings of 
another description— I mean fleas, with whioh the place was com- 
pletely alive ; and we had not been on shore five minutes when we 
were obliged to strip, get a change of clothes, and drown the invaders 
of our late suit by dipping them in the river.'* 

Having arrived at the foot of the rapids, when they parted with 
such of the Indian tribes as were considered friendly from having 
had intercourse with the settlement at Astoria, tiiey prepared them- 
selves to encounter the hostile savages. Here we cannot but 
remark, that most of those who first visit the natives of our forests 
adopt an injudicious policy toward them. We believe that the 
declaration of Solomon, * A soft answer tumeth away wrath,' will 
be found generally true ;. and this truth has been exemplified in a 
thousand instances in our intercourse with mankind, and in many 
instances with even the savages of our forests. Witness the con- 
duct of William Penn in his friendly interviews with the natives. 
Guided by the principles of common justice, and exemplifying a spirit 
of friendliness m his intercourse with them, he subdued their savage 
ferocity, obtained their confidence, and conciliated their favor, so 
that to this day his name is held in veneration by those natives who 
have received by tradition an account of his virtues : and while he 
lived he was greeted by his red brethren as William Penn, the just 
one. Such is the efiect of a consistent, friendly, and courteous 
conduct on the heart of strangers, even though they may be sa«> 
vages. And have not most of our wars, in which there has been such 
an amount of individual suffering as makes the heart to wring with 
anguish at the bare recital, originated from a want of these virtues, 
and from indulging in acts of injustice, of perfidy and cruelty 
toward the natives ! These acts have provdced a spirit of hos- 
tility which has widely diffused itself among the tribes, and has been 
transmitted from father to son until it has settled down into a deadly 
hatred toward the whites. We do not say, because we have foimd 
no evidences of it as yet, that the present party provoked hostility 
by any imprudent acts. But how came this tribe to be considered 
as dangerous enemies 1 Is it not reasonable to conclude that their 
enmity had been created in the manner above recited 1 And could 
not this have been avoided 1 If the band of justice and the eye of 
friendship had always met the band and the ey^ of the Indian, 
we believe this feeling of hostility had never been engendered. 

Even the ferocious serpent may be tamed with the charms of * 
music. And though the depravity of human nature has ever 
developed itself in exhibiting a passion for war and revenge, vet if 
a sense of justice pervaded the hearts of mankind in their inter- 
course with each other, and that spirit of benigmty, forbearance, 

* Durinff the -warm months of summer it is difficult to select a spot for an encamp- 
ment free from these annoying insects. 



Adventures on the Columbia River. 297 

and mutual good wiU, which Christianity recognizee as her peculiar 
glory, were to predominate in their breasts, where would be the 
occasion for those hostile acts by which the world has been so long 
and so generally distinguished and disgraced 1 Bad as human nature 
is, and degraded as mankind are, they can hardly resist the law of 
kindness when suitably applied to their hearts; and were the 
aggressor as anxious to conciliate the good feelings of his fellow 
men by acts of justice and kindness, as he is to advance his own 
selfish purpose by chicanery and intrigue, or to subdue his antago- 
nist by force, or retaliate upon him by revenge, we should rarely 
vritness those destructive wars by which the earth has been so 
often drenched in blood and gore. 

It is in vain, however, to amuse ourselves with speculations on 
what would be the state of society were those who compose it such 
as they should and might be. Our reasonings respecting the results 
of human conduct must be drawn from facts as they are ; and our 
. calculations on the probable course of events must be founded, 
unless we would deceive ourselves with false anticipations, upon 
what are the known and acknowledged principles of human nature, 
of human motives and actions, and not upon any fancied repre- 
sentation of an earthly millennium which has hitherto existed only 
in the imagination of the poet, or the brains of the speculative but 
warm hearted Christian. And until Christianity shall have soft- 
ened the naturally hard hearts of men, and have moulded them 
into the benign and heavenly image of its adorable Author, we 
must expect to meet vrith bemgs in human shape who are as 
regardless of honor, justice, probity, and mercy, as they are of 
their Maker's glory. Until the laws of immutable justice and of 
mutual kindness shall regulate the intercourse of mankind with 
each other, temper and guide them in all their transactions of 
whatever character, we must expect to witness the ^vils of litiga- 
tion, of fierce contention, of suing and being sued, of private feuds, 
of domestic disputes, of national quarrels, and finally of war and 
bloodshed in all their horrid forms. In these sad demonstrations 
of man's departure from his God, all nations, savage and civilized, 
Pagafa and -Christian, deplorably abound ; and we must wait for 
Christianity to i^ed its heavenly light on all the world beneath, to 
cleanse the fountain of human nature irom its impurities, before we 
can promise ourselves or the world around us, an exemptiop from 
these multifarious evils. 

But it is time to return to our author. The following is his 
account ' of the manner in which the party prepared to meet the 
difficulties which they apprehended, and of their success in over- 
coming the obstacles to their progress. The extract which we 
make will also give the reader an idea of the natural state of things 
in this part of the country. 

' We arrived on the evening of the 4th at the foot of the first rapids» 
~ where we eqcamped* The Indians so far had been always friendly^ 



S98 Mvenhnres on the Columbia River. 

and were in the habit of occasionally trading at Astoria ; but as the 
tribe who reside at the nqpids had previously manifested hostile feel- 
ings, it was deemed necessary to prepare for action. Each man was 
provided with a musket, and forty rounds of ball cartridge, with pouch, 
belts, &c ; and over his clothes he wore leathern armor : this was a 
kind of shirt made out of the skin of the elk, which reached from the 
neck to the knees. It was perfectly arrow proof; and at eighty or 
ninety yards impenetrable by a musket bullet. Beside the muskets, 
numbers had daggers, short swords, and pistols ; and, when armed 
cap'd-pU, we presented a formidable appearance. 

A council of war was then called, in which it was arranged that five 
officers should remain at each end of the portage, and the remainder, 
with twenty-five men, be stationed at short distances fi-om each other. 
Its length was between three and four miles, and the path* was narrow 
and dangerous ; one part greatly obstructed by slippery rocks ; and 
another ran through, a thick wood, firom which a skilful enemy could 
have attacked us with advantage. We only made one half of the 
portage the first day, and encamped near an old village ; with the 
river in fi-ont ; a deep wood in the rear ; at one end a natural intrench- 
ment of rocks ; and at the other a barrier formed by the canoes and 
bateaux. The whole brigade was divided into three watches, with 
five officers to each. 

In the course of the day, in the most gloomy part of the wood, we 
passed a cemetery, materially different ffom those belonging to the 
lower tribes. There were nine shallow excavations closely covered 
with pine and cedar boards, and the top boards sloping to let off the 
rain. £ach place was about seven feet square, and between five and 
six feet in height. They contained numbers of dead bodies ; some in 
a state of greater or less decomposition, and a few quite fresh : they 
were all carefully enveloped in mats and skins. Several poles were 
attached to these burial places, on which were suspended robes, pieces 
of cloth, kettles, bags of trinkets, baskets of roots, wooden bowls, 
and several ornaments ; all of which the survivors believed their 
departed friends would require in the next world. Their veneration 
is so great for these offerings, that it is deemed sacrilege to pilfer one 
of them ; and although these Indians are not remarkable for scrupu- 
lous honesty, I believe no temptation would induce them to touch 
these articles.^ Several of the boards are carved and painted with 
rude representations of men, bears, wolves, and animals unknown. 
Some in green, others in white and red, and all most hideouedy unlike 
nature. 

About midnight we were thrown into a state of firightful confusion 
by the report of a gun, and the cries of Mr. Fillet, one of the clerics, 
that he was shot. £very one instantly seized his arms, and inquired 
on which side was the enemy ; but our apprehensions were quickly 
appeasedy on learning it was merely an accident. One of the gentle- 
men, in examining &e musket of a Sandwich Islander, to see if it 
was primed, handed it to him at full cock ; and jiist as the islander 
had taken it, the piece went off, and the contents lodged in the calf of 
poor Fillet's leg, who naturally enough exclaimed he was shot. This 
was, however, in our present circumstances, a disagreeable event, as 



Mventures on the Columbia Sher. 299 

it rendered Mr? Fillet not only incapable of fighting, but required three 
or four men to carry him in a litter over the various portages. The 
wound was dressed with friar's balsam and lint ; the ball extracted the 
next day ; and in about a month afterward he was able to walk. 

We commenced proceedings at four o'clock on the morning of the 
6th, and finished the portage about two in the afternoon. During our 
progress the Indians occasionally hovered about the loaded men, and 
made two or three trifling essays to pilfer them ; but the excellent 
precautions we had adopted completely kept tlbem in check, and 
deterred them from attempting any thing like forcible robbery. At the 
upper end of the portage, and while we were reloading the canoes, a 
number of the natives, several of whom were armed, assembled about 
us : they conducted themselves peaceably ; but our numbers and 
warlike arrangements enforced respect. The dress of the men does 
not differ materially from that of the lower Indians ; but they are in- 
contestably more fUthy and ugly. Their teeth are idmost worn away. 
The greater number have very sore eyes : several have only one ; and 
we observed a few old men and women quite blind. The men are 
generally naked, and the women merely wear a leathern belt, with a 
narrow piece of the saihe material joined to the front, which very im- 
perfectly answers the purposes intended. Some wear leathern rotes 
over the breast and shoulders ; but others allow these parts to remain 
naked. We observed no one who appeared to assume the authority 
of a chief. Each seemed quite independent of the other, and com* 
plete master in his own house and family. Their unfeeling brutality 
to the few old bUnd people I have mentioned was really shocking ; and 
I may safely say, a more unamiable race of democrats are not to be 
found in that country of republics. We distributed a quantity of 
tobacca^unong them, with which they appeared satisfied ; after which 
we embarked, and proceeded on. The upper part of this chain of 
rapids is a perpendicular fall of nearly sixteen feet ; afler which it con- 
tinues down nearly one uninterrupted rapid for three miles and a half. 
SThe river here is compressed by the bold shore on each side to about 
two hundred yards or less in breadth. The channel is crowded with 
large rocks, over which the water rushes with incredible velocity and 
with a dreadful noise. Above the portage the river widens to about 
half a mile, and is studded for some distance with several rocky and 
partially wooded islands. We encamped about five miles from the 
portage, in a pretty little creek on the north side. The pine declines 
considerably in size above the rapids, and is more equally mixed with 
other trees ; among which, on the lefl shore, from the portage up to 
our encampment, the hazel is predominant. We purchased some 
salmon on our way up, by which we were enabled to husband our own 
provisions with more economy. I omitted to mention that below the 
rapids we also got a quantity of excellent roots, called by the Indians 
toappittoo : in size it resembles a small potatoe,.for which it is a good 
substitute when roasted or boiled ; it has a very slight tinge of bitter- 
ness, but not unpleasantly so ; and is highly esteemed by the natives, 
who collect vast quantities of it for their own use and for barter : none 
of it grows above the rapids. On the evening of the 8th we reached 
the foot of the narrows, or, as the Canadians call them, les dalles. 



300 Mvenltares <m the Columbia River. 

The nver from the first rapids to the narrows is broad, deep, and rapidi 
with several sunken rocks, scattered here and there, which often injure 
the canoes. The Canadians, who are very fertile in baptizing remark- 
able places, caHed an island near our encampment of the 6th Gibraltar^ 
ttom the rocky steepness of its shore : and about half way between 
the first rapids and narrows a bold promontory of high black rock 
stretches a considerable distance into the river, which, from the difii- 
culty we experienced in doubling it, received the name of Cape Horn, 
The current here is very strong and full of whirlpools ; so that, except 
in calm weather, or with a fair wind, it is luther a dangerous under- 
ti^dng to <* double the cape." The islands in the distance are crowded 
with great numbers of seals, which afforded excellent sport to our 
marksmen. As we approached the narrows the shores on each side 
were less covered with wood, and immediately close to them it had 
entirely disappeared. The land on the north side was bold and rocky, 
and about our encampment rather low, mixed with rocks, a sandy soil, 
and totally devoid of vegetation, except loose straggling bushes some 
distance inland. The Columbia at the narrows, for upward of three 
miles, is compressed into a narrow channel, not exceeding sixty <>t 
seventy yards' wide ; the whole of which is a succession of boiling 
whirlpools. Above this channel, for four or five miles, the river is 
one deep rapid, at the upper end of which a large mass of high black 
rock stretches across from the north side, and nearly joins a similar 
mass on the south : they are divided by a strait not exceeding fifty 
yards wide ; and through this narrow channel, for upward of half a 
mile, the immense waters of the Columbia are one mass of foam, and 
force their headlong course with a frightful impetuosity, which cannot 
at any time be contemplated without producing a painful giddiness. 
We were obliged to carry all our lading from tlie lower to the upper 
narrows, nearly nine miles. The canoes were dragged up part of the 
space between the narrows. This laborious undertaking occupied 
two entire days, in consequence of the number of armed men we were 
obliged to keep as guards to protect those w}io carried the goods. It 
was a little above this place where our party had been recently attacked, 
and we were therefore obliged to be doubly cautious. The chief and 
several of the Indisms kept about us during the portage. We gave 
them some tobacco and trifling presents to cultivate their friendship, in 
return for which they brought us some salmon. They had the dis- 
crimination to see from our numbers, and the manner we were pre- 
pared to receive them, that an attack would be attended with rather 
doubtful success ; and therefore feigned an appearance of friendship, 
which we affected to believe sincere. The propriety of ^* assuming a 
virtue if you have it not," however questionable in morals, must be 
often practised among Indians ; for they are such thorough-bred hypo- 
crites and liars, that we found it often necessary to repose apparent 
confidence in them when we well knew they were exerting their utmost 
skill to impose on >and deceive us. Even here, while the chief and 
some of his tribe were smoking with us at one of the resting places, a 
few of the gentlemen who were at the upper end of the portage, seeing 
no symptoms of danger, Wandered a short distance among the rocks to 
view the narrows, leaving part of the goods unguarded : this was 



MverUures an the Columbia River. 301 

insisntly observed by two fellows who were lurking close to the place, 
and who availed themselves of the opportunity to attempt carrjring off 
an entire bale ; but finding it rather heavy, were about rifling its con- 
tents when two of the loaded men arrived, and gave the alarm. The 
robbers had the audacity to attack the men, one of whom they knocked 
down ; when the officers, on seeing what occurred, returned back 
quickly, upon which the savages fled. A shot was fired at them by 
our best marksman, who was told merely to wing one, which he did 
with great skill, by breaking his left arm, at upward of a hundred yards 
distance. 'The fellow gave a dreadful shout on receiving the ball, but 
still continued his flight with his comrade, until we lost sight of them. 
This piece of severity was deemed necessary, to prevent repetitions 
of similar aggressions. The chief, in strong terms, declared his igno- 
rance of any previous intention on the part of these fellows to commit 
robbery, which we appeared not to doubt ; at the same time giving 
him to understand, that in case any farther attacks were made, our 
balls would be directed to a more mortal part. 

On the morning of the 11th we embarked, and proceeded a few 
miles with great labor, by dragging the canoes against the current, 
which is very strong between the upper narrows and the falls. The 
passengers all walked, and at some ugly rocky points part of the lading 
had to be taken out: this consumed the greater portion of the day; 
and we encamped that evening on the south side near the foot of the 
falls* Here several Indians visited us ; some armed, and on horse- 
back, others unarmed, and on foot. In language, dress, and manners, 
they appeared to belong to distinct nations. The horsemen were 
clean, wore handsome leathern shirts and leggings, and had a bold 
daring manner, which we did not observe with any of the tribes from 
the ^ sea upward. The more humble pedestrians were the natives of 
the place ; they were nearly naked ; and rather dirty in their persons, 
and professed to be friendly : but from several attempts they made at 
pilfering, we entertained strong doubts of their sincerity; and were 
obliged to order them to remove some distance from the camp. They 
seemed to regard the mounted Indians with a suspicious degree of 
apprehension, for which we were for some time at a loss tor account; 
but which we subsequently learned was caused by their having been 
lately at war, in which they were vanquished, and several of their tribe 
'killed by the equestrians. The latter remained on horseback most 
part of the time,' making observations on our party, by which they 
apparently intended to regulate their future proceedings : they made 
no show of friendship, were rather cold and distant in their manners,' 
and appeared to be a reconnoitering party sent out by the main body to 
watch our progress. As a precautionary measure, we judged it expe- 
dient toi show them we were fully prepared for action, and accordingly 
assembled all the mea in the evening, each encased in his coat of 
mail, and armed with a musket and bayonet. They remained looking 
at us very attentively, while our officers proceeded to examine each 
man's fire-lock with all due military solemnity : one half of the men 
were then ordered to form a barrier with the canoes on our rear and 
flanks, which, with the river in front, eflectually served to prevent a 
surprise during the night. The whole brigade was equally divided ; 

Vol. III.— July, 1832. 86 



302 Mteniura on the Columbia River. 

and one half of Ae men haring retired to rest, Che remainder were 
posted as sentinels about the camp. Owing to the extreme heat, the 
Sandwich islanders had thrown off their jackets and shirts dunng the 
day and their swarthy bodies decorated with buff belts, seemed to 
excite the particular attention of the Indians, who repeatedly pointed 
toward them, and then spoke to each other with considerable anima^ 
tion. Having completed our arrangements for the night, we ofiered 
them some tobacco, which they accepted, and then left us. It is 
necessary to observe tliat in the course of the day a calumet was pre- 
sented to some of the horsemen, which they refused ; from which cir- 
cumstance, joined to their general deportment, we were led to believe 
their visit was not of a pacific nature. We passed the night without 
any interruption to our repose, and commenced the portage of the falls 
early on the morning of the 12th ; but as the ground over which the 
men were obliged to carry the baggage was covered with a deep M 
of dry loose sand, which fatigued them extremely, they did not finish 
their laborious duty before night. We encamped late at the upper 
end of the falls, near a village of the Eneeshurs, from whom we pur- 
chased some salmon. A few of the horsemen occasionally recon- 
noiteredus during the day; but as our men made short resting places, 
or pauses in the portage, by which the entire party were always in 
view of each other, the natives made no hostile attempt; and on 
observing the manner we had fortified our camp, and placed our sen- 
tinels for the night, they departed. The principal fall does not exeed 
fifteen feet in height ; but at low water it is much higher. The descent 
of the Columbia from above this fall to the end of the lower narrows 
exceeds seventy feet, and throughout the whole distance (about ten 
miles) the river is strewed with immense masses of hard black rock, 
mostly honoy-combed, and worn into a variety of fantastic shapes by 
the perpetual friction of the water in its fearful course downward. 
The appearance of the country here is high, rocky, barren, and without 
timber of any kind. We found this a sensible inconvenience ; for we 
were obliged to purchase some drift wood from the Indians for the 
purposes of cooking. 

On quitting this place the following morning, a number of natives 
collected about us, among whom we distributed a quantity of tobacco. 
The river for some distance above this place is deep and rapid, and 
the banks steep and rocky. The canoes were dragged up several 
miles, and some of them damaged by the rocks. About four or five 
miles above the fall, a high rocky island, three miles in length, lies in 
the centre of the river, on which the Indians were employed drying 
salmon, great quantities of which were cured and piled under broad 
boards in stacks. We encamped on the north side opposite the island, 
and were visited by some Indians, from whom we purchased salmon : 
they appeared friendly, and belonged to the £neeshur tribe at the falls. 

Here, and for several hundred miles farther upward, the country 
assumes a new aspect : it is free from any rising grounds or timber, 
and on each side nothing is to be seen but immense plains stretching 
a great distance to the north and south : the soil is dry and sandy, and 
covered with a loose patched grass, growing in tufU. The natives 
reside solely on the northern side-: they have plenty of horses, and 




Mventures on the Columbia Rmr. 303 

mre generally fxiendiy. Here also rattlesnakes are first seen, and are 
, found for four or five hundred miles farther on» Between this place 
and Lewis' river the Columbia is interrupted by several rapids ; some 
of which are trifling, others dangerous ; but there are long intervals of 
smooth cunent which occasionally allowed us to hoist small sails, and 
thereby diminish the laborious duty of the canoe men m paddUng/ 

We have neither time nor room to follow our author in his inter- 
esting narrative through all the varied scenes of his adventurous 
enterprise. On the 29th of July, after enduring many hardships, 
feedmg upon horse fiesh, and escaping from the bite of the rattle- 
snakes^ with which the country abounds, the party reached the 
Wallah Wallah tribe, situated on a river of that name, which forma 
a junction with the Columbia. The following is the author's 
description of these natives, which seems to form an agreeable 
contrast with those before mentioned. 

* The Wallah Wallahs were decidedly the most friendly tribe we had 
seen on the river ; they had an air of open unsuspecting confidence in 
their manner, that at once banished suspicion, and ensured our friend- 
ship. There was a degree of natural politeness, too, evinced by them 
on entering their lodges, which we did not see practised by any others. 
We visited several families in the village ; and the moment we entered, 
the best place was selected for us, and a clean mat spread to sit on ; 
while the inmates, particularly the women and the children, remained 
at a respectful distance, without manifesting any of the obtrusive 
curiosity about our arms or clothing, by which we were so much 
annojr^d aiiiung the lower tribes. The females, also, were distin- 
guished by a degree of attentive kindness, totally removed from the 
disgusting familiarity of the kilted ladies below the rapids, and equally 
free from an affection of prudery; prostitution is unknown among 
them ; and I believe no inducement would tempt them to commit a 
breach of chastity.' 

This narrative is full of incidents of the most interesting charac- 
fer, and will therefore be read with avidity by all those who may 
wish to acquaint themselves with the interior of that vast wilder- 
ness west of the Rocky mountdns. The following account, with 
which we conclude our extracts of the author's sufferings while 
separated from his companions, will be read with thrilling interest. 

^On the 17th of August we left our encampment a little after 
four, A. M. During the forenoon the sun was intensely hot. Occa- 
sional bright green patches, intermixed with wild flowers, and gently 
rising eminences, partially covered with clumps of small trees, gave 
an agreeable variety to the face of the country ; which we enjoyed the 
more, from the «corched and sterile uniformity of the plains dirough 
wluch we had passed on the two preceding days. We got no water 
however, until twelve o'clock, when we arrived in a small valley of the 
most delightful verdure, through which ran a clear stream from the 
northward, over a pebbly bottom. The horses were immediately 
turned loose to regale themselves in the rich pasture ; and as it was 



304 Adventures on the Coltmbia River. 

fuH of red and white clover, orders were given not to catch them until 
two o'clock, by which time we thought they would be sufficiently 
refreshed for the evening's journey. 

Afler walking and riding eight hours, I need not say we made a 
hearty breakfast ; after which I wandered some distance along the 
banks of the rivulet in search of cherries, and came to a sweet little 
arbor formed by sumach and cherry trees. I pulled a quantity of the 
fruit, and sat down in the retreat to enjoy its refreshing coolness. It 
was a charming spot, and on the opposite bank was a delightful wilder- 
ness of crimson haw, honey suckles, wild roses, and currants : its 
resemblance to a friend's summer house, in which I had spent many 
happy days, brought back home, with all its endearing recollections ; 
and my scattered thoughts were ^successively occupied with the past, 
the present, and the future. In this state I fell into a kind of pleasing, 
soothing revery, which, joined to the morning's fatigue » gradually 
sealed my eyelids ; and unconscious of my situation, I resigned my- 
self to the influence of the drowsy god. Imagine my feelings when I 
awoke in the evening, I think it was about five o'clock from the declin- 
ing appearance of the sun ! All was calm and silent as the grave. I 
hastened to the spot where we had breakfasted : I ran to the place 
where the men had made their fire : all, all were gone, and not a ves- 
tige of man or horse appeared in the valley. My senses almost failed 
me. I called out, in vain, in every direction, until I became hoarse ; 
and I could no longer conceal from myself the dreadful truth that I 
was alone in a wild, uninhabited country, without horse or arms, and 
destitute of covering. 

Having now no resource but to ascertain the direction whinh the 
party had taken, I set about examining the ground, and at the north-, 
east point of the valley discovered the tracks of horses' feet, which I 
followed for some time, and which led to a chain of small hills, with a 
rocky gravelly bottom, on which the hoofs made no impression. Hav- 
ing thus lost the tracks, I ascended the highest of the hills, from which 
I had an extended view of many miles around ; but saw no sign of the 
party, or the least indication of human habitations. The evening was 
now closing fast, and with the approach of night a heavy dew com- 
menced falling. The whole of my clothes consisted merely of a 
gingham shirt, nankeen trowsers, and a pair of light leather moccasins, 
much worn. About an hour before breakfast, in consequence of the 
heat, I had taken off my coat, and placed it on one of the loaded- 
horses, intending to put it on toward the cool of the evening; and one 
of the men had charge of my fowling piece. I was even without my 
hat ; for in the agitated state of my mind on awaking, I had left it 
behind, and had advanced too far to think of returning for it. At some 
distance on my left, I observed a field of high strong grass, to which I 
proceeded, and after pulling enough to place under and over me, I 
recommended myself to the Almighty, and fell asleep. During the 
night confused dreams of warm houses, feather beds, poisoned arrows, 
prickly pears, and rattlesnakes, haunted my disturbed imagination. 

On the 18th I arose with the sun, quite wet and chilly, the heavy 
dew having completely saturated my flimsy covering, and proceeded in 
an easterly direction, nearly parallel with the chain of hills. In the 



Mvmtures an the Columbia River. 305 

course of the day I passed several small lakes full of wild fowl. The 
general appearance of the country was flat, the soil light and gravelly, 
and covered with the same loose grass already mentioned : great 
quantities of it had been recently burned by the Indians in hunting the 
deer, the stubble of which annoyed my feet very mueh. I had turned 
into a northerly course, where, late in the evening, I observed, about 
a mile distant, two horsemen galloping in an easterly direction. From 
their dresses I knew they belonged to our party. I instantly ran to a 
hillock, and called out in a voice, to which hunger had imparted a 
supernatural shrillness; but they galloped on. I then took off my 
shirt, which I waved in a conspicuous manner aver my head, accom- 
panied by the most frantic cries ; still they continued on. I ran toward 
the direction they were galloping, despair adding wings to my flight. 
Rocks, stubble, and brushwood were passed with the speed of a hunted 
antelope ; but to no purpose ; for on arriving at the place where I 
imagined a pathway would have brought me iato their track, I was 
completely at fault. It was now nearly dark. I had eaten nothing 
since the noon of the preceding day: and, faint with hunger and 
fatigue, threw myself on the grass, when I heard a small rustling noise 
behind me. I turned round, and, with horror, beheld a large rattle- 
snake cooling himself in> the evening shad^. I instantly retreated, on 
observing which he coiled himself. Having obtained a large stone, I 
advanced slowly on him, and taking a proper aim, dashed it with ail 
my force on the reptile's head, which I buried in the ground beneath 
the stone. 

The late race had completely worn out the thin soles of my nK>cca- 
sins, and my feet in consequence became much swollen. As night 
advanced, I was obliged to look out for a place to sleep, and after some 
time, selected nearly as good a bed as the one I had the first night. 
My exertions in pulling the long coarse grass, nearly rendered my 
hands useless, by severely cutting all jthe joints of the fingers. 

I rose before the sun on the morning of the 19th, and pursued an 
easterly course all the day. I at first felt very hungry, but afler walk- 
ing a few miles, and taking a drink of water, I got a little refreshed. 
The general appearance of the country^ was still flat, with burned grass, 
and sandy soil, which blistered my feet. The scorching influence of 
the sun obliged me to stop for some hours in the day ; during which I 
made several inefiectual attempts to construct a covering for my k«ad. 
At times I tbou^t my brain was on fire from the dreadfiil effects of 
the heat. I got no fruit those two days, and toward evening felt very 
weak for the want of nourishment, having been forty-eight hours with- 
out food ; and' to make my situation more annoying, I slept that even- 
ing on the banks of a pretty lake, the inhabitants of which would have 
done honor to a royal table. Witb what an evil eye, and a murderous 
heart, did I regard the stately goose^ and the plump waddling duck, as 
' they sported on the water, unconscious of my presence ! Even with 
a pocket pistol I could have done execution among them. The state 
of my fingers prevented me from obtaining the covering of grass which 
I had the two preceding nights ; and on this evening I had no shelter 
whatever to protect me irom the heavy dew. 

On the following day, the 20di, my course was nearly north-east, 

26* 



306 Mvmtures on the Columbia River. 

and lay through a country more diveisified by wood and water. I saw 
plenty of wUd geese, ducks, cranes, curlews, and sparrows, also some 
hawks and cormorants, and at a distance about fifteen or twenty small 
deer. The wood consisted of pine, birch, cedar, wild cherries, haw- 
thorn, sweet willow, honey suckle, and sumach. The ratUesnakes 
were very numerous this day, with homed lizards, and grasshoppers : 
the latter kept me in a constant state of feverish alarm, from the simi- 
larity of the noise made by their wings to the sound of the rattles of 
the snake, when preparing to dart on its prey. I suffered severely 
during the day from hunger, and was obliged to chew grass occasion- 
ally, which allayed it a little. Late in the evening I arrived at a lake 
upward of two miles long, and a mile broad, the shores of which were 
high, and well wooded with large pine, spruce, and birch. It was fed 
by two rivulets, from the north and northeast, in which I observed a 
quantity of small fish ; but had no means of catching any, or I should 
have made a Sandwich Island meal. There was, however, an abund- 
ant supply of wild cherries, on which I made a hearty supper. I slept 
on the bank of the nearest stream, just where it entered the lake ; but 
during the night the howling of wolves, and growling of bears, broke 
in terribly on my slumbers, and " balmy sleep" was almost banished 
from my eyelids. On rising the next morning, the 21st, I observed on 
the opposite bank, at the mouth of the river, the entrance of a large 
and apparently deep cavern, from which I judged some of the preced- 
ing night's music had issued. I now determined to make short jour- 
neys, for two or three days, in different directions, in the hope of fall- 
ing on some fresh horse tracks ; and in the event of being unsuccessful, 
to return each night to the lake, where I was at least certain of procur- 
ing cherries and water sufficient to sustain nature. In pursuance of 
this resolution I set out early, in a southerly direction, from the head 
of the lake, through a wild barren country, without any water, or vege- 
tation^ save loose tufts of grass, like those already described. I had 
armed myself with a long stick, with which, during the day, I killed 
several rattlesnakes. Having discovered no fresh tracks, I returned 
late in the evening hungry and thirsty, and took possession of my berth 
pf the preceding night. I collected a heap of stones from the water 
side ; and just as I was lying down observed a wolf emerge from the 
opposite cavern, and thinking it safer to act on the offensive, lest he 
should imagine I was afraid, I threw some stones at him, one of which 
struck him on the leg : he retired yelling into his den ; and after wait- 
ing some time in fearful suspense, to see if he would reappear, I threw 
myself on the ground, and fell asleep ; but, like the night before, it 
was broken by the same unsocial noise, and for upward of two hours 
I sat up waiting in anxious expectation the return of daylight The 
vapors from the lake, joined to the heavy dew, had penetrated my 
frail covering pf gingham ; but as the sun rose, I took it off, and 
stretched it on a rock, where it quickly dried. My excursion to the 
southward having proved abortive, I now resolved to try the east, and 
after eating my. simple breakfast, proceeded in that direction : and on 
crossing the two small streams, had to penetrate a country full of 
'^ dark woods and rankling wilds," through which, owing to the im- 
mense quantities of underwood, my progress was slow. My feet too 



AdverUures on the Columbia River. 307 

were uncovered, and, from the thorns of the various prickly plants^ 
were much lacerated ; in consequence of which, on returning to my 
late bivouack, I was obliged to shorten the legs of my trowsers to pro- 
cure bandages for them. The wolf did not make his appearance ; but 
during the night I got occasional starts from several of his brethren of 
the forest. 

I anticipated the rising of the sun on the morning of the 23d, and 
having been unsuccess&l the two preceding days, determined to shape 
my course due north, and if possible not return again to the lake* 
During the day I skirted the wood, and fell on some old tracks, which 
revived my hopes a little. The country to the westward was chiefly 
plains, covered with parched grass, and occasionally enlivened by 
savannas of refreshing green, full of wild flowers and aromatic herbs, 
among which the bee and humming bird banqueted. I slept this even- 
ing by a small brook, where I collectad cherries and haws enough to 
make a hearty supper. I was obliged to make farther encroachments 
on the legs of my trowsers for fresh bandages for my feet. During 
the night I was serenaded by music which did not resemble ^^ a con- 
cord of most sweet sounds ;" in which the grumbling bass of the bears 
was at times drowned by the less pleasing sharps of the wolves. I 
partially covered my body this night with some pieces of pine bark 
which I stripped off a sapless tree. 

The country through which I. dragged my tired limbs on the 24th 
was thinly w<»oded. My course was north and north-east. I suffered 
much from want of water, having got during the day only two tepid 
and nauseous draughts from stagnant pools which the long drought 
had nearly dried up. About sunset I arrived at a small stream, by the 
side of which I took up my quarters for the night. The dew fell 
heavily ; but I was too much fatigued to go in quest of bark to cover 
me ; and even had I been so inclined, the howling of the wolves would 
have deterred me from making the dangerous attempt. There must 
have been an extraordinary nursery of these animals close to the spot ; 
for between the weak, shidl cries of the young, and the more loud and 
dreadful howling of the old, I never expected to leave the place alive. 
I could not sleep. My only weapons of defence were a heap of stones 
and a stick. Ever and anon some more daring than others approached 
me. I presented the stick at them as if in the act of levelling a gun, 
upon which they retired, vented a few yells, advanced a little farther ; 
and after surveying me for some time with their sharp, fiery eyes, to 
which the partid glimpses of the moon had imparted additional ferocity, 
retreated into the wood. In this state of feariul agitation I passed the 
night ; but as daylight began to break, nature asserted her supremacy, 
and I fell into a deep sleep, from which, to judge by the sun, I did not 
awake until between eight and nine o'clock on the morning of the 25th. 
My second bandages having been worn out, I was now obliged to bare 
my knees for fresh ones ; and afler t3ring them round my feet, and 
taking a copious draught from the adjoining brook for breakfast, I 
recommenced my joyless journey. My course was nearly north north- 
east. I got no water during the day, nor any of the wild cherries. 
Some sli^t traces of men's feet, and a few old horse tracks occasion- 
ally crossed my path : they proved that hunum beings sometimes, at 



308 Mvmturet on the Cohmbia River, 

least visited that part of the countrjy and for a moment served to cheer 
my drooping spirits. 

About dusk, an immense-sized wolf rushed out of a thick copse a 
short distance from the pathway, planted himself directly before me, 
in a threatening position, and appeared determined to dispute my pas- 
sage. He was not more than twenty feet from me. My situation 
was desperate, and as I knew that the least symptom of fear would be 
the signal for attack, I presented my stick, and shouted as loud as my 
weak voice would permit. He appeared somewhat startled, and 
retreated a few steps, still keeping his piercing eyes firmly fixed on me. 
I advanced a little, when he commenced howling in a most appalling 
manner ; and supposing his intention was to collect a few of his com- 
rades to assist in making an afternoon repast on my half-famished 
carcass, I redoubled my cries, until 1 had almost lost the power of 
utterance, at the same time calling out various names, thinking I might 
make it appear I was not alone. An old and a young lynx ran close 
past me, but did not stop. The wolf remained about fifleen minutes 
in the same position ; but whether my wild and fearful exclamations 
deterred any others from joining him, I cannot say. Finding at length 
my determination not to fbnch, and that no assistance was likely to 
come, he retreated into the wood, and disappeared in the surrounding 
gloom. 

The shades of night were now descending fast, when I came to a 
verdant spot surrounded by small trees, and full of rushes, which 
induced me to hope for water ; but ailer searching for some time, I 
was still doomed to bitter disappointment. A shallow lake or pond had 
been there, which the long drought and heat had dried up. 1 then 
pulled a quantity of the rushes and spread them at the foot of a large 
stone, which I intended for my pillow ; but as I was about throwing 
myself down, a rattlesnake coiled, with the head erect, and the forked 
tongue extended in a state of frightful oscillation, caught my eye im- 
mediately under the stone. I instantly retreated a short distance ; but 
assuming fresh courage, soon despatched it with my stick. On exam- 
ining the spot more minutely, a large duster of them appeared under the 
stone, the whole of which 1 rooted out and destroyed. This was hardly 
accomplished when upward of a dozen snakes of different descriptions, 
chiefly dark brown, blue, and green, made thejf appearance : they 
were much quicker in their movements than their rattle-tailed brethren ; 
and I could only kill a few of them. 

This was a peculiarly soul-trying moment I bad tasted no fruit 
since the morning before, and afler a painful day's march under a burn- 
ing sun, could not procure a drop of water to allay my feverish thirst. 
I was surrounded by a murderous brood of serpents, and ferocious 
beasts of prey, and without even the consolation of knowing when such 
misery might have a probable termination. I might truly say with the 
ro3ral psalmist that ^' the snares of death compassed me round about." 

Having collected a fresh supply of rushes, which I spread some 
distance from the spot where I massacred the reptiles, I threw myself 
on them, and was permitted, through Divine goodness, to enjoy a night 
of undisturbed repose. 
• I arose on the morning of the 26tlt considerably refreshed ; and 



Adventures' on ike Columbia River. 309 

took a northerly eourse, oceasionally diverging a little to the east* 
Several times- during the day I was induced to leave the path by the 
appearance of rushes, which I imagined grew in the vicinity of lakes ; 
but on reaching them my faint hopes vanished: ^ere was no water* 
and I in vain essayed to extract a little moisture from them. Prickly 
thorns and small sharp stones added greatly to the pain of my tortured 
feett and. obliged' me ta make farther encroachments on my nether 
garments for fresh bandages. The want of water now rendered me 
extremely weak and feverish- f and I had nearly abandoned all hopes 
of relief, when, about half-past four or five o'clock, the eld pathway 
turned from^ the prairie grounds into a thickly wooded country, in an 
easterly direction ; through which I had not advanced half a mile when 
I heard a noise resembting a waterfall, to which I hastened my totter- 
ing steps, and in a few minutes was delighted at arriving on the banks 
of a deep and narrow rivulet, which forced its way with great rapidity 
over some large stones that obstructed the channel. 

A Aer offering up a short prayer of thanksgiving for this providential 
supply, I threw myself into the water, forgetful of the extreme state of 
exhaustion to which I was reduced : it had nearly proved fatal, for my 
weak frame could not withstand the strength of the current, which 
forced me down a short distance, until I caught the bough of an over-^ 
hanging tree, by means of whi<^ I regained the shore. Here were 
plenty of hips and cherries ; on which, witb the water, I made a most 
delicious repast. On looking about for a place to sleep, I observed 
lying on the ground the hollow trunk of a large pine, whieh had been 
destroyed by lightning. I retreated into the cavity ; and having 
covered myself completely with large pieces of loose bark, quickly fell 
asleep. My repose was not of long duration ; for at the end of about 
two hours I was awakened by the growling of a bear, whieh had 
removed part of the bark covering, and was leaning over me with his 
snout, hesitating as to the means he should adopt to dislodge me ; 
the narrow limits of the trunk which confined my body preventing him 
from making the attack with advantage. I instantly sprung up, seized 
my stick, and uttered a loud cry, which startled him, and caused him 
to recede a few steps ; when he stopped, and turned about, apparently 
doubtful whether he weuld commence an attack. He determined on 
an assault ; but feeling I had not sufficient strength to meet such an 
unequal enemy, I thought it prudent to retreat, and accordingly 
scrambled up an adjoining tree. My flight gave fresh impulse to bis 
courage, and he commenced ascending afler me. I suceeeded how- 
ever in gaining a branch, which gave me a decided advantage over 
him ; and from which I was enabled to annoy his muzzle and claws in 
such a manner with my stick as effectually to check his progress. 
After scraping the bark some time with rage and disappointment, he 
gave up the task, and retired to my late dormitory, of which he took 
possession. The fear of falling off, in case I was overcome by sleep, 
induced me to make several attempts to descend ; but each attempt 
aroused my ursine sentinel ; and after many ineffectual efforts, I was 
obliged to remain there during the rest of the night. I fixed myself in 
that part of the trunk from which the principal grand branches forked, 
and which prevented me from falUng during my fitful slumbers. 



310 Mventures on the Columbia Rher. 

On the morning of the 27lh, a little after sunrise, the bear quitted 
the trunk, shook himself,'*^ cast a longing, lingering look" toward me, 
and slowly disappeared in search of his morning repast After waiting 
some time, apprehensive of his return, I descended and resumed my 
journey through the woods, in a north north-east direction. In a few 
hours all my anxiety of the preceding night was more than compen- 
sated by falling in with a well beaten horse path, with fresh traces on 
it, both of hoofs and human feet ; it lay through a clear open >¥Ood, in 
a north-east course, in which I observed numbers of small deer. 
About six in the evening I arrived at a spot where a party must have 
slept the preceding night* Round the remains of a large fire which 
was still burning, were scattered several half-picked bones of grouse, 
partridges, and ducks, all of which I collected with economical industry. 
Afler devouring the flesh I broiled the bones. The whole scarcely 
sufficed to give me a moderate meal, but yet afforded a most season- 
able relief to my famished body. I enjoyed a comfortable sleep this 
night, close to the fire, uninterrupted by any nocturnal visiter. On the 
morning of the 28th I set off with cheerful spirits, fully impressed with 
the hope of a speedy termination to my sufferings. My course was 
northerly, and lay through a thick wood. Late in the evening I arrived 
at a stagnant pool, from which I merely moistened my lips ; and hav- 
ing covered myself with some birch bark, slept by its side. The bears 
and wolves occasionally serenaded me during the night, but I did not 
see any of them. I rose early on the morning of the 29th, and followed 
the fresh traces all day, through the wood, nearly north-east by north. 
I observed several deer, some of which came quite close to me; and 
in the evening I threw a stone at a small animal resembling a hare, the 
leg of which I broke. It ran away limping, but my feet were too sore 
to permit me to follow it. I passed the night by the side of a small 
streami where I got a sufficient supply of hips and cherries. A few 
distant growls awoke me at intervals, but no animal appeared. On 
the 30th the path took a more easterly turn, and the woods became 
thicker and more gloomy* I had now nearly consumed the lemnant 
of my trowsers in bandages for my wretched feet; and, with the 
exception of my shirt, was almost naked. The horse tracks every 
moment appeared more fresh, and fed my hopes. Late in the evening 
I arrived at a spot where the path branched off in different directions ; 
one led up rather a steep hill, the other descended into a valley, and 
the tracks on both were equally recent. I took the higher ; but after 
proceeding a few hundred paces through a deep wood, which appeared 
more dark from the thick foliage which shut out the rays of the sun, I 
returned, apprehensive of not procuring water for my supper, and 
descended the lower path. I had not advanced far when I imagined 
I heard the neighing of a horse. I listened vrith breathless attention, 
9nd became convinced it was no illunon. A few paces farther brought 
me in sight of several of those noble animals sporting in a handsome 
meadow, from which I was separated by a rapid stream. .With some 
difficulty I crossed over, and ascended the opposite bank. One of the 
horses approached me : I thought him the *' prince of palfreys ; his 

neigh was like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforced 
homage/' 



JidverUures an the Columbia Riven 311 

Oh advancing a short distance into the meadow, the cheering sight 
of a small column of gracefully curling smoke, announced my vicinity 
to human beings, and in a moment after two Indian women perceived 
me : they instantly fled to a hut which appeared at the farther end of 
the meadow. This movement made me doubt whether I had arrived 
among friends or enemies ; but my apprehensions were quickly dissi-- 
pated by the approach of two men, who came running to me in the 
most friendly manner* On seeing the lacerated state of my feet, they 
carried me in their arms to a comfortable dwelling covered with deer 
skins. To wash and dress my torn limbs, roast some roots, and boil 
a small salmon, seemed but the business of a moment. After, return- 
ing thanks to that great and good Being in whose hands are the issues 
of life and death, and who had watched over my wandering steps, and 
rescued me from the many perilous dangers I encountered, I sat down 
to my salmon, of which it is needless to say I made a hearty supper. 

The family consisted of an elderly man, and his son, with their 
wives and children. I collected from their signs that they were aware 
of my being lost, and that they, with other Indians and white men, had 
been out several days scouring the woods and plains in search of me. 
I also understood from them that our party had arrived at their destina- 
tion, which was only a few hours' march from their habitation. They 
behaved to me with affectionate solicitude ; and while the old woman 
was carefully dressing my feet, the men were endeavoring to make 
me comprehend their meaning. I had been fourteen days in a wilder- 
ness without holding " communion kind" with any human being ; and 
I need not say I listened with a thousand times more real delight to 
the harsh and guttural voices of those poor Indians, than was ever 
experienced by the most enthusiastic admirer of melody from the thrill- 
ing tones of a Catalani, or the melting sweetness of a Stephens. As 
it was too late, after finishing my supper, to proceed farther that night, 
I retired to rest on a comfortable couch of buffalo and deer skins. I 
slept soundly ; and the morning of the 3 1st was far advanced before I 
awoke. Afler breakfasting on the remainder of the salmon, I prepared 
to join my white friends. A considerable stream, about ninety yards 
broad, called Cceur d^Mene nver, flowed .close to the hut. The old 
man and his son accompanied me. We crossed the river in a canoe ; 
after which they brought over three horses, and having enveloped my 
body in an Indian mantle of deer skin, we mounted, and set off at a 
smart trot in an easterly direction. We had not proceeded more than 
seven miles when I felt the bad effects of having eaten so much salmon 
after so long a fast. I had a severe attack of indigestion, and for two 
hours suffered extreme agony; and, but for the great attention of the 
kind Indians, I think it would have proved fatal, About an hour afler 
recommencing our journey we arrived in a clear wood, in which, with 
joy unutterable, I observed our Canadians at work hewing timber. I 
rode between the two natives. One of our men named Francois Gar- 
depie, who had been on a trading excursion, joined us on horseback. 
My deer-skin robe and sunburnt features completely set his powers of 
recognition at defiance, and he addressed me as an Indian. I replied 
in French, by asking him how all our people were. Poor Francois 
appeared electrified, exclaimed ^* Sainte ViergtP^ and galloped into the 



312 Mventures an the Columbia Rker. 

wood, vociferating ** mM amis ! mes iunU ! U e$i trowoi ! — Out, out, 
il t$i trautiP^ — ^^Qui? qui?^' asked his comrades. ^^ Monsieur 
Cox! Monsieur CoxP* replied Francois, "ie voild! le voUdP^ 
pointing toward me. Away went saws, hatchets, and axes, and each 
man rushed forward to the tents, where we had bj this time arrived. 
It is needless io say that our astonishment and delist at my miracu- 
lous escape were mutual. The friendly Indians were liberally 
rewarded ; the men were allowed a holyday, and •every countenance 
bore the smile of joy and happiness.' 

The six years' residence and wanderings of Mr. Cox among the 
tribes of this wilderness, enabled him to collect much valuable 
information respecting the character, customs, and manner of life 
of these natives of our forests, as well as the nature of the country 
which they inhabit, all of which he has spread before bis readers in 
a lively, graphic, and interesting manner, and we cannot but 
recommend the attentive perusal of this volume to our readers, 
to those especially who are engaged in striving to elevate the 
Indian character by means of missionary labor, and the arts of 
civilized and domestic life. Already some of our Indian missions 
extend beyond the banks of the Mississippi, and will, we trust, 
soon border on the Rocky mountains. God has given us these 
people as a part of our inheritance. He has given us his Gospel 
and commanded us to carry it to them ; and the manifest tokens 
of his sanction on the efforts we have already made for their con- 
version, aflford us a sure earnest of future success, provided we 
prosecute our plans and labors in his name with vigor and perse- 
verance. 

Why should not means be used without delay for the commence- 
ment of an aboriginal mission at Astoria at the mouth of the 
Columbia river ? Should success attend the efforts of a mission 
at that place, might we not anticipate the day as not far distant 
when the missionaries from the east side of the Rocky mountains 
should meet those from the west side, and shake hands on the top 
of the lofty ridge which divides this vast continent into its eastern 
and western divisions, and there raise a shout of triumph in honor 
of Him to whom these Heathen have been given as a part of his 
inheritance ! God hasten it in due time. 

Let those men of God whose hearts bum for the salvation of 
these tribes of immortal beings, but who sometimes shrink from 
embarking in the glorious enterprise of carrying to them the tidings 
of salvation, for fear of the hardships they may be called upon to 
suffer, read the volume l)efore us. They will then conclude that 
if men can foe induced to encounter such perils and to endure such 
privations and hardships merely to attain a temporary object, 
surely those who have an eternal interest at stake, and are in pur- 
suit of the immortal souls for whom Christ die4 will not, or at 
least that they should not, shrink from the pursuit on account of 
the temporary labors and privations they must suffer in order to 



General Cottference of 1832. SIS 

attain to the high object of their ambition. To God we commend 
the cause of aboriginal missions. And may his Church remune- 
rate herself with the spoils she may win by the conversion of these 
6ons of the forest to the blessings of Christianity. 



THE GENERAL CONFERENCE OP 1832. 

1. Report of the Comndttee on Ji^sions. — 2. Report of the Committee 
on Bibky Sunday School, and Tract Societies. — 3. Report of the 
Committee on Education, — 4. The Pastoral Address. — 6. Rqi^ort 
of the Committee on Temperance, 

These several reports present the idews of the conference on 
those subjects : and as they all embrace matters of high import- 
ance to the Church of Christ, we shall briefly notice them in the 
order above stated. 

I. — Report on Missions. 

The Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church was 
formed in the year ISIO, and was recognised by the general con- 
ference in 1820, as forming an integral part of our great itinerant 
system. Its commencement was indeed small, nor has its funds 
ever amounted in any one year to but little over fourteen thousand 
dollars. But considering the scantiness of the means at its com- 
mand, it has accomplished wonders. Since its commencement 
upward of thirteen thousand souls have been brought into the 
Church, about seven thousand of whom have been collected from 
among the Heathen of our wilderness. If, therefore, it be sup- 

f)orted as it ought to and may be, what shall hinder it from going 
brward, and increasing in usefulness until it shall unite with others 
of a similar character in hailing the day when all the tribes of the 
earth ghall come and worship the Lord in his holy mountain ? 

The sentiments and feelings manifested by the late general con- 
ference toward the cause of missions, and the provisions made for 
its extension, both on our own continent and elsewhere, ^ve rea- 
son to hope that, by the continued blessings of Grod on its opera- 
tions, the missionary field will be greatly enlai^ed and thoroughly 
cultivated. The foUowmg eittracts from the report which, we 
believe, was almost unanimously concurred in by the conference, 
will show the views taken upon this subject of vital interest to the 
wellbeing of souls : — 

< Among other places which might he named as demanding mis- 
sionary enterprise, the committee would mention — 

1. Liberia on the coast of Africa. .This place, now so well known, 
presents an inviting prospect for an entrance into the interior of that 
vast continent, where darkness, mental and spiritual, has long brooded 
over the people, and where, of course, there is ample room for a full 
exercise of the most enlarged benevolence ancL extended missionary 

Vol. III.— Jtt/y, 18S2. .27 

h 



SI4 General Cotrference of 18S2. 

exertkoi. At laberia are many of our colored brethreo, ministen 
and membersy who have affectionately and pressingly invited us to 
tend them missionary aid ; and we are glad to be assured, from the 
address of the bishops at the opening of the conference, that there is 
an encouraging prospect of soon occupying this field of labor, with 
men of God sent out under the auspices and patronage of our mission- 
ary society, 

2. In our more immediate neighborhood are the states of South 
America, where, indeed, a superstition no less disparaging to the 
human intellect than some forms of Paganism itself, has long held 
the mind in spiritual bondage, and the people in general in degrading 
vassalage ; and although the prospects are less inviting here than in 
some other places, yet it is believed to be worthy of a serious effort 
to penetrate this dense forest of uncultivated land. Surely Divine 
Providence has not doomed Spanish America to everlasting darkness 
and thraldom, but, like other places once the seat of the beast and 
the false prophet, it shall become enlightened by the rays of Gospel 
truth. 

3. From a survey of the missions already established among several 
tribes of the aborigines of our own country, we cannot refrain from an 
expression of lively gratitude for what our gracious God has already 
done for these people. Many of them have fled for refuge to lay 
hold on the hope set before them ; and these good beginnings are 
doubtless sure indications, that He who has made of one blood all the 
nations of the earth, has blessings in store for all these lost tribes of 
our v^Hdemess ; and it is our imperious duty to carry these blessings 
to them, in his mighty name, as far and as fully as possible. We are 
invited to do this by the encouraging openings which are presenting 
themselves among tribes which inhabit our western and north-western 
settlements and wildernesses, with the fairest prospect of success. 
YoiceSy indeed, from these wilds, are daily saluting our ears, and 
announcing to us that they are ready to <* hear the words of the 
book." And from the small experiments already made, it has been 
found that translations of portions of the sacred Scriptures, and some 
of our hymns, into the Indian languages, and printed for their use, 
have greatly aided the missionary in his arduous work. 

4. The missions among the slaves also, in some of our southern 
states, have been attended with most salutary effects, and should 
thec^fore be' prosecuted with vigor and perseverance, as the most 
effectual way to better the condition of these people. 

5. Those missions which have been established among the white 
settlements, generally denominated domestic missions, in our newly 
settled and other destitute places, have been signally owned and 
blessed by the Head of the Church, and should therefore^ in our 
opinion, be continued and enlarged. 

With a view to a more extended and vigorous prosecution of all 
these objects, and to meet, as far as practicable, the wishes of the 
managers of our missionary society, we recommend the adoption of 
the following resolutions : — 

1. Resolved, by the delegates of the several annual conferences in 
general conference assembled, That the bishops be, and they 



Report on Missions, SIS 

hereby are requested, as soon as practicable, to carry iato full effect 
the intention expressed in their address to this conference, founded 
on a resolution of the last general conference, of establishing a mis- 
sion on the coast of Africa, making Liberia the centre of missionary 
operations, imder such regulations and instructions as they, or any 
one of them to whom the charge of the mission shall be committed, 
may give. 

2. Resolved, &c. That the bi