CHAPTER XXIII.

Book

A magic mirror.—And the picture it shows us.—Billy and Polly again.—Hurrah for Newcastle!—John and Charles Wesley put their heads together.—The result.—Strict Rules.—Circuits in Methodism.

AVE you ever heard of the Magic Mirror? It is a mirror I would like to have. You just think of something you would very much like to see; something either in the past, the present, or the future, peep into the mirror and there it is.

Let us imagine that we have this mirror, and that we want to look at a particular part of Newcastle in the year 1742.

What do we see?

A big unfinished building with all the walls standing, but no roof, no doors, and no windows. It is a cold winter's day; but in spite of the biting wind and the frosty air there are hundreds of people crowding inside and outside the walls. Right in the middlestands the gentleman with the long hair and the beautiful face.

It is Mr. Wesley opening the first meeting-house in Newcastle. Oh, how hard those poor colliers and their wives, yes, and the children too, worked to get money to build their chapel. On this opening day they were so proud and happy they could not keep still. They kept shouting "Hallelujah!" all the time Mr. Wesley was preaching. Three or four times he had to stop in the middle of his sermon on purpose to let them praise God.

Bob, and Billy, and Polly were at that opening; they loved Mr. Wesley, and always tried to get as near to him as they could. They were not ragged now, for their fathers and mothers were converted, and their money was no longer spent in drink. The children, too, had learnt to love Jesus, and were trying to be like Him, and no cursing or swearing was ever heard.

Scores of men and women in Newcastle that day, thanked God they had got out of bed that Sunday morning in May, and heard Mr. Wesley sing at the top of Sandgate.

The Methodists had now chapels or meeting-houses in Bristol, London, Kingswood, and Newcastle, and societies were being formed in a great many other places. When Mr. Wesley found the work was spreading so fast, he saw it was necessary to draw up some general rules for all the members to follow.

His brother Charles helped him in this difficult task. These are some of the rules which together they drew up, and which all who joined the Methodists had to promise to obey.

Members of society must not swear.

Must keep the Sabbath Day holy.

Must not buy or sell intoxicating liquor.

Must not drink intoxicating liquor, except as medicine.

Must not fight.

Must not quarrel.

Must return good for evil.

Must not speak evil of any one.

Must do to others as we would have them do to us.

Must not wear a great deal of jewellery or expensive clothes.

Must not go to any place of amusement where they would not like to meet Jesus.

Must not sing songs or read books that will not help them to love God more.

Must not buy anything unless they are quite sure they will be able to pay for it.

Must be kind to everybody, and give help to all, as far as they are able;

By feeding the hungry;Clothing the naked;Visiting the sick and those in prison;By "running with patience the race that is set before them;"By denying themselves and taking up their cross daily.

They must go to chapel regularly.

Must take the Sacrament.

And, lastly, have family and private prayer every day.

Were not these strict rules? But the people were so much in earnest, and had such trust in their leader, Mr. Wesley, that they were quite willing to agree to them.

The next thing Mr. Wesley did was to send out his helpers, generally two together, to certain districts where they usually remained for a year. They had to preach in all the places round about, and each particular district or tract of country was called a "circuit." This was the beginning of the "circuits" which we have in Methodism to-day. I dare say you have often heard father or mother say, "Oh, Mr. So and So has gone to another circuit;" or, "Mr. So and So is in our circuit now."

London and Bristol always remained the chief circuits; but before very long Newcastle became the next in importance.

Child

Another peep into the Magic Mirror.—A pretty picture.—At Epworth.—Mr. Wesley is very unkindly treated.—All for the best.—The curate is "done."—A happy ending to a bad beginning.—"Good-bye, Epworth."

HALL we have another peep into the Magic Mirror? See that pretty country church, with the square tower. There are some big trees near, looking as if they were tall giants keeping guard; they have no leaves on them yet, and their bare arms stretch out a long way as if they were trying to reach the church.

If you look carefully you will see buds coming out on the trees, baby buds they are, waiting for the sun's kisses. Then they will burst out and grow into great leaves that will cover up the naked old trees. Ivy climbs up the church wall. I see its dark glossy leaves, for the ivy is evergreen.

There are many graves in the churchyard, but you can hardly see them because people are sitting on them; such a number of people, hundreds more thancould ever have got into the church. They are all looking one way, and seem to be listening very attentively. What are they looking at? They are looking at a gentleman who is standing all alone on a big flat tombstone near the church wall. He wears a gown and white bands like a clergyman, and he has long hair brushed very smoothly, and a beautiful, happy face.

Dear me! did I hear a crash then? And did I hear a hundred young voices shouting: "I know who it is, it's Mr. John Wesley"? Why, you must have broken the mirror with your shouts. You are right, dears, but you shouted rather too soon. I wanted to read what it said on the tombstone on which Mr. Wesley was standing. But, never mind, I think I saw some of the words:

"Sacred To the Memory ofSAMUEL WESLEY,For Thirty-eight years Rector of Epworth."

Yes, it was his father's grave on which John Wesley was standing.

On his way back from one of his visits to Newcastle he thought he would like to see his dear old home once more. It was a long, long time since he had been there, and he was not quite sure whether the people would have anything to do with him now, for, as leader of the Methodists, he had many enemies.

It was Saturday evening in early spring, when hegot to the little inn, in the long straggling street that was called Epworth village. He had not been there very long before three or four poor women found him out, one of them an old servant of his mother's.

Next morning, which was Sunday, he went to the curate of the church and politely offered to help him with the service. The curate, I am sorry to say, was very rude, and refused to let Mr. Wesley take any part in the service or to preach in the church at all.

This was a great disappointment, for Mr. Wesley loved the people of Epworth, and every stone in the old church was dear to him. His father had preached from that pulpit for nearly forty years, and he himself had stood there more times than he could count, and it was very hard that he was forbidden to take his place there now.

The people were longing to hear him, and when the afternoon service was over, and all the folks were leaving the church, one of his friends stood in the churchyard and gave out this notice:

"Mr. Wesley, not being allowed to Preachin the Church, intends to Preach here atsix o'clock this evening."

It was this picture of Mr. Wesley preaching that the Magic Mirror showed us. I expect the curate was very angry at being so "done;" but he could not stop Mr. Wesley preachingoutsidethe church.

For a whole week John Wesley preached everyevening from his father's tombstone. Crowds came to hear him, and hundreds were converted and turned from their evil ways. They saw how sinful they had been and prayed aloud for forgiveness. Drunkards became sober men, and those who cursed and swore were turned into peace-makers.

So dear old Mr. Wesley's prayers were answered, and the people who had treated him so unkindly, and whom he had forgiven and loved, now took his Saviour to be their Saviour, and his God to be their God.

Indeed Mr. Wesley's visit to his old home, that began so unpleasantly, ended very happily, and when his last evening came, both he and his dear people found it hard to say "Good-bye."

Dogwood

No one like mother.—Sad days at the Foundry.—Mrs. Wesley goes Home through the Beautiful Gate.—A sorrowing son.—Preaching at the open grave.—At work again.—Satan in opposition.—Fireworks, cows, stones, blood, and broken windows.

GOOD mother is a boy's or a girl's best earthly friend. John Wesley knew this, and thought there was no mother likehismother. You remember how, as a little boy, he always went to her for advice; and when he was quite a young man he used to hope that he would die before her, for he felt he could not live without his mother. You may think, then, how sad he was when, at last, the message came to him that she was dying.

He was at Bristol when he received the news, and at once set off for London. Arrived at his home at the Foundry, he found his five sisters watching round the bed of the dear old mother.

Though she was too ill to speak to them, they could see she was quite happy and peaceful, justwaiting to be taken Home. Before long the call came: "Come up higher."

A great number of people came to the funeral; and as Mr. Wesley stood at the graveside, he preached one of his most wonderful sermons. His heart was full; he had lost the friend of his life. But he knew it was not for ever, one day he would meet her again; and as he looked on those hundreds of people gathered there by the open grave, he longed that they should, as surely, some day pass Home through the Beautiful Gate.

Work is the best cure for sorrow; and after his dear mother's death, Mr. Wesley began his preaching again. Wherever he went people were converted, and became followers of Jesus Christ; and also wherever he went wicked men and women tried to stop him preaching, and sometimes even wanted to kill him. But he was doing God's work, and God took care of him.

Once he was preaching to hundreds of people in an open space somewhere in London. In the middle of his sermon, several men tried to drive a herd of cows among the listeners. They wanted to frighten them, and force them to go away. But the cows were wiser than their masters, and would not go among the people. Then these bad men started throwing stones, and one of them hit Mr. Wesley just between his eyes. What do you think he did? Give up preaching and go home? Indeed he didnot; he just wiped the blood off his face, and went on telling the people to repent of their sins and believe on the Son of God. Brave John Wesley!

Bristol, you remember, was the first place where Mr. Wesley preached out of doors, and it was at Bristol where there was the first great disturbance.

I don't quite know how it was, but just about this time, wherever the Methodists went, they were abused and ill-treated. I think Satan was beginning to find out how much good the Methodists were doing, and thought it was about time he did something to stop it. So, in all the towns where the preachers went, he stirred up the worst men and women to make rows and disturb the services.

At Chelsea, the rioters threw fireworks into the room; at another place they broke in the roof, and some of the people were nearly killed. At Bristol, the mob filled the streets, shouting, and cursing, and swearing. When the constables caught the ring-leaders and took them before the mayor, they began to speak against Mr. Wesley, but the mayor stopped them. "Whatever Mr. Wesley is, is nothing to you," he said. "I won't allow any rioting in this city, and you must go to prison." This was the first and last disturbance at Bristol. But the worst of it was, at most of the places, neither the constables nor the mayor would interfere, and so the people did just as they liked.

At Wednesbury, in Staffordshire, the Methodistswere most cruelly treated. One of the rioters used to blow a horn, and then all the mob gathered together. They went to every house where there was a Methodist, smashed the windows, dragged the furniture out and broke it up, and burnt the beds. If the men or women interfered, they just knocked them down; even the little children they used to beat. But I think I will leave the exciting scenes at Wednesbury for another chapter.

Book and globe

Brave as a lion.—A protecting angel.—God's magic.—Foes become friends.—An unpleasant walk in rain and darkness.—What the mayor said.—A free fight.—"Knock the parson down! Kill him at once!"—Magic again.—A butcher to the rescue.—Safe back in Wednesbury.

HEN Mr. Wesley heard how his followers were being treated in Wednesbury, he went off at once to their help. Though he was only a little man, he was as brave as a lion; he knew he had God at his back, and like David before Goliath, like Daniel before Darius, and like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego before Nebuchadnezzar, he did not fear what man could do unto him.

God sent His angel to close the lions' mouths so they would not harm Daniel; and the same messenger walked in the fiery furnace with the three Hebrewyouths. So, when Mr. Wesley went straight into the market-place in Wednesbury, and fearlessly preached to the hundreds assembled there, God's protecting angel breathed silence and calm; not a sound of disturbance was heard. In the evening the mob surrounded the house where Mr. Wesley was staying, shouting out fiercely:

"Bring out the minister! We will have the minister!"

Mr. Wesley, neither frightened nor excited, quietly asked one of his friends to bring in the ringleader of the mob. The man came in, anger and fierceness in his eyes. But, somehow, as soon as he stood in the presence of that calm, Christ-like man, all his passion went out of him. Mr. Wesley then asked him to bring in two or three of his roughest companions. The angry men came in. They had wanted to get at the minister, now they had the chance. But once inside that room, they found they could not touch him. They felt the presence of God's protecting angel, and peace took the place of passion, and friendliness the place of hatred. Getting Mr. Wesley between them, these strange, new friends made a way for him through the mob outside the house.

Then, standing on a chair, Mr. Wesley spoke to the crowd.

"You wanted me," he said. "Here I am. Now what do you want me for?"

"We want you to go with us to the magistrate," they cried.

"I will go with you with all my heart," he replied.

So away went the brave ambassador for Christ, accompanied by hundreds of the roughest men and women in Wednesbury.

It was two miles to the magistrate's house, and before they had got half-way the night came on, and it began to rain very heavily. This made most of the people turn back and hurry home, but two hundred or more kept together round Mr. Wesley.

Some of the men ran on first to tell the magistrate they'd got the Methodist preacher. Instead of seeming pleased, the magistrate said:

"What have I to do with Mr. Wesley? Take him back again." So he sent them off, and went to bed.

By and by the crowd came up to the house, and knocked at the door. When the magistrate's son went to them and asked what was the matter, they said:

"Why, please, sir, these Methodists sing psalms all day, and make folks get up at five o'clock in the morning, and what would your worship advise us to do?"

"To go home and be quiet," replied the gentleman.

Finding they could get no help from this magistrate, they hurried poor Mr. Wesley off to another. This gentleman, too, had gone to bed, and so the mob could do nothing else but go home.

However, before they had got very far they were joined by another rough mob from a neighbouring town; and then, in the rain and the darkness, the two mobs started fighting and knocking each other down. It was no use Mr. Wesley trying to speak, for the shouting and noise was like the roaring of the sea. They dragged him along with them until they reached the town, and then, seeing the door of a large house open, Mr. Wesley tried to get in. But one of the cruel men got him by the hair and pulled him back into the middle of the mob; and then they dragged him from one end of the town to the other.

"I talked all the time to those that were within hearing," said Mr. Wesley, afterwards, "and I never felt the least pain or weariness."

At last he saw a shop door half open, and tried to get in, but the gentleman to whom the shop belonged would not let him.

"Why, the people would pull my house down," he said, "if I let you in."

"'Knock him down! Kill him at once!' cried hundreds of voices."—Page 114."'Knock him down! Kill him at once!' cried hundreds of voices."—Page 114.

However, Mr. Wesley stood at the door and shouted to the people: "Are you willing to hear me speak?"

"No, no; knock him down! Kill him at once!" cried hundreds of voices.

"Nay, let's hear him first," shouted others.

"What harm have I done any of you?" exclaimed the fearless preacher. "Which of you have I wronged in word or deed?"

For a quarter of an hour he talked to them, then his voice suddenly gave way, the strain had been too great.

Then the cruel mob cried out again: "Bring him away! Bring him away!"

But Mr. Wesley's strength had come back, and he began to pray aloud.

That prayer acted like magic; the man who had just before been the leader of that brutal crowd, turning to Mr. Wesley, said: "Sir, I will spend my life for you; follow me, and no one here shall touch a hair of your head."

Two or three of his companions said almost the same, and surrounded Mr. Wesley to protect him. Then four or five rough men set upon them, and tried to drag Mr. Wesley away; but a butcher, who was a little further off, shouted, "Shame! shame!" and pulled them back one after another. Some one else shouted, "For shame! For shame! let the good man go!"

Then, just as if they had been struck by magic, all the people drew back right and left, and Mr. Wesley was carried safely through.

But the danger was not quite over even yet. On the bridge which they had to cross, the mob assembled again; but Mr. Wesley's protectors took him across a mill-dam and then through some fields, and at last brought him safe into Wednesbury, with no other damage than a torn coat and a little skin scraped off one of his hands.

Cherub and harp

Mr. Wesley's story of the Wednesbury riot.—How he felt.—The right pocket.—Beautiful hair.—The prize-fighter a good protector.—A brick, a stone, and two hard blows.—Daniel vi. 22.

FTER reading the last exciting chapter, you will all exclaim, "Well, Mr. Wesleywasa brave man!" and I am sure you will like to hear what he himself said about his adventures. These are the very words he wrote after the Wednesbury riots:

"From the beginning to the end, I felt as calm as if I had been sitting in my study at home. Once it did come into my mind, that if they threw me into the river, it would spoil the papers I had in my pocket. I was not afraid for myself, for I did not doubt but I could swim across to the opposite bank.

"Thinking about it all now, I notice some remarkable circumstances. One was, that though several tried to get hold of me, it seemed as if they could not, and when at last one did get hold of my coatand tore the pocket off, it was the right pocket for him to get, for it contained nothing of importance; whereas if he had torn off the other he would have got a bank-note with it.

"Another was, a big strong fellow just behind struck at me several times with a large oak stick. One blow had it hit me would have killed me, but somehow every time he struck, the blow was turned aside. I don't know how, for I could not move either to the right hand or to the left.

"Another man came rushing through the crowd and raised his arm to strike me. Suddenly he let his arm drop, and only stroked my hair, saying: 'What beautiful hair he has!'

"It was strange too, that the very first men whose hearts were softened were always the leaders of the mob—one of them had been a prize-fighter. So that when they took my part I was well protected.

"Again, from first to last I heard no one give me a reviling word, or call me by any insolent or disgraceful name whatever. The cry of one and all was: 'The Preacher! The Preacher! The Parson! The Minister!'"

Again Mr. Wesley wrote:

"By what gentle and gradual steps does God prepare us for His will! Two years ago a brick that was thrown at me grazed my shoulders. Then a year after that, the stone struck me between the eyes when I was preaching in London. This evening I havereceived two blows; one man struck me on the chest with all his might, and another on the mouth with such force that the blood gushed out immediately. But both were as nothing, I felt no more pain from either of the blows, than if the men had touched me with a straw."

Boys and girls, is not this a wonderful story? Get your Bibles, and look in the sixth chapter of the book of Daniel and the twenty-second verse.

Wicked men had laid a trap for King Darius, and because they were envious of Daniel, they caused the king to order Daniel to be thrown into the lions' den. This made King Darius very unhappy, for he loved Daniel. But though he was a heathen king, he had such faith in Daniel's God, that he felt sure the lions would not be allowed to hurt him.

King Darius could not sleep all night, for thinking of Daniel all alone in the den of those wild beasts; so he got up very early in the morning, and went to the den and called to Daniel to know if he were alive. And from inside that dismal den with hungry beasts prowling round and round, came the bright, cheering voice of the God-protected man: "My God hath sent His angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me."

John Wesley was as much among wild beasts at Wednesbury, as ever Daniel was in the den of lions, for when men's passions are roused they are no better than the beasts. But the arm that was raised tostrike, gently stroked his hair; the blow that was meant to kill, fell upon an invisible head; the leaders of all that was cruel and wicked, were struck tender and quiet, and became personal protectors.

Truly Mr. Wesley could have said with Daniel: "My God hath sent His angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me."

Harp

The lion-hearted Wesleys.—And their brave, long-suffering followers.—What Munchin thought of John Wesley.—Hymn 276 and how it came to be written.—The mischievous schoolboy becomes the sweet singer of Methodism.—The wall that sat down.—And the people who sat down with it.

HE troubles in Wednesbury were not yet ended. The very magistrates who had refused to see Mr. Wesley that night when the mob dragged him to the door, a few days later gave orders for the police to search everywhere for "those Methodist preachers who go about raising riots."

Even this failed to frighten the brave-hearted Wesleys, for when John left Wednesbury his brother Charles took his place. He found the poor Methodists still suffering terrible persecutions, but patient and forgiving to their enemies. Christ's own words were their help and comfort: "Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matt. v. 10).

Munchin, the man who had been one of the leadersof the mob and afterwards protected Mr. Wesley, had joined the Methodists and become a member of society. One day Mr. Charles said to him: "What did you think of my brother?"

"Think of him?" said Munchin; "I think he is a man of God; and God was surely by his side when so many of us could not kill one man."

The persecutions of the Methodists in Wednesbury continued for a long time. The windows of their houses were broken, their tables, chairs, and other furniture were smashed to pieces, and their feather-beds were torn into shreds. No craven-hearted man would have dared to go into such a place of danger, and preach to such fiends in human form; but the Wesleys knew no fear when duty called, and again and again they visited their poor, persecuted followers. Christ-like men, indeed, they were, for, like their Holy Leader, "when they were reviled they reviled not again; when they suffered they threatened not."

Mr. Charles composed a hymn after one of the dreadful rows, which shows how entirely they trusted in Jesus, and how sure they were that no harm could come to them except what He allowed.

Look at number 276 in your Wesley's Hymn-Book, and you will find this very hymn. This is the first verse:—

"Worship and thanks and blessing,And strength ascribe to Jesus!Jesus alone defends His own,When earth and hell oppress us."Jesus with joy we witnessAlmighty to deliver,Our seals set to, that God is true,And reigns a King for ever."

That reminds me that I must not forget to tell you, by far the greater number of the hymns we sing every Sunday in chapel were written by Mr. Charles Wesley. Yes, the little mischievous Westminster schoolboy became the sweet singer of Methodism. Not only among Methodists are his beautiful hymns sung to-day, but in almost every Christian hymn-book in the world some of his verses will be found.

You must not think all places were like Wednesbury. Mr. Wesley had often very attentive congregations, and the people listened to him gladly. Indeed, at an open-air service he once held, the people behaved better than I fear we should have done. Part of the congregation sat on a low wall built of loose stones; all at once, in the middle of the sermon, down came the wall and all the people with it. I think we should have burst out laughing, it must have looked so funny. Instead of which, there was no laughing and no screaming; the people just kept their places, only instead of sitting on the top of the wall they sat at the bottom. There was no interruption of the service at all; Mr. Wesley went on with his sermon, and the people continued reverent and attentive.

The Magic Mirror again.—Sycamore Farm.—Annie's good news.—A chorister up in a tree.—A long, long journey.—Sixty miles a day on horseback.—A Chapel out of doors.—A hard bed and a funny pillow.—Thanksgiving Street.—Ripe Blackberries.

HY, I do believe that Magic Mirror has mended itself, for here it is, showing us such a lovely picture—nay, two, I declare. Look at that dear old farmhouse; it must surely be called Sycamore Farm, for there are great sycamore trees all round the front and the side. At the back, and only one field away from the house, are the green slopes of the mountain, with a little waterfall tumbling merrily down a crack in its side. In front of the farm, shimmering through the leaves of the trees, you can see the sunlit waters of a calm lake. The farm is a low whitewashed building, and we can see the cows in the distant meadows coming home to be milked. No one is with them; but there is a little group of people standing at the farmyardgate. The farmer and his wife and all the family and servants seem to be there.

Whatever is the matter?

Oh, see! there is a little girl in the middle of the group, and they are all listening to what she is saying. Let us listen too.

"Yes, it is quite true; Mr. Wesleyiscoming. I went to the village for mother, and old Downs the cobbler told me, and so did Mrs. Wilson at the shop. Everybody is talking about it."

"Ay, but that's good news, lassie!" the old farmer says. "I wonder now if he'd come and preach at Sycamore Farm."

The picture has gone.

Oh, but here's the other one. Why, it is the same old farmhouse, and the sun is shining on the whitewashed walls and funny little windows. There is a great crowd gathered under the shade of the leafy sycamores. See, there is the kind-looking farmer, with his sunburnt face, and sitting on his knee is Annie, the little girl that brought the good news from the village. Right in the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these country-people the story of the Cross.

Now that picture has gone too.

Should we not have liked to have been at that service?

I will tell you what Mr. Wesley said about it.

"In the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these country-people the story of the Cross."—Page 124."In the midst of the crowd is Mr. Wesley, telling these country-people the story of the Cross."—Page 124.

"It was a hot summer day, and we could see theblue, blue sky through the leaves of the old sycamores, which shaded us from the heat. Just as I began to preach, a little bird perched on a branch close by and began to sing. I went on preaching, but its song did not end, it sang on and on, and not until the service was quite over did it cease. It was the best music for such a church and such a congregation, no harp or organ ever sounded half so sweet."

From Westmoreland, where this happened, to Cornwall is a long way, but not too far for Mr. Wesley and his horse. He used often to ride sixty miles a day; and most of his reading, and the composing of his sermons was done while he was on horseback. He travelled in this way for more than forty years, and must have gone over 100,000 miles.

In Gwennap, a place in Cornwall, Mr. Wesley found a lovely out-of-doors sort of chapel. Some of my readers will have seen the Happy Valley at Llandudno; I think the Gwennap chapel must have been something like that, only a great deal bigger. This is what Mr. Wesley wrote about his first service there:

"I stood on a wall, in the calm, still evening, with the setting sun behind, and a great, great multitude before, behind, and on either hand, sitting on the hills all round. All could hear quite distinctly, when I read to them Christ's own words: 'The disciple is not above his Master,' and 'He that taketh not his cross and followeth after Me is not worthy of Me.'"

Must it not have been a wonderful sight?

Like other places, Cornwall did not always give a kind welcome to the Methodists; indeed, they had sometimes to put up with very rough treatment. Often they had to go without food, and the hard floor was their only bed.

Once, at a place called St. Ives, Mr. Wesley and his helper, Mr. Nelson, slept on the floor for a whole fortnight. One of them had an overcoat rolled up for a pillow, and the other a big book. They used to get very sore, and sometimes could not sleep for the pain in their poor aching bones. But these Methodists had never heard of Grumble Corner,—they only knew Thanksgiving Street; and so, instead of murmuring and complaining, one night, when the floor seemed harder than ever, Mr. Wesley called out: "Let us cheer up, Brother Nelson, for the skin is only off one side yet."

Another time, when no one had asked them to dinner or tea, and they were riding through a country lane, feeling very hungry, Mr. Wesley stopped his horse to gather some blackberries, saying to his friend: "Brother Nelson, we ought to be thankful that there are plenty of blackberries, for this is the best country I ever saw for getting an appetite, but the worst for getting food."

On the whole, however, the Cornish people were not unkind to Mr. Wesley. At St. Ives they once gave him a very noisy welcome, shouting, "Hurrah!hurrah!" and then going under his bedroom window and singing:

"John Wesley is come to town,To try if he can pull the churches down."

All this happened during his first visit to Cornwall; and only once during the three weeks he was there did he get really abused, and that was at St. Ives, when the mob burst into his room, and a rough, cruel man struck him on the head.

Bird

A fight with the sea.—Poor Peter!—A sail in a fisherman's boat.—The song that the waves accompanied.—A climb on Land's End.—Manchester disgraces itself.—Hull still worse.—Matt. v. 39.—A brave servant girl.—John Wesley declines to hide.

TOLD you in the last chapter what a wonderful traveller Mr. Wesley was; he could walk twenty-four miles a day easily, in either hot or cold weather, and his adventures on the roads would almost fill a book.

On one of his later visits to Cornwall, he had a terrible fight with the sea; this time he was riding in a coach. He had promised to preach in St. Ives at a certain time, and the only way to get there was by crossing the sands when the tide was out. His own driver being a stranger in the country, he engaged a man named Peter Martin to drive him. When they reached the sea-shore they found, to their dismay, that the tide was coming in, and the sands they hadto cross were already partly covered with water. Peter, the old coachman, stopped the horses, and told Mr. Wesley that it was not safe to go. Then an old sea-captain tried to prevent them, begging them to go back, or they would surely be drowned.

"No," said Mr. Wesley, "I've promised to preach at St. Ives, and I must keep my promise. Take the sea! Take the sea!" he shouted, putting his head out of the carriage window.

In a moment, Peter whipped the horses, and dashed into the waves. The wheels of the carriage kept sinking in the deep pits and hollows in the sand, while the horses, swimming in the water, snorted and reared with fright, and every moment poor Peter expected to be drowned.

Just at this terrible moment, Mr. Wesley put his head out of the carriage window; his long white hair—for he was an old man when this happened—was dripping with the salt water, which ran down his venerable face. He was calm and fearless, unmoved by the roaring of the waves or the danger of the situation.

"What is your name, driver?" he shouted.

"Peter, sir," shouted back the man.

"Peter," Mr. Wesley called out again, "fear not; thou shalt not sink."

With spurring and whipping, the poor frightened, tired horses at last brought them safely over.

When they reached St. Ives, Mr. Wesley's firstcare was to see to the comfort of his horses and driver. He got warm clothing, and refreshments at the inn for Peter, and comfortable stabling for his weary horses; then, quite forgetting himself, wet through with the dashing waves, he went off to the chapel to preach.

While Mr. Wesley was in Cornwall he paid a flying visit to the Scilly Isles. He went over in a fisherman's boat, and sang to the rising and falling of the waves:

"When passing through the watery deep,I ask in faith His promised aid;The waves an awful distance keep,And shrink from my devoted head.Fearless, their violence I dare;They cannot harm,—for God is there."

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