North British Review says: "Never has a century risen on Christian England so void of soul and faith; it rose a sunless dawn following a dewless night. The Puritans were buried, and the Methodists were not born." The Bishop of Lichfield said, in a sermon: "The Lord's day now is the devil's market day. More lewdness, more drunkenness, more quarrels and murders, more sin is conceived and committed, than on all the other days of the week. Strong drink has become the epidemic distemper of the city of London. Sin in general has become so hardened and rampant that immoralities are defended, yea, justified, on principle. Every kind of sin has found a writer to teach and vindicate it."

"The philosopher of the age was Bolingbroke; the moralist was Addison; the minstrel was Pope; and the preacher was Atterbury. The world had an idle, discontented look of a morning after some mad holiday."

Over this state of moral and religious apostasy a few were found who made sad and bitter lamentations. Bishop Burnet was "filled with sad thoughts." "The clergy," he said, "were under more contempt than those of any other Church in Europe; for they were much more remiss in their labors and least severe in their lives. I cannot look on," he says, "without the deepest concern, when I see imminent ruin hanging over the Church, and, by consequence, over the Reformation. The outward state of things is black enough, God knows, but that which heightens my fears arises chiefly from the inward state into which we are fallen."

Bishop Gibson gives a heart-saddening view of the matter: "Profaneness and iniquity are grown bold and open." Bishop Butler declared the Church to be "only a subject of mirth and ridicule." Guyes, a Nonconformist divine, says that "preacher and people were content to lay Christ aside." Hurrian, another Dissenter, sees "faith, joy, and Christian zeal under a thick cloud." Bishop Taylor declares that "the spirit was grieved and offended by the abominable corruption that abounded;" while good Dr. Watts sings sadly of the "poor dying rate" at which the friends of Jesus lived, saying: "I am well satisfied that the great and general reason of this is the decay of vital religion in the hearts and lives of men, and the little success that the administration of the Gospel has made of late in the conversion of sinners to holiness."

This was the state of the English Church, and of Dissenters as well, at the opening of the eighteenth century. And well it might be when, as has been said, the philosopher of the age was Bolingbroke, the moralist was Addison, the minstrel was Pope, and the preacher was Atterbury. But when darkness seems most dense the day-star of hope is near to rising.

On the 17th of June, 1703, was born in the obscure parish at Epworth, of Samuel and Susannah Wesley, John Wesley, the subject of this sketch. He was one of nineteen children. The names of fifteen have been recorded; the others, no doubt, died in infancy. Of these fifteen, John was the twelfth. He was born in the third year of the eighteenth century. His long life of eighty-eight years covered eleven of the twelve years of Queen Anne's reign, thirteen of that of George I, thirty-three of George II, and more than thirty of George III. This remarkable child was to more than revive the dead embers of the Reformation; he was chosen of God to inaugurate a spiritual movement which was to fill the world with the spirit of holy being and doing, and bring to the people ransomed by Jesus, in every clime and of every race, "freedom to worship God."

CHAPTER II.

Samuel Wesley, father of John, was for forty years rector of Epworth Parish. He was an honest, conscientious, stern old Englishman; a firmer never clung to the mane of the British lion. He was the son of John Wesley, a Dissenting minister, who enjoyed, for a time, all the rights of churchmen. But, after the death of Cromwell, Charles II, whom the Dissenters had aided in restoring to the throne, and who had promised them toleration and liberty of conscience, on his return, finding the Church party in the ascendency, violated his pledge and approved of the most cruel and oppressive laws passed by Parliament against Dissenters. By one of these inhuman acts more than two thousand ministers, and among them many of the most pious, useful, learned, and conscientious in the land, were deprived of their places in the Church, of their homes and support, and were compelled to wander homeless and friendless, without being allowed to remain anywhere, until they found rest in the grave.

"Stopping the mouths of these faithful men," says Dr. Adam Clarke, "was a general curse to the nation. A torrent of iniquity, deep, rapid, and strong, deluged the whole land, and swept away godliness and vital religion from the kingdom. The king had no religion, either in power or in form, though a papist at heart. He was the most worthless that ever sat on a British throne, and profligate beyond all measure, without a single good quality to redeem his numerous bad ones; and Church and State joined hand in hand in persecution and intolerance. Since those barbarous and iniquitous times, what hath God wrought!"[N]

Mr. Wesley had been for some years pastor of Whitchurch, Dorchestershire, and was greatly beloved by his people. But the law forbade anyone attending a place of worship conducted by Dissenters. Whoever was found in such an assembly was tried by a judge without a jury, and for the third offense was sentenced to transportation beyond the seas for seven years; and if the offender returned to his home before the seven years expired he was liable to capital punishment. This was an example of refined cruelty. The minister who had grown gray in the service of his Lord, whose annual income was barely sufficient to meet the pressing needs of his family, was turned adrift upon the world without support, and the poor man was not permitted to live within five miles of his charge, nor of any other which he might have formerly served. As Mr. Wesley could not teach, or preach, or hold private meetings, he, for a time, turned his attention to the practice of medicine for the support of his family.

He bade his weeping church adieu, and removed to Melcomb, a town some twenty miles away. He had preached for a time in Melcomb before he became vicar of Whitchurch, and hoped to find there a quiet retreat and sympathizing friends. But his family was scarcely settled when an order came prohibiting his settlement there, and fining a good lady twenty pounds for receiving him into her house. Driven from Melcomb, he sought shelter in Preston, by invitation of a kind friend, who offered him free rent. Then came the passage of what was known as the "five-mile act," which required that Dissenting ministers should not reside within five miles of an incorporated town. Preston, though not an incorporated town, was within five miles of one. Finding no place for rest from the relentless persecution of the Established Church—persecution as cruel as Rome ever inflicted, save the death penalty, and that was imposed under certain conditions—he concluded to leave his home for a time and retire to some obscure village until he could, by prayer and deliberation, determine what to do. Here, alone with God, his decision was made. He fully decided that he could not, with a good conscience, obey the law of Conformity, as it was called. Conformity was to him apostasy.