[Illustration: REV. S. BRADBURN]
Samuel Bradburn,
THE SHOEMAKER WHO BECAME THE PRESIDENT OF THE WESLEYAN CONFERENCE.
"I was a poor ignorant cobbler."--_Samuel Bradburn, Life of Samuel
Bradburn_, p. 227.
"During forty years Samuel Bradburn was esteemed the Demosthenes of
Methodism."--_Abel Stevens, LL.D., quoted on title-page of Life of S.
B._
"I have never heard his equal; I can furnish you with no adequate idea
of his powers as an orator; we have not a man among us that will support
anything like a comparison with him.... I never knew one with so great a
command of language."--_Dr. Adam Clarke._
"The generous and noble-minded Samuel Bradburn, whose ability as a
public speaker was all but unrivalled."--_Rev. Thomas Jackson, President
of the Wesleyan Conference._
SAMUEL BRADBURN.
In the winter of 1740 the press-gang men were busy at their abominable
work in most of the maritime and inland towns of England, and, among
other places, Chester seems to have sent certain unwilling recruits to
make up the rank and file of the army, and replenish the navy of His
Majesty King George II. Many are the tales of cruelty which belong to
this miserable period in the history of our army and navy. Thousands of
able-bodied men were carried away by main force from their peaceful
occupations, from home and friends, and everything that was dear to
them, and compelled to do duty for their country in foreign climes.
Sons, husbands, fathers of families, steady, honest, industrious,
law-abiding citizens, or worthless waifs and strays, it mattered
not--all who might be of service, and could be easily caught, were
seized and hurried off to the nearest military or naval depot, and were
soon lost sight of by their distressed relations, and were, perhaps,
never heard of again until their names were reported in the list of
killed and wounded in battle. Now and then the life of enforced military
or naval service was tolerable and even pleasant from a soldier's or
sailor's point of view and ended happily enough with an honorable
discharge and pension. A wretched beginning had not always a wretched
course and a miserable ending, for the Briton of those days was a
much-enduring creature, and had strong notions about "serving his
country," and soon learned to tolerate and even enjoy a condition of
things which, to say the least, was unjustifiable and tyrannical.
An incident connected with the life-story of the subject of this sketch
will illustrate some of the worst features of the system referred to,
and show the sort of hardship and injustice to which "the free and noble
sons" of Britain were exposed up to a time almost within the memory of
men still living. Two men sat drinking and chatting in a friendly manner
in an ale-house in Chester one night early in the year 1740. It does not
seem that either of them was the worse for liquor, or that anything
unpleasant had passed between them to spoil the pleasure of their
intercourse. In fact, the two men had known each other years before,
and both seemed glad to renew their acquaintance. The younger of the two
was only twenty-one years of age, and had been married but a few days
previously to a young woman of nineteen summers, to whom he was deeply
attached. After staying as long as he deemed expedient he rose to go
home, when to his amazement the pretended "friend" and old acquaintance
turned upon him with the words, "You shall not leave this room to-night;
you have now no master but the king, and you must serve him, as you have
taken his money." Guessing what was meant, the poor fellow felt in his
pocket and found that his companion had secretly slipped three guineas
into it as king's bounty. It was vain for the enraged and distracted
young man to throw the money on the floor, and declare he would none of
it nor the king's service, that he was but just married, and had no wish
to be a soldier, for armed men stood round the door and prevented
escape. It was vain also to appeal to the magistrates of that day, for
though they must have been perfectly well acquainted with the nefarious
tricks of pressmen and recruiting officers, they accepted the evidence
of the officer against the recruit, and adjudged him a legal soldier,
because, forsooth, he had received the king's bounty and so enlisted.
Such was the experience of Samuel Bradburn's father, and in two days
after the event just narrated he was hurried off to his regiment,
without a chance of saying good-by to his friends or making any further
efforts for his own release. Their grief, and the agony of mind endured
by the young bride, may be imagined. She had no choice but to part from
him, perhaps forever; or to get permission to attach herself to the
regiment, and follow her husband's fortunes as a soldier. No true woman
and worthy wife would hesitate long, and the noble-hearted Welsh girl[8]
soon resolved not to leave her husband. The regiment was ordered to
Flanders, and took part in several battles, in one of which Bradburn was
severely wounded, and on the conclusion of the war in 1748 ordered to
Gibraltar, where Samuel was born, 5th October, 1751, and where he spent
the first twelve years of his life.
[8] Mrs. Bradburn was the daughter of Samuel Jones, of
Wrexham.
The soldier's family numbered thirteen children, and as his pay was but
scanty, it may be supposed that the education of each of its members
could not have been a very important or costly affair. In short, we have
_another_ story to add to those already told of a life of singular
devotedness and usefulness which had no fair foundation of sound and
thorough education. Bradburn himself declares that he went to school for
only a fortnight during his twelve years' life at Gibraltar. The fee was
a penny a week, and on its being raised to three halfpence the boy was
removed, for the father's poor pittance would not allow of the extra
strain upon it of a halfpenny per week. And so, says the biographer,
almost with an air of triumph, "the education of one of the greatest
modern pulpit orators cost only _twopence_!"
Bradburn's father appears to have been a remarkably thoughtful and
exemplary sort of man for a soldier, in those days. Though he never
united with the Methodists, he was much attached to them, and had
derived great profit from their preaching at the camp in Flanders. His
children were brought up in a strictly religious manner, always going to
service on Sunday, and being compelled to read a daily portion of
Scripture, and repeat a Scripture lesson from week to week. According to
his light, he did his best to bring his children up well; and one of
them, at all events, profited by his training, for Samuel became very
thoughtful and serious, and was accounted, by his neighbors, one of the
best boys in the town.
On his discharge from the army Bradburn went to live in the old city
from which he had been so cruelly carried away about twenty-three years
before. Samuel was then nearly thirteen years of age, and a situation
was soon found for him as an out-door apprentice to a shoemaker, to whom
he was bound for eight years. Brought up under the influences of
Methodism, and accustomed to listen to a class of preachers who had done
more than any others to awaken and keep alive the flames of religious
revival and zeal, young Bradburn's mind was always more or less under
the influence of deep religious conviction. His history, as a youth,
presents the most astonishing contrasts of religious fervor and sinful
excess. Yet his worst moods did not last long, and, however far he went
in the way of transgression, his consciousness of the evil of sin never
left him, and he had always sufficient moral sensibility left to make
him profoundly miserable when he dared to reflect. Acts of daring
wickedness, and defiant or profane language, only served as a cover to a
troubled heart and a restless conscience. The story of his early life,
with its alternate seriousness and folly, anxiety about his soul's
welfare and mad recklessness, reads wonderfully like that of John
Bunyan. How like the records of the life of the Bedford tinker are
these entries in the diary of the Chester shoemaker: "One evening, being
exceedingly cast down, and finding an uncommon weight upon my spirits, I
went to preaching, and while Mr. Guilford was describing the happiness
of the righteous in glory, my heart melted like wax before the fire. In
a moment all that heaviness was removed, and the love of God was so
abundantly shed abroad in my heart, that I could scarcely refrain from
crying out in the preaching-house." ... "When preaching was over, I went
into a place near St. Martin's Churchyard, which adjoined the
preaching-house, and there I poured out my soul before the Lord in
prayer and praise, and continued rejoicing in God my Saviour most of the
night." He was then less than fourteen years of age; his companions at
the work-room were of a godless sort, and after a few months' enjoyment
of mental peace and joy, their injurious influence began to tell upon
him. By degrees he abandoned his prayerful habits, and surrendered
himself to the power of evil, until at length he "became acquainted with
the vilest of the vile," and imbibed their spirit and followed their
example. To what depths he sank the following sentences from his diary
will show: "It is impossible to express the feelings of my mind, on some
occasions during this apostasy from God; especially once, when one of
the greatest reprobates I ever knew was constrained to own that he was
shocked to hear me swear such oaths as I often did.[9] ... For a moment
I felt a degree of compunction, but gave away to despair and drowned the
conviction." The reproof which Bunyan received under similar
circumstances led him to drop the practice of swearing; but Bradburn
went on in his evil ways as resolutely as ever. For several years he
seems to have led a reckless life, joining in vicious company, indulging
a passion for "gaming," or gambling, to such an extent that he would
even go to bed and rise and dress again when the rest of the household
were asleep, in order to go out through the window and join his gambling
and betting companions. At last he became so enamoured of sinful follies
that he snatched the opportunity, which a few words of complaint from
his father afforded, to take offence and leave home, "in order to go and
lodge with some abandoned young men, in order to have his full swing
without being curbed by any one." His wages were but small, and as he
took half of them home he had but a small pittance to live upon: yet
such was his craze at this time for bad company and "gaming," that he
lived often for two days on a penny loaf, and went in rags rather than
confess his error to his parents and ask their aid. One good quality
kept him from utter ruin at this time, and it seems to have been the
only one that remained in a lively state. He speaks of "the affection he
had for his mother, whom he still loved as his own soul." He could not
endure her tears and tender reproofs, and left his home in order that he
might not have to suffer the constant reproach of her good character and
loving entreaties. To such lengths will a passion for sinful amusements
drive even a youth of sensitive nature and generous disposition. Nothing
can be more deplorable than the account he gives of his sinful
infatuation at this the worst period of his youthful career. "I spent
almost a twelvemonth in this truly pitiable way of life, and during that
time do not remember enjoying one satisfactory moment. My clothes were
now almost worn out, and my wages were not sufficient to supply me with
more; yet, such was my folly, I still persisted in the same way,
glorying even in my shame, till my life seemed nearly finished, and the
measure of my iniquity almost full; and, to all appearance, there was
but a step betwixt me and everlasting death."
[9] This incident will remind readers of the following
account given by Bunyan of a similar incident in his early
life: "One day, as I was standing at my neighbor's shop-window,
and there cursing and swearing, after my wonted manner, there
sate within the woman of the house and heard me, who, though
she was a loose and ungodly wretch, protested that I cursed and
swore at such a rate that she trembled to hear me.... At this
reproof I was silenced and put to secret shame, and that too,
as I thought, before the God of heaven."
At eighteen years of age this miserable course of sin came to an end.
Bradburn was led "by the hand of Providence to work in the house of a
Methodist." He had about this time, also, become so weak and ailing in
health, as the result of his pernicious habits, that he was compelled to
yield to his parents' entreaties to go and live at home. Good example,
kind words, and wise counsel, combined with the beneficial effects of
separation from his old companions, soon began to tell upon his
conscience. As might be expected, the sense of sin, when once it was
awakened in him, was most intense. It was no wonder that such a youth as
Samuel Bradburn should have "experiences" which men of a milder
temperament are strangers to, and cannot perhaps appreciate. After he
had mused for a time, and thought upon his ways, he became suddenly,
and, as it seemed then, most unaccountably convinced of sin, and led to
cherish the most anxious concern to find peace with God. "One evening,"
he writes in his diary, "at the close of the year 1769, while I was
making a few cursory remarks on the season, and looking at some decayed
flowers in a garden adjoining the house I worked in, I was suddenly
carried, as it were, out of myself with the thought of death and
eternity.... My sins were set as in battle array before me, particularly
that of ingratitude to a good and gracious God. This caused my very
bones to tremble, and my soul to be horribly afraid. Hell from beneath
seemed moved to meet me.... The effects of those convictions were such
that I could scarcely reach home, though but a little way off. I went to
bed, but found no rest. I sunk under the weight of my distress, gave
myself up to despair, and for some time lost the use of my reason." For
several days the poor sin-stricken youth lay as if in a high fever, and
raved of judgment and perdition. It was three months ere he entered into
a state of quiet, firm, intelligent, Christian faith, bringing peace and
rest to his mind. His excellent and godly master helped him somewhat
during this long and terrible struggle in the "slough of despond."
Several "evangelists," in the character of gospel ministers, pointed out
the way of life to him, but they were not of so much service as might
have been expected. A "roll which he carried in his hand," on which was
written, "The Door of Salvation Opened by the Key of Regeneration," was
of great value in showing the way to the blessedness he sought. In fact,
it was during the reading of this little treatise on the life of faith
that his spirit first seemed to hear the divine words, "_Peace, be
still_." There could be no mistake about the young shoemaker's
conversion. Account for it as men might, the change was marvellous, and
infinitely beneficial, as we shall see, no less to his neighbors than to
himself; for Samuel Bradburn was intensely social, and bound to
influence his friends in one way or another, as well as to be influenced
by them. It was impossible for him to remain inactive when a great
impulse moved within him. The desire to go out and speak of the joy he
had found, and the means by which he had found it, soon became a ruling
passion. It is the desire which makes the philanthropist, the preacher,
the missionary. The language in which he attempts to describe that
indescribable joy of the renewed heart is but another reading of the old
gospel truth: "If any man be in Christ he is a new creature: old things
are passed away; behold, all things are become new."[10] Alluding to
the reading of the little book above mentioned, he says: "Such an
unspeakable power accompanied the words to my soul, that, being unable
to control myself, I rose from my seat and went into the garden, where I
had spent many a melancholy hour; but, oh, how changed now! Instead of
terror and despair I felt my heart overflowing with joy, and my eyes
with grateful tears. My soul was in such an ecstasy that my poor
emaciated body was as strong and active as I ever remember it, and not
at that time only, for the strength and activity remained. I had now no
fear of death, but rather longed to die, knowing that the blessed Jesus
was _my_ Saviour; that God was reconciled to _me_ through Him; that
nothing but the thread of life kept me from His glorious presence. Now
the whole creation wore a different aspect. The stars which shone
exceeding bright appeared more glorious than before. Such was my happy
frame that I imagined myself in the company of the holy angels, who, I
believed, were made more happy on my account, and doubtless those
ministering spirits did feel new degrees of joy on seeing so vile a
sinner, so wretched a prodigal, come home to the arms of his heavenly
Father.[11] O Thou eternal God!" he exclaims, "Thou transporting delight
of my soul! preserve and support, me through life, that I may at last
enjoy the heaven of love which I then felt overpowering my spirit."
[10] 2 Cor. 5:17.
[11] There was surely a Scriptural reason for this
feeling. See Luke 15:7, 10, and Heb. 1:15.
Bradburn at once joined the Methodist Society at Chester. His master's
son, a boy of twelve, and many other young people, began to attend the
"class-meetings" about the same time. Among his work-fellows, also,
there were some who rejoiced in the light which now filled young
Bradburn's soul, and their conversation and hymn-singing while at work,
and their union in prayer before quitting the workroom at the close of
the day, made the new time a perpetual Sabbath, and the shoemaker's room
"a perfect paradise." In March, 1770, after the usual period of
probation, he was admitted to full membership, and received what the
Methodists call "his first ticket." He was not long in discovering, as
every one else has done in similar circumstances, that the change,
though genuine, was not complete. An outburst of passion, and a growing
desire after disputation on theological matters, in which he found
himself contending for mastery rather than truth, gave him to see that a
sound and secure religious character is a matter of growth and culture
and can only be maintained by watchfulness and prayer, and the careful
formation of habits of piety. And as Thomas à Kempis finely says,
"Custom is overcome by custom," so Bradburn found it, and in order to
put a bar between his spirit and possible temptations, changed his way
of _living_, his _companions_, and his _books_. One day, when John
Wesley was administering the Lord's Supper in the little chapel at
Chester, Bradburn was seized with the idea that he must become a
preacher. For a long time he strove hard to drive it from his mind. But
the more he did so the more it seemed to possess him. His sense of
unfitness for so great an office as that of the preacher, his exalted
notions of the sacredness and responsibility attaching to the office,
and his own deepening conviction, which nothing could resist, that it
was his duty before God to devote himself to the work, made him for a
time positively wretched. He tried the effect of change of residence
upon his feelings in the matter. He was now twenty years of age, and out
of his time. But on visiting his relations at Wrexham, he found that
they and their friends of the Wesleyan Society, to whom he was
introduced, had a common feeling that such a young man ought surely to
exercise his gifts as a speaker. In answer to their entreaties he spoke
several times in their meetings, and thus made his first start in public
speaking. Still the question of preaching was left unsettled, and
disturbed his mind night and day. It became a positive burden to
him--"the burden of the Lord," indeed, and no power of his own could
remove it. Six months after this brief visit to Wrexham, he obtained a
situation, and went to reside in Liverpool, where he fell in with people
much to his mind, who were exceedingly kind to him. They, however, no
sooner came to know him than their opinion was strongly expressed to the
same purport as that of his friends in Chester and Wrexham. In four
months he left Liverpool and returned home, the great life-question
still upon his mind. He dare not settle it, in one way or the other; all
he could do was to resolve to live as near to God as possible, commit
his way unto Him, and submissively wait for the direction of Divine
providence. In this condition of mind he passed the rest of the year
1772. At the beginning of the following year he found employment at
Wrexham, and there took up his abode in the congenial society of his
relations and religious friends. Soon after this the event occurred
which decided the severe and agonizing mental struggle to which he had
been subjected for the last twelve months, and determined the whole
course of his life, and the employment of his rare gifts as a preacher
of the Gospel. On Sunday, February 7th, 1773, the preacher for the day
failed to appear. Young Bradburn was invited by the leaders of the
congregation to take the service. Trembling from head to foot, almost
blind with fear and excitement, and casting himself on divine aid, he
mounts the pulpit stairs. The opening part of the service gives him
confidence, and when the time for preaching comes, he is able to speak
with much freedom and fervor to an appreciative and thankful audience.
In the evening he is once more asked to occupy the pulpit, and this time
he delivers a discourse which is not too long for the hearers, though it
lasts for more than two hours. The next week he preaches to the same
people three times; and now the question is settled, and settled, as he
and his friends are fain to believe, in a providential way: Samuel
Bradburn is _called to be a preacher_, and a preacher of no ordinary
power. He has not waited all these long months for nothing. He has not
run before he was sent. He has not tarried in the desert like Moses,
like Elijah, like Saul of Tarsus, to learn the truth and will of God,
with no beneficial results. He has been called of the Holy Spirit to the
work, and to the work of preaching he must now give himself and his very
best powers, or a woe will rest upon him. He and his Methodist friends
would not trouble themselves for one moment about the question of his
being a shoemaker, or _remaining_ a shoemaker, if he is to become a
preacher. One apostolic precedent was as good as twelve to them in a
matter of this kind, and Paul did not cease to be a tent-maker when the
Holy Ghost said to the church at Antioch, "Separate me Barnabas and Saul
to the work whereunto I have called them."[12]
[12] Acts 13:2.
Soon after the events just referred to, Bradburn resolved to go and see
the Rev. John Fletcher, Vicar of Madeley in Shropshire, the friend of
Lady Huntingdon, and Benson, and John Wesley. Fletcher had a reputation
for piety and usefulness which few men in his day could equal and none
surpass. He was a great favorite with the followers of John Wesley, not
alone because of his friendship with their leader, but on account of his
saintly life, his evangelistic zeal, and his rare catholicity of spirit.
None worked more faithfully and diligently than he at the College of
Trevecca in Wales, of which he was for several years the president. Yet
he received no emolument for his labors. "Fletcher was no pluralist, for
he did his work at Trevecca without fee or reward, from the sole motive
of being useful."[13] It is said of his apostolic work at Madeley, that
"the parish, containing a degraded, ignorant, and vicious population
employed in mines and iron works, became, under his diligent Christian
culture, a thoroughly different place. His public discourses, his
pastoral conversations, his catechising of the young, his reproofs to
the wicked, his encouragements to the penitent, his accessibility at all
hours, his readiness to go out in the coldest night and the deepest snow
to see the sick or the sorrowing, his establishment of schools, and his
personal efforts in promoting their prosperity--in short, his almost
unrivalled efforts in all kinds of ministerial activity, have thrown
around Madeley beautiful associations not to be matched by the hills and
hanging woods which adorn that hive of industry."[14] Bradburn was
lovingly received at the Madeley vicarage, stayed for several days with
the family, and preached in one of the rooms of the house to a
congregation of villagers. If Fletcher could not ask his shoemaker
friend to officiate in the church, seeing that he had taken no holy
orders, the good vicar had no difficulty or scruple in regard to his
guest's preaching the Gospel in the house. On leaving, young Bradburn
carried away, as a precious treasure of the heart, a deep sense of
Fletcher's holy character, and never forgot the good man's
characteristic remark, "If you should live to preach the gospel forty
years, and be the instrument of saving only one soul, it will be worth
all your labor." Returning home, he went on with his work as a
shoemaker, preaching on Sundays in the chapels at Flint, Mold, Wrexham,
etc., until the beginning of the following year, when he went to reside
with friends at Liverpool. Here his preaching was so much enjoyed by the
congregations of the "circuit" that he was pressed to stay and minister
to them till July, when it was hoped that some arrangement might be made
by the Conference in London by which he would be permanently and
officially appointed to labor among them. Although he had become
somewhat popular by this time, and was warmly welcomed wherever he went
on account of his earnestness and rough eloquence, he was sometimes
regarded with distrust because of his youthful and unclerical appearance
and manner. One good man, who generally entertained the preacher on his
visits, was so annoyed at the sight of "a mere lad" "travelling the
circuit, that he sent young Bradburn to take his meals and sleep in the
garret with the apprentices." After the morning sermon, however, which
surprised and delighted all who heard it, "he was judged worthy to sit
in the preacher's chair" at the table of his host, and at night was
allowed to sleep in the "prophet's chamber." In September of that year
he was not a little surprised to find himself appointed by the
Conference as a regular "travelling preacher on the Liverpool circuit."
It was about this time he had his first interview with John Wesley. The
veteran evangelist's simple and kindly manner affected the young
preacher deeply, and his advice was wonderfully like him: "Beware," said
Wesley, holding young Bradburn by the hand, "beware of the fear of man;
and be sure you speak flat and plain in preaching."
[13] See Benson's "Life of Fletcher."
[14] "Religion in England under Queen Anne and the
Georges." By John Stoughton, D.D., vol. ii. pp. 158, 159.
Hodder & Stoughton.
In these early days of Methodism, when the denomination was undergoing
the process of rapid growth, it was impossible to wait for men, to meet
the urgent need of the churches, who had gone through a regular process
of ministerial education and training. Such as had the requisite
character and the gift of speech were "called out" and placed over
churches in a manner that would not have been tolerated in later times,
when colleges had come to be established. Yet the work done by men of
Bradburn's stamp was genuinely apostolic, and served, under the divine
blessing, to lay broad and deep the foundations of that Wesleyan
denomination which, in the present day, yields to none of the so-called
"sects" in the culture and moral power of its ministry. It is not to be
supposed that the fluent young shoemaker was insensible to his need of
education. The first year's work in Lancashire taxed his mental
resources severely, and set him wondering many times whether he should
be able to go on preparing new sermons in order to preach repeatedly to
the same congregation. It was consequently an immense relief to him when
the year came to an end, and he found that the Conference at Leeds had
set him down for an entirely new field of labor, at Pembroke, in South
Wales.[15]
[15] Bradburn's mother died during his first year's
ministry. In connection with this event he mentions a
circumstance which enabled him to be resigned to the
bereavement, and which many readers will regard with unusual
interest. "God spared her life, nearly _twelve years_, in
answer to a prayer which I offered up when she seemed to be
dying, in which I begged that she might live twelve years
exactly. I was then very young, and could not bear the thought
of losing her, but imagined I should be able to part with her
after those years."
Bradburn felt his poverty in more ways than one. Wesleyan ministers were
then but poorly paid, and men of his generous character, who found it
easier to give to the needy than to economize and save, were often in
great straits for funds. On his way down to Pembroke he was reduced to
his last shilling, and, but for this meeting with Wesley at Brecon,
might have found it an awkward matter to reach his destination. "Apply
to me when you want help," said Wesley to his friend, and very soon
proved his sincerity by prompt assistance when the young pastor made
known his straitened circumstances. The following story is too good to
be omitted. In reply to Bradburn's appeal Wesley sent the following
short letter, inclosing several five-pound notes:
"DEAR SAMMY: Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou
dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.--Yours
affectionately, JOHN WESLEY."
To which Bradburn replied:
"REV. AND DEAR SIR: I have often been struck with the beauty of
the passage of Scripture quoted in your letter, but I must
confess that I never saw such useful expository notes upon it
before.--I am, Rev. and dear Sir, your obedient and grateful
servant, S. BRADBURN."
The year spent in South Wales was happy and prosperous, and the churches
at Pembroke, Haverfordwest, and Carmarthen were greatly increased and
well organized under the care of Bradburn and his colleague. By the
Conference in 1776 he was sent to Limerick, and from thence, in four
months, such was the severity of the strain upon his health, he was
removed to Dublin. Here he had met, on first landing in Ireland, with
the young lady who was afterward to become his wife. It was a case of
"mutual admiration" and "love at first sight." Bradburn was a passionate
lover, and could ill brook the delay of two years which had to pass away
before he took the beautiful Miss Nangle to his own home. In one of his
anxious moods, when sick of love and hope deferred, he rose from his
sleepless bed to pray for divine guidance and favor in regard to the
serious business of courtship. It was his custom to pray aloud, and
supposing his colleague, who occupied the same bed, to be fast asleep,
he did not balk his prayer in this instance, finishing a fervent appeal
for divine direction with the simple words, "But, Lord, let it be
Betsey." His bedfellow humorously responded, "Amen," and broke out into
a hearty laugh at poor Bradburn's expense. John Wesley, who favored the
match, and generously interceded in his friend's behalf, both with a
much-dreaded stepmother and the fair one herself, conducted the marriage
ceremony in the house of a friend. He had invited the bride and
bridegroom-elect, and Mrs. Karr the stepmother, "to breakfast with him
at Mrs. King's,[16] the morning after his arrival, being his birthday;
as soon as she (Mrs. Karr) entered he began the ceremony and married us
in the parlor. Pride would not let her affront Mr. Wesley, and she was
forced to appear satisfied." "Wesley," says Bradburn's biographer,[17]
"more than once took up cudgels for his preachers when in difficulties
of this kind, but not in such a summary manner."
[16] Bradburn's lodgings.
[17] "Life of Samuel Bradburn." By T. W. Blanshard. P.
68. Elliot Stock, 1870. A most interesting biography of the
famous Wesleyan preacher.
Relegated to the Cork and Bandon circuit, he had a very trying time of
it for about a year. One of his memoranda made at this time gives us a
glimpse of his acquirements from his own common-sense point of view, for
Bradburn was a thoroughly sensible and humble man, who never yielded to
ignorant flattery of his pulpit eloquence, nor gave way, as some
self-made men and popular preachers have done, to vanity and conceit.
Self-examination was with him a genuine business, conducted in a
reverent spirit and an honest and altogether healthy fashion. By this
means he came to know himself and act accordingly. Not many men in his
position would have written so sensibly as this: "_Cork, March 31st_
(1779).--I have read and written much this month, but sadly feel the
want of a friend to direct my studies. All with whom I have any
intimacy, know nothing of my meaning when I speak of my ignorance. They
praise my sermons, and consider me a prodigy of learning; and yet what
do I know? a little Latin, a little philosophy, history, divinity, and a
little of many things, all of which serves to convince me of my own
ignorance!" At this time, and for many years after, he preached forty
sermons a month, and sometimes fifty. Even if they were _all_ old
sermons, which would not often be the case, how could a man so employed
find time or energy for close and continuous study? The next four years
are spent at Keighley, Bradford, and Leeds in Yorkshire. When at
Keighley he "travelled" for a time with Wesley, and had an opportunity
of observing the way in which that sainted man wholly devoted his gifts,
his time, and his money to the service of God and his fellow-men.
Wesley's stipend from the Society in London was £30 a year, but the sale
of books, the generosity of the friends at Bristol, and occasional
preaching fees and sundry legacies, brought his yearly income up to
£1000 or £1200; yet he rarely spent more for himself than his meagre
stipend, and regularly gave away _all the rest_. "Thus literally having
nothing, he possessed all things; and though poor, he made many
rich."[18] At Leeds, Bradburn was offered the pastorate of an
Independent Church with a greatly increased salary, but the loyal
Methodist refused the tempting offer. His next appointment was to
Bristol, where he had the misfortune to lose his darling Betsey, who
died of decline in her twenty-ninth year. His colleague had suffered a
similar bereavement, and the stern yet tender-hearted Wesley, then in
his eighty-third year, actually set off from London "in the driven snow"
to go down to Bristol and comfort the two sorrowing preachers. Bradburn
did not long remain a widower. At Gloucester he met Sophia Cooke, "the
pious and godly" Methodist to whom Robert Raikes of Sunday-school fame
had spoken about the poor children in the streets, and asked her, "What
can we do for them?" Miss Cooke replied, "Let us teach them, and take
them to church!" The hint was acted upon, and Raikes and Miss Cooke
"conducted the first company of Sunday scholars to the church, exposed
to the comments and laughter of the populace, as they passed along with
their ragged procession." A better wife for the earnest Methodist
preacher could not have been found than the woman who thus showed her
good sense, her piety, and her courage, in starting the Sunday-school
movement. In 1786 Wesley showed his appreciation of Bradburn's excellent
qualities by getting him appointed to the London Circuit in order to
have his assistance in superintending the affairs of the Connection.
Here he met with Charles Wesley, and, at the time of his death in 1788,
Bradburn stood by the dying man's bed offering up earnest prayer for
him, and calling to his mind the truths of that Gospel which he had done
so much to spread throughout the world by his unrivalled hymns. John
Wesley himself died three years afterward, 2d March, 1791, and Bradburn,
then at Manchester, published a pamphlet entitled, "A Sketch of Mr.
Wesley's Character," in which he gave a most interesting epitome of the
chief points in the history and labors of his father in the Gospel.
Bradburn, now looked upon as one of the foremost men in the Connection,
united with eight others in issuing a circular giving an outline of
policy for the guidance of the Conference at its next session. The
utmost care and wisdom were needed in order to keep the various elements
of Methodism together; and few men in those days were more conspicuous
and useful than Bradburn in guiding the counsels of the assembled
ministers. He was elected to preach before the Conference at its next
session in Manchester, and so moved his audience by his impassioned
appeal for unity and loyalty to the good cause that had now lost its
earthly leader, that all in the chapel rose to their feet in response to
his stimulating words. In 1796, when stationed at Bath, he was made
secretary of the Conference, and held the office three years in
succession. In 1799 his brethren showed their esteem for him by choosing
him as _President_, and thus giving him the highest honor which they had
it in their power to bestow.
[18] Bradburn's Life, see above, pp. 85, 86.
Among Methodists Bradburn is regarded as one of the most eloquent and
powerful preachers the denomination has produced. He had all the natural
gifts of a great orator, and these, combined with fervent piety and a
single and lofty purpose in preaching, invested his discourses with a
charm and an influence rarely wielded by public speakers. "Possessed of
a commanding figure, dignified carriage, graceful action, mellow voice,
ready utterance, correct ear, exuberant imagination, an astonishing
memory, and an extensive acquaintance with his mother tongue, he could
move an assembly as the summer breeze stirs the standing corn."[19] This
elocutionary power was not gained without much care and diligent labor.
He was a hard reader, and a most painstaking sermonizer, for though he
never used the manuscript in the pulpit but preached extempore, after
the fashion of the times, he nevertheless prepared his discourses with
great skill and labor. The following sentences from his biography will
sufficiently illustrate this point.[20] "His own bold, easy, and correct
English was such as no man acquires without perseverance in a right use
of means. His diligence may be inferred from one of his reported sayings
on leaving Manchester--that he had twelve hundred outlines of sermons
untouched (not used in preaching in the circuit) at the end of three
years' ministrations. The result of such endowments, improved, with such
assiduity, amid all the hindrances and discouragements of a laborious
and harassing vocation, was, that to be comprehensive and lucid in
arrangement; beautifully clear in statement or exposition; weighty,
nervous, and acute in argumentation; copious, various, and interesting
in illustration; overwhelming in pathos; to wield at will the ludicrous
or the tender, the animating, the sublime, or the terrible--seems to
have been habitually in his power." The Rev. Richard Watson, author of
the "Institutes," "walked twenty miles to hear the far-famed Mr.
Bradburn preach; and he never lost the impression which that
distinguished orator produced." Watson thus describes his impressions:
"I am not a very excitable subject, but Mr. Bradburn's preaching
affected my whole frame. I felt a thrill to the very extremity of my
fingers, and my hair actually seemed to stand on end." The biographer of
the Rev. Jabez Bunting says of Bradburn: "His career was brilliant and
useful; and perhaps more men longed, but durst not try, to preach like
him than like any other preacher of his time.... Bradburn was without
exception the most consummate orator we ever heard." And the author of
Bradburn's life concludes the citation of a number of testimonies with
the following strongly expressed opinion of his merits as a pulpit
orator: "Methodism has produced a host of preachers renowned for pulpit
eloquence. The names of Benson, Lessey, Watson, Newton, Beaumont, and
others, stand out in bold relief on the page of her history, but the
highest niche in her temple of fame belongs, most unquestionably, to
SAMUEL BRADBURN."
[19] Bradburn's Life, pp. 177, 178.
[20] Ibid., pp. 183, 184.
Like most men of genius he had a strong sense of humor, enjoyed a joke
most heartily, was ready and pithy in repartee, and seldom at a loss for
spirit and tact in extricating himself from difficulties. Many a good
story might be told, did space allow, in illustration of this feature of
his character. One or two must suffice. Perhaps the smartest thing he
ever did in outwitting the early opponents of Methodism was done in a
certain small town, in one of his own circuits, where, in the early days
of the movement, the preacher and his friends had often "been driven off
the field by a mob, headed by the clergyman." Bradburn understood the
state of affairs thoroughly, and resolved to go down to the parish and
preach in the open air. Notice of his coming was duly forwarded, and
the clergyman ordered constables and others to be in attendance at the
time and place appointed for the service. Meanwhile Bradburn having
"provided himself with a new suit of clothes, borrowed a new wig of a
Methodist barber," and "went to the place, put his horse up at the inn,
attended the morning service at church, placed himself in a conspicuous
situation so as to attract the notice of the clergyman, and, when the
service was closed, he went up to him on his way out, accosted him as a
brother, and thanked him for his sermon. The clergyman, judging from his
appearance and address that he was a minister of some note, gave him an
invitation to his house. Bradburn respectfully declined, on the ground
that he had ordered dinner, and expressed a hope that the clergyman
would dine with him at the inn. He did so, and Bradburn having
entertained him until dinner was over with his extraordinary powers of
conversation, managed to refer to the open-air service which was to be
held, and the clergyman stated his intention to arrest the preacher and
disperse the congregation, and asked Bradburn to accompany him, which he
did. On arriving at the appointed place they found a large company
assembled; and as no preacher had made his appearance, the clergyman
concluded that fear had kept him away, and was about to order the people
to their homes when Bradburn remarked that it would "be highly improper
to neglect so favorable an opportunity of doing good, and urged him to
preach to them. He excused himself by saying that he had no sermon in
his pocket, and asked Bradburn to address them, which, of course, he
readily consented to do, and commenced the service by singing part of
the hymn beginning--
'Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,'
and, after praying, delivered an impressive discourse from Acts 5:38,
39, 'And now I say unto you, Refrain from these men, and let them alone;
for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought: but
if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even to
fight against God.' This not only deeply affected the people, but so
delighted the clergyman, that although he knew, as the service
proceeded, that he had been duped, he heartily thanked Bradburn for the
deception he had practised on him, and ever afterward, to the day of his
death, showed a friendly disposition toward Methodism."[21]
[21] Bradburn's Life, pp. 233-235.
The same readiness of resource and good humor were shown in the
management of the affairs of the society in his capacity as a pastor. On
one occasion, when he resided in Manchester, two ladies, district
visitors, went to the house of an old woman, a member of the society,
who was a laundress, and finding her hard at work accosted her with the
remark: "Betty, you are busy." "Yes, mum," said Betty, "as busy as the
devil in a whirlwind!" Shocked by such an indecorous speech, the
visitors threatened to report it to Mr. Bradburn. Afraid of what she had
done, and the consequence, if it should come to the preacher's ears,
Betty, as soon as the ladies had gone away, set off by the quickest
route to see Mr. Bradburn and relate the whole affair, and thus
anticipate the report from the ladies themselves. She found Bradburn
"engaged in his vocation as cobbler for his family." "He listened to
Betty's simple story, and engaged to put the matter right, if she would
try to be more guarded in the future. She had scarcely got clear away
when the two ladies arrived with their melancholy story of Betty's
irreverence. They were asked into the room, and seeing him at his
somewhat unclerical employment, one of them observed quite unthinkingly,
'Mr. Bradburn, you are busy!' 'Yes,' returned Bradburn, with great
gravity, 'as busy as the devil in a whirlwind!' This remark from Betty
was sufficiently startling, but from Bradburn it was horrifying. Seeing
their consternation, he explained how busy the devil was in Job's days,
when he raised the whirlwind which 'smote the four corners of the
house,' where the patriarch's children were feasting, and slew them. It
is, perhaps, needless to add that the two ladies left without mentioning
the object of their visit."[22]
[22] Bradburn's Life, pp. 228, 229.
Hating the false pride which leads a man to forget his humble origin,
and the canting way in which some men talk of their sacrifices in
entering the ministry, he once severely rebuked two young men who made a
parade in company of having "given up _all_ for the ministry." "Yes,
dear brethren," said he, "some of you have had to sacrifice your all for
the itinerancy; but we old men have had our share of these trials. As
for myself, I made a double sacrifice, for I gave up for the ministry
two of the best _awls_ in the kingdom--a great sacrifice, truly, to
become an ambassador of God in the church, and a gentleman in society!"
His ready wit was sometimes displayed like that of Hugh Latimer, Dean
Swift, and Sydney Smith, in the selections of texts for sermons on
special occasions. Preaching at the opening of a chapel entirely built
with borrowed money, he took as a text the words of the young man to
Elisha the prophet:[23] "Alas, master, for it was borrowed." On a snowy
winter's day, when the congregation was very small, he selected the
words which describe the character of the virtuous woman,[24] "She is
not afraid of the snow."
[23] 2 Kings 6:5.
[24] Proverbs 31:21.
That Samuel Bradburn was not perfect none will need to be told, yet it
will surprise and pain every one to read that so great and good a man,
honored and beloved of his brethren for many years, and useful beyond
computation as a preacher, should have been "overtaken in a fault," for
which the Conference, in the exercise of a rigorous discipline, saw fit
to suspend him for a year. After the lapse of this time he came back
again to his old position, penitent and humble, like David or Peter, and
like them fully restored to the Divine favor. This singular and
melancholy event appears to have been due as much to _mental_ as _moral_
derangement, and in a short while, such was the sincerity of his sorrow
and the blameless character of his after-life, his brethren were
thankful to forget it, and to place him once more in positions of high
trust and honor in the Connection. The last ten years of his life were
spent in the important circuits of Bolton, Bath, Wakefield, Bristol,
Liverpool, and East London. He died in London, July 26th, 1816, in the
sixty-sixth year of his age. At the time of his decease the Conference
was sitting in London. As a token of esteem and affection all its
members joined in the funeral service at the New Chapel, City Road. He
was buried in Old Methodist graveyard, City Road, by the side of his
friend John Wesley, in the last resting-place of many of the fathers and
founders of the Wesleyan Connection.