BISHOP ASBURY—CHARACTER AND HABITS.
As I traveled with Bishop Asbury longer than any other man, and knew him
more intimately than any who survive, it will be expected that I notice
his character and habits more fully than in the preceding chapters.
Hundreds of questions have been asked me respecting his appearance, size,
dress, personal character, etc.
Bishop Asbury was five feet nine inches high, weighed one hundred and
fifty-one pounds, erect in person, and of a very commanding appearance.
His features were rugged, but his countenance was intelligent, though
time and care had furrowed it deep with wrinkles. His nose was prominent,
his mouth large, as if made on purpose to talk, and his eyes of a blueish
cast, and so keen that it seemed as if he could look right through a
person. He had a fine forehead, indicative of no ordinary brain, and
beautiful white locks, which hung about his brow and shoulders, and
added to his venerable appearance. There was as much native dignity
about him as any man I ever knew. He seemed born to sway others. There
was an austerity about his looks that was forbidding to those who were
unacquainted with him.
In dress he was a pattern of neatness and plainness. He could have passed
for a quaker had it not been for the color of his garments, which were
black when I traveled with him. He formerly wore gray clothes. He wore
a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, a frock coat, which was generally
buttoned up to the neck, with straight collar. He wore breeches or small
clothes, with leggings. Sometimes he wore shoe-buckles. Indeed all the
preachers, and I among the number, wore breeches and leggings till 1810,
and then several left them off, which Bishop Asbury heartily disapproved.
Bishop Asbury had great administrative ability. He was wise and
far-seeing, and kept his work planned and mapped out beforehand. The
mass of the appointments were arranged before conference, so that but
few changes needed to be made. He often talked to me freely about the
appointments of the preachers, and sometimes consulted me. I used
to transcribe them for him before they were read out. The preachers
tormented me to know where they were going; but I was silent, for secret
things belonged to the bishop, revealed things to the preachers.
He had an almost intuitive knowledge of men. He would sit in conference
and look from under his dark and heavy eyebrows, reading the countenances
and studying the character and constitution of the preachers. He also
kept a record of his observations upon men for his own private use. The
bishop not only read men for the sake of the Church, but for their own
sakes. He would say to me, “Henry, Brother A or B has been too long in
the rice plantation, or on the Peninsula; he looks pale, health begins
to decline; he must go up to the high lands.” The preacher would be
removed and know not the cause, and the next year come to conference with
health improved and constitution invigorated, and not know to whom he was
indebted for the change; for the bishop assigned few reasons, and made
but few explanations for his conduct.
It has been supposed that he was an inferior preacher, though superior as
a governor. But this is a mistake. I have heard him over fifteen hundred
times. His sermons were scripturally rich. He was a well-instructed
scribe, “bringing out of his treasury things new and old.” He was a good
expounder of the word of God, giving the meaning of the writer, the mind
of the Spirit. He was wise in his selection of texts. There was a rich
variety in his sermons. No tedious sameness; no repeating old stale
truths. He could be a son of thunder or consolation. There was variety
both in matter and manner. He was great at camp-meetings, on funeral
occasions, and at ordinations. I have heard him preach fifty ordination
sermons, and they were among the most impressive I have ever heard.
In preaching he depended, like the fathers, much on the divine
influence. He knew it was “not by might or power, but by the Spirit of
the Lord.” He once took hold of the arm of Rev. Samuel Thomas, when he
rose in the pulpit to preach, and whispered to him, “Feel for the power,
feel for the power, brother.” He often felt for the power himself, and
when he obtained it he was a kind of moral Samson. When he did not he was
like Samson shorn of his strength.
Speaking of his preaching in his journal, he characterized it according
to the influence that accompanied the word. He would say “he was much
assisted;” at another time, “had some life;” again, “found himself much
shut up,” “had some liberty in speaking,” “I was assisted in preaching,”
“had enlargement of heart,” “I had the presence of God in speaking,” “had
an open time,” “a flat time,” “but little liberty,” “I had not freedom,”
“had a feeling time,” “I had great assistance,” “I had some light in
preaching,” “had but little life in speaking,” “had a melting time.”
I am a witness to the struggles, the sighs, the tears, the prayers of
Bishop Asbury for divine influence, that he might wield with success the
sword of the Spirit.
The bishop was peculiar in adapting his subjects to times and
circumstances. When with him in Kentucky in 1810 there was a great
drouth, and Father Asbury preached from, “If the Lord shut up the
heavens that it rain not,” etc. Again, when showers were descending, he
preached from, “As the rain cometh down from heaven,” etc. To a company
of women, he preached on the “duties of women professing godliness,” or
“Mary has chosen that good part.” To soldiers, “And the soldiers came and
inquired, And what shall we do?” etc. Preaching in a court-house, where
there were lawyers and judges, and where one man had just been sentenced
to death, he dwelt upon the solemnities of the final judgment—the court
from which there was no appeal—from “knowing therefore the terror of the
Lord, we persuade men,” etc. At a certain place where he was expected
they announced him in the newspapers to preach on a special subject.
He knew nothing of it before his arrival, and that was just before the
service commenced. To their astonishment he read this text, “I speak not
by commandment, but by reason _of the forwardness of others_, and to
prove the sincerity of your love.” I was often startled, when I heard him
read his text and announce his theme, at his power of adaptation.
The bishop’s lectures in families were full of instruction. He would
dwell upon the domestic relations, that of husband and wife, parents and
children, and the duties they owed to each other; on their deportment to
each other and to their neighbors, and duty of exemplifying the Christian
character throughout; on family prayer, order, and cleanliness; which he
always recommended as “next to godliness.” Indeed the bishop was “instant
in season and out of season.” Like his Master, he “went about doing
good,” and lost no opportunity to benefit his race. I am sure he will get
one blessing if no other: “Blessed are they that sow beside all waters.”
In his public exercises—in preaching, in administering the ordinances,
in ordaining—there was a peculiar solemnity. Those who heard him never
forgot it. But sometimes in private circles he would unbend, and relate
amusing incidents and laugh most heartily. He said “if he was as grave
as Bishop M’Kendree he should live but a short time.” He would often
indulge in a vein of innocent pleasantry. When engaged in business or
study, however, he did not like to be interrupted, and he would sometimes
appear a little short; and we cannot wonder when we remember the many
interruptions to which he was subject.
He was fond of singing. He had a full base or organ-like voice, and would
often set the tune in public worship, for choristers and choirs were
scarce in those days; but if the people did not sing scientifically they
sang in the spirit. The bishop sang as he walked the floor, and this he
often did when in deep meditation. He was a great admirer of Charles
Wesley’s hymns, and not only loved to sing them, but esteemed them highly
as a body of divinity.
He diligently read the Bible. He was in the practice of reading on
the Sabbath the message to the seven Churches of Asia. He said it was
revealed and written on the Lord’s day, and it gave excellent counsel to
the Churches. Stimulated by his example, I have been in the practice of
doing the same thing for over fifty years. He was one of the best readers
of the Scriptures I ever heard. There was solemnity and dignity in his
manner, and correctness in his emphasis and accents.
He was often very laconic in his replies. In 1808, while traveling with
him, in company with John Sale, in Ohio, we were just entering the
prairies when we met a gentleman who abruptly inquired of the bishop,
“Where are you from?” Mr. Asbury replied, “From Boston, New York,
Philadelphia, Baltimore, or almost any place you please.” This was
literally true. The man looked astonished and rode on, while Brother Sale
and I smiled, but neither spoke, and the bishop was silent, and onward we
pursued our journey.
He was a great redeemer of time. He knew its value, its brevity, its
relation to eternity, therefore he kept that rule in the Discipline,
“Be diligent; never be triflingly employed.” He was a great scholar
considering he was a self-taught man. He read Hebrew, and his Hebrew
Bible was his constant companion. The bishop read a great many books
while I was with him. The moment we were in the house, after having laid
aside his saddle-bags and greeted the family, then he began to read and
write.
Asbury studied medicine, which was a necessity both for his own benefit
and that of others. He traveled in unsettled parts of the country, where
the people were often sick, and medical aid at a great distance. He was
often very successful in removing pain and healing diseases; sometimes
he would doctor the landlords where we were entertained, for which he
received many thanks.
He was remarkable for his temperate habits. One day a lady set a brandy
bottle on the table, and he gave her a gentle reproof. Said she, “Bishop,
it is good in its place.” He removed it from the table and placed it in
an old-fashioned cupboard, and closing the door, said, “Now it is in its
place; let it remain there.” Although a man of great courage, there were,
he said, “two classes of men that he was afraid of: crazy men and drunken
ones.”
As we traveled on horseback we had to be careful not to be overburdened.
The bishop used to say that the equipment of a Methodist minister
consisted of a horse, saddle and bridle, one suit of clothes, a watch,
a pocket Bible, and a hymn book. Anything else would be an incumbrance.
I assure the reader our saddle-bags were stuffed full of clothing,
medicine, books, journal, etc.; it was astonishing how much we could
crowd into them. He used to say, “Henry, we must study what we can do
without.” My old saddle-bags, on which I rode so many thousand miles
with the bishop, I have carefully preserved. I think as much of them as
the returned soldier does of his arms, which he has no more use for, but
which remind him of former battles and victories. It used to be said that
“Methodist ministers kept house in their saddle-bags.”
Mr. Asbury’s powers of endurance were great. If they had not been he
would have fallen long before he did. Winter’s cold and summer’s heat he
could endure. He was not afraid to set out in a storm, but would say,
“Let us journey on, we are neither sugar nor salt; there is no danger of
our melting.” And yet I have no doubt but these exposures did his feeble
constitution a vast injury.
He married a great many. Multitudes were baptized by him. In 1811, when
traveling with him near Xenia, Ohio, we were kindly entertained by a
family named Simpson, and Bishop Asbury baptized a little infant and
called him Matthew. I little thought that infant, when grown to manhood,
would become a bishop. His fame is now world-wide, and his praise in all
our Churches. He dedicated many churches. Some were completed, some half
done, and some had not the roof on. Some of them were called after his
name. He did not approve of this, and called it folly; neither did Mr.
Wesley like to have any building named after him. He drew up many plans
for houses of worship, and in some instances secured sites for them. He
was ever intent on good, and very solicitous that we should “stretch
ourselves beyond ourselves.”
The bishop was very fond of children, and they of him. They would run to
meet him and then receive his blessing; they gathered around his knees
and listened to his conversation. He would sometimes place them on his
knee, and teach them the following lesson:
“Learn to read, and learn to pray;
Learn to work, and learn to obey.”
Then he would show the benefit of learning these lessons. “Learn to read,
to make you wise; learn to pray, to make you good; learn to work, to get
your living; learn to obey, that you may be obeyed.” One day we were
approaching a house, and a little boy saw us coming. He ran in and said,
“Mother, I want my face washed and a clean apron on, for Bishop Asbury
is coming, and I am sure he will hug me up.” The bishop loved to hug the
children to his heart, which always beat with such pure affection toward
them. In this respect he strikingly resembled his Master, and was a fine
model for ministers to follow.
His conversational powers were great. He was full of interesting
anecdotes, and could entertain people for hours. He could make himself
at home in a splendid mansion or in the humblest cottage. His powers of
observation were great; nothing escaped the notice of his piercing eye.
He would refer to incidents that occurred when he passed through certain
places such a year, and the changes that had taken place during his
absence.
At times he appeared unsociable, for his mind was engrossed with his
work. When traveling from Wilmington, North Carolina, in 1809, we came
near a pond. As we rode along nothing had been said for some time by
either of us. The frogs were croaking, but as they heard the sound of our
horses’ feet they were still. I said, “Mr. Asbury, you see the very frogs
respect us, for they manifest it by their silence.” Mr. Asbury laughed,
and said, “O Henry, you are full of pleasantry.” And the reverie being
broken, he was very sociable as we rode along, and his conversation was
full of interest. My object was to break the spell, and I succeeded.
He was very fond of horses, which he generally petted, and had names
for them. One he sold to Bishop Whatcoat he called “Brunswick.” Another
was “Jane;” she was as fleet as a deer. Another was “Fox;” he was as
cunning as his namesake, and a most beautiful animal. He took the bishop
over the ground with great ease and rapidity; but he had one prominent
failing, he would get frightened occasionally and start and run, and as
the bishop did not consider him safe he disposed of him. The horses
frequently broke down by such extensive traveling, and the bishop parted
with them with a sigh, and sometimes with a tear. When we parted with one
in Wyoming the bishop said, “He whickered after us; it went right through
my heart.” The bishop was a good rider, and he looked well on horseback.
When we remember how many thousands of miles he traveled on horseback
annually we cannot wonder at this, if there is any truth in that old
adage, “practice makes perfect.” He always preferred riding on horseback,
but there were times when he was so infirm he was obliged to ride in a
buggy.
Bishop Asbury had his favorite stopping places where he felt the most
at home: among others, at Governor Bassett’s, of Dover, Delaware; Mrs.
Dickins’s, Baltimore; Harry Gough’s, Perry Hall; Mrs. Mills’s, Widow
Grice’s, and George Suckley’s, New York City; Bishop Sherwood’s, Governor
Van Cortland’s, Freeborn Garrettson’s, Rhinebeck; Father Bemis’s, at
Waltham; Father and Mother Boehm’s; John Renshall’s and Thomas Cooper’s,
Pittsburgh; further west, Dr. Tiffin’s, Governor Worthington’s, Philip
Gatch’s, Peter Pelham’s, White Brown’s; in the South, General Rumph’s,
James Rembert’s, and others. Many others might be named, but space fails.
These homes were indeed the pilgrim’s rest. They were like an oasis in
the desert. What hearty greetings and welcomes have I seen the bishop
receive. But the reader must not infer he always put up in palaces.
Cottages, log-houses, huts, dirt, filth, fleas, bed-bugs, hard beds,
hard fare, these the bishop was familiar with, and so was his traveling
companion.
The bishop was often in perils: perils on the land, perils on the water,
perils among false brethren. I have often wondered that he was not
suddenly removed when I think of the many hairbreadth escapes he had.
We often rode at night over rough stony roads and stumps, where it was
exceedingly dangerous; sometimes on the side of a mountain near a river,
under such circumstances that a few feet, or even a few inches, would
have been sudden destruction; sometimes when it was so dark I had to go
before to feel the way and lead the horse. Several times he was in danger
by his horses running away, or by their sudden starting, then by the
upsetting of his carriage. This happened several times and in dangerous
places, and yet he was almost miraculously preserved; not a bone was
broken. He was often in danger in crossing the rivers and streams, to say
nothing of swimming horses or crossing over on logs and trees, where, if
he fell off, he would be greatly injured, but particularly in crossing
the ferries. He often crossed in “old flats,” and “scows,” and canoes,
with horses, and sometimes wagons. Many of these boats were old and
leaky, and sometimes poorly manned, and at other times unmanageable. We
often waited for hours, and even days, at a ferry. The streams would be
swollen and dangerous, and we had to wait till the water fell. When we
remember that the bishop crossed the highest mountains, the widest and
most rapid rivers, at all seasons of the year, we can estimate the danger
to which he was exposed. Twice he was in great danger of being drowned.
But he hardly mentions the perils to which he was exposed. None of these
things moved him, neither counted he his life dear unto him, so that he
might finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he had received
of the Lord Jesus to testify the Gospel of the grace of God.
Bishop Asbury has been represented as rough, unfeeling, harsh, and
stoical. Those who make such assertions are entirely ignorant of his
character, and do great injustice to one of the noblest men that ever
blessed the Church or the world. I grant he had rather a rough exterior,
that he was sometimes stern; but under that roughness and sternness of
manner beat a heart as feeling as ever dwelt in human bosom. The bishop
was “born to command,” and he had a commanding way with him; but he was
as far from being a tyrant as possible, and yet I have heard him accused
of tyranny by those who never knew him. If he injured the feelings of a
brother he would encircle him in his arms and ask his forgiveness. Here
was true manliness, genuine greatness, real dignity. This I have known
him to do to a brother when convinced he was in error.
Bishop Asbury stoical! See his sympathy for the suffering. Look at him
with his mite subscription—always heading it himself—to raise money
for necessitous cases among the preachers; see him wandering among the
tombs and weeping at the graves of his friends; visiting the widow and
the fatherless and weeping with them, and commending the one to the
widow’s husband, the other to the orphan’s father. He used frequently to
mention his mother, and as he did so the tear would fill his blue eye.
At one time he thought of her coming to America, but concluded it would
not be best. His correspondence with her was very frequent. Out of his
small salary he sent money to supply the wants of his parents before his
father died, and then afterward to his mother when she was left a widow.
In a letter to his mother he says, “My salary is £14 10s. sterling,
[sixty-four dollars.] I have sold my watch and library, and would sell
my shirt before you should want.” He added, “The contents of a small
saddle-bag will do for me, and one coat a year.” He also made arrangement
with Richard Whatcoat that if he died first Mr. Whatcoat was to see the
wants of Mrs. Asbury supplied. What an example of filial regard!
There are many reasons why he did not marry; he has assigned them in
his journal; but he always believed every man should support one woman.
He maintained his mother while she lived, and then the widow of John
Dickins. He not only supported Mrs. Dickins while he lived, but left
provision in his will that she be paid eighty dollars a year till her
death. This sum I paid her annually, as his executor, till she died.
It is needless to say that Bishop Asbury was a true patriot. Though he
loved the land of his birth, yet he loved most ardently the land of
his adoption. He showed this by remaining here when the other English
preachers returned home. He loved Washington and the constitution of this
country. When I was with him in Canada he said to me, “England always
had the wrong foot foremost in regard to America.” This country is under
great obligations to Francis Asbury: he accomplished for her a mighty
work, and yet not one of our historians name him.
The bishop was well known on most of the great thoroughfares in the
country, and to most of the landlords and public houses. They seemed to
reverence his age, his office, and his character. On one of his western
tours we came to a small tavern where there was quite a gathering.
The company were noisy and profane, and it seemed as if we should get
no sleep that night. When the hour came at which the bishop wished
to retire, he went to the landlord and proposed having prayer. The
landlord said, “My house is at your service, sir.” Then the bishop said,
“Gentlemen, we are going to have prayer, and should be happy if you would
join us.” His manner, as well as his patriarchal appearance, pleased
them; and after prayer they soon retired, and left us to sleep sweetly
till morning undisturbed. This had a better effect than severe reproof.
Indeed it was reproof of the most effectual kind.
The bishop was a man of universal philanthropy. Wherever there was a
door open for doing good he entered it. Passing through Ohio, we came to
a place where the cow of a widow woman was about to be sold for debt.
The bishop’s heart was touched, and he was determined the widow’s cow
should not be sold. He said, “It must not be;” and giving something
himself, he solicited money from others who were present, till in a few
minutes sufficient was raised to satisfy the claim against her. The widow
expressed her gratitude not only with words but tears as she started to
drive her cow home. I have named this to show what kind of a heart beat
in his bosom; that, like his Master, he went about doing good.
His benevolence was unbounded; selfishness had no place in his soul.
He would divide his last dollar with a Methodist preacher. He had
considerable money given him. Brother Rembert, at Black River settlement,
South Carolina, frequently gave him one hundred dollars, and others gave
him considerable sums. He was restless till it was gone, so anxious was
he to do good with it. I was the treasurer. He would give most of it away
at the next conference for the most necessitous cases, reserving only
enough for our traveling expenses.
Bishop Asbury felt a deep interest in the welfare of the preachers,
many of whom in those days received but a miserable pittance for their
support. While I was with him he started the “mite subscription.”
For this he collected during his tours and carried the money to the
conference, to be distributed among the most necessitous cases. His last
“mite subscription” list is now before me. The preface, which is printed,
sets forth that “some of the annual conferences pay but thirty-one
dollars to the unmarried and sixty-two to the married preachers, and
the children are generally excluded from receiving anything in the
settlement.” Can we wonder that under such circumstances so many of our
early preachers located, and their services were in great measure lost
to the Church? This document is dated April 1, 1815, and signed Francis
Asbury. His name and that of his last traveling companion are found in
the list of subscribers, which contains the autographs of some of the
prominent men and women of Methodism in that day, as well as many persons
who were not connected with our Church. Among others are those of Richard
Channing Moore, bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Virginia;
General Pierre Van Cortlandt, of New York; Governors Worthington and
Tiffin, of Ohio. The latest names on the list were from Richmond,
Virginia, where the bishop preached his last sermon.[44]
Of the moneys he collected that year he paid to the New York Conference
$135 99, and the receipt is in the book of the conference stewards,
signed Samuel Merwin, Phineas Rice, and Thomas Drummond. The receipt
of $50 27 from the mite subscription, and the donation of one hundred
dollars, which was paid over by J. W. Bond, is acknowledged by Daniel
Filmore, John Lindsay, and Jacob Sanborn, stewards of the New England
Conference, on June 2, 1815. A note is added, that the New England
Conference “not being able to raise the salaries of the preachers,” paid
“only thirty-one dollars to the single and sixty-two to the married
preachers, and children in proportion.”
Marcus Lindsey, John Dew, and Thomas D. Porter, of the Ohio Conference,
acknowledged the receipt of $192 from the mite subscription this year.
They also record “that all the children of the married traveling
preachers who received nothing from the districts or circuits, received
ten dollars apiece from Bishop Asbury’s Mite Subscription.” The salaries
in this conference were better than in the East, for the single preachers
received sixty-nine dollars and the married one hundred and thirty-eight.
The stewards of Tennessee Conference gave, on October 27, their receipt
for $267 06 “from the mite subscription,” and added that the married
preachers received one hundred and ten dollars and the single fifty-five;
and that the mite subscription for the benefit of the children, being
one hundred dollars, enabled them to give ten dollars to each child.
According to this, all the children of Methodist preachers in the
Tennessee Conference in 1815 numbered but ten.
The last receipt is that of the Virginia Conference, for the sum of $95
31. This conference met in January, 1816, and was the last that Bishop
Asbury attended. He was then reduced almost to a skeleton, and in about
two months after he ended both his labor and his life.
Thank God, a brighter day has since dawned on the Church; and though our
ministers have even now no superabundance of this world’s goods, it is at
least no longer needful that our bishops should beg from house to house
to collect “mites” that the preachers might be able to keep soul and body
together.
The bishop had commenced his “mite subscription” for the next year with
enlarged views. The prelude, which is dated January 1, 1816, and signed
Francis Asbury, sets forth that the design was not only to equalize
the salaries of the preachers, to relieve the most necessitous, and to
provide for the children, but also “to enable us to send out German,
French, and Spanish missionaries.” This was years before the formation of
our Missionary Society. Like John Wesley, Bishop Asbury was constantly in
advance of his age.
For five years I not only traveled with the venerable Asbury, but slept
with him.[45] When he was quite ill I would wrap myself in my blanket
and lie down on the floor beside the bed and watch till I heard him call
“Henry,” and then I would rise and minister to his wants. Being so feeble
he needed a great deal of attention. Many times have I taken him from his
horse and carried him in my arms into private houses and meeting-houses,
where he would sit down, and expound the word of life to the astonishment
of all who heard him. I also carried him from the houses and placed him
upon his horse. He often preached sitting down, not so much in imitation
of his Lord, but because he was unable to stand up.
Bishop Asbury possessed more deadness to the world, more of a
self-sacrificing spirit, more of the spirit of prayer,[46] of Christian
enterprise, of labor, and of benevolence, than any other man I ever
knew. He was the most unselfish being I was ever acquainted with. Bishop
Whatcoat I loved, Bishop M’Kendree I admired, Bishop Asbury I venerated.