It is impossible to help respecting a lady whose whole life was devoted

to so noble an aim. In one sense she gave up more than any of the

promoters of Methodism had the opportunity of doing. For, in the first

place, she had more to give up; and, in the second, it required more

moral courage than the rest were called upon to exercise to run counter

to all the prejudices of the class to which she naturally belonged. Both

by birth and by marriage she was connected with some of the noblest

families in the kingdom, and, by general confession, religion was at a

very low ebb among the nobility in Lady Huntingdon's day. The prominent

part which she took in the Evangelical Revival exposed her to that

contempt and ridicule from her own order which are to many harder to

bear than actual persecution. To the credit, however, of the nobility,

it must be added that most of them learnt to respect Lady Huntingdon's

character and motives, though they could not be persuaded to embrace her

opinions. With a few exceptions, chiefly among her own sex, Lady

Huntingdon was not very successful in her attempts to affect, to any

practical purpose, the class to which she belonged; but she was

marvellously successful in persuading the most distinguished persons in

the intellectual as well as the social world to come and hear her

favourite preachers. No ball or masquerade brought together more

brilliant assemblies than those which met in her drawing-room at

Chelsea, or her chapel at Bath, or in the Tabernacle itself, to hear

Whitefield and others preach. To enumerate the company would be to

enumerate the most illustrious men and women of the day. The Earl of

Chatham, Lord North, the Earl of Sandwich, Bubb Doddington, George

Selwyn, Charles Townshend, Horace Walpole, Lord Camden, Lord

Northington, the Earl of Chesterfield, Viscount Bolingbroke, the Earl of

Bath, Frederick, Prince of Wales, the Duke of Cumberland, John, Lord

Hervey, the Duke of Bolton, the Duke of Grafton, Sarah, Duchess of

Marlborough, the Duchess of Buckingham, Lady Townshend, were at

different times among the hearers.[758] Horace Walpole tells us that in

1766 it was quite the rage at Bath among persons in high life to form

parties to hear the different preachers who 'supplied' the chapel. The

bishops themselves did not disdain to attend 'incognito;' curtained

seats were placed immediately inside the door, where the prelates were

smuggled in; and this was wittily called 'Nicodemus's corner.' The

Duchess of Buckingham accepted an invitation from Lady Huntingdon to

attend her chapel at Bath in the following words: 'I thank your ladyship

for the information concerning the Methodist preachers; their doctrines

are most repulsive and strongly tinctured with impertinence and

disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavouring to level

all ranks and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be told

you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl on the

earth. This is highly offensive and insulting; and I cannot but wonder

that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at variance with

high rank and good breeding. I shall be most happy to come and hear your

favourite preacher.'[759] Horace Walpole (who, however, is not always to

be trusted when he is writing on religious matters) wrote to Sir Horace

Mann, March 23, 1749: 'Methodism is more fashionable than anything but

brag; the women play very deep at both--as deep, it is much suspected,

as the Roman matrons did at the mysteries of Bona Dea. If gracious Anne

were alive she would make an admirable defendress of the new faith, and

would build fifty more churches for female proselytes.'[760] It is fair

to add, however, that some of the ablest among the hearers were the most

impressed. David Hume's opinion of Whitefield's preaching has already

been noticed. David Garrick[761] was certainly not disposed to ridicule

it. There is no reason to doubt the sincerity of Lord Bolingbroke's

sentiments expressed in a private letter to the Earl of Marchmont: 'I

hope you heard from me by myself, as well as of me by Mr. Whitefield.

This apostolical person preached some time ago at Lady Huntingdon's, and

I should have been curious to hear him. Nothing kept me from going but

an imagination that there was to be a select auditory. That saint, our

friend Chesterfield, was there, and I heard from him an extreme good

account of the sermon.'[762] Lord Bolingbroke afterwards did hear

Whitefield, and said to Lady Huntingdon: 'You may command my pen when

you will; it shall be drawn in your service. For, admitting the Bible

to be true, I shall have little apprehension of maintaining the

doctrines of predestination and grace against all your revilers.' We do

not hear that this new defender of the faith _did_ employ his pen in

Lady Huntingdon's service, and few perhaps will regret that he did not.

The extreme dislike of Lords Bolingbroke and Chesterfield for the

regular clergy, whom they would be glad to annoy in any way they could,

might have had something to do with their patronage of the 'new lights,'

as the Methodists were called. But this cannot be said of others. The

Earl of Bath, for instance, accompanied a donation of 50_l._ to Lady

Huntingdon for the Tabernacle at Bristol with the following remark:

'Mocked and reviled as Mr. Whitefield is (1749) by all ranks of society,

still I contend that the day will come when England will be just, and

own his greatness as a reformer, and his goodness as a minister of the

Most High God.'[763] Lord Chesterfield gave 20_l._ to the same object.

Lady Huntingdon was not content with enlisting the nobility in favour of

her cause. She made her way to the Court itself. She was scandalised by

the gaiety of Archbishop Cornwallis's household, and, after having

fruitlessly remonstrated with the primate, she laid her case before the

King and the Queen. She was not only successful in the immediate object

of her visit--the King, in consequence, writing a sharp letter to the

archbishop, desiring him to desist from his unseemly routs--but was told

by George III. that he was happy in having an opportunity of assuring

her ladyship of the very good opinion he had of her, and how very highly

he estimated her character, her zeal, and her abilities, which could not

be consecrated to a more noble purpose. He then referred to her

ministers, who, he understood, were very eloquent preachers. The bishops

were jealous of them; and the King related a conversation he had lately

had with a learned prelate. He had complained of the conduct of some of

her ladyship's students and ministers, who had created a sensation in

his diocese; and his Majesty replied, 'Make bishops of them--make

bishops of them.' 'That might be done,' replied the prelate; 'but,

please your Majesty, we cannot make a bishop of Lady Huntingdon.' The

Queen replied, 'It would be a lucky circumstance if you could, for she

puts you all to shame.' 'Well,' said the King, 'see if you cannot

imitate the zeal of these men.' His lordship made some reply which

displeased the King, who exclaimed with great animation, 'I wish there

was a Lady Huntingdon in every diocese in the kingdom!'[764]

We have as yet seen only one side of Lady Huntingdon's energy; she was

no less industrious in providing hearers for her preachers, than

preachers for her hearers.[765] She almost rivalled John Wesley himself

in the influence which she exercised over her preachers; and she was as

far removed as he was from any love of power for power's sake, although,

like him, she constantly had this accusation brought against her. The

extent of her power cannot be better stated than in the words of her

biographer: 'Her ladyship erected or possessed herself of chapels in

various parts of the kingdom, in which she appointed such persons to

officiate as ministers as she thought fit, revoking such appointments at

her pleasure. Congregations who worshipped here were called "Lady

Huntingdon's Connexion," and the ministers who officiated "ministers in

Lady Huntingdon's Connexion." Over the affairs of this Connexion Lady

Huntingdon exercised a _moral_ power to the time of her death; not only

appointing and removing the ministers who officiated, but appointing

laymen in each congregation to superintend its secular concerns, called

the "committee of management."'[766]

The first thing that obviously occurs to one in reference to this

position is, that it should more properly belong to a man than a woman.

Even in women of the strongest understanding and the deepest and widest

culture, there is generally a want of ballast which unfits them for such

a responsibility; and Lady Huntingdon was not a lady of a strong

understanding, and still less of a deep and wide culture. But she

possessed what was better still--a single eye to her Master's glory, a

truly humble mind, and genuine piety. The possession of these graces

prevented her from falling into more errors than she did. Still, it is

certainly somewhat beyond a woman's sphere to order Christian ministers

about thus: 'Now, Wren, I charge you to be faithful, and to deliver a

faithful message in all the congregations.' 'My lady,' said Wren, 'they

will not bear it.' She rejoined, 'I will stand by you.'[767] On another

occasion she happened to have two young ministers in her house, 'when it

occurred to her that one of them should preach. Notice was accordingly

sent round that on such an evening there would be preaching before the

door. At the appointed time a great many people had collected together,

which the young men, seeing, inquired what it meant. Her ladyship said,

"As I have two preachers in my house, one of you must preach to the

people." In reply, they said that they had never preached publicly, and

wished to be excused. Shipman was ready, Matthews diffident. Lady

Huntingdon, therefore, judged it best for Mr. Shipman to make the first

attempt. While he hesitated she put a Bible into his hand, insisting

upon his appearing before the people, and either telling them that he

was afraid to trust in God, or to do the best he could. On the servant's

opening the door, her ladyship thrust him out with her blessing, "The

Lord be with you--do the best you can."'[768] At Trevecca--a college

which she founded and supported solely at her own expense--her will was

law. 'Trevecca,' wrote John Wesley,[769] 'is much more to Lady

Huntingdon than Kingswood is to me. _I_ mixes with everything. It is

_my_ college, _my_ masters, _my_ students!' When the unhappy Calvinistic

controversy broke out in 1770, Lady Huntingdon proclaimed that whoever

did not wholly disavow the Minutes should quit her college; and she

fully acted up to her proclamation.[770] Fletcher's resignation was

accepted, and Benson, the able head-master, was removed. John Wesley

himself was no longer suffered to preach in any of her pulpits.

Her commands, however, were not always obeyed. Thus, for instance, we

find Berridge good-naturedly rallying her on a peremptory summons he had

received to 'supply' her chapel at Brighton. 'You threaten me, madam,

like a pope, not like a mother in Israel, when you declare roundly that

God will scourge me if I do not come; but I know your ladyship's good

meaning, and this menace was not despised. It made me slow in resolving.

Whilst I was looking towards the sea, partly drawn thither with the hope

of doing good, and partly driven by your _Vatican Bull_, I found nothing

but thorns in my way,' &c.[771] On a similar occasion the same good man

writes to her with that execrably bad taste for which he was even more

conspicuous than Whitefield: 'Jesus has been whispering to me of late

that I cannot keep myself nor the flock committed to me; but has not

hinted a word as yet that I do wrong in keeping to my fold. And my

instructions, you know, must come from the Lamb, not from the Lamb's

wife, though she is a tight woman.' John Wesley plainly told her that,

though he loved her well, it could not continue if it depended upon his

seeing with her eyes. Rowland Hill rebelled against her authority.

These, however, were exceptional cases. As a rule, Lady Huntingdon was

in far more danger of being spoiled by flattery than of being

discouraged by rebuffs. Poor Whitefield's painful adulation of his

patroness has been already alluded to; and it was but natural that the

students at her college, who owed their all to her, should, in

after-life, have been inclined to treat her with too great subservience.

One is thankful to find no traces of undue deference on the part of

those parochial clergymen who were made her chaplains, and who at

irregular intervals, when they could be spared from their own parishes,

supplied her chapels. But though these good men did not flatter her,

they felt and expressed the greatest respect for her character and

exertions, as did also the Methodists generally. Fletcher described an

interview with her in terms which sound rather overstrained, not to say

irreverent, to English ears; but allowance should be made for the

'effusion' in which foreigners are wont to indulge. 'Our conversation,'

he writes to Charles Wesley, 'was deep and full of the energy of faith.

As to me, I sat like Paul at the feet of Gamaliel; I passed three hours

with a modern prodigy--_a pious and humble countess_. I went with

trembling and in obedience to your orders; but I soon perceived a little

of what the disciples felt when Christ said to them, _It is I--be not

afraid._' John Wesley, in spite of his differences with her, owned that

'she was much devoted to God and had a thousand valuable and amiable

qualities.' Rowland Hill, when a young man, wrote in still stronger

terms: 'I am glad to hear the _Head_ is better. What zeal for God

perpetually attends her! Had I twenty bodies, I could like nineteen of

them to run about for her.'[772]

The good countess was not unworthy of all this esteem. In spite of her

little foibles, she was a thoroughly earnest Christian woman. Her

munificence was unbounded. 'She would give,' said Grimshaw, 'to the last

gown on her back.' She is said to have spent during her life more than

100,000_l._ in the service of religion.

Lady Huntingdon's Connexion, like John Wesley's societies, drifted away

rather than separated from the National Church. In consequence of some

litigation in the Consistorial Court of London about the Spa Fields

Chapel, it became necessary to define more precisely the 'status' of

Lady Huntingdon's places of worship. If they were still to be considered

as belonging to the Church of England, they were, of course, bound to

submit to the laws of the Church. In order to find shelter under the

Toleration Act, it was necessary to register them as Dissenting places

of worship. Thus Lady Huntingdon, much against her will, found herself a

Dissenter. She expressed her regret in that extraordinary English which

she was wont to write. 'All the other connexions seem to be at peace,

and I have ever found to belong to me while we were at ease in Zion. I

am to be cast out of the Church now, only for what I have been doing

these forty years--speaking and living for Jesus Christ; and if the days

of my captivity are now to be accomplished, those that turn me out and

so set me at liberty, may soon feel what it is, by sore distress

themselves for those hard services they have caused me.'[773] Still she

could not make up her mind to call herself and those in connexion with

her, Dissenters. She tried to find some middle term; it was not a

separation from the Church, but a 'secession;' which looks very like a

distinction without a difference. 'Our ministers must come,' writes her

ladyship in 1781, 'recommended by that neutrality between Church and

Dissent--secession;' and to the same effect in 1782: 'Mr. Wills's

secession from the Church (for which he is the most highly favoured of

all from the noble and disinterested motives that engaged his honest and

faithful conscience for the Lord's unlimited service) brings about an

ordination of such students as are alike disposed to labour in the place

and appointed for those congregations. The method of these appears the

best calculated for the comfort of the students and to serve the

congregations most usefully, and is contrived to prevent any bondage to

the people or minister. The objections to the Dissenters' plan are many,

and to the Church more; that secession means the neutrality between

both, and so materially offensive to neither.'[774]

One result of this 'secession' was the withdrawal from the Connexion of

those parochial clergymen who had given their gratuitous services to

Lady Huntingdon--Romaine, Venn, Townsend, and others; but they still

maintained the most cordial intimacy with the countess, and continued

occasionally to supply her chapels.

It must be admitted, in justice to the Church rulers of the day, that

the difficulties in the way of co-operation with Lady Huntingdon were by

no means slight. Her Churchmanship, like that of her friend Whitefield,

was not of the same marked type as that of John Wesley. It will be

remembered that John Wesley, in his sermon at the foundation of the City

Road Chapel in 1777--four years, be it observed, before Lady

Huntingdon's secession--described, in his own vigorous language, the

difference between the attitude of _his_ followers towards the Church,

and that of the followers of Lady Huntingdon and Mr. Whitefield. So far

as the two latter were concerned, he did not overstate the case. The

college at Trevecca could hardly be regarded in any other light than

that of a Dissenting Academy. Berridge saw this, and wrote to Lady

Huntingdon: 'However rusty or rickety the Dissenters may appear to you,

God hath His remnant among them; therefore lift not up your hand against

them for the Lord's sake nor yet for consistency's sake, because your

students are as real Dissenting preachers as any in the land, unless a

gown and band can make a clergyman. The bishops look on your students as

the worst kind of Dissenters; and manifest this by refusing that

ordination to your preachers which would be readily granted to other

teachers among the Dissenters.'[775] Berridge also thought that the

Wesleyans would not retain their position as Churchmen. In the very same

year (1777) in which Wesley gloried in the adhesion of his societies to

the Church, Berridge wrote to Lady Huntingdon: 'What will become of your

students at your decease? They are virtual Dissenters now, and will be

settled Dissenters then. And the same will happen to many, perhaps most,

of Mr. Wesley's preachers at his death. He rules like a real Alexander,

and is now stepping forth with a flaming torch; but we do not read in

history of two Alexanders succeeding each other.'[776]

But to return to Trevecca. The rules of the college specified that the

students after three years' residence might, if they desired, enter the

ministry either of the Church or any other Protestant denomination. Now,

as Trevecca was essentially a theological college, it is hardly possible

to conceive that the theology taught there could have been so colourless

as not to bias the students in favour either of the Church or of

Dissent; and as the Church, in spite of her laxity, still retained her

liturgy, creeds, and other forms, which were more dogmatic and precise

than those of any Dissenting body, such a training as that of Trevecca

would naturally result, as the Vicar of Everton predicted, in making the

students, to all intents and purposes, Dissenters. The only wonder is

that Lady Huntingdon's Connexion should have retained so strong an

attachment to the Church as they undoubtedly did, and that, not only

during her own lifetime, but after her death. 'You ask,' wrote Dr.

Haweis to one who desired information on this point,[777] 'of what

Church we profess ourselves? We desire to be esteemed as members of

Christ's Catholic and Apostolic Church, and essentially one with the

Church of England, of which we regard ourselves as living members....

The doctrines we subscribe (for we require subscription, and, what is

better, they are always truly preached by us) are those of the Church of

England in the literal and grammatical sense. Nor is the liturgy of the

Church of England performed more devoutly in any Church,' &c.

The five worthy Christians whose characters and careers have been

briefly sketched were the chief promoters of what may be termed the

Methodist, as distinguished from the Evangelical, movement, in the

technical sense of that epithet. There were many others who would be

worthy of a place in a larger history. Thomas Walsh, Wesley's most

honoured friend; Dr. Coke ('a second Walsh,' Wesley called him), who

sacrificed a good position and a considerable fortune entirely to the

Methodist cause; Mr. Perronet, the excellent Vicar of Shoreham, to whom

both the brothers Wesley had recourse in every important crisis, and who

was called by Charles Wesley 'the Archbishop of Methodism;' Sir John

Thorold, a pious Lincolnshire baronet; John Nelson, the worthy

stonemason of Birstal, who was pressed as a soldier simply because he

was a Methodist, and whose death John Wesley thus records in his

Journal: 'This day died John Nelson, and left a wig and half-a-crown--as

much as any unmarried minister ought to leave;' Sampson Stainforth, Mark

Bond, and John Haine, the Methodist soldiers who infused a spirit of

Methodism in the British Army; Howell Harris, the life and soul of Welsh

Methodism; Thomas Olivers, the converted reprobate, who rode one hundred

thousand miles on one horse in the cause of Methodism, and who was

considered by John Wesley as a strong enough man to be pitted against

the ablest champions of Calvinism; John Pawson, Alexander Mather and

other worthy men--of humble birth, it may be, and scanty acquirements,

but earnest, devoted Christians--would all deserve to be noticed in a

professed history of Methodism. In a brief sketch, like the present, all

that can be said of them is, 'Cum tales essent, utinam nostri fuissent.'

(2) THE CALVINISTIC CONTROVERSY.

The Methodists met with a vast amount of opposition; but, after all,

there was a more formidable enemy to the progress of the Evangelical

revival than any from without. The good men who made so bold and

effectual a stand against vice and irreligion in the last century might

have been still more successful had they presented a united front to the

common foe; but, unfortunately, a spirit of discord within their ranks

wasted their strength and diverted them from work for which they were

admirably adapted to work for which they were by no means fitted.

Hitherto our attention has been mainly directed to the strength of the

movement. The pure lives and disinterested motives of the founders of

Methodism, their ceaseless energy, their fervent piety--in a word, their

love of God and their love of their neighbour for God's sake--these are

the points on which one loves to dwell; these are traits in their

characters which posterity has gratefully recognised, though scant

justice was done them by the men of their own generation. In their

quarrel with sin and Satan all good men will sympathise with them. It is

painful to turn from this to their quarrels among themselves; but these

latter occupy too large a space in their history to be lightly passed

over.

It has frequently been remarked in these pages that the eighteenth

century, or at least the first half of it, was essentially an age of

controversy; but of all the controversies which distracted the Church

and nation that one which now comes under our consideration was the most

unprofitable and unsatisfactory in every way. The subject of it was that

old, old difficulty which has agitated men's minds from the beginning,

and will probably remain unsettled until the end of time--a difficulty

which is not confined to Christianity, nor even to Deism, but which

meets us quite apart from theology altogether. It is that which, in

theological language, is involved in the contest between Calvinism and

Arminianism; in philosophical, between free-will and necessity. 'The

reconciling,' wrote Lord Lyttelton, 'the prescience of God with the

free-will of man, Mr. Locke, after much thought on the subject, freely

confessed that he could not do, though he acknowledged both. And what

Mr. Locke could not do, in reasoning upon subjects of a metaphysical

nature, I am apt to think few men, if any, can hope to perform.'[778] It

would have been well if the Methodists had acted according to the spirit

of these wise words; but, unfortunately, they considered it necessary

not only to discuss the question, but to insist upon their own solution

of it in the most positive and dogmatic terms.

One would have thought that John Wesley, at any rate, considering his

expertness in logic, would have been aware of the utter hopelessness of

disputing upon such a point; but the key to that great man's conduct in

this, as in other matters, is to be found in the intensely practical

character of his mind, especially in matters of religion. He felt the

practical danger of Antinomianism, and, feeling this, he did not,

perhaps, quite do justice to all that might be said on the other side.

In point of fact, however, he shrank, especially in his later years,

from the controversy more than others did, who were far less competent

to manage it.

In other controversies which agitated the eighteenth century there is

some compensation for the unkindly feelings and unchristian and

extravagant language generated by the heat of dispute in the thought

that if they did not solve, they at any rate contributed something to

the solution of, pressing questions which clamoured for an answer. The

circumstances of the times required that the subjects should be

ventilated. Thus, for example, the relations between Church and State

were ill understood, and _some_ light, at any rate, was thrown upon them

by the tedious Bangorian controversy. The method in which God reveals

His will to man was a subject which circumstances rendered it necessary

to discuss. This subject was fairly sifted in the Deistical controversy.

The pains which were bestowed upon the Trinitarian controversy were not

thrown away. But it is difficult to see what fresh light was thrown upon

_any_ subject by the Calvinistic controversy. It left the question

exactly in the same position as it was in before. In studying the other

controversies, if the reader derives but little instruction or

edification on the main topic, he can hardly fail to gain some valuable

information on collateral subjects. But he may wade through the whole of

the Calvinistic controversy without gaining any valuable information on

any subject whatever. This is partly owing to the nature of the topic

discussed, but partly also to the difference between the mental calibre

of the disputants in this and the other controversies. We have at least

to thank the Deists and the Anti-Trinitarians for giving occasion for

the publication of some literary masterpieces. Through their means

English theology was enriched by the writings of Butler, Conybeare,

Warburton, Waterland, Sherlock, and Horsley. But the Calvinistic

controversy, from the beginning to the end, contributed not one single

work of permanent value to theology.

This is a sweeping statement, and requires to be justified. Let us,

then, pass on at once from general statements to details.

The controversy seems to have broken out during Whitefield's absence in

America (1739-1740). A correspondence arose between Wesley and

Whitefield on the subject of Calvinism and collateral questions, in

which the two good men seem to be constantly making laudable

determinations not to dispute--and as constantly breaking them. The gist

of this correspondence has been wittily summed up thus: 'Dear George, I

have read what you have written on the subject of predestination, and

God has taught me to see that you are wrong and that I am right. Yours

affectionately, J. Wesley.' And the reply: 'Dear John, I have read what

you have written on the subject of predestination, and God has taught me

that I am right and you are wrong. Yours affectionately, G. Whitefield.'

If the dispute between these good men was warm while the Atlantic

separated them, it was still warmer when they met. In 1741 Whitefield

returned to England, and a temporary alienation between him and Wesley

arose. Whitefield is said to have told his friend that they preached two

different Gospels, and to have avowed his intention to preach against

him whenever he preached at all. Then they turned the one to the right

hand and the other to the left. As in most disputes, there were, no

doubt, faults on both sides. Both were tempted to speak unadvisedly with

their lips, and, what was still worse, to write unadvisedly with their

pens. It has already been seen that John Wesley had the knack of both

saying and writing very cutting things. If Whitefield was rash and lost

his temper, Wesley was certainly irritating. But the details of the

unfortunate quarrel may be found in any history of Wesley or Whitefield.

It is a far pleasanter task to record that in course of time the breach

was entirely healed, though neither disputant receded one jot from his

opinions. No man was ever more ready to confess his faults, no man ever

had a larger heart or was actuated by a truer spirit of Christian

charity than George Whitefield. Never was there a man of a more

forgiving temper than John Wesley. 'Ten thousand times would I rather

have died than part with my old friends,' said Whitefield of the

Wesleys. 'Bigotry flies before him and cannot stand,' said John Wesley

of Whitefield. It was impossible that an alienation between two such

men, both of whom were only anxious to do one great work, should be

permanent.

From 1749 the Calvinistic controversy lay comparatively at rest for some

years. The publication of Hervey's 'Dialogues between Theron and

Aspasio,' in 1755, with John Wesley's remarks upon them, and Hervey's

reply to the remarks, reawakened a temporary interest in the question,

but it was not till the year 1771 that the tempest broke out again with

more than its former force.

The occasion of the outburst was the publication of Wesley's 'Minutes of

the Conference of 1770.' Possibly John Wesley may have abstained for

some years, out of regard for Whitefield, from discussing in Conference

a subject which was calculated to disturb the re-established harmony

between him and his friend.[779] At any rate, the offending Minutes,

oddly enough, begin by referring to what had passed at the first

Conference, twenty-six years before. 'We said in 1744, We have leaned

too much towards Calvinism.' After a long abeyance the subject is taken

up at the point at which it stood more than a quarter of a century

before.

The Minutes have often been quoted; but, for clearness' sake, it may be

well to quote them once more.

'We said in 1744, We have leaned too much towards Calvinism. Wherein--

'1. With regard to man's faithfulness, our Lord Himself taught us to use

the expression; and we ought never to be ashamed of it. We ought

steadily to assert, on His authority, that if a man is not "faithful in

the unrighteous mammon" God will not "give him the true riches."

'2. With regard to working for life, this also our Lord has expressly

commanded us. "Labour" ([Greek: Ergazesthe]--literally, "work") "for the

meat that endureth to everlasting life." And, in fact, every believer,

till he comes to glory, works for, as well as from, life.

'3. We have received it as a maxim that "a man can do nothing in order

to justification." Nothing can be more false. Whoever desires to find

favour with God should "cease to do evil and learn to do well." Whoever

repents should do "works meet for repentance." And if this is not in

order to find favour, what does he do them for?

'Review the whole affair.

'1. Who of us is now accepted of God?

'He that now believes in Christ, with a loving, obedient heart.

'2. But who among those that never heard of Christ?

'He that feareth God and worketh righteousness, according to the light

he has.

'3. Is this the same with "he that is sincere"?

'Nearly if not quite.

'4. Is not this salvation by works?

'Not by the merit of works, but by works as a condition.

'5. What have we, then, been disputing about for these thirty years?

'I am afraid about words.

'6. As to merit itself, of which we have been so dreadfully afraid, we

are rewarded according to our works--yea, because of our works.

'How does this differ from "for the sake of our works"? And how differs

this from _secundum merita operum_, "as our works deserve"? Can you

split this hair? I doubt I cannot.

'7. The grand objection to one of the preceding propositions is drawn

from matter of fact. God does in fact justify those who, by their own

confession, "neither feared God nor wrought righteousness." Is this an

exception to the general rule?

'It is a doubt if God makes any exception at all. But how are we sure

that the person in question never did fear God and work righteousness?

His own saying so is not proof; for we know how all that are convinced

of sin undervalue themselves in every respect.

'8. Does not talking of a justified or a sanctified state tend to

mislead men, almost naturally leading them to trust in what was done in

one moment? Whereas we are every hour and every moment pleasing or

displeasing to God, according to our works, according to the whole of

our inward tempers and our outward behaviour.'[780]

So great was the alarm and indignation caused by these Minutes that a

'circular printed letter' was, at the instigation of Lady Huntingdon,

sent round among the friends of the Evangelical movement, the purport of

which was as follows:--'Sir, whereas Mr. Wesley's Conference is to be

held at Bristol on Tuesday, August 6, next, it is proposed by Lady

Huntingdon and many other Christian friends (real Protestants) to have a

meeting at Bristol at the same time, of such principal persons, both

clergy and laity, who disapprove of the under-written Minutes; and, as

the same are thought injurious to the very fundamental principles of

Christianity, it is further proposed that they go in a body to the said

Conference, and insist upon a formal recantation of the said Minutes,

and, in case of a refusal, that they sign and publish their protest

against them. Your presence, sir, on this occasion is particularly

requested; but, if it should not suit your convenience to be there, it

is desired that you will transmit your sentiments on the subject to such

persons as you think proper to produce them. It is submitted to you

whether it would not be right, in the opposition to be made to such a

dreadful heresy, to recommend it to as many of your Christian friends,

as well of the Dissenters as of the Established Church, as you can

prevail on to be there, the cause being of so public a nature. I am,

&c., Walter Shirley.'

The first thing that naturally strikes one is, What business had Lady

Huntingdon and her friends to interfere with Mr. Wesley and his

Conference at all? But this obvious objection does not appear to have

been raised. It would seem that there was a sort of vague understanding

that the friends of the Evangelical movement, whether Calvinist or

Arminian, were in some sense answerable to one another for their

proceedings. The Calvinists evidently thought it not only permissible

but their bounden duty not merely to disavow but to condemn, and, if

possible, bring about the suppression of the obnoxious Minutes. Mr.

Shirley said publicly 'he termed peace in such a case a shameful

indolence, and silence no less than treachery.'[781] John Wesley did not

refuse to justify to the Calvinists what he had asserted. He wrote to

Lady Huntingdon in June 1771 (the Conference did not meet till August),

referring her to his 'Sermons on Salvation by Faith,' published in 1738,

and requesting that the 'Minutes of Conference might be interpreted by

the sermons referred to.' Lady Huntingdon felt her duty to be clear. She

wrote to Charles Wesley, declaring that the proper explanation of the

Minutes was 'Popery unmasked.' 'Thinking,' she added, 'that those ought

to be deemed Papists who did not disavow them, I readily complied with a

proposal of an open disavowal of them.'[782]

All this augured ill for the harmony of the impending Conference; but it

passed off far better than could possibly have been expected. Very few

of the Calvinists who were invited to attend responded to the appeal.

Christian feeling got the better of controversial bitterness on both

sides. John Wesley, with a noble candour, drew up a declaration, which

was signed by himself and fifty-three of his preachers, stating that,

'as the Minutes have been understood to favour justification by works,

we, the Rev. John Wesley and others, declare we had no such meaning, and

that we abhor the doctrine of justification by works as a most perilous

and abominable doctrine. As the Minutes are not sufficiently guarded in

the way they are expressed, we declare we have no trust but in the

merits of Christ for justification or salvation. And though no one is a

real Christian believer (and therefore cannot be saved) who doth not

good works when there is time and opportunity, yet our works have no

part in meriting or purchasing our justification from first to last, in

whole or in part.'[783] Lady Huntingdon and her relative Mr. Shirley

were not wanting, on their part, in Christian courtesy. 'As Christians,'

wrote Lady Huntingdon, 'we wish to retract what a more deliberate

consideration might have prevented, as we would as little wish to

defend even truth itself presumptuously as we would submit servilely to

deny it.' Mr. Shirley wrote to the same effect.

But, alas! the troubles were by no means at an end. Fletcher had written

a vindication of the Minutes, which Wesley published. Wesley has been

severely blamed for his inconsistency in acting thus, 'after having

publicly drawn up and signed a recantation [explanation?] of the

obnoxious principles contained in the Minutes.'[784] This censure might

seem to be justified by a letter which Fletcher wrote to Lady

Huntingdon. 'When,' he says, 'I took up my pen in vindication of Mr.

Wesley's sentiments, it never entered my heart that my doing so would

have separated me from those I love and esteem. Would to God I had never

done it! To your ladyship it has caused incalculable pain and

unhappiness, and my conscience hath often stung me with bitter and

heartcutting reproaches.'[785] But, on the other hand, Fletcher himself,

in a preface to his 'Second Check to Antinomianism,' entirely exonerated

Wesley from all blame in the matter, and practically proved his

approbation of his friend's conduct by continuing the controversy in his

behalf.

The dogs of war were now let slip. In 1772 Sir Richard Hill and his

brother Rowland measured swords with Fletcher, and drew forth from him

his Third and Fourth Checks. In 1773 Sir R. Hill gave what he termed his

'Finishing Stroke;' Berridge, the eccentric Vicar of Everton, rushed

into the fray with his 'Christian World Unmasked;' and Toplady, the

ablest of all who wrote on the Calvinist side, published a pamphlet

under the suggestive title of 'More Work for John Wesley.' The next year

(1774) there was a sort of armistice between the combatants, their

attention being diverted from theological to political subjects, owing

to the troubles in America. But in 1775 Toplady again took the field,

publishing his 'Historic Proof of the Calvinism of the Church of

England.' Mr. Sellon, a clergyman, and Mr. Olivers, the manager of

Wesley's printing, appeared on the Arminian side. The very titles of

some of the works published sufficiently indicate their character.

'Farrago Double Distilled,' 'An Old Fox Tarred and Feathered,' 'Pope

John,' tell their own tale.

In fact, the kindest thing that could be done to the authors of this

bitter writing (who were really good men) would be to let it all be

buried in oblivion. Some of them lived to be ashamed of what they had

written. Rowland Hill, though he still retained his views as to the

doctrines he opposed, lamented in his maturer age that the controversy

had not been carried on in a different spirit.[786] Toplady, after he

had seen Olivers, wrote: 'To say the truth, I am glad I saw Mr. Olivers,

for he appears to be a person of stronger sense and better behaviour

than I had imagined.'[787] Fletcher (who had really the least cause of

any to regret what he had written), before leaving England for a visit

to his native country, invited all with whom he had been engaged in

controversy to see him, that, 'all doctrinal differences apart, he might

testify his sincere regret for having given them the least displeasure,'

&c.[788]

It will be remembered that the Deistical controversy was conducted with

considerable acrimony on both sides; but the Deistical and

anti-Deistical literature is amenity itself when compared with the

bitterness and scurrility with which the Calvinistic controversy was

carried on. At the same time it would be a grievous error to conclude

that because the good men who took part in it forgot the rules of

Christian charity they were not under the power of Christian influences.

The very reverse was the case. It was the very earnestness of their

Christian convictions, and the intensity of their belief in the

directing agency of the Holy Spirit over Christian minds, which made

them write with a warmth which human infirmity turned into acrimony.

They all felt _de vitâ et sanguine agitur_; they all believed that they

were directed by the Spirit of God: consequently their opponents were

opponents not of them, the human instruments, but of that God who was

working by their means; in plain words, they were doing the work of the

Devil. Add to this a somewhat strait and one-sided course of reading,

and a very imperfect appreciation of the real difficulties of the

subject they were handling (for all, without exception, write with the

utmost confidence, as if they understood the whole matter thoroughly,

and nothing could possibly be written to any purpose on the other side),

and the paradox of truly Christian men using such truly unchristian

weapons will cease to puzzle us.

Two only of the writers in this badly managed controversy deserve any

special notice--viz., Fletcher on the Arminian and Toplady on the

Calvinist side.

Fletcher's 'Checks to Antinomianism' are still remembered by name (which

is more than can be said of most of the literature connected with this

controversy), and may, perhaps, still be read, and even regarded as an

authority by a few; but they are little known to the general reader, and

occupy no place whatever in theological literature. Perhaps they hardly

deserve to do so. Nevertheless, anything which such a man as Fletcher

wrote is worthy at least of respectful consideration, if for nothing

else, at any rate for the saintly character of the writer. He wrote like

a scholar and a gentleman, and, what is better than either, like a

Christian. Those who accuse him of having written bitterly against the

Calvinists cannot, one would imagine, have read his writings, but must

have taken at second hand the cruelly unjust representation of them

given by his opponents.[789] 'If ever,' wrote Southey, with perfect

truth, 'true Christian charity was manifested in polemical writing, it

was by Fletcher of Madeley.' There is but one passage[790] in which

Fletcher condescends to anything like personal scurrility, in spite of

the many grossly personal insults which were heaped upon him and his

friends.

This self-restraint is all the more laudable because Fletcher possessed

a rich vein of satirical humour, which he might have employed with

telling effect against his opponents.

He also showed an excellent knowledge of Scripture and great ingenuity

in explaining it on his own side. He was an adroit and skilful

disputant, and, considering that he was a foreigner, had a great mastery

over the English language.

What, in spite of these merits, makes the 'Checks' an unsatisfactory

book, is the want of a comprehensive grasp of general principles. In

common with all the writers on both sides of the question. Fletcher

shows a strange lack of philosophical modesty--a lack which is all the

stranger in him because personally he was conspicuous for extreme

modesty and thoroughly genuine humility. But there is no appearance,

either in Fletcher's writings or in those of any others who engaged in

the controversy, that they adequately realised the extreme difficulty of

the subject. Everything is stated with the utmost confidence, as if the

whole difficulty--which an archangel might have felt--was entirely

cleared away. If one compares Fletcher's writings on Calvinism with the

scattered notices of the subject in Waterland's works, the difference

between the two writers is apparent at once; there is a massiveness and

a breadth of culture about the older writer which contrasts painfully

with the thinness and narrowness of the younger. Or, if it be unfair to

compare Fletcher with an intellectual giant like Waterland, we may

compare his 'Checks' with Bishop Tomline's 'Refutation of Calvinism.'

Bishop Tomline is even more unfair to the Calvinists than Fletcher, but

he shows far greater maturity both of style and thought. All the three

writers took the same general view of the subject, though from widely

different standpoints. But Tomline is as much superior to Fletcher as he

is inferior to Waterland.

If Fletcher was pre-eminently the best writer in this controversy on the

Arminian side, it is no less obvious that the palm must be awarded to

Toplady on the Calvinist side. Before we say anything about Toplady's

writings, let it be remembered that his pen does not do justice to his

character. Toplady was personally a pious, worthy man, a diligent

pastor, beloved by and successful among his parishioners, and by no

means quarrelsome--except upon paper. He lived a blameless life,

principally in a small country village, and died at the early age of

thirty-eight. It is only fair to notice these facts, because his

controversial writings might convey a very different impression of the

character of the man.

Toplady is described by his biographer as 'the legitimate successor of

Hervey.'[791] There are certain points of resemblance between the two

men. Both were worthy parish priests, and the spheres of duty of both

lay in remote country villages; both died at a comparatively early age;

both were Calvinists; and both in the course of controversy came into

collision with John Wesley. But here the resemblance ends. To describe

Toplady as the legitimate successor of Hervey is to do injustice to

both. For, on the one hand, Toplady (though his writings were never so

popular) was a far abler and far more deeply read man than Hervey. There

was also a vein of true poetry in him, which his predecessor did not

possess. Hervey could never have written 'Rock of Ages.' On the other

hand, the gentle Hervey was quite incapable of writing the violent

abuse, the bitter personal scurrilities, which disgraced Toplady's pen.

A sad lack of Christian charity is conspicuous in all writers (except

Fletcher) in this ill-conducted controversy, but Toplady outherods

Herod.

One word must be added. Although, considered as permanent contributions

to theological literature, the writings on either side are worthless,

yet the dispute was not without value in its immediate effects. It

taught the later Evangelical school to guard more carefully their

Calvinistic views against the perversions of Antinomianism. This we

shall see when we pass on, as we may now do, to review that system which

may be termed 'Evangelicalism' in distinction to the earlier Methodism.

(3) THE EVANGELICALS.

Largior hic campos æther et lumine vestit

Purpureo....

It is with a real sense of relief that we pass out of the close air and

distracting hubbub of an unprofitable controversy into a fresher and

calmer atmosphere.

The Evangelical section of the English Church cannot, without

considerable qualification, be regarded as the outcome of the earlier

movement we have been hitherto considering. It is true that what we must

perforce call by the awkward names of 'Evangelicalism' and 'Methodism'

had many points in common--that they were constantly identified by the

common enemies of both--that they were both parts of what we have termed

in the widest sense of the term 'the Evangelical revival'--that they, in

fact, crossed and interlaced one another in so many ways that it is not

always easy to disentangle the one from the other--that there are

several names which one is in doubt whether to place on one side of the

line or the other. But still it would be a great mistake to confound the

two parties. There was a different tone of mind in the typical

representatives of each. They worked for the most part in different

spheres, and, though their doctrines may have accorded in the main,

there were many points, especially as regards Church order and

regularity, in which there was no cordial sympathy between them.

The difficulty, however, of disentangling Evangelicalism from Methodism

in the early phases of both confronts us at once when we begin to

consider the cases of individuals.

Among the first in date of the Evangelicals proper we must place _James

Hervey_ (1714-1758), the once popular author of 'Meditations and

Contemplations' and 'Theron and Aspasio.' But then Hervey was one of the

original Methodists. He was an undergraduate of Lincoln College at the

same time that John Wesley was Fellow, and soon came under the influence

of that powerful mind; and he kept up an intimacy with the founder of

Methodism long after he left college. Yet it is evidently more correct

to class Hervey among the Evangelicals than among the Methodists; for in

all the points of divergence between the two schools he sided with the

former. He was a distinct Calvinist;[792] he was always engaged in

parochial work, and he not only took no part in itinerant work, but

expressed his decided disapproval of those clergy who did so, venturing

even to remonstrate with his former Mentor on his irregularities.

There are few incidents in Hervey's short and uneventful life which

require notice. It was simply that of a good country parson. The

disinterestedness and disregard for wealth, which honourably

distinguished almost all the Methodist and Evangelical clergy, were

conspicuous features in Hervey's character. His father held two livings

near Northampton--Western Favell and Collington; but, though the joint

incomes only amounted to 180_l._ a year, and though the villages were

both of small population and not far apart, Hervey for some time

scrupled to be a pluralist; and it was only in order to provide for the

wants of an aged mother and a sister that he at length consented to hold

both livings. He solemnly devoted the whole produce of his literary

labours to the service of humanity, and, though his works were

remunerative beyond his most sanguine expectations, he punctually kept

his vow. He is said to have given no less than 700_l._ in seven years in

charity--in most cases concealing his name. Nothing more need be said

about his quiet, blameless, useful life.

It is as an author that James Hervey is best known to us. The popularity

which his writings long enjoyed presents to us a curious phenomenon.

Almost to this day old-fashioned libraries of divinity are not complete

without the 'Meditations' and 'Theron and Aspasio,' though probably they

are not often read in this age.[793] But by Hervey's contemporaries his

books were not only bought, but read and admired. They were translated

into almost every modern language. The fact that such works were

popular, not among the uneducated, but among those who called themselves

people of culture, almost justifies John Wesley's caustic exclamation,

'How hard it is to be superficial enough for a polite audience!'

Hervey's style can be described in no meaner terms than as the

extra-superfine style. It is prose run mad. Let the reader judge for

himself. Here is a specimen of his 'Meditations among the Tombs.' The

tomb of an infant suggests the following reflections: 'The peaceful

infant, staying only to wash away its native impurity in the layer of

regeneration, bid a speedy adieu to time and terrestrial things. What

did the little hasty sojourner find so forbidding and disgustful in our

upper world to occasion its precipitate exit?' The tomb of a young lady

calls forth the following morbid horrors:--'Instead of the sweet and

winning aspect, that wore perpetually an attractive smile, grins

horribly a naked, ghastly skull. The eye that outshone the diamond's

brilliancy, and glanced its lovely lightning into the most guarded

heart--alas! where is it? Where shall we find the rolling sparkler? How

are all its sprightly beams eclipsed!' The tongue, flesh, &c., are dwelt

upon in the same fashion.

It is hard to believe that this was really considered fine writing by

our ancestors, but the fact is indisputable. The 'Meditations' brought

in a clear gain of 700_l._ Dr. Blair, himself a model of taste in his

day, spoke in high terms of approbation of Hervey's writings. Boswell

records with evident astonishment that Dr. Johnson 'thought slightingly

of this admired book' (the 'Meditations'); 'he treated it with ridicule,

and parodied it in a "Meditation on a Pudding."'[794] Most modern

readers will be surprised that any sensible people could think otherwise

than Dr. Johnson did of such a farrago of highflown sentiment clothed in

the most turgid language.

It is a pity that Hervey could not learn to be less bombastic in his

style and less vapid in his sentiments, for, after all, he had an eye

for the sublime and beautiful both in the world around him and in the

heavens above his head--a faculty very rare in the age in which he

lived, and especially in the school to which he belonged. Occasionally

he condescends to be more simple and natural, and consequently more

readable. Here and there one meets with a passage which almost reminds

one of Addison, but such exceptions are rare.[795]

Ten years after the publication of the first volume of the 'Meditations'

(1745) Hervey published (1755) three volumes of 'Dialogues between

Theron and Aspasio,' with a view to recommend to 'people of elegant

manners and polite accomplishments' the Calvinistic theology, and more

especially the doctrine of Christ's imputed righteousness stated

Calvinistically. The style of these 'Dialogues' is not quite so absurd

as that of the 'Meditations,' but still it is inflated enough. The

disputants always converse in the highly genteel manner. But the book

was suited to the public taste, and was almost as successful as its

predecessor. 'I write for the poor,' wrote Whitefield to the author,

'you for the polite and noble.' The aim of the treatise is expressed in

the work itself. 'Let us endeavour to make religious conversation, which

is in all respects desirable, in some degree fashionable.'

Hervey seems to have felt that he was treading upon debatable ground

when he wrote this work; and therefore, acting upon the principle that

'in the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom,' he distributed

different parts of his manuscript among his friends before publication,

and adopted, on their advice, a variety of alterations. Among others he

consulted John Wesley--of all men in the world--Wesley, who never used

two words where one would suffice, and never chose a long word where he

could find a short one to express his meaning[796]--Wesley, too, who

disliked everything savouring of Calvinism, and who was not likely,

therefore, to regard with a favourable eye a Calvinistic treatise

written in a diffuse and turgid style. Hervey's biographer tells us that

Wesley gave his opinion without tenderness or reserve--condemned the

language, reprobated the doctrines, and tried to invalidate the

proofs.[797] The writer owns that there was 'good sense in some of the

remarks,' but thinks that 'their dogmatical language and dictatorial

style entirely prevented their effect.'[798] Toplady also censures the

'rancour with which Mr. Hervey and his works were treated by

Wesley.'[799] We may well believe that Wesley, one of whose infirmities

it was to write rough letters, would not be particularly complimentary.

But surely Hervey should have known his man better than to have placed

him in such an awkward predicament. It should be remembered, too, that

Wesley looked upon Hervey as his spiritual son, and therefore felt

himself to some extent responsible for his theological views and

literary performances. It should also be borne in mind that Hervey was

an undergraduate at Lincoln College when Wesley was a don. All who know

the relationship which exists or existed between dons and undergraduates

will be aware that the former often feel themselves privileged to

address their quondam pupils with a freedom which others would not

venture to use.

Those who judge of Hervey by his works might be tempted to think that he

was affected and unreal. In fact, he was quite the reverse. When writing

for the polite world,[800] his style was odiously florid; but his

sermons for his simple parishioners were plain and natural both in style

and substance. Personally he was a man of simple habits and genuine

piety, a good son and brother, an excellent parish priest, and a patient

sufferer under many physical infirmities. He had no exaggerated opinion

of his own intellectual powers. 'My friend,' he said to Mr. Ryland, 'I

have not a strong mind; I have not powers fitted for arduous researches;

but I think I have a power of writing in somewhat of a striking manner,

so far as to please mankind and recommend my dear Redeemer.'[801] This

was really the great object of his life, 'to recommend his dear

Redeemer;' and if he effected this object by writing what may appear to

us poor stuff, we need not quarrel with him, but may rather be thankful

that he did not write in vain.

_Grimshaw of Haworth_ (1708-1763) was another clergyman of the last

century who formed a connecting link between the Methodists proper and

the later Evangelical school. On the one hand, he was an intimate friend

of the Wesleys and other leaders of the Methodist movement, both lay and

clerical; he welcomed them at Haworth and lent them his pulpit; he took

part in the work of itinerancy, and, in fact, threw himself heart and

soul into the Methodist cause. On the other hand, he was, from the

beginning to the end of his ministerial career, a parochial clergyman;

he does not appear to have been indebted to Methodism for his first

serious impressions, and he maintained his position as a moderate

Calvinist, though he wisely kept quite clear of the controversy and

never came into collision with his friend Wesley on this fruitful

subject of dispute. The scenes of his energetic and successful labours

were the moors about Haworth, the bleak physical desolation of which was

only too true a picture of the moral and spiritual desolation of their

population before this good man awakened them to spiritual life. The

eccentricities of 'mad Grimshaw' have probably been exaggerated; for

one knows how, when a man acquires a reputation of this sort, every

ridiculous story which happens to be current is apt to be fathered upon

him. No doubt he _was_ eccentric; he possessed a quaint humour which was

not unusual in the early Evangelical school; but he never allowed

himself to be so far carried away by this spirit as to bring ridicule

upon the cause which he had at heart.

If it were the object of these sketches to make people laugh, Grimshaw's

life would furnish us with a fruitful subject of amusement. How he

dressed himself up as an old woman in order to discover who were the

disturbers of his cottage lectures; how he sold his Alderney cow because

'she would follow him up into the pulpit;' how a visitor at Haworth

looked out of his bedroom window one morning and saw to his horror the

vicar cleaning his guest's boots; how he is said (though this anecdote

is rather apocryphal) once to have made his congregation sing all the

176 verses of the 119th Psalm, while he went out to beat up the

wanderers to attend public worship; how he once interrupted a preacher

who was congratulating the Haworth people on the advantages they enjoyed

under a Gospel ministry, by crying out in a loud voice, 'No, no, sir,

don't flatter them; they are most of them going to Hell with their eyes

open;' these and many other such stories might be told at full

length.[802] But it is more profitable to dwell upon the noble,

disinterested work which he did, quite unrecognised by the great men of

his day, in a district which had sore need of such apostolical labours.

His last words were, 'Here goes an unprofitable servant'--words which

are no doubt true in the mouths of the best of men; but if any man might

have boasted that he had done profitable service in his Master's cause,

that man would have been William Grimshaw.

There is a strong family likeness between Grimshaw and _Berridge of

Everton_ (1716-1793), but the marked features of the character were more

conspicuous in the latter than in the former. Both were energetic

country parsons, and both itinerated; but Berridge went over a wider

field than Grimshaw. Both were oddities; but the oddities of Berridge

were more outrageous than those of Grimshaw. Both were stirring

preachers; but the effects of Berridge's preaching were more startling

if not more satisfactory than those which attended Grimshaw. Both were

Calvinists; but Berridge's Calvinism was of the more marked type of the

two. Moreover, Berridge rushed into the very thick of the Calvinistic

controversy, from which Grimshaw held aloof. Berridge was the better

read and the more highly trained man of the two. He was a Fellow of

Clare Hall, Cambridge, and before his conversion he was much sought

after, and that by men of great eminence, as a wit and an amusing boon

companion. The parish church of Everton was constantly the scene of

those violent physical symptoms which present a somewhat puzzling

phenomenon to the student of early Methodism. Berridge's eccentricities,

both in the pulpit and out of it, caused pain to the more sober-minded

of the Evangelical party. Thus we find John Thornton expostulating with

him in the following terms: 'The tabernacle people are in general wild

and enthusiastic, and delight in anything out of the common, which is a

temper of mind, though in some respect necessary, yet should never be

encouraged. If you and some few others, who have the greatest influence

over them, would use the curb instead of the spur, I am persuaded the

effects would be very blessed. You told me you was born with a fool's

cap on. Pray, my dear sir, is it not high time it was pulled off?'

Berridge, in his reply, admits the impeachment, but cannot resist giving

Thornton a Roland for his Oliver. 'A fool's cap,' he writes, 'is not put

off so readily as a night-cap. One cleaves to the head, and one to the

heart. It has been a matter of surprise to me how Dr. Conyers could

accept of Deptford living, and how Mr. Thornton could present him to it.

Has not lucre led him to Deptford, and has not a family connection ruled

your private judgment?'[803]

Specimens of Berridge's odd style and occasionally bad taste have

already been given in connection with Lady Huntingdon, and need not here

be multiplied. It was no doubt questionable propriety to say that

'nature lost her legs in paradise, and has not found them since,' or

that 'an angel might preach such doctrine as was commonly preached till

his wings dropped off without doing any good,' or to tell us that 'he

once went to Jesus as a coxcomb and gave himself fine airs.' But it is

far more easy to laugh at and to criticise the foibles of the good man

than to imitate his devotedness to his Masters service, and the moral

courage which enabled him to exchange the dignified position and learned

leisure of a University don for the harassing life and despised position

of a Methodist preacher--for so the Vicar of Everton would have been

termed in his own day.

The Evangelical revival drew within the sphere of its influence men of

the most opposite characters. It would be difficult to conceive a more

complete contrast than that which _William Romaine_ (1714-1795)

presented to the two worthies last mentioned. Grave, severe,

self-restrained, and, except to those who knew him intimately, somewhat

repellent in manners. Romaine would have been quite unfitted for the

work which Grimshaw and Berridge, in spite--or, shall we say, in

consequence?--of their boisterous bonhomie and occasionally ill-timed

jocularity were able to do. The farmers and working men of Haworth or

Everton would assuredly have gone to sleep under his preaching, or

stayed away from church altogether. One can scarcely fancy Romaine

itinerating at all; but if he had done so, the bleak moors of Yorkshire

or the cottage homes of Bedfordshire would not have been suitable

spheres for his labours. But where he was, he was the right man in the

right place. Among the grave and decorous citizens who attended the city

churches, and among the educated congregations who flocked to hear him

at St. George's, Hanover Square, Romaine was appreciated. Both in his

character and in his writings Romaine approached more nearly than any of

the so-called Puritans of his day to the typical Puritan of the

seventeenth century. He was like one born out of due time. One can fancy

him more at home with Flavel, Howe, and Baxter than with Whitefield,

Berridge, and Grimshaw. Did we not know its date, we might have imagined

that the 'Life, Walk, and Triumph of Faith' was written a hundred years

before it actually was. Its very style and language were archaic in the

eighteenth century, Romaine, indeed, thoroughly won the sympathy of the

generation in which he lived, or at any rate of the school to which he

belonged. But it was a work of time. He was at Oxford at the time of the

rise of Methodism, but appears to have held no communication with its

promoters. In another respect he differed from almost all the

Evangelicals. There was apparently no transition, either abrupt or

gradual, in his views. The only change which we can trace in his career

is the change in his outer life from the learned leisure of a six years'

residence at Oxford and ten years in a country curacy to the more active

sphere of duty of a London clergyman. The mere fact that a man of his

high reputation for learning and his irreproachable life should have

been left unbeneficed until he had reached the ripe age of fifty-two, is

another proof of the suspicion with which Methodism was regarded; for no

doubt he was early suspected of being tainted with Methodism. He

belonged to Lady Huntingdon's Connexion until the 'secession' of 1781,

when, like Venn and other parochial clergymen, he was compelled to

withdraw from formal union, though he still retained the closest

intimacy with her. He was for some time her senior chaplain, and her

adviser and assistant on all occasions. Although he differed from John

Wesley on the disputed points of Arminianism and sinless perfection more

widely than any of his co-religionists, he appears to have retained the

affection of that great man after others had lost it; for we find

Wesley writing to Lady Huntingdon in 1763: 'Only Mr. Romaine has shown a

truly sympathising spirit, and acted the part of a brother.' Indeed,

although Romaine was quite ready to enter into the lists of controversy

with Warburton and others whom he considered to be outside the

Evangelical pale, he seems to have held aloof from the disputes which

distracted those within that pale. 'Things are not here' [in London], he

writes to Lady Huntingdon, 'as at Brighthelmstone; Foundry, Tabernacle,

Lock, Meeting, yea and St. Dunstan's itself [his own church], has each

its party, and brotherly love is almost lost in our disputes. Thank God,

I am out of them.'

Romaine's Calvinism was of a more extreme type than that of most of the

Evangelicals. He was no Antinomian himself, but one can well believe

that his teaching might easily be perverted to Antinomian purposes.

Wilberforce has an entry in his journal for 1795:--'Dined with old

Newton, where met Henry Thornton and Macaulay. Newton very calm and

pleasing. Owned that Romaine had made many Antinomians.'[804] It seems

not improbable that Thomas Scott, when he spoke of 'great names

sanctioning Antinomianism,' had Romaine in view; at any rate, there is

no contemporary 'great name' to whom the remark would apply with equal

force.[805] It should be added that the 'Life, &c., of Faith' possesses

the strength as well as the defects of early Puritanism. It is, perhaps,

on the whole, the strongest book, as its author was the strongest man of

any who appeared among the Evangelicals. To find its equal we must go

back to the previous century.

We have hitherto been tracing the work of the Evangelical clergy in

remote country villages and in London. We have now to turn to one whose

most important work was done in a different sphere from either. _Henry

Venn_ (1724-1797) is chiefly known as the Vicar of Huddersfield, though

he only held that post for twelve out of the seventy-three years of his

life. Like all the rest of the Evangelical clergy whom we have noticed,

Venn was a connecting link between the Methodists and the Evangelicals

proper. Like Romaine, he belonged to Lady Huntingdon's Connexion until

the secession of 1781. He was also in the habit of itinerating during

the early part of his Evangelical ministry. He was on the most intimate

terms with the Wesleys and Whitefield, and thoroughly identified himself

with their practical work. But his son tells us in his most interesting

biography that his views changed on this matter. 'Induced,' he writes,

'by the hope of doing good, my father in certain instances preached in

unconsecrated places. But having acknowledged this, it becomes my

pleasing duty to state that he was no advocate for irregularity in

others; that when he afterwards considered it in its different bearings

and connections, he lamented that he had given way to it, and restrained

several other persons from such acts by the most cogent arguments.'[806]

The dispute between Venn and John Wesley as to whether the Methodist

preachers should be withdrawn from parishes where an Evangelical

incumbent was appointed has been already noticed.

The career of Henry Venn is particularly interesting and important,

because it shows us not only the points of contact between the

Methodists and Evangelicals, but also their points of divergence. In

spite of his itinerancy and his strong sympathy with the Methodist

leaders, Venn furnishes a more marked type of the rising Evangelical

school than any whom we have yet noticed. Apart from his literary work,

it was as a parish priest rather than as an evangelist that Venn made

his mark. His preaching at Huddersfield was unquestionably most

effective; but its effect was at least as much due to the great respect

which he inspired, the disinterestedness of his whole life and work, the

affectionate earnestness and sound practical sense of his counsel--in

short, to his pastoral efforts--as to his mere oratory. Again, the

Calvinism of Henry Venn was distinctly that of the later Evangelical

school rather than that of Whitefield and Romaine. He was a Calvinist of

precisely the same type as Newton, and Scott, and Cecil, and the two

Milners.

His closing years were very calm and happy. Worn out before his time in

his Master's work, he was obliged to exchange at the early age of

forty-seven the harass of a large town parish for the quiet of a country

village. More than a quarter of a century he passed in the peaceful

retirement of Yelling; but he was not idle. He faithfully attended to

his little parish, he trained up his family with admirable judgment in

the principles of piety, and had the satisfaction of living to see his

sons walking in his steps. One of them, John, became the respected and

useful rector of Clapham, to which place Henry Venn retired to die.

There are few names which are more highly esteemed among the Evangelical

party than the honoured name of Venn.

Henry Venn earned an honourable name as a writer no less than as a

pastor and preacher. It is not necessary here to dwell upon the few

sermons of his which are extant, and which probably give us a very

inadequate idea of his preaching power; nor yet upon his correspondence,

although it deserves a high place among those letters which form a

conspicuous feature in the literature of the eighteenth century. But he

wrote one work which requires further notice. The 'Complete Duty of Man'

would, if nothing else did, prevent his name from sinking into oblivion.

It deserves to live for its intrinsic merits. It is one of the few

instances of a devotional book which is not unreadable. It is not, like

some of the class, full of mawkish sentimentality; nor, like others, so

high-flown that it cannot be used for practical purposes by ordinary

mortals without a painful sense of unreality; nor, like others, so

intolerably dull as to disgust the reader with the subject which it

designs to recommend. It is written in a fine, manly, sensible strain of

practical piety. Venn's Huddersfield experience no doubt stood him in

good stead when he wrote this little treatise; the faithful pastor had

been wont to give advice orally to many an anxious inquirer, and he put

forth in print the counsel which he had found to be most effectual among

his appreciative parishioners. It is this fact, that it is evidently the

work of a man of practical experience, which constitutes the chief merit

of the book. Regarded as a literary composition, it by no means attains

a high rank, for its style is somewhat heavy and its arguments are not

very deep. If we would appreciate its excellence we must take it simply

as the counsel of a sincere and affectionate friend. Among the

devotional books of the century[807] it stands perhaps only

second--_longo sed proximus intervallo_--to the great work which, more

than any other, originated the Evangelical revival. This, after all, is

not necessarily very high praise; for the devotional books of the

eighteenth century do not reach a very high degree of excellence;[808]

with the single exception of the 'Serious Call,' not one of them can be

compared with the best of the preceding century--with Jeremy Taylor's

'Holy Living and Holy Dying,' for instance, or Baxter's 'Call to the

Unconverted,' or his 'Saint's Everlasting Rest,' or Howe's 'Living

Temple.'

But there is an historical interest in the 'Complete Duty of Man' quite

apart from its intrinsic merits. It may be regarded generally as a sort

of manifesto of the Evangelical party; and specially as a counterblast

against the defective theology of what Whitefield called 'England's

greatest favourite, "The Whole Duty of Man."' The very title of Venn's

work indicates its relationship to that once famous book. The 'Whole

Duty of Man' was written anonymously in the days of the Commonwealth,

when Calvinism had in too many cases degenerated into Antinomianism. It

has been seen how Whitefield with characteristic rashness declared that

its author knew no more of Christianity than Mahomet; and afterwards,

with equally characteristic candour, owned that he had been far too

severe in his condemnation. Cowper called it 'that repository of

self-righteousness and pharisaical lumber.'[809] Berridge equally

condemned it. Much more testimony to the same effect might be given.

There was, then, ample room for a treatise which should aim at the same

purpose as the 'Whole Duty of Man,' but which should enforce its

teaching on different principles. This want the 'Complete Duty'

supplied, and in its day supplied well. It was written from a

Calvinistic point of view; but its Calvinism differed widely from that,

for instance, of Romaine. A comparison between it and the 'Life, Walk,

and Triumph of Faith' marks the decided difference between two types of

Calvinists. Both books, it is presumed, were intended to be practical

treatises; but, whereas the one treats but very little of directly

practical duties, the full half--and the best and most interesting

half--of the other is exclusively concerned with them. Having fully

stated in his opening chapters the distinctive doctrines upon which

alone he thinks sound morality can be based, Venn in the rest of his

treatise enters with the utmost minuteness into the practical duties of

the Christian to God and man. Truthfulness, honesty, meekness, courtesy,

candour, the relative duties in various capacities--of masters towards

their servants and servants towards their masters, of parents towards

their children and children towards their parents, and the like, are all

fully dwelt upon.

For convenience' sake we have spoken of the _later_ Evangelicalism as

distinguished from the _earlier_ Methodism. But it would be inaccurate

to represent the one simply as the successor of the other. The two

movements were, to a certain extent, contemporaneous, and were for a

time so blended together that it is difficult to separate them. Besides

the clergy already noticed, there were several others scattered

throughout the country who clearly belonged to the Evangelicals rather

than to the Methodists. Such a one was Walker of Truro (1714-1761), who,

by his own personal work and by his influence over other clergy,

contributed largely to the spread of the Evangelical revival in the West

of England. Such a one was Adam of Winteringham, the author of a once

very popular devotional book, entitled 'Private Thoughts,' and his

friend and neighbour Archdeacon Bassett of Glentworth. Such a one was

Augustus Toplady, about whom enough has been said in connection with the

Calvinistic controversy. On the crucial test, which separated Methodism

proper from Evangelicalism proper, these and several others of less note

were decidedly on the, side of Evangelicalism. While agreeing thoroughly

with Methodist doctrines (we may waive the vexed question of Calvinism),

they thoroughly disapproved of the Methodist practice of itinerancy,

which they regarded as a mark of insubordination, a breach of Church

order, and an unwarrantable interference with the parochial system.[810]

We find Hervey, and Walker, and Adam all expostulating with Wesley on

his irregularities, and endeavouring to persuade him, though quite

ineffectually, to submit to Church discipline and listen to the commands

of Church rulers. Wesley, on his part, thought that such clergy were a

mere rope of sand. Berridge predicted that, after the death of the

individuals, their congregations would be absorbed in the Dissenting

sects. Neither seems to have contemplated the possibility of what

actually took place, viz. the formation of a strong party within the

Church, quite as much attached to parochial order and quite as obedient

to the Church rulers as the highest of High Churchmen. It has been

asserted, and apparently not without reason, that these early

Evangelicals found more sympathy among the pious Dissenters than they

did among the Methodists, though they were constantly confounded with

the latter.[811]

It was not, however, until the later years of the century that the

scattered handful of clergy who held these views swelled into a large

and compact body, which, to this day, has continued to form a great and

influential section of the Church of England.

The first name which claims our attention in this connection is that of

_John Newton_ (1725-1807). No character connected with the Evangelical

revival is presented to us with greater vividness and distinctness than

his, and no character is on the whole a more lovable one. It has

frequently been objected that Christians of the Puritan and Evangelical

schools, when describing their conversion, have been apt to exaggerate

their former depravity. There may be some force in the objection,

but it does not apply to John Newton. The moral and even physical

degradation from which he was rescued can hardly be exaggerated. An

infidel, a blasphemer, a sensualist, a corrupter of others, despised

by the very negroes among whom his lot was cast, such was Newton in

his earlier years. Those who desire to learn the details of this part

of his life may be referred to his own harrowing--sometimes even

repulsive--narrative, or to the biography written by his accomplished

friend, Mr. Cecil. None of the Evangelical leaders passed through such

an ordeal as he did; but the experience which he underwent as a

slave-trader, and as the menial servant of a slave-trader, stood him in

good stead after he had become an exemplary and respected clergyman. It

enabled him to enter into and sympathise with the rude temptations of

others; he had felt them all himself; he had yielded to them, and by the

grace of God he had overcome them. The grossest of profligates found in

him one who had sunk to a lower depth than themselves; and so they dared

to unburthen their very hearts to him; and few who did so went away

without relief. They would hardly have ventured to make so clean a

breast before men who, like the majority of the Evangelical leaders, had

always lived at least outwardly respectable lives; and if they had

ventured to do so, these good men could hardly have appreciated their

difficulties. But Newton had been one of them; scarcely a sin could they

mention but he had either committed it himself, or been brought into

close contact with those who _had_ committed it. It was not so much as a

preacher that Newton's forte lay; for though his sermons were full of

matter and read well, it is said that they were not well delivered; and,

perhaps, they are in themselves a little heavy, and deficient in the

lighter graces of oratory. But as an adviser and personal director of

those who had been heinous sinners, and had learnt to cry in the agony

of their souls, 'What must I do to be saved?' Newton was

unrivalled.[812] Nor was it only to the profligate that Newton's advice

was seasonable and effective. Many who were living outwardly decorous

lives derived inestimable benefit from it. Thomas Scott, Joseph Milner,

William Cowper, William Wilberforce, and Hannah More were all more or

less influenced by him. Newton was in every way adapted to be a

spiritual adviser. In spite of his rough exterior he was a man of a very

affectionate nature. This at his worst he never lost. In his darkest

hours there was still one bright spot. His love for Mary Catlett, first

conceived when she was a child of thirteen, continued unabated to the

day of her death and beyond her death. This plain, downright, homely man

not only professed, but felt, an ardour of attachment which no hero of

romance ever exceeded. His conscience reproached him for making an idol

of his 'dear Mary.' Oddly enough, he took the public into his

confidence. The publication of his 'Letters to a Wife,' breathing as

they do the very spirit of devoted love, in his own life-time, may have

been in questionable taste; but they indicate a simplicity very

characteristic of the man. His letters upon her death to Hannah More and

others are singularly plaintive and beautiful; and the verses which he

wrote year by year on each anniversary of that sad event are more

touching than better poetry.[813]

His name is specially connected with that of the poet Cowper. At first

sight it would seem difficult to conceive a greater contrast than that

which existed between the two men. Cowper was a highly nervous, shy,

delicate man, who was most at home in the company of ladies in their

drawing-room, who had had no experience whatever of external hardships,

who had always lived a simple, retired life, and had shrunk with

instinctive horror from the grosser vices. He was from his youth a

refined and cultured scholar, and had associated with scarcely any but

the pure and gentle. Newton was a plain, downright sailor, with nerves

of iron, and a mind and spirit as robust as his frame. He had little

inclination for the minor elegancies of life. He was almost entirely

self-taught. What could there be in common between two such men?

In point of fact, these differences were all merely superficial.

Penetrate a little deeper, and it will be found that in reality they

were thoroughly kindred spirits. On the one side, Cowper's apparent

effeminacy was all on the surface; his mind, when it was not unstrung,

was of an essentially masculine and vigorous type. All his writings,

including his delightful letters as well as his poetry, are remarkably

free from mawkishness and mere sentimentality. On the other side,

Newton's roughness was merely superficial. Within that hard exterior

there beat a heart as tender and delicate as that of any child. It is

the greatest mistake in the world to confound this genial, sociable man,

full of quiet, racy humour, smoking that memorable pipe of his, which

was the occasion of so much harmless fun between him and Cowper and the

worthy sisters More--with the hard surly Puritan of the Balfour of

Burley type. Newton had a point of contact with every side of Cowper's

character. He had at least as strong a sympathy with the author of 'John

Gilpin' as with the author of 'The Task.' For one of the most marked

features of John Newton's intellectual character was his strong sense of

humour. Many of his 'ana' rival those of Dr. Johnson himself; and now

and then, even in his sermons, glimpses of his humorous tendency peep

forth.[814] But his wit never degenerated into buffoonery, and was never

unseasonable like that of Berridge and Grimshaw. Again, he could fully

appreciate Cowper's taste for classical literature; considering how

utterly Newton's education had been neglected, it is perfectly

marvellous how he managed, under the most unfavourable circumstances, to

acquire no contemptible knowledge of the great classical authors. Add to

all this that Newton's native kindness of heart made him feel very

deeply for the misfortune of his friend, and it will be no longer a

matter of wonder that there should have been so close a friendship

between the two men. It is readily granted that there was a certain

amount of awe mingled with the love which Cowper bore to Newton, but

Newton was the very last man in the world to abuse the gentle poet's

confidence.

The part which _William Cowper_ (1731-1800) took in the Evangelical

movement is too important to pass unnoticed. The shy recluse of Olney

and Weston Underwood contributed in his way more towards the spread of

the Evangelical revival than even Whitefield did with all his burning

eloquence, or Wesley with all his indomitable activity. For those who

despised Whitefield and Wesley as mere vulgar fanatics, those who would

never have read a word of what Newton or Romaine wrote, those who were

too much prejudiced to be affected by the preaching of any of the

Evangelical clergy, could not refrain from reading the works of one who

was without question the first poet of his day. This is not the place to

criticise Cowper's poetry; but it may be remarked that that poetry

exercised an influence greater than that which its intrinsic

merits--great though these were--could have commanded, owing to the fact

that Cowper was the first who gave expression to the reaction which had

set in against the artificial school of Pope. Men were becoming weary of

the smooth rhymes, the brilliant antitheses, the flash and the glitter,

the constant straining after effect, carrying with it a certain air of

unreality, which had long been in vogue. They welcomed with delight a

poet who wrote in a more easy and natural, if a rougher and less

correct, style. Cowper was, in fact, the father of a new school of

poetry--a school of which Southey, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth were in

the next generation distinguished representatives. But almost all that

Cowper wrote (at least of original composition) was subservient to one

great end. He was essentially a Christian poet, and in a different sense

from that in which Milton, and George Herbert, and Young were Christian

poets. As Socrates brought philosophy, so Cowper brought religious

poetry down from the clouds to dwell among men. Not only does a vein of

piety run through all his poetry, but the attentive reader cannot fail

to perceive that his main object in writing was to recommend practical,

experimental religion of the Evangelical type. He himself gives us the

keynote to all his writings in a beautiful passage,[815] in which he

describes the want which he strove to supply.