Another peep into the Magic Mirror.--A pretty
picture.--At Epworth.--Mr. Wesley is very unkindly
treated.--All for the best.--The curate is
"done."--A happy ending to a bad
beginning.--"Good-bye, Epworth."
SHALL we have another peep into the Magic Mirror? See that pretty
country church, with the square tower. There are some big trees near,
looking as if they were tall giants keeping guard; they have no leaves
on them yet, and their bare arms stretch out a long way as if they were
trying to reach the church.
If you look carefully you will see buds coming out on the trees, baby
buds they are, waiting for the sun's kisses. Then they will burst out
and grow into great leaves that will cover up the naked old trees. Ivy
climbs up the church wall. I see its dark glossy leaves, for the ivy is
evergreen.
There are many graves in the churchyard, but you can hardly see them
because people are sitting on them; such a number of people, hundreds
more than could ever have got into the church. They are all looking one
way, and seem to be listening very attentively. What are they looking
at? They are looking at a gentleman who is standing all alone on a big
flat tombstone near the church wall. He wears a gown and white bands
like a clergyman, and he has long hair brushed very smoothly, and a
beautiful, happy face.
Dear me! did I hear a crash then? And did I hear a hundred young voices
shouting: "I know who it is, it's Mr. John Wesley"? Why, you must have
broken the mirror with your shouts. You are right, dears, but you
shouted rather too soon. I wanted to read what it said on the tombstone
on which Mr. Wesley was standing. But, never mind, I think I saw some of
the words:
"SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
SAMUEL WESLEY,
FOR THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS RECTOR OF EPWORTH."
Yes, it was his father's grave on which John Wesley was standing.
On his way back from one of his visits to Newcastle he thought he would
like to see his dear old home once more. It was a long, long time since
he had been there, and he was not quite sure whether the people would
have anything to do with him now, for, as leader of the Methodists, he
had many enemies.
It was Saturday evening in early spring, when he got to the little inn,
in the long straggling street that was called Epworth village. He had
not been there very long before three or four poor women found him out,
one of them an old servant of his mother's.
Next morning, which was Sunday, he went to the curate of the church and
politely offered to help him with the service. The curate, I am sorry to
say, was very rude, and refused to let Mr. Wesley take any part in the
service or to preach in the church at all.
This was a great disappointment, for Mr. Wesley loved the people of
Epworth, and every stone in the old church was dear to him. His father
had preached from that pulpit for nearly forty years, and he himself had
stood there more times than he could count, and it was very hard that he
was forbidden to take his place there now.
The people were longing to hear him, and when the afternoon service was
over, and all the folks were leaving the church, one of his friends
stood in the churchyard and gave out this notice:
"MR. WESLEY, NOT BEING ALLOWED TO PREACH
IN THE CHURCH, INTENDS TO PREACH HERE AT
SIX O'CLOCK THIS EVENING."
It was this picture of Mr. Wesley preaching that the Magic Mirror showed
us. I expect the curate was very angry at being so "done;" but he could
not stop Mr. Wesley preaching _outside_ the church.
For a whole week John Wesley preached every evening from his father's
tombstone. Crowds came to hear him, and hundreds were converted and
turned from their evil ways. They saw how sinful they had been and
prayed aloud for forgiveness. Drunkards became sober men, and those who
cursed and swore were turned into peace-makers.
So dear old Mr. Wesley's prayers were answered, and the people who had
treated him so unkindly, and whom he had forgiven and loved, now took
his Saviour to be their Saviour, and his God to be their God.
Indeed Mr. Wesley's visit to his old home, that began so unpleasantly,
ended very happily, and when his last evening came, both he and his dear
people found it hard to say "Good-bye."
[Illustration]
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