CHAPTER II
CHILDHOOD AT EPWORTH
JOHN BENJAMIN WESLEY, born on June 17th, J was
the fifteenth of the Rector’s nineteen children. He received
the names of two brothers, John and Benjamin, who had died in
infancy, but he never used the second name. At the time of his
birth there were six children in the Rectory; the rest were
dead. Samuel, the only boy, was thirteen years old, and was
preparing to enter Westminster School the following year. Charles
Wesley was not born for more than four years afterwards.
Epworth, the Lincolnshire town which is honoured
as the birthplace of John and Charles Wesley, was then a market-town
of about two thousand inhabitants. Its population has not increased
for two hundred years. It is the principal place in a strip
of land once enclosed by five rivers—the Idle and Torr,
on the west and south; the Trent, on the east; the Ouse, the
Don, and the broad tidal estuary of the Humber, to the north.
This was the Isle of Axholme. Three of the rivers are now only
to be traced by the willow trees which mark their former Channels.
About ten thousand people lived in this strip of country, which
is ten miles long and four broad. The fine old church at Epworth,
with its massive tower, has been made familiar by the well-known
picture of Wesley preaching on his father’s tomb. It stands
on rising ground, and when seen from the old Market Place appears
to command the town. It is dedicated to St. Andrew. The Parsonage
in which John and Charles Wesley were born was destroyed by
fire February 9th, 1709. The Rector described his home at South
Ormsby as “a mean cot, composed of reeds and clay.”
The Epworth Parsonage was superior to this. Stonehouse in his
“History of the Isle of Axholme “ quotes a description
of it in 1607. It was a three-storied building of timber and
plaster, thatched with straw, and had seven principal rooms,
a kitchen, hall, parlour, buttery, with three large upper rooms
and some others for common use. A small garden, a thatched barn,
a dovecot, and other outside premises were attached. The whole
covered about three acres. In this old house John Wesley was
born and taught to read. The present Rectory, a long brick building,
“with a high-pitched tiled roof rising from a bold projecting
cornice, is an excellent specimen of the sterling unpretentious
architecture of the day, a quiet, genuine Queen Anne house,
very unlike the crude heaps of incongruities, devoid of repose,
which now pass by that name. The garden, with its smooth lawn
and long straight walks, bordered with old-fashioned flowers,
with hedges of sweetpeas, foxgloves, sweet-williams, and snapdragons,
beds of odoriferous pinks, and a wealth of roses, is a delicious
pleasure-ground, in the true old English sense of the word,
the rival of which one might go far to find.” Such is
the description of the Rectory given in the Saturday Review.t
The house remained almost unaltered from Wesley’s boyhood
up to 1883, when it was considerably enlarged,’ but the
air of comfort and quiet prosperity which the Rectory now wears
was certainly not its aspect in the days of. Samuel Wesley.
When John was only two years old his father was committed to
Lincoln Castle for debt by his enemies, so that the household
was familiar enough with poverty in his childhood. The house
was rebuilt within a year at a cost of £400, but the Rector’s
resources were so straitened that even thirteen years afterwards
it was not half furnished.
A good picture of John Wesley’s boyhood
is gained from Susanna Wesley’s account of the training
of her children, written at his request on July 24th, 1732.t
That training may be said to have begun with the children’s
birth. Even during the first three months of their life, which
were mostly spent in sleep, they were dressed and undressed
and their clothes were changed at fixed times. After that period
they were, if possible, laid in the cradle awake and rocked
to sleep. Until the children were brought into a proper course
of sleeping this rocking continued up to the time fixed for
them to awake. At first three hours were allowed in the morning,
three in the afternoon; then the time was reduced to two hours,
until at last they needed no sleep during the day. The children
were taught to fear the rod when they were only a year old and
to cry softly. By this means the Epworth Parsonage, though full
of children, was as quiet as if there had not been one in the
house.
As soon as possible, the little table and chairs
were set near the family dinner-table, where they could be easily
overlooked. The children were taught to ask softly for anything
they wanted and to eat whatever was provided for the family.
As soon as they could handle a knife and fork they sat at the
table with their parents. No eating or drinking between meals
was allowed. Evening prayers were over at six o’clock.
The children then had supper, and at seven o’clock were
prepared for bed. First, the youngest was undressed and washed,
then the rest in turn. All were in bed by eight.
Mrs. Wesley’s first care was to teach her
children obedience. She knew that this was not only the way
to rule well her large household, but also to secure the happiness
of her boys and girls. “I insist,” she says in her
interesting letter, “upon conquering the will of children
betimes, because this is the only strong and rational foundation
of a religious education, without which both precept and example
will be ineffectual. But when this is thoroughly done, then
a child is capable of being governed by the reason and piety
of its parents, till its own understanding comes to maturity,
and the principles of religion have taken root in the mind.”
One result of this training was seen in times of illness. There
was no difficulty in getting these model children to take even
the most unpleasant medicine.
Religious training began as early as possible.
Even before they could kneel or speak, they were taught to be
quiet at family prayers, and to ask a blessing by signs. As
soon as they could speak they repeated the Lord’s Prayer
morning and evening. A prayer for their parents, some collects,
Catechism, and Scripture, were added as soon as they were able
to learn them. No profane or rude words were ever heard in the
Parsonage. The children were taught to ask quietly for what
they wanted. Crying never won anything in this home. No one
was allowed to speak to the servants without saying, “Pray
give me such a thing.” The little people were always expected
to say “Brother John” or "Sister Kezzy.”
The code of honour observed among them allowed no promise to
be broken, no gift reclaimed. No one attempted to take what
belonged, to his brother or sister. Confession of a fault always
averted punishment, so that many temptations to falsehood were
removed.
Mrs. Wesley was the schoolmistress of the Parsonage.
The glimpse of the local schoolmaster, John Holland, “whose
kindness” young Samuel Wesley, who was under him for one
year, “wore on his knuckles,” and who reduced himself
and his family to the verge of starvation by his wickedness,
makes us thankful that the mother of the Wesleys was their teacher.
Her grandson, Samuel Wesley, says that she had the happy talent
of imbuing a child’s mind with every kind of useful knowledge
in such a way as to stamp it indelibly on the memory. She began
her work as soon as her children were five years old. The day
before the little scholar was initiated all household matters
were carefully arranged, and every one was strictly charged
not to enter the schoolroom from nine to twelve, or from two
to five. If we except Kezzy, as to whom her mother’s plans
were unfortunately overruled, all the children learned their
letters the first day save two of the girls, who took a day
and a half. For this Mrs. Wesley thought them very dull, but
when she knew other children better she altered her Opinion.
After the alphabet was mastered the children were taught to
spell and read first a line, then a verse. No lesson was left
till it was perfect. Before the close of morning school each
repeated what had been learned; before work was finished in
the afternoon the whole day’s task was repeated. No loud
talking or playing was allowed in school; every one kept close
to work. The progress made was such that Mrs. Wesley herself,
who was not easy to please, says, “It is almost incredible
what a child may be taught in a quarter of a year by a vigorous
application if it have but a tolerable capacity and good health.”
The Parsonage was a constant scene of trouble.
In 1702 two-thirds of it was burnt down; two years later all
the Rector’s flax was destroyed. Samuel Wesley made himself
many enemies by the prominent share he took in the controversy
between the High Church party and the Dissenters. During a contested
election he also embroiled himself with his parishioners by
his zealous efforts on behalf of the Tory candidate. His lot
was cast among a people proverbially turbulent and lawless.
The Dutch settlers of the Commonwealth had been roughly treated
by the natives of Axholme. All law and order was suspended.
Epworth Church was defaced, and the Ten Commandments were torn
in pieces by one of the rioters. The house of a Mr. Reading,
who collected rents and had shown great enterprise in the cultivation
of the soil, was twice burned down by the half-civilised mob,
who used the weapons familiar to Irish agrarian outrage. John
Wesley ascribed the greatest calamity his father ever suffered
to the malice of his unscrupulous parishioners.
On February 9th, 1709, the memorable fire at the
Rectory took place. It broke out between eleven and twelve at
night, when all the family were in bed. The roof of the corn-chamber
was burnt through before any one was aware of the danger. Some
of the fire fell upon Hetty Wesley’s bed, in a little
room adjoining. She at once ran to call her father, who lay
in the red chamber. He had heard some one crying “Fire
!" in the street a little while before, but did not understand
that his own house was in danger. He roused his family and told
them to make baste, because the roof was falling fast, and only
a thin wall or door kept the flames from the staircase. They
bad not even time to put on their clothes. Mr. Wesley, with
the nurse and two of the children, got downstairs into the garden;
the servants and two others escaped through the window. After
three fruitless attempts Mrs. Wesley waded through the fire,
which scorched her legs and face. At last all were safe save
John, then five and a half years old. He had been asleep in
the nursery, with three of his sisters, his little brother Charles,
and the nurse. When the alarm was given, the nurse snatched
up Charles, the youngest child, and bade the rest follow her.
John was left in bed fast asleep. In a few minutes he awoke,
and, seeing how light the room was, called to the maid to take
him up. As no one answered, he put his head out of the curtains
and saw streaks of fire on the ceiling. The child jumped out
of bed and went to the door, but found that all beyond was in
a blaze. He then climbed on the chest which stood near the window.
The Rector tried to rush through the flames, which enveloped
the staircase, to rescue his boy; but though he made two attempts,
holding his trousers above his head as a kind of shield, the
fire beat him down. He then went into the garden; and, calling
his family around him, all kneeled down whilst he commended
the child to God A man below, however, had seen John, and would
have run for a ladder; but another spectator said there was
no time to lose, and suggested that a light man should be set
on his shoulders, so as to lift the little fellow out of the
window. The first time the man fell down, but he was helped
up again, and was thus able to reach the child. Just as they
rescued him the whole roof fell in. Fortunately, it fell inwards,
or the boy and his brave deliverers would have been crushed
by the weight.
When John was brought to his father by the brave
men who had rescued him the Rector cried out, “Come, neighbours,
let us kneel down; let us give thanks to God ! He has given
me all my eight children; let the house go; I am rich enough.”
Nothing was saved. In about fifteen minutes the building, with
all its furniture, books, and papers, was utterly destroyed.
John Wesley’s wonderful escape always filled him with
gratitude. In one of his early prints a house in flames is represented
below his own portrait, with the words, “Is not this a
brand plucked out of the fire?” • One interesting
reference to the event is found in his journals. On Friday,
February 9th, 1750, whilst holding a watchnight service in his
West Street Chapel, London, “About eleven o’clock,”
he says, “it came into my mind, that this was the very
day and hour in which, forty years ago, I was taken out of the
flames. I stopped, and gave a short account of that wonderful
providence. The voice of praise and thanksgiving went up on
high, and great was our rejoicing before the Lord.” Both
he and the Methodist people knew by that time for what blessed
work he had been spared.
The fire at the Rectory deranged all Mrs. Wesley’s
plans for nearly a year. Her children were kindly received
into several families; and Kezia, their nineteenth child, was
born one month after the fire. They were allowed to do as other
boys and girls did. They talked with the servants; they ran
about and played with other children, both good and bad. John
was received into the house of Mr. Hume, a neighbouring clergyman,
about the misfortunes of whose family he heard a sad account
on his return from Georgia. * After the Parsonage was rebuilt
Mrs. Wesley began a strict reform. The children had grown careless
about the Sabbath, had learned several songs and bad things
“which before they had no notion of.” They had lost
their good manners, and had acquired “a clownish accent
and many rude ways.” Before the fire no children could
be found more obedient to their parents, or better disposed
towards religion. Mrs. Wesley felt that she had a difficult
task, but she set herself bravely to recover the lost ground.
Several new features were now introduced into the training.
Psalms were sung both at the opening and close of school. The
mother little knew what service her two sons were by-and-bye
to render to the cause of sacred song. The habit of general
retirement at five o’clock which John and Charles Wesley
so carefully observed in later life was then entered upon.
The oldest child took the youngest that could speak, the second
the next, and thus all the children formed themselves into pairs
to read over the Evening Psalms, with a chapter from the New
Testament. Before breakfast the Morning Psalms and a chapter
of the Old Testament were read in the same way.
John Wesley’s escape made his mother the
more zealous for her boy’s true welfare. Two years after
the fire she wrote in the book where she noted down her private
meditations,. “I do intend to be more particularly careful
of the soul of this child, that Thou hast so mercifully Provided
for, than ever I have been, that I may do my endeavour to instil
into his mind the principles of Thy true religion and virtue.
Lord, give me grace to do it sincerely and prudently, and bless
my attempts with good success.” Such was the effect of
her training that his lather admitted John to the Communion
when he was only eight years old.* He says in his journal,t
“I believe till I was about ten years old I had not sinned
away that ‘washing of the Holy Ghost’ which was
given me in baptism, having been strictly educated and carefully
taught, that I could only be saved ‘by universal obedience,
by keeping all the commandments of God,’ in the meaning
of which I was diligently instructed.”
The year 1712 was an eventful one in John Wesley’s
childhood. Whilst his father was in London, attending Convocation,
Mrs. Wesley was greatly quickened by an account of the labours
of the young Danish missionaries Ziegenbalgh and Plutscho, sent
out in November, 1705, under the auspices of Frederick IV.,
the King of Denmark, to the East Indies for the conversion of
the heathen in Malabar. Not long before she had begun to hold
services in her kitchen on Sunday evenings for her family and
servants. There was no afternoon service during her husband’s
absence, and his curate was a dry unevangelical preacher, whose
religion was summed up in the duty of paying one’s debts,
which formed the constant theme of his ministry. Mrs. Wesley,
therefore, felt it necessary to read with her children and servants.
One boy told his parents of the meetings. They begged leave
to come, and others joined them, but the number was seldom more
than forty. After she read the account of these devoted missionaries,
Mrs. Wesley became more zealous. She chose the best and most
awakening sermons, and spent more time with the people in religious
exercises.
On the first Sunday in February, 1712, more than
two hundred, people were present; and many went away because
there was no room. John and Charles Wesley were in their mother’s
congregation. Charles was only four; but John, who was eight
and a half, must have followed these services with peculiar
interest. The curate appealed to his rector to discourage these
novel assemblies, but Mrs. Wesley's defence was so complete
that her husband would not interfere. She also resolved to set
apart some time every evening to converse privately with each
child “in something that relates to its principal concerns.”
John’s turn came on Thursday. How he prized the opportunity
may be seen from his letter to his mother, written when he was
Fellow of Lincoln. “If you can spare me only that little
part of Thursday evening which you formerly bestowed upon me
in another manner, I doubt not but it would be as useful now
for correcting my heart, as it was then in forming my judgment.”
In the April of 1712, John and four more of the
Parsonage children had the small-pox. His mother gives a pleasant
glimpse of her boy in a letter to her husband in London. “Jack
has borne his disease bravely, like a man, and indeed like a
Christian, without any complaint, though he seemed angry at
the small-pox when they were sore, as we guessed by his looking
sourly at them, for he never said anything.” * This anecdote
is characteristic. Mr. Wesley told Adam Clarke t that when he
was a child, and was asked to have fruit or anything else between
meals, he would quietly reply, “J thank you. I will think
of it.” The fact is that Mrs. Wesley did not allow her
children to take anything between meals, and John Was so well
trained that he made this discreet answer.
He would never do anything till he considered
it well. This habit often gave him some appearance of hesitation.
His father once said to Mrs. Wesley, “ I profess, sweetheart,
I think our Jack would not attend to the most pressing necessities
of nature unless he could give a reason for it.” * He
told John himself; “Child, you think to carry everything
by dint of argument; but you will find how very little is ever
done in the world by close reason.” “Very little
indeed,” is Mr. Wesley’s comment.
In January, 1714, he was nominated for the Charterhouse.
With the exception of some time spent as his father’s
curate at Wroote, he never lived at Epworth again. He was a
frequent visitor, however; and we shall see that he retained
his connection with the Lincolnshire town till the close of
his long life. It witnessed some of the most blessed scenes
of his itinerant ministry. On July 9th, 1779, in connection
with a visit, he says, “How true is this trite remark:
Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos
Ducit, et immemores non sinet esse suâ !
The natal soil to all how strangely sweet!
The place where first he breathed who can forget
!"
That day he preached to a great congregation at
his usual stand—the cross—in the market-place. Next
day he says, “Taking a solitary walk in the churchyard,
I felt the truth ‘One generation goeth, and another cometh.’
See how the earth drops its inhabitants, as the tree drops its
leaves I "
