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 su !

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 "