Two clergymen, who were both useful afterward in making the gospel known, had just become Methodist preachers—Mr. Walker, at Truro, in Cornwall, and Mr. Romaine, in London. They were much opposed and hindered, as the earlier preachers had been, but that did not signify. In the spring of the next year, 1749, John Wesley went again to Ireland for the third time. On the way he spent a short time in Wales, where, on April 8th, he married his brother Charles to a young lady called Sarah Gwynn. Her father, a Welsh squire, had been much opposed to the Methodists; and had once gone to a meeting, intending, as he was a magistrate, to seize Howell Harris, and send him to prison. But Mr. Gwynne’s opposition arose entirely from ignorance, and not from enmity. He waited to hear what the preaching was about, and was so thankful for what he heard, that instead of arresting Howell Harris he went up to him, shook hands warmly with him, and invited him to his house, at a place called Garth. The family at Garth, besides Mr. Marmaduke Gwynne and his wife, included nine children, twenty servants, and a chaplain. There were generally ten or fifteen visitors there besides. Great was the consternation with which this large party was struck, when the Methodist preacher was brought into the house; and to add to their wonder and horror, Mr. Gwynne, before the assembled household, said that he wished to make a public acknowledgment of his sin and ignorance, shown in opposing the Methodists. He wished also to ask Mr. Harris’s forgiveness. Mrs. Gwynne upon this walked out of the room, and would not return till Howell Harris was gone. Mrs. Gwynne’s next trouble was that her daughter Sarah began to go to the preaching, and believed in the Lord Jesus. But at last Mrs. Gwynne was herself persuaded to go, and she too believed, and was saved. Two years later Charles Wesley had been invited to Garth and now, on the spring day of which I have told you, he and Miss Sarah were married. Perhaps you would wish to know what a Methodist wedding was like. I will tell you. On this occasion it was a lovely day, not a cloud to be seen from morning to night. Charles and John Wesley, Sarah Gwynne, and her sister Becky all got up at four o’clock. For three hours and a half they prayed and sang hymns together. At eight they went to the church. Only the family were present. We are specially told that Grace Bowen, the old nurse, was one of the company. After they returned to the house they spent more time in praying. “Prayers and thanksgiving,” says Charles, “was our whole employment. We were cheerful without mirth, serious without sadness. A stranger, that intermeddleth not with our joy, said it looked more like a funeral than a wedding.” Perhaps the stranger was one of many who think that prayer is something which has to do with death beds, and that, for a wedding, finery and jewels are far more suitable than prayer and praise. Just as many people think of churches and churchyards as belonging to one another, so do they think of prayer as fit for dying people and mournful occasions, and when it is a time of joy and gladness, we see, alas, but too plainly, what their notions of joy are. Fine clothes, eating and drinking, are the marks of their times of gladness. But if Charles Wesley and Sarah Gwynne had higher thoughts of happiness and pleasure, let us be glad that so it was.
Next day, John began preaching again on his way to Ireland, where he arrived about the middle of April. He stayed there some months, preaching all about the country. In the meantime the Popish mobs at Cork were beating, stoning, and maiming the Methodists, breaking into their houses, demolishing their goods, and burning the fragments in the street. The mayor would not interfere. He said Papists were tolerated, but Methodists were not, and they must suffer for their folly.