But I must now tell you of something which gave John Wesley the greatest joy. The very day after he returned to London, his mother told him that till within the last few months she had scarcely heard such a thing mentioned as our having forgiveness of sins now, much less did she imagine that this was what God desired all His people to know. “Therefore,” she said, “I never durst ask it for myself. But two or three weeks ago, when I heard the words spoken ‘The Blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for thee,’ the words struck through my heart, and I knew God, for Christ’s sake, had forgiven me all my sins.” This was indeed happy news for John. His mother now began to go with him to the preachings. Her doubts and fears were gone, and she thanked God for the blessed work He was doing by her two sons. Besides preaching out of doors, Wesley had many meetings in the rooms of the societies, especially at the room in Fetter Lane, in the City of London. To this little meeting a lady came, of whom you will hear a good deal by-and-bye. But I will first tell you a little of the London life of ladies in those days, that you may understand how strange a thing it was that any of them should find their way to this little Methodist meeting.
We find in an old book, written in those times, a sad account of the manner in which the days were spent by both ladies and gentlemen. The ladies, we are told, “seldom rise till noon, and the first part of their time is spent either at the tea-table (which must have been a sort of late breakfast) or in dressing, unless they take a turn to Covent Garden or Ludgate Hill, and tumble over the mercer’s rich silks, or view some India or China trifle, some prohibited manufacture, or foreign lace.”
Whilst the ladies were engaged in these useful occupations, we are told that the gentlemen, if they were not Members of Parliament, and had no particular business to attend to, were to be found in the chocolate houses near the Court, or in the park, or were up so late in the morning as not to go out till after dinner. Dinner seems to have been at about two or three o’clock, as we are told that the evening, which is reckoned to begin about four or five, was devoted to pleasure. “All the world get abroad in their gavest equipages between four and five in the evening, some bound to the play, others to the opera, the assembly, the masquerade, or music-meeting, to which they move in such crowds that their coaches can scarce pass the streets. There are many gentlemen, however, that choose to spend their evening at a tavern in agreeable conversation, whilst others go to their clubs; but of all diversions theatrical entertainments seem to rank the highest, as being most universally admired.” Our old book goes on to describe these much admired theatrical entertainments, giving the account written of them by a French gentleman who visited England. “It is here,” says the Frenchman, “that young people are made familiar with vice, which is always represented as a thing indifferent, and never as vice. The characters in the play swear, game, drink, fight, etc. All that can be said of the best of them is that he is more genteelly wicked than the rest. There seldom fails to be abundance of swearing, idle stories, and foolish comparisons,” etc.
This description goes on to say that one reverend writer condemns playhouses, as unlawful for a Christian: as “unlawful as to be a drunkard or glutton, or to curse and swear,” and you might, perhaps, suppose from this that there were many right-minded people who saw the evil of such amusements. But, alas! the old book goes on to tell us that such an opinion was thought too severe, and to “border upon arrogance and uncharitableness.”
“What must we think of our clergy,” adds the writer, “knowing that they have, every one of them almost, sometimes in their lives attended at such places, and given their money to be thus entertained? This should lead us to conclude that the playhouse does not deserve the bad names which the reverend writer has been pleased to bestow upon it.”
The accounts given of the other amusements of those days are much what we might expect, having been told that the playhouse was thought a fit place for the men who called themselves ministers of the gospel; nor can we be surprised when we hear how entirely useless were the sermons preached by such men on Sunday. A learned lawyer who lived at that time tells us that he went from church to church all over London to hear what the sermons were like. He says he did not hear a single sermon that had more Christianity in it than the writings of the old heathen, Cicero, and that it would have been impossible for him to find out, from what he heard, whether the preacher were a follower of Confucius, of Mahomet, or of Christ. Confucius was, you know, a heathen Chinaman who lived a long time ago, and taught the Chinese his own dark thoughts about religion. It seems wonderful that any of those living in the midst of this darkness could ever have been brought into the light of the Gospel of Christ. But God will have mercy upon whom He will have mercy, in spite of all the hindrances which the devil or man may put in the way, and so it came to pass that at the meetings of the little “society” in Fetter Lane, one who listened most eagerly, and was most diligent in coming there, was a lady, who had been much admired, flattered, and sought after in the gay world of London, and who was now to be despised, laughed at, and evil spoken of, for Christ’s sake. This was the Countess of Huntingdon.
It would be difficult to imagine two people so outwardly unlike one another as this high-born lady, brought up in luxury and refinement, and the rough Yorkshire stonemason, John Nelson. But their inner history was in some respects strangely alike. When Lady Huntingdon (then Lady Selina Shirley) was a little girl of nine years old, she one day saw a funeral going to the churchyard. When she heard that it was the funeral of a little girl, just her own age, she asked if she might go to the churchyard and see the little girl buried. As the coffin was put into the grave, little Selina began to think for the first time about her soul that could never die, and she wondered where her soul would go if she, too, were to die and be buried. She cried bitterly at the thought of this, and in her heart she asked God as she stood there by the grave to take her to heaven when she died. She often went to see the little girl’s grave, and remembered her prayer, and she began to pray at home in a little closet whenever she had any little trouble. One of her prayers was that, if ever she should marry, it might be into a family where there were some who feared God.
When she was twenty-one she married Lord Huntingdon. He and his family were people who had more appearance of religion than many in those days, and as Lady Huntingdon did not know what real believers in Jesus were like, she no doubt thought that their forms of religion were all that could be desired. She tried, too, herself to be, as she imagined, a true Christian. She was very kind to the poor, and very careful to act honorably and justly in all her dealings; but she had no peace in her heart, and the thought of eternity was one which filled her with dread. She often remembered the fear and terror she had felt at the little girl’s funeral, and she still thought, if she were to die, she might be lost forever. But God remembered her prayer, that she might marry into a family where there were those who feared Him, and though it seemed at first that He had not answered it, He meant in time to show her that He had granted her request. Her husband, Lord Huntingdon, had four unmarried sisters. The eldest, Lady Betty Hastings, had an estate of her own called Ledstone Hall, in Yorkshire. It happened in the autumn of 1738, just ten years after Lady Huntingdon’s marriage, that her three younger sisters-in-law, Anne, Frances, and Margaret, went to stay at Ledstone with Lady Betty. It was just at the time that John Wesley and Mr. Ingham had returned from Herrnhuth. Mr. Ingham went into Yorkshire as soon as he arrived in England, to stay with his relations, who lived at a place called Ossett, not far from Ledstoue Here he began to preach the gospel, and to hold meetings in the neighboring towns, to which many people came. The ladies at Ledstone had heard of the Methodists, even so long ago as in the days of the Holy Club at Oxford, and when they were told that a Methodist preacher had come into their neighborhood, they resolved to go and hear what it would be like. It would seem that Lady Margaret Hastings no sooner heard the gospel thus simply preached than she believed and was saved. She then, like the woman at Sychar, began at once to speak to others of the Saviour. In a very short time Betty, Frances, and Anne, were all rejoicing in the knowledge of Christ. Lady Margaret took the first opportunity of telling the same glad tidings to Lady Huntingdon, who listened attentively, and began, not to rejoice, but to feel the more sure that she was a lost sinner. Soon after, it would seem that winter, she had a dangerous illness, and then all her fear of death and eternity became so great that she was utterly miserable. She thought again and again of some words which Lady Margaret had said, and which had struck her deeply: “Since I have known and believed in the Lord Jesus Christ for life and salvation, I have been as happy as an angel.” And now in her despair she felt that for her, too, the only hope was in Jesus. Lying there on her sick bed she told the Lord that she would now cast herself wholly upon Him alone, to be saved from all her sins. She began to get better from that hour, and rose from her bed in a short time not only healed in body, but eternally saved—“a new creature in Christ Jesus.” When she went to London soon after, she at once found her way to the little meeting in Fetter Lane, and took her husband with her. She began to speak of Christ to her old friends, still taken up, as they were, with the things of the world. She entreated them to go, too, and hear the preaching of the Methodists, and took with her any who would accept the invitation. You would like to know some of the answers she received to these entreaties. You shall hear one or two just as they were written by Lady Huntingdon’s friends. The first is from Sarah, the old Duchess of Marlborough. If you ever read the life of Queen Anne, you will know something about this old duchess. She had spent her life with the one thought of being great in the eyes of the world, and having labored for this end she had had her reward. She had been flattered and admired by some, and envied by others. If what the world has to give could make a woman happy, the duchess ought to have been one of the happiest. You shall judge whether she was so. This is her note—
“My dear Lady Huntingdon is always so very good to me, and I really do feel so very sensibly all your kindness and attention, that I must accept your very obliging invitation to accompany you to hear Mr. Whitefield, though I am still suffering from the effects of a severe cold. Your concern for my improvement in religious knowledge is very obliging, and I do hope that I shall be the better for all your excellent advice. God knows we all need mending” (the duchess did not know that we are past mending, and need to be made anew), “and none more than myself. I have lived to see great changes in the world—have acted a conspicuous part myself, and now hope, in my old days, to obtain mercy from God, as I never expect any at the hands of my fellow creatures. The Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Townsend, and Lady Cobham were exceedingly pleased with many observations in Mr. Whitefield’s sermon at St. Sepulcher’s Church, which has made me lament ever since that I did not hear it, as it might have been the means of doing me some good—for good, alas! I do want; but where among the corrupt sons and daughters of Adam am I to find it? Your ladyship must direct me. You are all goodness and kindness, and I often wish I had a portion of it. Women of wit, beauty, and quality cannot hear too many humiliating truths: they shock our pride. But we must die—we must converse with earth and worms...
“Believe me, my dear madam,
“Your most faithful
“And most humble servant,
“S. MARLBOROUGH.”
In another note from the duchess we read—
“Your letter, my dear madam, was very acceptable. Any communications from my dear, good Lady Huntingdon are always welcome, and always, in every particular, to my satisfaction. I have no comfort in my own family, therefore must look for that pleasure and gratification which others can impart. I hope you will shortly come and see me, and give me more of your company than I have had latterly. In truth, I always feel more happy and more contented after an hour’s conversation with you than I do after a whole week’s round of amusement. When alone, my reflections and recollections almost kill me, and I am forced to fly to the society of those I detest and abhor. Now there is Lady Frances Saunderson’s great rout tomorrow night—all the world will be there, and I must go. I do hate that woman as much as I do hate a physician, but I must go, if for no other purpose than to mortify and spite her. This is very wicked I know, but I confess all my little sins to you, for I know your goodness will lead you to be mild and forgiving, and perhaps my wicked heart may gain some good from you in the end.”
Alas! it would seem that, though the old duchess did go to the preaching, she never turned to the only One from whom she could gain good—at least, we have no proof that she ever did. You remember that Herod heard John gladly; but the last we hear of him is that he “set at naught” the blessed Son of God.
The next note is from the Duchess of Buckingham. She says—
“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 endeavoring to level all ranks and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be told that 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. Your ladyship does me infinite honor by your obliging inquiries after my health. I shall be most happy to accept your kind offer of accompanying me to hear your favorite preacher, and shall wait your arrival. The Duchess of Queensbury insists on my patronizing her on this occasion, consequently she will be an addition to our party.
“I have the honor to be,
“My dear Lady Huntingdon,
“Your ladyship’s most faithful and obliged,
“C. BUCKINGHAM.”
This poor lady died not long after she had written this note. Lady Huntingdon tried to see her on her death-bed, but the duchess refused to admit her.
The last letter I shall copy for you is from Lady Hinchinbroke. It is one which must have cheered Lady Huntingdon, different as it is from the letter of the proud Duchess of Buckingham—
“My dear Madam, I am deeply indebted to your kindness and the anxiety you have manifested at all times for my spiritual improvement. Indeed, I stand in need of all your sympathy, and all your unwearied exertions, for I feel myself utterly helpless, miserable, and guilty in the sight of heaven, and were it not for the ray of hope which I have in the atoning sacrifice of Christ, would be driven to despair and ruin. I shall have much pleasure in waiting on your ladyship tomorrow. Have you heard where Mr. Whitefield and Mr. Wesley are to preach this week?
“I remain, my dear madam,
“Your faithful friend,
“And most humble servant,
“E. HINCHINBROKE.”
There is every reason to believe that Lady Hinchinbroke’s “ray of hope” soon became a firm trust in the precious blood of Christ, and that she was for the rest of her life a true servant of God.