About the year 1774 some friends made him a present of a carriage, which he used in places where carriages could go; but, as you know, many of his journeys would have been impossible, except on horseback. Sometimes even a horse could not get along, and then he walked. Sometimes, from riding bad horses, he had tumbles of all sorts, but was never seriously hurt. About this time, however, he had the worst illness he had ever yet had. It was caused by sleeping on the grass in an orchard in Ireland. For more than a fortnight he was laid up with fever, delirium, convulsions, and other alarming symptoms. His usual remedies failed him entirely. They were generally peculiar ones. He would put treacle on the soles of his feet, or drink treacle and water. This time he only got worse, till he became partly unconscious, which was a happy thing for him, as a kind friend took that opportunity of making him swallow a cup of medicine, which effectually cured him, under God’s blessing; and, before the end of three weeks from the beginning of this terrible illness, we find him preaching again.
As he went again and again from one end to the other of the three kingdoms, he found matters much changed since he began these long and ceaseless journeys. “People,” he says, “who were 35 years ago as wild as bears, were now quiet and attentive.” In Cornwall he found the first Methodists now gray-headed people, but thousands had been added to their number. At Gwennap, in Cornwall, is a hollow in the hills, in the form of a horseshoe. Here the crowds would sit around him, one row above another, so that twenty thousand or more could hear at the same time. “I think,” he says, “this is the most magnificent spectacle which is to be seen on this side heaven. And no music is to be heard upon earth comparable to the sound of many thousand voices, when they are all harmoniously joined together, singing praises to God and the Lamb.” At 73, he says, “I am far abler to preach than at 23.” He had scarce a sign of old age except the long, white hair which flowed upon his shoulders. One reason for this continued strength was, no doubt, his freedom from care and anxiety. “Ten thousand cares,” he said, “trouble me no more than ten thousand hairs upon my head. I feel and grieve, but fret at nothing.” It would be well if we all thus learned to cast all our care on Him who careth for us. At Moorfields thousands upon thousands still came to listen. “Not only violence and rioting,” he says, “but even scoffing at field preachers is now over.” In most places the crowds seemed to increase year after year, and Wesley had no thought either of making shorter or easier journeys. Through snow, rain, wind, and mud, over mountains, and over water, he seemed still able to travel on without a thought of weariness, preaching three or sometimes four times each day.
At 75, he says, of an Oxfordshire village, “How gladly could I spend a few weeks in this delightful solitude; but I must not rest yet. As long as God gives me strength to labor I am to use it.” About this time the old Foundry was given up, a new chapel having been built. Wesley had no home and needed none.
It would have been well had he understood that other preachers were as accountable to God for their preaching and their journeys as he himself was. But one of his rules for the Methodist preachers had long been, “Above all, you are to preach when and where I appoint.” This rule caused much confusion and trouble. He had, of course, no more right to direct other preachers than they had to direct him; and the same God on whom he depended himself for guidance, was equally able to direct them. But, alas! how often we think the path of faith an impossible, or, at least, an inexpedient path. We find, at the age of 78, the Isle of Man added to Wesley’s large parish. And, just before he was 80, he relates how he fell backwards down stairs, head foremost, and went on his way none the worse for it. God had still work for him to do. He was still as strong as at 25.
Meantime other preachers were passing away, and their places supplied by fresh converts. Amongst the most remarkable of these was the wicked slave-dealer, John Newton, who, after an ungodly, seafaring life, became a devoted preacher of the gospel. He, with the poet Cowper, made the collection of hymns called the Olney Hymns, Olney being the parish of which Newton had become the clergyman. Several of these hymns were written by Cowper, who appears to have been truly converted through his acquaintance with the Methodists. But Cowper was, at times, in great darkness of mind, on account of disease of the brain. Some of the Olney Hymns are very dear to God’s people, and deserve to be. You will remember, no doubt, “God moves in a mysterious way,” and “How sweet the name of Jesus sounds.” But others in the same book are very cheerless and sad. On the whole we have to thank the Methodists, Charles Wesley especially, for a great number of the hymns we now have amongst us.
It must have been pleasant to hear the singing of so many voices at the open-air preachings—sometimes “in a green meadow, gilded by the rays of the setting sun;” sometimes on the seashore, sometimes on the fells and moors. But Wesley’s journeys, at the age of 80, extended into a new field, into scenes very unlike any he had hitherto beheld. In 1783 he set off for Holland. He seems to have been delighted with the Dutch people, who came in crowds to listen. He had, of course, to preach by an interpreter. He found many earnest Christians amongst them, and seemed surprised that, “without any rule but the word of God,” they should dress as plainly as the English Methodists, who were put under rules made by man. How well would it be if Christian people, who like rules, would begin by observing carefully all the rules made by God. They would find, when they had done this, that God has left nothing out. Wesley often remarked how well it was that he had made rules for the Methodists regarding another point—namely, that of meeting together in classes to read and pray. But it would have been better had he reminded any of God’s people, who were not in the habit of doing this, that God Himself has commanded it; and, had Wesley never lived, they were as much bound to do it as any Methodists who were put under rule. Look at Hebrews 10:2525Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching. (Hebrews 10:25); 1 Thessalonians 5:1111Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another, even as also ye do. (1 Thessalonians 5:11); Colossians 3:1616Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. (Colossians 3:16), and you will see what God has said on this matter. Wesley, however, went so far as to preach on Jeremiah 35, putting it to his hearers that they were more bound to observe his directions as to dress, early rising, etc., than the Rechabites were to obey their father Jonadab.
At the age of 81 we find him, strong as ever, fording the Findhorn through the melting snow, walking twelve and a-half miles without the least fatigue, preaching at five every morning, and often twice afterward, by sunlight and moonlight, and, when there was neither sun nor moon, still riding through wind and rain, and never tired. But whilst rejoicing over his zeal and diligence, we meet with strange remarks in his journal from time to time. He found forty people, all in one town, “who had a clear witness of being saved from inbred sin.” They told him so, and he gladly believed it. Very sad is an entry in his journal soon after. He preached in Newgate to forty-seven criminals who were all going to be hanged. Twenty were hanged at once a few days after. Just at this time we hear of his spending five days in walking about the London streets when they were ankle deep in melting snow. Bad as London streets are now in a thaw, they were far worse in those days. Wesley did this in order to collect money from house to house to clothe poor Methodists. He had collected £200 when Saturday came, but had a fit of illness from the chill it gave him. However, on Monday he started afresh on a preaching journey and soon after we find him in Ireland preaching four times a day; and later, in Cornwall, where “thousands upon thousands” came to hear, we find him preaching by the roadside for two hours without ceasing; though, just as he began, a wasp had stung him on the lip. “It is now twelve years,” he writes, on entering his 83rd year, “since I have felt any such sensation as weariness. I am never tired, either with writing, preaching, or traveling.”