THE LIFE AND JOURNALS OF JOHN WESLEY.* SOUTHEY'S Life of
Wesley is one of the most interesting bio- graphies in the language. It is the work of a thoroughly honest man, of a great master of English, and of a writer who, as far as conscientious diligence could make him, was well acquainted with his subject. There was much, however, in the extraordinary movement which owed its origin to Wesley with which Southey was scarcely competent to deal, and we meet sometimes with ob- servations curiously inconsistent with the author's character as an orthodox Christian and sound Churchman. But the "Life" loses nothing oi its charm from faults like these ; and Coleridge, who in his Notes on the work pointed out Southey's errors of judgment, has declared that the volumes were oftener in his hands than any other in his "ragged book-regiment." "How many and many an hour of self-oblivion," he adds, "do I owe to this Life of * The Works of the Rev. John West(7, M.A. Vols. 1-4, journal." John Mason.
Wesley; and how often have I argued with it, questioned, re- monstrated, been peevish, and asked pardon—then again listened, and cried, Right ! ' Excellent ! '— and in yet heavier hours entreated it, as it were, to continue talking to me—for that I heard and listened, and was soothed, though I could make no reply."
Wesley's remarkable career, and the marvellous work which he achieved, have afforded a fruitful field of discussion from his own day to the present. He was* a dogmatist, a controversialist, a theologian of untiring energy, who loved his least-important opinion better than his best friend ; a man of undaunted courage, of acute though not of profound intellect ; an en- thusiast, as every man must be who achieves great results in the face of great opposition ; and he possessed the power, common to all born rulers, of attracting every one who came within his influence. As an orator he was surpassed by Whitefield, but in intellectual strength, in breadth of culture, in administra- tive skill, Wesley was beyond comparison superior to his friend. In any department of life demanding vast energy and organising power Wesley would have achieved success, and though his chief gifts lay in action, there are indications that he might, had he pleased, have attained a considerable reputation as a man of letters. Methodism, it may be observed, has produced no literature of abiding value. A few of Charles Wesley's hymns take rank, indeed, with the best in the language, and are likely to form a permanent portion of our hymnody, but beyond these we know of nothing amidst the vast number of publications issued by this body which has an interest for readers who do not belong to it. Books of a devotional character have been issued from the Methodist press by hundreds and by thousands, and are probably read by Wesleyans ; but even of books like these we do not know one which, like the Holy Living of Taylor, the Saint's Rest of Baxter, or the splendid allegory of Bunyan, has obtained universal recognition. Wesley himself was a prolific writer. He appears always to have had some work on hand, and what he began he was certain to complete. Although during a great part of his life he travelled from four to five thousand miles yearly on horseback or in a carriage, and generally preached twice every day, his brain and pen were far from idle. He made use of the minutes most of us are apt to lose, and his works, it is needless to say, fill many volumes. Six of these (in the edition of 1813) are occupied by the Journal, which forms a curious medley of spiritual experiences, marvellous and amusing incidents, and personal statements, which, when put together, supply a life-like picture of the writer. How, amidst his innumerable occupations, he could fmd time to write such a record of his public and private career, it is difficult to say ; but Wesley's whole course was one of con- flict and of triumph over circumstances, and he exemplified the noble saying of Shakespeare that "in the reproof of chance lies the true proof of men." The Journal, although the most readable of Wesley's writings, is, we suspect, not often read in the present day. It exhibits Wesley under a variety of aspects,—his constant eagerness to gain knowledge, a feature of character in which he resembled -Dr. Johnson, his sagacity in ordinary affairs, his amazing and growing credulity with regard to spiritual pheno- mena, his keen observation, his cheerful disposition and physical activity, which prevented him from brooding over griefs that would have given sleepless .nights to more sensitive men, his curious lack of reticence, his unfailing confidence in his own judgment,—all these traits stand out prominently in the Journal, and will partly amuse and partly irritate the reader. Moreover, this curious book affords much information with regard to the manners of the age, and it is no small boon to obtain this infor- mation from a writer who is always accurate in his statements, save when, as in his account of the Moravians, his violent preju- dices get the better of his honesty. To notice such a work ade- quately would occupy far more space than is now at our disposal, but it may be worth while, by the help of it, to look at one phase of Wesley's character,—his activity.as a man of letters.
Unlike some religions enthusiasts, who treat all human learning as dross, Wesley valued highly the advantages he had gained from a University training. At college he became eminent in logic, and no man, according to his biographer, was ever more dexterous in the art of reasoning ; he gave great attention to mathematics, studied Hebrew and Arabic, and laid out a plan of study which, if it were not strictly followed, showed at least the extent of his ambition. For a time, indeed, in the first warmth of religious zeal, his fanaticism overpowered his judgment, and during his voyage to Virginia, in which, by the way, he learnt German, he wrote to his brother Samuel begging him to banish all such
poison from his school as the classics which were usually read there ; but this feeling was not lasting, and notwithstanding the incessant whirl of his after-life, he never wholly neglected the great writers of Greece and Rome. In his old age he writes :— "I saw the Westminster scholars act the Adelphi of Terence, an entertainment not unworthy of a Christian. 0 how do these heathens shame us ! Their very comedies contain both excellent sense, the liveliest pictures of men and manners, and so fine strokes of genuine morality as are seldom found in the writings of Chris- tians." He relates, among similar exploits, how, in riding to Newcastle, he finished the Tenth Iliad of Homer, and was struck not only by the writer's "amazing genius," but by the "vein of piety" that runs through his whole work. Another day he read over, whilst riding, a great part of the Odyssey, and expresses for it the highest admiration. To read Greek on horseback must have taxed even Wesley's eyes, but so accustomed was he to read- ing in that position, that he tells us he generally kept history, poetry, and philosophy for such occasions, "having other employ- ment at other times." "Near thirty years ago, I was thinking," he writes, "how is it that no horse ever stumbles while I am reading ? No account can possibly be given but this :—Because then I throw the reins on his neck. I then set myself to observe, and I aver that in riding about a hundred thousand miles I scarce ever remember any horse (except two, that would fall head over heels any way) to fall or make a considerable stumble, which I rode with a slack rein. To fancy, therefore, that a tight rein pre- vents stumbling is a capital blunder. I have repeated the trial more frequently than most men in the kingdom can do. A slack rein will prevent stumbling, if anything will. But in some horses nothing can."
Wesley was an omnivorous reader. Nothing came amiss to him. He reads Hay "On Deformity," and remarks that it is, perhaps, one of the prettiest trifles extant in the English tongue; he reads in his "scraps of time" Commodore Byron's narrative, and deems "that no novel in the world can be more affecting or more surprising than this history ; " he takes up "casually" Sterne's Sentimental Journey, and finds fault with the title, as well as the book itself. "Sentimental, what is that? It is not English ! He might as well say Continental. It is not sense. It conveys no determinate idea, yet one fool makes many. And this nonsen- sical word (who would believe it ?) is become a fashionable one I However, the book agrees full well with the title, for one is as queer as the other. For oddity, uncouthness, and unlikeness to all the world beside, I suppose the writer is without a rival.' Among other strange books, he records his perusal of Mandeville's Fable of the Bees, and of the Life of Baron Trenck, which he styles a most dangerous book, adding, "I wish none that cares for his soul would read a page of it." Are any of our readers acquainted with the Rev. P. Skelton's works ? H so, they will hardly accept Wesley's judgment, that "he shows all the wit of Dr. Swift, joined with ten times his judgment." Indeed, Wesley has not a word to say in favour of Swift, and in another entry in the Journal he observes, " In my way, I looked over a volume of Dr. Swift's Letters. I was amazed. Was ever such trash palmed upon the world under the name of a great man ? More than half of what is contained in these sixteen volumes would be dear at twopence a volume, being all, and more than all, the dull things which that wittyman ever said." There is more truth, perhaps, in his estimate of Lord Chesterfield, whom he describes, after reading his Letters, as a man of much wit, middling sense, and some learning, but as abso- lutely void of virtue as any Jew, Turk, or heathen that ever lived.' He is often severe in his comments. Smollet had misrepresented the Methodists, and his critic asks whether a man of reason will give credit to any fact upon his authority. After reading Warner's History of Ireland with "calm deliberation," he writes :— " I do not believe one leaf of it is true from the beginning to the end." He compares Pennant's Tour through Scotland with Dr_ Johnson's, and wonders that Pennant, a man of sense and learning, should write bad English in almost every page ; he complains of Robertson's "intolerable prolixity," and regards Swedenborg as an entertaining madman. Rousseau is styled a "consummate coxcomb," and Voltaire's Henriade convinces him that "French is the poorest, meanest language in Europe," and that it is "as impossible to write a fine poem in French as to make fine music upon a jew's-harp."
Wesley seems to have read a great deal of poetry, and his critical judgment will frequently sound strange in modern ears. We do not remember any allusion to Shake- speare, but he considered Douglas, "the play which has made so much noise," one of the finest tragedies he ever read. Blackmore's Prince Arthur he termed "by no means equal to his
poem on the Creation, in which are many admirably fine strokes." (Alas for fame ! what do modern readers know of these fine strokes ?) The comment on Beattie is amusing: "Certainly one of the best poets of the age. He wants only the ease and simplicity of Mr. Pope ; I know one, and only one, that has it." This, no doubt, was his brother Charles, for whose poetical abilities John had the highest value. In reading that" pretty trifle," the Life of Mrs. Bellamy, whom he terms a lively and elegant writer, he finds an anecdote about Garrick, who, it is said, flung overboard a parcel given him before making a voyage, on finding that it contained Wesley's Hymns. "I cannot believe it," writes the elder brother ; I think Mr. G. had more sense. He knew my brother well, and he knew him to be not only far superior in learning, but in poetry, to Mr. Thomson and all his theatrical writers put together. None of them can equal him either in strong, nervous sense, or purity and elegance of language." Wesley had a mean opinion of Thomson, but on reading his tragedy of Edward and Eleanora he was agree- ably surprised. "The plot," he writes, "is conducted with the utmost art, and wrought off in the most surprising manner. It is quite his masterpiece, and I really think might vie with any modern performance of the kind." But of all the imaginative writers of that century, he praised Prior the most highly, con- sidered his Solomon one of the sublimest poems in the language, and seemed quite oblivious to Prior's naughtinesses as an amatory poet. Perhaps he agreed with Dr. Johnson, that "Prior's is a lady's book."
Like Dr. Watts, Wesley was willing to work for children, for whom he entertained a liking that affected his theology. "Who can believe," he writes, "that these pretty little creatures have the wrath of God abiding on them ?" He wrote for his school at Kingswood a short French grammar, revised Kennet's Antiquities and Potter's Grecian Antiquities—" a dry, dull, heavy book"—prepared a history of England and a short Roman history, and several other school-books. On the whole, considering the kind of life he led, the amount of literary work accomplished by Wesley is marvellous. But he was blessed in no common measure with a vigorous mind and a strong body. The man who, at eighty-two, could write that many years had past since he had felt any such thing as weariness, might well be capable of achievements which astonish persons endowed with ordinary constitutions.
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