The Story of John Wesley Part 9

Now I must tell you of the very first Methodist Chapel that was ever built; for this, too, we have to thank the Bristol people. Having heard about Jesus Christ themselves, they were eager for their friends and neighbours to hear about Him too. They worked very hard, and were so much in earnest inviting people to come to the services, that at last the room where they held their meeting got far too small for all the people who wanted to come. It was only a tumble-down sort of place, and they were afraid the floor might give way or the roof fall in, and somebody be hurt.

At last they secured a piece of ground in what was called the Horse Fair in Bristol, and one bright May morning, in 1739, the first stone of the

FIRST METHODIST CHAPEL

was laid, amidst great shouting of praise and thanksgiving. I have called it a Chapel, but the Methodists called it a "Preaching House."

You may think what a great deal of money it took to carry on all the work that the Methodists were doing; sometimes their purses were very empty, and they wondered however they should get them filled again. But it was G.o.d's work they were doing, and of course the money always came.

Like most Methodist Chapels nowadays, the money to pay for the Bristol Preaching House was not got all at once; but a plan was adopted which, I think, was a very good one. Every Methodist in Bristol promised to pay a penny a week until all the money was raised; and as there were some hundreds of Methodists, the debt was soon paid off. Some of the people, however, were too poor to pay even this small amount, so it was arranged that the richer men should each call upon eleven poorer ones every week, and collect their pennies, and when they could not give them, the rich man was to make it up. This was the beginning of the weekly cla.s.s money which your fathers and mothers, if they are Methodists, pay in their cla.s.s-meetings to-day.

When Mr. Wesley told the society in Fetter Lane, London, of the good plan the Bristol people had made, they adopted it too, and always after that wherever the Methodists commenced a society, the penny-a-week rule was followed.

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CHAPTER XXI.

An explosion.--A new business at the old Foundry.--Mr. Wesley and his mother at home.--Grand helpers.--Poor little Tom.--The worst man in Bristol.--And one of the best.

HOW old would John Wesley be in 1716, if he was born in 1703? Thirteen, would he not? a school-boy at the Charterhouse School. In that year there was a terrible explosion at a cannon foundry, where the guns were made for war. The roof of the building was blown off, and a great many workmen were injured and killed.

After this explosion, the machinery and iron were removed to Woolwich, which, as you will learn in your geography is still the great place for making cannon and other weapons of war. All the years from 1716 to 1739 the old foundry had never been touched, there it was, still in ruins.

One day in this year, 1739, while Mr. Wesley was in London, two gentlemen came and asked him if he would preach in this old tumble-down place. He consented, and one dreary November morning at eight o'clock, before the grey clouds of night had fled, he preached to about six thousand people in the old King's Foundry.

The following week many of those who had listened to him, came and begged him to buy the old place for a meeting-house. After thinking and praying about the matter he consented, and before very long the roof was mended, galleries were made, and the first Methodist preaching-place in London was ready for use.

Cla.s.s-rooms and a school-room were afterwards built, and a house fitted up where Mr. Wesley and his mother could live. At the end of the chapel was another house for his servants and some of his helpers. There was also a coach-house and stable where the travelling preachers could "put up."

Though Mr. John and Mr. Charles Wesley were so clever and worked so hard, they could never have got on without their earnest, loving helpers. There was Thomas Maxfield, one of those devoted, go-a-head men of Bristol; then there was John Nelson, a stone-mason, in Yorks.h.i.+re, who, when his master wanted him to work on Sunday, refused; and, like other Methodists, having become a Christian himself he sought to win others for Christ.

Thomas Olivers was another. Poor Thomas, when he was a wee boy, only four years old, both his father and his mother died, and little Tom was left to grow up a wicked boy. He used to swear and gamble and drink, and when he became a man was one of the worst characters in Bristol. But he heard Mr. Whitefield preach, and from that time a change came over him. He felt he was too great a sinner ever to be forgiven, and would kneel down and pray for hours and hours. G.o.d saw how sorry he was for all his wickedness, and how much he longed to be different, so He just whispered His forgiveness, bidding him, "Go and sin no more," and Thomas Olivers rose up a converted man, and became as brave a Christian as he had been bold a sinner.

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CHAPTER XXII.

Billy and Polly.--A little sunbeam visits Sandgate.--What happened at seven o'clock in the morning.--And at five o'clock in the evening.--"The Old, Old Story."--Newcastle wants to know more.--But Newcastle has to wait.--John Wesley goes back to Bristol.--The Kingswood of the North.

"WHO'S yon man?"

"Which man?"

"Yon. Him with the long hair, and dressed like a parson."

"I dunno. Why there's two on 'em."

"I say, Polly, let's go and hear 'em, they're singing. Come on, Bob."

Bob and Billy and Polly were very ragged and very dirty children, and they lived in Newcastle.

The boys were almost naked, and Polly, though nearly fifteen had no clothes on at all, only a dirty bit of blanket wrapped round her. Their fathers and mothers worked in the coal mines, and because they had never been taught different, they were drunken, swearing, wicked people; even the children cursed and swore.

But Bob and Billy and Polly have got to the top of Sandgate, the street where their miserable home is; let us follow. Some of their companions are with them, children as ragged and dirty as themselves. The women, too, have come to their doors to listen. What is it these men are singing? Hark!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Music]

All people that on earth do dwell Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice; Him serve with fear, His praise forth tell: Come ye before Him and rejoice.

It was a lovely May morning, and a kind little sunbeam had left the green fields and the chirping birdlets to peep into Sandgate. I think it must have heard the singing, and wanted to s.h.i.+ne its gladness, that G.o.d's praises were at last being sung to those poor people.

It was quite early, about seven o'clock in the morning, and some of the men and women were still in bed; but little sunbeam went first to one and then to another and kissed them awake, and when they had rubbed their eyes and opened their ears, they heard a strange sound. What could it be? They had never heard anything like it before.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "If you come to yon hill at five o'clock to-night, I'll tell you what I mean."--_Page 95._]

They sat up in bed and listened, then they got dressed, and then they went out. The music acted like a magic spell, and drew them to it. One man, two men, three men, four men, five men; oh, dear! there are too many to count. Such a number of women too, why, there must be five hundred people all together, and still they keep coming. One of the gentlemen is now talking. Listen what he is saying! He is preaching a sermon, and this is his text: "_He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastis.e.m.e.nt of our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed._" He is telling those poor men and women that it was Jesus, the Son of G.o.d, who suffered this for them, _because He loved them_.

The people, who numbered about twelve hundred, stood gaping and staring, they had never heard anything like this before.

"Who are you?" shouted one man.

"What do you mean?" called out another.

The gentleman with the long hair and beautiful face answered them: "If you want to know who I am, my name is John Wesley, and if you come to yon hill at five o'clock to-night, I'll tell you what I mean."

At five o'clock the hill was covered with people from the top to the bottom, and as Mr. Wesley stood with that great crowd round him, all eager to learn about the wonderful Saviour who had died for them, and of whom they had never heard, tears of pity filled his eyes, and a big love for them filled his heart.

Oh, so sweetly and tenderly did he read to them G.o.d's own words: "_I will heal their back-sliding, I will love them freely_;" and then he told them the "Old, Old Story."

He told it very slowly: