and meet my views. They did not require me to be a hired or salaried minister. They knew the wants of my family, and they would provide for them. They would appoint a person to baptise children. They were not particular about theological niceties. They had read my writings; they were acquainted with the controversies that had taken place between me and my opponents; and they were satisfied that I was right on every point of importance; and that was enough. And they liked my simple, earnest, practical style of preaching very much. So everything was comfortably arranged.

We united on the principle laid down in my article on "Toleration, Human Creeds," &c. The Bible was our creed; the Bible was our law-book; though we were still, on the whole, methodistical, both in doctrine and discipline. Numbers of other churches were organised on the same principle, in various parts of the country; and several young preachers left the body to which I had belonged, or were expelled on account of their attachment to me, and became their ministers. And the churches prospered. Numbers of people joined them, both from the world and from other religious communities.

I

For nearly two years things went on very happily at Newcastle, and the church was very prosperous. laboured to the utmost extent of my powers. I preached twice every Sunday to my own congregation, and once to another at Gateshead, or in the country. I visited the churches in every part of the land, preaching and lecturing continually.

All this time my old opponents continued their abuse. Though I relinquished no Christian doctrine, and added to the truth no dreams or speculations of my own, but employed myself continually in preaching the great practical principles of the Gospel, and in urging my hearers to love and good works, they assailed me with the bitterest hatred. And the more the churches with which I was connected prospered, the more furiously they raged.

And when people left other denominations to unite with my friends, ministers and members of those denominations joined my opponents in their evil work. They

preached abusive sermons, and published abusive pamphlets. There was eager, angry controversy on every hand. Hard words were used on both sides. The feelings of both parties were heated to the highest pitch. And as is usual in such cases, both parties came to the conclusion that their opponents were neither sound in doctrine nor good in character.

Towards the close of the second year I got into trouble at Newcastle. A religious reformer of the name of George Bird came to the town. His father was a clergyman in the Church of England, and he himself was rector of Cumberworth. He was recommended to me by some of my friends who lived near Cumberworth, and as he was wishful to spend some time in Newcastle and the neighbourhood, I took him into my house, and gave him a home. He had published a book on the Reform of the Church of England, urging the abolition of a number of abuses, and recommending the restoration of what he considered true Christian discipline. His idea was, that Christians should meet for religious worship apart from people of the world; that though preachers might preach to mixed audiences, they should reserve their singing and praying, and all that was strictly worship, for assemblies of Christians alone. He recommended that the members of the church should meet first, in a place apart, or in a part of the chapel marked off for themselves, and go through their devotions all alone, and that the sermon, addressed both to believers and unbelievers, should be quite a separate service. He had passages of Scripture, and church tradition, and considerations of fitness and propriety, by which he recommended his doctrine, and to some they proved convincing. I began myself, after thinking the matter over for awhile, to have a leaning towards his views. My friends could so far tolerate the new views, that they allowed Mr. Bird to preach in their chapels, letting some one else conduct the singing and praying parts of the service. But when they found that their own minister began to look with favour on the new plan, they became alarmed. They could tolerate peculiarities in others, but they were not disposed to appear before the world as reformers and innovators themselves. Nor

would they allow their minister to go any farther in the way of reform than he had gone before they had accepted him as their pastor. They had reconciled themselves to the changes of which he had been the subject previous to his special connexion with them, but they would have no new ones. He might go back a little if he pleased, but not forwards.

Both my friends and I were placed in a trying position. I was bent on compliance with whatever seemed to be the requirements of the Gospel, and my friends, who had no misgivings on the subject of public worship, were resolved not to tolerate a change. I kept to the usual course as long as I could do so without selfcondemnation, but at length was constrained to change. One Sunday night I preached from the concluding words of the Sermon on the Mount :-"Therefore, whosoever heareth these sayings of Mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house : and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house and it fell: and great was the fall of it." I reviewed the sayings of Christ referred to in the text. I dwelt at some length on the passage about praying in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets. The congregation was very large, and the sermon was unusually impressive. Some said they had never heard me preach with so much power. As I drew towards a close, I referred again to the words on public prayer, and gave what appeared to me to be their meaning. I remarked that I felt bound to comply with what I believed to be the command of the Saviour, and that I must, therefore, decline to conclude the service in the usual way, and request the disciples of Christ to retire to their homes and secret places to pray.

The result was exceedingly painful. The confusion was dreadful. Some, who had never thought on the subject before, and who had probably listened to me

that evening without comprehending properly my meaning, were horrified. The officers of the church, who had accepted me as their minister in the belief that I should never try them by anything new in my views or proceedings, were grieved beyond measure. One of them said to me at a meeting the following evening: "You have committed a crime, compared with which the sin of him who betrayed his Lord for silver, was honour and piety!" This, of course, was madness, if not blasphemy. But it helps to show the fearful difficulties that lie in the way of the man who feels himself called to be a religious reformer. And it tends to show the tempest of excitement in which, for so long a period, it was my lot to live.

The result of this last step in my reforming career was, that almost all the richer and more influential members of the church deserted me, and some even of the less influential followed their example. This, however, did not change my determination to do whatever I believed to be the will of God. Nor did it dispose me to hesitate long before making a change, when it seemed to be called for by the teachings of Christ. On the contrary, it led me to resolve, that I would hold myself more at liberty to follow the revelations of truth and duty than ever. I blamed myself for having accepted the situation of a regular minister. I blamed myself for having allowed myself to be influenced so much by a regard to the judgments and feelings of others. I felt a kind of pleasure at length, when I found the leading friends were gone. I attributed their departure to my fidelity to Christ, and to my growing conformity to His likeness; and I resolved to labour more than ever to come to the perfection of Christian manhood, "to the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." I comforted myself with the thought that Jesus had been deserted, betrayed, and persecuted, before me; and felt happy in the assurance that, if I "suffered with Him, I should also be glorified with Him."

I now resolved to speak and write and act more freely than ever. I would no longer keep my thoughts to myself till I was thoroughly convinced of their truth, but submit them to the consideration of my friends as soon

as they assumed the appearance of probability. I would think aloud. I would search to the bottom of all things, and make known the result without reserve. I would favour a free and fearless discussion on every subject. And I would reduce to practice everything inculcated by Christ and His Apostles, however much at variance it might be with the customs of the Church. I would rid myself of prejudice. I would take nothing on trust. Old things should now, at last, pass away, unless they were found to form part of the doctrine of Christ; and all things become new. And what I purposed I did to the best of my ability. I arranged for meetings of the church, at which we sang and prayed, and endeavoured to instruct and comfort one another, and provoke each other to love and good works. I then ascended the pulpit and addressed the public congregation. changed the manner of conducting class-meetings, encouraging the members to read hymns, or portions of Scripture, or extracts from any instructive book, or to speak to each other for comfort or improvement. I would be no longer the teacher of the church, but only one of its teachers.

We

That I might be able to support my family without the aid of the church, I resolved to commence business as a printer. I bought a press, and type, and all the other requisites of a printing office, and set to work. Elizabeth Pease, a good, kind Quakeress of Darlington, gave me thirty pounds to help me in my undertaking, and others nearer at hand assisted me according to their ability. I engaged a man to work for me, and teach me how to work myself, for I was quite a stranger to the business. I soon was able both to set up type and work the press, though the pressure of other work prevented me from excelling in either of those lines. Before long I had two men at work. But my workmen were not so faithful as they should have been, and it cost me more to print my works myself than it had done to get them printed by others. I got a foreman, but he used my office to carry on a business of his own, instead of doing what he could for mine, and I was obliged to turn him off. A short time after a very unpromising-looking young man came and asked me for a place in my print