1771. Wednesday, January 2.—I preached in the evening, at Deptford, a kind of funeral sermon for Mr. Whitefield. In every place I wish to show all possible respect to the memory of that great and good man.
Wednesday, 23.—For what cause I know not to this day,---[Wesley’s wife] set out for Newcastle, purposing “never to return.” Non cam reliqui: non dimisi: non revocabo —[l did not desert her: I did not send her away: I will not recall her.]
Friday, 25.—I revised and transcribed my will, declaring as simply, as plainly, and as briefly as I could, nothing more nor nothing else, but “what I would have done with the worldly goods which I leave behind me.”
Thursday, Feb. 14.—l went through both the upper and lower rooms of the London workhouse. It contains about a hundred children, who are in as good order as any private family. And the whole house is as clean, from top to bottom, as any gentleman’s needs be. And why is not every workhouse in London, yea, through the kingdom, in the same order? Purely for want either of sense, or of honesty and activity, in them that superintend it.
Monday, 25.—I showed a friend, coming out of the country, the tombs in Westminster Abbey. The two with which I still think none of the others worthy to be compared are that of Mrs. Nightingale, and that of the Admiral rising out of his tomb at the resurrection. But the vile flattery inscribed on many of them reminded me of that just reflection:
If on the sculptured marble you rely,
Pity that worth like his should ever die.
If credit to the real life you give,
Pity a wretch like him should ever live!
The Earl of Desmond’s Castle
Wednesday, May 22 (Ireland).—After preaching at Balligarane, I rode to Ashkayton. There are no ruins, I believe, in the kingdom of Ireland, to be compared to these. The old Earl of Desmond’s Castle is very large, and has been exceedingly strong. Not far from this, and formerly communicating with it by a gallery, is his great hall, or banqueting room. The walls are still firm and entire; and these with the fine carvings of the windowframes (all of polished marble) give some idea of what it was once. Its last master lived like a prince for many years and rebelled over and over against Queen Elizabeth. After his last rebellion, his army being totally routed, he fled into the woods with two or three hundred men. But the pursuit was so hot that these were soon scattered from him, and he crept alone into a small cabin. He was sitting there when a soldier came in and struck him. He rose and said, “I am the Earl of Desmond.” The wretch, rejoicing that he had found so great a prize, cut off his head at once. Queen Elizabeth and King James allowed a pension to his relict 30 for many years. I have seen a striking picture of her, in her widow’s weeds, said to be taken when she was a hundred and forty years old.
At a small distance from the castle stands the old abbey, the finest ruin of the kind in the kingdom. Not only the walls of the church and many of the apartments but the whole cloisters are entire. They are built of black marble exquisitely polished and vaulted over with the same. So that they are as firm now as when they were built, perhaps seven or eight hundred years ago; and, if not purposely destroyed (as most of the ancient buildings in Ireland have been), may last these thousand years. But add these to the years they have stood already and what is it to eternity? A moment!
Monday, June 24.—This day I entered the sixty-ninth year of my age. I am still a wonder to myself. My voice and strength are the same as at nine-and-twenty. This also hath God wrought.
Wesley in Winchester Cathedral
Tuesday, October 1.—I went on to Salisbury. Wednesday, 2. I preached at Whitchurch; Thursday, 3, at Winchester. I now found time to take a view of the cathedral. Here the sight of that bad Cardinal’s tomb, whom the sculptor has placed in a posture of prayer, brought to my mind those fine lines of Shakespeare, which he put into the mouth of King Henry the Sixth:
Lord Cardinal,
If thou hast any Hope of heaven’s grace,
Give us a sign. He dies, and makes no sign.
On Thursday and Friday evening I preached at Portsmouth Common. Saturday, 5. I set out at two. About ten some of our London friends met me at Cobbam, with whom I took a walk in the neighboring gardens, inexpressibly pleasant through the variety of hills and dales and the admirable contrivance of the whole. And now, after spending his life in bringing it to perfection, the grey-headed owner advertises it to be sold! Is there anything under the sun that can satisfy a spirit made for God?
Wednesday, 16.—I preached at South Lye. Here it was that I preached my first sermon, six-and-forty years ago. One man was in my present audience who heard it. Most of the rest are gone to their long home.
Wednesday, 30.—l walked over to Winchelsea from Rye, said to have been once a large city with abundance of trade and of inhabitants, the sea washing the foot of the hill on which it stands. The situation is exceedingly bold, the hill being high and steep on all sides. But the town is shrunk almost into nothing, and the seven churches into half a one. I preached at eleven in the new square to a considerable number of serious people; and at Rye in the evening where were many that are “not far from the kingdom of God.”
Tuesday, November 5.—In our way to Bury we called at Felsham, near which is the seat of the late Mr. Reynolds. The house is, I think, the best contrived and the most beautiful I ever saw. It has four fronts, and five rooms on a floor, elegantly, though not sumptuously, furnished. At a small distance stands a delightful grove. On every side of this, the poor rich man, who had no hope beyond the grave, placed seats, to enjoy life as long as he could. But being resolved none of his family should be “put into the ground,” he built a structure in the midst of the grove, vaulted above and beneath, with niches for coffins, strong enough to stand for ages. In one of these he had soon the satisfaction of laying the remains of his only child; and two years after, those of his wife. After two years more, in the year 1759, having eaten, and drunk, and forgotten God for eighty-four years, he went himself to give an account of his stewardship.