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OXFORD THEOLOGY AND RELIGION MONOGRAPHS
Editorial Committee
m. n. a. bockmuehl m. j. edwards
g. d. flood s. r. i. foot
d. n. j. macculloch h. najman
g. ward j. zachhuber
OX F O R D T H E O L O G Y A N D R E L IG IO N M O N O G R A P H S
Making Sense of Old Testament Genocide

Christian Interpretations of Herem Passages
Christian Hofreiter (2018)
An Avant-garde Theological Generation
The Nouvelle Théologie and the French Crisis of Modernity
Jon Kirwan (2018)
Jansenism and England
Moral Rigorism across the Confessions
Thomas Palmer (2018)
A Redactional Study of the Book of Isaiah 13–23
Jongkyung Lee (2018)
A Vaisnava Poet in Early Modern Bengal
Kavikarnapura’s Splendour of Speech
Rembert Lutjeharms (2018)
Rhythm
A Theological Category
Lexi Eikelboom (2018)
Preaching and Popular Christianity
Reading the Sermons of John Chrysostom
James Daniel Cook (2019)
Encountering Eve’s Afterlives
A New Reception Critical Approach to Genesis 2–4
Holly Morse (2020)
Māyā in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa
Human Suffering and Divine Play
Gopal K. Gupta (2020)
Non-Identity Theodicy
A Grace-Based Response to the Problem of Evil
Vince R. Vitale (2020)
Quakers, Christ, and the Enlightenment
Madeleine Pennington (2021)
Anti-Methodism and
Theological Controversy
in Eighteenth-
Century England
The Struggle for True Religion
SI M O N L EW I S
1
1
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
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© Simon Lewis 2021
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First Edition published in 2021
Impression: 1
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Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
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ISBN 978–0–19–285575–6
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192855756.001.0001
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Preface
This book originated as a doctoral thesis undertaken at the University of Oxford

between 2013 and 2017. The research for the thesis was generously supported by
the Arts and Humanities Research Council and the Oxford Centre for Methodism
and Church History. I owe a debt of gratitude to my doctoral supervisor, Brian
Young, whose knowledge of eighteenth-century doctrinal controversies is unsur-
passed. Both he and William Gibson undertook the unenviable task of reading
the whole manuscript, providing a perfect balance of constructive criticism and
uplifting praise. Without their support I doubt that this book would ever have
been completed. Individual chapters have benefited greatly from the input of
Robert Armstrong, John Coffey, and Alan Ford, the last of whom helped me
improve the quality of the introduction considerably. The process of converting
the thesis into a monograph was undertaken at Trinity College Dublin, where I
was generously supported by an Irish Research Council Postdoctoral Fellowship
between October 2018 and December 2020. During those two years I benefited
greatly from the conviviality and encouragement of my colleagues in the
Department of History. Foremost among those colleagues was Robert Armstrong
(who acted as my mentor), David Brown, Joanne Lynch, Bríd McGrath, Graeme
Murdock, Helen Murray, Micheál Ó Siochrú, Máté Vince, Ciarán Wallace, and
Patrick Walsh. I am also indebted to the editors of the Journal of Religious History,
Literature and Culture and Literature and History for granting permission to
reproduce material from articles published in their journals. Furthermore, I
extend my thanks to the Oxford Theology and Religion Monographs editorial
board for their early enthusiasm and sustained commitment to this book. Finally,
I wish to dedicate this book to my parents, who have been supportive throughout
this journey.
Simon Lewis
June 2021
Contents
List of Figures ix
List of Abbreviations xi
Introduction 1
1. A ‘Torrent’ of Opposition 10
The Rise of Methodism 12
Controversial Practices 15
The Lavington Affair 23
Print Culture 26
Transatlantic Networks 30
Conclusions 34
2. Justification and Assurance 36
Post-Restoration Soteriology 37
A ‘System of Moral Ethicks’ 41
Competing Authorities: Pro- and Anti-Methodist Sources 45
Assurance 52
Conclusions 58
3. Perfectionism and Self-Denial 60
Wesley’s ‘Holy Living’ Asceticism 61
Whitefield’s Self-Denial 67
‘Righteous Over-Much’? 70
The Perceived Dangers of Evangelical Self-Denial 73
Conclusions 77
4. Histories of ‘Enthusiasm’, Schism, and Popery 79
Pagano-Papism 82
Christian Antiquity 86
The Medieval Church 93
Histories of Protestant Schism and ‘Enthusiasm’ 97
Conclusions 104
5. Deism and Melancholia 106
Defining ‘Deism’ 108
Melancholia and Suicide 110
The ‘Immediate Inspiration of God’ 113
‘Spiritual’ and ‘Sensual’ Enthusiasts 119
‘Seek and you shall find’ 121
Conclusions 123
viii Contents
6. Miracles and Demons 125

Methodism and Miracles 128
A ‘Preternatural Agent’? 132
The Middleton Debate 136
‘Old Latitudinarian Excesses’ 139
Conclusions 142
7. Anti-Dogmatism and ‘Orthodoxy’ 144
Doctrines of Original Sin 146
A ‘Diversity of Passions and Humours’ 150
Heaven and Hell 156
‘Orthodoxy’ and Infallibility 161
Conclusions 164
Epilogue and Conclusion 166
Bibliography 171
Index 203
List of Figures
1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-Fields Congregation (1739).

Etching. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division,
Washington D.C.22
4.1 The Parallel Reformers, or The Renowned Wickliff and the Reverend
Mr. Whitefield Compared: Shewing by Many Parallel Instances ye Great
Resemblance between Those Pious Divines in Respect of Christian Zeal
and Fortitude (c.1740).98
Etching. © The Oxford Centre for Methodism and Church History,
Oxford Brookes University.
5.1 Harlequin Methodist, to the Tune of ‘An Old Woman Cloathed
in Grey’ (s.d.). 113
Etching, 17.1 × 24.7 cm. © The Trustees of the British Museum.
6.1 William Hogarth, Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism (1762). 131
Etching, 37.1 × 32.4 cm. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York,
Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1932.
List of Abbreviations
AEH Anglican and Episcopal History

BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands Library
BL British Library
Bodleian Bodleian Library
CCEd Clergy of the Church of England Database, https://
theclergydatabase.org.uk/
CH Church History
CUL Cambridge University Library
EMV Early Methodist Volume
FP Fulham Papers
HJ Historical Journal
HLQ Huntington Library Quarterly
HR Historical Research
JECS Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies
JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History
JRHLC Journal of Religious History, Literature and Culture
JRL John Rylands Library
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
Lavington 1 [Lavington, G.], The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists,
Compar’d (London, 1749)
Lavington 2 [Lavington, G.], The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists
Compared. Part II (London, 1749)
Lavington 3 [Lavington, G.], The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists
Compared. Part III (London, 1751)
Life, Context, and Legacy Hammond, G., and Jones, D.C. (eds), George Whitefield: Life,
Context, and Legacy (Oxford, 2016)
LPL Lambeth Palace Library
Manuscript Journal Kimbrough Jr, S.T. and Newport, K.G.C. (eds), The Manuscript
Journal of the Rev. Charles Wesley, M.A., 2 vols. (Nashville,
TN, 2007)
MH Methodist History
ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004)
PWHS Proceedings of the Wesley Historical Society
RRR Reformation and Renaissance Review
SCH Studies in Church History
s.d. sine datum, i.e. without date
s.l. sine loco, i.e. without place of publication
SPCK Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge
xii List of Abbreviations
SPG Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts

Tillotson, 1–2 The Works of the Most Reverend Dr John Tillotson, Late Lord
Archbishop of Canterbury, 3rd ed. 2 vols. (London, 1722)
Whitefield, Journal 1 Whitefield, G., A Journal of a Voyage from London to
Savannah in Georgia [December 1737–May 1738]
(London, 1738)
Whitefield, Journal 3 Whitefield, G., A Continuation of the Reverend Mr Whitefield’s
Journal, from his Arrival at London, to his Departure from
thence on his Way to Georgia [December 1738–June 1739]
(London, 1739)
Journal, during the Time he was Detained in England by the
Embargo [June 1739–August 1739] (London, 1739)
Journal, from his Embarking after the Embargo, to his Arrival
at Savannah in Georgia [August 1739–January 1740]
(London, 1740)
Journal, after his Arrival at Georgia, to a Few Days after his
Second Return thither from Philadelphia [January 1740–June
1740] (London, 1741)
Journal, from a few Days after his Return to Georgia to his
Arrival at Falmouth, on the 11th of March 1741
(London, 1741)
WMQ William and Mary Quarterly
WMS Wesley and Methodist Studies
Works The Works of John Wesley (Bicentennial Edition), general ed.
Frank Baker and Richard P. Heitzenrater (Oxford, 1975–83,
and Nashville, TN, 1984-)
Works, Journal I–VII Ward, W.R., and Heitzenrater, R.P. (eds), The Works of John
Wesley, Vols. 18–24: Journal and Diaries, I-VII (Nashville,
TN, 1988–2003)
Works, Letters I Baker, F., Oxford Edition of the Works of John Wesley, Vol. 25:
Letters I (Oxford, 1980)
Introduction
History is, of course, often written by the victors. John Wesley and George
Whitefield are remembered as founders of Methodism, one of the most influen-
tial movements in the history of modern Christianity. Their opponents—many of
whom viewed Methodism simply as an ephemeral nuisance—have, on the other
hand, been virtually forgotten. Yet these critics must not be ignored, as historians
have tended to do, for a detailed examination of their ideas and concerns provides
us with not only a very different perspective on Methodism, but also a fundamen-
tal reappraisal of the doctrinal priorities of the Georgian Church. The purpose of
this book, therefore, is to explore the polemical attacks on Wesley and Whitefield,
thereby placing Methodism more firmly in its contemporary theological context.
Once this is achieved, Methodism—rather than appearing as an aberration or
dramatic innovation—can be placed in the broader perspective of the ‘long
Reformation’; as part of the Church of England’s continuing struggle to define
itself theologically.
Eighteenth-century Methodism was a divisive phenomenon, which attracted a
torrent of printed opposition, ranging from satirical cartoons to sermons.
Scholars of early anti-Methodist literature have focused predominantly on satir
ical depictions of Wesley and Whitefield.1 Others, such as John Walsh, have
explored the various ways in which Methodism was perceived to disrupt the
social and political status quo. In response to the Halévy thesis—which posited
Wesley as a counter-revolutionary proto-capitalist—Walsh has shown that early
Methodism was often perceived as detrimental to the economy because it attacked
wealth and, allegedly, distracted the laity from their work.2 The seemingly
1 See A. Lyles, Methodism Mocked: The Satiric Reaction to Methodism in the Eighteenth Century
(London, 1960); R. Glen, ‘The Fate of John Wesley in English Satiric Prints’, in T. Macquiban (ed.),
Methodism in Its Cultural Milieu (Oxford, 1994), pp. 35–43; B. W. Krysmanski, Hogarth’s ‘Enthusiasm
Delineated’: Nachahmung als Kritik am Kennertum, Eine Werkanalyse, Zugleich ein Einblick in das
sarkastisch-
aufgeklärte Denken eines ‘Künstlerrebellen’ im englischen 18. Jahrhundert, 2 vols.
(Hildesheim, 1996); B. W. Krysmanski, ‘We See a Ghost: Hogarth’s Satire on Methodists and
Connoisseurs’, Art Bulletin, 80 (1998), pp. 292–310; M. C. Anderson, Imagining Methodism in
Eighteenth-Century Britain: Enthusiasm, Belief & the Borders of the Self (Baltimore, MD, 2012);
B. C. McInelly, Textual Warfare and the Making of Methodism (Oxford, 2014); P. S. Forsaith, Image,
Identity and John Wesley: A Study in Portraiture (London, 2017), ch. 8.
2 See J.D. Walsh, ‘Élie Halévy and the Birth of Methodism’, Transactions of the Royal Historical
Society, 25 (1975), pp. 1–20; J. D. Walsh, ‘John Wesley and the Community of Goods’, in K. Robbins
(ed.), SCH, Subsidia 7: Protestant Evangelicalism: Britain, Ireland, Germany and America c.1750–
c.1950: Essays in Honour of W. R. Ward (Oxford, 1990), pp. 25–50; J. D. Walsh, ‘ “The Bane of
Industry”? Popular Evangelicalism and Work in the Eighteenth Century’, in R. N. Swanson (ed.), SCH,
Vol. 37: The Use and Abuse of Time in Church History (Woodbridge, 2002), pp. 223–41. See also
D. Hempton, Methodism: Empire of the Spirit (New Haven, CT and London, 2005), pp. 87–92.
Anti-Methodism and Theological Controversy in Eighteenth-Century England: The Struggle for True Religion. Simon Lewis,
Oxford University Press. © Simon Lewis 2021. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192855756.003.0001
2 Anti-Methodism and Theological Controversy
subversive nature of Wesley and Whitefield’s evangelistic practices, such as open-

air and itinerant preaching, has been discussed by several scholars, who have
provided insightful discussions of Methodism’s complex relationship with the
established Church. As these studies have shown, Methodism was perceived as a
threat to ecclesiastical authority because of its alleged breach of various canons.
Any threat to the Church was, of course, also deemed a threat to the State and a
boon to the Papacy. To many divines, evangelicals were simply continuing the
treasonous work of their Puritan ancestors by condemning all who had not
experienced a spiritual ‘new birth’, which was independent of works. Methodists
were, therefore, accused of ‘fostering popery, Jacobitism, and antinomianism’.3
Clearly, there were no obvious demarcations between political, social, and
theological objections to Methodism. The prominence of theology in these dis-
putes has, however, been neglected by scholars. This is surprising, given that
Methodism emerged at a time when numerous doctrinal threats, such as anti-
Trinitarianism and deism, were posed to ‘orthodox’ Anglicans, who identified
with the primitive church. The dearth of such scholarship reflects the limited
attention paid by historians to eighteenth-century Anglican theology. Despite the
relatively recent contributions of Brian Young and Robert Ingram, there remains
much work to be done in terms of correcting the stereotype—advanced by
Victorian Tractarians—that Georgian Anglicans replaced ‘dogmatic theology’
with ‘rationalism’, thereby eschewing ‘mystery’.4
The theological vitality of the Georgian clergy is not recognized in Donald
Kirkham’s Outside Looking In: Early Methodism as Viewed by Its Critics (2019),
which discusses anti- Methodist theology. Rather, Kirkham’s claim that anti-
Methodist Anglicans espoused a faith ‘built on reason’ is reminiscent of Victorian
historiography. Despite its impressive coverage of printed sources, there are sev-
eral other limitations to Kirkham’s study. First, by drawing a fine line between
doctrinal and socio-political objections to Methodism, it underestimates the
wider impact of theology in eighteenth- century society. Second, Kirkham
neglects the theological nuances among anti-Methodist authors, leading to the
erroneous implication that there was uniformity among these polemicists. Finally,
3 See W. M. Jacob, ‘John Wesley and the Church of England, 1736–40’, BJRL, 85.2–3 (2003), pp.
57–71; J. Gregory, ‘ “In the Church I Will Live and Die”: John Wesley, the Church of England, and
Methodism’, in W. Gibson and R. G. Ingram (eds), Religious Identities in Britain, 1660–1832
(Aldershot, 2005), pp. 147–78; W. Gibson, ‘Whitefield and the Church of England’, in Life, Context,
and Legacy, pp. 46–63, at 63; E. Loane, ‘Wesley, Whitefield, and the Church of England’, in
Ian J. Maddock (ed.), Wesley and Whitefield? Wesley versus Whitefield? (Eugene, OR, 2018), pp. 62–86.
4 B. W. Young, Religion and Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century England: Theological Debate from
Locke to Burke (Oxford, 1998); B. W. Young, ‘Theology in the Church of England’, in J. Gregory (ed.),
The Oxford History of Anglicanism, Vol. II: Establishment and Empire, 1662–1829 (Oxford, 2017), pp.
392–428; R. G. Ingram, Reformation without End: Religion, Politics and the Past in Post-Revolutionary
England (Manchester, 2018); M. Pattison, ‘Tendencies of Religious Thought in England, 1688–1750’,
in H. Nettleship (ed.), Essays by the Late Mark Pattison: Sometime Rector of Lincoln College, 2 vols.
(Oxford, 1889), II, p. 47.
Introduction 3
despite claiming to be a study of Methodism ‘as viewed by its critics’, Kirkham’s

work provides a limited penetration into the minds of those who attacked Wesley
and Whitefield. Clearly, Kirkham recognizes that the past—particularly the
Regicide and Commonwealth—was ‘fresh in the minds’ of many eighteenth-
century Anglicans, leading them to perceive Methodism as ‘revived Puritanism’.
Paradoxically, however, Kirkham’s work is characteristic of many histories of
Methodism in the sense that it overstates the perceived novelty of Wesley and
Whitefield’s activities. This is evidenced especially by a chapter in which oppos
ition to so-called ‘innovative practices’, such as open-air preaching and extempor
ary prayer, is discussed.5
Focusing on the period between John Wesley’s 1738 Aldersgate conversion and
Whitefield’s death in 1770, my study uses early anti-Methodist literature as a lens
through which the theological vitality of the eighteenth- century Church of
England is illuminated. Rather than being reliant on ‘reason’, many anti-Methodist
divines grounded their polemical attacks in patristics, of which some of them
were leading scholars. Many also shared Wesley and Whitefield’s determination
to defend orthodox dogmas, such as Trinitarianism, the Augustinian doctrine of
original sin, and eternal damnation. Furthermore, several anti-Methodist High
Churchmen were noted opponents of freethought, a heresy which they believed
was fuelled by Methodism. It is, therefore, erroneous to view orthodox attacks on
Methodism as simply ‘rational’ onslaughts against ‘revelation’. In fact, these
authors’ perceptions of Methodism were shaped by their prior engagement in
numerous doctrinal controversies. For these polemicists, attacking Wesley and
Whitefield formed merely part of a broader defence of ‘true religion’. While the
phrase ‘true religion’ will seem jarring to postmodernists, many eighteenth-
century theologians believed that ‘truth’ was discernible and, sometimes, even
enforceable. By integrating anti-Methodism into the wider doctrinal disputes of
the eighteenth century, these discussions highlight the dangers of viewing theo
logical controversies in disparate, unconnected silos. Crucially, this study avoids
the reductionist assumption that doctrinal debate was simply a scholarly exercise,
which had limited ‘real world’ impact. Rather, by blurring the distinctions
between theological and socio- political objections to Methodism, this book
bridges traditional divides between social and intellectual studies of eighteenth-
century religion.
Throughout this book, the terms ‘evangelicalism’ and ‘Methodism’ are used
interchangeably. In an eighteenth-century context, neither term is easy to define.
This difficulty of definition is illustrated by the fact that Wesley and Whitefield
disagreed on fundamental theological points. Wesley, as an Arminian, believed
that all could be saved if they turned to Christ. Whitefield, on the other hand,
5 D. H. Kirkham, Outside Looking In: Early Methodism as Viewed by Its Critics (Nashville, TN,
2019), pp. 59, 218.
taught a Calvinistic soteriology, arguing that saving grace was reserved only for
the elect. Etymologically, ‘evangelical’ is derived from the Greek word for ‘gospel’
or ‘good news’: ευαγγελιον (euangelion). ‘Evangelicalism’ will be defined by the
‘Bebbington Quadrilateral’ of (1) biblicism: the belief that all truth is conveyed in
the Scriptures; (2) activism: a missionary zeal to spread the Gospel; (3) conver-
sion: the belief that inward change must occur; and (4) crucicentrism: a focus on
salvation through Jesus’s death on the cross.6 There is some validity in Timothy
Larsen’s claim that, in an eighteenth-century context, ‘Protestant orthodoxy’
should be another definitional criterion for ‘evangelicalism’. Those, such as Wesley
and Whitefield, who conformed to Bebbington’s criteria were, of course, staunchly
opposed to Roman Catholic doctrines and practices. Larsen’s reference to
‘orthodoxy’—by which he means Trinitarianism—is, however, more problematic.7
The Trinitarian credentials of most eighteenth-century evangelicals were beyond
doubt. There were, however, occasional exceptions to this rule. Take, for instance,
the Dissenting hymn writer Isaac Watts, whose opposition to anything not
‘plainly revealed in Scripture’ was viewed by some as a sign of Arianism (a denial
of the divinity of Jesus Christ). Robert Robinson, a Baptist evangelical, espoused a
similarly complex Christology, claiming that prayers should not be addressed
to the different persons of the Trinity, while strenuously denying charges of
‘Unitarianism’.8
Defining ‘Methodist’, which was a divisive and derisive term throughout the
eighteenth century, is equally problematic. It originated as a pejorative title for
Wesley’s highly methodical ‘Holy Club’ at Oxford during the early 1730s. By the
late 1730s, however, it had ceased to denote a single individual or group. Followers
of Wesley and Whitefield, along with evangelical parish incumbents and, occa-
sionally, Moravians, were labelled as ‘Methodists’. Some evangelicals, notably
John Wesley, embraced the title, albeit reluctantly at first. By 1749 Whitefield had
become frustrated that Wesleyan Arminians were ‘monopolising’ the title.9
During the 1750s William Mason, a Calvinist evangelical and clockmaker of
Bermondsey, advanced a definition of a ‘Church of England Methodist’, which
deliberately excluded Wesleyan Arminians.10 These theological divisions were
6 D. W. Bebbington, Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s
(London, 1989), ch. 1.
7 T. Larsen, ‘Defining and Locating Evangelicalism’, in T. Larsen and D. J. Treier (eds), The
Cambridge Companion to Evangelical Theology (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 1–14.
8 I. Watts, The Christian Doctrine of the Trinity, or Father, Son, and Spirit, Three Persons and One
God, Asserted and Prov’d, with Their Divine Rights and Honors Vindicated by Plain Evidence of
Scripture, without the Aid or Incumbrance of Human Schemes (London, 1722), p. 5; A. P. F. Sell, Christ
and Controversy: The Person of Christ in Nonconformist Thought and Ecclesial Experience, 1600–2000
(Eugene, OR, 2011), pp. 39, 47–9.
9 Quoted from D. C. Jones, B. S. Schlenther, and E. M. White, The Elect Methodists: Calvinistic
Methodism in England and Wales, 1735–1811 (Cardiff, 2012), pp. 154–5.
10 See S. Lewis, ‘Devotion and Polemic in Eighteenth-Century England: William Mason and the
Literature of Lay Evangelical Anglicanism’, HLQ, 82 (2019), pp. 379–406.
Introduction 5
often ignored by anti-Methodist Anglicans, especially during the 1730s and

1740s, when Methodism was often associated automatically with the Calvinist
evangelicalism of Whitefield. William Warburton, the future bishop of Gloucester,
paid little attention to evangelical infighting in ‘The True Methodist’ (1755). In
this manuscript, which was originally intended for publication, Warburton
advanced a positive definition of a ‘Methodist’, which excluded both Wesley and
Whitefield. A ‘true Methodist’, according to Warburton, was someone who was
‘no enemy to learning’ and maintained ‘good order’. Also, the ‘true Methodist’
avoided all the ‘pernicious extreams of superstition and Enthusiasm’ exhibited by
Wesley and Whitefield, such as their tendency to trust ‘Extempore thoughts or
abilities’.11
Contrary to the picture often painted by its opponents, eighteenth-century
Methodism was a complicated movement, which incorporated a diverse spec-
trum of religious traditions.12 Methodism’s emphasis on ‘heart religion’ can be
traced back to the teachings of continental Pietists, such as Philipp Spener
(1635–1705) and his protégé, August Hermann Francke (1663–1727).13 Also,
both Wesley and Whitefield’s teachings of self-denial stemmed, at least partly,
from their early reading of the Non-Juring divine William Law. Furthermore,
Wesley was influenced by the sacramental writings of other contemporary Non-
Jurors, such as the Manchester Jacobite Thomas Deacon, and earlier ‘holy living’
Anglican authors, including Jeremy Taylor, bishop of Down and Connor
(1661–7).14 Conversely, Methodists—particularly Calvinist Methodists—were
influenced by Puritan authors, such as John Bunyan (1628–88) and Joseph Alleine
(1634–68), who stressed the importance of conversion. Many of Wesley and
Whitefield’s controversial practices, including open-air and itinerant preaching,
mirrored those of Alleine and other Restoration Dissenters, who had been ejected
from their parishes.15 Paradoxically, therefore, the most innovative feature of
Methodism was its melding of multiple religious traditions. It was no more
innovative than it was regressive.
11 W. Warburton, ‘The True Methodist, or Christian in Earnest’ (1755), JRL, MS 253B, fols. 2, 50–2,
64, 83–4, 134.
12 See J. D. Walsh, ‘ “Methodism” and the Origins of English- Speaking Evangelicalism’, in
M. A. Noll, D. W. Bebbington, and G. A. Rawlyk (eds), Evangelicalism: Comparative Studies of Popular
Protestantism in North America, the British Isles and Beyond, 1700–1990 (New York, 1994), pp. 19–37.
13 See W. R. Ward, The Protestant Evangelical Awakening (Cambridge, 1992).
14 See G. Hammond, John Wesley in America: Restoring Primitive Christianity (Oxford, 2014), pas-
sim; G. J. Joling-van der Sar, ‘The Controversy between William Law and John Wesley’, English Studies,
87 (2006), pp. 442–65; I. Rivers, ‘William Law and Religious Revival: The Reception of A Serious Call’,
HLQ, 71 (2008), pp. 633–49.
15 See D. B. Hindmarsh, The Evangelical Conversion Narrative: Spiritual Autobiography in Early
Modern England (Oxford, 2007), ch. 1; J. Coffey, ‘Puritanism, Evangelicalism and the Evangelical
Protestant Tradition’, in M. A. G. Haykin and K. J. Stewart (eds), The Emergence of Evangelicalism:
Exploring Historical Continuities (Nottingham, 2008), pp. 252–77; I. Rivers, Vanity Fair and the
Celestial City: Dissenting, Methodist, and Evangelical Literary Culture in England 1720–1800 (Oxford,
2018), ch. 4.
Ever since Eusebius of Caesarea (c.260–c.340) wrote his Ecclesiastical History

during the fourth century, Christians have used the past as a weapon to justify
their providential mission. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
the past was a battlefield on which Protestant authors—such as John Foxe
(c.1516–87), Peter Heylyn (1599–1662), and Gilbert Burnet (1643–1715)—fought
for ‘truth’.16 Contrary to Paulina Kewes’s claim that the ‘cultural cachet of polite-
ness’ caused partisan history to fall ‘out of fashion’ during the Hanoverian period,
eighteenth-century historiography remained not only polemical but also provi-
dential.17 During this period, authors scrutinized numerous politico-theological
issues through a historical lens, offering visions for the future based on the past. It
is no coincidence that the Dissenting historian Daniel Neal published his four-
volume History of the Puritans (1732–8) amid increased calls for the repeal of the
Test and Corporation Acts, which denied public office to Protestants who refused
to take Anglican communion.18 Despite the blatant partisanship of Neal and
others, it would be condescending to dismiss the self-
awareness of many
eighteenth-century historians, who sought the impossible goal of objectivity. For
instance, in his response to the first volume of Neal’s History, Isaac Maddox,
future bishop of St Asaph and Worcester, cited various scholars—including
Thomas Fuller (1608–61)—of whom Neal approved.19 As shall be seen through-
out the chapters in this book, contemporary perceptions of Methodism were
rooted firmly in the past.
Chapter 1 charts the rise of Methodism, focusing particularly on the develop-
ment of its relationship with the Church of England. The turbulent nature of this
relationship was evidenced by the explosion of anti-Methodist literature during
the late 1730s and early 1740s. This chapter proceeds to discuss the sale, dissem
ination, and readership of these texts. Much of the early anti-Methodist literature
was pitched to a lay audience, whom the authors sought to deter from revival
meetings. To numerous clergymen these meetings were hotbeds of immoral and
16 M. Phillpott, The Reformation of England’s Past: John Foxe and the Revision of History in the Late
Sixteenth Century (New York and Abingdon, 2018); A. Milton, Laudian and Royalist Polemic in
Seventeenth- Century England: The Career and Writings of Peter Heylyn (Manchester, 2007);
J. H. Preston, ‘English Ecclesiastical Historians and the Problem of Bias, 1559–1742’, Journal of the
History of Ideas, 32 (1971), pp. 203–20; A. Starkie, ‘Contested Histories of the English Church: Gilbert
Burnet and Jeremy Collier’, in P. Kewes (ed.), The Uses of History in Early Modern England (San
Marino, CA, 2006), pp. 329–45. For broader discussions of historiography in early modern England,
see D. Woolf, ‘Historical Writing in Britain from the Late Middle Ages to the Eve of Enlightenment’, in
J. Rabasa, M. Sato, E. Tortarolo, and D. Woolf (eds), The Oxford History of Historical Writing, Vol. 3:
1400–1800 (Oxford, 2012), pp. 473–96.
17 P. Kewes, ‘History and Its Uses’, in Kewes, Uses of History, p. 25.
18 J. Black, Charting the Past: The Historical Worlds of Eighteenth-Century England (Bloomington,
IN, 2019), p. xii. For Black’s discussions of Neal’s History, see Chapter 5. See also J. Seed, Dissenting
Histories: Religious Division and the Politics of Memory in Eighteenth-Century England (Edinburgh,
2008), ch. 2; R. G. Ingram, ‘Representing and Misrepresenting the History of Puritanism in
Eighteenth-Century England’, in P. D. Clarke and C. Methuen (eds), SCH, Vol. 49: The Church on Its
Past (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 205–18; Ingram, Reformation without End, ch. 11.
19 Ingram, ‘Representing and Misrepresenting’, p. 211.
Introduction 7
riotous behaviour. Crucially, such perceptions illuminate the convergence of

socio-political and doctrinal concerns. Indeed, immorality and disorder were
often described as effects of Wesley and Whitefield’s ‘solifidian’ soteriology.
Chapter 2 explores the soteriological clashes between Methodists and their
High Church opponents. It locates these exchanges as a continuation of a historic
dispute over definitions of ‘true’ Church of England doctrines, as taught in the
Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, an Elizabethan formulary, to which all clergymen—
both upon ordination and when they were presented to a new living—subscribed.20
Calvinist evangelicals believed they were fulfilling the work of Reformed Anglicans,
such as John Edwards (1637–1716), who had maintained the ‘good old way’ of
the Reformation after the Restoration. Anti-Methodist High Churchmen, on the
other hand, perceived these harangues as merely a feeble attempt to reignite a
war already won by post-Restoration Arminian divines, most notably George
Bull (1634–1710). Arminian evangelicals, such as John Wesley, occupied an
awkward middle ground in this dispute. Despite his overt anti- Calvinism,
Wesley was often charged with aiding Whitefield and other so-called ‘antinomi-
ans’ by denying that works were a condition of the new birth. Paradoxically,
however, Methodists were sometimes attacked for their rigorous regimen of self-
denial and perfectionism.
Chapter 3 further highlights the convergence of sociological and theological
ideas by exploring responses to Methodist asceticism. It shows that Wesley and
Whitefield’s concerns about allegedly sinful luxuries were shared, not only by
members of the laity, but also by several of their Anglican opponents. This chap-
ter, therefore, de-emphasizes both the novelty of Methodist perfectionism and the
alleged lethargy of the Georgian Church. Those divines, such as Joseph Trapp,
who attacked Methodist perfectionism viewed such teachings as a theological, as
well as a social, transgression. Basing this theory on the example allegedly set by
sixteenth-century German Anabaptists and other radical Christian groups, Trapp
and others described a direct lineage linking perfectionism, anticlericalism, and
antinomianism.
Discussions of sixteenth-century Anabaptists featured prominently in attacks
on Methodist ‘enthusiasm’, which are explored in Chapter 4. Methodists often
faced charges of ‘enthusiasm’ because of their seemingly irrational emphasis on
supernatural experiences, such as prophecies and bodily agitations. Allegations of
‘enthusiasm’ often featured alongside the interlinked charges of ‘schism’ and
‘popery’. When defining each of these three transgressions of ‘true religion’, anti-
Methodist High Churchmen cited historic examples of ‘enthusiastic’ and schis-
matic papists. To these divines, the ‘schismatic’ acts committed by Methodists
represented not only a political rebellion, but also a sin, reminiscent of regicidal
20 See J. D. Walsh, ‘The Thirty-Nine Articles and Anglican Identity in the Eighteenth Century’, in
C. d’Haussy (ed.), Quand religions et confessions se regardent (Paris, 1998), pp. 61–70.
Puritans, who had allegedly aided the Papacy during the previous century by top-
pling both the Church and the monarchy. Methodists, on the other hand, posited
their work as a continuation of the Reformation, comparing their opponents to
‘popish’ and schismatic Counter-Reformers. By exploring the conflicting ways in
which Methodists and their opponents deployed histories of ‘popery’, this chapter
illuminates not only the many varieties of anti-Catholicism in eighteenth-century
England, but also the highly contested status, purpose, and meaning of the
Reformation during this period.
As with ‘popery’, ‘enthusiasm’ was a subjective term in eighteenth-century
England. To deists, such as Peter Annet, all priestly religions were guilty of ‘enthu-
siasm’ because they defended ancient tales of miracles, which transcended the
laws of nature. One might imagine that, in the minds of most Anglicans,
Methodists and deists operated in completely different worlds. In fact, nothing
could be further from the truth. Chapter 5 explores the perceived relationship
between Methodism and deism. By showing that discussions of deism featured
prominently in the printed attacks on Wesley and Whitefield, this chapter offers a
fundamental reappraisal of the perceived relationship between early evangelical-
ism and irreligion, while also illuminating the ways in which anti-Methodism
was informed by other theological controversies. Crucially, by showing that
attacks on evangelicalism often mirrored attacks on irreligion, this chapter argues
that categorizations such as ‘Enlightenment’ and ‘Counter-Enlightenment’ are
unhelpful when describing contemporary perceptions of Methodism and deism.
As with deists, Methodists were often viewed by their clerical opponents as mel-
ancholic ‘enthusiasts’—the antithesis of ‘true religion’.
Attitudes to miracles was another litmus test for ‘true religion’. Some religious
groups, such as Roman Catholics and evangelicals, were open to the possibility of
new miracles. Orthodox Anglicans, on the other hand, believed that miracles had
ceased shortly after Constantine’s conversion during the fourth century, which
marked the end of Christianity’s days as a marginalized sect. Others, however,
displayed far less trust in patristic accounts of miracles. The Cambridge librarian
and Anglican divine Conyers Middleton believed that miracles had ceased by the
end of the first century. More controversially, deists denied that miracles had ever
occurred at all. Each of these beliefs is explored in Chapter 6, which discusses
anti-Methodism in the context of the eighteenth- century miracles debate.
Building on the previous chapter’s discussions of the perceived relationship
between Methodism and irreligion, Chapter 6 also illuminates several clergymen
who feared that Methodism’s emphasis on the supernatural fuelled doubts about
biblical and patristic miracles.
Methodism also attracted opposition from Latitudinarians and heterodox
‘Rational Dissenters’, whose grievances are explored in Chapter 7. As with many
of the categorizations applied to seventeenth- and eighteenth-century clergymen,
Introduction 9
the term ‘Latitudinarian’ has pejorative origins. During the 1650s it was used to
describe Cambridge Platonists, such as Henry More, who—despite conforming
outwardly to the expectations of the Interregnum establishment—were suspected
of harbouring secret yearnings for the return of episcopacy. When these
Cambridge divines sided with the newly restored Church of England, they were
accused of ‘Latitudinarianism’ by liberated royalists on the one hand and defeated
nonconformists on the other.21 During the eighteenth century the charge of
‘Latitudinarianism’ was hurled at clergymen who sought a broad established
Church, in which all would be entitled to use their ‘private judgement’ to inter-
pret the Scriptures. Georgian Latitudinarians believed that ‘human’ formularies,
such as the Thirty-Nine Articles, contravened the sola scriptura ethos of the
Reformation, as outlined by William Chillingworth (1602–44), who stated that
the ‘Bible only is the religion of Protestants!’22
To Latitudinarians and Rational Dissenters, Methodists stifled the progress of
the Reformation by defending ‘human’ dogmas, such as the Augustinian doctrine
of original sin, infant baptism, and Trinitarianism. Ironically, these orthodox
doctrines were also defended vociferously by anti-Methodist High Churchmen,
who associated the controversial practices of evangelical leaders with the ‘enthu-
siastic’ excesses of the Reformation. To some, the Reformation had ended long
ago, meaning that the Methodists’ endeavours were, at best, redundant, and, at
worst, damaging. To others, the Reformation was a work in progress, which was
being stifled by the Methodists’ dogmatic zeal for ‘orthodoxy’. The term
‘Methodism’, therefore, conjured up different images for different people. These
images were, however, always rooted firmly in the past, thereby reinforcing
Ingram’s argument that eighteenth- century doctrinal controversies stemmed
from questions unresolved by the Reformation.23
21 J. Spurr, ‘ “Latitudinarianism” and the Restoration Church’, HJ, 31 (1988), pp. 61–82.
22 W. Chillingworth, The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation (Oxford, 1638), p. 375;
Young, Religion and Enlightenment, ch. 1.
23 Ingram, Reformation without End, passim.
1
A ‘Torrent’ of Opposition
In 1744 George Whitefield described the ‘Torrent of Opposition’ facing him and
other evangelical itinerants. To Whitefield, such opposition was a positive sign
because it showed that Methodist preachers were following a ‘Divine
Commission’.1 In An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion (1743), John
Wesley similarly interpreted this hostility as a providential sign, citing ‘Blessed
are ye when Men shall revile you and persecute you’ (Matthew 5:11).2 As has been
shown by several scholars, such opposition sometimes took the form of physical
violence and mob action.3 In addition, Methodists faced a torrent of printed criti-
cism. We know from Clive Field’s exhaustive bibliographies of eighteenth-century
anti-Methodist literature that well over five-hundred attacks on evangelicalism
were published in Britain between 1738 and 1800. Yet, their distribution was not
spread evenly across this period. Indeed, around two hundred of these attacks
appeared between 1738 and 1745. Up until the early 1740s, it was usually
Whitefield who was centre stage in these polemics. By the mid-1740s, however, it
was Wesley who was gaining most of the limelight and, inevitably, the criticism.
This sudden shift in focus was largely due to Whitefield’s lengthy visits to the
American colonies, which enabled Wesley to gain a foothold in England.4
The bulk of these printed assaults were written by Anglican clergymen of vary-
ing levels of seniority, ranging from bishops to curates. It was, however, not
unusual to see Dissenting ministers and members of the laity attacking
Methodism in print. These polemics took many literary forms. A relatively small
number of them were satirical assaults, which were often bawdy in tone. Rather
than focusing on doctrinal controversies, the aim of these plays, poems, novels/
novellas, and illustrations was usually to ridicule Methodist leaders by portraying
1 G. Whitefield, An Answer to the Second Part of an Anonymous Pamphlet, Entitled, Observations

upon the Conduct and Behaviour of a Certain Sect Usually Distinguished by the Name of Methodists. In
a Second Letter to the Right Reverend the Bishop of London, and the Other the Right Reverend the
Bishops Concern’d in the Publication Thereof (Boston, MA, 1744), p. 15.
2 J. Wesley, An Earnest Appeal to Men of Reason and Religion, 2nd ed. (Bristol, 1743), p. 34.
3 J. D. Walsh, ‘Methodism and the Mob in the Eighteenth Century’, in G. J. Cuming and D. Baker
(eds), SCH, Vol. 8: Popular Belief and Practice (Cambridge, 1972), pp. 213–27; M. F. Snape, ‘Anti-
Methodism in Eighteenth-Century England: The Pendle Forest Riots of 1748’, JEH, 49 (1998), pp.
257–81; S. Lewis, ‘ “Five Pounds for a Swadler’s Head”: The Cork Anti-Methodist Riots of 1749–50’,
HR, 94 (2021), pp. 51–72.
4 C. D. Field, ‘Anti-Methodist Publications of the Eighteenth Century: A Revised Bibliography’,
BJRL, 73 (1991), pp. 159–280; C. D. Field, ‘Anti-Methodist Publications of the Eighteenth Century: A
Supplemental Bibliography’, WMS, 6 (2014), pp. 154–86.
Anti-Methodism and Theological Controversy in Eighteenth-Century England: The Struggle for True Religion. Simon Lewis,
Oxford University Press. © Simon Lewis 2021. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192855756.003.0002
A ‘Torrent’ of Opposition 11
them as self-interested tricksters and sexual predators.5 Most of the early anti-
Methodist literature, however, adopted a considerably more serious tone by
addressing numerous theological, social, and political concerns. Some polemicists
composed fictional dialogues, in which the Methodist character was portrayed as
the antagonist.6
In addition, several bishops, including Edmund Gibson of London, and
Richard Smalbroke of Lichfield and Coventry, attacked Methodism in their pas
toral letters and episcopal charges.7 Numerous other anti-Methodist works took
the form of open letters to specific evangelical leaders.8 By far, however, the two
most common forms of anti-Methodist polemic were sermons and commentaries
on specific evangelical leaders. Of course, newspapers and periodicals played
their part in opposing Methodist ‘enthusiasm’. During the late 1730s and early
1740s, the most staunchly anti-Methodist periodical was the Weekly Miscellany.
The editor of this stridently Tory High Church periodical—which was also
renowned for its attacks on anti-Trinitarianism, deism, and Dissent—was William
Webster, incumbent of Depden, Suffolk, who published under the pseudonym,
‘Richard Hooker of the Inner Temple’. In 1741, however, the Weekly Miscellany
quietly folded after a nine-year print run. By focusing increasingly on Methodism,
this periodical had, in its later years, become decidedly niche. Early issues had
stressed the fundamental role played by women as moral reformers, and advo-
cated women’s education. Yet, issues published after 1738 adopted an increasingly
hostile attitude towards female religious activism, which Webster and other High
5 For examples of anti-Methodist plays see The Mock-Preacher: A Satyrico-Comical-Allegorical

Farce (London, 1739); T. Este, Methodism Display’d: A Farce of One Act (Newcastle, 1743); S. Foote, The
Minor (London, 1760). For poetry, see The Methodists: An Humorous Burlesque Poem (London, 1739);
T. Cooke, The Mournful Nuptials, or Love the Cure of All Woes: A Tragedy (London, 1739); Dr Codex’s
Pastoral Letter Versified, by Way of Caution against Lukewarmness on One Hand and Enthusiasm on
the Other (London, 1739). For novels/novellas see The Accomplished Methodist, or The Life of David
Nefas, Esq. (London, 1739); [R. Graves], The Spiritual Quixote, or The Summer’s Ramble of Mr Geoffry
Wildgoose: A Comic Romance, 3 vols (London, 1773). For satirical cartoons see Enthusiasm Display’d,
or The Moor-Fields Congregation (London, 1739); Harlequin Methodist, to the Tune of ‘An Old Woman
Cloathed in Grey’ ([London?], s.d.); Doctor Rock’s Speech to the Political Mob in Covent-Garden
(London, 1743).
6 See The Question Whether It Be Right to Turn Methodist Considered in a Dialogue between Two
Members of the Church of England (London, 1739); A Plain and Familiar Dialogue between a Steady
and a Wavering Christian, Occasioned by the Defection of the Latter from the Doctrines and Ordinances
of the Gospel and Primitive Unadulterated Christianity (London, 1749).
7 E. Gibson, The Bishop of London’s Pastoral Letter to the People of his Diocese; Especially Those of the
Two Great Cities of London and Westminster: By Way of Caution, against Lukewarmness on the One
Hand, and Enthusiasm on the Other (London, 1739); R. Smalbroke, A Charge Delivered to the Reverend
the Clergy in Several Parts of the Diocese of Lichfield and Coventry in a Triennial Visitation of the Same
in 1741 (London, 1741).
8 See T. Land, A Letter to the Rev. Mr Whitefield, Designed to Correct His Mistaken Account of
Regeneration, or the New Birth (London, 1739); E. B., An Expostulatory Letter to the Reverend Mr
Whitefield, and the Rest of his Brethren, the Methodists of the Church of England, Wherein the Rites and
Ceremonies of That Church Are Considered, and the Partiality of Those Gentlemen with Regard to the
Practice of Them Condemn’d (London, 1739).
Churchmen had begun to associate with Methodism. Thus, Webster probably

alienated at least some of his female readers.9
This chapter contextualizes early anti-Methodist literature by charting the
roots of Wesley and Whitefield’s complex relationship with the Church of
England. It focuses particularly on their controversial practices, such as open-air
and itinerant preaching, which were deemed to contravene parliamentary and
canon law. By discussing these practices, this chapter illuminates the ways in
which theological polemic informed, and was informed by, socio-political issues.
These contextual explorations are enhanced further through discussions of the
sale and dissemination of early anti-Methodist literature, thereby elucidating both
the popularity and readership of these publications.
The Rise of Methodism
Born in 1703, John Wesley was the son of Samuel Wesley (1662–1735), incum-
bent of Epworth, Lincolnshire. In 1720 John entered Christ Church, Oxford,
where he was ordained deacon in 1725. He was subsequently elected fellow of
Lincoln College, Oxford (1726), and ordained priest (1728). In 1729 John, along
with his younger brother, Charles—who had matriculated at Christ Church three
years earlier—formed a ‘Holy Club’ for the purpose of theological study and the
pursuit of righteousness through prayer, fasting, and charity. The group quickly
gained the pejorative title of ‘Methodists’ because their rigorous regimen was per-
ceived by some of the Oxford community to be overly methodical.10 In December
1735 John and Charles travelled to the new American colony of Georgia to
assume the respective positions of minister of Christ Church, Savannah, and
Secretary of Indian Affairs. During the voyage aboard the Simmonds they encoun-
tered some Moravians. In 1722 these Protestant refugees from Moravia had
migrated to Herrnhut, the Saxony estate of Count Nicolaus Zinzendorf, a
Lutheran Pietist, who provided them with sanctuary. Influenced by Zinzendorf ’s
fervent piety, the Moravians soon experienced a revival of religion, fuelling mis-
sionary work across the world, including to Georgia. The Moravians on board the
Simmonds left a lasting impression on John Wesley, who was captivated by the
calm piety they displayed during a hazardous storm.11
9 See C. J. Cupples, ‘Pious Ladies and Methodist Madams: Sex and Gender in Anti-Methodist
Writings of Eighteenth-Century England’, Critical Matrix, 5 (1990), pp. 30–60.
10 For the Oxford ‘Holy Club’, see H. Rack, Reasonable Enthusiast: John Wesley and the Rise of
Methodism (London, 1989), ch. 2; R. P. Heitzenrater, Wesley and the People Called Methodists, 2nd ed.
(Nashville, TN, 2013), pp. 37–64.
11 For the Moravian diaspora, see C. D. Atwood, Community of the Cross: Moravian Piety in
Colonial Bethlehem (University Park, PA, 2004); W. R. Ward, Early Evangelicalism: A Global Intellectual
History, 1670–1789 (Cambridge, 2006); A. S. Fogleman, Jesus Is Female: Moravians and Radical
Religion in Early America (Philadelphia, PA, 2007); M. Gillespie and R. Beachy (eds), Pious Pursuits:
In February 1736 the Wesley brothers arrived in Georgia, though Charles’s

time in the colony lasted only a matter of months. In August 1736 the emotionally
and spiritually depressed Charles left America for England, where he acquired
lasting acclaim as a hymn writer. John’s two years in Georgia were marred by
limited opportunities to engage with the indigenous people, altercations with
Dissenters, and, most notably, his tumultuous relationship with Sophia Hopkey,
whom he excommunicated when she married another colonist. Her enraged hus-
band, William Williamson, began legal proceedings against Wesley, who fled the
colony in December 1737.12 Upon his return to England in February 1738, Wesley
was a demoralized man. For guidance he turned to his Moravian friend, Peter
Böhler, who urged him to ‘preach faith till you have it; and then, because you have
it, you will preach faith’. On 24 May 1738 Wesley reluctantly attended a religious
society meeting on Aldersgate Street, London, where the preacher spoke on
Martin Luther’s preface to Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. In his journal entry for
that day, Wesley described the life-changing effects of the preacher’s words:
About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God
works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I
felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given
me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin
and death.13
This event, Wesley claimed, marked the point at which he was ‘born again’.14 He
devoted the remaining fifty-three years of his life and ministry to travelling across
Britain and Ireland, preaching about the ‘new birth’, which was independent of
good works. Nevertheless, Wesley, as an Arminian, believed that it was possible
for the regenerate to backslide into sin and fall from grace.15 This view was not
shared by Whitefield, a Calvinist evangelical, who believed that the grace of God
was irresistible to the elect. Whitefield’s background could not have been any
more different from that of the Wesley brothers.
Born in 1714, George Whitefield was the son of Thomas Whitefield, proprietor
of the Bell Inn, Gloucester, who died when George was only two years old. He
subsequently gained a stepfather, who mismanaged the Bell Inn, causing the
young Whitefield to defer his schooling and assist in the running of the
German Moravians in the Atlantic World (New York and Oxford, 2007); R. Wheeler, To Live upon
Hope: Mohicans and Missionaries in the Eighteenth-Century Northeast (Ithaca, NY, and London, 2008);
K. C. Engel, Religion and Profit: Moravians in Early America (Philadelphia, PA, 2013).
12 For Wesley’s Georgia mission see Hammond, John Wesley in America.
13 Works, Journal I, pp. 228, 249–50.
14 For Wesley’s Aldersgate experience and its wider significance see M. K. Olson, Wesley and
Aldersgate: Interpreting Conversion Narratives (Abingdon and New York, 2018).
15 For a concise overview of Wesley’s soteriology see T. H. McCall and K. D. Stanglin, After
Arminius: A Historical Introduction to Arminian Theology (New York, 2021), ch. 3.
establishment. As a result of childhood measles, Whitefield developed a perman

ent squint, for which he was teased throughout his life. In 1732 he matriculated at
Pembroke College, Oxford, as a servitor, which entailed the performance of vari-
ous menial duties for wealthier undergraduates. At Oxford Whitefield encoun-
tered the Wesley brothers, and engaged with the Holy Club.16 For a period of
several weeks in 1735, Whitefield was confined to his rooms, stricken by illness,
which he viewed as the work of Satan. He later claimed that, throughout this
ordeal, God was ‘purifying’ his soul and quenching his ‘thirst’. Eventually
Whitefield was ‘delivered’ from his illness, causing him to ‘truly rejoice in God’. It
was, apparently, from this moment onwards that God was ‘abode’ in Whitefield’s
soul.17 In 1736 the recently ‘regenerated’ Whitefield was ordained deacon in
Gloucester Cathedral by Bishop Martin Benson. During the following year
Whitefield published The Nature and Necessity of Our New Birth in Christ Jesus, in
Order to Salvation, based on a sermon he had recently preached in St Mary
Radcliffe, Bristol. In this text Whitefield alleged that—despite it being ‘one of the
most fundamental Doctrines of our holy Religion’—the new birth was not some-
thing that most ‘Professors’ in the Church had experienced. Despite its provoca-
tive tone, this sermon failed to agitate the clergy. Some probably assumed that this
annoying little upstart would soon be gone from their shores for good.18
As with the Wesley brothers, Whitefield felt called to America. In February 1738
he sailed for Georgia, where—with the authorization of the colony’s trustees—he
was to succeed John Wesley as the minister of Christ Church, Savannah. Shortly
after his arrival in May 1738, Whitefield devised a plan to build an orphanage in
Georgia. His inspiration for this institution was the Halle Orphanage in Germany,
founded in 1695, by August Hermann Francke. By December 1738 Whitefield
was back in England, raising money for his ‘Bethesda’ orphanage, which was built
in 1740. One fundraising strategy was the sale of Whitefield’s Journal (1738–41),
which was filled with daily accounts of prophetic encounters with God. In January
1739 Whitefield was ordained priest by Bishop Benson. By the summer of that
year, however, Whitefield and Benson were engaged in a ‘punishing correspond-
ence’, which stemmed from the former’s open-air preaching. This highly contro-
versial practice characterized eighteenth-century Methodism and was a major
catalyst for the decline of Wesley and Whitefield’s relationship with the Church
of England.19
16 B. S. Schlenther, ‘Whitefield, George (1714–1770)’, ODNB.

17 G. Whitefield, A Short Account of God’s Dealings with the Reverend Mr George Whitefield,
A. B. Late of Pembroke-College, Oxford. From His Infancy, to the Time of His Entring into Holy Orders
(London, 1740), pp. 48–9.
18 G. Whitefield, The Nature and Necessity of Our New Birth in Christ Jesus, in Order to Salvation: A
Sermon Preached in the Church of St. Mary Radcliffe, in Bristol (London, 1737), pp. 1–2.
19 Schlenther, ‘Whitefield, George (1714–1770)’; Gibson, ‘Whitefield and the Church of
England’, p. 47.
Controversial Practices
Initially, the relationship between Methodists and the Anglican hierarchy was a
relatively cordial one. John Wesley’s early prison ministry was supported by John
Potter, bishop of Oxford, who translated to Canterbury in 1737. In February 1739
Potter met with the Wesley brothers, receiving them with ‘great affection’.20
Slightly tenser, but far from hostile, was the Wesley brothers’ early interactions
with Bishop Gibson, a Whig divine, who was nicknamed ‘Walpole’s Pope’ for his
close association with the prime minister throughout the 1720s and much of the
1730s.21 In October 1738 both John and Charles Wesley were summoned before
Gibson to answer various complaints he had received regarding their teachings.
One such complaint was that the Wesley brothers ‘preached an absolute assurance
of salvation’. Gibson questioned whether the brothers meant ‘an inward persua-
sion’, following careful examination, that one was ‘in a state of salvation’. This
form of ‘assurance’, Gibson believed, was a characteristic of ‘any good Christian’.
The brothers responded that the doctrine described by the bishop was identical to
what they taught. Gibson was also sympathetic to their religious societies, choos-
ing not to classify them as ‘conventicles’. He did, however, adopt a sterner stance
on some of the Methodists’ other teachings, such as their alleged neglect of good
works, which, he warned, was reminiscent of the ‘Antinomians’ of ‘King Charles’s
time’. Gibson also disagreed with John and Charles’s belief that Anglican clergy-
men should be permitted to rebaptize Dissenters who conformed to the Church
of England. Gibson closed the meeting by assuring the brothers that they had
‘free access’ to him ‘at all times’. They thanked him and left.22
Whitefield’s early relationship with Potter and Gibson was also far from hostile.
Upon his return to England from Georgia in December 1738, Whitefield visited
both bishops, who received him favourably.23 Gibson’s opinion of the youthful
preacher soon soured, however. In February 1739 the Wesley brothers once
again visited Gibson, who—despite continuing to display cordiality towards
20 Loane, ‘Wesley, Whitefield, and the Church of England’, p. 80. For Wesley’s relationship with the
Church of England, see also F. Baker, John Wesley and the Church of England, 2nd ed. (London, 2000);
Jacob, ‘John Wesley and the Church of England’; Gregory, ‘ “In the Church I Will Live and Die” ’.
21 See N. Sykes, Edmund Gibson Bishop of London, 1669–1748: A Study in Politics and Religion in
the Eighteenth Century (London, 1926). This close association was severed when Gibson organized an
episcopal bulwark against Walpole’s Quakers Tithe Bill (1736), which would have shielded Quakers
from the ecclesiastical courts for the non-payment of tithes. See S. Taylor, ‘Sir Robert Walpole, the
Church of England, and the Quakers Tithe Bill of 1736’, HJ, 28 (1985), pp. 51–77.
22 Manuscript Journal, I, pp. 150–1. The rebaptism of Dissenters was a practice endorsed by Non-
Jurors, such as Roger Laurence (1670–1736), a former Dissenter. See R. D. Cornwall, ‘Politics and the
Lay Baptism Controversy in England, 1708–1715’, in R. D. Cornwall and W. Gibson (eds), Religion,
Politics and Dissent, 1660–1832: Essays in Honour of James E. Bradley (Farnham, 2010), pp. 147–64;
R. Stevens, Protestant Pluralism: The Reception of the Toleration Act, 1689–1720 (Woodbridge, 2018),
ch. 5. For the rebaptism of Dissenters, as taught and performed by John Wesley, both before and dur-
ing his Georgia mission, see Hammond, John Wesley in America, passim.
23 Loane, ‘Wesley, Whitefield, and the Church of England’, p. 81.
them—dismissed Whitefield’s Journal, which was ‘tainted with enthusiasm’.

Despite initially conceding that Whitefield was a ‘well-meaning youth’, Gibson
grew increasingly concerned about his activities.24 In August 1739 Gibson wrote
his Pastoral Letter, cautioning the people in his diocese—which included the
American colonies—against Whitefield’s ‘enthusiasm’. This transition from cordi-
ality to outright hostility was fuelled in no small part by Whitefield’s controversial
practices. One such practice was extemporary prayer, which Gibson perceived as
a rejection of the ‘Established Worship’ outlined in the liturgy.25 Soon John Wesley
was following Whitefield’s example by praying extemporaneously, earning him a
rebuke from his mother, Susanna, and his older brother, Samuel, both of whom
associated this practice with schism.26
Another controversial practice undertaken by evangelical preachers was open-
air preaching, which was reminiscent of Restoration Dissenters. On 17 February
1739 Whitefield preached his first open-air sermon on Kingswood Hill, near
Bristol.27 Ever the propagandist, Whitefield claimed that this practice was neces-
sitated, not by ministers barring their churches to him, but by the vast crowds
who came to hear him preach. In his Journal Whitefield claimed that, on 24
February 1739, he was forced to preach on the steps leading up to a ‘Poor-house’
in Bristol because both the building and the yard were full. The following day
Whitefield rode to ‘Bussleton, a Village about two Miles from Bristol’. After read-
ing prayers in the church, he chose to preach in the churchyard because the con-
gregation was so ‘vast’.28 John Wesley was initially reluctant to follow Whitefield’s
example. On 31 March 1739, after witnessing Whitefield’s open-air preaching in
Bristol, Wesley made the following observation in his journal:
I could scarce reconcile myself to this strange way of preaching in the fields, of
which he [Whitefield] set me an example on Sunday; having been all my life till
very lately so tenacious of every point relating to decency and order, that I
should have thought the saving of souls almost a sin if it had not been done in
a church.
During the following day Wesley preached on the Sermon on the Mount. He
observed that this text provided a ‘remarkable precedent’ for open-air preaching.
On 2 April 1739 Wesley chose to be ‘more vile’ by preaching his first open-air
sermon. The service, conducted in a brickyard in Bristol, was, according to
Wesley, attended by approximately three thousand people.29 Bishop Gibson
24 Manuscript Journal, I, pp. 162–3.

25 [E. Gibson], Observations upon the Conduct and Behaviour of a Certain Sect, Usually
Distinguished by the Name of Methodists ([London], 1744), p. 24.
26 Jacob, ‘John Wesley and the Church of England’, p. 69.
27 Schlenther, ‘Whitefield, George (1714–1770)’. 28 Whitefield, Journal 3, pp. 38–40.
29 Works, Journal II, p. 46.
believed that such gatherings drew people away from their ‘proper Business
which God has required them to attend’.30 Also, it was often feared that members
of the laity who chose to become itinerant preachers were putting both local and
national industry at risk. George White, a Lancashire parson, predicted that the
‘visible Ruin’ of the country’s ‘Trade and Manufacture’ would imminently ensue
unless the activities of these evangelical itinerants ceased.31 Some feared that dis-
ruptions to labour and industry would naturally lead to disruptions within fam
ilies. Such fears often featured in discussions of lay itinerants, who were perceived
to have no guaranteed source of income. One critic of lay preachers asked
How many handicraft men, who have nothing to depend upon for their subsist-
ence, and that of their wives and children, but their daily Labour (already per-
haps too much inclined to Laziness) will forsake it to run after him
[Whitefield]?32
Some predicted that Methodist converts and their families would become bur-
densome to their parishes as soon as they were completely destitute. Ralph
Skerret, chaplain to the Earl of Grantham, stressed that those who let attendance
at revival meetings disrupt their daily labours were acting ‘to the certain prejudice
of Themselves and their Families’. Skerret warned that such behaviour would
cause masses of families to ‘seek Relief ’ from the ‘parishes to which they belong’.33
Skerret’s fears were confirmed by one anonymous curate, who stated that, because
of Whitefield’s preaching, ‘several poor People, who before supported themselves
and [their] Families by their Labour, had now left off to work, and were become
burthensome to their Parishes’.34 Finally, it was often claimed that Methodism
created divisions within families, especially when husbands and wives displayed
differing attitudes towards evangelical religion. An anti- Methodist riot that
occurred in Wednesbury, Staffordshire, in 1743, was allegedly sparked by divi-
sions between a collier and his wife, who ‘absented herself ’ with a Methodist
preacher.35
30 Gibson, Pastoral Letter . . . Enthusiasm on the Other, p. 51.

31 G. White, A Sermon against the Methodists, Preach’d at Colne and Marsden in the County of
Lancaster to a Very Numerous Audience, at Colne, July 24 and at Marsden, August 7 1748 (Preston,
1748), p. iv.
32 A Letter to the Right Reverend the Archbishops and Bishops of the Church of England: Upon Mr
Whitefield’s Extraordinary Manner of Preaching the Gospel; His Criminal Presumption, and
Enthusiastick Doctrine (London, 1739), p. 17.
33 R. Skerret, The Nature and Proper Evidence of Regeneration, or The New and Second Birth:
Considered in a Sermon Preach’d in the Parish-Churches of East-Greenwich, in the County of Kent, upon
Whit-Sunday; and St. Peter the Poor, London, on Trinity-Sunday, 1739 (London, 1739), pp. vii–viii.
34 A Curate in the Country, Observations on the Reverend Mr Whitefield’s Answer to the Bishop of
London’s Last Pastoral Letter (London, 1739), p. 26.
35 Some Papers Giving an Account of the Rise and Progress of Methodism at Wednesbury in
Staffordshire, and Other Parishes Adjacent: as Likewise of the Late Riot in Those Parts (London, 1744),
pp. 21–2.
An anonymous polemic, entitled The Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit (1740),

cited 1 Timothy 5:14 to defend the notion that women should not ‘wander from
House to House in Search of [religious] Instruction’. Rather, ‘it was God’s
Command that the younger Women should marry, bear Children, guide the House,
and be employed in the necessary and important Offices of domestic Life’.36 The
authorship of this popular work did not remain a mystery for long. Indeed,
Benjamin Mills, a Dissenting minister of Maidstone, Kent, swiftly named Samuel
Weller, perpetual curate of Maidstone, as the author.37 Weller, who served in
Maidstone between 1712 and 1753, was a ‘model parish priest’, whose duties
included presiding over ‘daily morning prayer, with evening prayer also on
Saturday, holy days and eves, and daily in Lent’. It was ‘exceptional’ for one minis-
ter to convene so many services during this period.38 Significantly, Weller recog-
nized that clergymen needed to avoid complex language and theological jargon if
they wished to make their tracts accessible to much of the laity. In one instance,
he thanked the SPCK for sending him some ‘short and plain treatises’ to distrib-
ute to his parishioners. Such concision was, according to Weller, uncharacteristic
of ‘voluminous writers’, whom he described as his ‘great enemy’.39 Weller was not,
however, an enemy of theological learning. Indeed, he rebuked Whitefield for
condemning ‘the Letter-learned Clergymen of the Church of England’. As Wesley
and Whitefield found, many of their antagonists were learned not only in the
Scriptures, but also in the letter of the law.40
Indeed, some of the Methodists’ practices, including itinerant and open-air
preaching, were seen by many as violations of parliamentary and canon law. The
ultimate authority on this matter was Bishop Gibson, who had discussed the ‘stat-
utes, constitutions, canons, rubrics, and articles of the Church of England’ in his
seminal work, Codex juris ecclesiastici Anglicani (1713).41 In a 1744 anti-Methodist
polemic, which he published anonymously, Gibson noted that the 1670
Conventicles Act (22 Car. II. c. 1) prohibited people from gathering for religious
meetings in fields. He added that there was no mention of field preaching in the
1689 Toleration Act, implying that the practice remained prohibited under the
1670 legislation. Citing the Constitutions and Canons Ecclesiastical (1604), Gibson
stated that itinerant preachers who entered a parish without a licence from the
36 [S. Weller], The Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit: In Some Remarks upon His Fourth Journal (London,
1740), p. 35.
37 B. Mills, An Account of a Controversy between the Rev. Samuel Weller: L.L.B. Minister of Maidstone
in Kent; and Benjamin Mills, A Dissenting Minister in the Same Town: Occasioned by a Reflection Cast
upon the Dissenters in a Late Anonymous Pamphlet, Said to Be Written by Mr Weller, Intituled, The Trial
of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit (London, 1741).
38 J. Gregory, Restoration, Reformation, and Reform, 1660–1828: Archbishops of Canterbury and
Their Diocese (Oxford, 2000), p. 258.
39 Quoted from Gregory, Restoration, Reformation, and Reform, p. 266.
40 [Weller], Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit, p. 41.
41 S. Taylor, ‘Gibson, Edmund (bap. 1669, d. 1748)’, ODNB.
diocesan bishop were violating Canon L. The ‘practice of Licensing Itinerant

Preachers’ was, according to Gibson, occasioned during the ‘early Days of the
Reformation’ by the ‘low Talents of many Incumbents’, whose abilities were
restricted to reading the Books of Homilies (1547, 1563, and 1571)—collections
of prepared sermons, written by leading Reformers. This ‘defect’ had, however,
been ‘remedied’ by the ‘liberal Education’ of ordinands, thereby eliminating the
need for itinerant preachers. Also, by lending their pulpits to itinerant preachers—
who often attracted an entourage—incumbents were potentially violating Canon
XXVIII, which instructed them to forbid communion to ‘strangers’ from other
parishes.42
Wesley and Whitefield’s disdain for the canons could not have been clearer. In
his Earnest Appeal Wesley alleged that none of the 141 canons was ‘legally
establish’d by the Church’—a point on which he failed to elaborate. He may have
meant that the canons were never ratified by Parliament, though this argument
was usually deployed by lay controversialists, who believed that canonical adher-
ence was required only from the clergy. On the other hand, Wesley could have
been referring to the fact that the primacy was vacant when the Convocation of
Canterbury formally adopted the canons in 1604 (Richard Bancroft, who drafted
the canons, was installed as archbishop of Canterbury shortly afterwards).43
Whitefield displayed a similarly flippant attitude towards the canons, particularly
Canon L, which he viewed as an impediment to the spread of ‘true religion’. Since
the ‘generality’ of the clergy had, apparently, abandoned the ‘good old Doctrines’
of the Reformation, it was the ‘principal Employ of every true Minister’ to preach
the gospel from ‘Place to Place’, ‘County to County’, and ‘Pole to Pole’.44 Whitefield
was, however, happy to flaunt his Anglican credentials when it suited his cause.
Indeed, he denied violating civil restrictions on conventicles and field preaching,
claiming that these laws applied only to Dissenters. Ever the diplomat, Whitefield
assured Bishop Gibson that, like ‘Sailors’ who refused to abandon a ‘leaky’ ship, he
and his followers saw ‘no sufficient Reason to leave the Church’. These ‘sailors’, of
course, included numerous members of the laity.45
Several scholars have considered the ways in which the laity, particularly
women, were empowered by their evangelical conversions, which often empha-
sized individual experience. For some women, such as Sarah Crosby, Methodist
42 [Gibson], Observations upon the Conduct and Behaviour of a Certain Sect, pp. 3–5, 11.
43 Wesley, Earnest Appeal, p. 41; G. Bray, ‘Canon Law and the Church of England’, in A. Milton (ed.),
The Oxford History of Anglicanism, Vol. 1: Reformation and Identity, c.1520–1662 (Oxford, 2017),
pp. 168–85.
44 Whitefield, Answer to the Second Part of an Anonymous Pamphlet, pp. 5–6.
45 G. Whitefield, An Answer to the First Part of an Anonymous Pamphlet, Entitled, Observations
upon the Conduct and Behaviour of a Certain Sect Usually Distinguished by the Name of Methodists. In
a Letter to the Right Reverend the Bishop of London, and the Other the Right Reverend the Bishops
Concern’d in the Publication Thereof (Boston, MA, 1744), p. 7. See also D. Hempton, ‘Methodism and
the Law’, BJRL, 70 (1988), pp. 93–107.
class meetings provided opportunities to assume leadership roles, including as

exhorters and—with Wesley’s reluctant approval—preachers.46 As has been
shown by Phyllis Mack, the conversion narratives of Methodist women often
described prior experiences of spiritual isolation and familial loneliness, triggered
by bereavement or an abusive husband. Conversion alleviated these feelings of
isolation and loneliness by generating ‘protective relationships’ and ‘passionate
friendships’ within the Methodist ‘family’. Also, by highlighting shared emotional
experiences that transcended social boundaries, Mack has deflated the traditional
stereotype that Methodist emotionalism only appealed to the poorer, less edu-
cated, members of society. In their letters to Charles Wesley, both John Gambold,
an Anglican divine (and subsequent Moravian), and Nathaniel Hurst, an appren-
tice, ‘used similar images—a gaping abyss, an earthquake—to express their feel-
ing of existential terror’.47
There were, of course, aspects of Methodism that deterred many social elites.
As Nigel Aston argues convincingly, the ‘honour code which still informed elite
values sat awkwardly against’ Methodism’s ‘call to repentance’ and its emphasis on
‘human guilt’. Nevertheless, Wesley and Whitefield’s opposing attitudes and the-
ologies generated differing results among social elites. Theologically, Whitefield’s
Calvinism appealed to ‘polite’ converts, such as the Countess of Huntingdon, by
providing them with a ‘gratifying sense of spiritual election to match their high
caste on earth’. Wesley’s failure to gain many ‘polite’ converts cannot, however, be
explained solely in theological terms. Temperamentally, Wesley was far less will-
ing than Whitefield to acknowledge his ‘social superiors’.48 It would also be erro-
neous to view female religious activism as the preserve of evangelicals and other
‘radical’ Protestant movements. Following the Glorious Revolution, High Church
doctrines, such as the apostolic succession and passive obedience, were supported
46 E. K. Brown, Women of Mr Wesley’s Methodism (New York and Toronto, 1983). See also the fol-
lowing works by P. W. Chilcote: John Wesley and the Women Preachers of Early Methodism (Metuchen,
NJ, 1991); ‘John Wesley as Revealed by the Journal of Hester Ann Rogers, July 1775–October 1784’,
MH, 20 (1982), pp. 111–23; She Offered Them Christ: The Legacy of Women Preachers in Early
Methodism (Nashville, TN, 1993); ‘Sanctification as Lived by Early Methodist Women’, MH, 34 (1996),
pp. 90–103; Her Own Story: Autobiographical Portraits of Early Methodist Women (Nashville, TN,
2001); Early Methodist Spirituality: Selected Women’s Writings (Nashville, TN, 2007). For more recent
works on eighteenth-century Methodist women see E. M. White, ‘Women, Work, and Worship in the
Trefeca Family 1752–1773’, in G. Hammond and P. S. Forsaith (eds), Religion, Gender, and Industry:
Exploring Church and Methodism in a Local Setting (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 109–22; B. C. McInelly,
‘Mothers in Christ: Mary Fletcher and the Women of Early Methodism’, in Hammond and Forsaith
(eds), Religion, Gender, and Industry, pp. 123–36. See also multiple essays in J. Lenton, C. M. Norris,
and L. A. Ryan, Women, Preachers, Methodists: Papers from Two Conferences Held in 2019, the 350th
Anniversary of Susanna Wesley’s Birth (Oxford, 2020).
47 P. Mack, Heart Religion in the British Enlightenment: Gender and Emotion in Early Methodism
(Cambridge, 2008), pp. 29–30, 75–82. This stereotype is often associated with E. P. Thompson, who
described Methodist emotionalism as ‘perverted eroticism’. See E. P. Thompson, The Making of the
English Working Class (New York, 1963), p. 370; D. Hempton and J. D. Walsh, ‘E. P. Thompson and
Methodism’, in Mark A. Noll (ed.), God and Mammon: Protestants, Money, and the Market, 1790–1860
(New York, 2001), pp. 99–120.
48 N. Aston, ‘John Wesley and the Social Elite of Georgian Britain’, BJRL, 85.2–3 (2003), pp. 128–9.
by several influential Tory–Jacobite women, including Mary Astell, Anne Finch,

Elinor James, and Susanna Hopton.49 In 1745 Mary Hill of Salisbury published
An Essay on Schism, which—while advertised as an anti-Methodist polemic—
attacked all who rebelled against ‘Christ’s spiritual authority’ by separating from
the Church of England. Citing Ignatius of Antioch (d. c.108) and Dionysius of
Alexandria (d. c.264), Hill observed that a ‘schismatical temper of mind’ was con-
demned by the Fathers, to whose teachings High Church authors often appealed.50
Clearly, the pursuit and dissemination of patristic knowledge was not limited to
clerical ‘professionals’, who underwent a ‘lengthy apprenticeship’ in ‘esoteric
knowledge’.51
Despite these nuances, the stereotype among Methodism’s opponents was that
evangelical ‘heart religion’ appealed primarily to women and the labouring poor.
Bishop Gibson claimed that Methodism appealed especially to ‘ignorant’
women.52 Weller was similarly repulsed by the idea of ‘several Women of the low-
est Rank, and meanest Education . . . sitting in close Debate upon the important
Subjects of Religion’.53 Methodism’s popularity among women generated allega-
tions of sexual predation against preachers. During the late 1730s and 1740s most
of these accusations were levelled at the youthful Whitefield. In 1739 the Oxford
don and poet Joseph Trapp alleged that Whitefield’s ‘enthusiasm’ appealed to
‘women of a most infamous and prostitute character’.54 Similar allusions to sexual
deviance appeared in an early anti-Whitefield cartoon, Enthusiasm Display’d; or,
The Moor- Fields Congregation (1739), which depicted him bare- legged, sur-
rounded by female admirers. Where one woman in the cartoon is labelled ‘hypoc-
risy’, another is labelled ‘deceit’ (see Figure 1.1). Methodist ‘love feasts’ were an
especially potent source of rumour and gossip. While Methodists claimed that
these nocturnal events were merely opportunities for believers to share in com-
munion and fellowship, others alleged that this was simply a front for a much
more sordid agenda. One author crudely alleged that such meetings enabled
49 See M. Zook, ‘Religious Nonconformity and the Problem of Dissent in the Works of Aphra Behn
and Mary Astell’, in W. Kolbrener and M. Michelson (eds), Mary Astell: Reason, Gender, Faith
(Aldershot, 2007), pp. 99–113; S. Apetrei, Women, Feminism and Religion in Early Enlightenment
England (Cambridge, 2010), ch. 4; P. McDowell, The Women of Grub Street: Press, Politics, and Gender
in the London Literary Marketplace, 1678–1730 (Oxford, 1998), ch. 3; G. Wright, ‘Manuscript, Print,
and Politics in Anne Finch’s “Upon the Hurricane” ’, Studies in Philology, 111 (2014), pp. 571–90;
S. Lewis, ‘ “The Faithful Remnant of the True Church of England”: Susanna Hopton and the Politico-
Theology of the Nonjuring Schism’, JTS (forthcoming).
50 M. Hill, An Essay on Schism: With Several Discourses Contrary to the Methodists-Doctrine
(Salisbury, 1745), pp. 22–3, 25–6.
51 J. Quantin, The Church of England and Christian Antiquity: The Construction of a Confessional
Identity in the 17th Century (Oxford, 2009), p. 406.
52 E. Gibson, The Charge of the Right Reverend Father in God, Edmund, Lord Bishop of London, at
the Visitation of his Diocese in the Years 1746 and 1747 (London, 1747), p. 6.
53 [Weller], Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit, p. 36.
54 J. Trapp, The Nature, Folly, Sin, and Danger of Being Righteous Over-Much (London, 1739), p. 55.
Figure 1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-Fields Congregation (1739). Etching.

Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington D.C.
Whitefield to fixate upon ‘a youthful creature’s lily breast’.55 Yet Whitefield was not
the only itinerant preacher who faced such accusations.56
An article in a 1747 issue of the Gentleman’s Magazine claimed that ‘now and
then a bastard-child was bro’t into the world’ by ‘female devotees’ of an unnamed
Methodist preacher of Salisbury. The author also attacked Methodism’s popularity
among ‘the meaner sort’ of people.57 An item in a 1739 issue of the Weekly
Miscellany similarly described Methodist itinerants as ‘Ringleaders of the
Rabble’.58 Another author alleged that many of those who attended these assem-
blies returned home drunk on ‘Geneva [gin] potions’. Uncouth behaviour at field
services was sometimes said to degenerate into violence, with ‘vast Multitudes of
the Rabble’ committing ‘Devastations in the Farmers Grounds, by breaking up
Inclosures, trampling down the grain, pilfering Turneps, &c.’59 The Weekly
Miscellany described one individual who had been ‘in imminent Danger of
55 The Amorous Humours and Audacious Adventures of One Whd. (London, 1739), p. 7.
56 For more on evangelical preachers who faced allegations of sexual deviance during the ‘long’
eighteenth century, see W. Gibson and J. Begiato, Sex and the Church in the Long Eighteenth Century:
Religion, Enlightenment and the Sexual Revolution (London, 2017), ch. 5.
57 Gentleman’s Magazine, 17 (1747), p. 531. 58 Weekly Miscellany, 12 May 1739.
59 Genuine and Secret Memoirs Relating to the Life and Adventures of that Arch Methodist,
Mr G. W—fi—d (Oxford, 1742), pp. 25–6, 85.
suffering Violence, only for expressing a Dislike of Mr. Whitefield’s Conduct’. This
periodical also claimed that some of Whitefield’s followers had even ‘threaten’d to
pull down Churches because their Master and his Brethren were not suffer’d to
preach in them’.60
Another, particularly infamous case of intimidation occurred on the evening
of 4 February 1739 at St Margaret’s, Westminster, where the Friendly Society was
due to hear a sermon preached by John James Majendie, who was deputizing for
their lecturer, ‘Mr. Morgan’. Before Majendie was able to preach his sermon,
Whitefield—who had been waiting in the vestry—was escorted into the pulpit in
a ‘tumultuous Manner’ by ‘several young Men of his Party’.61 Opponents of
Methodism were not, however, averse to using the ‘rabble’ for their own ends.
Indeed, it was the labouring poor whom squires and, occasionally, vicars bribed
when they wished to recruit a mob and drive invasive itinerant preachers out of
their parish.62 Perpetrators of popular protest and religious violence were not,
however, without agency. As Michael Snape has shown in his study of anti-
Methodist rioting in rural Lancashire during the late 1740s, attacks on itinerant
preachers sometimes formed part of a longstanding grassroots defence of local
festivals and traditions.63
Despite remaining Church of England clergymen until their deaths, Wesley
and Whitefield encouraged numerous practices which were contrary to socio-
religious norms. These practices included extemporary prayer, itinerant preach-
ing, conducting outdoor services, and allowing ‘ignorant’ members of the
laity—both male and female—to share their experiences of the new birth.
Sometimes these practices were compounded with personal attacks on respected
Anglican authorities, both living and dead. As will be shown in the next chapter,
Whitefield attracted a storm of criticism when, in 1739, he compared the late
Archbishop John Tillotson (1630–94) to Muhammad. Also, one of the most not
able anti-Methodist polemics stemmed from a personal attack on its author,
George Lavington, bishop of Exeter.
The Lavington Affair
Prior to his engagement with Wesley and Whitefield, Lavington’s ministry was
characterized by two interlinked agendas: safeguarding the Protestant succession
and supporting the Hanoverian monarchy. During his time as an undergraduate
and fellow of New College, Oxford, Lavington was a member of the staunchly
60 Weekly Miscellany, 12 May 1739.

61 Weekly Miscellany, 10 February 1739; 24 February 1739.
62 Walsh, ‘Methodism and the Mob’, p. 216.
63 Snape, ‘Anti-Methodism in Eighteenth-Century England’.
Whig Constitution Club. On 28 May 1715 Lavington, along with the other club
members, suffered violence at the hands of a Tory mob for celebrating George I’s
birthday. During the mid-1740s Lavington served as chaplain-in-ordinary to
George II. In 1746 he was consecrated bishop of Exeter, which had witnessed
anti-Methodist rioting during the previous year.64 According to the testimony of
the itinerant preacher John Cennick, one female victim of the Exeter mob was
‘struck with a Stone on her Eye so violently’ that she was unable ‘to see out of it’
for ‘many Days’. Other women were apparently derided with slurs, such as
‘Whitefieldite Bitch’ and ‘Cennicking-Whore’.65 As bishop of Exeter, Lavington was
privy to concerns, including those of Dissenters, about the spread of Methodism
in his diocese.66 In 1748 a manuscript pretending to be an extract from Lavington’s
recent visitation charge started circulating. It stated that Lavington had preached
the following:
My Brethren, I Beg you will rise up with me against moral preaching. We have
been long attempting the reformation of the nation by discourses of this kind.
With what success? Why none at all. On the contrary, we have very dexterously
preached the people into downright infidelity. We must change our voice—we
must preach Christ and him crucified. Nothing but gospel is; nothing will be
found to be the power of God unto salvation besides. Let me therefore again and
again request, may I not add, Let me CHARGE you to preach Jesus and salvation
thro’ his name . . . There are some who are gone out from us, refusing to be under
political government, and therefore no friends to the Hierarchy; of whom, yet it
must be said, their preaching is right and good in the main; though the persons
are immethodical in their practice.67
The author’s praise for ‘immethodical’ people who had recently ‘gone out’ from
the established Church was, of course, intended as a reference to the Methodists.
In August 1748 an anonymous ‘Clergyman’ congratulated Lavington on his
apparent determination to see ‘Moral Preaching’ replaced with ‘Justification by
Faith . . . the Doctrine of the pure Church of England’. The ‘Clergyman’ described
64 C. Haydon, ‘Lavington, George (1684–1762)’, ODNB; C. Haydon, ‘Bishop George Lavington of

Exeter (1684–1762) and The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists, Compar’d’, Southern History, 37
(2015), pp. 62–3. For some of Lavington’s political sermons see A Sermon Preach’d in the Abbey-Church
at Bath, on Occasion of the Rebellion, October 13, 1745 (London, 1745); A Sermon Preached before the
House of Lords, in the Abbey Church of Westminster, on Friday, May 29, 1747 (London, 1747).
65 J. Cennick, An Account of a Late Riot at Exeter (London, 1745), pp. 14, 15, 19.
66 Lavington kept a letter, dated 1 January 1750, from John Lavington, a local Presbyterian minister,
who expressed his alarm at the recent activities of a ‘vagrant Methodist preacher’. It is unclear whether
the two men were related to each other. The Presbyterian minister’s willingness to approach Bishop
Lavington suggests that the latter had quickly gained the respect of the local Dissenting community.
See O. A. Beckerlegge (ed.), The Lavington Correspondence: Being the Letters to the Author of The
Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists Compar’d (Bunbury, 1980), p. 15.
67 LPL, Secker MS, VIII, fol. 31.
the Methodists as largely ‘strangers’ to him, though he claimed to have read some
of their books, which he found to be full of the ‘Primitive Spirit of Christianity’.
The ‘Clergyman’ praised Lavington for his seemingly sympathetic attitude
towards the Methodists, and urged him to encourage them into his pulpits. It is
unclear whether this piece was meant to be satirical, or whether the author was
simply fooled by the fictitious charge. Others were certainly not fooled by it.68
Upon his return from America in July 1748, Whitefield was presented with a
copy of the manuscript, which he instantly perceived to be fraudulent. He sought
in vain to suppress its circulation. The manuscript fell into the hands of a London
printer, who ensured that it received a wider circulation.69 At least one copy of the
‘Charge’ reached Ireland, where Charles Wesley first encountered it. In his journal
entry for 11 September 1748, the younger Wesley joked that the work was ‘worthy
to be written in letters of gold’.70 On 8 September 1748 the Daily Advertiser
printed Lavington’s response to the ‘Charge’. After describing the ‘Charge’ as ‘mere
Fiction’, Lavington attacked the Methodists. Despite conceding that there were
‘several well meaning ignorant People among them’, Lavington believed that ‘the
Sect in general’ was ‘actuated by a Spirit of Enthusiasm’ or—in the case of ‘their
Leaders and Teachers’—by ‘something worse’.71 Lavington’s sentiments angered the
stewards of John Wesley’s London Foundery, who stressed that many Methodists
were ‘Men of Learning and Good Sense’.72
On 5 October 1748 Whitefield wrote to Sir James Stonhouse, a physician and
friend of Lavington, urging him to inform the bishop that he (Whitefield) had
nothing to do with ‘the printing of His Lordship’s pretended Charge, or of the
Pamphlet occasioned by it’. Whitefield added that he had spoken ‘to the Officious
Printer, who did it out of his own head, & blamed Him very much’. While
Whitefield regretted that Lavington had been given ‘an Occasion’ to ‘declare His
aversion to what is called Methodism’, he conceded that he was unable to ‘blame
His Lordship’ for condemning the movement, given the circumstances. Whitefield
closed by expressing his hope that Lavington, along with ‘any other of the Right
Reverend the Bishops’, would ‘converse’ with the Methodists. This incident
68 A Letter to the Right Reverend Father in God George, Lord Bishop of Exeter, Occasioned by His
Lordship’s Late Charge to the Clergy of his Diocese: In Defence of those Principles of the Methodists,
Objected to in His Lordship’s Charge (s.l., [1748]), pp. 3–4, 11.
69 Despite its seemingly wide circulation, I have traced only two extant printed versions of the
‘Charge’. The first is in Lambeth Palace Library (Secker MS, VIII, fol. 32). The second is in the United
Library at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary, Evanston, Illinois, catalogued as An Extract from
D. Lavington the Bishop of Exeter’s Charge . . . (s.l., 1748).
70 Manuscript Journal, II, pp. 547–9.
71 I have been unable to trace a copy of the 8 September 1748 issue of the Daily Advertiser. However,
we know that the item appeared in this newspaper—and on that date—from a response that Wesley’s
stewards wrote on that same date (see next citation). The stewards stated that Lavington’s item had
appeared in ‘this Day’s Daily Advertiser’. The quotations from Lavington are taken from the 9
September 1748 issue of the General Advertiser, in which Lavington’s item was reprinted.
72 Quoted from F. Baker, ‘Bishop Lavington and the Methodists’, PWHS, 34 (1964), p. 40.
illustrates the change in character experienced by Whitefield during the latter half
of the 1740s. Indeed, it is hard to believe that the pragmatic and diplomatic
Whitefield seen here was the same individual who had compared the late
Tillotson to ‘Mahomet’ only a few years earlier. Ultimately, however, Whitefield’s
negotiations had little effect.73
Between 1749 and 1751 Lavington published anonymously his three-volume
Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists Compared, to which this book will refer
extensively. After Whitefield responded to the first volume, Wesley entered the
fray by responding to volumes one and two.74 Increasingly confident that he knew
the author’s identity, Wesley addressed his response to the final volume to ‘the
Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Exeter’.75 This manoeuvre convinced
Lavington to admit authorship.76 The Lavington affair is a significant episode,
which not only illuminates the survival of manuscript polemic in eighteenth-
century England, but also the difficulties experienced by authors who sought to
maintain their anonymity. The fact that Lavington’s treatise had gone through at
least four editions by 1754 shows that there was clearly a readership for anti-
Methodist texts. Its popularity extended to Cork, where George Harrison, a
bookseller known to Lavington, disseminated copies of the first volume to prom
inent ‘Gentlemen’, including Jemmett Browne, bishop of Cork and Ross, who
gained ‘great satisfaction’ from it.77 The bawdy nature of much of Lavington’s dis-
cussions would have rendered this work accessible to a broad readership. Various
other printed attacks on Wesley and Whitefield sold well and went through mul
tiple editions. Many of these polemics, on the other hand, were published only
once, and largely forgotten afterwards.
Print Culture
While most eighteenth-century anti-Methodist works were published in London,

some appeared in the university towns of Oxford and Cambridge, and, to a lesser
73 Beckerlegge, Lavington Correspondence, pp. 2–3. For Whitefield’s change in character during the
1740s, which was due, at least in part, to the death of his infant son in 1744, see chapter 10 in
H. S. Stout, The Divine Dramatist: George Whitefield and the Rise of Modern Evangelicalism (Grand
Rapids, MI, 1991). See also B. S. Schlenther, ‘Whitefield’s Personal Life and Character’, in Hammond
and Jones, Life, Context, and Legacy, pp. 12–28.
74 G. Whitefield, Some Remarks on a Pamphlet, Entitled, The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists
Compar’d; Wherein Several Mistakes in Some Parts of His Past Writings and Conduct Are Acknowledged,
and His Present Sentiments Concerning the Methodists Explained (London, 1749); J. Wesley, A Letter to
the Author of the Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists Compar’d (London, 1750).
75 J. Wesley, A Second Letter to the Author of the Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists Compar’d
(London, 1751), p. iii.
76 G. Lavington, The Bishop of Exeter’s Answer to Mr J. Wesley’s Late Letter to His Lordship
(London, 1752).
77 LPL Secker MS, VIII, fol. 73: Harrison to Lavington, 27 August 1749.
extent, in various other provincial towns, including Preston, Newcastle, and

Bristol. Provincial anti-Methodist publications were usually generated by visits
from prominent itinerant preachers. For example, it is no coincidence that a rela-
tively large number of anti-Methodist polemics appeared in Newcastle during the
same year (1743) that John Wesley visited the city.78 Similarly, The Imposture of
Methodism Display’d (1740) by William Bowman, vicar of Dewsbury and
Aldborough, Yorkshire, was sparked by the local activities of the Moravian
preacher and former Oxford Methodist Benjamin Ingham.79 The cost of early
anti-Methodist literature varied considerably and had little bearing on whether it
sold well or not. The first anti-Methodist play, entitled The Mock-Preacher (1739),
was priced competitively at sixpence. Its price, short length of thirty-two pages,
and bawdy tone would have made it accessible to a diverse readership.80
Several other pieces of anti-Methodist satire, which were of a similar length,
were also priced at sixpence, including The Methodists: An Humorous Burlesque
Poem (1739) and Dr Codex’s Pastoral Letter Versified (1739). Ultimately, however,
none of these works went beyond one edition, suggesting that they failed to gen-
erate much interest. Numerous anti-Methodist sermons were also priced com-
petitively at sixpence, including The Doctrine of Assurance (1738) by Arthur
Bedford, who was noted for his Orientalist scholarship and his attacks on theatres.
Bedford’s thirty-nine-page sermon must have sold reasonably well, given that it
went through two editions. There was certainly a readership for sermons at the
popular end of the market. Most eighteenth-century ‘booksellers regarded ser-
mons—both new and second-hand—as a staple of their trade, and this was in
part due to the ubiquity of demand’. It was, therefore, not unusual to see ‘charit
able printers’ producing ‘cheap sermons’ for the ‘benefit of the poor’.81
One particularly popular anti-Methodist sermon was Joseph Trapp’s Nature,
Folly, Sin, and Danger of Being Righteous Over-Much (1739). Based on ‘four
Discourses’, preached in several London and Westminster churches, this work
was first published in London on 5 June 1739. It was advertised as something that
needed to be ‘read by all Persons, especially at this Time, as a Preservative against
the dangerous Principles and Practices of Mr Whitefield and his Followers’.82 In
the space of less than one year, Trapp’s Nature, Folly, Sin, and Danger went through
four London editions. The fourth edition was reprinted in Cork, enabling some
78 For an index of these provincial works see Field, ‘Anti- Methodist Publications: Revised’,
Appendix 4.
79 For Bowman, who will be explored more thoroughly in Chapter 7, see S. Taylor, ‘The Bowman
Affair: Latitudinarian Theology, Anti-Clericalism and the Limits of Orthodoxy in Early Hanoverian
England’, in Cornwall and Gibson, Religion, Politics and Dissent, pp. 35–50.
80 For more on this play see S. Lewis, ‘The Mock-Preacher (1739): More than Just an Anti-Methodist
Play?’, PWHS, 59 (2014), pp. 178–85.
81 W. Gibson, ‘The British Sermon 1689–1901’, in K. A. Francis and W. Gibson (eds), The Oxford
Handbook of the British Sermon, 1689–1901 (Oxford, 2012), p. 21.
82 London Daily Post and General Advertiser, 5 June 1739.
townspeople to possess preconceived ideas about Methodism in the years preced-

ing its arrival in the city, which served as the location for prolonged anti-
Methodist rioting between 1749 and 1750.83
A fifth and sixth London edition of Nature, Folly, Sin, and Danger followed in
1758 and 1761. Priced originally at one shilling, Trapp’s work would have been
targeted primarily at the middle end of the market. Presumably, it was the type of
work that would have been disseminated among the various London coffee
houses, which were frequented by the middle ranks of society. There was, of
course, no homogeneous ‘middling sort’ during the eighteenth century. Rather,
the middle ranks were deeply divided between the ‘interests of the City, the
untitled gentry and the literary/professional community’. It was for this reason
that different coffee houses often catered for different professions and political
persuasions.84 Regardless of these professional and political divisions, Trapp’s
defence of a moderate degree of pleasure and entertainment would have reso-
nated with much—though, as will be shown in Chapter 3, not necessarily all—of
the middling laity. This work was, however, pitched as more than simply a text for
middling-sort consumers. The London booksellers responsible for the first
edition—Stephen Austen, Lawton Gilliver, and John Clarke—offered an ‘allowance’
to ‘any well-disposed Person’ who bought multiple copies of Nature, Folly, Sin,
and Danger for distribution ‘among the Poor’.85
Another popular anti-Methodist sermon was Henry Stebbing’s Caution against
Religious Delusion (1739). Within a year of its initial publication, this sermon had
reached its sixth edition. Initially, it may seem surprising that Stebbing’s sermon
sold so well, given that the printed price for it was a relatively expensive three
shillings. Of course, the printed price of a book did not always match the price
paid by consumers. Rather, it was normal during this period for copy-owning
booksellers to act as ‘congers’, who set an artificially high price for a book. Acting
as wholesalers, these congers would then haggle with other—usually smaller—
booksellers, convincing them to buy bulk copies of the book. Once they were in
possession of bulk copies, smaller booksellers were free to set their own price for
the book. Presumably, many, if not all, of those who bought copies of Stebbing’s
work would have paid less than the printed price of three shillings.86 As with
83 The Cork edition of Trapp’s work is undated. Since it was copied from the fourth London edition
(1739), we can assume that it appeared in 1740 or shortly afterwards. The origins of Methodism in
Cork can be traced back to the arrival of Jonathan Reeves, a Wesleyan preacher, between 1746 and
1747. For Methodism and anti-Methodism in eighteenth-century Cork see Lewis, ‘ “Five Pounds for a
Swadler’s Head” ’.
84 N. Hudson, Samuel Johnson and the Making of Modern England (Cambridge, 2003), p. 120.
85 London Daily Post and General Advertiser, 5 June 1739.
86 J. Raven, The Business of Books: Booksellers and the English Book Trade, 1450–1850 (New Haven,
CT, and London, 2007), pp. 89–90.
Trapp, Stebbing was a renowned controversialist and defender of Anglican

orthodoxy, possibly explaining why this sermon sold so well.87
One conger who was responsible for the publication of several anti-Methodist
works was the London bookseller Charles Rivington. Long before anybody had
heard of Wesley and Whitefield, Rivington had published numerous defences of
Anglican orthodoxy, including many of the attacks on Benjamin Hoadly during
the Bangorian controversy.88 Intriguingly, Rivington also published some of
Wesley and Whitefield’s early works, including those on self-denial.89 When
Rivington published these works, neither Wesley nor Whitefield had started
engaging in the seemingly anticlerical practices, such as itinerant preaching, by
which their ministries would subsequently be characterized. By 1738, however,
Whitefield had secured his reputation as an insubordinate ‘enthusiast’. Thus, by
this point, Rivington was publishing the anti-Methodist works of orthodox High
Churchmen, such as Tipping Silvester and Arthur Bedford.90 Other booksellers,
such as Thomas Cooper of Paternoster Row, adopted a neutral stance, publishing
works by Methodists and their opponents.91 Sometimes anti-Methodism enabled
authors to draw on existing prejudices and repackage old works as attacks on
Wesley and Whitefield.
In 1731 Gilbert Nelson, a schoolmaster of Houghton-le-Spring, near Durham,
published a two-volume work entitled The Use of Human Reason, in Religion, to
Convince Ourselves of Truth, and to Persuade Our Selves to Practice. In this work,
which was written at the height of the perceived deist threat, Nelson claimed that
the ‘holy Scriptures’ exceeded ‘the most refined Reason’. Nevertheless, Nelson
instructed his readers that ‘a right use’ of reason was essential if one was to resist
those ‘false Prophets’ and ‘false Christs’ who had been preying on Christians
throughout the ages. Presumably, this work did not sell well because no copies
of the second volume are extant. Nelson’s work subsequently reappeared in 1741 as
a truncated 444-page single tract, published in London. Bizarrely, Nelson—who,
by this point, had been presented to the living of Oakley, Suffolk—amended the
87 For Stebbing see B. W. Young, ‘Stebbing, Henry (bap. 1687, d. 1763)’, ODNB.
88 For examples see A Modest Enquiry into the Bishop of Bangor’s Preservative against the Nonjurors:
Humbly Offer’d to the Consideration of His Lordship (London, 1717); J. Smith, Modest Review of the
Lord Bishop of Bangor’s Answer to the Reverend Dr Snape, or The Charge of Misrepresentation
Impartially Consider’d (London, 1717).
89 See J. Wesley, A Sermon Preached at St. Mary’s in Oxford, on Sunday, September 21, 1735 (London,
1735); J. Wesley, The Christian’s Pattern, or A Treatise of the Imitation of Christ (London, 1735);
Whitefield, Nature and Necessity of Our New Birth in Christ Jesus; G. Whitefield, The Benefits of an
Early Piety: A Sermon Preach’d at Bow-Church, London, before the Religious Societies, at One of Their
Quarterly Meetings, on Wednesday, September 28. 1737 (London, 1737).
90 T. Silvester, The Scripture Doctrine of Regeneration Stated, and Shewn to Concur with the
Baptismal Service of Our Church: A Sermon Preach’d before the University of Oxford, at St. Mary’s, on
Sunday, Feb. 26. 1737–8 (London, 1738); A. Bedford, The Doctrine of Justification by Faith, Stated
According to the Articles of the Church of England (London, 1741).
91 Cooper sold many of the early editions of Whitefield’s journals, along with numerous anti-
Methodist works, including Trapp’s Nature, Folly, Sin and Danger.
original title page considerably. Indeed, the title page of the 1741 edition claimed
that the work had been written ‘in answer to the Methodists’. This claim was, of
course, false. Excluding the title page, the 1741 edition was an exact copy of the
first eight chapters of the original work. Consequently, it contained no references
to Methodism beyond the title page. Since Methodists were often accused of
being false prophets who discarded reason, it is easy to see why Nelson chose to
repurpose his 1731 work as an anti-Methodist tract. Similarly, the title page stated
that this work addressed the ‘Doctrine of Free-Grace . . . According to the Church
of England’. Contemporaries would have read this as meaning that it advanced
the Arminian doctrine of free will as an antidote to Whitefield’s Calvinism.
Readers would have been surprised to find that Nelson’s discussions of this topic
made no reference to Whitefield. Ultimately, this so- called anti-
Methodist
polemic only went through one edition. Given its mammoth size, it is unsurpris-
ing that, like its previous incarnation, it failed to sell. Some anti-Methodist works,
on the other hand, found a receptive audience on the other side of the Atlantic.92
Transatlantic Networks
The importance of transatlantic evangelical networks has been illuminated by

scholars, such as Susan O’Brien and Frank Lambert.93 Also, as has been shown by
Michael Crawford, Presbyterian Moderates in Scotland and ‘Old Light’
Congregationalists in New England engaged in transatlantic anti-evangelical net-
works.94 Yet, while studies of transatlantic eighteenth-century Anglican networks
are burgeoning, little scholarly attention has been paid to the ways in which these
networks facilitated the two-way flow of anti-evangelical sentiments.95 Copies of
various anti-Methodist polemics were shipped from England to America, where
they were disseminated by colonial Anglicans.
92 G. Nelson, The Use of Human Reason in Religion: In Answer to the Methodists; the Doctrine of
Free-Grace Being Explained in the Medium, According to the Church of England (London, 1741),
unpaginated title page and pp. 249–50. The CCEd contains two separate entries for Nelson. See
‘Nelson, Gilbert (CCEd Person ID 137255)’; ‘Nelson, Gilbert (CCEd Person ID 126461)’. Information
on Nelson’s ministry can also be discerned from another of his works, The Happiness of Man, first
published in Durham in 1736, and republished (again, in Durham) in 1738. While the first edition
listed Nelson as a ‘Schoolmaster’, the second edition listed him as ‘Rector of Oakley, in Suffolk’.
93 S. O’Brien, ‘A Transatlantic Community of Saints: The Great Awakening and the First Evangelical
Network, 1735–1755’, American Historical Review, 91 (1986), pp. 811–32; F. Lambert, Inventing the
‘Great Awakening’ (Princeton, NJ, 1999).
94 M. Crawford, Seasons of Grace: Colonial New England’s Revival Tradition in Its British Context
(New York, 1991), pp. 167–72.
95 Jeremy Gregory discusses this topic briefly in ‘Transatlantic Anglicanism, c.1680–c.1770:
Transplanting, Translating and Transforming the Church of England’, in J. Gregory and H. McLeod
(eds), SCH, Subsidia 14: International Religious Networks (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 127–43, at 139. For
transatlantic eighteenth-century Anglican networks see T. Glasson, Mastering Christianity: Missionary
Anglicanism and Slavery in the Atlantic World (Oxford, 2012); A. M. Koke, ‘Communication in an
Anglican Empire: Edmund Gibson and His Commissaries, 1723–1748’, AEH, 84 (2015), pp. 166–202.
Following a recommendation from Alexander Garden, commissary of South

Carolina, copies of Stebbing’s Caution against Religious Delusion were sold in
Charleston in late 1740.96 That Edmund Gibson’s 1739 Pastoral Letter was dis-
persed even more widely is unsurprising, given that, as bishop of London, he had
overall pastoral responsibility for the colonies.97 Indeed, it was standard practice
for colonial clergymen to receive copies of their bishop’s pastoral letter each year.
Alexander Garden, Timothy Cutler, rector of Christ Church, Boston, and
Archibald Cummings, commissary of Pennsylvania, were three colonial clergy-
men who praised Gibson’s 1739 Pastoral Letter for its preventative checks against
Whitefieldian ‘enthusiasm’. In a letter dated 31 July 1740 Cummings informed the
SPG that he had recently ‘had a number of them reprinted here [Philadelphia]
and dispersed’ among the colonists.98 Yet other, more remote parts of the colonies
struggled to access these tracts. In November 1740 Thomas Colgan of Jamaica,
Long Island, felt compelled ‘to begg that the society [SPG] wou’d be pleased to
bestow’ copies of Gibson’s Pastoral Letter and Daniel Waterland’s Regeneration
Stated and Explained (1740). Colgan’s desire for the latter work had been occa-
sioned by the ‘false and erroneous opinions concerning the Doctrine of
Regeneration’ spreading among his flock.99 In August 1741 Ebenezer Miller of
Braintree, Massachusetts, similarly requested copies of Gibson’s Pastoral Letter.
Miller viewed this work as an antidote to the ‘utmost confusion’ generated by
Whitefield’s recent tour of New England.100
Another popular anti-Methodist export was Weller’s Trial of Mr Whitefield’s
Spirit. In a letter to the secretary of the SPG, dated 25 September 1741, Cutler
lamented that he only possessed ‘two sets’ of this work. He added that it would
‘highly serve’ the plight of colonial clergymen if the book was ‘spread abroad’.101
Cutler did not have long to wait before the Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit was
reprinted in Boston by Thomas Fleet, who also published the staunchly anti-
evangelical Boston Evening-Post.102 The SPG proceedings for 1741–2 noted that
twelve copies of the Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit were among a consignment of
books that had recently been sent to Ebenezer Punderson, the society’s
96 South Carolina Gazette, 30 October 1740. For Garden’s life and ministry, see F. E. Witzig,
Sanctifying Slavery and Politics in South Carolina: The Life of the Reverend Alexander Garden,
1685–1756 (Columbia, SC, 2018).
97 Gibson’s management of colonial affairs was marred by regular breakdowns in communication
between him and his commissaries. See Koke, ‘Communication in an Anglican Empire’.
98 LPL, FP X, fols. 58–9: Garden to Gibson, 24 April 1740; W. S. Perry (ed.), Historical
Collections Relating to the American Colonial Church, 5 vols (Hartford, CT, 1873–8), II, pp. 210–11:
Cummings to the Secretary [SPG], 31 July 1740; ibid., III, pp. 350–1: Cutler to Gibson, 14
January 1741.
99 Bodleian MS B.7.2 (USPG Papers), fol. 113: Colgan to the Secretary, 22 November 1740.
100 Bodleian MS B.9 (USPG Papers), fol. 12: Miller to the Secretary, 4 August 1741.
101 Perry, Historical Collections, III, pp. 357–8: Cutler to the Secretary, 25 September 1741.
102 Boston Evening-Post, 19 October 1741. For more on Fleet and the Boston Evening-Post, see
L. Smith, The First Great Awakening in Colonial American Newspapers: A Shifting Story (Plymouth,
MA, 2012), pp. 45, 52–3, 108–9.
missionary in North Groton, Connecticut.103 Copies of Weller’s polemic are also

known to have reached the southern colonies. In April 1742 Alexander Garden
thanked the SPG for delivering several copies of the book, which, he claimed, had
‘done good service’ in Charleston ‘and in several other places’.104
Colonial Anglicans were still disseminating the Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit as
late as 1750. In a letter dated 8 November of that year Hugh Neill of Dover,
Delaware, informed the SPG that this book had helped to calm the ‘late confu-
sions, introduced by ye New Lights & Itinerant Teachers of other Sectaries’.105 The
popularity of this work can be attributed to its accessible style and content. As will
be shown in Chapter 3, the Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit contained a theological
defence of recreational diversions, which would have resonated with lay readers,
not only in England, but also in many colonial cities. By the early eighteenth cen-
tury even the traditionally Puritan city of Boston had given way to a consumerist
‘Anglicization’, providing opportunities for social activities, such as dancing. It is,
therefore, unsurprising that this work sold well, both in England and America.106
As a result of transatlantic Anglican networks, the views of anti-Methodist
divines in England were sometimes shaped by reports received from colonial
clergymen, who clashed with ‘New Light’ evangelicals. Bishop Gibson was, of
course, privy to much intelligence from colonial ministers. In a letter to Gibson
dated 28 May 1739 Timothy Cutler attacked Jonathan Edwards, Congregationalist
pastor of Northampton, Massachusetts, whose A Faithful Narrative of the
Surprising Work of God (1737) was the most influential revival narrative across
the English-speaking world. The phenomenon described by Edwards had, accord-
ing to Cutler, been triggered by several Harvard ‘Visionaries’, including a ‘Refugee
from Canada’, who taught ‘the Scholars French, and insinuated himself into the
Esteem of many, by a sober Life, and demure Behavior [sic] mixed with much
Enthusiasm’. Cutler also described those ministers who endorsed Edwards’s
Faithful Narrative as ‘men of the lowest Form in Learning and Judgement’. Gibson
was not the only Anglican divine in England who gained news of colonial evan-
gelicalism from Cutler.107
103 ‘An Abstract of the Charter, and of the Proceedings of the Society for the Propagation of the
Gospel in Foreign Parts, from the 20th of February, 1740–41, to the 19th of February, 1741–42’, in
H. Stebbing, A Sermon Preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in
Foreign Parts: At Their Anniversary Meeting in the Parish Church of St. Mary-le-Bow, on Friday,
February 19, 1741–2 (London, 1742), pp. 44–5.
104 Bodleian MS B.10 (USPG Papers), fol. 138: Garden to the Secretary, 9 April 1742.
105 Perry, Historical Collections, V, p. 96: Neill to the Secretary, 8 November 1750.
106 For the importance of dancing in colonial Virginia see R. Isaac, The Transformation of Virginia,
1740–1790 (New York, 1982), pp. 81–7. For religious opposition to dancing in eighteenth-century
America see A. Wagner, Adversaries of Dance: From the Puritans to the Present (Urbana and Chicago,
IL, 1997), ch. 4. For more on ‘Anglicization’ in eighteenth-century New England, see J. M. Murrin,
‘Anglicizing an American Colony: The Transformation of Provincial Massachusetts’ (PhD Thesis, Yale
University, 1966).
107 D. C. Stenerson, ‘An Anglican Critique of the Early Phase of the Great Awakening in New
England: A Letter by Timothy Cutler’, WMQ, 30 (1973), pp. 482–3.
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from Mr. Hume. And thus, beautiful Margaret, it is in vain that I endeavour
to separate your fascination from the group which was collected around
you. Perhaps that dominion, which at this moment I feel almost revived,
recurs more vividly to my imagination, when the forms and figures of all by
whom it was contested are associated in its renewal.
First comes Amelia the magnificent, the acknowledged belle of the
county, very stiff and very dumb in her unheeded and uncontested
supremacy; and next, the most black-browed of fox-hunters, Augusta,
enumerating the names of her father’s stud, and dancing as if she imitated
them; and then the most accomplished Jane, vowing that for the last month
she had endured immense ennui, that she thinks Lady Olivia prodigiously
fade, that her cousin Sophy is quite brillante to-night, and that Mr. Peters
plays the violin à merveille.
“I am bored, my dear Villars—positively bored! The light is bad and the
music abominable; there is no spring in the boards and less in the
conversation; it is a lovely moonlight night, and there is nothing worth
looking at in the room.”
I shook hands with my friend, bowed to three or four people, and was
moving off. As I passed to the door I met two ladies in conversation. “Don’t
you dance any more, Margaret?” said one. “Oh no,” replied the other, “I am
bored, my dear Louisa—positively bored! The light is bad and the music
abominable; there is no spring in the boards and less in the conversation; it
is a lovely moonlight night, and there is nothing worth looking at in the
room.”
I never was distanced in a jest. I put on the look of a ten years’
acquaintance and commenced parley. “Surely you are not going away yet!
You have not danced with me, Margaret: it is impossible you can be so
cruel!” The lady behaved with wonderful intrepidity. “She would allow me
the honour—but I was very late; really I had not deserved it.” And so we
stood up together.
“Are you not very impertinent?”
“Very; but you are very handsome. Nay, you are not to be angry; it was a
fair challenge and fairly received.”
“And you will not even ask my pardon?”
“No! it is out of my way! I never do those things; it would embarrass me
beyond measure. Pray let us accomplish an introduction: not altogether a
usual one, but that matters little. Vyvyan Joyeuse—rather impertinent, and
very fortunate—at your service.”
“Margaret Orleans—very handsome, and rather foolish—at your
service!”
Margaret danced like an angel. I knew she would. I could not conceive
by what blindness I had passed four hours without being struck. We talked
of all things that are, and a few beside. She was something of a botanist, so
we began with flowers; a digression upon China roses carried us to China—
the Mandarins with little brains, and the ladies with little feet—the Emperor
—the Orphan of China—Voltaire—Zayre—criticism—Dr. Johnson—the
Great Bear—the system of Copernicus—stars—ribbons—garters—the
Order of the Bath—sea-bathing—Dawlish—- Sidmouth—Lord Sidmouth—
Cicero—Rome—Italy—Alfieri—Metastasio—fountains—groves—
gardens; and so, as the dancing concluded, we contrived to end as we
began, with Margaret Orleans and botany.
Margaret talked well on all subjects and wittily on many. I had expected
to find nothing but a romping girl, somewhat amusing, and very vain. But I
was out of my latitude in the first five minutes, and out of my senses in the
next. She left the room very early, and I drove home, more astonished than I
had been for many years.
Several weeks passed away, and I was about to leave England to join my
sisters on the Continent. I determined to look once more on that enslaving
smile, whose recollection had haunted me more than once. I had ascertained
that she resided with an old lady who took two pupils, and taught French
and Italian, and music and manners, at an establishment called Vine House.
Two days before I left the country, I had been till a late hour shooting at a
mark with a duelling pistol, an entertainment, of which, perhaps from a
lurking presentiment, I was very fond. I was returning alone when I
perceived, by the light of an enormous lamp, a board by the wayside
bearing the welcome inscription, “Vine House.” “Enough,” I exclaimed,
“enough! One more scene before the curtain drops. Romeo and Juliet by
lamplight!” I roamed about the dwelling-place of all I held dear, till I saw a
figure at one of the windows in the back of the house, which it was quite
impossible to doubt. I leaned against a tree in a sentimental position, and
began to chant my own rhymes thus:—
Pretty coquette, the ceaseless play
Of thine unstudied wit,
And thy dark eye’s remembered ray
By buoyant fancy lit,
And thy young forehead’s clear expanse,
Where the locks slept, as through the dance,
Dreamlike, I saw thee flit,
Are far too warm, and far too fair,
To mix with aught of earthly care;
But the vision shall come when my day is done,
A frail and a fair and a fleeting one!
And if the many boldly gaze

On that bright brow of thine,
And if thine eye’s undying rays
On countless coxcombs shine
And if thy wit flings out its mirth,
Which echoes more of air than earth,
For other ears than mine,
I heed not this; ye are fickle things,
And I like your very wanderings;
I gaze, and if thousands share the bliss,
Pretty capricious! I heed not this.
In sooth I am a wayward youth,

As fickle as the sea,
And very apt to speak the truth,
Unpleasing though it be;
I am no lover; yet, as long
As I have heart for jest or song,
An image, sweet, of thee,
Locked in my heart’s remotest treasures,
Shall ever be one of its hoarded pleasures;
This from the scoffer thou hast won,
And more than this he gives to none.
“Are they your own verses?” said my idol at the window.

“They are yours, Margaret! I was only the versifier; you were the muse
herself.”
“The muse herself is obliged to you. And now what is your errand? For
it grows late, and you must be sensible—no, that you never will be—but
you must be aware that this is very indecorous.”
“I am come to see you, dear Margaret—which I cannot without candles
—to see you, and to tell you that it is impossible I can forget——”
“Bless me! what a memory you have. But you must take another
opportunity for your tale; for——”
“Alas! I leave England immediately.”
“A pleasant voyage to you! There, not a word more; I must run down to
coffee.”
“Now may I never laugh more,” I said, “if I am baffled thus.” So I
strolled back to the front of the house and proceeded to reconnoitre. A bay-
window was half open, and in a small neat drawing-room I perceived a
group assembled: an old lady, with a high muslin cap and red ribbons, was
pouring out the coffee; her nephew, a tall awkward young gentleman, silting
on one chair and resting his legs on another, was occupied in the study of
Sir Charles Grandison; and my fair Margaret was leaning on a sofa, and
laughing immoderately. “Indeed, miss,” said the matron, “you should learn
to govern your mirth; people will think you came out of Bedlam.”
I lifted the window gently, and stepped into the room. “Bedlam,
madam!” quoth I, “I bring intelligence from Bedlam; I arrived last week.”
The tall awkward young gentleman stared; and the aunt half said, half
shrieked, “What in the name of wonder are you?”
“Mad, madam! very particularly mad! Mad as a hare in March or a
Cheapside blood on Sunday morning. Look at me! do I not foam? Listen to
me! do I not rave? Coffee, my dear madam, coffee; there is no animal so
thirsty as your madman in the dog-days.”
“Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman.
“My good sir,” I began. But my original insanity began to fail me, and I
drew forthwith upon Ossian’s. “Fly! receive the wind and fly; the blasts are
in the hollow of my hand, the course of the storm is mine!”
“Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman.
“I look on the nations and they vanish; my nostrils pour the blast of
death; I come abroad on the winds; the tempest is before my face; but my
dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant.”
“Do you mean to insult us?” said the old lady.
“Ay! do you mean to insult my aunt?—really!” said the tall awkward
young gentleman.
“I shall call in my servants,” said the old lady.
“I am the humblest of them,” said I, bowing.
“I shall teach you a different tune,” said the tall awkward young
gentleman, “really!”
“Very well, my dear sir; my instrument is the barrel-organ;” and I cocked
my sweet little pocket companion in his face, “Vanish, little Kastril; for by
Hannibal, Heliogabalus, and Holophernes, time is valuable, madness is
precipitate, and hair-triggers are the word! Vanish!”
“Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman, and performed an
entrechat which carried him to the door: the old lady had disappeared at the
first note of the barrel-organ. I locked the door, and found Margaret in a
paroxysm of laughter. “I wish you had shot him,” she said, when she
recovered; “I wish you had shot him: he is a sad fool.”
“Do not talk of him; I am speaking to you, beautiful Margaret, possibly
for the last time! Will you ever think of me? Perhaps you will. But let me
receive from you some token that I may dote upon in other years;
something that may be a hope to me in my happiness, and a consolation in
calamity; something—nay! I never could talk romance; but give me one
lock of your hair, and I will leave England with resignation.”
“You have earned it like a true knight,” said Margaret; and she severed
from her head a long glossy ringlet. “Look!” she continued, “you must to
horse, the country has risen for your apprehension.” I turned towards the
window. The country had indeed risen. Nothing was to be seen but
gossoons in the van and gossips in the rear, red faces and white jackets,
gallants in smock-frocks and gay damsels in grogram. Bludgeons were
waving, and torches were flashing, as far as the gaze could reach. All the
chivalry of the place was arming and chafing, and loading for a volley of
pebbles and oaths together.
I kneeled down and kissed her hand. It was the happiest moment of my
life! “Now,” said I, “au revoir, my sweet Margaret!” and in a moment I was
in the lane.
“Gentlemen, be pleased to fall back! Farther yet—a few paces farther!
Stalwart kern in buckskin, be pleased to lay down your cat-o’-nine-tails!
Old knight of the plush jerkin, ground your poker! So, fair damsel with the
pitchfork, you are too pretty for so rude an encounter! Most miraculous
Magog with the sledge-hammer, flit! Sooty Cupid with the link, light me
from Paphos. Ha! tall friend of the barrel-organ, have you turned staff
officer? Etna and Vesuvius! Wild fire and wit! Blunderbusses and steam!
Fly! Ha! have I not Burgundy in my brain, murder in my plot, and a whole
train of artillery in my coat-pocket?” Right and left the ranks opened for my
egress, and in a few minutes I was alone on the road, and whistling
“Lillibullero.”
This was my first folly. I looked at the lock of hair often, but I never saw
Margaret again. She has become the wife of a young clergyman, and resides
with him on a small living in Staffordshire. I believe she is very happy, and
I have forgotten the colour of her eyes.
POINTS.
“Peregrine,” said Lady Mary, “write.”

“I will make a point of it, may it please you ladyship.”
“Ο mes enfans! quelles âmes que celles qui ne sont inquiètes que des
mouvemens de l’écliptique, ou que des mœurs et des arts des Chinois!”
Marmontel.
How far our happiness may be advanced or endangered by the indulgence
of a lively interest in all things and persons that chance throws in our way,
is a point on which I never could make up my mind. I have seen the man of
feeling rapt up in the fervour of his affection or the enthusiasm of his
benevolence, and I have believed him perfectly happy; but I have seen him
again when he has discovered that his affection had been wasted on a fool,
and his benevolence lavished on a scoundrel, and I have believed him the
most wretched of men. Again, I have looked on the man of the world in an
hour of trouble or embarrassment, and I have envied his philosophy and his
self-command; but I have marked him too in the day of revel and
exultation, and I have shrunk from the immobility of his features and the
torpor of his smile.
I could never settle it to my satisfaction. Acute pleasure seems to be
always the forerunner of intense pain, and weariness the inseparable demon
which dogs the steps of gratification. I have examined all ranks and all
faces; I have looked into eyes and I have looked into folios; I have lost
patience and I have lost time; I have made inquiries of many and enemies of
not a few; and drawn confessions and conclusions from demoiselles who
never had feelings, and from dowagers who have survived them, from bards
who have nourished them in solitude, and from barristers who have crushed
them in Westminster Hall. The choice spirit who is loudest at his club to-
night will be dullest in his chambers to-morrow, and the girl who is merriest
at the dance will infallibly be palest at the breakfast-table. How shall I
decide? The equability which lives, or the excitement which dies? The beef
without the mustard, or the mustard without the beef?
Chance, or my kind stars, for I am very often inclined to believe in their
agency, especially on fine moonlight nights, has flung me into a circle of
acquaintance, where the pleasures and the pains attendant upon these
different tempers of mind are continually forced upon my notice, and hold
me delightfully balanced, like Mahomet’s coffin, between earth and ether.
Davenant Cecil is a being as thoroughly made up of sympathies and
affections as ever was a puppet of springs or a commentator of absurdities.
He never experienced, he never could endure five minutes of calm weather;
he is always carried up into the heaven and down again into the deep; every
hope, every exertion, every circumstance, be it of light or of grave import,
is to him equally productive of its exaltation or its depression; like the
Proserpina of fable he is in Olympus half the year, and in Tartarus the other.
Marmaduke Villars has about as much notion of raptures and enthusiasm as
a Mohawk chief entertains of turtle soup, or a French milliner of the
differential calculus. Except that he prefers claret to port, and Drury Lane to
Covent Garden, and eau de Montpellier to eau de Cologne, I doubt whether
he is conscious of any predilection for one thing or any aversion to another.
Marmaduke is like Ladurlad in everything except “the fire in his heart, and
the fire in his brain;” and Davenant is the Sorcerer Benshee, who rode on a
fast horse, and talked with many, and jested with many, and laughed loudly,
and wept wildly for the things he saw; yet was he bound by his compact to
the fiend to sit at no table, and to lie on no couch, and to speed forward by
night and by day, sleeping never, and resting never, even till his appointed
hour.
A short time ago Davenant and myself received an invitation to spend a
few days with Villars. His favourite hunter, Sir Peter, had thrown him or
fallen with him, I forget which, and after being a little put to rights, as he
expressed it, at the little country place where the accident happened, he had
been removed to the Hall, and ordered to keep himself quiet. There seemed
to be some chance of his compliance with this admonition, as the rest of his
family were all absent, and there was not a house within five miles; but in
order to counteract these favourable symptoms as much as possible, he
summoned us to his sofa. Cecil and Villars are the antipodes of one another;
and, as is commonly the case, are the fondest friends upon all occasions,
because they never can agree upon one.
We went accordingly, and were rejoiced to find our friend, pale to be
sure, and very intimate with crutches, but still apparently free from pain,
and enjoying that medicinal level of spirits which is a better preservative
against fever than you will easily find from the lancet or the draught. He
congratulated himself upon the safety of his nose, which Mr. Perrott the
apothecary had pronounced broken, and only lamented the loss of his boot,
which it had been necessary to cut from his leg. In a short time we quite
forgot that he was in the slightest degree damaged, and conversed on divers
topics without any intrusive compassion for his flannel and his slipper.
And first, as in duty bound, we began to discuss the Quarterly Magazine,
and its past success, and its future hopes, and its patrons, and its
contributors. Davenant was wonderfully angry because some “fathomless
blockheads” found obscurities in his lyrical poem. “If there were any
descendings into the deep fountains of thought, any abstruse researches
‘into the mind of man’—in short, to speak plainly, if there were anything in
the poem which a man might be very proud to risk his reputation upon, then
one might be prepared for darkness and coldness in this improving and
understanding age; but a mere fancy piece like this, as simple in design as it
is in execution—you know, Marmaduke, that incapacity to comprehend
must be either gross stupidity or supreme affectation.”
“I think much may be said for the ‘blockheads,’” observed Marmaduke,
shaking his head.
“You think no such thing,” said Davenant, “and you feel that you think
no such thing: I shall detest you, Villars, if you ‘write yourself down an
ass,’ merely for the sake of telling me I am one.”
“You know, my dear Davenant,” said Villars, “you know you never
detested any body in your life, except, perhaps, a few of the commentators
upon Shakespeare, and the critic who considered Campbell the first poet of
the day and Wordsworth the second. But seriously, I cannot conceive why
you are ruffled about your verses; you know they are admired, as Mr. Rigge
says of his soap, by all the best judges; not to go out of our own circle, you
know Lady Mary, and Tristram, and Gerard, who are worth all the world,
think them about the best things going; nay, I am not clear that our good
friend Joyeuse has not some suspicion of the kind, only he never speaks a
word of truth upon any subject. And, loaded as you are with all these
accumulated commendations, you want to add the weight of my valueless
voice to your burthen, and to——”
“There never was a man more mistaken; what should I care for your
opinion? It is not worth a straw, it is not worth ‘Gertrude of Wyoming’ to
me. But I am in a passion when I see a tolerably clever man making a fool
of himself wilfully. I read the poem to your sister, and she understood it
perfectly.”
“Then you persuaded her first that she was a clever girl, and she thought
her comprehension would confirm the idea. I will wager a beauty against a
bottle, or a haunch of venison against a page of rhyme, or ‘The Pleasures of
Hope’ against ‘The Excursion,’ or any other boundless odds which you like
to suggest, that with the same object in view she shall admire the Iliad or
dote upon the Koran.”
“There is no answer to such an argument. All I know is, that Amelia
found nothing difficult in the poem.”
“What! she told you so, I suppose.”
“No; her eyes did.”
“Then her eyes lied confoundedly. Never, my dear Davenant—never,
while you live, believe in the language of the eyes. I would rather believe in
the miracles of Apollonius, or the infallibility of the Pope of Rome, or the
invincibility of the French army. I believed a pretty piercing pair once,
which told me the wearer was very fond of a particular person, and I
cultivated my whiskers accordingly, and did double duty at my glass. By
Paphos and its patroness, she went off in a month with a tall captain of
fusiliers, and left me to despondency and the new novel.”
“And you longed to be so deceived again,” said Davenant.
“No; it was very fatiguing. Never, while you live, believe in the language
of the eyes. But you will, because you were born to be a fool, and you must
fulfil your destiny. As Rousseau says—he is somewhere about the room
——”
“I have him in my hand,” said Davenant; “what a delightful little book! I
dote upon the size, and the binding, and the type, and the——”
“Yes; he was of great service to me a fortnight ago, when my hurt was
rather annoying at night. My people prescribed opium, and I used to take
Jean Jacques instead. But this way is my treasure-house of reading: eh! le
voici!” And he led us up to a bookcase where was conspicuously placed an
immense edition of Voltaire, and began taking down the volumes and
expressing the dotage of his delight with wonderful rapidity. “Ah! Alzire!
charming—and Merope; you are going to talk about Shakespeare,
Davenant. Hold your tongue!—a noisy, gross, fatiguing—no, no: the French
stage for me!—Eh! ma belle Zaïre!—the French stage for me!—tout dort,
tout est tranquille, et—and Candide! oh! I could laugh for a century. Et puis
—la Pucelle! oh, pour le coup——”
And le coup came with a vengeance; for Davenant, who hates a French
play worse than poison, had just found something overpoweringly
ridiculous in the woes of “L’Orphelin de la Chine,” and bursting into an
ungovernable shriek of laughter, dropped some six or seven quarto volumes
upon the wounded foot of our unfortunate stoic. He fell on the floor, in
agony, and almost in a passion.
“Damnation!—n’importe! My sweet Davenant, how could you——
Peregrine, my good fellow, do pull the bell! Horrible! Why, Cecil, how out
of your wits you look! Ave Maria! Vive la bagatelle! Why you look like a
diable!—like a physician called in too late—mort de ma vie!—or like a—
monstre!—like a wood demon at the English Opera House. Ring again,
Courtenay! Ha, ha!—I played one myself once—Oh! que c’est affreux!—
for a wager, ha, ha!—Oh!—with a long torch, ha, ha!—fire and brimstone!
—with long black hair—peste!—but it would never stand on end like
yours! oh que non! Ring again, Courtenay!—Eh! Perpignan! here has been
a fall! a fall,—as they say upon ‘Change. Cher Perpignan: take me to bed,
Perpignan; take it easy—doucement! Ah! the wood demon, Davenant! I
shall never get over it!—ha, ha!—Oh!—--”
And thus was Marmaduke carried off, laughing, and screaming, and
jesting, and swearing, by turns. His medical attendant was summoned, and
we saw him no more that night; he sent us word that he was as well as could
be expected, but that he should never get over the wood demon, in spite of
which consolatory intelligence Davenant wore a Tyburn countenance the
whole evening.
We met, however, the next morning, and proceeded most laudably to
remember nothing of the accident but its absurdity. “I never found Voltaire
heavy before,” said Villars, shaking Davenant by the hand; “but you poets
of the Lake are so horribly in the habit of taking liberties with your own feet
that you have no compassion at all for those of your friends. Mercy upon
my five toes! they will not meet in a boot for a twelvemonth; and now,
àpropos de bottes, we must have some breakfast.”
Rain confined us to the house, the newspapers were full of
advertisements, and the billiard-table was undergoing repair. Davenant
endeavoured to define intensity, and I endeavoured to sleep; Marmaduke
struck his sister’s tambourine, and the great clock struck one. We began to
feel as uncomfortably idle as a gaol-bird who has just been put in, or a
Minister who has just been turned out. At last some notice was taken of two
miniatures of our friend and his sister, which had been done many years
ago, and now hung on opposite sides of the mantelpiece, gazing tenderly at
one another in all the holiday magnificence which was conferred by laced
cap and pink ribbons upon the one, and by sky-blue jacket and sugar-loaf
buttons upon the other. Hence we began to talk of painting, and of
“Raphael, Correggio, and stuff,” until it was determined that we should
proceed to make a pilgrimage through a long gallery of family portraits,
which Marmaduke assured us had been covered with commendations and
cobwebs ever since he left his cradle. He hobbled before us on his crutches,
and made a very sufficient cicerone. Marmaduke has no wit; but he has a
certain off-hand manner which often passes for it, and is sometimes as good
a thing.
“That old gentleman,” he began, pointing to a magnificent fellow in rich
chain armour, whose effigies occupied one end of the gallery, “that old
gentleman is the founder of the family. Blessings on his beard! I almost
fancy it has grown longer since I saw it last. He fought inordinately at
Harfleur and Agincourt, was eminently admired and bruised, won a whole
grove of laurels, and lost three fingers and a thumb. See, over his head is
the crest which was his guerdon; a little finger rampant, and the motto
blazoned gorgeously round, ‘Mon doyt est mon droit!’”
“A splendid servant of the sword,” said Davenant; “what a glorious
scope of forehead, and what a lowering decision in the upper lip. A real
soldier! He would have cleft down a dozen of your modern male
figurantes!”
“Perhaps so,” replied Villars; “but you see he made a bad hand of it,
notwithstanding. His nephew, there, is something more soberly habited, but
he was not a jot less mad. Who would dream of such a frenzy in sackcloth
and sad countenance? He was a follower of Wyckliffe before it was the
fashion, and——”
“An excellent piece of workmanship too! I like to see some fury in a
man’s faith. Who can endure a minister of the gospel mounting his pulpit at
Marylebone, with his well-ordered bands, and his clean manuscript, and his
matter-of-fact disquisition, and his matter-of-course tone! That bald apostle
has lips I could have listened to: he might have been an enthusiast, or a
bigot, or a madman, or e’en what you will; but he has a show of zeal, and
an assumption of authority; there is fire about the old man!”
“There was once,” said Marmaduke, “for he was burned in Smithfield.
Come hither, here is a young fellow you will admire—Everard the Beautiful
(by the way, they say he is like me), who fell in love with the pretty
Baroness de Pomeroy. He used to sing under her balcony at midnight, out of
pure gallantry, and out of all tune: catching sighs from the high window,
and colds from the high wind. He was full three years wailing and
whispering, and dreaming and dying, and smarting in the left breast, and
sonneting in the left turret. At last came the fifth act of the drama, death and
happiness blended together with strict poetic propriety; the fates threw him
into her arms one night, and the baron threw him into the moat one
morning.”
“I loathe and detest that eternal sneer of yours. You believe and feel,
Marmaduke, although you are too weak to confess it, that the life you have
described, a turbid unresting sea of passion and anxiety, and hope and fear,
and brief calm and long madness, is worth—oh! twenty times over—the
sleepy river of a pedant’s philosophy, or the dirty ditch-water of your own
clumsy indifference.”
“Why, my dear Davenant,” said Marmaduke, quietly, “you know love
has its ditch-water occasionally; my poor ancestor found it so. But pass on.
Here is a courtier of Queen Elizabeth’s day, lying on the green sward in
despondency and an attitude, with a myriad of cares and a bunch of daffy-
down-dillies in his bosom. There is your true cavalier; a health to short wit
and long spurs, blue eyes and white satin! The race has been quite extinct
since rapiers went out and political economists came in.”
“I wish,” muttered Cecil, “I wish I had lived with those men. To have
had Spenser for my idol, or Sydney for my friend—to have held Leicester’s
mantle at court, or Raleigh’s back-hand at tennis—to have stormed a town
with Drake, or a bottle with Shakespeare—by Elizabeth’s ruff, it would
have been worth an eternity! That was your age for choice spirits!”
“You will find very choice spirits at the Hummums,” said Marmaduke;
“but we are getting into the Great Rebellion. It abounded in good subjects—
for the pencil, I mean, not for the prince. Never was the land so sorely
plagued with dire confusion and daubed canvas. There is silly Sir Lacy who
lost his head, and was none the poorer; and sillier Sir Maurice, who lost his
lands, and was many acres the poorer: and there is honest Sir Paul, who
came in with the Restoration, and wrote my favourite song. Ha, Davenant!
“ ‘For prince or for prig,

Long locks or flowery wig,
I don’t care a fig!—
Fill the glasses.
So I may hold my land,
And my bottle in my hand,
And moisten life’s sand
While it passes.’”
There was a curious portrait a little farther on—a beautiful and

interesting woman, as far as neck and bosom could give us any information;
but in place of her countenance was painted a thick black veil. I asked for
her history. “Oh,” said Villars, “that damosel was called Priscilla the
Penniless. She was wonderfully killing, but of course that is not the reason
she is veiled. Her uncle, the existing head of the family, struck her face out
of the picture, and her name out of his will, because she married a young
Roundhead, who had no merit but his insolence and no fortune but his
sword.”
“What a detestable fool!” said Davenant, meaning the uncle.
“I think she was,” said Marmaduke, meaning the niece. “Mais allons; let
me show you one more set of features, and we will adjourn. Here is my
earliest and most complete idea of feminine beauty. Down on your knees,
Davenant, and worship. The fairy-like symmetry of the shape, and the
pretty threatening of the right arm, and the admirable nonchalance of the
left, and the studied tranquillity of the black hair, and the eloquent malignity
of the dark eyes, and the exquisite caprice of the nose, and the laughing
scorn of her little lips! By Venus’ dimple, Davenant, I have stood here, and
talked rhapsodies to her for hours.”
“Pray give us one now,” said Cecil, laughing.
“I will. Fairest of Nature’s works! perfection in duodecimo! I speak to
you, and you do not hear; I question you, and you do not answer: but I read
your taste in your dress, and your character in your countenance. You are
the brightest of all earthly beauties. You would call me a blockhead if I
called you a goddess; you are fashioned for a drawing-room, and not for
Olympus—for champagne, and not for nectar; you are born for conquest
and for mirth, to busy your delicate brain with the slaves of to-day, and to
snap your delicate fingers at the slaves of yesterday; epigrams only are
indited to your charms, witticisms only are uttered in your presence; you
think laughter the elixir vitæ, and a folio of theology poison; you look with
contempt on the Damon who has died for your sake, and with kindness on
the fool who bows to the ground and vows he is ‘yours entire,’ head and
hand, pen and pistol, from infancy to age, and from shining ringlet to shoe-
ribbon!”
“Admirable!” cried Cecil, “and after all the woman is nothing
extraordinary.”
“Chacun a son goût,” said Villars.
“She has no poetry about her,” said the first.
“I never write poetry about anybody,” said the second.
“She is not guilty of intellect,” said the reviler.
“She is guilty of coquetry,” said the admirer.
“She would never understand Milton,” said the poet.
“She would dance divinely,” said the fashionable.
“You are over head and ears in love,” said Davenant, laughing
immensely.
“She died anno Domini seventeen hundred!” said Marmaduke, with
inestimable gravity; and so we left the gallery.
We parted from our friend the next morning. If perfect indifference and
composure in all trials and temptations can constitute happiness, Villars will
be a happy man; but there is something repulsive in his very happiness.
Which shall I prefer? Marmaduke, with his unsunned and unclouded
weather, or Davenant, with his eternal alternation of bright glow and
fleeting shower?
I could never settle the point.
LEONORA.
Poor Alonzo! He was the best friend that ever drank Xeres: he picked me
out of the Guadalquivir, when I deemed I had said my last prayer.
It was a very conciliating introduction. I never in my life made a friend
of a man to whom I was introduced in a formal kind of way, with bows
from both parties, and cordiality from neither. I love something more
stirring, more animated; the river of life is at best but a quiet stupid stream,
and I want an occasional pebble to ruffle its surface withal. The most
agreeable introductions that ever fell to my lot were these—my introduction
to Pendragon, who was overturned with me in the York Mail; my
introduction to Eliza, who contrived to faint in my arms on board the Albion
packet; and my introduction to Alonzo, who picked me out of the
Guadalquivir.
I was strolling beside it on a fine moonlight night, after a brilliant and
fatiguing party, at which the Lady Isidora had made ten conquests, and Don
Pedro had told twenty stories: I was tired to death of dancing and iced
waters, glaring lights and lemonade; and as I looked on the sleepy wave,
and the dark trees, and the cloudless sky, I felt that I could wander there for
ever, and dream of poetry, and—two or three friends.
The sound of a guitar and a sweet voice waked me; I do not know why I
always associate the ideas of pleasant tones and bright eyes together; but I
cannot help it, and of course I was very anxious to see the musician of the
Guadalquivir. I clambered, by the aid of cracked stones, and bushes which
hung to them, to the summit of a low wall; and looking down perceived a
cavalier sitting with a lady under a grove of sycamores. The cavalier
seemed to have seen hardly seventeen winters; he was slender and tall, with
a ruddy complexion, black hair, and a quick merry eye. The lady appeared
full five years older; her eyes were as quick, and her ringlets as black, and
her complexion as warm, but more delicate: they were evidently brother
and sister; but that was a matter of indifference to me.
I heard a Spanish song upon the fall of the Abencerrage, and another
upon the exploits of the Cid: then the lady began an Italian ditty, but she
had not accomplished the first stanza when a decayed stone gave way, and
carried me through all the intricacies of bush and bramble into the cold bed
of the river. I could not swim a stroke.
I remember nothing more until the minute when I opened my eyes, and
found myself in a pretty summer-house, very wet and very cold, with
Alonzo and his sister leaning over me. “For the love of heaven” were the
first words I heard, “run, Alonzo, to call the servants.”
“I wait,” said Alonzo, “to hear him speak. If he be a Frenchman he goes
to the bottom again.”
The Fates be thanked that I was born in Derbyshire, and called Sir Harry
my father; if I had bathed in the Seine instead of the Derwent, I had rued
my parentage bitterly. Alonzo detested the French.
From that time we were always together. They were orphans, and had
scarcely a relation in the world except an aunt who had gone to the cloister,
and an uncle who had crossed the sea, and a rich cousin who had betaken
himself St. Jerome knew whither; but Alonzo, who had a much nearer
concern in the matter, seemed to know little enough about it. They had
travelled much, and Leonora was mistress apparently of the literature of all
Europe; yet they went rarely into company, for they doted upon one another
with a love so perfect and so engrossing, that you might have fancied them,
as they fancied themselves, alone in the world, with no toil and no pleasure,
but solitary walks, and songs of tenderness, and gazings upon one another’s
eyes. If ever perfection existed in woman, it existed here. I do not know
why I did not fall in love with Leonora; but to be sure I was in love with
five or six at a time.
A few months flew delightfully away. Leonora taught me Spanish, and
Alonzo taught me to swim. Every morning was occupied with romantic
excursions by water or by land, and every evening was beguiled with
literary conversation or music from the loveliest voice and the most
eloquent strings that ever I had the fortune to listen to. And when we parted,
we parted with warm hearts, and pleasant anticipations, and affectionate
tears. In two brief years those hearts were separated, and those anticipations
were blighted for ever, and those tears were exchanged for tears of
bitterness and of mourning.
The troubles of Spain commenced; and my poor Alonzo joined the
Patriots, and fell in his first campaign. Leonora had been—not a heroine,
for I hate heroines—but a noble woman. She herself had decorated the
young victim whom she sacrificed to her country’s good; she had
embroidered the lace on his uniform with her own hand; she had given him
the scarf which was found turned round his arm on the field; and she had
smiled mournfully as she bade him wear it till some one more beautiful or
more beloved had chosen him for her knight. And when he had girded on
his father’s sword, and lingered with his hand upon his courser’s mane, she
had said “farewell” in a firm voice, and wept while she said it.
It was on a journey to Scotland that I passed through the small village in
which the Spanish lady had shrouded her fading beauty and her breaking
heart. I sent up my name to her, and was admitted into her little drawing-
room immediately. Oh! how altered she seemed that day. All the colour had
disappeared from her cheek, and all the freshness from her lip; she had still
the white hand and arm, which I had seen running so lightly over the strings
of her theorbo, but they were wasted terribly away; and though her long
dark locks were braided as carefully as they had been in happier days, they
did not communicate the idea of brightness and brilliancy which they had
been wont to scatter over her countenance. She endeavoured to rise from
the sofa as I entered; but the effort was too great for her, and she sat down
without speaking. She was evidently dying; and the contrast between the
parting and the meeting, and the vague vision of the past and the
melancholy reality of the present, struck me so forcibly and so sadly, that I
stayed with my hand on the door and burst into tears.
“We are not to weep thus,” she said; “he fell like a true Spaniard, and I
only regret that I was not born a man, that I might have put my rifle to my
shoulder and died with my hand in his. Pray sit down; it is a long time since
I have seen any friend who can talk to me of the old days.”
I suggested that she ought to endeavour to think less of the losses she
had endured, and to dwell more cheerfully on the tranquillity which might
yet be in store for her. “I should despise you now,” she answered, “if I could
think this advice came from your heart. What! you would have me forget
him, whose life was my dearest pleasure, and whose death is my greatest
pride. Look at this ring,” and she took off a small gold one, and made me
remark its motto—fiel a la muerte; “he would not have bade me wear this
in remembrance of him, if he had not known that he was doomed to perish,
if he had not known too that I should be happy afterwards in thinking and
dreaming of him.” Then she began to recall minutely every scene and
circumstance of our intimacy; inquiring about every study or amusement
we had meditated or enjoyed together, whether I had bettered my flute-
playing, whether I had studied landscape, whether I had finished Calderon.
She wearied herself with talking; and then, leaning her head on the
cushions, desired me to take up a book from the table and read to her, that
she might hear whether my pronunciation was improved.
I took up the first that presented itself; it was only a manuscript book,
containing many scraps and fragments from different authors in her
brother’s writing. I laid it down again, and took up the next: it was a Dante
which I had given her: I opened it at random and began to read the story of
Francesca. When I came to the celebrated lines—
Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria——
“I do not believe a word of it” she said. “I would not lose my recollection
for all Mexico.”
I took leave of her soon: for I saw that my presence agitated and wearied
her. When I had parted from her before, she had given me a miniature of
herself, which she had painted in all the glow of health and spirits, and
ardent affections, which then so well became her. Now she gave me another
which had been her task or pleasure in sickness and solitude. I do not know
why I turn from the first with its fine hues and sparkling lustre, to gaze
upon the paleness and languor of the other, with a deeper feeling of
melancholy delight.
When I returned from Scotland after the lapse of two months, Leonora
was dead. I found the sexton of the village, and desired him to point out to
me the spot where she rested. There was a small marble slab over her
remains, with the brief inscription, “Leonora.—Addio!” I stood for a few
minutes there, and began to moralize and murmur. “It seems only
yesterday,” I said, “that she was moving and breathing before me, with all
the buoyancy and beauty of her blameless form and her stainless spirit; and
now she lies in her purity and her loveliness.”
“She lies in a pretty grave,” said the old sexton, looking with apparent
satisfaction on his handiwork.
“She does, indeed, good Nicholas; and her loveliness is but little to the
purpose!”

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Anti Methodism and Theological

Controversy in Eighteenth Century

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Making Sense of Old Testament Genocide

This book originated as a doctoral thesis undertaken at the University of Oxford

6. Miracles and Demons 125

1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-­Fields Congregation (1739).

AEH Anglican and Episcopal History

SPG Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts

subversive nature of Wesley and Whitefield’s evangelistic practices, such as open-­

despite claiming to be a study of Methodism ‘as viewed by its critics’, Kirkham’s

often ignored by anti-­Methodist Anglicans, especially during the 1730s and

Ever since Eusebius of Caesarea (c.260–c.340) wrote his Ecclesiastical History

riotous behaviour. Crucially, such perceptions illuminate the convergence of

1 G. Whitefield, An Answer to the Second Part of an Anonymous Pamphlet, Entitled, Observations

5 For examples of anti-­Methodist plays see The Mock-­Preacher: A Satyrico-­Comical-­Allegorical

Churchmen had begun to associate with Methodism. Thus, Webster probably

The Rise of Methodism

In February 1736 the Wesley brothers arrived in Georgia, though Charles’s

establishment. As a result of childhood measles, Whitefield developed a per­man­

16 B. S. Schlenther, ‘Whitefield, George (1714–1770)’, ODNB.

them—dismissed Whitefield’s Journal, which was ‘tainted with enthusiasm’.

24 Manuscript Journal, I, pp. 162–3.

30 Gibson, Pastoral Letter . . . Enthusiasm on the Other, p. 51.

An anonymous polemic, entitled The Trial of Mr Whitefield’s Spirit (1740),

diocesan bishop were violating Canon L. The ‘practice of Licensing Itinerant

class meetings provided opportunities to assume leadership roles, including as

by several influential Tory–Jacobite women, including Mary Astell, Anne Finch,

Figure 1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-­Fields Congregation (1739). Etching.

The Lavington Affair

60 Weekly Miscellany, 12 May 1739.

64 C. Haydon, ‘Lavington, George (1684–1762)’, ODNB; C. Haydon, ‘Bishop George Lavington of

While most eighteenth-­century anti-­Methodist works were published in London,

extent, in various other provincial towns, including Preston, Newcastle, and

townspeople to possess preconceived ideas about Methodism in the years preced-

Trapp, Stebbing was a renowned controversialist and defender of Anglican

The importance of transatlantic evangelical networks has been illuminated by

Following a recommendation from Alexander Garden, commissary of South

missionary in North Groton, Connecticut.103 Copies of Weller’s polemic are also

And if the many boldly gaze

In sooth I am a wayward youth,

“Are they your own verses?” said my idol at the window.

“Peregrine,” said Lady Mary, “write.”

“ ‘For prince or for prig,

There was a curious portrait a little farther on—a beautiful and

Nessun maggior dolore

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1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-Fields Congregation (1739).

subversive nature of Wesley and Whitefield’s evangelistic practices, such as open-

often ignored by anti-Methodist Anglicans, especially during the 1730s and

5 For examples of anti-Methodist plays see The Mock-Preacher: A Satyrico-Comical-Allegorical

establishment. As a result of childhood measles, Whitefield developed a perman

Figure 1.1 Enthusiasm Display’d, or The Moor-Fields Congregation (1739). Etching.

While most eighteenth-century anti-Methodist works were published in London,