Calvinistic Methodism, perhaps, might never have been embodied into a separate sect, if it had not found a patroness in Selina, Countess of Huntingdon.

This "noble and elect lady," as her followers have called her, was daughter of Washington Earl of Ferrers, and widow of Theo philus Earl of Huntingdon. There was a decided insanity in her family. Her sisters-in law, Lady Betty and Lady Margaret Hastings, were of a religious temper; the former had been the patroness of the first Methodists at Oxford; the latter had become a disciple, and at length married Wesley's old pupil and fellow-missionary Ingham. Lady Margaret communicated her opinions to the Countess; the Wesleys were called in to her, after a dangerous illness, which had been terminated by the new birth; and her husband's tutor, Bishop Benson, who was sent for afterwards, in hopes that he might restore her to a saner sense of devotion, found all his arguments ineffectual: instead of receiving instructions from him, she was disposed to be the teacher, quoted the homilies against him, insisted upon her own interpretation of the articles, and attacked him upon the awful responsibility of his station. All this is said to have irritated him; the emotion which he must needs have felt, might have been more truly, as well as more charitably, interpreted; and when he left her, he lamented that he had ever laid his hands upon George Whitefield. "My lord," she replied, "mark my words! when you come upon your dying bed, that will be one of the few ordinations you will reflect upon with complacence."

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During the Earl's life she restrained herself, in deference to his wishes; but, becoming mistress of herself, and of a liberal income, at his death, she took a more decided and public part, and, had means permitted, would have done as much for Methodism as the Countess Matilda did for the Papacy. Upon Whitefield's return from America, in 1748, he was invited to her house at Chelsea as soon as he landed. And after he had officiated there twice, she wrote to him, inviting him again, that some of the nobility might hear him. "Blessed be God,' he says, in his reply, "that the rich and great begin to have an hearing ear: I think it is a good sign that our Lord intends to give, to some at least, an obedient heart. How wonderfully does our Redeemer deal with souls! If they will hear the Gospel only under a ceiled roof, ministers shall be sent to them there if only in a church, or a field, they shall have it there. word in the lesson, when I was last with your ladyship, struck me, -Paul preached privately to those that were of reputation. This must be the way, I presume, of dealing with the nobility, who yet know not the Lord." This is characteristic; and his answer to a second note, respecting the time, is still more so. Ever since the reading your ladyship's condescending letter, my soul has been overpowered with His presence, who is all in all. When your ladyship styled me your friend, I was amazed at your condescension; but when I thought that Jesus was my friend, it quite overcame me, and made me to lie prostrate before Him, crying, Why me? why me? I just now rose from the ground, after praying the Lord of all lords to water your soul, honoured madam, every moment. As there seems to be a door opening for the nobility to hear the Gos

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pel, I will defer my journey, and, God willing, preach at your ladyship's. Oh that God may be with me, and make me humble! I am ashamed to think your ladyship will admit me under your roof; much more am I amazed that the Lord Jesus will make use of such a creature as I am ;-quite astonished at your ladyship's condescension, and the unmerited superabounding grace and goodness of Him who has loved me, and given Himself for me." Wesley would not have written in this strain, which, for its servile adulation, and its canting vanity, might well provoke disgust and indignation, were not the real genius and piety of the writer beyond all doubt. Such, however, as the language is, it was natural in Whitefield, and not ill suited for the person to whom it was addressed.

Lord Chesterfield and Bolingbroke were among his auditors at Chelsea the Countess had done well in inviting those persons who stood most in need of repentance. The former complimented the preacher with his usual courtliness; the latter is said to have been much moved at the discourse he invited Whitefield to visit him, and seems to have endeavoured to pass from infidelity to Calvinism, if he could. Lady Huntingdon, flattered, perhaps, by the applause which was bestowed upon the performance, appointed Whitefield one of her chaplains. He, at this time, writing to Mr. Wesley, says, "What have you thought about a union? I am afraid an external one is impracticable. I find, by your sermons, that we differ in principles more than I thought, and I believe we are upon two different plans. My attachment to America will not permit me to abide very long in England, consequently I should but weave a Penelope's web if I formed societies; and, if I should form them, I have not proper assistants to take care of them; I intend, therefore, to go about preaching the Gospel to every creature." In saying that he had "no party to be at the head of," and that, through God's grace, he would have none, Whitefield only disclaimed the desire of placing himself in a situation which he was not competent to fill at this very time he was sufficiently willing that a party should be formed, of which he might be the honorary head, while the management was in other hands. For he told the Elect Lady that a leader was wanting; and that that honour had been put on her ladyship by the great Head of the church,--an honour which had been conferred on few, but which was an earnest of what she was to receive before men and angels when time should be no more.. That honour Lady Huntingdon accepted. She built chapels in various places, which were called hers, and procured Calvinistic clergymen to officiate in them. After a time, a sufficient supply of ordained ministers could not be found, and some began to draw back, when they perceived that the course of action, in which they were engaged, teaded manifestly to schism. This, however, did not deter her ladyship from proceeding; she followed the example of Mr. Wesley, and employed laymen without scruple; and as the chapels were called Lady Huntingdon's chapels, the persons who officiated were called Lady Huntingdon's preachers. At length she set up a seminary for such preachers, at Trevecca, in South Wales; and this was called Lady Huntingdon's College, and the Calvinistic Methodists went by the name of Lady Huntingdon's Connexion. The

terms of admission were, that the students should be truly converted to God, and resolved to dedicate themselves to his service. During three years they were to be boarded and instructed gratuitously, at her ladyship's cost, and supplied every year with a suit of clothes : at the end of that time they were either to take orders, or enter the ministry among dissenters of any denomination.

Sincere devotee as the Countess was, she retained much of the pride of birth. For this reason Whitefield, who talked of her amazing condescension in patronizing him, would have been more acceptable to her than Wesley, even if he had not obtained a preference in her esteem, because of his Calvinism; and perhaps this disposition inclined her, unconsciously, to favour a doctrine which makes a privileged order of souls. Wesley, therefore, who neither wanted, nor would have admitted, patron or patroness to be the tem poral head of the societies which he had formed, and was as little likely to act a subordinate part under Lady Huntingdon as under Count Zinzendorf, seems never to have been cordially liked by her, and gradually grew into disfavour. The reconciliation with Whitefield was, perhaps, produced more by a regard to appearances on both sides, than by any feeling on either. Such a wound as had been made in their friendship always leaves a scar, however well it may have healed. They interchanged letters, not very frequently; and they preached occasionally in each other's pulpits; but there was no cordial intercourse, no hearty co-operation. Whitefield saw, and disapproved in Wesley, that ambition of which the other was not conscious in himself, largely as it entered into the elements of his character; and Wesley, on the other hand, who felt his own superiority in intellect and knowledge, regarded, probably, as a weakness, the homage which was paid by Whitefield to persons in high life. Yet they did justice to each other's intentions and virtues; and old feelings sometimes rose again, as from the dead, like the blossoming of spring flowers in autumn, which remind us that the season of hope and of joyance is gone by. It is pleasant to observe, that this tenderness increased as they advanced toward the decline of life. When Whitefield returned from America to England for the last time, Wesley was struck with the change in his appearance : "he seemed," says he in his Journal, "to be an old man, being fairly worn out in his Master's service, though he has hardly seen fifty years; and yet it pleases God that I, who am now in my sixtythird year, find no disorder, no weakness, no decay, no difference from what I was at five-and-twenty; only that I have fewer teeth, and more gray hairs."

Lady Huntingdon had collected about her a knot of Calvinistic clergy, some of them of high birth, and abounding as much with bigotry and intolerance as with zeal. Whitefield, however, at this time, to use Wesley's language, breathed nothing but peace and love. Bigotry," said he, "cannot stand before him, but hides its head wherever he comes. My brother and I conferred with him every day; and, let the honourable men do what they please, we resolved, by the grace of God, to go on hand in hand, through honour and dishonour." Accordingly Wesley preached in the Countess's chapel, where, he says, many were not a little surprised at seeing him, and

where, it appears, that he did not expect to be often invited; for he adds, that he was in no concern whether he preached there again or not. Whitefield and Howel Harris (a man whose genuine charity was no ways corrupted by his opinions) attended at the next Confer

ence.

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This union continued till Whitefield returned to America, in 1769, · and died there in the following year. A fear of outliving his usefulness had often depressed him and one day, when giving way to an irritable temper, he brought tears from one who had not deserved" such treatment, he burst into tears himself, and exclaimed, “I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and every body will be tired of me!"-He wished for a sudden death, and that blessing was so far vouchsafed him, that the illness which proved fatal was only of a few hours' continuance. It was a fit of asthma: when it seized him first, one of his friends expressed a wish that he would not preach so of ten; and his reply was, "I had rather wear out than rust out." He died at Newburyport, in New-England, and, according to his own desire, was buried before the pulpit, in the Presbyterian church of that town. Every mark of respect was shown to his remains all the bells in the town tolled, and the ships in the harbour fired mourning guns, and hung their flags half-mast high. In Georgia, all the black cloth in the stores was bought up, and the church was hung with black the governor and council met at the state-house in deep mourning, and went in procession to hear a funeral sermon. Funeral honours also were performed throughout the tabernacles in England. He had been asked who should preach his funeral sermon, in case of his dying abroad: whether it should be his old friend Mr. Wesley; and had always replied, he is the man. Mr. Wesley, therefore, by desire of the executors, preached at the tabernacle in Tottenham-court Road, (the high-church of the sect,) and in many other places did the same, wishing, he said, to show all possible respect to the memory of so great and good a man. Upon this occasion he expresses a hope in his Journal, that God had now given a blow to that bigotry which had prevailed for many years but it broke out ere long, with more virulence than ever.

Notwithstanding Mr. Wesley's endeavours to guard his followers against the Antinomian errors, the stream of Methodism had set in that way. It is a course which enthusiasm naturally takes, wherever, from a blind spirit of antipathy to the Romanists, solifidianism is preached. To correct this perilous tendency, (for, of all doctrinal errors, there is none of which the practical consequences are so pernicious,) Wesley said, in the Conference of 1771, "Take heed to your doctrine! we have leaned too much toward Calvinism. 1. With regard to man's faithfulness: our Lord himself taught us to use the expression, and we ought never to be ashamed of it. 2. With regard to working for life this also our Lord has expressly commanded us. Labour, gyagede, literally, work for the meat that endur reth to everlasting life. 3. We have received it as a maxim, that a man is to do nothing in order to justification. Nothing can be more false. Whoever desires to find favour with God, should cease from evil, and learn to do well. Whoever repents, should do works meet for repentance. And if this is not in order to find favour, what does

he do them for? Is not this salvation by works? Not by the merit of works, but by works as a condition. What have we then been disputing about for these thirty years? I am afraid about words. As to merit itself, of which we have been so dreadfully afraid, we are rewarded according to our works, yea, because of our works. How does this differ from for the sake of our works? And how differs this from secundum merita operum, as our works deserve? Can you split this hair? I doubt I cannot.-Does not talking of a justified or sanc tified state tend to mislead men? almost naturally leading them to trust in what was done in one moment; whereas we are every hour, and every moment, pleasing or displeasing to God, according to our works; according to the whole of our inward tempers, and our outward behaviour."

This language, candid, frank, and reasonable as it is,-in every way honourable to Mr. Wesley, shocked the high-flying Calvinists. The alarm was taken at Trevecca; and, notwithstanding the specious liberality which had been professed, Lady Huntingdon declared, that whoever did not fully disavow these minutes, must quit the college. The students and masters were called upon to deliver their sentiments in writing, without reserve. The superintendent, in so doing, explained, vindicated, and approved the doctrine of Mr. Wesley, though he considered the wording as unguarded, and not sufficiently explicit; and he resigned his appointment accordingly, wishing that the Countess might find a minister to preside there less insufficient than himself, and more willing to go certain lengths in party spirit.

Jean Guillaume de la Flechere, who thus withdrew from Trevecca, was a man of rare talents, and rarer virtue. No age or country has ever produced a man of more fervent piety, or more perfect charity; no church has ever possessed a more apostolic minister. He was born at Nyon, in the Pays de Vaud, of a respectable Bernese family, descended from a noble house in Savoy. Having been educated for the ministry at Geneva, he found himself unable to subscribe to the doctrine of predestination, and resolved to seek preferment as a soldier of fortune. Accordingly he went to Lisbon, obtained a commission in the Portuguese service, and was ordered to Brazil. A lucky accident, which confined him to his bed when the ship sailed, saved him from a situation where his fine intellect would have been lost, and his philanthropic piety would have had no room to display itself. He left Portugal for the prospect of active service in the Low Countries, and that prospect also being disappointed by peace, he came over to England, improved himself in the language, and became tutor in the family of Mr. Hill, of Fern Hall, in Shropshire. The love of God and of man abounded in his heart; and finding, among the Methodists, that sympathy which he desired, he joined them, and, for a time, took to ascetic courses, of which he afterwards acknowledged the error. He lived on vegetables, and, for some time, on milk and water, and bread; he sat up two whole nights in every week, for the purpose of praying, and reading and meditating on religious things; and, on the other nights, never allowed himself to sleep, as long as he could keep his attention to the book before him. At length, by the advice of his