The facts of the case were these: I had an engagement to preach anniversary sermons at Hanley, in the Staffordshire Potteries. The Berry Brow people heard of this, and as I had to pass their place on my way to Hanley, they requested me to spend a Sabbath with them, and preach their anniversary sermons. I did so, and charged them thirty shillings, about one-third of the expenses of my journey, taking the other two-thirds from the Hanley people. This was all.
Of course such matters would not be worth naming, if it were not to show how much there was in the conduct of my persecutors to give me a dislike to their character, and to prejudice me against their views.
That you may have an idea of my labors as a preacher, take the following account of one week's work, when I was lecturing against the infidel Socialists, previous to my expulsion. I had preached three times on the Sunday, walked six miles, and attended to several other duties. At half past ten at night I started by stage coach for Bolton, a hundred and fifty miles away. I travelled all night, and all next day, outside the coach. It was winter, and the weather was very cold. About six in the evening I reached Bolton. At half past seven I began my lecture, in a place crowded almost to suffocation. After the lecture, I had an hour and a half's debate. Between eleven and twelve I went to bed. I spent next day mostly in writing. At half past seven I began my second lecture, with a congregation more closely packed than the night before. The lecture was followed with a somewhat longer debate. This continued five nights. On Friday night I got to bed about twelve. At half past two I started in an open gig for Manchester, twelve miles off. The morning was very cold. There was a severe frost and a thick fog. At Manchester I took the coach for Newcastle, and I rode outside all day, until half past ten at night. The Sunday following I preached three times again. And in this way I labored for nearly two years. I paid all my own expenses. I also engaged and paid a person to preach for me, and to attend to my other duties in the circuit, during the week. If there was a loss at my meetings I bore it myself; never asking any one for aid. And at times I had heavy losses. At Manchester once, after giving five lectures, I was eleven pounds out of pocket. At Birmingham I had a loss of thirty-seven pounds on five lectures. That was about the hardest week I ever had. My tongue got rather white. My food lost its relish. My thoughts kept me awake after I lay down in bed sometimes, and sometimes awoke me after I had gone to sleep. I caught myself drawing long breaths at times. Money came into my head at prayer, though none came into my pocket. I did not even ask for that. I met with Combe's work on digestion and read it, but it did not help me much, either in digesting my food, or my heavy loss. But I made no complaints. I did not even tell my wife till long after, when I was prosperous and comfortable again. And none of those who heard my lectures, saw in me any sign of discouragement. I lectured to my small audience as earnestly as if the vast amphitheatre had been crowded. And I paid the whole loss out of my own pocket, asking help from neither stranger nor friend.
Just about this time Mr. Hulme, the son-in-law of my chief persecutor, set afloat a story that I was getting immensely rich by my lectures, and demanded that I should hand over my gains to the Connexional funds. I could hardly help wishing that he had been compelled to take one-half of my Manchester and Birmingham gains.
I never charged more than two-pence, I seldom charged more than a penny, for admission to my lectures: but such were the crowds that attended, and such was the readiness of my friends in different places to help me without charge, that in nine cases out of ten I had a surplus. I had forty pounds in hand with which to pay the loss of thirty-seven at Birmingham. Besides, I sold large quantities of my pamphlets, and they yielded me a profit, though I sold my works eighty or ninety per cent. cheaper than my envious brethren sold theirs.
After my expulsion I worked harder than I had done before. The following is only a part of one week's work. I preached three times on the Sunday; twice to immense crowds in the open air. The time between the three meetings I spent in talking, writing, and walking. I walked fifteen miles. On Monday I wrote a lengthy article for my periodical, the Christian Investigator. At night I lectured to a crowded audience, and had a three hours' discussion after. About one I got to bed. At five I was up to take the coach to Manchester. At Manchester I carried a heavy pack two miles to the railway station. I went by train to Sandbach, then walked about twenty-three miles to Longton, carrying my carpet bag, and some thirty pounds weight of books, on my shoulder. It was a hot day in June. At Longton I preached an hour and a quarter to about five thousand people in the open air, and had a lengthy discussion after. How I slept, I forget. I believe I was feverish through the night. In the morning my nose bled freely, and I was better. I walked six, eight, or ten miles daily, carrying my bag and books along with me, and preaching, or lecturing and discussing, every night. I did this daily for weeks, and months, and years. And I never charged a penny for my labors. And I had no salary. I supported myself and my family by the sale of my cheap publications.
Yet one of the slanders circulated by my enemies was, as I said, that I acted inconsistently with my published views on the use of money. I taught, as Wesley had taught, and as Jesus and Paul had taught, that a man should not lay up for himself treasures on earth,—that money was a trust from God, to be used in His service, for the good of mankind. And I acted on these principles. I did not lay up a penny for myself on earth. I employed all I received in doing good, hardly spending enough on myself and family to purchase the barest necessaries. But my enemies found I had placed fifty pounds on interest, in the hands of Mr. Townsend; and away went the charge of inconsistency, hypocrisy, and what not, through the country. There was no inconsistency at all in what I had done.
It was a principle with me, never to go into debt. And my plan was, never to begin to print a book, till I had, in the first place, got the money ready to pay the expense of printing, and, in the second place, reconciled myself to lose the money in case the book did not sell. At the time I placed the fifty pounds in the hands of Mr. T., I was preparing to print a book that would cost me thrice that amount. I did print it, and paid the expense in cash, according to my principles and plan. I follow the same plan still: my printers like it; and so do I. I owed a dollar and a half at the close of last year. The thought of it troubled me, not much, but still a little, during the watch-night services at Siloam church. I had only owed the sum ten hours, and I paid it next morning, but still, the thought of the debt made the ending of the old year, and the beginning of the new one, a trifle less happy than they might have been, if I had been entirely straight with all the world.
In some cases, when I went out to lecture, the leading ministers of the Connexion would come to my meetings, and exciting discussions followed. These injured the Connexion still more, for I invariably gained the sympathy of the audience. On some occasions my enemies behaved in such a manner as to provoke my audiences past endurance, and uproar followed; and the greatest coolness on my part, and the employment of all my influence, were necessary to keep the more excitable of my friends from resorting to violence.
Very curious incidents took place sometimes, strangely confounding my opponents, and making the impression on my friends, and on myself as well, that God had specially interfered on my behalf. On more than one occasion, when discreditable tales were told of me by my opponents, some one in the audience who knew the facts, would rise and testify in my behalf, and publicly convict my slanderers of falsehood. In one case, at Dudley, Mr. Bakewell, who had always taken a leading part against me, charged me before a crowded audience, with having baptized a child of certain parents, at Hawarden in Wales, a hundred miles away, after I had declared my belief that it was improper to baptize children. He adduced some testimony in support of his statement, which seemed to satisfy many in the audience that I had been guilty of inconsistency. What could I do? I had nothing to oppose to his testimony and his pretended proofs, but my solemn denial of the statement. Most happily for me, as soon as my opponent took his seat, a lady rose, towards the farther end of the room, with a baby in her arms. "I wish to speak," said the lady. The people near her helped her to step upon a seat, that she might be seen and heard to better advantage. "I am the mother referred to by Mr. Bakewell," said the lady, "and this is the child. Mr. Bakewell's statement is untrue. Mr. Barker did not sprinkle my child. He only named it, and asked God's blessing on it. Here is my husband, and he can testify to the truth of this statement." The lady stepped down and the husband rose. "I am the Richard Burrows mentioned by Mr. Bakewell. This is my wife, and that is our child. Mr. Barker did not baptize it. Mr. Bakewell's statement is false." That settled the question. The feeling against my slanderer was tremendous. The people would not hear him speak another word.