“My Lord,—Now I am at rest, for I have come to the haven where I have long expected to be. On Friday last, when I had been christening a child at Epworth, I was arrested in my churchyard by one who had been my servant and gathered my tithe last year, at the suit of one of Mr Whichcott’s relations and zealous friends, (Mr Pinder,) according to their promise, when they were in the isle, before the election. The sum was not £30; but it was as good as five hundred. Now, they knew the burning of my flax, my London journey, and their throwing me out of my regiment, had both sunk my credit and exhausted my money. My adversary was sent to when I was on the road, to meet me, that I might make some proposals to him. But all his answer was that, ‘I must immediately pay the whole sum or go to prison.’ Thither I went with no great concern for myself, and find much more civility and satisfaction here than in bevibus gyaris of my own Epworth. I thank God, my wife was pretty well recovered, and was churched some days before I was taken from her; and I hope she will be able to look to my family, if they do not turn them out of doors, as they have often threatened to do. One of my biggest concerns was my being forced to leave my poor lambs in the midst of so many wolves. But the Great Shepherd is able to provide for them, and to preserve them. My wife bears it with that courage which becomes her, and which I expected from her.
“I do not despair of doing some good here, and it may be, I shall do more in this new parish than in my old one; for I have leave to read prayers every morning and afternoon in the prison, and to preach once a Sunday, which I choose to do in the afternoon, when there is no sermon at the minster. I am getting acquainted with my brother gaol-birds as fast as I can, and shall write to London next post, to the Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge, who, I hope, will send me some books to distribute among them.
“I should not write these things from a gaol if I thought your Grace would believe me ever the less for my being here; where, if I should lay my bones, I would bless God and pray for your Grace.—Your Grace’s very obliged and most humble servant,
“S. Wesley.”
Five days afterwards, the good archbishop wrote a sympathising letter; but, at the same time, stated what he had heard against him. This letter Mr Wesley answered; gave a satisfactory account of all his affairs, and showed that the reports which had reached the archbishop were perfectly false, and adduced proof of this. He then continues his letter as follows:—
“Lincoln Castle, July 10, 1705.
“My Lord,—I am not forgotten, neither by God nor by your lordship. My debts are about £300, which I have contracted by a series of misfortunes not unknown to your Grace. The falling of my parsonage barn before I had recovered the taking my living; the burning of a great part of my dwelling-house about two years since, and all my flax last winter; the fall of my income nearly one-half, by the low prices of grain; the almost entire failure of my flax this year, which used to be the better half of my revenue; together with my numerous family, and the taking this regiment from me, which I had obtained with so much expense and trouble,—have at last crushed me, though I struggled as long as I was able. Yet I hope to rise again, as I have always done when at the lowest; and I think I cannot be much lower now.
“Do not be in haste to credit what they report of me, for really lies are the manufacture of the party; and they have raised so many against me, and spread them so wide, that I am sometimes tempted to print my case in my own vindication.”
The party whom Wesley had opposed had prevented him obtaining a prebend, had wrested from him a regimental chaplaincy, had indirectly occasioned the death of his infant child, had loaded him with obloquy, and had cast him into prison. Surely this was punishment enough for the publication of his unlucky letter, and his two pamphlets in defence of it, and for the vote which he had given at the general election of 1705[1705]. But not so. Two months after writing the foregoing letter, be poured fresh sorrows into the ear of his friend, the archbishop. He writes:—
“Lincoln Castle, Sept. 12, 1705.