The Rev. W. B. Stonehouse, author of “The History and Topography of the Isle of Axholme,” accounts for the noises thus: he writes:—“There is a large garret, which extends over the ceilings of all the rooms below, and nothing can be more probable than that some piece of machinery was fixed there, by which all the noises were effected, and which required to be wound up before the performances began.” This is childish. Who in Epworth, or the neighbourhood, was able either to devise or to construct such machinery? How was it introduced? Who set it up? Was it invisible? Or is it likely that Samuel Wesley visited and examined all the rooms in the house excepting this?
Dr Adam Clarke believed the thing to be supernatural; and suggests that it may be accounted for by the following story, which was related by a respectable person to himself. One night, after the family had gone to bed, while the maid-servant was finishing her work in the back-kitchen, she was startled by a noise, looked up, and saw a man working himself through a trough, which communicated between the sink-stone within and a cistern without. Astonished and terrified, she seized the cleaver, which lay on the sink-stone, and struck him on the head; after which she uttered an awful shriek, and fell senseless on the floor. Mr Wesley heard the noise, and supposing that the house was beset by robbers, started out of bed, caught up the fire-irons of his study, and began to throw them with violence on the stairs, calling out, Tom! Jack! Harry! as loud as he could bawl, designing, by this means, to scare away the thieves. Who the man was who received the death-blow from the cleaver, or who were his accomplices, was never known; but the man was evidently carried off, as footsteps and marks of blood were traced to a considerable distance from the house, but not far enough to find out who the villains were, nor whence they came. Dr A. Clarke fails to tell us when this tragical event occurred.
Southey says, that he is “as deeply and fully persuaded as John Wesley was, that the spirits of the departed are sometimes permitted to manifest themselves;” though he does “not believe in witchcraft, and very greatly doubts the reality of demoniacal possession.”[[228]] He also asserts that many of the circumstances connected with the disturbances at Epworth parsonage cannot be explained by Dr Priestley’s supposition, that the whole thing was a trick of the servants and neighbours; neither “can they be explained by any legerdemain, nor by ventriloquism, nor by any secret of acoustics.” And, then, having thus come to the conclusion that the noises were supernatural, he endeavours to account for such occurrences by saying: “It would be end sufficient, if sometimes one of those unhappy persons who, looking through the dim glass of infidelity, see nothing beyond this life, should, from the well-established truth of one such story, be led to a conclusion that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in their philosophy.”[[229]]
And, now, though it may seem presumption for one so insignificant as the writer to express an opinion, after stating the opinions of men like those already quoted, yet, at the risk of incurring such opprobrium, he ventures to assert he has thoroughly sifted the whole history, and has read all that has been written concerning it; and that, though he began the examination with the strongest prejudice against the theory that the noises were supernatural, yet, by the force of evidence, which he has been unable to resist, he has been driven to the conclusion that the thing was not a trick, but that the noises and other circumstances were occasioned by the direct and immediate agency of some unseen spirit.
If asked to express an opinion whether the spirit was good or bad, the writer would say, the latter. “About a year since,” says Emilia Wesley, “there was a disturbance at a town near us that was undoubtedly occasioned by witches; and, if so near, why may they not reach us? Then, my father had, for several Sundays before old Jeffrey came, preached warmly against consulting those that are called cunning men, which our people are given to; and it had a particular spite at my father.”[[230]]
If asked again, What good end was to be answered by permitting such supernatural disturbances? the writer answers, that his own opinion thoroughly coincides with Southey’s, already given. It is worse than absurd to suppose that God permits such occurrences to happen without some great purpose to be accomplished; and, for this reason, such occurrences are extremely rare. Mrs Wesley was of this opinion, as the following extract, from an unpublished letter to her son John, will show:—
“Wroote, Nov. 1724.
“Dear Jack,—The story of Mr B. has afforded me many curious speculations. I do not doubt the fact, but cannot receive it without reason why those apparitions should come to us. If they were permitted to speak to us, and we had strength to bear such converse; if they had commission to inform us of anything relating to their invisible world, that would be of any use to us in this; if they could instruct us how to avoid any danger, or put us in a way of being wiser or better—there would be sense in it; but to appear for no end that we know of, unless to frighten people almost out of their wits, seems altogether unreasonable.”
No doubt of it; and, for that reason, there was unquestionably a great end to be answered by the supernatural noises at Epworth parsonage.
The Wesley family were foreordained to exercise upon succeeding generations, and upon mankind at large, an influence, the effects of which are without a parallel; and, to qualify them for such a work, it is not surprising that a more than ordinary agency should have been employed. No man can really be in earnest in converting sinners unless he has, not merely opinions respecting an unseen world, but a deep and felt conviction that such a world exists. The minister, without such a deep and vivid conviction, may perform ministerial functions, but he has no anxiety about real ministerial success. On the other hand, let the man feel, in his heart and conscience, that there is a heaven, and that there is a hell, and it becomes impossible for such a man to be indifferent respecting the souls of his fellow-men. He knows that every unconverted sinner whom he meets is exposed to danger infinitely more fearful than any mere earthly danger the mind can contemplate; and hence you find in him, not merely the polite reproof, the gentle warning, the Scripture exposition, or the perfunctory discharge of some other ministerial duty; but you also, find intense earnestness, which is sometimes considered fanaticism, and almost insanity; and you likewise very often find efforts used, and expediences employed, in converting men which shock the refined tastes and delicate sensibilities of many who are more politely than earnestly religious; and which from men of another class—the avowedly profane and disbelieving—provoke contempt and persecution. Yes; and the deeper, and more living and influential, becomes the man’s conviction of the existence of heaven, of hell, of angels, of devils, and of the other great certainties of the world to come—the more impellent becomes his earnestness, and the more excited and self-sacrificing are his labours to turn men from sin to holiness, and from the power of Satan unto God.