Samuel Wesley was a large-hearted man, to whom it was always a happiness to have the power of showing kindness to a fellow-creature. His own early life had been an almost friendless one. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, he had to pursue it “under difficulties.” Bitter experience had taught him the preciousness of a friend’s assistance. These facts were quite sufficient to render the poor boy, from the Wroot Charity School, an object of affectionate regard; but there were others beside these. John Whitelamb was the son of one of Samuel Wesley’s peasant parishioners; as an amanuensis, he had rendered the Rector important service for four long years; and, more than that, he had been the means of saving the Rector’s life. In a letter, dated, “Epworth, September 5, 1728,” Samuel Wesley writes:—
“God has given me two fair escapes for life within these few weeks. The first was when my old nag fell with me, trailed me in the stirrups by one foot, and trod upon the other, yet never hurt me.
“The other escape was much greater. On Monday week, at Burringham Ferry, we were driven down with a fierce stream and wind, and fell foul against a keel. Two of our horses were pitched overboard, and the boat was filled with water. I was just preparing to swim for life” (he was then sixty-six years of age), “when John Whitelamb’s long legs and arms swarmed up into the keel, and lugged me in after him. My mare was swimming a quarter of an hour; but, at last, we all got safe to land. Help to praise Him who saves both man and beast.”
Remembering all this, it will be felt, that, it was a grateful, as well as generous, act, for Samuel Wesley to send his youthful helper and deliverer to Lincoln College, Oxford.
Whitelamb’s going to Oxford must have taken place soon after Samuel Wesley’s providential deliverance from being drowned; for, five years after this, he had finished his collegiate education, and become the Rector’s curate, and son-in-law.
Whitelamb was a steady student. “John Whitelamb,” wrote Wesley, in 1731,—
“Reads one English, one Latin, and one Greek book alternately; and never meddles with a new one, in any of the languages, till he has ended the old one. If he goes on as he has begun, I dare take upon me to say, that, by the time he has been here four or five years, there will not be such an one, of his standing, in Lincoln College, perhaps not in the University of Oxford.”
Like his patrons, however, Whitelamb was very poor; and poverty always implies trials. The young gentlemen of Oxford, as a rule, had ample means, and could dress accordingly; but Whitelamb, without a purse, had to submit to the indignity of wearing a worn-out college gown. Wesley, his tutor, pitied him, and yet had scarcely the ability to help him. Hence the following, to his brother Samuel, under the date of “November 17, 1731:”
“John Whitelamb wants a gown much, and I am not rich enough to buy him one at present If you are willing that my twenty shillings (that were) should go toward that, I will add ten to them, and let it lie till I have tried my interest with my friends to make up the price of a new one.”
No wonder that Susannah Wesley used to call Whitelamb “poor starveling Johnny.” His position was a proud, and yet a painful one.