Like most men of genius he had a strong sense of humor, enjoyed a joke most heartily, was ready and pithy in repartee, and seldom at a loss for spirit and tact in extricating himself from difficulties. Many a good story might be told, did space allow, in illustration of this feature of his character. One or two must suffice. Perhaps the smartest thing he ever did in outwitting the early opponents of Methodism was done in a certain small town, in one of his own circuits, where, in the early days of the movement, the preacher and his friends had often “been driven off the field by a mob, headed by the clergyman.” Bradburn understood the state of affairs thoroughly, and resolved to go down to the parish and preach in the open air. Notice of his coming was duly forwarded, and the clergyman ordered constables and others to be in attendance at the time and place appointed for the service. Meanwhile Bradburn having “provided himself with a new suit of clothes, borrowed a new wig of a Methodist barber,“ and ”went to the place, put his horse up at the inn, attended the morning service at church, placed himself in a conspicuous situation so as to attract the notice of the clergyman, and, when the service was closed, he went up to him on his way out, accosted him as a brother, and thanked him for his sermon. The clergyman, judging from his appearance and address that he was a minister of some note, gave him an invitation to his house. Bradburn respectfully declined, on the ground that he had ordered dinner, and expressed a hope that the clergyman would dine with him at the inn. He did so, and Bradburn having entertained him until dinner was over with his extraordinary powers of conversation, managed to refer to the open-air service which was to be held, and the clergyman stated his intention to arrest the preacher and disperse the congregation, and asked Bradburn to accompany him, which he did. On arriving at the appointed place they found a large company assembled; and as no preacher had made his appearance, the clergyman concluded that fear had kept him away, and was about to order the people to their homes when Bradburn remarked that it would “be highly improper to neglect so favorable an opportunity of doing good, and urged him to preach to them. He excused himself by saying that he had no sermon in his pocket, and asked Bradburn to address them, which, of course, he readily consented to do, and commenced the service by singing part of the hymn beginning—
‘Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer’s praise,’
and, after praying, delivered an impressive discourse from Acts 5:38, 39, ‘And now I say unto you, Refrain from these men, and let them alone; for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought: but if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even to fight against God.’ This not only deeply affected the people, but so delighted the clergyman, that although he knew, as the service proceeded, that he had been duped, he heartily thanked Bradburn for the deception he had practised on him, and ever afterward, to the day of his death, showed a friendly disposition toward Methodism.”[21]
The same readiness of resource and good humor were shown in the management of the affairs of the society in his capacity as a pastor. On one occasion, when he resided in Manchester, two ladies, district visitors, went to the house of an old woman, a member of the society, who was a laundress, and finding her hard at work accosted her with the remark: “Betty, you are busy.” “Yes, mum,” said Betty, “as busy as the devil in a whirlwind!” Shocked by such an indecorous speech, the visitors threatened to report it to Mr. Bradburn. Afraid of what she had done, and the consequence, if it should come to the preacher’s ears, Betty, as soon as the ladies had gone away, set off by the quickest route to see Mr. Bradburn and relate the whole affair, and thus anticipate the report from the ladies themselves. She found Bradburn “engaged in his vocation as cobbler for his family.” “He listened to Betty’s simple story, and engaged to put the matter right, if she would try to be more guarded in the future. She had scarcely got clear away when the two ladies arrived with their melancholy story of Betty’s irreverence. They were asked into the room, and seeing him at his somewhat unclerical employment, one of them observed quite unthinkingly, ‘Mr. Bradburn, you are busy!’ ‘Yes,’ returned Bradburn, with great gravity, ‘as busy as the devil in a whirlwind!’ This remark from Betty was sufficiently startling, but from Bradburn it was horrifying. Seeing their consternation, he explained how busy the devil was in Job’s days, when he raised the whirlwind which ‘smote the four corners of the house,’ where the patriarch’s children were feasting, and slew them. It is, perhaps, needless to add that the two ladies left without mentioning the object of their visit.”[22]
Hating the false pride which leads a man to forget his humble origin, and the canting way in which some men talk of their sacrifices in entering the ministry, he once severely rebuked two young men who made a parade in company of having “given up all for the ministry.” “Yes, dear brethren,“ said he, ”some of you have had to sacrifice your all for the itinerancy; but we old men have had our share of these trials. As for myself, I made a double sacrifice, for I gave up for the ministry two of the best awls in the kingdom—a great sacrifice, truly, to become an ambassador of God in the church, and a gentleman in society!” His ready wit was sometimes displayed like that of Hugh Latimer, Dean Swift, and Sydney Smith, in the selections of texts for sermons on special occasions. Preaching at the opening of a chapel entirely built with borrowed money, he took as a text the words of the young man to Elisha the prophet:[23] “Alas, master, for it was borrowed.” On a snowy winter’s day, when the congregation was very small, he selected the words which describe the character of the virtuous woman,[24] “She is not afraid of the snow.”
That Samuel Bradburn was not perfect none will need to be told, yet it will surprise and pain every one to read that so great and good a man, honored and beloved of his brethren for many years, and useful beyond computation as a preacher, should have been “overtaken in a fault,” for which the Conference, in the exercise of a rigorous discipline, saw fit to suspend him for a year. After the lapse of this time he came back again to his old position, penitent and humble, like David or Peter, and like them fully restored to the Divine favor. This singular and melancholy event appears to have been due as much to mental as moral derangement, and in a short while, such was the sincerity of his sorrow and the blameless character of his after-life, his brethren were thankful to forget it, and to place him once more in positions of high trust and honor in the Connection. The last ten years of his life were spent in the important circuits of Bolton, Bath, Wakefield, Bristol, Liverpool, and East London. He died in London, July 26th, 1816, in the sixty-sixth year of his age. At the time of his decease the Conference was sitting in London. As a token of esteem and affection all its members joined in the funeral service at the New Chapel, City Road. He was buried in Old Methodist graveyard, City Road, by the side of his friend John Wesley, in the last resting-place of many of the fathers and founders of the Wesleyan Connection.