The Journal of John Wesley 243Wesley Covered with Mud

Tuesday, June 24.--Before eight we reached Dumfries and after a short bait pushed on in hopes of reaching Solway Frith before the sea came in. Designing to call at an inn by the frith side, we inquired the way and were directed to leave the main road and go straight to the house which we saw before us. In ten minutes Duncan Wright was embogged; however, the horse plunged on and got through. I was inclined to turn back; but Duncan telling me I needed only go a little to the left, I did so and sank at once to my horse's shoulders. He sprang up twice, and twice sank again, each time deeper than before. At the third plunge he threw me on one side, and we both made shift to scramble out. I was covered with fine, soft mud from my feet to the crown of my head; yet, blessed be God, not hurt at all. But we could not cross till between seven and eight o'clock. An honest man crossed with us, who went two miles out of his way to guide us over the sands to Skilburness, where we found a little, clean house, and passed a comfortable night.

Saturday, July 19.--I took a view of Beverley minster, such a parish church as has scarcely its fellow in England. It is a most beautiful as well as stately building, both within and without, and is kept more nicely clean than any cathedral which I have seen in the kingdom; but where will it be when the earth is burned up and the elements melt with fervent heat? About one I preached at Pocklington (though my strength was much exhausted), and in the evening at York.

Sunday, 27.--As Baildon church would not nearly contain the congregation, after the prayers were ended, I came out into the churchyard, both morning and afternoon. The wind was extremely high and blew in my face all the time; yet, I believe, all the people could hear. At Bradford there was so huge a multitude and the rain so damped my voice that many in the skirts of the congregation could not hear distinctly. They have just built a preaching-house, fifty-four feet square, the largest octagon we have in England; and it is the first of the kind where the roof is built with common sense, rising only a third of its breadth; yet it is as firm as any in England, nor does it at all hurt the walls. Why then does any roof rise higher? Only through want of skill, or want of honesty, in the builder.

Tuesday, 29.--In the evening I preached near the preaching-house at Paddiham and strongly insisted on communion with God as the only religion that would avail us. At the close of the sermon came Mr. M. His long, white beard showed that his present disorder was of some continuance. In all other respects, he was quite sensible; but he told me with much concern, "You can have no place in heaven without a beard! Therefore, I beg, let yours grow immediately."