claimed. Even the bishop of Exeter, Lavington, once his bitter antagonist, invited him to dine, on one of his visits to Exeter, and treated him, in presence of a large body of his clergy, with marked deference. It was indeed, impossible for any man to behold, without sympathy, such untiring zeal. The constant circuit through the towns of England from March to November; the diligence which knew no rest; the warmth which never cooled; and the earnestness which never abated; these were marvels to all. None could see the old man in the street without being struck. He was little of stature, but the fine face, aquiline nose, quick bright eye, clear smooth forehead, and color fresh as a boy, with the long silver hair, arrested the bystanders, even more than the band and cassock which Wesley always wore. His dress was notable; a narrow plaited stock, a coat with small upright collar, no silk, or velvet, or buckles, but the whole attire scrupulously neat; and the brisk pace, and busy manner shewed that every minute of his day was numbered. In every thing round him, he observed exact order. In his study not a book was misplaced-not a scrap of paper out of its niche. Even on his journeys, in his inn, he dropped at once into the order which he prized.

The mind seemed as stereotyped as the habits. He wrote sermons at fourscore as he had done at fifty; and his earlier sermons expressed the views of his riper years. At the age of eighty he crossed to Holland,

travelled and preached there for a month; saw its sights, noted its customs, made acquaintance with its famous men, and returned, refreshed by novelty and conversation.

At the age of eighty-one, the body was as fit for work as ever. He continued his rapid circuits to Ireland and Inverness; rode, talked, comforted and preached; and the old man standing in the churchyard of Epworth, with the fresh associations of the boy, or rising at Kingswood, "under the shade of that double row of trees which I planted about forty years ago," preached as vigorously in the open air, as he had done thirty years before. In his eighty-fourth year he made his circuit through Ireland, preaching, visiting, organizing, and sight-seeing; and crossed to the Channel Islands, where, storm-stayed in Jersey, he preached with his usual power. In that year he first records the signs of decay *-less activity, slower walking uphill, not able to read small print by candlelight, and the memory not so strong. Still, in his eighty-fifth year, he says,† that there is no decay in his hearing, smell, taste, or appetite, nor in his powers of writing, preaching, or travelling. The next year he admits, that "he is now growing old." Other persons remarked it in the greater tendency to drowsiness, and in the decline of strength of limb and memory. Yet his usual work was not interrupted.

*Journal iv. 270.

† Ibid. 391.

Ibid. 409.

He attended the Conference,-kept days of fasting and prayer,-preached to large congregations,-visited Ireland,* and continued his preaching circuits through England.

year

Even then the old man of eighty-five preached twice a day; and at Tanderagee crowds heard him under the shade of spreading trees, with the river's music blending with the melody of truth. In his eighty-seventh he continues to read a variety of works; to step from his chaise into the pulpit; to address crowded congregations, and visit the classes; to travel as far north as Forfar. But now infirmities beset him-"his eyes dim, his right hand shaking,-mouth hot and dry, a lingering fever, and his motions weak and slow." Still he says, "blessed be God, I do not slack my labour. I can preach and write still." I

"I feel no pain from head to foot; only it seems nature is exhausted, and, humanly speaking, will sink more and more, till

The weary springs of life stand still at last."

Yet he preaches and travels, and, having intermitted for a time his five o'clock sermon, he resumes it in his eighty-eighth year, and makes his circuit that autumn from Lincoln to Wilts, and from Somerset to Hants, Sussex, Essex, and the Eastern Counties.

* Journal, iv. 445.

+ Ibid. 443.

Ibid. 458, 470. January and August 1790.

Testimonies of respect now flow in upon him. In his last visit to Norfolk, the clergy crowded to hear him, and the Bishop of Norwich learned with pleasure that Wesley occupied their pulpits.*

On the 24th of October, (1790) he concluded the journal which had been the record of his many movements and pursuits; and, in the middle of the same year, he closed his account-book with this entry, hardly legible, written by his trembling hand,—" For upwards of eighty-six years I have kept my accounts exactly; I will not attempt it any longer, being satisfied with the conviction that I save all I can—that is, all I have." On the 1st of February, 1791, he wound up, in a letter to America, his voluminous correspondence.

One trial harassed his last year, and drew from him some words of remonstrance. In some places the magistrates had attacked the meetings of the Methodists, and fined those, who held them, as guilty under the Conventicle Act; excluding them from the benefit of the Act of Toleration, because they went to church; refusing them a licence, because they were not Dissenters, and then fining them, because they preached without one. A persecution so unjust roused the failing faculties of the old man,† and "a dying man," as he says, "with one foot in the grave," he addresses two letters of dutiful remonstrance to two of the bishops, with all the eloquent energy of his earlier + Moore, 11. 383.

* Journal, iv. 478.

years; and he was planning an appeal to Parliament, when death came to end his labors.

In February 1791, he prepared, as usual, to resume his circuits, and, sending his chaise to Bristol, engaged his place in a coach to Bath. On the 17th however, (Thursday,) he took cold in preaching at Lambeth, but preached at Chelsea on the Friday, and, though too ill to go out on Sunday, he resumed his habits on Monday, dined at Twickenham with a friend, and preached during the following days at the Chapel in the City Road, and at Leatherhead. But these were his last sermons. The silver chord, so long tenacious, at last gave way. On Friday the fever was high, and during that day and the next he dozed. On Sunday, however, he revived, repeated some verses of a favourite hymn, and conversed with his friends. Exhausted by this effort, he followed them earnestly, as they offered up prayer. The words that fell from him were few. He quoted the lines which, in his dangerous illness eight years before at Bristol, had given him comfort, and he referred to his experience then as unchanged. "I have been reflecting, he then said, on my past life; I have been wandering up and down between fifty and sixty years, endeavouring in my poor way to do a little good to my fellow-creatures; and now it is probable that there are but a few steps between me and death; and what have I to trust to for salvation? I can see nothing, which I have done or proposed, that will