THE FIRST CORNISH METHODISTS

it was somewhere about the year 1735 there was a stir in St. Gennys. A most unusual thing, for of all the out-of-the-way places in Cornwall—and where else are there so many?—there is scarcely another so hard to get at as St. Gennys. Midway beyond Bude and Boss, perched almost on the edge of the thundering coast, is the little parish church, with its 'church-town' consisting of a single farmhouse. To-day the church is spick and span, fresh from the hands of the restorer. A hundred and fifty years ago it was much more in keeping with its surroundings, grey and weather-stained, patched with dark brown moss and hoary tufts of green and yellow lichen. But still it crouches as of old, together with a few windshorn trees, behind a little hillock as if to save itself from being swept away in the blasts that rush up from the tumbling seas, and go roaring across the moorlands beyond. The tower had been blown down, the blame of which was laid upon the great father of all mischief, and tradition tells how trembling builders toiled might and main, and troubled priests sprinkled plentifully the holy water, muttering spell and charm, and yet each night the prince of darkness hurled their work remorse­lessly to the ground. The church itself was kept from following the tower by an iron bar that stretched from wall to wall and held the fabric together.

There were incidents more or less sensational that stirred the sluggish pool of its existence occasionally, even at St. Gennys. Now a smuggler's encounter with the preventive men, and yet more frequently a wreck on that wild coast. But never before and never since had been so strange a thing as that which befell St. Gennys on the day of which I tell. Old men in homespun, with I knee-breeches and brown stockings, came hobbling on their sticks to talk of it. Women stood in the doorways pretending to clean the wooden platter, and lingering to discuss it. The parson had had a dream, a terrible dream, repeated twice, if not, indeed, three times. On a certain day, clearly made known to him, with startling exactness as to the very hour, and exactly a month from that night, he was to die.

It was the Reverend George Thomson, who belonged to a good old Devonshire family of Brinsworthy, near Barnstaple. He had studied—more or less, probably less—at Oxford from 1716 to 1719. Three years later we find him as curate of Jacobstow, a parish adjoining St. Gennys. Gay, and even dissolute according to some accounts, he found the sober duties of his calling a troublesome burden. With an income that made him fairly independent, and a love of society that fretted for more indulgence than Jacobstow afforded, he soon resigned this charge and sought a more exciting life as chaplain onboard H.M.S. 'Tyger,' and afterwards, it would seem, in a regiment of foot. In 1732, when about thirty-five years of age, Mr. Thomson was presented to the living of St. Gennys, and returned once more to Cornwall, as little fitted as ever for the office he had undertaken. Then came the dream. He woke greatly terrified, only to dream again that he was called before God to account for his wasted life. He sent for the graver of the parishioners and told them of his vision, earnestly entreating their prayers. Then he shut himself up alone to read the Scriptures and to pray for forgiveness. After a fortnight the light dawned and he rejoiced with a great joy in the God of his salvation. With a quiet hope he waited for the appointed hour. The day arrived, and he kneeled in prayer with a company of friends. Then the clock struck; the hour was past, and he was spared.

The next day he gathered the wondering parish together in the church to tell them of the great change he had undergone. The whole parish was stirred. None could speak of anything else. The earnestness of the clergyman became contagious, and a new life spread through the place. Tidings of these doings at St. Gennys reached the adjoining parishes, and were quickly followed by the vicar himself, who could not be content that his own people only should learn of this great and glorious discovery.

So strange a sight—a man in earnest about religion—set the little world around him agape with wonder. Earnestness in business or politics; in grind­ing corn or in hoeing turnips; or even in fox-hunting or smuggling brandy, was common enough and generally commended. But to be earnest in serving God was enthusiasm—which was madness. And they shook their heads solemnly in real concern for Parson Thomson's wits.

His earnest preaching was bearing good fruit, not only amongst the people, but amongst the clergy. Not far from St. Gennys lived the Rev. John Bennet, the curate of no fewer than four parishes, of which two were twelve miles apart. He is led to the knowledge of salvation by Mr. Thomson; catches the fire of his spiritual father, and shares with him alike his earnest work and the episcopal censure that followed.

Through the Orchards of Stoke Abbey, near Hartland, Mr. Thomson first made the acquaintance of one of the Oxford Methodists, James Hervey coming there on a visit in 1738. The good clergymen were not long in finding one another, and their hearts were knit together in a lasting friendship. Now the name of the Wesleys and their work would become known to the vicar, and their coming eagerly looked for. One result, definite and tangible, of that friendship endures to this day; for it was as Hervey was riding into Cornwall to visit his friend at St. Gennys that he turned aside into the church at Kilkhampton, and there, whilst musing on the monuments of the Grenvilles, found the suggestions that led to his 'Meditations among the Tombs; ' and so Mr. Thomson's sister he dedicated the book.

In Hervey's letters we have a pleasant sight of the vicar at home. He stays with him for some weeks, enjoying the scenery from the vicarage, 'on rising ground upon the edge of the ocean, whence I have daily the prospects of the works of the Lord and of His wonders in the deep.' And again Hervey writes of that which was yet more important to the vicar than even the vicarage. 'My dear friend Mr. Thomson has found an amiable partner. Love has joined their hearts; religion has harmonised their tempers, and Providence mixes blessings with their hands.'

In 1743 came Whitfield, and soon after the Wesleys. Mr. Thomson greeted them with characteristic warmth and energy, going with them from place to place through the county. Whitfield was the first to preach at St. Gennys. There, on a bleak November Sunday, whilst the winter winds swept and howled about the little church, the great preacher held the congregation under the spell of his power.

Then comes Charles Wesley in 1744. During this visit a singular incident occurred in one of Mr. Bennet's churches, probably Laneast. It lets us look in upon the ardent and emotional character of the four clergymen, and the freedom at times of even Charles Wesley in his church services. As he denounced the drunken revels of the time, some one of the congregation, a rude and half-drunken fellow, 'contradicted and blasphemed.' The preacher turns upon him sternly: 'Who is he that pleads for the devil?' But the disturber, no-ways abashed, lifts up a brazen face, and answers roundly: 'I am he that pleads for the devil.' Whereupon the preacher, roused to a holy fierce­ness, takes occasion 'to show the revellers their champion,' and drives him confused and frightened out of the place. Then the preacher goes on to cry out against so-called 'harmless diversions:' 'I was by them kept dead to God, asleep in the devil's arms, secure in a state of damnation for eighteen years,' he cried fervently. At once from the midst of the clergymen comes a sudden and irregular response: 'And I for twenty-five,' cries Mr. Meriton, a travelling companion of Mr. Wesley's. Then out rolls the trembling voice of Parson Thomson, 'And I for over forty.' The interruption ends with the tremulous voice of the aged curate, moving every heart, as with lowliness and grief he adds: ' And I for above seventy.'

During the next year John Wesley arrives at St. Gennys, getting over the ground at a very rapid rate. 'We left Bristol early on Friday, 14th [June, 1745], and on Sunday morning reached St. Gennys.' The entry in the 'Journal' is rather a cold one: 'The church was moderately filled with serious hearers, but few of them appeared to feel what they heard. I preached both morning and afternoon and on Monday evening, and many assented to and approved of the truth.'

Parson Thomson, as the bits of history piece themselves before us, begins to appear to us somewhat definitely. A man above the average height, and fresh-coloured; with the well-bred, easy manners inherited from the good old Devonshire family, not in any wise spoiled by a pleasant trace of the Devon­shire dialect; a vehement manner; and the seafaring life has left that genial honesty and outspokenness which let any eye look into the soul. Mr. Thomson's influence afforded Mr. Wesley an opportunity, perhaps a treat, that he I did not often enjoy. There were at least four other churches thrown open to him within a few miles of St. Gennys. In the church at Week St. Mary he preaches to a large congregation. Tresmere Church is filled 'within and without,' and Laneast and North Tamerton are at his service.

Mr. Thomson goes with Mr. Wesley further West. It was one of his most eventful visits to the county, and the vicar would have an opportunity of seeing the earnestness and courage of the great Evangelist and his prodigious power of work. As they come to Redruth, they hear that Mr. Maxfield, the first of the Lay Preachers, has been taken by the magistrates' orders and led away in custody. They at once go in search of him—to Crowan and two miles beyond, where they find the prisoner in the keeping of one Henry Tomkins.

'Here we found him,' writes Mr. Wesley, 'nothing terrified by his adversaries. I desired Henry Tomkins to show me the warrant. It was directed by Dr. Borlase and his father and Mr. Eustick to the constables and overseers of several parishes, requiring them to "apprehend all such able-bodied men as had no lawful calling or sufficient maintenance;" and to bring them before the aforesaid gentlemen at Marazion on Friday, 21st, to be examined whether they were proper persons to serve his Majesty in the land service.

'It was endorsed (by the Steward of Sir John St. Aubyn) with the names of seven or eight persons, most of whom were well known to have lawful callings and a sufficient maintenance thereby. But that was all one. They were called Methodists; therefore soldiers they must be. Underneath was added: "A person, his name unknown, who disturbs the peace of the parish."

'A word to the wise! The good men easily understood this could be none but the Methodist Preacher; for who "disturbs the peace of a parish" like one who tells all drunkards and common swearers: "You are in the high-road to hell"?'

As they rode from the house some fifty rough fellows began throwing stones at them, but only Mr. Thomson's servant was struck. They went on to Marazion to appeal for their friend Maxfield, but were craftily put off until the case was over. He had been ordered to be put on board a boat and 'carried for Penzance.' There he was offered to the captain of a man-of-war who had just come into the harbour. But the captain declined: 'I have no authority to take such men as these, unless you would have me give him so much a week to preach and pray to my people.' Then the Mayor reluctantly put him into the dungeon. So they could do no more for their poor friend. Next comes this entry:

'Saturday, 22nd.—We reached St. Ives about two in the morning. At five I preached on "Love your enemies;" and at Gwennap in the evening on "All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution."'

Now came Sunday, and the good vicar must have longed for some little rest after so much excitement and weariness. This is the entry in the 'Journal' for that 23rd day of June:

'I preached in Gwennap at five [then as rough a ride as could be found in the county], and about eight at Stithians, to a large and quiet congregation. Thence we went to Wendron Church. [Dinner was found somewhere, let us hope.] At two I preached a mile and a half from the church, under a large shady tree, on part of the Epistle for that day, "Marvel not if the world hate you." [Then out into the glare of the sunshine again, and right into the camp of the enemy.] At five I began at Crowan, the headquarters of the people that delight in war. While I was expounding part of the Second Morning Lesson, Captain R——ds came with a party of men, ready for battle. But their master riding away in two or three minutes, their countenance quickly fell. One and another stole off his hat, till they were all uncovered; nor did they either move or speak till I had finished my discourse. [Then the long day is finished with a pleasant ride by the sea on that June evening.] We rode hence to St. Ives.'

One more incident during that memorable visit in the West would not be forgotten by the good vicar of St. Gennys:

'Tuesday, 25.—We rode to St. Just. I preached at seven to the largest congregation I have seen since my coming. . . . When the preaching was ended, the constable apprehended Edward Greenfield (by a warrant from Dr. Borlase), a tinner, in the forty-sixth year of his age, having a wife and seven children. Three years ago he was eminent for cursing, swearing, drunkenness and all manner of wickedness; but those old things had been for some time passed away; and he was then remarkable for a quite contrary behaviour. I asked a little gentleman at St. Just what objection there was to Edward Greenfield. He said, "Why, the man is well enough in other things; but his impudence the gentlemen cannot bear. Why, sir, he says he knows his sins are forgiven!"'

Then comes the entry, 'Friday, 28th: Mr. Thomson and Bennet returned home.' Had they remained a week later, they would have witnessed an event at Falmouth that made this visit of Mr. Wesley even yet more remarkable. His deliverance from the riotous mob at Falmouth impressed him more than any other similar escape of his life. 'I never saw before, no, not at Walsall itself, the hand of God so plainly shown as here.'

As Mr. Wesley returns from the West, the good vicar and curate meet him, and they rejoice together in showers of blessing. 'I never remember so great an awakening in Cornwall, wrought in so short a time, among young and old, rich and poor, from Trewint quite to the sea-side.' Mr. Wesley delights in the quiet services of these churches after the turmoil and disturbances of the mob. 'I preached between four and five' (at his friend Digory Isbel's), at Trewint, 'and then went on to Laneast church, where I read prayers and preached. Oh, how pleasant a thing is even outward peace! What would not a man give for it, but a good conscience!'

He spends an evening with Mr. Thomson at his Brynsworthy residence in North Devon, and then crosses to Wales.

In 1746 Charles Wesley again visits Cornwall, preaching for his old friend Mr. Bennet of Tresmere, and staying with good Parson Thomson at St. Gennys.

The friendship of the vicar with the Wesleys and their preachers, so publicly avowed, began now to expose him to the noisy censure of the other clerics. A report reaches Hervey that Parson Thomson is summoned to Exeter to appear before Bishop Claggett, there 'to give an account of his behaviour and zeal!'—a thing so intolerably offensive in religion; 'and that all the pulpits are shut against him.' ('Life of the Countess of Huntingdon,' vol. i. p.126.) And Lavington, Claggett's successor in the Bishopric, was not likely to suffer so prominent a Methodist to go unrebuked. His rage against the Wesleys swept over all the bounds of courtesy and even decency, and led to virulent attacks on them. Lavington had some reason certainly for being annoyed. As soon as he had given his first episcopal charge to the clergy, a manuscript was circulated professing to be a copy of the Bishop's address. In it his lordship was represented as a friend and admirer of the Wesleys, and was made to talk as if he were full of all the earnest spirituality of an ardent Methodist. This pretended charge was printed, and the fashionable world was horrified to find that a bishop, and such a bishop, had fallen thus—had actually joined himself to this vulgar people! Lavington was beside himself with rage, and charged Whitefield and the Wesleys with being the authors of the pre­tended address. Through the influence of the Countess of Huntingdon he was compelled to withdraw this, but the hatred remained; and of the many bitter antagonists to the Methodist leaders and their work, one of the fiercest and most unscrupulous, for a time at least, was this Bishop Lavington, who had a griev­ance but laid it at the wrong door.

From such a man good Parson Thomson could expect no quarter. On July 24, 1749, the new Bishop, in the course of his primary visitation, reached Launceston. The vicar of St. Gennys is charged with having preached outside his parish and in unlicensed places. To that the vicar without further ado pleads guilty; and is monished to confine his preaching henceforth to his own church, under threat of pains and penalties. Whitefield, who came westward a few days after, preserves a much more lively scene, in which the angry Bishop was met with a spirit and courage such as he had not expected. His lordship had threatened fiercely that he would strip off the vicar's gown if he had more dealings with this people. Whereupon the sturdy parson sprang up and took it off himself, and flung it at the Bishop's feet, telling him that he could preach the Gospel without that as well as with it; and so away. Whereupon his lordship, finding what manner of man he had to do with, sent to fetch him back, and henceforth dealt with him more gently.

From this time Mr. Thomson's name seldom appears in the 'Journals.' We find him assisting Charles Wesley at 'The Foundery' on a Sunday in May, but the year is doubtful. The friendship with Whitefield indicates a growing oneness with the Calvinistic branch of Methodism. In March 1750, Whitefield is at Plymouth. He is met there by Mr. Thomson and another clergyman, and Mr. Grigg, who accompany him to Cornwall. On the Sunday after, Whitefield preached at the little church at St. Gennys, and writes of the service in his usual glowing style: 'Four of Mr. Wesley's preachers were present, and also four clergymen in their gowns and cassocks, Mr. Bennet, aged fourscore, Mr. Thomson, Mr. Grigg, and myself. And here, as throughout that Cornish tour, the stately steps of the Redeemer were seen.' Whitefield's letter affords us a pleasant glance at the vicar: 'Mr. Thomson is mighty hearty, and is gone to his parish in a Gospel flame.' We picture him jogging on his stout cob, attended by his man, who carries a lively recollection of Methodism in the West; making his way over those bleak moors, or climbing the rough hills: a man frank, genial, hearty, with a freedom of speech and manner that was not common in those graver times. One is almost shocked to find him described in the Countess of Huntingdon's Memoirs as 'a man of jocular discourse.'

Our sources of information now become closed to us one by one. Mr. Wesley turns aside no more for thirty years to stay at St. Gennys. Hervey's death in 1758, and Whitefield's removal to America, close their connection with him. In 1750, or soon afterwards, his neighbour, Mr. Bennet, passed away. In August of that year Mr. Wesley preaches at Tresmere Church, and stays with the aged curate, most likely at Tregeare. He gives us the last glimpse of the good old man: 'In the evening, Mr. Bennet, now full of days, and by swift steps removing into eternity, read prayers in Tresmere Church, and I preached on our "great High Priest, Jesus the Son of God." Tuesday, 28th, he desired me to preach in his church at (North) Tamerton; but when we came we found no notice had been given, and the key of the church was a mile off; so I preached in a large room adjoining to it.' With Mr. Bennet was removed another link which had held Mr. Wesley on his coming or going into the county, for henceforth these churches would be no longer at his service. In the register at St. Gennys there is a record of the marriage of Mr. Thomson to Miss Honor Elliott in 1757. Some account of the good vicar states that he joined the Moravians though he still retained his living; and, moreover, that his eyesight failed for some time previous to his death. These statements can now, perhaps, neither be confirmed nor contradicted.

In an entry of the 'Journal' Mr. Wesley gives a later interview with the good parson. 'I found Mr. Thomson just alive, but quite sensible. It seemed to me as if none in the house but himself was very glad to see me. He desired me to administer the Lord's Supper, which I willingly did; and I left him much happier than I found him, calmly waiting till his change should come.' Mr. Thomson lingered for two months after Mr. Wesley's visit. He died November 12, 1782, and was buried at Barnstaple. Hervey alludes to two daughters of his, but by their initials only, Miss 'B.' and Miss 'C.' The register at St. Gennys contains no reference to either the first wife or these children.

Some contemporary writers speak of him as possessing 'a good poetical turn;' and a volume of his religious effusions was published, without his name, by the Rev. Samuel Furley, of Roche. They are quaint rhymes, much in the style of good old Berridge, of which the pious sentiment is often more to be commended than the poetry. The old man, 'of lively passions and apt to be jocular,' as the editor states in his preface; 'of excellent temper and humble spirit,' as Hervey writes; of warm and zealous devotion to his Heavenly Master, as we have seen—lived a fairer and brighter poem than he could write. His life was a happy hymn sung to the glory of the Lord.

There is a very pleasant incident related of the good parson in the 'Methodist Magazine' for 1816, in which he appears the same genial, hearty generous man: —

'It was the custom of this truly Apostolic pastor every year at the close of harvest to distribute the surplus of his glebe amongst the poor of his parish, after housing first the necessary supply of his own little household, which con­sisted but of himself, a man-servant, and an old female housekeeper. It so happened, however, that one year a peculiar circumstance occurred, which compelled him to depart from his usual plan. He had engaged, in the openness and generosity of his heart, to subscribe thirty pounds toward the expense of building a chapel in a distant town, where the parishioners were too numerous to be well accommodated in the parish church. Unable to raise the money by any other means, he had to sell what heretofore he had alway given away. Instead, therefore, of calling his poor together, as usual, to take from his field, he had to invite the richer ones to buy as much corn as would supply the thirty pounds. The expedient was very painful, but the obligation seemed unavoidable.

'Having thus obtained the money, Mr. Thomson left his home, bearing with him his benefaction. In his journey, which was about twenty miles, he overtook on the road a young lady on horseback; and, being a man of very cheerful and communicative manners, he accosted her with a degree of frankness which his age and profession might be supposed to authorise. "Well overtaken, fair lady," said he. "Will you accept of an old man over the down for your companion? I am too old, indeed, to promise you much protection, but I trust God will protect us both." The young lady thanked him, and accepted his company. As they went on together (for they found they were both going to the same town), he told her his name, what a happy village of poor people his was, and how dear the parishioners were to him. When they arrived at the town and were about to part, Mr. Thomson told her of the friend to whose house he was going, expressing at the same time his wish that he might see her again. The young lady was so much pleased with her com­panion of the road, that the same evening, in the course of conversation with her friends, to whom she was come on a visit, she could not help relating thr circumstance respecting "the very agreeable old clergyman she had met, of the name of Thomson," and with how many pleasant subjects he had entertained her. "Thomson!" cried the lady of the house; "I wonder whether he is related to the Captain Thomson we have been so many years inquiring for in vain. I have thirty pounds tied up in a bag by my late husband, due to the Captain, who ordered it to be left till called for. I suppose the Captain is dead, and his executor knows nothing of it." "Who can tell," answered the young lady, "whether this may not be the very man? Suppose we send to call him I hither." The lady of the house consented to do so; despatched a servant requesting the favour of his company, with which the good old man im­mediately complied.

'In the course of conversation the lady of the house said she heard his name was Thomson. Did he happen to know anything of a Captain Thomson who was in the East India Service? "Yes," said the old gentleman, "for he was my brother." And he began to relate such circumstances of him as rendered the matter unquestionable. The lady was rejoiced at the discovery.

"My late husband bought a small garden from Captain Thomson, and the Captain hastening to sea before he had received the money, it was put into a bag waiting the Captain's return. But this never took place; and, at my husband's death, he left a strict charge to keep the money ready for him whenever he should call."

'Mr. Thomson was amazed at the discovery, his brother having been dead many years, and himself the only surviving relative and the executor.

'So soon as the lady of the house put the bag containing the thirty pounds into his hand, he could not refrain before them all from breaking into expressions of devout gratitude to God; and, falling upon his knees, he exclaimed: “Blessed be God! How gracious, how wonderful, thus to provide for my poor people!" He hastened home to his friend to inform him of what had happened, with his soul so full of joy that he could only exclaim: "Praise God for ever! Our God is a faithful God."

mark guy pearse.

Extracted from The Cornish Magazine, Vol. II, pp67-75, January 1899.