sermons at
hand just now, but if I remember right, his remarks on the righteousness
of the Scribes and Pharisees, in his sermon on that subject, are quite
at variance with the statements of Christ.

And Wesley was one of the best, one of the most honest and
conscientious, one of the most single-minded men on the face of the
earth. No man, I imagine, was ever more anxious to be right,--no one was
ever more desirous to know and teach God's truth in all its purity, and
in everything to do God's will and bless mankind. And he knew and chose
the right standard of truth and goodness, and honestly endeavored to
conform to it both in thought and deed and word. Yet he could err in
this strange and wholesale way. What then may we expect from other
theological writers? Many of the theologians whose writings influence
the Church were _not_ very good men; they were selfish, ambitious, proud
and worldly. Some were idle, dreamy, careless, godless. And others, who
were piously disposed, never deliberately adopted the Bible as their
rule of faith and practice. They never set themselves to conform to it,
as the standard of truth and goodness. They adopted or inherited the
faiths or traditions of their predecessors, never suspecting them of
error, and never inquiring whether they were true or not. The idea of
testing or correcting either their way of thinking or their way of
talking on religious subjects, by the teachings of Christ, never entered
their minds. They lived at ease, dreaming rather than thinking, and
talking in their sleep, and filling great folios with their idle
utterances. What kind of thoughts, and what kind of words were we likely
to find in the writings of men like these? Robert Hall is reported to
have described the works of the celebrated John Owen as "A CONTINENT OF
MUD." There are others whose writings might be justly described as
volumes of smoke. Mere wind they are not, but foul, black, blinding
smoke. And writings of this description are published or republished in
great quantities to the present day. And people read them, and fill
themselves with wind and filthy fumes, and wrap themselves in smoky,
pitchy clouds, and go through the world in a spiritual darkness thick
enough to be felt.

This smoke, this blackness and darkness, I could not endure. I was
anxious beyond measure to free myself from its bewildering and blinding
power, and to get into the clear fresh air, and the bright and cheerful
light, of simpl