There were seven rooms in the straw-roofed parsonage requiring new furniture, which had to be procured with borrowed money—­a beginning of things that formed a grievous burden for many a day.  The trade of the place consisted chiefly in the dressing of flax, which was extensively grown in the fields of the river-island of Axholme, in-which the village of Epworth stood, with its population of two thousand.  The parsonage shared in this trade; but misfortunes soon came thickly.

A fire broke out (not the one that has become so celebrated) in 1702, and destroyed a third part of the house.  Mrs. Wesley and the children were in the study when the alarm was raised, and “the mother, taking two of them in her arms, rushed through the smoke and flame;” another was with difficulty saved, and happily none were lost.  A year later the rector’s whole crop of flax was consumed.

The famous fire took place in 1709.  According to Mrs. Wesley’s account—­“When we opened the street door, the strong north-east wind drove the flames in with such violence that none could stand against them.  But some of our children got out through the windows, the rest through a little door into the garden.  I was not in a condition to climb up to the windows, neither could I get to the garden door.  I endeavoured three times to force my passage through the street door, but was as often driven back by the fury of the flames.  In this distress I besought our blessed Saviour for help, and then waded through the fire, as I was, which did me no further harm than a little scorching my hands and my face.”  The sequel is of undying interest to the Church and the world.  One sweet child, six years of age, had been left sleeping upstairs:  the father made frantic attempts to reach him by the burning staircase, but in vain, and finally fell on his knees in the passage, solemnly committing the child’s soul to God.

The boy, awaking after some bewilderment with the glare that looked to him as daylight, climbed upon a chest at the window, and was seen.  Men, rightly guided, did not lose the last chance by waiting for a ladder, but, mounting one upon the other’s shoulders, some two or three in this way saved the child, who became the famous John Wesley.

When John had been saved, the father turned to the men who had saved the boy, with the words:  “Come, neighbours, let us kneel down; let us give thanks to God; He has given me all my eight children.  Let the house go; I am rich enough.”

This terrible occurrence was attended by consequences which made the noble Christian mother anxious for her children, in another way.  Being now dispersed among various households of the village for sleeping accommodation, the little ones were, for a time, in danger of those evil communications that corrupt good manners.  From this the kindness of the few who sheltered them could scarcely defend them, for the malice of the many was great against their parish