sometimes explain to the assembled guests what a great and splendid
man her first husband was.

But worst of all, she took Wesley's faithful saddle-horse "Timothy,"
and hitched him alongside of a horse of her own to a chaise, with a
postboy in a red suit on his back, tooting a horn.

Poor Wesley groaned, and inwardly said, "It is a trial sent by God--I
must bear it all."

Finally the woman renounced him and left for Scotland. He then stole
his own horse from her stable, and rode away as in the good old days.
But alas! in a month she was on his trail. She caught up with him at
Birmingham and fell on his neck, after the service, explaining that
she was Mrs. John Wesley. The poor man could neither deny it nor run
away, without making a scene, and so she accompanied him to his
lodgings.

Her protests of reformation vanished in a week, and the marks of her
nails were again on his fine face. This program was kept up for
thirty-one years, with all the variations possible to a jealous woman,
who had an income sufficient to allow her to indulge her vagaries and
still move in good society. On October Fourteenth, Seventeen Hundred
Eighty-one, Wesley wrote in his Journal, "I am told my wife died
Monday and was buried on this evening."

Wesley once wrote to Asbury, "She has cut short my life full twenty
years." If this were true, one can see how Wesley would otherwise have
made the century run. However, Wesley was right: it was not all bad;
the Law of Compensation never sleeps, and as a result of his