Divine Providence seems to indicate that some men are ordained or set apart to celibacy; that the special work to which they are particularly called is such as to make it necessary that they should abstain from that otherwise legal, sacred, and highly honorable conjugal relation. Not that this duty is restricted to any order of the clergy—as in the Romish Church—but to particular persons in all the Churches who are divinely selected for special work. This was the case with Elijah and Elisha, with John the Baptist and St. Paul. To John Wesley in the Old World, and Bishop Asbury in the New, Providence seems to have indicated this course of life, though Wesley was slow to see it, and did not until his sad experience made it clear to him.

Though the world was his parish, he had a heart of love which craved deep, pure, soul companionship. He was made to love. Though he was a lamb in gentleness, he was a lion in courage. He was as daring as Richard the Lion-hearted, or as Ney or Murat, in the battle, yet he had a heart as simple as a child and as affectionate as an angel. He loved everybody. He was strongly attached to his mother, his sisters, and brothers. He clung ardently to his old associates, though they sometimes ill-treated him. With such a man a homeless, single life could only be submitted to under a sense of imperative duty.

After forty-seven years of single life, being of the opinion that he could be more useful in the married life than to remain single, and after first consulting his lifelong friend, Rev. Mr. Perronet, vicar of Shoreham, who fully approved his course, he then looked about to see who was a suitable person to become his helpmate. After a time he firmly believed he had found the proper one in the person of Mrs. Grace Murray, of Newcastle. She was the widow of Alexander Murray, of Scotland.

Mrs. Murray had been converted, while on a visit to London, under the ministry of Mr. Whitefield and the Wesleys. She at once joined the Methodists, abandoned all worldly and fashionable society, and devoted herself to the cause of God. It is true she was not allied to the aristocracy, and her husband followed the sea. Her husband, when he learned of her change, became greatly enraged, thinking all his pleasures were at an end, and threatened, if she did not abandon the Methodists and return to her former course of life, that he would commit her to the madhouse. This nearly broke her heart, and under its influence she became prostrated and sick nigh unto death. Her husband, seeing the effects of his treatment, relented, and invited the Methodists to come to his house and pray for his dying wife. Under a change of treatment, and the blessing of God, she recovered. The husband soon after left for a sea voyage, was taken sick, died, and was buried in the ocean. She sadly mourned his untimely death, for, in the main, he was a kind husband.

It was about this time that Mr. Wesley became acquainted with her, and recognized in her a valuable helper. She seems to have been a charming lady. Her deep piety, simplicity of character, amiable disposition, remarkable zeal, and active charity attracted his attention. He maintained at Newcastle a Preachers' House for himself and his preachers while in the city. He had there, also, an asylum for orphans and widows, for whom he made provision. Over this institution he installed Mrs. Murray as housekeeper. Finding her admirably suited to this work, especially among females, he appointed her class leader. She then, under his direction, visited the female classes in Bristol, London, etc. Her duty was to regulate the classes, organize female bands, and inspire her sisters to deeper piety and more active benevolence. Her devotion and unassuming manners won the affection of the people. They hailed her coming with a thousand welcomes, and parted with her with regret.

Mr. Wesley observed her spirit and labors, and began to feel that she was the providential companion for him—a real helpmate. Her tastes, temperament, and mission seemed to be one with his own. Without hesitation or reserve he offered her his hand. It was accepted with great cheerfulness. She declared herself ready to go with him to the ends of the earth, and esteemed it a great honor to be allied to him.

The marriage was to be celebrated in October, 1749. But on the first day of that month he met Charles Wesley and Mr. Whitefield at Leeds, and received the astounding intelligence from them that Grace Murray was married the night before, at Newcastle, to John Bennett—one of Wesley's preachers—and that they had been present and witnessed the marriage ceremony.

This singular affair has never been satisfactorily explained. It is evident that Charles Wesley and Mr. Whitefield for some cause encouraged the marriage of Mrs. Murray with Mr. Bennett; but what their motive could have been is not known. Several reasons have been given, but none seem worthy of the men. Whatever their motive, it must be acknowledged to have been entirely unjustifiable. The conduct of the lady was equally inexplicable, and must ever remain so.

In this trying affair we cannot but admire the conduct of Mr. Wesley. Knowing the part that Mr. Whitefield had taken in the matter, he went the next morning to hear him preach, and speaks in high terms of his sermon. The day following he preached himself at Leeds in the morning, and in the afternoon met Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, and of the meeting he writes to a friend, "Such a scene I think you never saw." They never met again, except in London in 1788, when Mr. Wesley was eighty-five years of age, and when Mrs. Bennett had been a widow for nearly twenty-nine years. The meeting was brief, and no mention was made of former years.

Mr. Bennett was treated by Mr. Wesley with the utmost kindness. He, however, became an enemy of Mr. Wesley, withdrew from the Connection, and joined the Calvinists. He lived ten years, and died, leaving Mrs. Bennett a widow with five children, the eldest not eight years old. She lived a widow for nearly forty-four years. She subsequently returned to the Wesleyan Methodists, held class meetings in her house, and had the reputation of being a woman of excellent character and deep piety. She died February 23, 1803. Her last words were, "Glory be to thee, my God; peace thou givest." Dr. Bunting preached her funeral sermon. Whoever reads Mr. Tyerman's account of these events should also read Dr. Rigg's Living Wesley, in order to get an unbiased account of this transaction.

Mr. Wesley, baffled in his first attempt, and still believing it was his duty to marry, made a second effort; and this time he offered his hand to Mrs. Vazeille, the widow of a London merchant. She readily accepted the proposal, and the marriage was at once consummated. Says a recent writer, "He married a widow, and caught a tartar." She was a lady of independent fortune, with four children. Mr. Wesley declined to have anything to do with her wealth, and had it all settled upon herself and her children.

She was a woman of good standing in society, and was supposed to be a suitable person for the position she assumed. She was agreeable in person and quite faultless in manner, and could easily make herself useful to all classes. But appearances are said to be deceptive; at least it proved so in this case. She seems to have possessed a temper which, when aroused, was utterly uncontrollable.

Not four months of married life had passed before she began to complain of her husband. Before their marriage she agreed that he should not be expected to travel a mile less, or preach one sermon less, than before their union. But now she began to complain of everything—long journeys, bad roads, and poor fare. She was not willing to remain at home, for then she was without the attention she had a right to receive; and when he was at home he was preaching two or three times a day, visiting the sick, looking after the societies, and carrying on extensive correspondence.

From fancying herself neglected by her husband she became jealous of him—a most absurd and insane idea. But on this her insanity knew no bounds. She is said to have traveled a hundred miles in order to intercept him at some town, and watch from a window to ascertain who might be in the carriage with him. She went so far as to open his private letters and abstract his papers and place them in the hands of those who would use them to his damage. She would add to his letters—usually those from his female correspondents—to make them appear to contain words of questionable character. She used the newspapers to blacken his reputation. She went so far at times as to lay violent hands upon him, tear his hair, and otherwise abuse him. Said Mr. Hampson (who was not one of Mr. Wesley's warmest friends) to his son one day: "Jack, I was once on the point of committing murder. When I was in the north of Ireland I went into a room, and found Mrs. Wesley flaming with fury. Her husband was on the floor, where she had been trailing him by the hair of his head; she herself was still holding in her hand venerable locks which she had plucked up by the roots. I felt," said the gigantic Hampson, "as though I could have knocked the soul out of her." Even Southey says: "Fain would she have made him, like Mark Antony, give up all for love; and, being disappointed in that hope, she tormented him in such a manner by her outrageous jealousy and abominable temper that she deserved to be classed in a triad with Xantippe and the wife of Job as one of the three bad wives." But finally she gathered up a quantity of his journals and other papers and left him, never to return. The only record which the good man makes is this: "I did not forsake her; I did not dismiss her; I will not recall her."

Wesley may not have been in all respects in this matter faultless. But no one could ever affirm that he was wanting in genuine affection. Charles Wesley, who knew the inwardness of all John's domestic troubles, affirms that "nothing could surpass my brother's patience with his perverse, peevish spouse."

Mrs. Wesley died in 1781, and the church people had it inscribed upon her tombstone that she was "a woman of exemplary piety." "But," says the late Professor Sheppard, "you know a tombstone is like a corporation—it has no body to be burned, and no soul to be damned."