We have already seen that Wesley was not only urged, but was more than willing, to visit his newly instituted societies in America. Pilmoor was working hard at New York, and Boardman at Philadelphia; a number of negroes had been converted; the work was growing; and the young evangelists--Boardman of seven, and Pilmoor of five years’ standing--wished for advice and help.[85] Wesley had nearly arrived at the age of threescore years and ten; but, if his way had opened, he would have bounded off across the Atlantic with as little anxiety as he was accustomed to trot to the hospitable Perronet home at Shoreham. The obstacles however were insurmountable. There was no one, during his absence, to take his place as superintendent general of the societies in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland; and to this must be added the strong objections of the people to let him go. “If I go to America,” said he, “I must do a thing which I hate as bad as I hate the devil.” “What is that?” asked his friend. “I must keep a _secret_,” he answered; meaning, that he must conceal his purpose, otherwise his societies would interfere, and effectually prevent his going.[86] On the 5th of March, Wesley set out on his journey to the north, which occupied the next five months. Coming to Newbury, he writes: “I had been much importuned to preach here. But where? The Dissenters would not permit me to preach in their meetinghouse. Some were then desirous to hire the old playhouse; but the good mayor would not suffer it to be so profaned! So I made use of a workshop,--a large, commodious place. But it would, by no means, contain the congregation. All that could hear behaved well.” From Newbury, Wesley proceeded to Bristol, Gloucester, Birmingham, and Wednesbury. He then made his way, through Staffordshire and Cheshire, to Manchester, where he arrived at the end of March, and made the following characteristic entry in his journal: “In this journey, as well as in many others, I observed a mistake that almost universally prevails. Near thirty years ago, I was thinking, ‘How is it that no horse ever stumbles while I am reading?’ (History, poetry, and philosophy, I commonly read on horseback, having other employment at other times.) No account can possibly be given but this: because, then I throw the reins on his neck. I then set myself to observe; and I aver, that, in riding above a hundred thousand miles, I scarce ever remember any horse (except two that would fall head over heels any way), to fall, or make a considerable stumble, while I rode with a slack rein. To fancy, therefore, that a tight rein prevents stumbling is a capital blunder. I have repeated the trial more frequently than most men in the kingdom can do. A slack rein will prevent stumbling if anything will. But in some horses nothing can.”