BX 9225 .W4 G63 1901 
 Gledstone, James Paterson 
 George Whitefield, M. A., 
 field preacher 
 
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George Whitefield 
 
 M.A., Field-Preacher 
 
 By JAMES 
 
 PATERSON GLEDSTONE 
 
 ' Every one hath his proper gift. 
 Field- Preaching is my plan; 
 In this I am carried as on eagles' wings 
 God makes way for me everywhere ' 
 
 SECOXD EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK : AMERICAN 
 TRACT SOCIETY x*x 150 
 NASSAU STREET 1901 
 
MY WIFE, 
 
 AND 
 TO MY DAUGHTER 
 
 MAY, 
 
 MY FELLOW-HELPERS 
 IN MAKING THIS LOOK 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE favourable reception which was given to my ' Life 
 and Travels of George Whitefield ' published in 1S71, 
 now long out of print, 1 and the need that was felt in certain 
 quarters for a briefer life of the great field-preacher, which 
 nevertheless should be full, though without excess of detail, 
 have led me to prepare this book. The main idea is the same 
 in both books, viz. : 'To reveal a great heart, stirred with the 
 purest emotion, ever desiring absolute perfection in goodness 
 and unintermittingly seeking it, resolved to leave nothing 
 undone by which others might become partakers with itself of 
 the great salvation, and impatient of all impediments, whether 
 ecclesiastical or social, that threatened the consummation of 
 its hopes.' 
 
 I. The greatness of Whitefield's labours is not easily realised, 
 and not even a three-volume life could outline it. One 
 month's labours are recorded in this brief sentence — 'he 
 preached to ten thousand persons every day for twenty-eight / 
 days.' That fact will bear a great deal of analysing. The 
 far-reaching influence of his preaching can only be imagined 
 by remembering that his vast congregations were often 
 gathered together in thinly populated districts — e.g. Haworth 
 
 ' See extracts from some reviews at the end of this volume. 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 on the Yorkshire moors, Cambuslang the Scotch village, the 
 backwoods of the American settlements — persons coming 
 long distances, at great cost of time and trouble, to hear 
 him. He said of his forest-preaching — ■' I am hunting after 
 poor sinners in these ungospelized wilds. People are willing 
 to hear, and I am willing to preach.' He mounted his horse, 
 and rode to a point where he and they could come into 
 contact. 
 
 II. It will be noticed that, although Calvinism is generally 
 supposed to have a deadening influence upon the hearts of its 
 disciples, Whitefield was always aggressive and in advance of 
 his brethren in the adoption of new methods of doing good. 
 
 i He led the way in field-preaching, in the employment of 
 ' laymen as preachers, in organising the new Welsh converts 
 into a General Association of Methodists, and he seems also 
 to have been the first to prepare a hymn-book for his congre- 
 gation at the Tabernacle. He was a pathfinder. His zeal, 
 courage, and faith kept him foremost. 
 
 III. Some suggestion may be found in this life as to the 
 relation of evangelistic to pastoral work. Whitefield was 
 frequently invited to labour in given districts ; and, in the 
 main, with very satisfactory results. It is true that his work 
 was fiercely assailed, and that he passed through a storm of 
 obloquy, but it is also true that the storm abated towards the 
 close of his life, and that his opponents and he came nearer 
 together. They had been stirred by his contagious zeal, and 
 both he and they had mellowed in charity. In multitudes of 
 instances he went uninvited, and his work, done on the race- 
 course, in the field, or in the market-place, just left its results 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 for the settled pastor to gather ; which was perhaps the easiest 
 method. 
 
 IV. The ethical value of his work was individualistic during 
 his life ; the social and political appeared afterwards. He 
 worked for the units ; the units in their aggregation must 
 work for the body politic. It were as idle and unjust to 
 blame him for not personally inaugurating large reforms as to 
 blame the Apostle Paul for not procuring the franchise for 
 Roman Christians. He was in the line of progress, and his 
 labours continue in new forms of usefulness. He aimed at 
 making new men, the new men must make the new State. / 
 And no doubt the social and political and international 
 success of Christianity would come sooner and be greater 
 were Christians to labour more zealously for personal conver- 
 sions. To get a man a new home is a good thing ; to get him 
 
 a new heart is better. ' This ought ye to do, and not to leave 
 the other undone.' 
 
 V. No careful student of his life will conclude that he had 
 no formative influence because he was neither a constructive 
 theologian nor the founder of a sect. He was more and 
 better than either of these. He was the means of calling 
 multitudes from death unto life ; and then they formed them- 
 selves into societies and churches as they saw best. In the 
 coming days of Church union it may appear that the greatest 
 heart of the evangelical movement was far before his time, 
 when, as a young man of twenty-seven, he said :— ' I am 
 persuaded there is no such form of Church government 
 prescribed in the book of God as excludes a toleration of all 
 other forms whatsoever.' ' O that the power of religion may 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 revive ! Nothing but that can break down the partition wall 
 of bigotry.' Or, in other words, nothing but that can unite 
 Christians as such. Is not that the ideal of Christian fellow- 
 ship toward which all the churches are moving ? As regards 
 sectarianism YVhitefield was a centrifugal force, as regards 
 true Christian union he was centripetal. He lived for the 
 larger idea as it is to be realised and embodied by love. 
 
 VI. The secret of Whitefield's marvellous influence has 
 been and always will be a problem of absorbing interest. It 
 cannot be given on the page of a book, but might perhaps be 
 discovered by one who should reverently, prayerfully, and 
 sympathetically travel with him day by day through his 
 mighty labours for the salvation of souls, and watch with him 
 in his hours and days of prayer. A rapid reading of this or 
 of any other book will not discover it. Imagination, sympathy, 
 fellowship, and imitation must be employed. He was a 
 " mystic. His was a 'life hid with Christ in God,' pouring 
 itself out in loving service through an organism perfectly 
 adapted to the work of preaching. As his oratorical genius 
 was in full bloom as soon as he began to preach, so also was 
 he wholly consecrated to the will of God and filled with the 
 Spirit from the time of his new birth. The outward demon- 
 stration never exceeded the inward reality, hence there never 
 was a halt, never a break, never a decline. ' He went from 
 strength to strength, until he appeared before God in Zion.' 
 
 As we read the fierce and scornful language in which he was 
 
 i « assailed from so many quarters, and notice, on the other side, 
 
 the multitudes of all classes, including crowds of the aristocracy, 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 some of them Christians of the warmest devotion, who came 
 to hear him, it suggests the inquiry whether, by all the means 
 used, the English people, rich and poor, but especially the 
 titled, are as deeply and as widely influenced by the gospel 
 now as they were a hundred and fifty years ago. If the 
 intensity of the hatred and opposition directed against him 
 accurately indicated the enormous influence which he 
 wielded, as it certainly did, is the prevalent indifference of 
 to-day to the preaching of the gospel the measure of the 
 feebleness that is neglected ? One thing is certain : the 
 whole Church of God needs a fresh baptism of the Holy 
 Spirit ; and thankful shall we be, if it be soon given. 
 
 Let me add a word of sincere thanks to my friend the 
 
 Rev. G. A. Suttle, the Minister of Tottenham Court Chapel, 
 
 fur many valuable services given to me in the preparation of 
 
 this book ; to Mr. Robson and Mr. Casstine, of the Homes for 
 
 Little Boys, Swanley, for the pains they took to obtain the 
 
 beautiful photograph (p. 300) of a medallion of Whitefield in 
 
 my possession; to Mr. J. Thomson, of Grosvenor Street, VV., 
 
 for the excellent reproduction of a very rare full-length portrait 
 
 of Whitefield when he was twenty-nine years of age, painted 
 
 by Francis Kyte ; and to Mrs. Bellows, of Gloucester, for 
 
 procuring me an etching of the Bell Inn, Gloucester, as it was 
 
 in ^Vhiteiield's time. 
 
 J. P. G. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 I714-I735- 
 
 PAGE 
 HIS PARENTAGE ANT) CHILDHOOD— AT OXFORD -AMONG THE 
 
 METHODISTS— HIS CONVERSION .... I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 1736. 
 
 HIS ORDINATION AS DEACON — ESSAYS IN PREACHING . . 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 March, 1737— March, 1738. 
 
 APPOINTED CHAPLAIN TO THE GEORGIAN COLONY — EARLY 
 
 POPULARITY — FIRST VOYAGE . . . . 40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 1738. 
 
 ROUGH EXPERIENCES IN GEORGIA — SECOND VOYAGE . . 59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 December, 1738 April, 1739. 
 
 FETTER LANE MEETINGS — ORDAINED PRIEST— EXPELLED THE 
 
 CHCRCHES — OPEN-AIK PREACHING . . , . 6S 
 
xii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHATTER VI. 
 May to August, 1739. 
 
 IN MOORFIELDS— ON COMMONS— AT FAIRS AND RACES . . 89 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 August, 1739 — March, 1741. 
 
 THIRD VOYAGE — ITINERATING IN AMERICA — FOURTH VOYAGE — 
 
 BREACH WITH WESLEY . . . . .112 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 March, 1741— August, 1744. 
 
 LOSS OF POPULARITY — FIRST VISIT TO SCOTLAND- CONDUCT OF 
 
 THE DISSENTERS ...... l66 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 August, 1744— July, 1748. 
 
 FIFTH VOYAGE— ADVENTURES AND CONTROVERSIES— WANDERINGS 
 
 IN AMERICA — INVALIDED IN BERMUDAS — SIXTH VOYAGE . 225 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 July, 1748-1752. 
 
 APPOINTED CHAPLAIN TO THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON — 
 
 A SLAVE-OWNER — STONED BEFORE A BISHOP . . . 245 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 1753-1770. 
 
 chapel-building — attacks by enemies —infirmities — his 
 
 death— the results of his work .... 287 
 
 Index . , , , . . . -35' 
 
CHAPTER I 
 1714-1735 
 
 HIS PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD — AT OXFORD AMONG THE 
 
 METHODISTS — HIS CONVERSION 
 
 THE Rev. Samuel Whitefield, a clergyman of the Church 
 of England, who first held a living in Wiltshire, and 
 afterwards one at Rockhampton, in Gloucestershire, was the 
 great-grandfather of George Whitefield. Samuel Whitefield 
 had five daughters — two of whom were married to clergymen — 
 and two sons, one of whom, named after his father, succeeded 
 to the living at Rockhampton. The other son, Andrew, 
 described as ' a private gentleman,' had a family of fourteen 
 children, the eldest of whom was Thomas. Thomas was 
 established as a wine-merchant in Bristol, where he married 
 Elizabeth Edwards, of that city ; afterwards they removed to 
 Gloucester to keep the Bell Inn, now the Bell Hotel. They 
 had seven children — one daughter and six sons ; their youngest, 
 George, was born in the Bell Inn on December 16th, O.S. 
 (December 27th, N.S.), 1714. Some time about Christmas, 
 1 7 16, the father died, and his fair-haired little boy was left 
 without one remembrance of him. The mother had a tender, 
 faithful heart, commendable prudence, a great desire for the 
 welfare of her children, and much willingness to deny herself 
 
 2 l 
 
2 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 for their sakes. George always held her in reverent affection. 
 With the fondness of a mother for her last-born, she used to 
 tell him that, even when he was an infant, she always expected 
 more comfort from him than from any other of her children. 
 
 Only one event of Whitefield's early childhood is on record. 
 When he was about four years of age he had the measles, and 
 through the ignorance or neglect of his nurse the disease left 
 one of his eyes — dark blue they were, and lively — with a 
 squint, which, however, is said not to have marred the extreme 
 sweetness of his countenance, nor diminished the charm of his 
 glance. That defective eye obtained for him in later years 
 
 \ i among scoffers and railers the nickname of ' Dr. Squintum.' 
 Circumstances were not very favourable to the formation of 
 a noble character in the boy. He says that he 'soon gave 
 pregnant proofs of an impudent temper.' He fell into some 
 of the worst of juvenile sins ; occasionally he transgressed in a 
 more marked way. As Augustine deceived his tutor, masters, 
 and parents with falsehoods, so that he might get off to shows 
 and plays, and also committed thefts from his parents' cellar 
 and table, so Whitefield stained his childhood with lying, evil- 
 speaking, and petty thefts, which he perpetrated on his mother 
 by taking money out of her pocket before she was up ; this he 
 
 ' thought, at the time, was no theft at all. He also says that he 
 spent much money ' in plays, and in the common entertain- 
 ments of the age.' Playing at cards and reading romances 
 were his ' heart's delight.' Sabbath-breaking was a common 
 sin, and he generally behaved irreverently at public worship, 
 when he was present. As might be expected, he was fond of 
 playing wild, roguish tricks, such as running into the Dissenting 
 meeting-house, and shouting the name of the learned and 
 devoted minister — ' Old Cole ! old Cole ! old Cole ! ' Being 
 asked, one day, by one of Cole's congregation, of what business 
 he meant to be, he replied, 'A minister; but I would take 
 
EARLY FAULTS AND SINS 3 
 
 good care never to tell stories in the pulpit like the old Cole.' 
 A wild, merry lad he was, with no restraint upon him, except- 
 ing a wise regulation of his mother, by which he was not 
 allowed to take any part in the business, although he did 
 sometimes sell odd quantities over the counter and wrongfully 
 keep the money ; overflowing with animal spirits, which often 
 led him into mischief, in the execution of which his power of 
 concealment so signally failed him that he was always detected. 
 ' It would be endless,' he says, ' to recount the sins and offences 
 of my younger days.' But why he should, in later years, have 
 classed his ' roguish tricks ' with graver faults is not clear. 
 They may really have been worse than simple fun, or his 
 conscience may have become morbidly sensitive and in- 
 tolerant, even of play, probably the latter. But there were / 
 other forces working in his impetuous, fiery spirit. Good 
 thoughts struggled with sinful ones ; conscience failed not to 
 ' f rebuke him for his faults, and smite him with heavy blows. 
 A grotesque caricature of a saint sprung out of the contention. 
 He would not be bad, neither would he be thoroughly good. 
 He compromised ; he tried to blend light and darkness; he 
 feared God, and loved sin. Some of the money stolen from 
 his mother was devoted to higher ends than buying tarts and 
 fruits — it was given to the poor ! His thefts were not confined 
 to raids upon his mother's pocket and till, but extended to 
 property outside the Bell Inn ; but then he stole books — 
 afterwards restored fourfold — and they were books of devotion ! 
 The Bible was not unknown to him, any more than a romance ; 
 but it was as much the book of his curses as of his prayers. 
 His quick temper — he was hasty tempered to the last — sought 
 expression for itself in the imprecatory Psalms, as well as in 
 vulgar cursing. The burden of the 11 8th Psalm was familiar to 
 him ; and once, when he had been teased by some persons who 
 'took a constant pleasure in exasperating him, he immediately 
 
4 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 retired to his room, and, kneeling down, with many tears, 
 prayed the whole Psalm over, finding relief to his feelings in 
 the terrible refrain of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth verses — 
 1 But in the name of the Lord, I will destroy them.' Church 
 might be a place for irreverence, and the service a thing to be 
 mocked at ; yet he was always fond of being a clergyman, and 
 frequently imitated the minister's reading prayers. 
 
 All the man can be traced in the boy — delight in the 
 emotional and exciting, a ready power of appropriating and 
 applying to himself and to his enemies the words of Scripture, 
 fondness for using his elocution, and aptness of imitation. 
 And a strange contrast, as well as resemblance, is there 
 between the man and the boy, when they are placed side by 
 side in St. Mary de Crypt, Gloucester. In the church where 
 the infant was baptized and the boy often mocked, the deacon 
 of twenty-one preached his first sermon to a crowded audience. 
 
 When he was ten years old his mother married a second 
 time, her husband being Mr. Longden, an ironmonger of 
 Gloucester. Whitefield says that it was 'an unhappy match 
 as for temporals, but God overruled it for good. It set my 
 brethren upon thinking more than otherwise they would have 
 done, and made an uncommon impression upon my own heart 
 in particular.' 
 
 At the age of twelve he was placed at the school of St. 
 Mary de Crypt, 'the last grammar school,' he says, 'I ever 
 went to ; ' from which we may suppose that he had tried not 
 a few schools before. The last school changed him not a 
 whit in his earliest characteristics. Plays still fascinated him ; 
 and, if he did not read them in school, when he was there — 
 and it is very probable that he did — he spent whole days away 
 from school studying them, and preparing to act them. His 
 enthusiasm for acting spread to his schoolfellows ; and the 
 master, either because he sympathised with his scholars' 
 
AT SCHOOL 5 
 
 tastes, or thought it useless to resist them, not only composed 
 plays for the school, but had a theatrical entertainment for the 
 corporation on their annual visitation, young Whitefield being, 
 on one occasion, dressed in girls' clothes to act before them. 
 The annual oration before these visitors was also commonly 
 entrusted to the boy from ' the Bell ' ; and his good memory 
 and fine elocution won him much notice. A lively school 
 must St. Mary de Crypt have been while this vivacious scholar 
 sat on its benches — the master writing plays, the boys learning 
 them, and the worthy city aldermen seeing them acted. 
 
 Whitefield has given an opinion upon his education. He 
 says : — 
 
 ' I cannot but observe, with much concern of mind, how this training up 
 of youth has a natural tendency to debauch the mind, to raise ill passions, 
 and to stuff the memory with things as contrary to the gospel of Jesus 
 Christ as light to darkness, heaven to hell. However, though the first 
 thing I had to repent of was my education in general, yet I must always 
 acknowledge that my particular thanks are due to my master for the great 
 
 , pains he took with me and his other scholars in teaching us to write and 
 
 I speak correctly.' 
 
 The future saint and preacher was still indicated amid all 
 this mirth. Part of the money received for his good acting 
 .<• and reciting was spent upon ' Ken's Manual for Winchester 
 Scholars,' a book which had affected him much when his 
 brother used to read it in his mother's troubles, and which, 
 for some time after he bought it, 'was of great use to his soul.' 
 Before he was fifteen he longed to be free even from the 
 mild discipline of his last grammar school ; and by pressing 
 his mother with the sage argument that, since she could not 
 send him to the University, and as more learning might spoil 
 him for a tradesman, it would be best for him to halt at his 
 present attainments, he got his own way on all points but one 
 — he must go to school every day for a writing lesson. 
 
6 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Adverse circumstances soon compelled the discontinuance of 
 the solitary lesson, and the lad of fifteen had to take — on his 
 part, apparently, with some little regret, but with commend- 
 able industry — to the dress and work of a common drawer in 
 his mother's inn. She who had hitherto been so jealous over 
 her son's associations must have been hard pressed with 
 poverty before consenting to such a step. Nor was the boy 
 unaffected by the family misfortune. His honour prompted 
 him to be of use, and to shun the greater contempt of being a 
 burden, by enduring the lesser shame of wearing a blue apron 
 and washing mops and cleaning rooms. His religious ten- 
 dencies were strengthened by frequent reading of the Bible 
 at the close of his day's work ; indeed, he would sit up to read 
 it. Sometimes the care of the whole house came upon him ; 
 but still he found time to compose two or three sermons, one 
 of which he dedicated to his elder brother. The first lessons 
 of experience were being wrought into the heart of a quick 
 learner, whose waywardness was receiving its first stern rebuke. 
 The work of the inn made him long for school again, but his 
 sense of filial duty never suffered him to be idle, even in a 
 calling which he disliked. Tin; sight of the boys going to 
 school often cut him to the heart ; and to a companion, who 
 frequently came entreating him to go to Oxford, his general 
 answer was, ' I wish I could.' 
 
 A year later his mother was obliged to leave the inn ; then 
 a married brother, ' who had been bred up to. the business,' 
 took it; and to him George became an assistant. The 
 brothers agreed well enough. Not so the brother-in-law and 
 sister-in-law. For three weeks together George would not 
 speak a word to her. He was wretched, and much to blame ; 
 and at length, thinking that his absence would make all 
 things easy, and being advised so by his mother and brother, 
 he went to Bristol to see one of his brothers. This, he 
 
TRANSIENT EXPERIENCES 7 
 
 thinks, was God's way of 'forcing him out of the public busi- 
 ness, and calling him from drawing wine for drunkards to 
 draw water out of the wells of salvation for the refreshment of 
 His spiritual Israel.' 
 
 At Bristol he experienced the first of those rapturous feel- 
 ings with which, a few years later, his soul became absolutely 
 penetrated and possessed, then refined and gloriously illumi- 
 nated, and in which it was finally sacrificed to God his 
 Saviour. From the first it was no weakness of his to feel 
 with half his heart : 'with all thy soul and mind and strength' 
 was to him an easy condition of religious feeling and activity. 
 He now had much sensible devotion, and was filled with 
 'unspeakable raptures,' sometimes 'carried out beyond him- 
 self.' He longed after the sacrament ; he pondered the 
 'Imitation of Christ,' and delighted in it; he was all impa- 
 tience to hear the church bell calling him to worship ; his 
 former employment dissatisfied him, and he often wrote to his 
 mother, telling her he would never return to it. Yet with all 
 his fervour his heart knew not 'the peace of God which 
 passeth all understanding ; ' something secretly whispered, 
 ' this will not last ; ' and it is not from this time that he dates 
 his conversion. He admits that God was in the tumult of 
 devotion, but not as he afterwards knew Him — the God of 
 peace and rest and love. 
 
 Two short months sufficed to end the spiritual fever. Pro- 
 bably it would have left him had he continued at Bristol, but 
 its decline he ascribes to his return home. Once among his 
 old associations his delight in churchgoing and in prayer 
 ceased ; the only remnant of good he retained was his resolu- 
 tion not to live in the inn, and no doubt his firmness on this 
 point was mainly due to his antipathy to his sister-in-law and 
 to his love for his mother, who, with true motherly affection, 
 welcomed him to the best she could give him — her own fare 
 
8 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 and a bed upon the floor. His old love for play-reading 
 revived again ; his vanity made him more careful to ' adorn his 
 body than deck and beautify his soul'; his former school- 
 fellows, whom he had done his share in misleading, now did 
 theirs in misleading him. 
 
 ' But God,' he says, speaking in harmony with those Cal- 
 vinistic views which he afterwards adopted, 'whose gifts and ^ 
 callings are without repentance, would let nothing pluck me 
 out of His hands, though I was continually doing despite to 
 the Spirit of grace. He saw me with pity and compassion, 
 when lying in my blood. He passed by me ; He said unto 
 me, " Live," and even gave me some foresight of His providing 
 for me. One morning, as I was reading a play to my sister, 
 said I, " Sister, God intends something for me that we know 
 not of. As I have been diligent in business I believe many 
 would gladly have me for an apprentice ; but every way seems 
 to be barred up, so that I think God will provide for me some 
 way or other that we cannot apprehend." ' 
 
 The deterioration of character which must have resulted 
 from his being without employment, and without any purposes 
 for the future, was happily averted by an accidental visit paid 
 to his mother by one of his former schoolfellows, now a ser- 
 vitor at Pembroke College, Oxford. When it was incidentally 
 mentioned in the conversation that the visitor had paid his 
 last quarter's expenses and received a penny, Mrs. Whitefield 
 eagerly caught at the news, and cried out, ' This will do for my 
 son ; ' and turning to George she said, ' Will you go to 
 Oxford, George?' He replied, 'With all my heart.' Appli- 
 cation was at once made for the help of the kind friends who 
 had aided their visitor, and mother and son were soon 
 rejoiced to know that interest would be used to secure George 
 a servitor's place in Pembroke College. 
 
 His learning, such as it was, had not been kept bright 
 
REFORM A TION 9 
 
 during his service in the inn, his visit to Bristol, and his idle 
 time under his mother's roof, and so the genial schoolmaster 
 had to be applied to again to take back his former pupil. He 
 gladly consented, and this time the pupil, animated by the 
 hope of gaining an honourable object, worked diligently and 
 successfully. At first his morality and religion were not 
 improved equally with his learning. A knot of debauched and 
 atheistical youths — their atheism probably founded on their^ 
 immorality which did not like to retain the knowledge of God — 
 succeeded in inveigling him. His thoughts about religion 
 grew more and more like theirs ; he reasoned that if God had 
 given him passions, it must be to gratify them. He affected to 
 look rakish, and when he went to public service it was only to 
 sport and walk about. Twice or thrice he got drunk. 
 
 Then a reforming impulse came upon him, and upon infor- 
 mation given by him to his master of the principles and 
 practices of his companions, their proceedings were stopped. 
 Efforts after a better life, relapses into sin, meditations upon 
 serious books, particularly Drelincourt's ' The Christian's 
 Defence against the Fears of Death,' dutiful service done for 
 his mother, and, finally, a firm resolution to prepare for taking 
 the sacrament on his seventeenth birthday, marked his moral 
 history at school for the first twelve months. 
 
 Strange fancies now began to flit through his mind. Once 
 he dreamed that he was to see God on Mount Sinai, and was 
 afraid to meet Him — a circumstance which impressed him 
 deeply; and when he told it to a 'gentlewoman,' she said, 
 ' George, this is a call from God.' He grew more serious, and 
 his looks — such, he says, was his ' hypocrisy ' — were more 
 grave than the feelings behind them. The gentlewoman's 
 words also helped to increase his impressionableness, and it is 
 not surprising to learn that ' one night, as he was going on an 
 errand for his mother, an unaccountable but very strong 
 
io GEORGE WHI'IEFIELD 
 
 impression was made upon his heart that he should preach 
 quickly.' It is as little surprising that his mother, upon hear- 
 ing from him what had come into his mind, should have turned 
 shortupon him, crying out, 'What does the boy mean? Prithee, 
 hold thy tongue.' 
 
 He resumed, though in a much more sober way, the reli- 
 gious practices of his Bristol life. A rebuke administered to 
 him by one of his brothers, who had begun to regard his 
 alternations from saint to sinner and sinner to saint as pain- 
 fully regular, did him much good, by checking his spiritual 
 pride and by increasing his self-distrust and watchfulness. His 
 brother told him plainly — the Whitefields were an outspoken 
 family — that he feared the new zeal would not last long, not 
 through the temptations of Oxford. Perhaps his prophecy 
 might have been fulfilled had he not spoken it. 
 
 Whitefield went to Oxford in 1732, when he was nearly 
 eighteen years old. Some ot his friends, as promised, used their 
 influence with the master of Pembroke College ; another friend 
 lent him ten pounds upon a bond, to defray the expense of 
 entering ; while the master admitted him as a servitor imme- 
 diately. Once within the college walls he was not the lad to 
 play with his chance of success. His humble station had no 
 thorns for his pride. To be a servitor was no new thing ; 
 perhaps he felt himself advanced by having his fellow-students 
 to wait upon, instead of boors and drunkards. Pembroke 
 College was far before the Bell Inn, both for reputation and 
 society ; and then, was there not before the eye of the young 
 student the prospect of an honourable and useful station in 
 life ? Might he not, at the least, become an ordinary clergyman 
 in his Church ? Might he not pass beyond that, and attain to 
 the dignity of a very reverend, or perhaps of a right reverend ? 
 There might be present indignity in his position, as there 
 certainly was nothing ennobling in it, yet he would not impa- 
 
AS SERVITOR u 
 
 tiently and with silly haughtiness throw away future honour by 
 discarding humble work. He may have been rather too 
 destitute of that high-spiritedness which made Johnson, not 
 many weeks before Whitefield's coming to Pembroke, throw 
 away a pair of shoes which gentle kindness had placed at his 
 door ; indeed, an equal division of their respective qualities of 
 pride and humbleness between the two students might have 
 been an advantage to both. 
 
 The young servitor lightened the burden of friends who 
 stood as his money securities, toiled at his classics, adhered to 
 his late religious practices at the grammar school, and thus laid 
 a good foundation for a manly life. Law's ' Serious Call to a 
 Devout Life,' which had already ' overmatched ' Johnson and 
 made him ' think in earnest of religion,' and his treatise on 
 'Christian Perfection,' were the means of stirring still more 
 profoundly the already excited mind of Whitefield. Standing 
 aloof from the general body of students, resisting the solicita- 
 tions of many who lay in the same room with him, and who 
 'would have drawn him into excess of riot,' and practising daily 
 devotions with the regularity of a monk, what wonder that he 
 was soon thrown amongst the ' Methodists,' who were begin- 
 ning their new life, and whom he had always defended, even 
 before he came to Oxford, or knew them ? If there was spiri- 
 tual life in the University, how could one who had so strangely, 
 though ofttimes so inconsistently, followed prayer, meditation, 
 sermon-writing, almsgiving; and public worship, fail to feel its 
 touch and answer to its call ? It was inevitable that the 
 servitor, who had come to be looked upon as a ' singular, odd 
 fellow,' notwithstanding all his merits, should turn Methodist ; 
 and accordingly he joined the band of devout young men 
 some time between hiS nineteenth and twentieth year, after his 
 ' soul had longed for above a twelvemonth to be acquainted 
 with them.' 
 
12 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 The first Methodists were John and Charles Wesley, Mr. 
 Morgan, commoner of Christ Church, and Mr. Kirkham, of 
 Merton College ; but the nickname was fastened on the little 
 company while John was in Lincolnshire, assisting his father, 
 the rector of Epworth. When he returned to Oxford in 1730 
 he took his brother Charles's place at the head of the band, 
 and became for ever after the chief figure of Methodism. 
 University wits called him the ' Father of the Holy Club.' 
 When Whitefield joined the Methodists, which was about the 
 end of 1734 or early in 1735, they were fifteen in number, 
 and included Mr. Benjamin Ingham, of Queen's College ; Mr. 
 T. Broughton, of Exeter ; and Mr. James Hervey, of Lincoln 
 College ; and it was in this wise he joined them. Wesley and 
 his associates were marked men. Their austerities, their 
 devoutness, and their charitable labours among the poor, 
 attracted general attention ; and on their way to St. Mary's 
 every week to receive the sacrament they had to pass through 
 a crowd of ridiculing students, congregated to insult them. 
 The sight of this shameful insolence awakened his sympathy, 
 moved his courage, and prepared him to take up his cross. 
 He often saw the persecution endured by the few, and never 
 without wishing to follow their brave example. An oppor- 
 tunity of becoming acquainted with them offered itself. A 
 poor woman in one of the workhouses made an unsuccessful 
 attempt to commit suicide ; and Whitefield, aware of Charles 
 Wesley's readiness for every good work, sent a message to him 
 by an apple woman of Pembroke, asking him to visit her. 
 The messenger was, for some unaccountable reason, charged 
 not to tell Wesley who had sent her. That charge she broke ; 
 and Wesley, who had often met Whitefield walking by himself, 
 pondering the deep things of God, and was aware of his pious 
 habits, sent him an invitation to come and breakfast with him 
 the next morning. Whitefield gladly went, and that morning 
 
FRIENDSHIP OF CHARLES WESLEY 13 
 
 the two students formed a life-long, honourable friendship. 
 Forty years afterwards Charles wrote of their meeting with 
 much tenderness and warmth — 
 
 'Can I the memorable day forget, 
 When first we by Divine appointment met? 
 Where undisturbed the thoughtful student roves, 
 In search of truth, through academic groves ; 
 A modest, pensive youth, who mused alone, 
 Industrious the frequented path to shun. 
 An Israelite, without disguise or art, 
 I saw, I loved, and clasped him to my heart, 
 A stranger as my bosom friend caressed, 
 And unawares received an angel-guest.' 
 
 Charles Wesley put into the hands of his guest Professor 
 Francke's treatise against the 'Fear of Man,' and the ' Country 
 Parson's Advice to his Parishioners.' Whitefield then took his 
 departure. 
 
 The most interesting part of the spiritual life of Whitefield 
 begins at this point, up to which there has been an uncertain, 
 varying war carried on against sin, coupled with many 
 defeated attempts to attain to a severe form of external piety. 
 After the period just to be opened to our view he never 
 becomes entangled in doubts concerning the Divine method 
 of saving sinners, and never hesitates between rival plans of 
 practical living. He tried all the three great plans of being a 
 Christian and of serving God which have gained favour with 
 large sections of mankind ; and finding satisfaction in the one 
 which he ultimately adopted, he felt no temptation ever after- 
 wards to leave it. Already, as we have seen, he has had large 
 experience of the effects upon conscience and heart of the 
 method which theologians call ' salvation by works ; ' and yet 
 he is neither at peace with God, nor established in a godly 
 life. He is more satisfied that he is on the right track, and 
 
14 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 his resolutions to be outwardly holy have stood a good trial ; 
 but he is still asking and seeking. 
 
 While in this state of mind Charles Wesley both helped and 
 hindered him — helped him with his books, and hindered him 
 by his example, which was that of an honest, anxious mind, 
 ignorant of the salvation which comes by faith in the Son of 
 God. The great Methodist, his ' never-to-be-forgotten ' friend, 
 as Whitefield affectionately calls him, brought him within sight 
 of the ' fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ,' and then 
 led him down a by-path, which brought him to the low levels 
 of Quietism, where he nearly perished. Charles Wesley did 
 not conduct him thus far, and never intended to set him in 
 that direction ; it was ' the blind leading the blind.' The 
 pupil, as we shall presently see, was the first to become a safe 
 teacher ; he knew ' the liberty of the sons of God,' while the 
 Wesleys were struggling in chains he had broken. 
 
 Shortly after the memorable breakfast, Charles lent him a 
 little book entitled ' The Life of God in the Soul of Man,' by 
 the Rev. Henry Scougal, M.A., which created no small wonder 
 within him by teaching ' that some falsely placed religion in 
 going to church, doing hurt to no one, being constant in the 
 duties of the closet, and now and then reaching out their hands 
 to give alms to their poor neighbours.' The positive teaching 
 of the book filled him with unspeakable joy. When jie.xead 
 ' that true religion is a union of the soul with God, or Christ 
 formed within us, a ray of Divine light instantaneously darted in 
 upon his-soul, and from that moment, but not till then, did he 
 know that he must be a new creature.' The doctrine of the 
 new birth, a birth which he had now experienced in his own 
 soul, became one of the main themes of his preaching to the 
 end of his life. 
 
 Charles Wesley now introduced him 'by degrees to the rest 
 of the Methodists,' and the introduction led him to adopt the 
 
LIVING BY RULE 15 
 
 whole of their plan of living. To live by rule was the funda- 
 mental principle of their theology, for as yet they knew 
 nothing of the mighty power of joy and peace which come 
 through believing upon the name of Jesus. Thus Whitefield 
 was led astray from the scriptural truth which had poured light 
 into his understanding, and gladness into his heart, and once 
 more tried, though this time more inflexibly and more 
 thoroughly, his old scheme of salvation by works. It seemed 
 as if, like Luther, he must know all that he could do and all 
 that he could not do before he could ' count all things but 
 loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus.' The 
 redemption of time became a primary virtue, and he hoarded 
 his moments as if they were years. Whether he ate, or drank, 
 or whatever he did, he endeavoured to do all to the glory of 
 God. The sacrament was received every Sunday at Christ 
 Church. Fasting was practised on Wednesday and Friday. 
 Sick persons and prisoners were visited, and poor people were 
 read to. An hour every day was spent in acts of charity. 
 
 His studies were soon affected by his morbid state of mind, 
 for such a system as he was living under allowed its faithful 
 disciple no room for change or diversion. Every hour 
 brought round a weary step of the moral treadmill, which must 
 be taken, or conscience would be bruised or wounded ; and 
 Whitefield had suffered enough from conscience to feel a 
 quivering fear of its pains. No books would now please his 
 disordered taste but such as ' entered into the heart of religion 
 and led him directly into an experimental knowledge of Jesus 
 Christ and Him crucified.' How he came to write these 
 words, which are quoted from his journal, it would be hard to 
 say. When he wrote them he must have known that it was 
 the lack of the knowledge of Jesus which had made him a 
 slave. 
 
 Once fully and openly connected with the ' Holy Club,' he 
 
1 6 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 had soon to share in its troubles. ' Polite students ' shot 
 barbed words at him, mean ones withdrew their pay from him, 
 and brutal ones threw dirt at him. Friends became shy. The 
 master of the college rebuked him, and threatened to expel 
 him. Daily contempt was poured upon him. His tutor alone 
 forbore to torment him. At first he did not accept his 
 reproach calmly ; it shook his feeble strength. When he 
 went to St. Mary's, for the first time, to receive the 
 sacrament publicly on a week-day — sure sign to all the 
 University that he had 'commenced Methodist' — 'Mr. Charles 
 Wesley,' he says, ' whom I must always mention with the 
 greatest deference and respect, walked with me from the 
 church even to the college. I confess to my shame I would 
 gladly have excused him ; and the next day, going to his 
 room, one of our fellows passing by, I was ashamed to be seen 
 to knock at his door.' The displeasure of the master of his 
 college, and the master's threat to expel him if he ever visited 
 the poor again, surprised him, as well it might. ' Overawed,' 
 he says, ' by the master's authority, I spoke unadvisedly with 
 my lips, and said, if it displeased him, I would not. My 
 conscience soon pricked me for this sinful compliance. I 
 immediately repented, and visited the poor the first oppor- 
 tunity, and told my companions if ever I was called to a stake 
 for Christ's sake, I would serve my tongue as Archbishop 
 Cranmer served his hand, viz., make that burn first.' His fear 
 of man gradually wore off, and he ' confessed the Methodists 
 more and more publicly every day,' walking openly with them, 
 and choosing rather to bear contempt with them than 'to 
 enjoy the applause of almost Christians for a season.' 
 
 The advantage of his trials was that they inured him to 
 contempt, of which he was to get a full share, and lessened 
 his self-love. His inward sufferings were also of an uncommon 
 kind, Satan seeming to desire to sift him like wheat j and the 
 
SPIRITUAL CONFLICTS 17 
 
 reason for this, Whitefield thinks, was to prevent his future 
 blessings from proving his ruin. All along he had an intense 
 desire, a hungering and thirsting, after the humility of Jesus 
 Christ. Imagining that it would be instantaneously infused 
 into his soul, he prayed night and day to receive it. ' But as 
 Gideon,' he says, 'taught the men of Succoth with thorns, so 
 God — if I am yet in any measure blessed with poverty of 
 spirit — taught it me by the exercise of true, strong temptations.' 
 The strong temptations came in reality from his mistaken 
 though eagerly accepted views of religion, his incessant self- 
 inspection, his moral police regulations, his abstinence from all 
 change in reading, and his daily persecutions, the combined 
 influence of which brought him into a terrible condition. A 
 horrible fearfulness and dread overwhelmed his soul. He 
 felt 'an unusual weight and impression, attended with inward 
 darkness,' lie upon his breast ; and the load increased until he 
 was convinced that Satan had real possession of him, and that 
 his body, like Job's, was given over to the power of the evil 
 one. All power of meditating, or even thinking, was taken 
 from him. But let him tell his own tale: — 
 
 ' My memory quite failed me. My whole soul was barren and dry, and 
 I could fancy myself to be like nothing so much as a man locked up in 
 iron armour. Whenever I kneeled down I felt great heavings in my body, 
 and have often prayed under the weight of them till the sweat came through 
 me. At this time Satan used to terrify me much and threatened to punish 
 me if I discovered his wiles. It being my duty as servitor, in my turn, to 
 knock at the gentlemen's rooms by ten at night, to see who were in their 
 rooms, I thought the devil would appear to me every stair I went up. 
 And he so troubled me when I lay down to rest, that, for some weeks, I 
 scarce slept above three hours at a time. 
 
 ' God only knows how many nights I have lain upon my bed groaning 
 under the weight I felt, and bidding Satan depart from me in the name of 
 Jesus. Whole days and weeks have I spent in lying prostrate on the 
 ground, and begging freedom from those proud, hellish thoughts that used 
 to crowd in upon and distract my soul. But God made Satan drive out 
 Satan. For these thoughts and suggestions created such a self-abhorrence 
 
 3 
 
 \ 
 
i8 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 within me, thai I never ceased wrestling with God till He blessed me with 
 a victory over them. Self-love, self-will, pride, and envy buffeted me in 
 their turns, that I was resolved either to die or conquer. I wanted to see 
 sin as it was, but feared, at the same time, lest the sight of it should terrify 
 me to death. 
 
 ' Having nobody to show me a better way, I thought to get peace and 
 purity by outward austerities. Accordingly, by degrees, I began to leave 
 off eating fruits and such like, and gave the money I usually spent in that 
 way to the poor. Afterwards I always chose the worst sort of food, though 
 my place furnished me with variety. I fasted twice a week. My apparel 
 was mean. I thought it unbecoming a penitent to have his hair powdered. 
 I wore woollen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes, and therefore 
 looked upon myself as very humble.' 
 
 He was exhausting what he calls ' the legal system,' — 
 sal vation by works. He felt pride creeping in, in spite of him, 
 behind every thought, word, and action ; and he was too 
 sincere not to admit that all his labours must prove fruitless 
 while that remained unbroken. Here Quietism offered him 
 its aid. Whitefield a Quietist ! As easily change a comet 
 into a fixed star. The power was not in him to dream sweet 
 dreams of heaven, nor to swoon away in the ecstasy of a 
 mediaeval saint, his ' soul and spirit divided asunder as by the 
 sword of the Spirit of God.' The definitions, depths, and 
 stages of Quietism were not what attracted him to his new 
 system ; these were an esoteric doctrine to him. All that he 
 wanted was some ready and satisfactory method of relieving 
 his conscience of an intolerable burden, and of attaining to a 
 truly religious life ; and reading one day in Castaniza's 
 'Spiritual Combat,' ' that he that is employed in mortifying his 
 will is as well employed as though he were converting Indians,' 
 he set himself rudely to the task of mortifying his will. He 
 began as an Englishman, with a rough, unsparing hand and 
 an honest heart. He sighed for no canonisation, he coveted 
 no marvellous revelations. To mortify his will was all that he 
 had to do, and how else could it be done but by mortification ? 
 
SELF-MORTIFICATION 19 
 
 So he shut himself up in his study for five or six weeks (only 
 attending to necessary college business), and fought his 
 corruptions by almost incessant prayer. Extravagance was 
 added to extravagance. The narrative of our Lord's tempta- 
 tion among wild beasts made him think that he ought to 
 expose himself to the cold ; and at night, after supper, he 
 went into Christ Church Walk, knelt under a tree, and con- 
 tinued in silent prayer until the great bell rang and called him 
 to his college. Mortification next required the discontinuance 
 of a diary which he kept, and also abstinence from the use of 
 forms and even of audible speech in prayer, and cessation from 
 works of mercy. Its inexorable logic next required that he 
 should forsake all his friends, for is it not written that we are 
 'to leave all,' if we would follow Christ? and accordingly, 
 instead of meeting with his beloved brethren on one of their 
 weekly fast-days, Wednesday, he went into the fields for 
 silent prayer. The evening meeting also was neglected, and 
 on Thursday morning he did not make his usual appearance 
 at Charles Wesley's breakfast-table. This made Charles call 
 upon him to see what was the matter, and finding that it was 
 morbid anxiety, he counselled Whitefield to seek spiritual 
 direction from his brother John, whose skill he thoroughly 
 trusted. 
 
 The spell of Quietism was broken ; it was not potent enough 
 to hold such a spirit as Whitefield's long in bondage, and 
 silence was impossible under the interrogations of a loving, 
 anxious friend. With wonderful humility Whitefield sought 
 the aid of John Wesley, who told him that he must resume all 
 his external religious exercises, but not depend on them — 
 advice which might have driven him mad, not a ray of com- 
 fort in it, not a drop of the love of God. And still the bewil- 
 dered inquirer, burdened with his great sorrow which no man 
 could remove, attended diligently upon his teacher j and the 
 
20 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 teacher, as was natural to him, confidently undertook to guide 
 him. As they stand here before our eye, one side of each 
 character, unconsciously displayed by that luminous sincerity 
 which distinguished equally both these remarkable men, comes 
 clearly and boldly into relief. The elder, while abounding 
 in some of the divinest gifts which can adorn humanity — 
 readiness to forgive, patience, justice — is confident, assuming, 
 and gratified in being above his fellows ; the younger, while 
 restless with impetuosity, impatient, quick to engage in conflict 
 if not first to provoke it, is teachable, reverent, and generous to 
 rivals. The thought of rivalry between them is yet unborn; the 
 ' Father of the Holy Club ' is instructing its youngest member. 
 Wesley meant to do Whitefield good service, and partially 
 succeeded when he urged him to return to ' externals,' as 
 Methodists called acts of devotion and charity. Only a few 
 days after returning to his duty amongst the poor, Whitefield 
 added to the one convert, James Hervey, whom he had won, 
 two more, a prisoner and his wife, while his own soul was 
 tormented and afflicted. 
 ^ Lent soon came, and its fastings and hardships brought 
 Whitefield's spiritual conflicts to their fiercest vigour, and then 
 to their joyful cessation. The externals of the Methodist rule 
 for this season were duly observed. No meat was eaten by 
 the brethren except on the Saturday and the Sunday ; but 
 Whitefield surpassed them, and often abstained on the 
 Saturday ; and on other days, Sunday alone excepted, he lived 
 on sage tea, without sugar, and coarse bread. In the cold 
 mornings, the biting east wind blowing, he walked out until 
 part of one of his hands became quite black. When Passion 
 Week came he could scarce creep upstairs for weakness, and 
 it then seemed to be time to send for his tutor, a kind, con- 
 siderate man, who immediately took the common-sense plan 
 of calling in a doctor. 
 
SPIRITUAL FREEDOM 21 
 
 1 Salvation by works ' had nearly killed him ; Quietism had 
 nearly driven him mad. Was there not another way, which, 
 combining the excellences of the two plans, might bring him 
 out of darkness into God's marvellous light ? Might he not 
 render his soul into the hands of God as into ' the hands of a 
 faithful Creator,' and still devote himself with diligence to 
 ' every good word and work,' thus getting the repose combined 
 with the activity which his nature in a special degree needed ? 
 Both sides of the spiritual life of man are fully recognised in 
 Holy Scripture. ' The life of God ' was undoubtedly in his 
 soul, and would have expanded rapidly, imparting to him daily 
 joy, had he not been told that it must grow in certain stunted 
 forms, or it was not of God at all ; and the attempt to cripple 
 it produced an inevitable agony. No life, least of all the 
 divine life of the soul, will quietly suffer its laws to be violated. 
 The poor servitor was taught that truth in a way never to be 
 forgotten. Ever afterwards he was careful to go whither the 
 Spirit might lead him, and hence his career was free from the 
 deformities of a forced asceticism and the vagaries of a wild 
 spiritualism. Not that he did not sternly, sometimes almost 
 cruelly, deny his body rest and comfort, and urge it on to 
 work ; not that he was without ' experiences ' of spiritual things 
 so rapturous, so excited, so absorbing, that, compared with 
 them, the feelings and devotional exercises of most saints 
 appear tame and flat ; but there was health, there was 
 naturalness in it all. His abounding labours, his 'weariness 
 and painfulness,' were always for the salvation of others, never 
 for his own ; his agonies of soul were like those which the 
 apostle declared that he felt for his brethren — ' a travailing in 
 birth until Christ should be formed in their hearts.' 
 
 Left alone in his sick-room he felt again the blessedness of 
 which he had tasted one memorable draught. What book he 
 had been reading, or what devotional exercises he had been 
 
 
22 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 engaged in when he felt himself free again, does not appear. 
 He simply says — 
 
 ' About the end of the seventh week, after having undergone innumer- 
 able buffetings of Satan and many months' inexpressible trials by night and 
 day under the spirit of bondage, God was pleased at length to remove the 
 heavy load, to enable me to lay hold on His dear Son by a living faith, 
 and by giving me the spirit of adoption, to seal me, as I humbly hope, even 
 to the day of everlasting redemption.' 
 
 Then catching fire at the remembrance of what he had felt, 
 he exclaims in his journal — 
 
 ' But oh, with what joy, joy unspeakable, even joy that was full of, and 
 hig with, glory, was my soul filled when the weight of sin went off, and 
 an abiding sense of the pardoning love of God and a full assurance of 
 faith broke in upon my disconsolate soul ! Surely it was the day of my 
 espousals, a day to be had in everlasting remembrance. At first my joys 
 were like a spring-tide, and, as it were, overflowed the banks. Go where 
 I would, I could not avoid singing of Psalms almost aloud ; afterwards it 
 became more settled, and, blessed be God ! saving a few casual intervals, 
 has abode and increased in my soul ever since.' 
 
 Justification by faith had become an experience; and he 
 henceforth preached what he had felt and tasted of this 
 truth. 
 
 Oxford had by this time become a 'sweet retirement,' and it 
 was with much reluctance that, on a partial recovery, he yielded 
 to the advice of his physician to go to Gloucester till he should 
 be quite restored. Oxford was associated with his better life ; 
 Gloucester with his baser life. However, he determined either 
 ' to make or find a friend,' a person of like mind with himself; 
 and as soon as he reached home he resolved, after impor- 
 tunate prayer, to go and see an acquaintance, evidently a 
 woman of literary tastes (to whom he had formerly read ' plays, 
 Spectators, Pope's Homer, and such-like books '), with the 
 intention of winning her for Christ. ' She received the word 
 
FIRST CONVERTS 23 
 
 gladly, and soon became a fool for Christ's sake,' is his record 
 in his journal. One friend was not enough. Others, young 
 persons, were brought under the power of this new teaching, 
 and the Methodist Oxonian soon repeated the Oxford experi- 
 ment, and gathered his converts into a society. All had the 
 honour of being despised. Similar success was not attained at 
 Bristol, to which he went for three weeks ; his way was hindered 
 by prejudices against himself, and only one young woman 
 became 'obedient to the faith.' 
 
 At Gloucester friends were lost and won. Some who were 
 expected to give him pecuniary help — he was still a servitor — 
 turned their backs on him, and disappointed him ; but others, 
 whom he had accounted enemies, though he had never spoken 
 to them, became generous friends. It was the time of his 
 learning first lessons of trust in that Almighty Friend upon 
 whose bountiful and loving care he cast himself throughout the 
 whole of a poverty-stricken life, and to whom he committed 
 many orphan children, the foundlings of his own loving heart. 
 He was a philanthropist, made by the man Christ Jesus. 
 
 The good Oxford physician had hoped, by getting his patient 
 away from the University, to divert him from a too intense 
 application to religion. Vain hope ! The patient simply pur- 
 sued, in the spirit of joyous liberty, duties and engagements 
 which had previously been an anxious burden. He cast aside 
 all other books, and, on his bended knees, read and prayed over 
 the Holy Scriptures. ' Light, life, and power ' came upon him, 
 stimulating him still to search ; every search brought treasure ; 
 all fresh treasure caused fresh searching. Experience confirmed 
 his faith in the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, who was to him a 
 living Comforter, the Power of God. He seemed filled with 
 the Spirit from the time he was born again. 
 
 Another of his characteristics was his capacity of deriving 
 unfailing pleasure from one pursuit, his independence of the 
 
24 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 changes which most of us must have if we are to keep out of the 
 grave and out of the asylum. He was utterly consecrated to 
 Christ from the beginning. His change was in the unsearch- 
 ableness of one Person. From the first effort he put forth to 
 the last (and he laboured without respite for thirty-four years), 
 he never flagged in his ardent attachment to the same truth, 
 expressed in the same words, looked at from the same stand- 
 point. His latest letters contain the self-same phrases as his 
 earliest ; and they are given with as much feeling as if they 
 were quite new. They were newer every day. ' Grace ' — the 
 word that comes ,to him when his soul is comforted and 
 strengthened, when sinners are converted, when marvellous 
 deliverances are wrought out for him — was sweeter, richer, 
 fuller, more glorious the more he contemplated it. The truth 
 was the same, but it was inexhaustible, and its power over 
 him immeasurable. His perpetual, never withering freshness 
 of soul will often strike us as we follow him to the. end. He 
 was like 'a tree planted by the rivers of water, whose leaf 
 never withered, and whatsoever he did prospered.' 
 
CHAPTER II 
 1736 
 
 HIS ORDINATION AS DEACON — ESSAYS IN PREACHING 
 
 IT was time for the irregular soldier to become a captain of 
 the Lord's host. The homes of the poor and the gaols of 
 Oxford and Gloucester had been, along with the halls of Oxford, 
 the finest training schools for the coming leader. What progress 
 he had made in learning does not appear; all other considerations 
 were lost in his supreme pleasure in religion. All learning was 
 nothing in comparison of the knowledge of God and of His 
 Son Jesus Christ, and in that knowledge he was well instructed ; 
 nor was he ignorant of his own heart, of its weakness and 
 sinfulness. What natural fitness he had for speaking none 
 could fail to perceive, when once they had heard his rich, sweet 
 voice, and saw the artless grace of all his movements. He had 
 not waited for a bishop's ordination and licence to preach the 
 gospel to the poor ; but a licence was ready so soon as he found 
 'peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.' 
 
 White-field did not lightly take on him the vows of tin- 
 ministry. He was well pleased to toil among the lowest, and 
 only at the suggestion of friends did the question of his receiv- 
 ing orders come into his mind. It immediately recalled to him 
 the solemn words of St. Paul to Timothy : ' Not a novice, lest, 
 
26 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 being puffed up with pride, he fall into the condemnation of 
 the devil.' A question which he must answer on ordination- 
 day, ' Do you trust that you are inwardly moved by the Holy 
 Ghost to take upon you this office and administration ? ' filled 
 him with trembling. With strong crying and tears, he often 
 said, ' Lord, I am a youth of uncircumcised lips ; Lord, send 
 me not into the vineyard yet.' He even went so far as to ask 
 the prayers of his Oxford friends, that God would confound the 
 prayers of his Gloucester friends to have him at once in orders ; 
 but they, as might have been expected, replied, ' Pray we the 
 Lord of the harvest to send thee and many more labourers into 
 His harvest' Timidity still held its ground ; he continued to 
 pray against becoming a keeper of souls so soon. 
 
 As he had longed to be with the Methodists when he saw 
 them insulted, but was staggered when the first experience of 
 their daily shame came to his lot, so he was desiring ' the office 
 of a bishop ' while fearing to enter upon it. His sensitive 
 nature was quick to feel the presence of difficulties, and frank 
 to acknowledge them ; and hence his course was fashioned, not 
 by blindness to objections and insensibility to criticism, but by 
 the commanding influence of 'the things of God.' Wesley said 
 of him, that — 
 
 ' In whatever concerned himself, he was pliant and flexible ; in this case 
 he was easy to be entreated, easy to be either convinced or persuaded ; 
 but he was immovable in the things of God, or wherever his conscience 
 was concerned. None could persuade, any more than affright, him to 
 vary in the least point from that integrity which was inseparable from his 
 whole character, and regulated all his words and actions.' 
 
 When friends were urging him to be ordained, he was pleasing 
 himself with the persuasion that he could not enter holy orders 
 for two more years, because Bishop Benson had expressed his 
 resolution not to lay hands on any one who was under twenty- 
 three years of age. That he strongly desired to do what yet he 
 
A DREAM 27 
 
 would not do, because his judgment and his conscience were 
 not fully convinced, is evident from the way in which his mind 
 ran in his dreams ; for though he calls the dream spoken of in 
 the next sentence 'a notice from God,' it was undoubtedly the 
 consequence of his state of mind about the ministry. He 
 says — 
 
 ' Long ere I had the least prospect of being called before the bishop, I 
 dreamed one night I was talking with him in his palace, and that he gave 
 me some gold, which seemed to sound again in my hand. Afterward this 
 dream would often come into my mind ; and, whenever I saw the bishop at 
 church, a strong persuasion would rise in my mind that I should very 
 shortly go to him. I always checked it, and prayed to God to preserve me 
 from ever desiring that honour which cometh of man. One afternoon it 
 happened that the bishop took a solitary walk — as I was afterwards told — 
 to Lady Selwyn's, near Gloucester, who not long before had made me a 
 present of a piece of gold. She, I found, recommended me to the bishop ; 
 and, a few days after, as I was coming from the cathedral prayers, thinking 
 of no such thing, one of the vergers called after me, and said the bishop 
 desired to speak with me. I — forgetful at that time of my dream — imme- 
 diately turned back, considering what I had done to deserve his lordship's 
 displeasure. When I came to the top of the palace stairs, the bishop took 
 me by the hand, told me he was glad to see me, and bid me wait a little 
 till he had put off his habit, and he would return to me again. This gave 
 me the opportunity of praying to God for His assistance, and for His 
 providence over me. 
 
 ' At his coming again into the room, the bishop told me he had heard of 
 my character, liked my behaviour at church, and inquiring my age, " Not- 
 withstanding," says he, " I have declared I would not ordain any one under 
 three-and-twenty, yet I shall think it my duty to ordain you whenever you 
 come for holy orders." He then made me a present of five guineas, to buy 
 a book, which, sounding again in my hand, put me in mind of my dream ; 
 whereupon my heart was filled with a sense of God's love.' 
 
 Whitefield determined to offer himself for ordination the 
 next Ember days. That determination made, the next question 
 was as to his place of labour ; and here contending interests 
 disturbed him. At Gloucester he had been useful, and his 
 friends wished to have him with them. But when he went up 
 to Oxford, his old friends there made out a still more urgent 
 
28 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 case on behalf of his staying with them : John and Charles 
 Wesley had sailed to Savannah to act as chaplains to a new 
 colony there, and to attempt the conversion of the Creek 
 Indians; the prisoners in the gaol needed some one to supply 
 their lack of service ; Whitefield had been as useful at Oxford 
 as at Gloucester ; Oxford was one of the schools of the prophets, 
 and every student converted was a parish gained. To remove 
 any objection of a pecuniary nature which might have been 
 urged, application for money aid was made to Sir John Philips, 
 who was a great friend of Methodists, and who at once said that 
 Whitefield should have twenty pounds a year from him, even if 
 he did not stay at Oxford, but thirty pounds if he did. Oxford 
 prevailed over Gloucester, but its triumph was not for long ; all 
 English-speaking people came and claimed their right in him ; 
 and his large, brave heart was not slow to respond. Wesley 
 uttered the fine saying, 'The world is my parish ; ' Whitefield, 
 the most nearly of any man, made the saying a simple state- 
 ment of fact. 
 
 Meanwhile devout and conscientious preparation was made 
 for the approaching ordination, which was to be on Trinity 
 Sunday. The preceding day was spent by Whitefield in 
 abstinence and prayer. 
 
 ' In the evening,' he says, ' I retired to a hill near the town, and prayed 
 fervently for about two hours, in behalf of myself and those who were to 
 be ordained with me. On Sunday morning I rose early, and prayed over 
 St. Paul's Epistle to Timothy, and more particularly over that precept, 
 "Let no one despise thy youth;" and when the bishop laid his hands 
 upon my head, if my vile heart doth not deceive me, I offered up my 
 whole spirit, soul, and body to the service of God's sanctuary ; and after- 
 wards sealed the good confession I had made before many witnesses, by 
 partaking of the holy sacrament of our Lord's most blessed body and blood.' 
 
 Elsewhere he says — 
 
 'This is a day ' (June 20, 1736) ' much to be remembered, O my soul! 
 for, about noon, I was solemnly admitted by good Bishop Benson, before 
 
THE GOOD OF SOULS 2 9 
 
 many witnesses, into holy orders, and was, blessed be God ! kept com- 
 posed both before and after imposition of hands. I endeavoured to 
 behave with unaffected devotion, but not suitable enough to the greatness 
 of the office I was to undertake. At the same time I trust I answered 
 every question from the bottom of my heart, and heartily prayed that God 
 might say Amen. / hope the good of souls will be my only principle of \f 
 action. Let come what will, life or death, depth or height, I shall hence- 
 forward live like one who this day, in the presence of men and angels, 
 took the holy sacrament, upon the profession of being inwardly moved by 
 the Holy Ghost to take upon me that ministration in the Church. This 
 I began with leading prayers to the prisoners in the county gaol. 
 Whether I myself shall ever have the honour of styling myself a prisoner 
 of the Lord, I know not ; but, indeed, I can call heaven and earth to 
 witness, that when the bishop laid his hand upon me, I gave myself up y 
 to be a martyr for Him who hung upon the cross for me.' 
 
 The words we have italicised faithfully describe the ministry 
 to which he was this day set apart : ' / hope the good of souls 
 will be my only principle of action.' 
 
 Many of Whitefield's friends pressed him to preach in the 
 afternoon after his ordination, but he could not. He had 
 been in Gloucester a fortnight, partly with the intention of 
 composing some sermons. He wanted 'a hundred at least,' 
 so that he might not be altogether without ministerial re- 
 sources, compelled always to go from the study to the pulpit 
 with a newly forged weapon ; but, alas ! he found, like many 
 other beginners who have attempted the same thing, that 
 sermons cannot easily be made without the helping excite- 
 ment of expected and appointed work. He had matter 
 enough in his heart, but nothing would flow from his pen. 
 He strove and prayed, but all to no purpose. He mentioned 
 his case to a clergyman ; but that gentleman showed his 
 refinement of feeling and his sympathy with a young man's 
 anxiety and fear on the threshold of public life, by telling 
 Whitcfield that he was an enthusiast. He wrote to another, 
 and this time the response was kind, assuring him of the 
 
30 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 writer's prayers, and explaining to him why God might be 
 dealing with him in this manner. At last he thought he found 
 the cause of his inability explained by these words : ' We 
 essayed to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit suffered us not ; ' 
 and by the words spoken to Ezekiel — ' Thou shalt be dumb ; 
 but when I speak unto thee, then shalt thou speak.' This 
 made him quite easy ; he did ' not doubt but that He who 
 increased a little lad's loaves and fishes for the feeding of a 
 great multitude would, from time to time, supply him with 
 spiritual food for whatever congregation he should be called 
 to.' The morning after his ordination, while he was praying, 
 came these words into his mind — ' Speak out.' How he used 
 that permission, and how his one sermon grew until he had 
 preached more than eighteen thousand times, or more than 
 ten times a week for four-and-thirty years — considerably more, 
 if allowance be made for illnesses and long voyages — and fed 
 multitudes beyond computation, it will be our next duty to 
 trace. 
 
 On the Sunday after his ordination, that is, on June 27, 
 1736, Whitefield preached his first sermon. It was delivered 
 in the old familiar church to a large congregation, which had 
 assembled out of curiosity to hear a townsman j its subject 
 was ' The Necessity and Benefit of Religious Society. A 
 feeling of awe crept over him as he looked upon the crowd 
 of faces, many of which had been familiar to him from his 
 infancy. Former efforts in public speaking when a boy, and 
 his labours in exhorting the poor, proved of immense service 
 to him, removing — what has often overwhelmed bold and 
 capable speakers on their first appearance — the sense of utter 
 strangeness to the work; his soul was comforted with the 
 presence of the Almighty ; and as he proceeded, the fire 
 kindled, fear forsook him, and he spoke with ' gospel 
 authority.' A few mocked ; but there could be no doubt 
 
FIRST SERMON 31 
 
 about the power of the new preacher. A complaint was soon 
 made to the bishop that fifteen persons had been driven mad 
 by his sermon. The bishop only replied, that he hoped the 
 madness might not be forgotten before another Sunday. Nor 
 is that first sermon without another touch of interest. It was 
 not prepared, in the first instance, for St. Mary de Crypt, but 
 for ' a small Christian society ' — a fact which accounts for its 
 being on such an unusual topic for beginners, and for the 
 thoroughly Methodistical thoughts found at its close. Just 
 as it had been preached to the society was it sent by its 
 author to a neighbouring .clergyman, to show him how unfit 
 the author was to preach. He kept it a fortnight, and then 
 sent it back with a guinea for the loan of it, saying that he 
 had divided it into two, and preached it to his people morning 
 and evening. 
 
 On Tuesday he preached again, and repeated his attacks on 
 polite sinners. Before he returned to Oxford on the Wednes- 
 day, Bishop Benson added to all his past kindnesses one 
 more — a present of five guineas, which, with a quarter's 
 allowance now due from Sir John Philips, enabled him to pay 
 his ordination expenses and take his bachelor's degree. 
 
 For another week he wore the servitor's habit, and then 
 assumed the gown of a bachelor of arts. The Methodists, 
 who had received him with great joy on his return to Oxford, 
 installed him as their chief, and committed to his charge 
 the religious oversight of their work, and the charity-money 
 which they collected and used for poor prisoners. A sweet 
 repose rests upon this part of his life. Heart and mind 
 were at peace ; studies were pursued with satisfaction ; inter- 
 course with religious friends was free and congenial; private 
 Christian duties, prayer, praise, and meditation, charmed him 
 to his room ; work was to be done for the defence and spread 
 of truth. Our last glimpse of him in his 'sweet retirement' 
 
32 GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 sees him poring over Matthew Henry's Commentary, and 
 then writing to a friend down at Gloucester — 
 
 ' Herewith I have sent you seven pounds to pay for Mr. Henry's Com- 
 mentary. Dear Squire Thorold lately made me a present of ten guineas, 
 so that now (for ever blessed be the Divine goodness !) I can send you 
 more than I thought for. In time I hope to pay the apothecary's bill. If 
 I forget your favours, I shall also forget my God. Say nothing of your 
 receiving this money ; only give thanks, give hearty thanks to our good 
 and gracious God for His infinite, unmerited mercy to me, the vilest of 
 the sons of men.' 
 
 A trivial circumstance called him forth from his study 
 before he was twenty-two years old. The curate of the Tower 
 Chapel, London, who was an intimate friend, having to go 
 into Hampshire to officiate there for a short time, asked him 
 to fill his place during his absence from home. Whitefield 
 complied with the request, and took coach for London on 
 Wednesday, August 4, 1736, with much fear and trembling. 
 His first sermon in the metropolis was preached on the follow- 
 ing Sunday afternoon, August 8th, in Bishopsgate Church. 
 His youthful appearance as he went up the pulpit stairs 
 provoked, as he in his sensitive state of mind thought, a 
 general sneer, which, however, was exchanged for solemn 
 seriousness when he got into his sermon. He again con- 
 quered himself and his congregation ; and the people, on his 
 coming down from the pulpit, showed him every respect, and 
 blessed him as he passed along. No one could answer the 
 question which was now on every one's lips — ' Who was the 
 preacher to-day?' Attention had been gained, and the two 
 short months of the London visit were quite long enough to 
 secure a crowded chapel at the Tower every Sunday. Any 
 ordinary man might have been sure of perfect quietness in 
 such a place, and of returning home as unknown as when he 
 entered the city ; and no doubt such would have been White- 
 
BORN A PREACHER 33 
 
 field's case but for his wonderful powers and for that blessing 
 from above which went whithersoever he went. The usual 
 wearisome time which ability and worth spend in self-culture, 
 in striving with self till it is well mastered, in grappling with 
 prejudices, and, not improbably, with positive injustice, was a 
 time never known to Whitefield. He came to manhood in 
 youth, his sun rose to its zenith at early morn. For him to 
 preach was at once to spread excitement, and draw together 
 masses of people ; and when they came he never lost his 
 hold upon them. His manner always charmed, never 
 offended ; whereas the utmost mental power and personal 
 worth of many preachers can hardly sustain the patience of 
 their hearers through a half-hour's sermon. His thought was 
 always marked by good sense ; no one could be disgusted 
 with inanity. His emotion was always fresh, streaming from 
 his heart as from a perennial fountain ; and, unless the hearer 
 could not feel, could not be touched by tenderness or awe, he 
 was sure to find his soul made more sensitive. The hearts of 
 most were melted in the intense heat of the preacher's fervour 
 like silver in a refiner's furnace. 
 
 During his stay at the Tower he preached and catechised 
 once a week, and visited the soldiers in the barracks and in 
 the infirmary daily ; every morning and evening he read 
 prayers at Wapping Chapel ; and on Tuesday he preached at 
 Ludgate prison. ' Religious friends from divers parts of the 
 town,' he says, 'attended the word, and several young men 
 came on Lord's Day morning under serious impressions, to 
 hear me discourse about the new birth. The chapel was 
 crowded on Lord's Days.' 
 
 Here a letter reached him from his old friends the Wesleys 
 which told all that they were doing in Georgia, and made him 
 long to go and join them. But difficulties stood in the way. 
 He had no ' outward call,' and his health was supposed to be 
 
 4 
 
34 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 unequal to a sea-voyage. He strove to throw off the new 
 thoughts and feelings, prayed that the Lord would not suffer 
 him to be deluded, and asked counsel of his friends. His 
 friends were not less sensible in advising than he had been in 
 asking for advice. They, too, laid emphasis on the absence of 
 a definite call from abroad ; they urged the need of labourers 
 at home, and begged their friend to avoid rashness and wait 
 further for an intimation of the will of God. Their counsel 
 was received with all respect, and Whitefield, agreeing that it 
 was best to do so, banished Georgia from his mind for the 
 present, and went on heartily with his preaching and visiting 
 until the return of his friend from the country. 
 
 Then he went back to his delightful life at Oxford for a few 
 weeks more, and for the last time his quiet duties were re- 
 sumed. His state of mind seemed to presage the wonders of 
 his ministry ; his heart burned with even more than its former 
 fervour ; and other students having received a similar impulse 
 to their spiritual life, Whitefield's room was daily the scene of 
 such religious services as distinguished the Church imme- 
 diately after the descent of the Holy Ghost at Pentecost, 
 when little bands of devout disciples met to pray and to 
 encourage each other in the profession of the name of Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 Kindness waited on him during these few weeks, as it did 
 during the rest of his life. His power to win the hearts of 
 rich and poor, which, as Dr. Johnson would have said, always 
 kept his friendships in repair, had constrained the heart of a 
 gentleman in London who, without the least solicitation, sent 
 him money for the poor, and also as much for himself as 
 sufficed to discharge a small debt contracted for books before 
 he took his degree. Lady Betty Hastings, sister of the Earl 
 of Huntingdon, also assisted both him and some of his 
 Methodist friends, thus beginning an intimacy between him 
 
AS A COUNTRY PARSON 35 
 
 and her family which lasted as long as he lived, and grew 
 deeper towards the end. 
 
 Things were beginning to give promise of the future ; the 
 dim outline of his career was distinguishable. College quiet- 
 ness had been broken ; a first attempt at public work had 
 been successfully made. Georgia had come before his mind 
 and although banished for a while it was soon to return, an 
 the next time with an imperative message. 
 
 In November another call to preach came to him, sent upon 
 a principle which has been extensively put in practice by a 
 large section of clergymen in the Church of England. The 
 early Methodist preachers, who were the true predecessors, in 
 a spiritual line, of the later ' Evangelical School ' of the Church 
 of England, were the first to set the example, which the 
 evangelicals have largely copied, of always seeking men of 
 their own religious views to fill their pulpits when they had 
 occasion to be from home. Thus it was that the Methodist 
 clergyman of Dummer, in Hampshire, ' being likely to be 
 chosen Dean of Corpus Christi College,' sent for the Methodist 
 deacon of Pembroke to preach for him, while he himself went 
 to Oxford to attend to the pending promotion. The young 
 deacon asked, as usual, the advice of his friends, and the two 
 exchanged places. 
 
 Trouble now arose from an unexpected quarter. He who 
 had felt himself to be the vilest of men could not ' brook ' 
 having intercourse with the poor, illiterate people of the future 
 Dean of Corpus Christi ! Amidst the moral and intellectual 
 barrenness of his new charge, Whitefield would have given all 
 the world for one of his Oxford friends, and ' mourned for lack 
 of them like a dove.' To overcome his unholy aversion he 
 gave himself to prayer and to the study of a fictitious character, 
 ' Ourania,' which William Law has sketched in his ' Serious 
 Call to a Devout Life,' as a pattern of humility The unlovely 
 
36 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 rustics became more pleasant to his eye, and he found, what 
 everybody finds who goes among the poor with a warm heart, 
 that their conversation, artless, honest, and fresh, was full of 
 instruction and stimulus ; his new friends successfully con- 
 tended for his heart against the old ones. It became no 
 unpalatable duty to go and visit them, seeing they often 
 taught him as much in an afternoon as he could learn by a 
 week's private study. He imbibed the spirit of the apostle, 
 who was ready ' to become all things to all men, if by any 
 means he might save some ; ' the spirit, too, of a greater than 
 St. Paul, whom ' the common people heard gladly.' 
 
 His friend had also set him a good example of method in 
 his work, which he wisely followed. Public prayers were read 
 twice a day — in the morning before the people went out to 
 work, and in the evening after they returned ; children were also 
 catechised daily, and the people visited from house to house. 
 His day was divided into three parts ; eight hours for study 
 and retirement, eight for sleep and meals, and eight for reading 
 prayers, catechising, and visiting the parish. 
 
 During this visit he had an invitation to a profitable curacy 
 in London, no doubt through his London labours, but it was 
 declined. A more attractive, because a more difficult and more 
 trying, sphere of labour, was Georgia, to which he was now 
 called in a way earnest enough to arouse all the enthusiasm of 
 his ardent soul, and plain enough to leave him without a doubt 
 that God willed that he should go. A predisposition in favour 
 of the new colony was in process of formation when, in 
 December, news came of the return of Charles Wesley. Next 
 there came a letter from his old friend, stating that he had 
 come over for labourers, but adding, with reference to White- 
 field, ' I dare not prevent God's nomination.' A few days 
 elapsed, and a letter came from John, couched in stronger and 
 less diffident language than Charles had used. So strange and 
 
A CALL TO GEORGIA 37 
 
 unexpected are the changes which come over the course of 
 events in life that Wesley, who was shortly to leave America 
 and never again visit it, could write in this urgent and confident 
 way : ' Only Mr. Delamotte is with me, till God shall stir up 
 the hearts of some of His servants, who, putting their lives in 
 their hands, shall come over and help us, where the harvest is 
 so great and the labourers so few. What if thou art the man, 
 Mr. Whitefield ? ' Another of his letters, by presenting to 
 Whitefield's mind nothing but heavenly rewards, was still 
 better calculated to secure his co-operation. ' Do you ask 
 me,' he says, 'what you shall have? Food to eat and raiment 
 to put on, a house to lay your head in such as your Master had 
 not, and a crown of glory that fadeth not away.' As White- 
 field read, his heart leaped within him, and echoed to the call. 
 The call was heaven-sent, if any call has ever been. 
 
 The United States, then a line of English colonies on the 
 Atlantic coast, were to share largely in Whitefield's labours, 
 and he as largely in their kindness and generosity ; and that 
 hand which was beckoning him to their shore was quietly and 
 effectually undoing the ties which held him to England. Mr. 
 Kinchin obtained the appointment of Dean of Corpus Christi, 
 and could take Whitefield's place as the leader of Methodism 
 at Oxford. Mr. Hervey was ready to serve the cure of 
 Dummer. No place would suffer from Whitefield's departure, 
 and there seemed to be a necessity for him to help Georgia, 
 which was a young, increasing colony, enjoying much favour 
 from the home government. Besides, there were many Indians 
 near the colony, and Whitefield felt the stirrings of a mis- 
 sionary spirit. The decision was given in favour of Georgia, 
 and in a way that made alteration almost out of the question. 
 Neither Oxford friends nor Gloucester relations were this time 
 consulted, but a firm, personal resolution was made which 
 nothing was to be allowed to assail. Relations were informed 
 
33 . GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 of his intentions ; but told that he would not so much as come 
 to bid them farewell, unless they promised not to dissuade 
 him ; for he said that he knew his own weakness. 
 
 However, his weakness so far gained upon him as to send 
 him down to Gloucester on New Year's Day, 1736-37, after he 
 had said goodbye to his friends at Oxford ; and his strength 
 had so much increased that he succeeded in abiding by his 
 purpose. Bishop Benson welcomed him as a father, approved 
 of his design, wished him success, and said, ' I do not doubt 
 that God will bless you, and that you will do much good 
 abroad.' But his ' own relations at first were not so passive. 
 His mother wept sore,' which was both to his credit and hers. 
 Others tempted him with base words, which must have 
 buttressed his citadel instead of undermining it ; they ' urged 
 what pretty preferments he might have if he would stay at 
 home.' He showed no wavering, and the opposition ceased. 
 
 This farewell visit was marked by that constant industry 
 which distinguished him to the last. He preached often 
 enough ' to grow a little popular,' and to gather large congre- 
 gations, which were moved by the word of God. In three 
 weeks he went to Bristol to take leave of his friends there, and 
 again he preached, undertaking duty this time in an unexpected 
 way. It being his custom, go where he might, to attend the 
 daily services of the Church, lie went to St. John's to hear a 
 sermon. When prayers were over, and the psalm was being 
 sung, the minister came to him and asked him to preach. 
 ' Having his notes about him, he complied.' The next day 
 the same thing was repeated at St. Stephen's, but this time the 
 ' alarm ' excited by his preaching was so widespread, that, on 
 the following Sunday, crowds of people, of all denominations, 
 ' Quakers, Baptists, Presbyterians, &c.,' flocked to the churches 
 where he had to officiate, and many were unable to find 
 admission. The civic authorities paid him respect, the mayor 
 
HOL V JEALOUS V 39 
 
 appointing him to preach before himself and the corporation. 
 'For some time following he preached all the lectures on 
 week-days, and twice on Sundays, besides visiting the religious 
 societies.' As always, so now, he preached with power and 
 with the Holy Ghost ; and the new doctrines — new as compared 
 with the prevalent teachings of the times — of justification by 
 faith and the new birth, ' made their way like lightning into 
 the hearers' consciences.' It is touching to mark the holy 
 jealousy with which, amid the city's excitement and eagerness 
 
 to hear him, he entreated a friend, ' Oh ! pray, dear Mr. H , 
 
 that God would always keep me humble, and fully convinced 
 that I am nothing without Him, and that all the good which is 
 done upon earth, God doth it Himself.' 
 
CHAPTER III 
 March, 1737 — March, 1738 
 
 APPOINTED CHAPLAIN TO THE GEORGIAN COLONY EARLY 
 
 POPULARITY FIRST VOYAGE 
 
 C"* EORGIA, the last colony founded in America by England, 
 -T was named in honour of George II., and held a charter 
 dated June 9, 1732. It was an outpost, to keep in check the 
 Spaniards and the French. Its first settlers were poor English, 
 debtors out of gaols and dwellers in London 'slums,' Jews, 
 and convicts from Jamaica. Then came English, Scotch, 
 and Moravians — a company of a higher type ; there were 
 also Saltzburgers from Germany, driven from their homes 
 by Roman Catholic cruelty to a colony where' Catholics 
 were not permitted to come. The government was in 
 the hands of twenty - one Trustees, many of whom 
 were Presbyterians. General Oglethorpe, the romantic and 
 active philanthropist, was the first governor of this semi- 
 political, semi-philanthropical settlement. Ardent spirits were 
 prohibited, and no one might hold slaves. ' The Trustees 
 refused to make a law permitting such a horrid crime as 
 slavery,' says the Governor. Close to the white men were 
 25,000 Creek Indians, whose rights were respected and their 
 goodwill conciliated. The Trustees honestly aimed at con 
 
 stituting a colony morally sound and useful. 
 
 40 
 
GEORGIA 41 
 
 To keep the sanctions of religion before the minds of the 
 settlers, a chaplain, by name Bosomworth, was sent out with 
 the first company ; but unfortunately he was a hypocrite, 
 and, taking to himself a native woman as wife, through her he 
 raised an armed opposition among the Indians, and unsuccess- 
 fully sought to destroy the whites. The moral condition of 
 the colony, not over good to begin with, rapidly deteriorated, 
 and a native chief, when urged to embrace Christianity, refused, 
 saying : ' Why, these are Christians at Savannah ! these are 
 Christians at Frederica ! Christian much drunk!' ('Chris- 
 tian ' had smuggled drink in). ' Christian beat men ! Christian 
 tell lies ! Devil Christian ! Me no Christian ! ' To this 
 strange mixture of men and women came John and Charles 
 Wesley on February 5, 1736. With the best of intentions they 
 both signally failed — John at Savannah, Charles at Frederica. 
 Neither of them knew the liberty which is in Christ Jesus, and 
 that same pitiless legalism, or ' methodism,' which they applied 
 to themselves, they strove to enforce on the colonists, with the 
 result that they were hated, abused, resisted, and persecuted. 
 John says that after having preached there, not as he ought, 
 but as he was able, one year and nine months, he shook off 
 the dust of his feet and left Georgia. Charles had been glad 
 to sail again even sooner than John. Thus the colony was 
 without a chaplain, and the experience of the Trustees might 
 have made them decide to meddle no more with spiritual 
 guides. 
 
 Yet ' James Oglethorpe, Esq., and the Honourable Trustees' 
 received the young preacher, George Whitefield, with kind- 
 ness, when he appeared before them early in March, 1737, 
 desiring an appointment in their colony of Georgia. The 
 Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London both 
 approved of Whitefield's design ; the former prelate, however, 
 expressing himself in these ungracious words : ' I shall take 
 
42 GEORGE WH1TEF1ELD 
 
 particular notice of such as go to Georgia, if they do not go 
 out of any sinister view.' On which Whitefield remarks : 
 'This put me upon inquiry what were my motives in going: 
 and, after the strictest examination, my conscience answered — 
 Not to please any man living upon earth, nor out of any 
 sinister view; but simply to comply with what I believe to 
 be Thy will, O God, and to promote Thy glory, Thou great 
 Shepherd and Bishop of souls.' 
 
 It was not an easy thing to sail to a distant land a hundred 
 and sixty years ago. A prolonged stay, enforced by the slow 
 despatch of business, or by the absence of favourable winds, 
 often gave the traveller more than one opportunity of saying 
 farewell to his friends ; and, even when embarkation fairly 
 took place, it was no guarantee that he was finally gone. A 
 calm might land him at any port on the British shores, and 
 from thence he was sure to communicate with his friends. 
 Thus it happened that Whitefield, after his appointment, con- 
 tinued three weeks in London, waiting for Mr. Oglethorpe, 
 who was expecting to sail every day ; and then, at last, quietly 
 betook himself to Stonehouse, in Gloucestershire, to supply the 
 place of a clerical friend, who went to London on business. 
 Of course the time spent in the metropolis was devoted to 
 preaching, and Stonehouse was to prove a happier Duraraer. 
 His meetings in private houses and the public services 
 in the church were both attended by overflowing congrega- 
 tions. It was a time of much spiritual gladness with him. 
 
 ' I found,' he says, ' uncommon manifestations granted me from above. 
 Early in the morning, at noonday, evening, and midnight, nay, all the day 
 long, did the blessed Jesus visit and refresh my heart. Could the trees of 
 a certain wood near Stonehouse speak, they would tell what sweet com- 
 munion I and some dear souls enjoyed with the ever-blessed God there. 
 Sometimes, as I have been walking, my soul would make such sallies 
 that I thought it would go out of the body. At other times I would be so 
 overpowered with a sense of God's infinite majesty, that I would be con- 
 
MEETINGS AND PARTINGS 43 
 
 strained lo throw myself prostrate on the ground, and otier my soul as a 
 blank in His hands, to write on it what He pleased. One night was a time 
 never to be forgotten. It happened to lighten exceedingly. I had been 
 expounding to many people, and some being afraid to go home, I thought 
 it my duty to accompany them, and improve the occasion, to stir them up 
 to prepare for the second coming of the Son of man ; but oh ! what did 
 my soul feel ? On my return to the parsonage-house, whilst others were 
 rising from their beds, and frightened almost to death, to see the lightning 
 run upon the ground, and shine from one part of the heaven to another, 
 I and another, a poor but pious countryman, were in the field praising, 
 praying to, and exulting, in our God, and longing for that time when Jesus 
 shall be revealed from heaven in a flame of fire ! O that my soul may 
 be in a like frame when He shall actually come to call me ! ' 
 
 The gentleness and sweetness of spring also had their 
 attractions for him ; it was early in May, and the country, he 
 says, 'looked to me like a second paradise, the pleasantest 
 place I ever was in through all my life.' The thought of leaving 
 Stonehouse people, with whom he ' agreed better and better,' 
 touched his affectionate heart not a little, and he wrote to 
 a friend : ' I believe we shall part weeping.' There had been 
 but a month's short intercourse with them, and they were the 
 flock of another pastor ; but it was Whitefi eld's way to love 
 people and to labour for them as if he had known them a life- 
 time, never jealous of any one, nor dreaming that any one could 
 be jealous of him ; and when he took his leave on Ascension 
 Day, 'the sighs and tears,' he says, 'almost broke my heart.' 
 
 The guest whom Stonehouse was sorry to part with, Bristol 
 was glad to receive ; indeed the people there, gratefully remem- 
 bering Whitefield's visit to them in February, insisted upon 
 his coming to see them again. The account of their enthusiastic 
 reception of him reads more like an extract from the journal 
 of a conquering general, or from that of a prince on a progress 
 through his provinces, than that of a young clergyman, twenty- 
 two years old. Multitudes on foot and many in coaches met 
 him a mile outside the city gates ; and as he passed along the 
 
44 GEOkGE WHITEFlELD 
 
 streets in the midst of his friends, almost every one saluted and 
 blessed him. The general joy was deepened when, to his own 
 regret, Mr. Oglethorpe sent him word that their departure for 
 America would be delayed two months longer. Bristol was 
 completely under the spell of its visitor, or rather of him and 
 the doctrines he preached. The rich forsook their comforts 
 and pleasures, to jostle and push among the crowd which five 
 times every week besieged the church where Whitefield was 
 to preach. The quiet Quaker left the unimpassioned talk of 
 his meeting-house to feel the thrill of oratory. The uncom- 
 promising Nonconformist left his chapel for the church, where 
 he had too often failed to find the heart-searching preaching 
 which alone could satisfy his wants, but where he was now 
 pierced as with arrows, and healed as with the balm of Gilead. 
 The idle worldling, who seldom made an effort to be interested 
 in anything, shook off his supineness at least to go and hear 
 what the stranger had to say. The vicious and depraved strove 
 for a place where they might hear the love of God toward 
 sinners, the greatness and preciousness of the work of His Son 
 Jesus, and the mighty help of the Holy Ghost in the hearts of 
 all who would live a holy life, spoken of with a tenderness and 
 an earnestness befitting themes so dear to them in their abject 
 condition. The broken-hearted rejoiced in the sympathetic 
 feeling of a teacher who knew T all their sorrow. The mixed 
 mass of hearers filled the pews, choked the aisles, swarmed 
 into every nook and corner, hung upon the rails of the organ- 
 loft, climbed upon the leads of the church. As many had to 
 turn away disappointed as had gained admission. And the 
 preacher's words were more than a pleasant sound, much 
 enjoyed while it lasted, and soon forgotten when it ceased ; 
 they struck into heart and conscience, turning the wicked man 
 from his wickedness, that he might save his soul alive, and 
 awakening the generous emotiuns of all. 
 
PRACTICAL RELIGION 45 
 
 Whitefield began with his congregations as he continued 
 and ended with them. He made a practical, benevolent 
 use of them ; for he felt that our profession of love to 
 God is but a mockery, unless it be connected with love 
 to one another, and ' love which is not in word, but in 
 deed and in truth.' He did not preach to please his hearers, 
 and they must not come to be pleased. They must come 
 to know their duty, as well as their privilege in the 
 Gospel ; and so, twice or thrice every week, he appealed 
 to them on behalf of the prisoners in Newgate, and made 
 collections. Howard had not yet begun his holy work in 
 our gaols ; but the temporal and spiritual wants of prisoners 
 never failed to move the sympathy of Whitefield and the early 
 Methodists. The first band of Methodists had a special fund 
 for the prisoners in Oxford gaol, and when Whitefield left the 
 University he had the disposing of it and the chief charge of 
 the prisoners. In London and in Gloucester he was a regular 
 visitor at Newgate ; and in Bristol he pursued the same charit- 
 able plan. The author of the ' Life and Adventures of Oliver 
 Goldsmith ' imagines that Dr. Primrose was the character 
 which suggested prison philanthropy ; but Goldsmith much 
 more likely got the suggestion from the Methodists, who had 
 been already at work in prisons some thirty years. Joseph 
 Alleine, an intimate friend of Wesley's grandfather, preached | 
 to prisoners a hundred years before the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' 
 was written. 
 
 The same comprehensive charity was displayed towards the 
 poor of Georgia, whose faces Whitefield had not yet seen. 
 During his stay at Bristol he paid a visit to Bath, where his 
 preaching produced as deep an impression as in the sister city, 
 and where some rich ladies gave him more than a hundred 
 and sixty pounds for the poor of his future flock. 
 
 If parting from the simple peasants of Stonehouse was hard. 
 
46 GEORGE WHITE El ELD 
 
 it could not be easy to tear himself away from Bristol, which 
 offered him both ample means and affectionate regard, if he 
 would continue to minister in its churches. For the money he 
 cared nothing ; for love he cared everything. 
 
 'June 21st,' he says, 'I took my last farewell of Bristol. But when I 
 came to tell them it might be that they would " see my face no more," 
 high and low, young and old burst into such a flood of tears as I have 
 never seen before ; drops fell from their eyes like rain, or rather gushed out 
 like water. Multitudes, after sermon, followed me home weeping ; and 
 the next day I was employed from seven in the morning till midnight, in 
 talking and giving spiritual advice to awakened souls.' 
 
 As he had heard that a great company intended to see him 
 out of town he departed early in the morning for Gloucester, 
 then he went to Oxford, and forward to London. Thus he 
 had two or three leave-takings at various places. 
 
 This popularity inevitably brought trouble. His doctrine 
 was not approved of by all ; and thus, under the pressure of 
 aspersions from enemies and entreaties from friends, he was 
 induced to publish his sermon on ' Regeneration.' It contains 
 a statement of the ordinary evangelical views upon that 
 subject, given in very ordinary language ; only two sentences 
 would be likely to catch the eye of any one who might read the 
 sermon with a previous understanding of the preacher's views. 
 Once he makes a side-hit at metaphorical interpreters : ' It will 
 be well if they do not interpret themselves out of their salva- 
 tion.' In another sentence he states a view which he and his 
 contemporary Methodist friends — to their honour be it said — 
 always carried into practice, as well as urged in their preach- 
 ing ; he says : ' The sum of the matter is this : Christianity 
 includes morality, as grace does reason.' Elsewhere he defines 
 true religion in these strikingly noble words : ' A universal 
 morality founded upon the love of God and faith in the Lord 
 Jesus Christ.' 'The only Methodism,' he exclaims, 'I desire 
 
RELIGION AND MORALITY 47 
 
 to know is a holy method of dying to ourselves, and of living to 
 God.' 
 
 The prophets themselves, to whom, in ancient time, was 
 committed, among other exalted duties, the task of guarding the 
 morality of the Hebrew nation, of protesting against every use 
 of the ceremonial law and of the temple service which would 
 degrade religion into a superstition, and the apostles, who 
 never failed to link the plainest and humblest of duties with the 
 loftiest doctrines they taught, were not more jealous that reli- 
 gion and morality should not be divorced from each other, than 
 were Whitefield and the Wesleys. The ground of the moderns 
 was taken up clearly and boldly by Whitefield in his sermon 
 just referred to, and throughout his whole life was never for a 
 moment forsaken. The great strength of the new movement 
 lay, not in the advocacy of any peculiar doctrine, but in the 
 union of doctrine and precept, of privilege and responsibility. 
 It was a true expression of the apostle's argument to the Church 
 at Rome — the doctrine of grace united with purity of life. So 
 far from its resting alone or principally upon a particular doc- 
 trine, Whitefield and Wesley were divided upon doctrine, the 
 one holding with Arminius, the other with Calvin; yet their 
 work, even after the rupture between them, was not hindered 
 or destroyed, but carried forward with as much vigour and as 
 much to the profit of mankind as ever. Some would have 
 morality without religion, but these men proclaimed every- 
 where that religion is the root of morality ; that every man needs 
 the renewing power of the Spirit of God in his heart ; and that 
 the 'fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, 
 gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.' 
 
 Whether friends and enemies did Whitefield a service by 
 forcing him to publish, has been much questioned ; indeed, 
 nearly every one has condemned the step. Franklin thought 
 that he did himself an abiding injustice, because his power lay 
 
48 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 not in the pen, but in the tongue ; and that it would have been 
 better for his reputation had he allowed only the reports of his 
 genius and of his triumphs to be kept as his memorial for 
 succeeding generations. As to the sermons, perhaps Franklin 
 was right ; but Whitefield would have been no more than an 
 idle name had we been without some of his writings, without 
 his journal, pamphlets, and some of his letters. With him it 
 was no consideration what might be thought of his powers. 
 During his life he never gave a moment to recollect whether he 
 had any literary reputation or not ; and least of all did he 
 hunger after posthumous fame. He published in the first 
 instance, because he wanted to clear himself of aspersions, and 
 his friends wished to have his sermons ; and in the second 
 instance, because he found that his sermons were often as useful 
 when read as when heard. Many weeping eyes, in England, in 
 Scotland, in America, in the hut of the emigrant, in the cottage 
 of the peasant, in the hall of the nobleman, once eagerly 
 searched for consolation and hope, and found them in those 
 pages which few now care to read, excepting curious orators, who 
 want to find out the secret of Whitefield's power. The two old 
 volumes have a touching interest when their history is remem- 
 bered. They speak of broken-hearted penitents and of 
 rejoicing believers ; and this alone suffices to lend them an air 
 of sanctity. But they are not without passion and directness. 
 Intellectual they are not ; their feebleness becomes their 
 wonder. It would be a profound satisfaction to the humble 
 spirit of their author to know that men regard them as 'weak 
 things ' ; for, remembering how they once prevailed over irre- 
 ligion and vice, and over cultivated, thoughtful minds, he 
 would simply say, ' Then hath God chosen the weak things 
 of the world to confound the mighty.' And God still uses 
 them unto salvation. 
 
 The sermons which had aroused Bristol and Bath were next 
 
POPULARITY AND CONTEMPT 49 
 
 preached in London, whither Whitefield went about the end of 
 August. If his life in Bristol had been busy and excited 
 enough, what shall be said of the 'torrent of popularity and 
 contempt,' as he calls it, that swept through the metropolis ? 
 His intention was to remain in perfect retirement and devote 
 himself, until the time of his departure for Georgia, to his much- 
 loved employment of reading and praying over the word of 
 God upon his knees ; but his soul had not long tasted the 
 sweetness of this repose when invitations to preach poured in 
 amain. The stewards and members of the religious societies 
 (societies which did religious, moral, and social work) were 
 remarkably fond of hearing him, and for a good reason — he 
 attracted large congregations, and got large collections. 
 Friendly clergymen — only too soon to forget their admiration — ■ 
 wanted help in their services, and sought it from this willing 
 worker. The churches could not hold the people ; thousands 
 went away for want of room. Then the churchwardens and 
 managers of the charity schools, perceiving the effect of his 
 preaching, that is to say, its money-effect, thought that they 
 must have a share of the harvest, and began to plead with him 
 for the benefit of the children. For three months the stream 
 of people flowed steadily towards any church in which he 
 might be ministering ; and sometimes constables had to be 
 placed both inside and outside the building, to preserve order. 
 Nine times a week did Whitefield engage in his delightful work 
 of preaching. On Sunday morning it was his habit to rise very 
 early, and during the day to walk many miles between the 
 various churches at which he was expected. These early 
 sacraments, which called him out before daybreak, 'were,' he 
 says, ' very awful. At Cripplegate, St. Anne's, and Foster Lane, 
 O how often have we seen Jesus Christ crucified, and evi- 
 dently set forth before us ! On Sunday mornings, long before 
 day, you might see streets filled with people going to church, 
 
 5 
 
50 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 with their lanthorns in their hands, and hear them conversing 
 about the things of God.' The ordinary congregations, too, 
 which were not composed of such persons as these devout 
 communicants, but of all kinds, heard the word 'like people 
 hearing for eternity.' 
 
 Such popularity quite disturbed the usual order of things. 
 On sacramental occasions fresh elements had sometimes to be 
 consecrated twice or thrice. The stewards had larger offerings 
 than they could conveniently carry to the table, their collec- 
 tion boxes or bags not having been made for such an excep- 
 tional time. A newsagent, who heard of what was doing in 
 the religious world, thought that he was as much entitled to 
 turn an honest penny as the stewards ; and one Monday 
 morning, when Whitefield was quietly taking breakfast with a 
 friend at the Tower, his eye caught sight in the newspaper of a 
 paragraph to the effect, that there was a young gentleman going 
 volunteer to Georgia ; that he had preached at St. Swithin's, 
 and collected eight pounds, instead of ten shillings — three 
 pounds of which was in halfpence (which was all quite true) ; 
 and that he was to preach next Wednesday before the societies 
 at their general quarterly meeting. The paragraph chagrined 
 Whitefield very much. He was not yet inured to the annoy- 
 ances of public life, and he requested the printer not to put 
 him in his paper again ; but his only comfort was the printer's 
 saucy answer, ' that he was paid for doing it, and that he would 
 not lose two shillings for anybody,' and a full church — Bow 
 Church it was — on the following Wednesday. 
 
 As popularity and usefulness increased, opposition increased 
 proportionately. The ground which it took was extraordinary, 
 it being actually urged that these crowds which followed 
 Whitefield interfered with the attendance at church of regular 
 parishioners ; further, that the pews were spoiled ; next, that 
 he was a spiritual pickpocket ; and finally, that he made use 
 
THE CLERGY 51 
 
 of a charm to get the people's money — which was perfectly 
 true. And the clergy — some of them, at least — who had 
 listened and admired, grew angry and spiteful. The charmer, 
 it was rumoured, would be silenced by the bishop, upon the 
 complaint of the clergy ; the pickpocket would be hindered 
 from plying his thievish arts. 
 
 But Whitefield was not a man to tremble under a threat, or 
 grow pale at a rumour. He had a native pugnacity, not yet 
 humbled and subdued ; and quickly did he show his enemies 
 that he could fight as well as preach and pray, and that 
 silencing him would be a difficult thing. He at once waited 
 upon the bishop, and asked whether any complaint had been 
 lodged against him ; the bishop answered that there was none. 
 He asked his lordship whether any objection could be made 
 to his doctrine, and the bishop replied, ' No ; for I know a 
 clergyman who has heard you preach a plain scriptural 
 sermon.' Whitefield then asked his lordship whether he would 
 grant him a licence, and the answer was, ' You need none, 
 since you are going to Georgia.' 'Then,' said Whitefield, 
 'you would not forbid me ? ' The bishop gave a satisfactory 
 answer, and Whitefield took his leave. 
 
 Whitefield, too prone at this time to judge others, had, in 
 part, broken with his profession. Some of them he had cen- 
 sured ; and they had replied by shutting their churches against 
 him. Others attempted to crush him by means of pamphlets. 
 He was denounced for fraternising with Dissenters; one 
 clergyman called him 'a pragmatical rascal,' and 'vehemently 
 inveighed against him and the whole body of Dissenters 
 together.' His intimacy with Dissenters, it is true, was great, 
 and lasted throughout the whole of his life. The grounds of 
 it were honourable to both parties concerned. The piety and 
 zeal of the preacher drew the pious of other denominations to 
 hear him ; and in their houses, to which they kindly invited 
 
52 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 him, and he as kindly went, they assured him, ' that if the doc- 
 trine of the new birth and justification by faith were powerfully 
 preached in the Church, there would be but few Dissenters in 
 England.' Whitefield found their conversation ' savoury,' and 
 thinking that his practice of visiting and associating with them 
 was agreeable to Scripture, he judged that ' the best way to 
 bring them over was not by bigotry and railing, but moderation 
 and love, and undissembled holiness of life.' 
 
 The end of these London labours, which were only part of 
 an interlude, came at Christmas, 1737. Anxious to get to his 
 Georgian charge, and an opportunity offering by a transport 
 ship, which was about to sail with a number of soldiers, he 
 determined at once to start. His purpose wounded the hearts 
 of thousands ; prayers were offered for him ; the people would 
 embrace him in the church ; wistful looks would follow him as 
 he went home. A solemn, weeping communion celebrated the 
 final parting. 
 
 He left the charity schools one thousand pounds richer by 
 his labours, and he carried more than three hundred pounds 
 with him for the poor of Georgia. He ever, from the first 
 voyage to the thirteenth, crossed the Atlantic guarded by the 
 prayers of thousands, and freighted with their benevolent gifts. 
 
 On December 28th Whitefield left London, and on the 30th 
 went on board the Whitaker at Purfleet. His labours now 
 were divided between the ship and the shore, the former con- 
 taining the companions of his voyage, the latter having the 
 presence of friends, who followed him from point to point, till 
 he got out to sea, and who were always ready to engage him in 
 some religious duties. Great kindness and prudence marked 
 his conduct among the men of the ship from the first day he 
 went on board. He attended them in sickness, taught them, 
 and catechised them. To the officers, both naval and military, 
 he showed marked deference, and allowed not his zeal to carry 
 
WINNING SOLDIERS AND SAILORS 53 
 
 him into any unwise attempts to force religion upon their atten- 
 tion. He was as attentive to teach a few soldiers or a few 
 women the catechism as he had been zealous for the crowds of 
 London. At night he would walk on the deck that he might 
 have an opportunity of speaking quietly to some officers whom 
 he wanted to gain over to the service of God, or go down into 
 the steerage where the sailors were congregated, that he might 
 be as one of them. He soon became a favourite. The captain 
 of the ship gave him the free use of his cabin, the military 
 captain was friendly, and so were the rest of the officers. At 
 length, prayers were read daily in the great cabin ; and, at the 
 request of the captain, Whitefield preached to the 'gentlemen.' 
 Until they left Deal on January 30th, he also regularly preached 
 on shore in a house, and the congregations became so large 
 that the preaching room had to be propped up. It seems that 
 ' running ' and buying ' run goods ' was a ' sin that did most 
 easily beset the Deal people ' of that day ; and though White- 
 field took care to show them 'the absolute unlawfulness' of 
 their deeds, yet they still waited on his word. 
 
 The same morning that he sailed from Deal, John Wesley 
 arrived there from Georgia. On reaching shore, Wesley learned 
 that his friend was in a vessel in the offing, bound for Georgia. 
 From some cause or other, Wesley deemed it necessary to take- 
 some steps to know whether Whitefield ought to continue his 
 voyage. His method of deciding the difficulty was by sortilege, 
 a practice which he long continued, but one which Whitefield 
 never followed. He even resorted to it in the dispute between 
 himself and Whitefield on the subjects of election and free- 
 grace. In a letter addressed to Wesley, in reply to Wesley's 
 sermon on free-grace, Whitefield said about the Deal lot — 
 
 ' The morning I sailed from Deal to Gibraltar you arrived from Geoigia. 
 Instead of giving me an opportunity to converse with you, though the ship 
 was not far off the shore, you drew a lot, and immediately set forwards to 
 
54 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 London. You left a letter behind you, in which were words to this effect : 
 " When I saw God, by the wind which was carrying you out brought me 
 in, I asked counsel of God. His answer you have inclosed." This was a 
 piece of paper, in which were written these words : " Let him return to 
 London." 
 
 ' When I received this, I was somewhat surprised. Here was a good 
 man telling me he had cast a lot, and that God would have me return to 
 London. On the other hand, I knew that my call was to Georgia, and that 
 I had taken leave of London, and could not justly go from the soldiers who 
 were committed to my charge. I betook myself with a friend to prayer. 
 That passage in the First Book of Kings, chapter xiii., was powerfully 
 impressed upon my soul, where we are told, " That the prophet was slain 
 by a lion, that was tempted to go back (contrary to God's express order) 
 upon another prophet's telling him God would have him do so." I wrote 
 you word that I could not return to London. We sailed immediately. 
 Some months after I received a letter from you at Georgia, wherein you 
 wrote words to this effect : "Though God never before gave me a wrong 
 lot, yet, perhaps, He suffered me to have such a lot at that time, to try 
 what was in your heart." I should never have published this private 
 transaction to the world did not the glory of God call me to it.' 
 
 It was well, for the sake of every one, and for the sake of 
 religion, that Whitefield was not so superstitious as his friend, 
 and that he was not turned from a sober purpose by a ridiculous 
 chance. His return to London would have demanded public 
 explanation, and what could he have said but this : ' John 
 Wesley drew a lot, on which were these words : " Let him 
 return to London ; " and so I am here ? ' Then all the 
 sensible part of his congregation would either have lost confi- 
 dence in him, or have become as foolish as himself; and 
 enemies, who were rapidly multiplying, would have assailed 
 him with irresistible force. All his prayers, resolutions, tears, 
 and ponderings, would have been covered with shame and 
 confusion, and he could never have become a leader, since 
 men will follow only the decided and consistent. Wesley him- 
 self, notwithstanding his blind faith in lots, would not have 
 been turned from his purpose by a dozen of them drawn by a 
 friend, had he been so far and so openly committed as was 
 
DEL TGHT IN NA TURE 5 5 
 
 Whitefield. One short answer would have cut through the 
 difficulty — ' My friend may draw lots for himself, but not for 
 me ; at this rate everybody will be trying to divine my duty, 
 and the contradictory answers will leave me in hopeless 
 embarrassment.' 
 
 So few are the references, in Whitefield's journal or letters, 
 to the manners of the people among whom he stayed, or to the 
 scenery through which he passed in his travels, that it is a 
 pleasure to extract any that he made, as a proof that his was 
 not a dull soul without delight in nature, without responsive- 
 ness to the soft sweetness of a southern sky, or to the wildness 
 and majesty of a storm. The following account of his feelings 
 as he approached Gibraltar is given in his first journal : — 
 
 'Saturday, February iSth. — Though the weather was exceedingly 
 pleasant all the day, yet it grew more and more pleasant in the evening, 
 and our ship sailed at the rate of nine miles an hour, and as steady as 
 though we were sitting on shore. The night was exceedingly clear, and 
 the moon and stars appeared in their greatest lustre ; so that, not having 
 
 patience to stay below, I went upon deck with friend H and praised 
 
 God for His wonderful lovingkindness in singing Psalms, and gave thanks 
 for the blessings, and asked pardon for the offences, of the week, and then 
 had a long intercession. 
 
 ' It is worth coming from England to see what we have beheld this day. 
 
 ' Sunday, February 19th. — Slept better to-night than I have a long while ; 
 blessed be the Keeper of Israel ! Read prayers in the great cabin ; was 
 enlarged in expounding both the lessons to the soldiers ; and had prayers, 
 and preached one of the sermons God enabled me to make since I came on 
 board, on open deck in the afternoon. All the gentlemen attended ; 
 benches were laid for the people ; and the ship sailed smoothly, and the 
 weather was finer than I can express, so that I know not where I have per- 
 formed the service more comfortably. And, indeed, I have been so 
 delighted these two days with our pleasant sailing and the promontories all 
 around us, that I could not avoid thanking God for calling me abroad, 
 and stirring up all to praise Him, " who by His strength setteth fast the 
 mountains, and is girded about with power.'" 
 
 On February 20th the Whitaker reached Gibraltar. \\*hitc- 
 field thought it was ' the world in epitome ' ; he might have 
 
56 GEORGE WH1TEFIELD 
 
 added, the Church too ; for Dissenters and Churchmen, ' New 
 Lights' and 'Dark Lanthorns,' Jews and Roman Catholics, 
 were on the rock. The ' New Lights ' were an interesting 
 company of soldiers, gathered into a society by a sergeant, who 
 for twelve years had been their leader. Their meetings were 
 first held in 'dens and mountains and caves of the rocks,' but 
 afterwards, on applying for leave to build a little sanctuary of 
 their own, the minister of the church and the governor wisely 
 and generously gave them the free use of the church. 
 
 A few days sufficed to make Whitefield as popular with the 
 soldiers as he had been with the sailors, with the townspeople 
 as he was with the garrison. Officers and soldiers crowded the 
 church when he preached ; and at the governor's table, where 
 he had dreaded being treated with more than sober hospitality, 
 ' all the officers behaved with such a decent, innocent manner ' 
 that they pleased him very much. They were studious to 
 oblige him, and solicitous for him to stay ; but his face was set 
 to go to Georgia. Many of the inhabitants pressed him to 
 stay with them, and for his sake treated the friends who 
 journeyed with him with marked kindness. 
 
 None of this popularity was won at the expense of fidelity. 
 While all were crowding to hear him, he eagerly embraced the 
 opportunity of reproving them for the sin of drunkenness, the 
 sin of the place, and for profane swearing. His presence and 
 labours created so much excitement that even the chief of the 
 Jews came to hear him on the latter subject. Not knowing 
 this, Whitefield next day attended the synagogue, and was 
 astonished when the presiding elder came to him and con- 
 ducted him to a chief seat, as a mark of honour for his having 
 preached so well, according to Jewish ideas, against the sin of 
 profaning the Divine name. The Roman Catholic Church 
 was also visited ; but everything there was contrary to the 
 simplicity which the plain Methodist loved. 
 
CONFLICTS AND COMFORTS 57 
 
 The stay at Gibraltar lasted thirteen days, and on the last 
 day of it many came to Whitefield, weeping, to tell him what 
 God had done for their souls, to ask for his prayers, and to 
 promise him theirs in return. Others sent him presents of 
 cake, wine, figs, eggs, and other necessaries for his voyage. Two 
 hundred soldiers, women, officers, and others stood on the 
 beach to see him go on board, and wish him ' good luck in the 
 name of the Lord.' 
 
 The results of his work he thus summed up : ' Many that 
 were quite stark blind have received their sight ; many that had 
 fallen back have repented and turned unto the Lord again ; 
 many that were ashamed to own Christ openly have waxen 
 bold ; and many that were saints have had their hearts filled 
 with joy unspeakable and full of glory.' His labours on the ship 
 also reformed the swearing captain and many of the soldiers. 
 
 In the next portion of the voyage fever broke out on the 
 ship, and carried off two of the worst men on board ; White- 
 field was struck down for several days. To a friend he writes : — 
 
 ' How goes time ? I can scarce tell ; for I have been some time past, as 
 one would think, launching into eternity. God has been pleased to visit 
 me with a violent fever, which He, notwithstanding, so sweetened by 
 Divine consolations, that I was enabled to rejoice and sing in the midst of 
 it. Indeed, I had many violent conflicts with the powers of darkness, who 
 did all they could to disturb and distract me ; and though I was once 
 reduced to the last extremity, and all supernatural assistance seemed to be 
 suspended for awhile, and Satan, as it were, had dominion over me, yet 
 God suffered not my faith to fail, but came in at length to my aid, rebuked 
 the tempter, and from that moment I grew better. Surely God is preparing 
 me for something extraordinary ; for He has now sent me such extra- 
 ordinary conflicts and comforts as I never before experienced. I was, as I 
 thought, on the brink of eternity. I had heaven within me ; I thought of 
 nothing in this world ; I earnestly desired to be dissolved and go to Christ ; 
 but God was pleased to order it otherwise, and I am resigned, though I can 
 scarce be reconciled to come back again into this vale of misery. ... I 
 would write more, but my strength faileth me. We hope to be at Savannah 
 on Monday.' 
 
58 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 Whitefield's farewell sermon to the soldiers was preached on 
 May 6th, and caused much weeping. On the evening of the 
 following day he reached Savannah, where he was welcomed 
 by Mr. Delamotte, the friend whom Wesley left behind him, 
 and some other ' pious souls,' who were rejoiced at his arrival, 
 and joined him in thanksgiving and prayer. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 1738 
 
 ROUGH EXPERIENCES IN GEORGIA — SECOND VOYAGE 
 
 WHITEFIELD, on his arrival at Savannah, knew 
 nothing of the circumstances under which his friend 
 Wesley had left it. The whole story was related to him, 
 and he wisely determined to act as if nothing of an unhappy 
 kind had occurred ; he would not even make any record of it 
 in his journal. Full of loving anxiety to do his work well, 
 and heartily believing that the gospel he preached could 
 promote peace and harmony, he never gave a thought to 
 the unhappy past, in which his friends had, though not 
 without provocation, received harsh treatment, but began early 
 and zealously to preach and to teach. At five o'clock on 
 the morning after his arrival he read public prayers, and 
 expounded the second lesson to a congregation of seventeen 
 adults and twenty-five children. Such was the exchange for 
 crowded churches in England ! 
 
 In the afternoon of the same day, Mr. Causton, Wesley's 
 keen enemy, sent word that he and the magistrates would 
 wait upon Whitefield, but Whitefield chose to wait upon them, 
 a courtesy which could hardly fail to prepare the way for 
 kindly intercourse. The interview was marked by much 
 
 50 
 
6o 
 
 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 ' civility ' shown to the new chaplain ; and the principal part 
 of the conversation was upon the place of his settlement. 
 The magistrates were as diplomatic as civil ; for it was resolved 
 that the place should be Frederica, where a house and 
 tabernacle were to be built for him — then they themselves 
 would not run the risk of any trouble with him — but that 
 he ' should serve at Savannah, when, and as long as he 
 pleased.' Thus they avoided raising a contention with him, 
 by not arbitrarily sending him away from the principal place. 
 They had evidently learned the secret of conceding for the 
 sake of getting ; but, in the present case, their caution was 
 needless. 
 
 The ship-fever had not quite left Whitefield when, with his 
 usual promptness, he arranged the plan of his work and made 
 a beginning. His first week in Savannah was spent in con- 
 finement, and, on the second Sunday, his attempt to officiate 
 broke down before he reached the second service ; but on 
 the following Tuesday he was out at his pastoral work, and 
 made a call on Tomo Chici, the Indian king, who had refused 
 to become a Christian, on the ground that Christians were 
 such bad wretches. There can be no doubt, however, that 
 he had no fitness, though much zeal, for preaching to the 
 Indians. 
 
 For oratory there was little scope in Georgia, where a 
 congregation of one or two hundred persons was the largest 
 that could be mustered ; but there was ample room for 
 industry, for humility, for gentleness, and for self-denial ; and 
 Whitefield, by his assiduous cultivation of these graces, showed 
 that he cared more for charity than for the gift of speaking 
 ' with the tongues of men and of angels.' Oratory was nothing 
 to him as an art ; it was supremely valuable as a talent to 
 be used for his Lord, an instrument by which hearts might be 
 drawn to the cross. He went among the villages, like a 
 
AMONG THE SETTLERS 61 
 
 travelling missionary in a heathen country ; made himself the 
 friend of every one in them, men, women, and children, no 
 matter what their nation or their creed ; praised their industry 
 and success ; reproved their faults ; and invited them to trust 
 in Him who could save them from their sins. He was 
 scrupulously careful not to offend the religious or national 
 prejudices of any, and strove to draw all by the cords of 
 love. It is easy to believe that a chaplain whose heart was 
 touched with the colonists' every sorrow, who entered into 
 their difficulties, who came to cheer them at their work, and 
 sit as one of them in their huts, where the children gathered 
 round his knee, and the workers talked about the soil and the 
 crops, was loved as a personal friend. As such they looked 
 upon him. The love which won Dummer, Bristol, London, 
 and Gibraltar was simply repeating its inevitable conquests. 
 His dauntless and brotherly spirit, which still retained a touch 
 f the asceticism of his Oxford days, made him resolve to 
 endure the worst hardships of colonial life. The weather was 
 intensely hot, sometimes burning him almost through his 
 shoes ; and ' seeing others do it who,' he says, ' were as 
 unable, I determined to inure myself to hardiness by lying 
 on the ground, which, by use, I found to be so far from being 
 hardship, that afterwards it became so to lie on a bed.' With 
 this endurance he combined the charming quality of gratitude 
 for any kindness either to himself or his friends. 
 
 The settlers in the village had but a hard lot. Their 
 children offered the best field for Whitefield's efforts, and 
 he at once arranged to begin schools for them. 
 
 ' I also,' he says, ' inquired into the state of their children, and found 
 there were many who might prove useful members of the colony, if there 
 was a proper place provided for their maintenance and education. Nothing 
 can effect this but an orphan-house, which might easily be erected at, or 
 near, Savannah, would some of those that are rich in this world's good 
 
62 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 contribute towards it. May God, in His due time, stir up the wills of 
 His faithful people to be ready to distribute, and willing to communicate 
 on this commendable occasion.' 
 
 The following extract shows the need of the flock and the 
 tender-heartedness of the shepherd : ' Began to-day visiting 
 from house to house, and found the people in appearance 
 desirous of being fed with the sincere milk of the word, and 
 solicitous for my continuance amongst them. Poor creatures ! 
 My heart ached for them, because I saw them and their/ 
 children scattered abroad as sheep having no shepherd.' 
 
 The first of these extracts points to the inference that the 
 idea of an orphan-house for the colony was Whitefield's own, 
 and many of his friends who helped him gave him the credit 
 of it ; but he was frank in undeceiving them, and in giving the 
 praise to Charles Wesley and the humane governor, General 
 Oglethorpe. Before he had thought of going abroad, they had 
 seen and felt the necessity of some provision being made for 
 the orphans, who must inevitably be thrown upon the colony 
 when their parents died and left them unprovided for. A 
 scheme somewhat like the one which was ultimately adopted 
 was devised, but, though the Wesleys made its practical 
 accomplishment impossible, yet the idea was not abandoned. 
 Whitefield was entreated by his friend Charles Wesley to 
 remember the orphans ; and such a call was never made in 
 vain upon him. He 'resolved, in the strength of God, to 
 prosecute the orphan-house design with all his might.' The 
 Trustees, acting no doubt at the suggestion of Oglethorpe, 
 favoured him. 
 
 When he reached his charge he found that the condition of 
 the orphans was deplorable, all the kindness of the Trustees 
 notwithstanding. Some were quartered here and there with 
 such families as had promised, for a money consideration, 
 to take them and rear them. Others were en^a^ed in service 
 
DETERMINES TO BUILD AN ORPHAN-HOUSE 63 
 
 when they ought to have been at school, and were kept at 
 work so long and so hard, that educating them in their present 
 position was impossible. The morals of all were corrupted by 
 bad example ; the learning of those who had learned anything 
 at all was forgotten. There was but one feasible plan for 
 curing the mischief: a home must be built, and the children 
 must be lodged, fed, clothed, and taught in it. Meanwhile, 
 until he could return to England to take priest's orders, and 
 procure a grant of land from the Trustees, and beg money 
 enough to build the home, and give it a start, he wisely 
 did what he could to ameliorate the condition of them and 
 of all other children by establishing schools in the villages. 
 
 The moral influence of the orphan-house, the establishment 
 of which was now his fixed purpose, was to prove as great and 
 as happy over Whitefield as over the destitute children. He 
 was to receive as much as he gave. It was to be a standing 
 appeal to his tenderness and test of his faith, a constant spur 
 to his effort, and an anchor to his excitable mind, which might 
 have spent itself upon trifles, because unable to cope with the 
 statesmanlike work which the legislative mind of Wesley 
 gloried in mastering. It was to become the ballast of a noble 
 ship which had to carry high sail in dangerous seas. So far as 
 good to himself was concerned, there was no reason why he 
 should have been sent to his ' little foreign cure,' in which he 
 was really happy, and where (such was his humility and care- 
 lessness about popularity) he could have cheerfully remained, 
 excepting to undertake the charge of the orphans. Saving 
 this, he did nothing in Georgia which he might not have done 
 elsewhere, and done better. But it is remarkable to observe 
 how the door of America was closed against Wesley, whose 
 talents were most serviceable when concentrated on one 
 place; while Whitefield received a charge which supplied a 
 constant motive to him to range through every country where 
 
64 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 he could get a congregation to hear his message and help his 
 work. He was meant for more than a parish priest or founder 
 of a denomination ; he was an evangelist of nations. 
 
 The journal of Whitefield on Wednesday, May 24th, and 
 the journal of Wesley on the same day, present a striking 
 contrast as well between the condition of mind as the work 
 of these much attached friends. It was a quiet day with 
 Whitefield ; and doubtless could Wesley have seen him going 
 among the people with a contented heart, welcomed and 
 honoured, he would have been both surprised and gratified 
 with his unexpected success. It was a day of excitement, 
 of anguish, and of joy with Wesley, the day of his conversion ; 
 and could Whitefield have known what was going on in 
 Aldersgate Street, London, it would have filled his mouth with 
 joyful praise, though he might have been surprised that not 
 until a time so late had his former religious teacher come to 
 experience the same spiritual change that had taken place in 
 himself long before. 
 
 While Whitefield, by his unceasing labours, his unfeigned 
 humility, and his judicious conduct, was laying the foundation 
 of an enduring affection between the whole colony and 
 himself, he acknowledged himself to be largely indebted to 
 his predecessors. Delamotte was much beloved by the poor, 
 to whom he was devoted, and his return home was an occasion 
 of grief to them. ' The good Mr. John Wesley has done in 
 America, under God, is inexpressible,' says Whitefield. ' His 
 name is very precious among the people ; and he has laid 
 such a foundation among the people that I hope neither men 
 nor devils will ever be able to shake. Surely I must labour 
 most heartily, since I come after such worthy predecessors.' 
 
 It is pleasantest to see how he was welcomed in the villages ; 
 how they of Savannah delighted in his visits, even enduring 
 his rebukes without murmuring ; how at Frederica nearly the 
 
A DANGEROUS VOYAGE 65 
 
 whole of the inhabitants — a hundred and twenty in number — 
 came to hear him preach, and the settlement was all activity 
 to build a preaching-room, to serve the place, pro tempore 
 of a church ; how the sturdy Highlanders of Darien, settled 
 under the pastoral care of a worthy minister named McLeod, 
 crowded the house in which he preached to them at the end 
 of a single day's visit ; and how the Salzburgers who were 
 settled, after weary wanderings over land and sea, at a place 
 which their grateful hearts called Ebenezer, received him with 
 brotherly love. Their lands were the best cultivated in the 
 colony, and yielded the best crops. Their differences were 
 referred not to any court, but to the judgment of their two 
 pastors, Boltzius and Gronau, whom they loved devotedly, and 
 to whom they looked up as fathers. Their orphan-house, 
 founded on the model of Professor Francke's, of Halle, was a 
 model of the one he was purposing to build ; and at the 
 close of his visit the seventeen orphan children — ' the little 
 lambs', he called them — came and shook hands with him. 
 
 On Sunday, August 27th, he preached his farewell sermon 
 to his people, who, sorrowing to lose him, were comforted by 
 his assurance that he would not delay his return to them. On 
 the following day the chief magistrate, Mr. Causton, and the 
 recorder, called to take their leave of him. The general 
 demonstrations of affection for him overwhelmed him ; and he 
 took the first opportunity of ' venting his heart by prayers and 
 tears.' 
 
 The voyage was to prove one of the most dangerous that he 
 performed. When they had been a month at sea they were 
 caught by a gale from the east, which put all the sailors to 
 their wits' end. Sails were slit and tackling rent. The sea 
 broke over the vessel with such violence that not a dry spot 
 was left anywhere, and Whitefield, who slept in the most 
 secure part, wrapped in a buffalo's hide, was drenched twice 
 
 6 
 
66 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 or thrice in one night. His composure and faith in God made 
 so deep an impression on the crew that they would say, ' How 
 should we have been blaming and cursing one another had not 
 Mr. Whitefield been amongst us ! ' 
 
 The storm left the vessel sadly disabled, besides having 
 destroyed or washed away a large portion of the provisions. 
 There was the prospect of a tedious voyage and much hard 
 ship, and so it turned out. Contrary winds prevailed for a 
 long time ; at the end of October the passengers were allowed 
 a quart of water a day. Their constant food for a long time 
 was salt beef and water dumplings, which, says Whitefield, 
 ' did not agree with the stomachs of all amongst us.' With a 
 humble, constant recognition of the working of the Almighty 
 in all things he held on to the close of this distressing voyage. 
 Three days before they sighted land, most of those in 
 the cabin had begun to be weak and to look hollow-eyed. 
 He exclaims : ' May we patiently tarry God's leisure ! Amen ! 
 Amen!' On November nth they were reduced to an ounce 
 or two of salt beef, a pint of muddy water, and a cake made of 
 flour and skimmings of the pot, as the allowance for each man. 
 Cold weather had also set in, and, to add to their distress, 
 they did not know where they were, there being only a prevalent 
 opinion that they were off the coast of Ireland. That day 
 was closed with the appropriate prayer, ' May we now learn 
 that man liveth not by bread alone.' And the next day, 
 Sunday, November 12th, opened with the grateful ascription, 
 ' Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, who this day hath visited 
 a distressed people ! ' They had entered Carrickaholt Bay, in 
 the mouth of the Shannon, and were hospitably received and 
 succoured by Mr. MacMahon, whose house stood at the head 
 of the bay. 
 
 At Limerick and at Dublin he was kindly received by the 
 heads of the Episcopal Church, and at both places he preached 
 
J/0 IV TO PREACH 67 
 
 with great power and marked effect. His passion for the souls 
 of men was as a hunger and a thirst that never left him. At 
 the table of the primate an expression fell from the lips of 
 Dr. Delaney, Dean of St. Patrick's, which he never forgot, 
 and never failed to act upon : ' I wish, whenever I go up into 
 a pulpit, to look upon it as the last time I shall ever preach, or 
 the last time the people may hear.' 
 
 On December 8th he reached London, accompanied by 
 some friends, who had gone to meet him on his way. Wesley 
 was at Oxford; and, as soon as the news of Whitefield's arrival 
 reached him, he hastened up to London, and ' God gave us,' 
 he says, ' once more to take sweet counsel together.' 
 
 At the close of such a year of travel and labour, Whitefield 
 
 had some reasons for winding up his journal with this emphatic 
 
 verse — 
 
 ' Give me Thy strength, O God of power ! 
 Then let winds blow, or thunders roar, 
 Thy faithful witness will I be, 
 'Tis fixed ! I can do all through Thee ! 
 
CHAPTER V 
 December, 1738 — April, 1739 
 
 FETTER LANE MEETINGS — ORDAINED PRIEST EXPELLED THE 
 
 CHURCHES — OPEN-AIR PREACHING 
 
 NOTHING could have been more opportune for the 
 welfare of Methodism in England than the arrival of 
 John Wesley at Deal at the same time that Whitefield sailed 
 for Georgia. The newly "kindled fire had no time to burn 
 low. Wesley at once began his labours with energy, decision, 
 and courage, and excited great opposition on the part of the 
 clergy. Then he went with Ingham to Hernhuth, to have 
 fellowship with the Moravians, whom he regarded with holy 
 envy as possessors of spiritual truth which he understood not. 
 On his return he experienced that conversion which has been 
 already spoken of. Charles had already undergone it. Thus 
 both his great co-workers preceded him into the kingdom of 
 God. The close of 1738 saw the beginning of the united 
 work of all the three, and for some time their lives were 
 closely blended together. They preached in the same rooms, 
 prayed and spoke in the same meetings, and presided over 
 the same private societies, which were formed for the nurture 
 of the Christian life. 
 
 The day after Whitefield's arrival in London he waited on 
 
 68 
 
FIRST USES EXTEMPORANEOUS PRAYER 69 
 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London, and 
 was favourably received ; but some of the clergy denied him 
 their pulpits — five in two days. He also went to a meeting of 
 the Methodist Society, which had been formed in Fetter Lane, 
 and joined them in their love-feast. There were at this time 
 other religious societies besides those which were springing 
 out of the labours of the Methodists, and to some of them, 
 known as the Religious Societies in the City of London, he 
 had preached before he left for Georgia, getting them welcome 
 collections for their works of charity. Formed in 1675, they 
 had a wide range of activity, foiling Popish machinations, 
 hunting down thieves, closing markets on Sundays, suppressing 
 houses of ill-fame, proceeding against notorious swearers, 
 relieving the sick, burying the poor, sheltering orphans, estab- 
 lishing schools for the education of children and putting the 
 children out to trades, and seeking to form, through the pulpits 
 of the city, a healthy public opinion and an earnest public 
 spirit. They had declined much from their original warmth 
 of religious zeal and energy of action, yet they still were the 
 friends of charity, and to them Whitefield owed some of his 
 first popularity in the city. 
 
 It must have been to one of these societies that he was 
 preaching in Redcross Street, on Christmas Day, at four 
 o'clock in the morning, when he first used extemporaneous 
 prayer. A laborious day must that Christmas Day have been, 
 with its first sermon at four, its second at six — when the 
 preacher felt a ' little oppressed with drowsiness ' — its sacra- 
 mental, and three more sermons ; and not an unworthy 
 anniversary of a man's baptism. Besides, Whitefield had 
 preached twice on Christmas Eve, and expounded to two 
 societies — one of them the society at Fetter Lane — and then 
 continued with many other brethren in prayer, singing, and 
 thanksgiving, until nearly four o'clock in the morning. No 
 
70 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 wonder he felt a ' little oppressed with drowsiness ! ' That 
 society at Fetter Lane was at present the heart of the 
 Methodist movement, its central fire. The engagements of 
 Christmas Eve, 1738, were only an example of the pro- 
 longed, fervent, and, one would have thought, exhausting, but 
 Whitefield says, refreshing and invigorating, devotions which 
 the brethren engaged in there. 
 
 Sympathy of thought and feeling drew the band of men 
 close together, and their souls glowed with a passion of 
 religious zeal which must, sooner or later, break forth upon 
 the land for good or evil, or both, while the opposition from 
 without only fanned the flame. It was a hopeful and a 
 dangerous time. First-fruits of the coming movement 
 abounded in the meeting — first ' watchnight meeting ' (?) — in 
 which the leaders and a company of sixty brethren celebrated 
 the departure of the old year and the coming of the new. 
 
 ' About three in the morning,' Wesley says, ' as we were continuing 
 instant in prayer, the power of God came mightily upon us, insomuch that 
 many cried out for exceeding joy, and many fell to the ground. As soon as 
 we were recovered a little from that awe and amazement at the presence of 
 His majesty, we broke out with one voice, "We praise Thee, O God; 
 we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord ! " ' 
 
 Five nights afterwards, eight ' ministers of Jesus Christ, 
 despised Methodists, whom God in His providence brought 
 together,' met at Islington to confer upon several things of 
 importance, and continued in fasting and prayer until three 
 o'clock, when they parted with ' the conviction that God was 
 about to do great things.' The whole of the second night 
 after that Whitefield spent at Fetter Lane in the same devout 
 engagements, and the next day was got through with one 
 hour's sleep. ' There was a great deal of Divine influence 
 among us,' he says. 
 
 Amid these numerous engagements, the object of his return 
 
OPEN-AIR PREACHING SUGGESTED 71 
 
 to England, to receive ordination as a priest, was not lost sight 
 of. At the end of December he was appointed by the Trustees 
 to be minister of Savannah. With the fire of the Fetter Lane 
 meetings burning in his soul, he returned to Oxford ; and on 
 January 14, 1739, had the hands of good Bishop Benson laid 
 on him. The bishop sent Lord Huntingdon, evidently for 
 the benefit of Lady Huntingdon, an account of the ordination, 
 and added— 
 
 ' I hope this will give some satisfaction to my lady, and that she will not 
 have occasion to find fault with your lordship's old tutor. Though mis- 
 taken on some points, I think him (Mr. Whitefield) a very pious, well- 
 meaning young man, with good abilities and great zeal. I find his Grace 
 of Canterbuiy thinks highly of him. I pray God grant him great success 
 in all his undertakings for the good of mankind, and a revival of true 
 religion and holiness among us in these degenerate days ; in which prayer 
 I am sure your lordship and my kind, good Lady Huntingdon will most 
 heartily join.' 
 
 A noticeable incident was his visit to Dr. Watts, now an 
 old man, who received him 'most cordially.' But the most 
 important fact of the month was the thought of preaching in 
 the open air, which was suggested to him by a crowd of a 
 thousand people having been unable to gain admission to 
 Bermondsey Church, where he preached one Sunday after- 
 noon. It met with no encouragement when he mentioned it 
 to some of his friends ; they thought it was a ' mad notion.' 
 However, it would have been carried out the next Sunday at 
 Ironmongers' Almshouses had not the preacher been disap- 
 pointed in his congregation, which was small enough to hear 
 him from the pulpit. He took two sermons with him — one for 
 within and the other for without. What were his impressions 
 about this untoward circumstance he nowhere says ; most 
 probably he had humble and self-reproachful thoughts for 
 having run before there seemed to be need. 
 
 Such intense and lons;-continued work as he rushed into 
 
72 GEORGE J I V// TEE/ELD 
 
 upon his return home could not fail to tell upon him, and his 
 entry in his journal on February 6th is such as one expects 
 to see — 
 
 ' Went to St. Helen's, where all on a sudden I was taken so ill in body, 
 and was so deserted in soul, that I would have given anything for my 
 written notes ; yet God gave me to trust in Him for strength and assistance, 
 and before I had done I was warm in heart and strong enough in body to 
 continue to offer Jesus Christ freely for a considerable time to all that 
 would lay hold on Him by faith.' 
 
 At this time we hear the sound of those peculiar Aniens, 
 which have distinguished the children of Methodism down 
 to this late day. ' Many seemed to feel what was spoken, 
 and said hearty and loud Aniens to my sentences.' The 
 next day another keen attack struck him at Windsor. We 
 shall see this weakness showing itself all through his life to 
 the last ; and if we keep in memory its existence, and not 
 allow ourselves to think, as we follow him day and night 
 through his ceaseless toils, that we are with a man who has 
 no infirmities — who, as it has been expressed by Sir J. 
 Stephen in his 'Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography,' 'was 
 gifted with an incapacity of fatiguing or being fatigued ' — we 
 shall form a juster estimate of the heavenly fervour which 
 triumphed over his own frailness, and then over every outside 
 difficulty. He was often fatigued beyond endurance ; but the 
 sight of his congregation, the delight he had in his work, 
 and the strength which comes from above, quickened him 
 to speak with freedom and power. 'Freedom and power,' 
 these were the two qualities in his preaching which he prized 
 before all others. 
 
 A short tour in the provinces gave him his first taste of 
 direct hostility, the mob and the Church being of one mind in 
 openly opposing him. It also gave him his first taste of the 
 sweets of field-preaching. There was truth in half of the 
 
KINGS WOOD COLLIERS 73 
 
 exclamation which a not devout observer uttered when White- 
 field started from London : ' I believe the devil in hell is in 
 you all ' — that was the untrue half ; — ' Whitefield has set the 
 town on fire, and now he is gone to kindle a flame in the 
 country' — that was the true half.. There was alarm among the 
 powers of the Church in the cities of Bath and Bristol before 
 his arrival there; and his application to preach in the Abbey 
 Church at Bath on behalf of the orphan-house was met with 
 a positive refusal, although the bishop had given the Trustees 
 of Georgia a promise, before Whitefield sailed for Georgia, 
 that such a service might be held. The refusal came not, 
 however, from the bishop. Similar treatment at Bristol, to 
 which he at once withdrew, led to most important results. 
 
 Long ago, Kingswood was a royal chase near Bristol ; in 
 Whitefield's time it had become a colliery district, inhabited 
 by men of a rough, ungodly type, who had no church nearer 
 than one, three, or four miles away. They were regarded as so 
 many Indians, and when Whitefield first went to Georgia it 
 was said to him : ' If you have a mind to convert Indians, 
 there are colliers enough in Kingswood.' And they were still 
 in their sins and misery when he returned. Even he might 
 have failed to undertake their evangelisation had he not been 
 almost compelled. When clergymen were cold, and the chan- 
 cellor of the diocese captious, and churches scarce, he had 
 time and inducements to carry out those loving wishes towards 
 the colliers, which had stirred his heart for a long time ; nor 
 was the desire to attempt open-air preaching without its weight 
 on the same side. 
 
 Understanding that the minister of St. Mary Redcliffe was 
 willing to lend his church for sermons to be preached on 
 behalf of the orphan-house, Whitefield applied first of all to 
 him, and the answer was a civil refusal ; the church could not 
 be lent without a special order from the chancellor. To the 
 
GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 chancellor Whitefield went. The reply from him was, 'that 
 he would not give any positive leave, neither would he pro- 
 hibit any one that should lend Whitefield a church ; but he 
 would advise him to withdraw to some other place till he had 
 heard from the bishop, and not preach on that or any 
 other occasion soon.' Whitefield asked him his reasons. He 
 answered, ' Why will you press so hard upon me ? The thing 
 has given a general dislike.' Whitefield replied : ' Not the 
 design of the orphan-house. Even those that disagree with 
 me in other particulars approve of that. And as for the 
 gospel, when was it preached without dislike ? ' The dean, 
 when called upon soon after the interview with the chancellor, 
 gave the same ambiguous replies, with the same plain meaning : 
 ' Mr. Whitefield, we would rather not say yea or nay to you ; 
 but we mean nay, and greatly wish that you would understand 
 us so.' 
 
 The societies were still open, so was Newgate, and then 
 there were the colliers. These last were visited on a Saturday 
 afternoon (February 17, 1739) for the first time, the very day 
 after his interviews with the chancellor and the dean. White- 
 field took his stand on Hannan Mount, and spoke upon Matt. 
 v. 1, 2, and 3, to as many as came to hear ; upwards of two 
 hundred attended. He does not say what were his feelings in 
 his novel situation, nor what were the impressions upon his 
 audience. His only remark in his journal is, ' Blessed be God 
 that the ice is now broke, and I have now taken the field ! 
 Some may censure me, but is there not a cause ? Pulpits are 
 denied, and the poor colliers ready to perish for lack of know- 
 ledge.' Now he was the owner of a pulpit that no man could 
 take from him, and his heart rejoiced in this great gift. He 
 had broken through all conventionality, and gone straight to 
 the lost sheep. But all in Bristol was not so dark on Sunday 
 morning as it had been on Friday night and Saturday. Three 
 
THREATENED WITH EXCOMMUNICATION 75 
 
 pulpits were placed at his disposal, and from two of them he 
 preached, one being that of St. Mary Redcliffe, where he had 
 such a congregation as his eyes had never yet seen, and he 
 preached with ' liberty.' But the most enjoyable part of the 
 day was its close, which was spent with two of the societies. 
 Monday opened the parish church of St. Philip and Jacob, 
 and gave him a noble congregation, and a collection of 
 eighteen pounds for his orphan-house. 
 
 Perhaps these quick, decisive movements put the chancellor 
 on his mettle ; for on the Monday a summons came from 
 the apparitor, commanding Whitefield's appearance before the 
 chancellor. With this document in his pocket, Whitefield 
 spent a joyful night among his friends in Baldwin Street, and 
 on Tuesday morning, at ten o'clock, he waited upon the 
 chancellor, who plainly told him that he intended to stop his 
 proceedings. ' I have sent for the register here, sir,' said he, 
 ' to take down your answer.' The first question was, by what 
 authority Whitefield preached in the diocese of Bristol without 
 a licence. Whitefield replied that he thought that custom was 
 grown obsolete. And then becoming questioner in turn, he 
 asked the chancellor : ' And why, pray sir, did not you ask the 
 clergyman this question who preached for you last Thursday ? ' 
 He said that was nothing to Whitefield. He then read over 
 part of the ordination office, and those canons that forbid any 
 minister's preaching in a private house, &c. ; and asked what 
 Whitefield had to say to them. He answered, that he appre- 
 hended that those canons did not belong to professed ministers 
 of the Church of England. The chancellor replied that they 
 did. Again Whitefield resorted to the ad hominem method : 
 'There is also a canon, said I, sir, forbidding all clergymen 
 to frequent taverns and play at cards ; why is not that put in 
 execution ? ' Said the chancellor : ' Why does not some one 
 complain of them, and then it would ? ' The chancellor next 
 
76 GEORGE WHTTEFIELD 
 
 accused Whitefield of false doctrine, whereupon he received a 
 proper answer : ' I cannot hut speak the things I know ; and I 
 am resolved to proceed as usual.' 'Observe his answer, then, 
 Mr. Register,' said he. Then, turning to Whitefield, he added : 
 ' I am resolved, sir, if you preach or expound anywhere in this 
 diocese, till you have a licence, I will first suspend, and then 
 excommunicate you. And what I do is in the name of the 
 clergy and laity of the city of Bristol.' How much truth there 
 was in the whole statement appeared on the afternoon of the 
 day that it was made. The laity of Bristol, who were said to 
 want the silencing of Whitefield, congregated in thousands 
 round St. Nicholas' Church, hoping to hear him preach ; but 
 the lecturer sent word that orders were given by the clergy- 
 man that he should not preach in his church. The societies 
 remained open, and the laity crowded their meetings that 
 night. 
 
 The second interview with the chancellor was followed by 
 the same action as the first, and with more encouraging results. 
 On the following day the journal relates : ' All the church 
 doors being now shut, and, if open, not able to contain half 
 that came to hear, at three in the afternoon I went to Kings- 
 wood among the colliers. God highly favoured us in sending 
 us a fine day, and near two thousand people were assembled 
 on that occasion. I preached and enlarged on John iii. 3 for 
 near an hour, and, I hope, to the comfort and edification of 
 those that heard me.' Two days afterwards he stood upon 
 the same spot, and preached to a congregation of four or five 
 thousand with great freedom. The bright sun overhead, and 
 the immense throng standing around him in awful silence, 
 formed a picture which filled him with ' holy admiration.' 
 
 It is important to know what were his feelings when he met 
 these immense field congregations, whose numbers had grown 
 from two hundred to twenty thousand, and what were the 
 
THE POWER OF TEARS yy 
 
 effects of his preaching upon his audience. His own words 
 are : — 
 
 ' Having no righteousness of their own to renounce, they were glad to 
 hear of a Jesus who was a friend to publicans, and came not to call the 
 righteous, but sinners, to repentance. The first discovery of their being 
 affected was, to see the white gutters made by their tears, which plentifully 
 fell down their black cheeks, as they came out of their coal-pits. Hundreds 
 and hundreds of them were soon brought under deep convictions, which (as 
 the event proved) happily ended in a sound and thorough conversion. The 
 change was visible to all, though numbers chose to impute it to anything 
 rather than the finger of God. As the scene was quite new, and I had 
 iust begun to be an extempore preacher, it often occasioned many inward 
 conflicts. Sometimes when twenty thousand people were before me, I had 
 not, in my own apprehension, a word to say, either to God or them. But 
 I was never totally deserted, and was frequently (for to deny it would be 
 lying against God) so assisted, that I knew by happy experience, what our 
 Lord meant by saying, " Out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water." 
 The open firmament above me, the prospect of the adjacent fields, with the 
 sight of thousands and thousands, some in coaches, some on horseback, and 
 some in the trees, and at times all affected and drenched in tears together, 
 to which sometimes was added the solemnity of the approaching evening, 
 was almost too much for, and quite overcame, me.' 
 
 The overpowering emotion of which he speaks, and the 
 tears which made white gutters on the begrimed faces of the 
 colliers, were the answer to his own passionate feelings. 
 Seldom did he preach without drenching his audience in tears, 
 and the effect was due quite as much to his unrestrained 
 manifestation of strong feeling as to his words. Especially 
 must this characteristic have struck the hearts of rough men, 
 who, after having been long uncared for, at last saw a clergy- 
 man willing to endure fatigue and shame for the sake of 
 preaching to them. He spoke as having nothing to keep 
 back from them, as having nothing to be ashamed of, least of 
 all of those tender yearnings of divine compassion which had 
 constrained him to come to them, and instead of assuming 
 
78 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 a placid composure which he did not feel, he let his whole 
 manner express what was in him. 
 
 ' I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping more or 
 less,' said his friend, Cornelius Winter, ' and I truly believe his were the 
 tears of sincerity. His voice was often interrupted by his affection ; and I 
 have heard him say in the pulpit : " You blame me for weeping, but how 
 can I help it, when you will not weep for yourselves, though your immortal 
 souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught you know, you are 
 hearing your last sermon, and may never more have an opportunity to have 
 Christ offered to you?" His freedom in the use of his passions often put my 
 pride to the trial. I could hardly bear such unreserved use of tears, and 
 the scope he gave to his feelings, for sometimes he exceedingly wept, 
 stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome that for 
 a few seconds you would suspect he never could recover ; and when he did, 
 nature required some little time to compose herself. ' 
 
 Much of his power lay in this abandon, but it was the 
 abandon of quenchless love. 
 
 The visit to Bristol was interrupted for a few days to make 
 an excursion into Wales ; but although this was the first 
 appearance of a famous, avowed Methodist among the Welsh, 
 Methodism was already amongst them, both in mode and 
 spirit. Clergymen had gone beyond parish boundaries, preach- 
 ing to large congregations in churches, in churchyards, and in 
 fields ; religious societies, founded upon the rules which Dr. 
 Woodward had laid down for the societies in London, were 
 scattered here and there to the number of thirty; the great 
 doctrines and holy commandments of the gospel were taught 
 with power which fell little, if at all, below that which marked 
 the ministrations of Whitefield. The two prime movers in the 
 work were Griffith Jones and Howel Harris. Griffith Jones, 
 rector of Llanddowror, Carmarthenshire, was a man of ardent 
 piety and noble courage, and the greatest preacher in the 
 Principality in his day. He preceded the Methodists in the 
 work of preaching at wakes, fairs, and other riotous gather- 
 
HOWEL HARRIS 79 
 
 ings of the people. In some cases he would be invited by 
 parishioners, without the consent of their clergyman, to come 
 and preach to them ; in which case the clergyman would pro- 
 bably make sure of the church key, and compel both his 
 people and their favourite preacher to take their stand in the 
 open air \ next he would lodge an accusation in the Eccle- 
 siastical Court. Griffith Jones had twenty years of litigation. 
 By the establishment of ' Welsh Circulating Schools ' he did 
 his greatest work. His plan was to send a schoolmaster into 
 a locality that wished for instruction, to teach reading the 
 Bible in the Welsh tongue, psalmody, and the catechism. 
 From one district the schoolmaster would pass to another, to 
 do the same work. Jones testifies that in Wales not one 
 Dissenter in ten separated from the Church of England for 
 any other reason than ' for want of plain, practical, pressing, 
 and zealous preaching, in a language and dialect they are able 
 to understand.' For the same reason Methodism obtained a 
 strong footing. 
 
 Howel Harris, born the same year as Whitefield, was not 
 unlike the great evangelist in disposition, in gifts, in expe- 
 rience, and in whole-hearted consecration to the Saviour. 
 Ignorant of all the disputed points of religion, he lived in the 
 simple faith that God loved him, and would, for His own 
 name's sake, love him freely to the end. Oxford having 
 proved a disappointment to him, he returned to Wales, and 
 began in his own home-parish, Talgarth, Brecon, to visit from 
 house to house, and then to preach in the houses. The effects 
 were marvellous, and, as a consequence, he had to encounter 
 the opposition of the clergy, the magistrates, and the mob. 
 Yet the work grew ; there was a general reformation in several 
 counties, and places of worship were everywhere crowded. 
 When the news of Whitefield's labours in London reached 
 him he felt his heart united to the evangelist ' in such a 
 
So GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 manner as he had never felt the like with any one before. ' 
 To his great joy a letter came to him from Whitefield soon 
 after his return from Georgia. 
 
 ' London, December, 173S. 
 ' My dear Brother, — Though I am unknown to you in person, yet I 
 have long been united to you in spirit ; and have been rejoiced to hear how 
 the good pleasure of the Lord prospered in your hands. Go on, go on ! 
 He that sent you will assist, comfort, and protect you, and make you more 
 than conqueror through His great love. I am a living monument of this 
 truth. I love you, and wish you may be the spiritual father of thousands, 
 and shine as the sun in the kingdom of your heavenly Father. Oh, how 
 shall I joy to meet you at the judgment-seat ! How you would honour me 
 if you would send a line to your affectionate though unworthy brother, 
 
 ' George Whitefield.' 
 
 To this letter Harris replied the day after its reception, 
 assuring Whitefield of his profound love for him, telling him 
 some good news of the work of God in Wales, and saying: 
 ' Were you to come to Wales it would not be labour in vain.' 
 This devoted young Welshman had several times offered him- 
 self for holy orders, and been refused because he preached as 
 a layman, and so he was shut up to this way, or to silence. 
 
 We can see from these brief sketches what was the state of 
 things in the Church of England in Wales, and, to some 
 extent, in Nonconformity. The preaching of the godly clergy 
 was frowned upon by their own brethren, and welcomed and 
 supported by Nonconformists. The Spirit of the Lord was 
 moving in this land, as well as in America and in Scotland 
 and England. We can also understand why Whitefield broke 
 away for a few days from the thousands of Bristol and Kings- 
 wood. His soul and the soul of Harris leaped to each other 
 like flames of fire. 
 
 An incident of the short passage to Wales is much too 
 characteristic of the times to be omitted. Contrary winds 
 delayed Whitefield at the New Passage, and he says : ' At 
 
A GAMBLING CLERGYMAN 81 
 
 the inn there was an unhappy clergyman, who would not go 
 over in the passage-boat because I was in it. Alas ! thought 
 I, this very temper would make heaven itself unpleasant to 
 that man, if he saw me there. I was told that he charged me 
 with being a Dissenter. I saw him soon after, shaking his 
 elbows over a gaming table.' The clergyman had changed his 
 mind and taken the boat. The image of him recalls Parson 
 Shuffle in ' Roderick Random,' and shows, alas ! that, at that 
 time, some parsons in the north and some in the west were 
 painfully alike in character and in uselessness. 
 
 The Welsh visit was very short, and was marked with those 
 experiences which Whitefield was to know as common things 
 for the rest of his life. First of all, the church at Cardiff was 
 denied, and he had to resort to the town hall, where he 
 preached from the judge's seat to a small audience of four 
 hundred people. No outrage was attempted in the building, 
 but some of the baser sort amused themselves by trailing a 
 dead fox around it outside — a very trifling annoyance to a 
 preacher with such lung power, and who could make himself 
 heard in spite of the shouting and noise. Then there were 
 melting meetings of a more private sort with the religious 
 societies ; and on the whole he had reason, as he says, to 
 think that there was 'a most comfortable prospect of the 
 spreading of the gospel in Wales.' 
 
 On his return to Bristol he had to suffer meaner opposition 
 than any he had met with before. Newgate, where he had 
 delighted to preach to the prisoners, and where, by his gifts, 
 he had relieved much distress, was closed against him. Un- 
 willing to lose their friend and teacher, many of the prisoners 
 sent a petition to the mayor, praying that he might be allowed 
 to come among them as usual ; but the mayor would not grant 
 them their request. Mr. Dagge, the keeper, a convert and 
 friend of Whitefield, remonstrated, and urged that Whitefield 
 
 7 
 
82 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 preached agreeably to Scripture ; but the only answer was to 
 appoint another clergyman to the post of chaplain — for shame 
 forbade his denying the poor unfortunates all religious aid. 
 This disappointment was cause for great rejoicing to the 
 expelled Methodist, who wrote in his journal : ' Some preach 
 Christ out of contention, and others of goodwill : however, 
 Christ is preached.' 
 
 His persecution had ample compensation in the new power 
 of which he had become conscious, and in the new opening 
 for labour which he had found since his arrival in the west, the 
 fields giving him room enough for any congregation, and the 
 people delighting to meet him there in all weathers, even the 
 cold and snow of March not being able to keep them away. 
 At Bath, at Bristol, and in the neighbouring villages, he was 
 daily engaged in preaching to thousands — in the churches if he 
 could gain admission to them, and if not, then under the May- 
 pole or in the fields, or in any open space where the people 
 had a right to assemble. Then it was that he felt the wonder- 
 ful influence which pervades mighty audiences, possessed with 
 one concern, bending their attention to one subject, and 
 engaged in one common service. His favourite congregation 
 was the Kingswood one, which met on the Sunday. The 
 crowds standing in awful silence, and the echo of their singing 
 running from side to side, was, he says, very solemn and strik- 
 ing. Weariness and sickness often oppressed him, yet he 
 always found strength when the task faced him. He was 
 already beginning to learn the curative properties of effort, 
 and to trust for invigoration to what exhausted him. Then, 
 too, there was popular sympathy on his side. He had but to 
 take his stand anywhere, and an audience was before him. 
 When Newgate was closed, and his sister's room, where he had 
 been accustomed to address a congregation as early as six 
 o'clock on Sunday morning, could not accommodate a fourth 
 
EARLY MORNING PREACHING 83 
 
 of the people who came, some gentlemen gave him the use of 
 a bowling-green, and his first congregation in that novel church 
 was five thousand. This was his first attempt at preaching in 
 the open air early in the morning. Its success, and the kind- 
 ness of friends who had come to his rescue, cheered and en- 
 couraged him ; his heart was full to breaking of grateful emotions. 
 
 Pressed by repeated invitations, he next presented himself 
 in a very different part of the city, where many dwelt who 
 neither feared God nor regarded man, and preached to 
 thousands in a yard of the glass-houses, declaring both the 
 threatenings and the promises of the Almighty, so that none 
 might either presume or despair. 
 
 His courage and tact were sometimes severely tried, but 
 more at Bath than Bristol, by the scoffing which he heard as 
 he passed through the crowd, and by the laughter which 
 greeted him when he mounted a table for his pulpit. The 
 merriment never lasted long ; for that true love and unusual 
 zeal which carried him to such congregations bore him strongly 
 and patiently on with his work, and it was not in human nature 
 to continue trifling with one so superior to the passions of his 
 audience. Whoever came to annoy must either submit to the 
 spell which soon caught the most of the audience, and stay, 
 either a willing or an unwilling hearer, or go away disappointed 
 of his sport. To the last we shall find that Whitefield was 
 never beaten, hazardous and questionable as some of his efforts 
 afterwards were. His convictions on the power of preaching, 
 penned after he had hushed and awed a jeering crowd at 
 Bath, give in part the secret of his confidence : ' Men may say 
 what they please, but there is something in this foolishness of 
 preaching, which, when attended with a Divine energy, will 
 make the most stubborn heart bend or break. " Is not My 
 word like fire, saith the Lord, and like a hammer that breaketh 
 the rock in pieces ? ' " 
 
84 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 The time when he must leave the city was near ; and that 
 his work might not fall to the ground, or come to a stand after 
 his departure, he again and again requested Wesley to come 
 from London and carry it on ; but Wesley could not be sure 
 that he ought to go. His inclination was not towards Bristol, 
 and on resorting to his practice of bibliomancy, many passages 
 of Scripture had a sinister meaning. This was one : ' Get thee 
 up into this mountain, and die in the mount whither thou 
 goest up, and be gathered unto thy people.' His journey was 
 next proposed to the society in Fetter Lane. Charles could 
 not bear the mention of it ; but an appeal to a Bible, opened 
 at haphazard, brought him under the power of these strong 
 words : ' Son of man, behold I take from thee the desire of 
 thine eyes with a stroke ; yet thou shalt not mourn or weep, 
 neither shall thy tears run down ; ' and thinking that they were 
 a voice from heaven, he held his peace. Still, the brethren 
 were not satisfied, and, to settle the difficulty, an appeal was 
 made to the lot. This said he must go. Many wanted a 
 Divine confirmation of this supposed Divine announcement, 
 and the rest consenting to the suggestion, a Bible was opened 
 thrice, and some strange passages were hit upon ; one was 
 this : ' And Ahaz slept with his fathers, and they buried him in 
 the city, even in Jerusalem.' 
 
 The journal of Whitefield contains the following entry for 
 Saturday, March 31st: 'I was much refreshed with the sight 
 of my honoured friend, Mr. John Wesley, whom I desired to 
 come hither, and whom I had now the pleasure of introducing 
 to my friends, he having never before been at Bristol. Help 
 him, Lord Jesus, to water what Thy own right hand hath 
 planted, for Thy mercy's sake.' Wesley writes in his journal : 
 'Saturday, 31st. In the evening I reached Bristol, and met 
 Mr. Whitefield there. I could scarce reconcile myself at first 
 to this strange way of preaching in the fields, of which he set 
 
WESLEY LEARNING OF U'HITEFIELD 85 
 
 me an example on the Sunday ; having been all my life (till 
 very lately) so tenacious of every point relating to decency and 
 order, that I should have thought the saving of souls almost a 
 sin, if it had not been done in a church.' The freer and more 
 impetuous nature of Whitefield stands out in all distinctness 
 from the statesmanlike nature of the founder of Wesleyan 
 Methodism, as the two friends begin the work of Sunday. 
 Whitefield had seen, more by the instinct of his quick emotions 
 than by the reasoning of his mind, the value of his irregular 
 work, and already had its fruits approved it to him as accept- 
 able to God ; and that day he went out confident and joyful, 
 while Wesley was bewildered and half inclined to turn away. 
 True to his cautious, practical mind, Wesley adopted field- 
 preaching only when he had seen its worth, just as he took up 
 the class-meeting idea from others, and only consented to lay 
 preaching because it had been started by men more headlong 
 than himself, and these supported by the wisdom and piety of 
 his mother, who warned him not to hinder a work of God. 
 Others moved, he quickly followed ; and, if it was found prac- 
 ticable, passed on and took the lead. 
 
 Whitefield took him the round of his work on April 1st, and 
 any heart less bold and less devoted than Wesley's must have 
 quailed when he saw what was expected of him. They began 
 at the bowling-green with the usual Sunday morning service, 
 which was attended by a larger audience than ever. They 
 went to Hannam Mount, where the colliers and others came 
 in unusually great numbers. They passed on to Rose Green, 
 and here the congregation was more enlarged than either of 
 the other two. Twenty-four coaches and many horsemen 
 mingled with the crowd, and though the wind was not so 
 favourable as usual, ' I was strengthened,' Whitefield says, ' to 
 cry aloud, and take my last farewell.' Prayers, blessings, and 
 good wishes were showered on him as they returned to the 
 
86 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 city. At seven, Whitefield went to take his leave of one of the 
 societies, and found the room and the way to it so crowded 
 that he had to mount a ladder, and come at the door by climb- 
 ing over the tiling of an adjoining house. 
 
 The morning of the following day was spent in talking with 
 those who came to take their leave, and tears were freely shed 
 on both sides. Crowds were hanging about the door when he 
 left, and a company of twenty friends accompanied him out of 
 the city on horseback ; and if he was leaving no small gifts 
 behind, he also was carrying away a substantial gift of two 
 hundred pounds for his orphan-house. He travelled by way 
 of Kingswood, where the colliers, unknown to him, had, he 
 says, 'prepared an hospitable entertainment, and were very 
 forward for me to lay the first stone of their school. At length 
 I complied, and a man giving me a piece of ground, in case 
 
 Mr. C should refuse to grant them any, I laid a stone, 
 
 and then kneeled down, and prayed God that the gates of hell 
 might not prevail against our design.' This became the famous 
 Kingswood School, the original of the institution in which the 
 sons of successive generations of Wesleyan Methodist ministers 
 have been educated. 
 
 Whitefield had not been gone three hours from Bristol, when 
 his friend Wesley submitted, as he says, to make himself more 
 vile than he had on the preceding day, when he preached to 
 one of the societies, by proclaiming in the highways the glad 
 tidings of salvation to about three thousand people ; and on 
 the following Sunday he stepped fearlessly into the severe 
 path that Whitefield had shown him a week before. Within 
 three weeks of Wesley's assuming the lead of the Methodist 
 movement, scenes such as Whitefield's preaching had not yet 
 created became common : some of the hearers were seized 
 with fearful agony and cried out ; then they as suddenly 
 shouted for joy. 
 
WHITEFIELDS CURATE 87 
 
 On April 9th Whitefield, after having paid a second visit 
 to Wales, reached his native city. Early friends who took an 
 interest in him and his work must have been peculiarly grati- 
 fied both with his vast and extending influence and with the 
 humble manner in which he bore his successes ; and there 
 was also one, who had not been counted of that number, who 
 had more joy than any of them. It was ' old Cole,' the 
 Dissenting minister. Some one had told the good man the 
 smart saying of the youth of thirteen about stories in the 
 pulpit, and when he heard Whitefield tell one in one of the 
 city pulpits, he quietly remarked : ' I find that young White- 
 field can now tell stories as well as old Cole.' He used to 
 subscribe himself Whitefield's curate, and follow him in his 
 excursions into the country to preach after him. ' These are 
 days of the Son of man, indeed ! ' he would exclaim, as he 
 followed up the younger man's work. He had an end beauti- 
 fully in keeping with his zeal and the simplicity of his char- 
 acter. One evening, while preaching, he was struck with 
 death ; he then asked for a chair to lean on, till he concluded 
 his sermon. That finished, they carried him upstairs, and he 
 died. ' O blessed God ! ' exclaims Whitefield, when telling the 
 story, ' if it be Thy holy will, may my exit be like his ! ' It 
 was not unlike. 
 
 Passing through Chafford, Painswick, Stroud, Stonehouse, 
 Cheltenham, Badsey, Evesham, and Bengeworth, and preach- 
 ing in bowling-greens, in town-halls, and in fields, as he went, 
 he came to Oxford. Here, through his going to exhort one of 
 the societies, the vice-chancellor fell foul of him. The society 
 had before been threatened, if they continued to meet for ex- 
 hortation ; and when the ' were all upstairs, and on the point 
 of bidding Whitefield goodbye before he started for London, 
 the vice-chancellor sent for him to come down. In a passion, 
 he demanded to know if Whitefield had his name in any book 
 
88 GEORGE WH1TEF1ELD 
 
 there. ' Yes, sir,' was the reply, ' but I intend to take it out 
 soon.' The vice-chancellor said : ' Yes ; and you had best take 
 yourself out too, or otherwise I will lay you by the heels. What 
 do you mean by going about and alienating people's affections 
 from their proper pastors ? Your works are full of vanity and 
 nonsense ; you pretend to inspiration. If you ever come again 
 in this manner among these people, I will lay you first by the 
 heels, and these shall follow.' Then he turned his back and 
 went away. Whitefield turned, and having prayed with his 
 friends, set out for London. Letters from Savannah, contain- 
 ing good news, met him at Uxbridge, and made him desire an 
 early departure to the people of his charge. 
 
 His eleven weeks' labour in the country had kindled a fire 
 which is not extinguished to this day. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 May to August, 1739 
 
 IN MOORFIELDS — ON COMMONS — AT FAIRS AND RACES 
 
 MR. STONEHOUSE, vicar of Islington, was favourable 
 to Methodism, but his churchwarden was of another 
 mind. As soon as Whitefield arrived in London, the vicar 
 gave him the use of his pulpit for a week-day service. The 
 churchwarden would dispute Whitefield's right. In the midst 
 of the prayers he entered the church, demanded Whitefield's 
 licence, and forbade his preaching without one. No licence 
 was forthcoming, nor was the preacher sorry for that, though 
 by being in priest's orders and holding the living of Savannah, 
 which was in the diocese of London, he felt that he had legal 
 standing ground. For peace' sake he determined not to preach 
 in the church. When the communion service was over he 
 withdrew to the churchyard, and preached there, feeling assured 
 that his Master now called him out in London as well as in 
 Bristol. In a letter, written to a friend that day, he said that 
 his Master had, by His providence and Spirit, compelled him 
 to preach in the churchyard at Islington. ' To-morrow I am to 
 repeat that mad trick, and on Sunday to go out into Moorfields. 
 The word of the Lord runs and is glorified. People's hearts 
 seem quite broken. God strengthens me exceedingly. I 
 preach till I sweat through and through.' He evidently was 
 
go GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 well satisfied with being driven to adopt his country practices, 
 or he would not have announced his intention to preach in 
 Moorfields on the second day after his expulsion, or with- 
 drawal, whichever it may be called, from Islington Church. 
 
 The news of his going to Moorfields soon spread through 
 the city ; and many, on hearing it, said that if he ventured into 
 that domain of the rabble he would never come out alive. 
 Moorfields, which had been the first brickyard of London, 
 next the exercise ground of the city archers, then the site of 
 Bedlam, and afterwards the City Mall, where fashion took its 
 daily stroll, had fallen into possession of the roughest part of 
 the population, simply by this part's presenting itself in the 
 presence of fashion, and desiring to share, in its peculiar way, 
 the shade of the trees and the smoothness of the paths. The 
 partnership was quietly declined. To this place and to this 
 people Whitefield felt himself called to take his message of love 
 and peace. On Sunday morning, April 29th, an ' exceeding 
 great multitude ' assembled in the fields to hear him ; but to 
 while away the time before his arrival there was a little pre- 
 liminary sport in breaking to pieces a table which had been 
 placed for his pulpit. In due time he drove up in a coach, 
 accompanied by some friends, and with one of them on either 
 side, attempted to force his way to the place where the table 
 ought to have been found. His body-guard was soon detached 
 from him, and he was left at the mercy of the congregation, 
 which at once parted and made an open way for him to the 
 middle of the fields, and thence — for there was no pulpit there 
 — to the wall which divided the upper and lower fields, upon 
 which he took his stand. It was a novel sight to the preacher 
 — that mass of London rabble — as his eye ranged over it ; it 
 was a more novel sight to the people — that young clergyman 
 of twenty-four, in gown, bands, and cassock, as he lifted him- 
 self up before them. His tall, graceful figure ; his manly and 
 
FIRST SERMON IN MOORFIELDS 91 
 
 commanding bearing ; his clear, blue eyes, that melted with 
 tenderness and kindness ; his raised hand, which called for 
 attention — everything about him declared him a man who was 
 capable of ruling them ; and they were willing to listen to him. 
 When he spoke, and they heard his strong but sweet voice, 
 exquisitely modulated to express the deepest, strongest passion, 
 or the soberest instruction, or the most indignant remonstrance, 
 they stood charmed and subdued. Then his message was so 
 solemn and so gracious, something in which every one was 
 interested for time and for eternity ; and he delivered it as 
 if it were all real to him, as indeed it was ; as if he believed 
 it and loved it, and wanted them also to accept it, as indeed 
 he did. No scoffer durst raise his shout, no disturber durst 
 meddle with his neighbour, as the thrilling text flew all around, 
 every one hearing it, 'Watch, therefore, for ye know neither 
 the day nor the hour in which the Son of man cometh ' ; and 
 as the preacher, with finger pointed upwards, cried, ' There 
 .shall be a day in which these heavens shall be wrapped up 
 like a scroll — the elements melt with fervent heat — this earth 
 and all things therein be burnt up, and every soul of every 
 nation summoned to appear before the dreadful tribunal of 
 the righteous Judge of quick and dead, to receive rewards or 
 punishments according to the deeds done in their bodies.' 
 Quietness and attention reigned through all the host while, 
 for perhaps an hour and a half, he spoke of the wise and 
 the foolish virgins, and then — for he had a pleasant egotism, 
 which for a moment turned men's minds to himself only to 
 direct them onward to the Master — entreated them, with a last 
 entreaty, not to reject his message because he was young : — 
 
 ' Oh ! do not turn a deaf ear to me,' he begged ; ' do not reject the 
 message on account of the meanness of the messenger ! I am a child, a 
 youth of uncircumcised lips, but the Lord has chosen me that the glory 
 might be all His own. Had He sent to invite you by a learned Rabbi, 
 you might have been tempted to think the man had done something. But 
 now God has sent a child that cannot speak, that the excellency of the 
 
92 GEORGE U'/IITEFIELD 
 
 power may.be seen to be not of man, but of God. Let letter-learned 
 Pharisees, then, despise my youth ; I care not how vile I appear in the 
 sight of such men — I glory in it ; and I am persuaded, if any of you should 
 be set upon your watch by this preaching, you will have no reason to repent 
 that God sent a child to cry, " Behold, the Bridegroom cometh ! " O, my 
 brethren ! the thought of being instrumental in bringing some of you to 
 glory fills me with fresh zeal. Once more, therefore, I entreat you — 
 "Watch, watch and pray" ; for the Lord Jesus will receive all that call 
 upon Him faithfully. Let that cry, " Behold, the Bridegroom cometh ! " 
 be continually sounding in your ears ; and begin now to live as though you 
 were assured this was the night in which you were to be summoned to go 
 forth to Him.' 
 
 Whitefield, it will be seen, preached up to his congregation ; 
 he gave them the best. Think of a theme so lofty, of a manner 
 so bold yet so humble, of a spirit moved with such yearning 
 for a crowd, hundreds of whom had come for sport, and score's 
 for violence and crime. He saw in them men who had been 
 made in the image of God, and for whom Christ had died. He 
 summoned them to their high duties and privileges ; he laid 
 on them their solemn responsibilities ; he pleaded with them, 
 and wept over them as with a mother's love ; he opened 
 judgment and heaven and hell to their view ; he called upon 
 them to forsake sin and come to God ; he offered them pardon 
 and reconciliation and eternal life through the blood of Christ. 
 And the roughs were transformed into saints ! 
 
 At five o'clock in the evening of the same day he met, on 
 Kennington Common, 1 an audience computed at twenty 
 thousand, and of a higher class of people than he had 
 addressed in the morning. The wind, which was favourable, 
 carried his words to the furthest hearer ; the whole company 
 lis-tened with as much decorum as a congregation in a church, 
 joined in the Psalm and the Lord's Prayer, and dispersed, 
 evidently touched and moved by what they had heard. 
 
 ' Criminals were executed here, and in old prints the congregations are 
 represented as fringed with many of them hanging on the gallows. 
 
EFFECTS OF HIS PREACHING 93 
 
 All his time was now devoted to preparation for the voyage 
 to Georgia, and to open-air preaching. All went well between 
 him and the Trustees, who received him with much civility ; 
 agreed to everything he asked ; and gave him a grant of five 
 hundred acres of land, to him and his successors for ever, for 
 the use of the orphan-house. The liberality of the Trustees 
 was rivalled by that of the congregations at Moorfields and 
 Kennington Common, for in nine days he collected from them 
 almost two hundred pounds. The common was his church 
 on Sunday evening and during the week, and at the close of 
 the services he stood on the eminence from which he had 
 preached, to receive the gifts of the people, who crowded to 
 him from below. Moorfields was his church on the Sunday 
 morning, and after his third service there he collected fifty-two 
 pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence, more than twenty 
 pounds of which was in half-pence. He declares that he was 
 nearly weary of receiving their mites, and that one man could 
 not carry the load home. The evident emotion of the people 
 while he preached, their awe, their silence, their tears, and the 
 generosity with which, evening after evening, they responded 
 to his appeals for his orphan-house, showed that he had their 
 faith and sympathy, and that his word was bringing forth fruit. 
 Letters came telling him how useful his preaching had been to 
 the writers ; and many persons waited on him to receive further 
 private instruction. He even says that he could mark an 
 alteration for the better in the congregation at Kennington 
 Common, which had from the first been exemplary. No doubt 
 many came from anything but religious motives, as where is 
 the congregation which is without the idle, the formal, the 
 curious, the foolish, who do not come to be made any better, 
 and who would be greatly startled if they were ? The second 
 congregation at Moorfields, which was composed of about 
 twenty thousand people, most likely had many sightseers ; and 
 
94 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 so, most likely, had the congregation on the common, on the 
 evening of the same day — a congregation which was reckoned 
 to consist of between thirty and forty thousand persons on foot 
 besides many horsemen, and about eighty coaches. The sight 
 that evening was such as surprised even Whitefield, well- 
 accustomed as he had become to look down upon vast crowds. 
 
 Quick, enterprising men, who perhaps would have had as 
 much pleasure, if not a little more, in erecting stands on a 
 racecourse, or stalls at a wake, saw that a sunshiny day for 
 trade had come, and soon provided accommodation in the 
 shape of waggons, scaffolds, and other contrivances ; and the 
 audience gladly paid for it. There was a pew-rent and a 
 collection at every service ; but with this advantage, that no 
 official brought the collecting-box round, and no hearer was 
 compelled to occupy a stand or go without the privilege of 
 hearing. 
 
 It is said that the singing of these congregations could be 
 heard two miles off, and Whitefi eld's voice nearly a mile. 
 
 Much as Whitefield felt the importance of his work, deeply 
 persuaded as he was that God had called him to it, and 
 encouraging as were the sympathy and help of the people, he 
 was not able to throw off some sense of discomfort arising 
 from his being an outcast from the sanctuary and pulpits of 
 his Church, and from his having to gather his money for the 
 orphan-house in such an irregular way. Something of this 
 feeling manifests itself in an entry in his journal while he was 
 in the first flush of his out-door popularity : — 
 
 ' I doubt not,' he says, ' but many self-righteous bigots, when they see 
 me spreading out my hands to offer Jesus Christ freely to all, are ready to 
 cry out, " How glorious did the Rev. Mr. Whitefield look to-day, when, 
 neglecting the dignity of a clergyman, he stood venting his enthusiastic 
 ravings in a gown and cassock upon a common, and collecting mites from 
 the poor people ! " But if this is to be vile, Lord grant that I may be 
 
•ONE OF WHITE FIELD'S GANG' 95 
 
 more vile. I know this foolishness of preaching is made instrumental to 
 the conversion and edification of numbers. Ye scoffers, mock on ; I rejoice, 
 yea, and will rejoice.' 
 
 The intenseness of his feeling while writing those words 
 was not the calm satisfaction of one who could afford to let 
 others scoff or praise as they might please ; it was the struggle 
 of a man who felt acutely the disadvantages of his new posi- 
 tion, and who was determined to accept them only because 
 they were associated with duty and heavenly privilege ; there 
 was a conflict between the flesh and the Spirit. 
 
 It is not an unwelcome release to get disengaged from these 
 eager, excited congregations, to follow the preacher, and mark 
 how he attempted to fulfil the precepts he had publicly taught. 
 He does not appear to disadvantage when seen nearer at hand. 
 One day he received a letter dated from Bethlehem Hospital, 
 No. 50, signed Joseph Periam. Periam was supposed to be 
 mad, but in a new way ; he was ' Methodically mad ' ; and his 
 tender relations, father and sister, had sent him to Bethlehem 
 Hospital until the fits should leave him. The officials of the 
 hospital treated him, on his reception, with the gross cruelty 
 which one-while was practised towards all who were of weak 
 mind. They thought he ought to have a huge dose of physic, 
 but Periam, knowing that he was quite well, declined it, when 
 fou: or five attendants ' took hold of him, cursed him most 
 heartily, put a key into his mouth, threw him upon the bed, 
 and said (though Whitefield had not then either seen him or 
 heard of him), " You are one of Whitefield's gang," and so 
 drenched him.' Orders were given that neither Whitefield, 
 nor any of Whitefield's friends, should see him ; but Whitefield 
 and his friend Seward were both admitted when, in answer to 
 Periam's request, they went to the hospital. They thought 
 him sound, both in body and mind. His sister was of a 
 different opinion, and cited three symptoms of his madness. 
 
96 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 First, that he fasted for near a fortnight. Secondly, that he 
 prayed so as to be heard four storey high. Thirdly, that he had 
 sold his clothes, and given them to the poor. The fact is, he 
 was a literalist. In his first religious anxiety, reading one day 
 about the young man whom our Lord commanded to sell all 
 and give it to the poor, he thought that the words must be 
 taken literally — so he sold his clothes, and gave the money to 
 the poor. At length Whitefield and his friends secured 
 Periam's release, on condition that he should be taken to 
 Georgia. Accordingly he went with Whitefield to America ; 
 there he married one of the orphan-house mistresses. After a 
 few years both of them died, and two of their sons, promising 
 boys, became inmates of the institution. 
 
 The ship Elizabeth, in which Whitefield had taken berths for 
 himself and eleven others, was detained by an embargo until 
 August, and during the odd weeks thus accidentally thrown 
 into his hands he laboured with tremendous energy, and 
 abundantly fulfilled the animated charge which Charles Wesley 
 addressed to him in a poem of nine verses : — 
 
 ' Brother in Christ, and well-beloved, 
 
 Attend, and add thy prayer to mine ; 
 As Aaron called, yet inly moved 
 To minister in things divine. 
 
 Faithful, and often owned of God, 
 
 Vessel of grace, by Jesus used ; 
 Stir up the gift on thee bestowed, 
 
 The gift by hallowed hands transfused.' 
 
 ' It is not strange to come upon so strong a statement concerning sacra- 
 mental efficacy, in the poem of a man who was such a High Churchman that 
 he made careful arrangements to be buried in consecrated ground ; but 
 alas for human ignorance, that piece of St. Mary-le-bone churchyard in 
 which he is laid is said to be the only piece not consecrated. 
 
DR. DODDRIDGE 9/ 
 
 Go where the darkest tempest lowers, 
 
 Thy foes' triumphant wrestler foil ; 
 Thrones, principalities, and powers, 
 
 Engage, o'ercome, and take the spoil. 
 
 The weapons of thy warfare take, 
 
 With truth and meekness armed ride on ; 
 Mighty, through God, hell's kingdom shake, 
 
 Satan's strongholds, through God, pull down.' 
 
 Not to follow him step by step, we may still single out some 
 experiences which will illustrate his own mode of action, the 
 spirit that impelled him, the opposition he met with, and the 
 encouragements that cheered him. It was at Northampton, 
 the third place at which he stayed for preaching on one of his 
 short excursions from London, that he met with the pious, 
 able, and accomplished Dr. Doddridge, who was striving with 
 unwearied industry to keep the lamps of learning and religion 
 burning among the Dissenters. The doctor, whose attention 
 to those * forms of civility and complaisance which are usual 
 among well-bred people,' is duly noted by his biographer, 
 received Whitefield most courteously — perhaps more cour- 
 teously than joyfully, for he had not always thought favourably 
 of his visitor, and some of his brethren were not so well 
 inclined as himself to the new sect, and in due time sent him 
 'several angry letters,' reproaching him for his 'civility' to the 
 Methodist leaders. At any rate, the chapel pulpit was not 
 offered, and Whitefield had to take his stand at the starting- 
 post on the common. 
 
 Bedford had a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Rogers, who had 
 adopted Whitefield's plan of open-air preaching; his pulpit 
 was the steps of a windmill ; and there Whitefield preached to 
 three thousand people. Good news came to him from Scot- 
 land. Ebenezer Erskine, the father of United Presbyterianism, 
 
 8 
 
9 8 GEORGE WH1TEF1ELD 
 
 wrote to say that he had preached to fourteen thousand people. 
 Yet Whitefield was ill at ease, even when other ministers were 
 moving in the path he had chosen. The great need of the 
 country called for more help, and in his burning love for souls, 
 he prayed, ' Lord, do Thou spirit up more of my dear friends 
 and fellow-labourers to go out into the highways and hedges, 
 to compel poor sinners to come in. Amen.' His soul was 
 also stirred within him to testify 'against those vile teachers' 
 — so he calls them — ' and only those, who say we are not now 
 to receive the Holy Ghost, and who count the doctrine of the 
 new birth enthusiasm. Out of your own mouths I will con- 
 demn you, you blind guides. Did you not at the time ot 
 ordination tell the bishop that you were inwardly moved by 
 the Holy Ghost to take upon you the administration of the 
 Church? Surely, at that time, you acted the crime of Ananias 
 and Sapphira over again. "Surely," says Bishop Burnet, "you 
 lied not only unto man, but unto God." ' These words might 
 have had reference to a pastoral letter written about this time 
 by the Bishop of London, on ' Lukewarmness and Enthusiasm,' 
 in which the people of London and Westminster were specially 
 warned against the enthusiast, George Whitefield ; but from 
 the 'civil' reception the bishop gave him two days after he 
 penned them, we may infer that there was peace thus far. 
 But count Whitefield wrong, or count him right, in assailing 
 other clergymen, the heart warms to him as he is seen going 
 out, sick and weak, to preach in the rain or the sunshine ; his 
 eyes overflowing with tears, while to his weeping congregations 
 he explains his favourite doctrines of the new birth and justi- 
 fication by faith ; his heart so moved when he gets upon the 
 love and free grace of Jesus Christ, that, though an hour and 
 a half has passed by, he would fain continue till midnight. A 
 hint from him to the congregation at Moorfields, that he must 
 soon leave the country, makes it weep as for a brother, and 
 
WHITEFIELD AND WESLE Y AT BLACK HE A TH 99 
 
 ejaculations and prayers for him are poured out on every side. 
 The numbers who flocked to hear him increased, and at 
 Kennington Common one Sunday their weeping was so loud 
 as almost to drown his voice. 
 
 In the early part of June he preached mostly at Blendon, 
 Bexley, and Blackheath ; and had great enjoyment in the 
 fellowship of many friends (among whom was the vicar of 
 Bexley), who were of the same mind as himself. It was on a 
 Thursday evening that 'he introduced,' he says, 'his honoured 
 and reverend friend, Mr. John Wesley, to preach at Black- 
 heath.' Wesley says in his journal — 
 
 ' I went with Mr. Whitefield to Blackheath, where were, I believe, 
 twelve or fourteen thousand people. He a little surprised me, by desiring 
 me to preach in his stead ; which I did (though nature recoiled) on my 
 favourite subject, "Jesus Christ, who of God is made unto us wisdom, 
 righteousness, sanctification, and redemption." I was greatly moved with 
 compassion for the rich that were there, to whom I made a particular 
 application. Some of them seemed to attend, while others drove away 
 their coaches from so uncouth a preacher.' 
 
 Whitefield continues in his journal — 
 
 ' The Lord give him ten thousand times more success than He has given 
 me ! After sermon we spent the evening most agreeably together, with 
 many Christian friends, at the " Green Man." About ten we admitted all 
 to come that would. The room was soon filled. I exhorted and prayed 
 for near an hour, and then went to bed, rejoicing that another fresh inroad 
 was made upon Satan's territories, by Mr. Wesley's following me in field- 
 preaching in London as well as in Bristol. Lord, speak the word, and 
 great shall the company of such preachers be. Amen. Amen.' 
 
 Towards the end of the month his enemies devised a new 
 scheme for hindering him. Whenever he journeyed reports 
 were circulated that he was wounded, or killed, or had died 
 suddenly. Coming to Blackheath one evening, after an 
 excursion into the country, he found, not his usual twenty 
 
ioo GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 thousand, but one thousand, and the rest had stayed at home, 
 because of a report that he was dead. Wherever he went he 
 found the people much surprised and rejoiced to see him 
 alive. Another blow fell on him at the same time. His 
 friend, the vicar of Bexley, was forbidden to allow h'im his 
 pulpit. That night he preached on Blackheath, to as large a 
 congregation as ever, from the text, 'And they cast him out,' 
 and recommended the people to prepare for a gathering 
 storm. 
 
 Matters were a little threatening when he visited Tewkesbury 
 on July 2nd. He had created great excitement at Gloucester, 
 at Randwick, and at Hampton Common. The bailiffs of 
 Tewkesbury had raised much opposition to his coming thither 
 also, and had him, on his arrival at his inn, attended by four 
 constables. These were quickly sent off by a lawyer, a friend 
 of Whitefield, who demanded their warrant, and found that 
 they had none. Three thousand people attended an evening 
 service outside the liberties of the town. 
 
 The next morning he waited upon one of the bailiffs to ask 
 his reason for sending the constables. The bailiff replied 
 that it was the determination of the whole council, and that 
 the people had been noisy, and reflected upon the bailiffs. 
 ' The noise,' Whitefield answered, ' was owing to their sending 
 the constables with their staves, to apprehend me when I 
 should come into the town.' The bailiff retorted in anger, 
 that a certain judge had declared his determination to take 
 Whitefield up as a vagrant if he preached near him. ' He is 
 very welcome,' said Whitefield, ' to do as he pleases, but I 
 apprehend no magistrate has power to stop my preaching, 
 even in the streets, if I think proper.' ' No, sir,' said the 
 bailiff; 'if you preach here to-morrow, you shall have the 
 constable to attend you.' Whitefield went away, telling him 
 first that he thought it his duty as a minister to inform him 
 
THE BAILIFFS AT TEWKESBURY 101 
 
 that magistrates were intended to be a terror to evildoers, and 
 not to those who do well ; he desired him to be as careful to 
 appoint constables to attend at the next horse race, balls, 
 assemblies, &c. Whitefield and his friends then left for 
 Evesham, where he met with sympathising friends, and a 
 threat from the magistrates, that, if he preached within their 
 liberties, they would apprehend him. Next morning, however, 
 he did preach ; and the magistrates were quiet. Passing on 
 to Pershore, he was kindly welcomed by the incumbent, and, 
 apparently, from him procured the loan of a field in Tewkes- 
 bury ; then at five in the evening he turned, with a company 
 of a hundred and twenty horsemen, towards Tewkesbury, 
 which he found much alarmed, people from all parts crowding 
 the streets. He rode right through the town to the field, and 
 preached to about six thousand hearers ; the bailiffs wisely 
 refrained from keeping their threat, and no constable came 
 within sight. Immediately after the sermon he took horse, and 
 reached Gloucester near midnight. The exciting day's work 
 had begun at seven o'clock at Evesham, and he was preaching 
 next morning at ten, with a ' heart full of love to his dear 
 countrymen.' 
 
 What trials he had were counterbalanced by the happy 
 effects of his labours, visible in the places he visited. Kings- 
 wood had put on a different appearance ; the colliers, who 
 had formerly been the terror of the neighbourhood, were to be 
 heard singing hymns in the woods, instead of pouring out 
 blasphemy ; the school had been carried on so successfully by 
 Wesley, that in July, when Whitefield visited the place, the 
 roof was ready to be put up. Methodism was yielding its first- 
 fruits of purity, of honesty, of quietness, and of godliness, 
 among the humbler classes. It would have been gratifying 
 had any record been kept of particular cases, which might 
 have served as examples of the rest. This, however, is 
 
ro2 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 wanting, and we are mainly guided by general statements 
 about the spirit and behaviour of the congregations where he 
 had preached somewhat continuously. Curious hearers were 
 dropping off, and the vast number that remained may be 
 fairly supposed to have had a profound interest in what they 
 heard. The numbers were countless who came after the 
 services to ask for counsel as to how they might leave the 
 'city of destruction,' which they had too long inhabited. One 
 incident, related in the letter of a Quaker to Whitefield, may 
 serve to show what thoughts were finding their way into 
 humble homes throughout all the land. The old clerk at 
 Breferton could get no rest in his spirit, after hearing Whitefield 
 preach at Badsey ; he set to work to compare what he had 
 heard with the Church homilies and articles, and found a 
 singular agreement between them. The landlord of ' Counter- 
 cup,' with whom he got into conversation upon the subject, 
 informed him that he too had found Whitefield's doctrines set 
 forth in some old books which he possessed, the refuse of a 
 clergyman's library. This fact was remembered when, shortly 
 afterwards, the clerk, who was a tailor by trade, went to work 
 at the landlord's ; he borrowed the last book that was left, all 
 the rest having been lent, and did not read above a page or two 
 before ' the truth broke in upon his soul like lightning.' His 
 fingers itched for the book more than for his work, and he was 
 allowed to take it home with him. A second of the books 
 which he borrowed so strengthened him in his new faith, that 
 he felt as if he could die for it. Always well esteemed before, 
 he was now threatened by his neighbours with the loss of 
 custom and livelihood. 
 
 This wandering life which Whitefield was living, acceptable 
 as it was to the people (who on one occasion at least rung the 
 bells and received him ' as an angel of God ') and satisfactory 
 to his own conscience, was viewed with much displeasure by 
 
ADMONISHED BY BISHOP BENSON 103 
 
 others. Even Bishop Benson sent him an affectionate ad- 
 monition to exercise the authority he had received in the 
 manner it was given him, by preaching the gospel only to the 
 congregation to which he was lawfully appointed. Whitefield 
 replied within four days, and denied that he was acting con- 
 trary to his commission of preaching wherever he could, or 
 that he inveighed against the clergy. 'As for declining the 
 work in which I am engaged,' he said, ' my blood runs chill at 
 the very thought of it. I am as much convinced it is my duty 
 to act as I do, as that the sun shines at noonday. I can 
 foresee the consequences very well. They have already, in 
 one sense, thrust us out of the synagogues. By and by they 
 will think it is doing God service to kill us. But, my lord, if 
 you and the rest of the bishops cast us out, our great and 
 common Master will take us up.' 
 
 So much excitement and strong feeling had been raised, 
 that it was not always commercially wise for inn-keepers to 
 admit Whitefield to their houses ; and at Abingdon he was 
 ' genteelly told ' by one of them, that there was no room for 
 him and his party. Matters were worse at Basingstoke the 
 next evening. Whitefield had just thrown himself, languid 
 and weary, upon the bed, when — to use his own odd expres- 
 sion — he was ' refreshed with the news that the landlord would 
 not let them stay under his roof.' Probably resentment was 
 the occasion of the expulsion ; for one of the landlord's 
 children had been touched by Whitefield's preaching the last 
 time he visited Basingstoke. He and his friends went out, 
 amid the mockery and gibing of the crowd, to seek for 
 another inn ; and when they got one, the crowd amused itself 
 by throwing fire rockets around the door. It was too late to 
 preach, and Whitefield sought his own room ; he had been 
 there about an hour when the constable handed him a letter 
 from the mayor, warning him against making a breach of the 
 
104 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 peace. Whitefield immediately wrote an answer, saying that 
 he knew of no law against such meetings as his. 
 
 ' If no law can be produced, as a clergyman, I think it my duty to inform 
 you thai you ought to protect, and not anyways discourage, or permit others 
 lo disturb, an assembly of people meeting together purely to worship God. 
 To-morrow , I hear, there is to be an assembly of another nature ; he 
 pleased to be as careful to have the public peace preserved at that, and to 
 prevent profane cursing and swearing, and persons breaking the sixth com- 
 mandment, by bruising each other's bodies by cudgelling and wrestling ; 
 and if you do not this, I shall rise up against you at the great day, and be 
 a swift witness against your partiality.' 
 
 Whitefield followed his letter next morning, and had an 
 interview with the mayor, which must have endangered his 
 gravity much more than his temper. His object was to see 
 this prohibitory law, but the mayor broke out : ' Sir, you 
 sneered me in the letter you sent last night ; though I am a 
 
 butcher, yet, sir, I ' Whitefield interposed : ' I honour you 
 
 as a magistrate, and only desire to know what law could be 
 produced against my preaching : in my opinion there is none.' 
 ' Sir,' said the mayor, ' you ought to preach in a church.' 
 ' And so I would, if your minister would give me leave.' The 
 mayor said : ' Sir, I believe you have some sinister ends in 
 view ; why do you go about making a disturbance? ' More of 
 the same sort followed, and the mayor, who found himself a 
 poor match for the ready preacher, and had a fair to attend, 
 cut short the interview by saying that he ' had wrote ' White- 
 field another letter, which he would send him yet, if he 
 pleased. Whitefield thanked him, paid him the respect due 
 to a magistrate, and took his leave. The letter which followed 
 was very much in the ' though-I-am-a-butcher ' style. 
 
 Whitefield replied in his most serious manner, and had less 
 success than he probably would have gained had he tried, 
 what he could so well use when he chose — humour and 
 
RE VELS A T BA SINGSTOKE 1 05 
 
 geniality. But he could not keep down his tremendous 
 earnestness, or, rather, he could not bring into action along 
 with it the lighter qualities which have their part to play in the 
 intercourse of life. His soul was absorbed in the one thought 
 of winning the people for his Saviour. The crowds which 
 were to assemble at the revel the next day were resolved to 
 have their coarse pleasures and sins ; nor do the authorities 
 seem to have had any serious intention, except that of hindering 
 the preacher and sheltering them. There seems reason to 
 believe that Whitefield had purposely come on the day of the 
 revel, and if he did, his wisdom may be questioned ; for the 
 people had time to become exasperated before his arrival, and 
 that conquering influence which he generally threw over his 
 audiences had no fair chance to exert itself. Landlords, 
 showmen, cudgellers, wrestlers, and their attendant rabble 
 were sure to be active on the side of their interests ; and thus 
 the whole town had been set against him before he entered it. 
 However, being resolved to go on with his work, he went at 
 eight o'clock in the morning into a field to preach. One had 
 said that he should never come out alive, and another that the 
 drum should beat close by him, but nothing occurred to hinder 
 him from speaking freely against revelling. Only in going to 
 and fro from the field did he meet with any unpleasantness ; 
 the rabble and the boys saluted him and called him 'strange 
 names.' 
 
 He mounted to take his departure, but, he says : — 
 
 ' As I passed by on horseback, I saw a stage ; and as I rode further, I 
 met divers coming to the revel which affected me so much I had no rest 
 in my spirit. And therefore, having asked counsel of God, and perceiving 
 an unusual warmth and power enter into my soul, though I was gone above 
 a mile, I could not bear to see so many dear souls, for whom Christ had 
 died, ready to perish, and no minister or magistrate interpose. Upon this 
 I told my dear fellow-travellers that I was resolved to follow the example 
 of Ilowel Harris in Wales, and Id bear my testimony against such lying 
 
io6 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 vanities, let the consequences, as to my own private person, be what they 
 would. They immediately consenting, I rode back to town, got upon the 
 stage erected for the wrestlers, and began to show them the error of their 
 ways. Many seemed ready to hear what I had to say ; but one, more 
 zealous than the rest for his master, and fearing conviction every time 
 I attempted to speak, set the boys on repeating their huzzahs. 
 
 ' My soul, I perceived, was in a sweet frame, willing to be offered up, 
 so that I might save some of those to whom I was about to speak ; but all 
 in vain ! While I was on the stage, one struck me with his cudgel, which 
 I received with the utmost love. At last, finding the devil would not 
 permit them to give me audience, I got off; and after much pushing and 
 thronging me, I got on my horse with unspeakable satisfaction within my- 
 self, that I had now begun to attack the devil in his strongest holds, 
 and had borne my testimony against the detestable diversions of this 
 generation.' 
 
 There had been more danger in Basingstoke than he saw, 
 and it was well that he went to an inn and not to a friend's 
 house, as had been expected. A band of twelve ruffians had 
 been lying in wait in that quarter of the town where he was 
 expected to sleep, determined to give him ' a secret blow and 
 prevent his making disturbances ; ' and one of them had the 
 audacity to confess their intentions to a Quaker friend of 
 Whitefield — J. Portsmouth — the day after Whitefield left the 
 town. 
 
 Nothing daunted by his late peril — full particulars of which 
 were sent after him — he, within a week, made another 
 experiment, almost as bold, which was more successful. He 
 announced that he would preach at Hackney Marsh, on the 
 day of a horse-race, and ten thousand gathered around him, 
 hardly any of whom left him for the race. Some who left 
 returned very quickly, and to them he addressed a few words 
 specially. 
 
 Before any censure for rashness or recklessness is pronounced 
 upon him for these efforts, it should be well understood that 
 he did not boast of them ; that he did not covet notoriety ; 
 and that he did not act without either prayer or consideration. 
 
BEGINNING TO BE A CHRISTIAN 107 
 
 He both feared that his faith might fail him before he went to 
 Hackney Marsh, and entreated a friend to pray that his zeal 
 might be tempered with knowledge. ' It would grieve me,' he 
 said, ' should I bring sufferings causelessly upon myself.' 
 
 It is almost needless to say a word about the state of mind 
 in which such labours were carried on. They bear their own 
 testimony to secret joy and peace, to a clear hope of ever- 
 lasting glory, and to an unquestioning belief of the gospel ; 
 they could come only from one who had much of the mind 
 of Him who, ' though He was rich, yet for our sakes became 
 poor.' Yet one or two sentences from his letters well deserve 
 to be linked to the story of his toils and sufferings. ' As 
 for my own soul, God mightily strengthens me in the inward 
 man, and gives me often such foretastes of His love that I am 
 almost continually wishing to be dissolved that I may be with 
 Christ. But I am only beginning to begin to be a Christian.' 
 ' The harvest is very great. I am ashamed I can do no more 
 for Him, who hath done so much for me ; not by way of retalia- 
 tion, but gratitude. Fain would I love my Master, and will 
 not go from Him ; His service is perfect freedom ; His yoke 
 is easy; His burden light.' 
 
 Controversy always attends deep religious movements, and, 
 its abuses apart, it may be hailed as a blessing. It tempers 
 the assumptions of the proud, gives clearness to the dim con- 
 ceptions of both parties, and helps to hold the religious world 
 in equipoise. Neither Whitefield nor his views were the 
 worse for the assaults they sustained, any more than the formal 
 party of the Church was damaged by the arousing calls which 
 rang in their ears like the shout of the hosts of God. Metho- 
 dist wildfire — for there was wildfire flashing in those strange 
 congregations which assembled in Fetter Lane, on Kennington 
 Common, and in Bristol — needed regulating and subduing, 
 and bishops and clergy were soon at hand to help. 
 
10S GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 The first shaft was shot at Whitefield, soon after his arrival 
 from Savannah, by a brother clergyman ; but no notice was 
 taken of it, except in one sentence in the journal : ' Thou 
 shalt answer for me, O Lord.' The Bishop of London, Dr. 
 Gibson, now thought it to be his duty to check him, and wrote 
 a pastoral letter on ' Lukewarmness and Enthusiasm.' The 
 latter was evidently a greater sin in his eyes than the former ; 
 and but for the new enthusiasm, the old lukewarmness would 
 probably have been allowed its ancient comfort and ease. 
 The appeal addressed to it was not very arousing ; it was 
 dignified, proper, and paternal, after the ecclesiastical fashion. 
 To cope with the Methodists was more stimulating, and the 
 bishop braced himself for his task as one who relished it. He 
 opened his ' Caution ' with a definition of enthusiasm : ' A 
 strong persuasion on the mind of persons that they are guided, 
 in an extraordinary manner, by immediate impressions and 
 impulses of the Spirit of God. And this is owing chiefly to 
 the want of distinguishing aright between the ordinary and 
 extraordinary operations of the Holy Spirit.' After discussing 
 the subject generally, he culled from such parts of Whitefield's 
 journal as were then published illustrations of eight dangerous 
 phases of the new teaching. 
 
 ' God forbid,' he says, ' that, in this profane and degenerate age, every- 
 thing that has an appearance of piety and devotion should not be con- 
 sidered in the most favourable light that it is capable of. But, at the same 
 time, it is surely very proper that men should be called upon for some 
 reasonable evidences of a Divine commission : I. When they tell us of 
 extraordinary communications they have with God, and more than ordinary 
 assurances of a special Presence with them. II. When they talk in the 
 language of those who have a special and immediate mission from God. 
 III. When they profess to think and act under the immediate guidance 
 of a Divine inspiration. IV. When they speak of their preaching and 
 expounding, and the effects of them, as the sole work of a Divine power. 
 V. When they boast of sudden and surprising effects as wrought by the 
 Holy Ghost, in consequence of their preaching. VI. When they claim the 
 
CONTROVERSY WITH BISHOP GIBSON 109 
 
 spirit of prophecy. VII. When they speak of themselves in the language 
 and under the character of Apostles of Christ, and even of Christ Himself. 
 VIII. When they profess to plant and propagate a new gospel, as unknown 
 to the generality of ministers and people in a Christian country.' 
 
 'The Rev. Mr. Whitefield's answer,' which appeared only 
 twelve days after the ' Pastoral Letter,' was written in two 
 or three days in the midst of preaching engagements. It 
 opens with some remarks on the first part of the letter, which 
 are feeble and wide of the mark, and would have been better 
 omitted. He is strong and effective on his own ground, and 
 has little difficulty in defending positions which, in these days 
 of subjective religious thought, would have been little ques- 
 tioned. He rejects, of course, the idea of having extraordinary 
 operations of the Spirit in the working of miracles, or the 
 speaking with tongues ; but lays claim to the ordinary gifts 
 and influences which still continue. He contends that he can 
 know, by his own joy and peace and satisfaction in any 
 particular work, whether the Holy Ghost is with him, graciously 
 and effectually moving his heart ; that a general influence 
 or operation of the Spirit must imply a particular operation ; 
 that the Holy Ghost may direct and rule our hearts in the 
 minutest circumstance. He claims for himself a Divine com- 
 mission in his work, and forces the bishop to sit upon one 
 of two horns of a dilemma — deny the priest's Divine com- 
 mission, and thus his own Divine right and authority as bishop ; 
 or contend for his own commission, and thus admit the 
 validity of the priest's, who is ordained by his hands. The 
 charge of boasting that he spoke of his preaching and 
 expounding and the effects of them, as the sole work of a 
 Divine power, he rebuts by asking whether his lordship would 
 have the preacher ascribe anything to himself? The fifth 
 count against him gets an animated answer, which may well 
 make any preacher of truth feel serious : ' Where, my lord, 
 
no GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 is the enthusiasm of such a pretension ? Has your lordship 
 been a preacher in the Church of England for so many years, 
 and have you never seen any sudden or surprising effects con- 
 sequent upon your lordship's preaching ? Was this my case, 
 should I not have reason to doubt, my lord, whether I had 
 any more than a bare human commission ? ' In the sixth 
 count the bishop had laid his finger on a very weak place in 
 Whitefield's creed ; nor can Whitefield do more than appeal 
 to his own sincere persuasion that he is right. He had gone 
 so far astray as to prophesy (for it was nothing short of that) 
 in his journal, that there certainly would be a fulfilling of those 
 things which God by His Spirit had spoken to his soul ; that 
 he should see greater things than these ; and that there were 
 many promises to be fulfilled in him, many souls to be called, 
 and many sufferings to be endured before he should go hence. 
 In his answer he declares that God has in part fulfilled his 
 hopes of success ; that his enemies are fulfilling his expecta- 
 tions of sufferings ; and that some passages of Scripture are 
 so powerfully impressed upon his mind that he really believes 
 God will fulfil them in due time. Whitefield himself came 
 to see that he was mistaken in these views ; and he expunged 
 most, if not all, the obnoxious passages from his revised 
 journal, as well as declared his mistake frankly and fully. He 
 also did the same thing with the grounds of the seventh count, 
 which were a thoughtless use of Scriptural language. But on 
 the question of the last charge, which related principally to the 
 doctrine of justification, he not only boldly announced Soli- 
 fidianism, but adhered to it to the last. He was as impatient 
 as Luther of any mention of good works in connection with 
 justification. Works ought to come as the fruits and evidences 
 of justification ; but were not, even in the most limited sense, 
 to be called a condition of it. 
 
 A host of pens became busy upon the contested points, 
 
AN APPEAL in 
 
 some taking Whitefield's side, some the opposite. Their 
 effusions add nothing to our knowledge. 
 
 In closing the journal which contains an account of his first 
 open-air preaching, Whitefield made a tender appeal to others 
 who might be constrained to do as he had done. He says : — 
 
 ' I cannot but shut up this part of my journal with a word or two ot 
 exhortation to my dear fellow-labourers, whosoever they are, whom God shall 
 stir up to go forth into the highways and hedges, into the lanes and streets, 
 to compel poor sinners to come in. Great things God has already done. 
 For it is unknown how many have come to me under strong convictions 
 of their fallen state, desiring to be awakened to a sense of sin, and giving 
 thanks for the benefits God has imparted to them by the ministry of His 
 word. O my dear brethren ! have compassion on our dear Lord's 
 Church, which He has purchased with His own blood ; and let them not 
 perish for lack of knowledge. If you are found faithful you must undergo 
 persecution. Oh, arm people against a suffering time ; remind them again 
 and again that our kingdom is not of this world, and that it does not 
 become Christians to resist the powers that are ordained of God, but 
 patiently to suffer for the truth's sake. Oh, let us strive together in 
 our prayers, that we may fight the good fight of faith, that we may have 
 that wisdom which cometh from above, and that we may never suffer for 
 our own faults, but only for righteousness' sake : then will the spirit 
 of Christ and of glory rest upon our souls, and being made perfect by 
 suffering here, we shall be qualified to reign eternally with Jesus Christ 
 hereafter. Amen ! Amen ! ' 
 
 That appeal is as much needed to-day as ever, for the people 
 must be sought, if they are to be found. 
 
 Conscious of the difficulty of passing through popularity and 
 applause without moral injury — and by this time competing 
 engravers were multiplying his portrait as fast as they could, 
 and rival publishers were contending for his journals — anxious 
 to subdue such pride and selfishness as still dwelt in him, 
 longing to know himself better, and much worn down with the 
 gigantic labours of the past seven months and a half, he went 
 on board the Elizabeth, saying, ' Blessed be God ! I am much 
 rejoiced at retiring from the world.' 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 August, 1739 — March, 1741 
 
 THIRD VOYAGE — ITINERATING IN AMERICA FOURTH VOYAGE 
 
 BREACH WITH WESLEY 
 
 MY family,' as Whitefield called the eight men, one 
 boy, two children, and his friend Mr. William Seward, 
 who accompanied him, had characters in it worth a passing 
 notice — Periam, the methodical madman, whom we know ; 
 Seward, the rich layman ; and Gladman, a sea captain, whom 
 A\ ; hitefield got to know at the end of his last visit to Georgia. 
 Seward was a gentleman of Evesham, thoroughly inspired with 
 Methodist enthusiasm, who, to his wife's mortification, became 
 Whitefield's companion in travel to help the good work. He 
 was a Boswell in his admiration and fussiness, and but for his 
 early death would have preserved many interesting facts which 
 are now lost. Gladman was a convert who followed White- 
 field from a double motive — love to the man and love to his 
 Master. Distress brought him under Whitefield's notice. His 
 ship had been wrecked on a sand-bank near the Gulf of 
 Florida. After ten days spent in that situation by him and his 
 crew, they sighted a vessel, and hoisted a signal of distress, 
 which she answered. Gladman and part of his men pulled to 
 her in a boat, and begged a passage for the whole number, 
 
LETTER-} VRITING 1 1 3 
 
 which was promised them ; but, as soon as they put off for the 
 sandbank the vessel made sail and left them Thirty days 
 more were spent in their confinement ; then they built a boat, 
 into which he and five others stepped, with the determination 
 to make their escape or perish ; the rest were fearful of such a 
 frail craft and stayed behind. Boat and crew came safe to 
 Tybee Island, ten miles off Savannah, whither Gladman was 
 brought, and where Whitefield invited him to breakfast. A 
 deliverance so great prepared him to receive the kindly 
 counsels which were given him over the breakfast-table, and as 
 host and guest soon afterwards returned to England in the 
 same vessel, Gladman became, through further instruction, a 
 Christian of deep conviction and firm faith. Nothing would 
 satisfy him but to return with Whitefield on his second voyage 
 to Georgia. 
 
 The versatile preacher, who was well gifted with ability to 
 become all things to all men, and to make himself contented 
 in all places, had been on board ship but two days when he 
 felt almost as forgetful of what he had passed through as if he 
 had never been out in the world. Present duty was the only 
 thing that ever pressed hard upon him ; past bitterness he 
 quickly forgot ; future troubles he left with God. He lived one 
 , day at a time, and lived it thoroughly. He framed refutations 
 for his 'family,' instituted public prayer morning and evening, 
 . took to letter-writing and the reading of some very strongly 
 flavoured divinity ; and at the same time indulged his favourite 
 gift and passion of exhorting every one around him to follow his. 
 Lord and Master. In this last-mentioned work he had the 
 occasional help of a Quaker, to whom he would now and 
 again lend his cabin. The only grief was that the Quaker was | 
 not explicit enough upon justification by faith and upon the 
 objective work of the Saviour. 
 
 Letter-writing was a great pastime of the Methodists, yet 
 
 9 
 
H4 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 none of them have written any letters worth preserving, either 
 for their literary merit or their theological grasp. All that was 
 attempted was to comfort and cheer each other in the conflict 
 with earth and hell ; and hence their letters abound in ' experi- 
 ences.' Whitefield wrote sixty-five letters — none of them long, 
 some of them mere notes — during his three months' voyage ; 
 they were addressed to converts who wanted encouragement, 
 to backsliders who wanted reproof, to students who wanted 
 cheering in their espousal of the cause of Christ, to ministers 
 who wanted words of brotherly love. This was the work of a 
 man of only twenty-four years of age. 
 
 ' Show them,' he says to Howel Harris about his congregations, ' show 
 iliem in the map of the word the kingdoms of the upper world, and the 
 transcendent glories of them ; and assure them that all shall be theirs if they 
 believe on Jesus Christ with their whole hearts. Press on them to believe 
 on Him immediately. Intersperse prayers with your exhortations, and 
 thereby call down fire from heaven, even the fire of the Holy Ghost, 
 
 " To soften, sweeten, and refine, 
 And melt them into love." 
 
 lt Speak every time, my dear brother, as if it were your last ; weep out, if 
 possible, every argument, and, as it were, compel them to cry, " Behold, 
 how he loveth us ! " ' 
 
 As America is approached, he begins to show that great things 
 are shaping themselves in his mind, his world-wide work 
 suggests itself ; and with his usual promptitude he writes to a 
 friend : ' I intend resigning the parsonage of Savannah. The 
 orphan-house I can take care of, supposing I should be kept 
 at a distance ; besides, when I have resigned the parish, I shall 
 be more at liberty to take a tour round America, if God should 
 ever call me to such a work. However, I determine nothing : 
 I wait on the Lord.' 
 
 The voyage was useful, both to his body and soul — to his 
 soul, however, in a very distressing way. His journal from 
 
DEEP EXPERIENCES 115 
 
 August to November is almost as dismal and painful as the 
 early parts of Brainerd's. ' Tears were his meat day and 
 night.' One extract will suffice to show what was his state of 
 mind until towards the end of the voyage : — 
 
 ' I underwent inexpressible agonies of soul for two or three days at the 
 remembrance of my sins, and the bitter consequences of them. Surely my 
 sorrows were so great that, had not God in the midst of them comforted my 
 soul, the load would have been insupportable ! All the while I was assured 
 God had forgiven me ; but I could not forgive myself for sinning 
 against so much light and love. Surely I felt something of that which 
 Adam felt when turned out of Paradise ; David, when he was convicted of 
 his adultery ; and Peter, when with oaths and curses he had thrice denied 
 his Master. I then, if ever, did truly smite upon my ungrateful breast and 
 cry, God be merciful to me a sinner ! I ate but very little, and went 
 mourning all the day long. At length my Lord looked upon me, and with 
 that look broke my rocky heart, and floods of contrite tears gushed out 
 before my whole family, and indeed I wept most bitteiiy. When in this 
 condition I wondered not at Peter's running so slowly to the sepulchre, 
 when loaded with the sense of his sin. Alas ! a consideration of aggravated 
 guilt quite took off my chariot wheels, and I drove so exceeding heavily, 
 that was I always to see myself such a sinner as I am, and as I did then, 
 without seeing the Saviour of sinners, I should not so much as be able to 
 look up. Lord, what is man ! ' 
 
 The old Puritan theology, of which he had been a student 
 from the time of his conversion, began, during this voyage, to 
 affect his views in a very decided way. Until this time the 
 broad, plain statements of Scripture had sufficed for a founda- 
 tion for his teaching. The calls to repentance and faith, the 
 assurances of pardon and eternal life for as many as will turn 
 to God, the commandments binding every man to purity of 
 heart and life, the simple declarations of the unspeak able joye 
 wherewith the Saviour has loved us, and His power and 
 willingness to help all who look to Him, constituted the 
 message he had delighted to proclaim, and which, indeed, in 
 spite of the views he was presently to embrace, he proclaimed 
 to the last. He had been a primitive Christian. But now he 
 
1 1 6 GEORGE J VH1 TE FIELD 
 
 must have a system of theology ; he must hold with the free- 
 grace men, or with the predestinarians ; he must believe in free- 
 will, or deny it ; he must accept the dogma of imputed 
 righteousness, or reject it. A book written by Jonathan Warn, 
 called 'The Church of England- Man turned Dissenter, and 
 Arminianism the Backdoor to Popery,' which contained 
 extracts from The Preacher^ by Dr. Edwards, of Cambridge, 
 ' strengthened him much.' He tells Harris that, since he saw 
 him, God has been pleased to enlighten him more in that 
 comfortable doctrine of election, and now their principles 
 agree, as face answers to face in the water. When he returns 
 to Wales he will be more explicit than he had been ; ' for God 
 forbid, my dear brother, that we should shun to declare the 
 whole counsel of God.' His Calvinism was not (as it never is 
 in the purest hearts) a cold system of divinity, but a strong 
 persuasion that, only by the acceptance of such dogmas and an 
 earnest proclamation of them, could the glory and the honour 
 be given to the God of our salvation. Whitefield was won 
 over to Puritanism by the truth which has been the salt of that 
 system — man must in no sense be a saviour to himself; he 
 may watch and read and pray ; he may practise good works — 
 the more the better ; he may — nay, he must — seek to perfect 
 holiness in the fear of God, for every consideration of gratitude 
 and love, every holy and tender tie which binds him to his 
 Father in heaven, demands it ; but he must not say a word 
 about these being conditions for the reception of any favour 
 from above. All is retrospective, all is of God. He provided 
 — as the phrase is— a Saviour ; He also determined who 
 should be saved by the Saviour. He gave His people to the 
 Redeemer, and the Redeemer to His people, in a covenant 
 that should never be broken. But for the centering of every- 
 thing in God, Whitefield would have cared nothing for his 
 favourite theories. 
 
PHIL A DELPHI A 1 1 7 
 
 While he was plunging into Calvinism, and determining to 
 be more outspoken on the five points — happily he was slow at 
 fulfilling this purpose — another mind, not less resolute, not 
 less bold, and much more acute than his own, was as swiftly 
 and irrevocably rushing into the opposite system of Arminian- 
 ism. A separation between himself and Wesley was already 
 inevitable if each adhered, as he was sure to do, to his own 
 convictions. That determination ' to speak out, and hide 
 none of the counsel of God,' was an extension of a crack- 
 already made in the foundations of Methodism, which was 
 to grow wider and longer for many a day to come, though 
 never so wide that divided friends could not shake hands 
 across it. 
 
 Thankful for his voyage, and timid about facing the diffi- 
 culties of public life on shore — the responsibility of preaching 
 to large congregations, the temptations of popularity, and the 
 opposition of such as differed from him — yet again joyful and 
 fearless because he knew that many prayers were being offered 
 for him, he landed at Lewis Town, about one hundred and 
 fifty miles from Philadelphia. The ship's provisions had 
 run out, as they used to do in those days, and the kind 
 thoughtfulness of WhitefieWs English friends, who had sent 
 a good stock on board for him and his family, saved both crew 
 and passengers from possible starvation, or a very lean dietary. 
 
 Whitefield, accompanied by his friend Seward, had a 
 pleasant ride through the woods to the Quaker town, Phila- 
 delphia, which then numbered probably eleven or twelve 
 thousand inhabitants, one third of whom were Quakers (half 
 the inhabitants of the State of Pennsylvania were of the same 
 faith). It was a long, straggling place, the houses pleasantly 
 built in the midst of orchards ; the market-place unpaved ; the 
 stocks, the pillory, and the whipping-post still standing The 
 last-named instrument of justice was in active operation, two 
 
/[ 
 
 nS GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 women a month being whipped at it. Benjamin Franklin had 
 his printing-office opposite the market-place, and within sight 
 of the whipping-post. The Pennsylvania Gazette was rejoicing 
 in great prosperity, through the shrewdness and industry of its 
 famous proprietor and editor. Poor Richard's Almanac had 
 but a few years before given its wit and wisdom to the good 
 citizens for the sum of fivepence, and now some are willing to 
 give twenty dollars for a single number of it ! The people 
 were quiet, peace-loving, tolerant, and not so intellectual as the 
 Bostonians. Vital godliness was said to be low among them. 
 Their desire to hear the great Methodist was intense ; for his 
 immense fame had reached their town before him. 
 
 Whitefield's first duty was to deliver some letters committed 
 to his charge, and then to go on board the Elizabeth, which 
 had arrived the night before him, to see his family. He next 
 paid his respects to the proprietor and the commissary, who 
 received him 'very civilly.' The day following, which was 
 Sunday, he preached to a large congregation, and took part in 
 other services. The churchwardens treated him better than 
 their brethren in England had done, and the clergy of all 
 denominations showed him great courtesy. Feeling was so 
 different from that which he had left behind him, that whereas 
 in England the only proper place for a sermon was thought to 
 be a church, in Philadelphia the people preferred hearing it 
 elsewhere, and asked him to gratify their taste, which he was 
 not slow to do. The Quakers were very friendly, and their 
 fellowship cheered him not a little The atmosphere all 
 around was peaceful, and balmy with brotherly love. Aged 
 Mr. Tennent, who had an academy for training pious youths 
 for the ministry, about twenty miles from the city, and was 
 himself blessed with four sons of Christian reputation and 
 i influence, three of whom were ministers, came into the city to 
 speak to him. The week's stay which lie made was as quiet 
 
J9EJVJA MIN FRA NKLlN t i 9 
 
 and agreeable as any he ever made in any place. All places 
 of worship were open to him, all ministers favourable to him ; 
 and when he left the ordinary religious buildings to preach 
 from the steps of the court-house to congregations no building 
 could hold, and which listened in solemn silence while the 
 prolonged twilight of the late autumn days filled the sky, he 
 must have felt an unusual joy in his work. Once when the 
 night was far advanced, and lights were shining in the windows 
 of most of the adjoining houses, he felt as if he could preach 
 all night ; and indeed the night after, which was Saturday, the 
 people, not feeling the pressure of a coming day's work, seemed 
 so unwilling to go away after they had heard an hour's sermon, 
 that he began to pray afresh, and afterwards they crowded his 
 house to join in psalms and family prayer. 
 
 Franklin was a constant and delighted hearer. Calm and 
 self-controlled under most circumstances, his temperament 
 caught fire at the glowing words of Whitefield ; and if he did 
 not become a convert to his views, he became an attached and 
 lifelong personal friend. It seems to have been during this 
 visit that Whitefield triumphed so signally over Poor Richard's 
 prudence. The story is well known, but too good to be 
 omitted here. Whitefield consulted Franklin about the orphan- 
 house, for which he was still making collections wherever 
 money could be obtained. Franklin approved the scheme, 
 but urged that the house should be built in Philadelphia, and 
 not in a settlement which was thinly populated, where material 
 and workmen were scarce, and which was not so prosperous as 
 it had been. Whitefield did not heed this counsel, but deter- 
 mined to follow his own plan. This made Franklin decide 
 not to subscribe. 
 
 ' I happened soon after,' he says, ' to attend one of his sermons, in the 
 course of which I perceived he intended to finish with a collection, and I 
 silently resolved he should* get nothing from me. I had in my pocket a 
 
1 26 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 handful of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in 
 gold. As he proceeded I hegan to soften, and concluded to give the 
 copper. Another stroke of his oratory made me ashamed of that, and 
 determined me to give the silver ; and he finished so admirably, that I 
 emptied my pocket into the collector's dish, gold and all ! At this sermon 
 there was also one of our club who, being of my sentiments respecting the 
 building in Georgia, and suspecting a collection might be intended, had, by 
 precaution, emptied his pockets before he came from home. Towards the 
 conclusion of the discourse, however, he felt a strong inclination to give, 
 and applied to a neighbour who stood near him to lend him some money 
 for the purpose. The request was made, perhaps, to the only man in the 
 company who had the firmness not to be affected by the preacher. His 
 answer was : " At any other time, friend Hopkinson, I would lend thee 
 freely ; but not now, for thee seems to me to be out of thy right senses." ' 
 
 Anecdotes seldom bear dates, and we can only fit some of 
 those which are told of Whitefield into the right part of space, 
 the right locality, not heeding the right year of time. Most 
 probably it was near about the time of this visit that the 
 observant Franklin tried to find out how far the preacher 
 could be heard, when one night he was preaching near 
 Franklin's shop. He says : ' I had the curiosity to learn how 
 far he could be heard, by retiring backward down the street 
 towards the river, and I found his voice distinct till I came 
 near Front Street, when some noise in that street obscured it. 
 Imagining then a semicircle, of which my distance should be 
 the radius, and that it was filled with auditors, to each of whom 
 I allowed two square feet, I computed that he might well be 
 heard by more than thirty thousand. This reconciled me to 
 the newspaper accounts of his having preached to twenty five 
 thousand people in the fields, and to the history of generals 
 haranguing whole armies, of which I had sometimes doubted.' 
 
 It has been said that Whitefield's visit ' threw a horrid 
 gloom ' over the town, and for a time put ' a stop to the 
 dancing schools, the assemblies, and every pleasant thing.' 
 But if the innocent town was so oppressed by the ' terror- 
 
FUTURE PUNISHMENT 12 1 
 
 exciting preacher,' it showed a strange pleasure in always 
 making him its welcome guest, and hanging upon his words. 
 The truth is, terror was not the power he wielded, but loving, 
 urgent, yearning tenderness, which could not endure the 
 thought of any man's perishing in his sins. Whatever fault may 
 be found with some of his views — and they lie exposed on 
 every side, unguarded by argument, unmasked by sophistry — it 
 never can be honestly charged upon him that he pictured the 
 torments of the great condemnation in flashy colours, or with 
 morbid pleasure ; every allusion to the casting out was filled 
 with a spirit which testified also of the joy of welcome. It is 
 not meant that he was silent on the awful question of future 
 punishment ; for, seeing he firmly believed in it, silence would, 
 in his case, have been mental reservation, and his nature was 
 too frank and too transparent to keep anything back. Know- 
 ing the terror of the Lord, he persuaded men. All his beliefs 
 had power over him, fashioning his character, and determining 
 his ministry ; but his soul lived mostly on the radiant side of 
 , his creed, and from his visions of love, and peace, and joy, he 
 ( went forth to tell what he had seen. And if the people of 
 i Philadelphia walked under a cloud while Whitefield enjoyed 
 their free and generous hospitality, it was a cloud which ' burst 
 in blessings on their head.' That silent night, when the houses 
 all around the preaching-stand had lights in their windows, 
 near which sat or stood some listener, was a night of penitence 
 for one lost soul, of a class which used often to find their 
 way to the Man of Sorrows, but which too seldom come now 
 to any pastor. Next morning, before it was light, she came 
 to Whitefield's house, and desired to join in prayer ; and when 
 devotions were over, left the following letter with him : — 
 
 ' Oh, what shall I say to express my thanks I owe to my good God, in 
 and from you through Jesus Christ (for the good work) which you have been 
 the instrument of beginning in my soul ; and if you have any regard to a 
 
122 GEORGE U'HITEFIELD 
 
 poor, miserable, blind, and naked wretch, that's not only dust but sin, as I 
 am confident you have, you will in no wise reject my humble request, 
 which is that I, even I, may lay hold of this blessed opportunity of for- 
 saking all, in order to persevere in a virtuous course of life.' 
 
 The trembling, hoping penitent had not long been gone when 
 the ' terror-inspiring ' man was approached by a child of seven, 
 who came to request him to take her to Georgia, as she had 
 heard that he was willing to take little children with him ! 
 
 Three months before his arrival at Philadelphia, a letter 
 
 had come from Mr. Noble, of New York, who wrote in his own 
 
 name, and the name of many others, inviting him to that 
 
 place ; a second letter came immediately after his arrival, 
 
 repeating the request. He determined to go. Friends lent 
 
 him and his party four horses, and they rode on through the 
 
 , woods, stopping at Burlington and Trent Town, at which 
 
 ( places he preached with great freedom, and Brunswick, where 
 
 I they met with Gilbert Tennent, the eccentric Presbyterian 
 
 j minister of the place, who imitated the rude dress of the 
 
 ( Baptist, and preached with terrible power. Nothing that 
 
 { Whitefield could say could surpass the fiery sarcasm and 
 
 I thundering denunciation of Tennent ; indeed, Whitefield's 
 
 sermons must have been like refreshing showers after a prairie 
 
 fire, when he came into the neighbourhood of Tennent's labours. 
 
 The stern preacher had delivered his soul of a faithful 
 
 message in the spring of this year on 'The Danger of an 
 
 Unconverted Ministry,' and had printed it for an abiding 
 
 testimony among the people. It was based upon the pathetic 
 
 words of the Evangelist, ' And Jesus, when He came out, saw 
 
 much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, 
 
 because they were as sheep not having a shepherd.' This 
 
 / sermon was epoch-making, for it determined the evangelical 
 
 ' character of the Presbyterian ministry in America from that 
 
 I day to the present. 
 
GILBERT TENNENT 123 
 
 Tennent joined Whiten eld's party, and rode off with them to 
 New York, to join in the preaching campaign, the journey 
 being shortened by each traveller's telling the rest what God 
 had done for his soul. Mr. Noble received them ' most 
 affectionately,' and that night Tennent preached at the 
 meeting-house, ' but never before,' says Whitefield, ' heard I 
 such a searching sermon. He went to the bottom indeed, 
 and did not daub with untempered mortar. He convinced me 
 more and more that we can preach the gospel of Christ no 
 , further than we have experienced the power of it in our own 
 ( heart. Beingdeeplyconvictedof sin, and driven from time to time 
 I off his false bottoms and dependencies by God's Holy Spirit at 
 his first conversion, he has learned experimentally to dissect the 
 heart of the natural man. Hypocrites must either soon be 
 converted or enraged at his preaching. He is a son of 
 thunder, and I find doth not fear the faces of men.' 
 
 New York was not so tolerant as Philadelphia. The 
 Commissary denied Whitefield the use of his pulpit before it 
 was even asked for, and angrily informed him that, his 
 assistance was not wanted. Whitefield replied, that ' if they 
 preached the gospel he wished them good luck in the name of 
 the Lord, and that, as the church had been denied without 
 being asked for, he should preach in the fields, for all places 
 were alike to him.' To the fields he went that afternoon, and 
 though some seemed inclined to mock, they soon grew more 
 serious. An attempt to get the town-hall was unsuccessful ; 
 / but Pemberton, the Presbyterian minister, was glad to have 
 . him in his meeting-house, which was crowded night after night; 
 and some who had been profligate learned to look upon their 
 past lives with shame. That Whitefield, along with his fine 
 indignation at the unfaithfulness of unworthy men, who held 
 the sacred office of pastor and teacher, and his ardent zeal to 
 save all men, had a touch of censoriousness, and perhaps per- 
 
124 GEORGE WH1TEFIELD 
 
 emptoriness, this latter quality growing upon him as he got 
 older, while the former declined, cannot be denied ; but his 
 spirit must also have had rare reverence for age and goodness. 
 He was no young upstart, who, thinking himself so much more 
 competent to guide the people, delighted to treat old men and 
 their views with neglect ; he never looks more dignified and 
 manly than when, with respect in his manner and diffidence in 
 his heart, he meets some aged Samuel, like old Mr. Tennent, or 
 old Mr. Pemberton, and takes his place as a listener and 
 learner. After leaving New York, his sensitive mind, which 
 cherished the memory of the least kindness with fond faithful- 
 ness, became uneasy about some fancied want of humility in the 
 presence of Mr. Pemberton, and he sought to make amends in 
 a letter which must have touched the good man's heart deeply. 
 A letter written to his mother, when he reached New York, 
 will show his relation to the old home circle, and how con- 
 stantly the one absorbing topic of salvation by Christ was on 
 his pen and his tongue : — 
 
 ' NEW York, November 16, 1739. 
 
 ' Hon. Mother, — Last night Gud brought me hither in health and 
 safety. I must not omit informing you of it. Here is likely to be some 
 opposition, and consequently a likelihood that some good will be done. 
 New friends are raised up every day whithersoever we go ; the people of 
 Philadelphia have used me most courteously, and many, I believe, have been 
 pricked to the heart. God willing ! I leave this place next Monday, and 
 in about a fortnight think to set out for Virginia by land. In about a 
 twelvemonth I purpose returning to England ; expect then to have the 
 happiness of seeing me suffer for my Master's sake. Oh ! that God may 
 enable you to rejoice in it ! If you have the spirit of Christ, you will 
 rejoice ; if not, you will be sorrowful. Oh ! my honoured mother, my soul 
 is in distress for you ; flee, flee I beseech you, to Jesus Christ by faith. Lay 
 hold on Him, and do not let Him go. God hath given you convictions. 
 Arise, and never rest till they end in a sound conversion. Dare to deny 
 yourself. My honoured mother, I beseech you by the mercies of God in 
 Christ Jesus, dare to take up your cross and follow Christ. 
 
 'I am, honoured mother, your ever dutiful, though unworthy son, 
 
 ' George Whitefieed.' 
 
A LOG-COLLEGE 125 
 
 The return of the party from New York was a preaching 
 tour, under the direction of Tennent, who in due time brought 
 them to Neshamini, where his father lived, and where White- 
 field was announced to preach. It may serve to keep alive an 
 interest in his feelings amidst his labours, to mention that, in 
 the early part of the service, the three thousand people who 
 were assembled to hear him seemed unaffected, that this caused 
 him to 'wrestle' much for them in himself, and that at night he 
 had to withdraw for a while from the conversation of the circle 
 of holy men, to recover in private his composure and joy. 
 Then they talked together of what plans would be the best 
 for promoting the kingdom of our Lord. The best plan, 
 however, was already in operation in that log-house which 
 stood hard by, old Mr. Tennent's Academy, 'the College,' as it 
 was contemptuously called by such as thought that learning 
 could not be nursed in such rude quarters, whatever might 
 become of any piety which sought its shelter. Seven or eight 
 good men had just gone forth from it to their work ; more 
 were almost ready to follow ; and a foundation was being laid 
 for the instruction of many others. The minister whose soul 
 was so hot about the ' Pharisee-teachers ' who knew nothing of 
 the new birth, had here a work which thoroughly commanded 
 his heart. They all felt sure that it was right. Out of the 
 log-house, which the dauntless, vehement, sarcastic Tennents 
 built in faith, rose Princeton College. 
 
 His wandering life, the excitement which his presence always 
 caused, and the curiosity of all to see and hear him, were sure 
 to bring to his notice some of the oddest phases of life, and 
 some of the saddest and tenderest too. One day he was taken 
 to see a hermit, who had lived a solitary life for forty years — 
 a hermit, but not a misanthrope. The old man talked with 
 much feeling of his inward trials, and when asked by White- 
 field whether he had not many such in so close a retirement, 
 
el 
 
 126 GEO AGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 he answered with pathos and beauty : ' No wonder that a single 
 tree which stands alone is more exposed to storms than one 
 that grows among others.' He rejoiced to hear of what was 
 being done in England, and kissed his visitor when they parted 
 — the old man to continue solitary, the young man to live and 
 think and feel with the eyes of thousands on him daily. A 
 little hitch in life might once have made the preacher the 
 hermit ; for had not he also shunned human society, neglected 
 all ordinary comforts, and wrestled with his troubles alone, as 
 the single tree which has no fellows to shelter it contends with 
 the storm ? 
 
 The next day a German came to him as he was passing 
 along the street, and said : ' Thou didst sow some good seed 
 yesterday in German Town, and a grain of it fell into my 
 daughter's heart. She wants to speak with thee, that she may 
 know what she must do to keep and increase it.' The 
 daughter, who was standing hard by, came at her father's call, 
 and both stood weeping while Whitefield exhorted to watch- 
 fulness and prayer and closeness of fellowship with the 
 Saviour. Wonderful gentleness and sympathy must have 
 graced him whom repentant prodigals, little children, and 
 women could approach without fear, and whom old men loved 
 as a son. 
 
 The good people of Philadelphia showed their appreciation 
 of their visitor, not only by crowding to his services, but by 
 sending him presents for his family, which was to proceed to 
 Savannah by sea while he went by land, preaching wherever he 
 could get a congregation. Franklin's newspaper for November 
 contained the intelligence that — 
 
 ' On Thursday last, the Rev. Mr. Whitefield left this city, and was 
 accompanied to Chester by about one hundred and fifty horse, and preached 
 there to about seven thousand people. On Friday he preached twice at 
 Willing's Town to about five thousand ; on Saturday, at Newcastle, to 
 
PREACHING IN THE RAIN 127 
 
 about two thousand five hundred ; and the same evening at Christiana 
 Bridge, to about three thousand ; on Sunday, at White Clay Creek, he 
 preached twice, resting about half an hour between the sermons, to about 
 eight thousand, of whom about three thousand, it is computed, came on 
 horseback. It rained most of the time, and yet they stood in the open 
 air.' 
 
 Meanwhile his interest in other workers was not abated. 
 His heart was in England with the Wesleys, in Wales with 
 Harris, and in Scotland with the Erskines. A correspondence 
 with the Scotch brothers was preparing the way for a trip over 
 the border some day. He writes to Ralph — Ralph was the 
 gentle, sensitive, poetical brother ; Ebenezer, the bold, fearless, 
 dignified one, who preached the truth in its majesty — 
 
 1 The cordial and tender love which I bear you will not permit me to 
 neglect any opportunity of sending to you. I bless the Lord from my 
 soul for raising you and several other burning and shining lights, to appear 
 for Him in this midnight of the Church. . . . My only scruple at present 
 is, " whether you approve of taking the sword in defence of your religious 
 rights?" One of our English bishops, I remember, when I was with him, 
 called you Cameronians. They, I think, took up arms, which I think to be 
 contrary to the spirit of Jesus Christ and His apostles. Some few passages 
 in your sermon before the Presbytery, I thought, were a little suspicious of 
 favouring that principle.' 
 
 Another difficulty, besides the question of appealing to arms 
 to decide religious belief, stood in the way of a union between 
 the English priest and the Scotch Presbyters. The latter held 
 the divinity of their form of Church government and the 
 sacredness of their ordination in so exclusive a way as practi- 
 cally to excommunicate a minister of any other Church. 
 Whitefield refers to this in another letter to the same friend. 
 He says — 
 
 ' I think I have but one objection against your proceedings — your 
 insisting only on Presbyterian government, exclusive of all other ways 
 of worshipping God. Will not this, clear sir, necessarily lead you (when- 
 
128 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 ever you get the upper hand) to oppose and persecute all that differ from 
 
 you in their Church government, or outward way of worshipping God ? 
 
 Our dear brother and fellow-labourer, Mr. Gilbert Tennent, thinks this 
 
 will be the consequence, and said he would write to you about it. As for 
 
 I my own part (though I profess myself a member of the Church of England). 
 
 / I am of a catholic spirit ; and if I see a man who loves the Lord Jesus in 
 
 »/' sincerity, I am not very solicitous to what outward communion he belongs.' 
 
 His fears about opposition, if not about persecution, proved 
 only too true ; he himself was to get no small share of it. 
 The denominational spirit and the spirit catholic clashed as 
 soon as ever they met. 
 
 To get again upon his track southwards. Once away from 
 White Clay Creek and William Tennent's hospitality, he had 
 a ride through forest, swamp, and partially cleared country, 
 seeing and sharing in the life of the sparse population which 
 lay scattered along his route. Gentlemen were as glad to 
 show kindness to travellers, where few human beings were 
 to be seen, as travellers were to receive it ; and thus the 
 private house — generally that of a military man — was as often 
 the resting-place for the night as the tavern. But taverns were 
 a welcome lodge, though noisy guests might sleep in the next 
 room, or the bed be made in the kitchen ; for sometimes the 
 way was dangerous enough to gratify anybody with a Robinson 
 Crusoe nature — the evening wolves would come out and howl 
 like a kennel of hounds round the travellers. Odd meetings 
 with people who had some connection with the old country, 
 and whose talk could pleasantly recall the past, now and 
 again happened. The congregations were like everything 
 else ; now a handful of forty, now a hundred in place of the 
 usual twenty, now the family whose hospitality was being 
 enjoyed, and now a stray visitor who came in nobody knew 
 how, and in every case the Negroes of the house were got 
 together. 
 
IN THE FOREST 129 
 
 The account of crossing the Potomac helps one to realise 
 the condition of the whole land through which they were 
 passing. ' Potomac,' Whitefield says, ' is a river which parts 
 the two provinces, Maryland and Virginia. It is six miles 
 broad. We attempted to go over it ; but, after we had rowed 
 about a mile, the wind blew so violently, and night was coming 
 on so fast, that we were obliged to go back and lie at the 
 person's house who kept the ferry, where they brought out 
 such things as they had.' Christmas Day was spent very 
 pleasantly at Newborn Town ; public worship was attended, 
 the sacrament was received, a congregation was gathered to 
 hear the word, and heard it with tears ; the hostess provided 
 a Christmas dinner, and would take no fare from the traveller 
 when he offered it. New Year's Day was spent in riding ; and 
 at sunset a tavern was reached, which stood just within South 
 Carolina ; but another kind of visitor than a parson, and 
 especially a Methodist parson, would have been more welcome 
 when the house had a goodly company of neighbours who had 
 come together for a dance ! Such a company, however, must 
 have a word of exhortation, and he gave it both night and 
 morning. The morning proved as delightful as the night was 
 to prove disagreeable. For twenty miles the travellers rode 
 along the shore of a beautiful bay, as level as a terrace walk, 
 the porpoises that were enjoying their pastime making sport 
 for them all the way. Whitefield's heart rejoiced to hear 
 shore resounding to shore, across the noble expanse, the praise 
 of Him who hath set bounds to the sea that it cannot pass. 
 Then they rode into the forest, and had to take their chance 
 among the roads and by-roads. As night came on the moon 
 was too beclouded to show them where the by-paths led from 
 the main road, and thus the path to a house where they 
 purposed seeking lodgings was missed. There was nothing 
 for it but to push on till some resting-place could be reached, 
 
 10 
 
i3o GEORGE WHTTEFIELD 
 
 and they had not gone far before they saw a light. Two of 
 them went up towards it, and saw a hut full of Negroes, of 
 whom they inquired about the gentleman's house to which 
 they had been directed. The Negroes seemed surprised, and 
 said that they were but new-comers, and knew no such man. 
 This made one of the more timid hearts infer that these 
 Negroes might be some of a company which had made an 
 insurrection in the province, and had run away from their 
 masters. All the rest adopted his suspicion, and therefore 
 thought it best to mend their pace. Soon another great fire 
 was seen near the roadside, and the travellers, imagining that 
 there was a second nest of rebels, made a circuit into the 
 woods, and one of them observed Negroes dancing round the 
 fire. The moon now shone out clearly, and they soon found 
 their way again into the main road, along which they rode for 
 twelve miles, expecting at every step to come upon more fires 
 and more Negroes, when they had the good fortune to see a 
 large plantation, the master of which gave them lodging. 
 ' Upon our relating the circumstances of our travels,' says 
 Whitefield, ' he gave us satisfaction about the Negroes, 
 informed us whose they were, and upon what occasion they 
 were in those places in which we found them.' Two short 
 days more and a morning carried him safe into Charles Town 
 (abbreviations in names had not begun at this time, and 
 Charleston was still called by its full name), and a ride of 
 seven hundred and fifty miles was over. 
 
 His absence from Charles Town had not been long, but 
 still sufficiently so to allow of changes. He himself was 
 changed into a field-preacher ; and in consequence of this, 
 Commissary Garden, who, on the preceding visit to America, 
 had promised to defend him with life and fortune, was changed 
 into a cold friend and then into a hot enemy, who refused the 
 use of the English Church. However, there were the Inde- 
 
AMONG THE ORPHANS 131 
 
 pendent meeting-house and the French Church, where 'very 
 polite congregations ' were as plainly addressed as the Kings- 
 wood colliers. 
 
 The rest of the distance to Savannah was performed by 
 water, in an open canoe, steered and rowed by five Negro 
 slaves. ' The poor slaves,' he says, ' were very civil, diligent 
 and laborious.' The first night they slept on the water, and 
 the second on the shore, with a large fire to keep away wild 
 beasts. At noon on the second day they reached Savannah, 
 and had a joyful meeting with the family, which had been 
 there three weeks. He looks more like a settled family man 
 during the three months after his arrival, than during any 
 other part of his life. The huge congregations, which would 
 not allow of five minutes' leisure with him, are left behind ; so 
 too is the anger of opponents. The poor orphans are around 
 him, and his humane heart thinks and feels for them with 
 unwearied tenderness, as if they were the lambs of his own 
 home. He busies himself about them daily, and watches the 
 progress of the work which is to make them as good a home 
 as they can have, now that the dear old places are silent and 
 lonely, without father or mother. On the second morning 
 after his arrival he went to see a tract of land, consisting of 
 five hundred acres, which Habersham, whom he had left 
 schoolmaster of Savannah when he returned to England, had 
 chosen as the site of the orphanage. 
 
 'The land,' he says, 'is situated on the northern part of the colony, 
 about ten miles off Savannah, and has various kinds of soil in it ; a part of 
 it very good. Some acres, through the diligence of my friends, are cleared. 
 He has also stocked it with cattle and poultry. He has begun the fence, 
 and built a hut ; all which will greatly forward the work. I choose to have 
 it so far off the town because the children will then be more free from bad 
 examples, and can more conveniently go upon their lands to work ; for it 
 is my design to have each of the children taught to labour, so as to be 
 qualified to get their own living. Lord, do Thou teach and excite them 
 
1 32 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 to labour also for that meat which endureth to everlasting life. Thursday, 
 January 24th.— Went this morning and took possession of my lot. I hope it 
 is cast in a fair ground, and God, in answer to our prayers, will show that 
 He has given us a goodly heritage. I called it Bethesda, that is, the house 
 of mercy ; for I hope many acts of mercy will be shown there, and that 
 many will thereby be stirred up to praise the Lord, as a God whose mercy 
 endureth for ever. Tuesday, January 29th. — Took in three German orphans, 
 the most pitiful objects, I think, that I ever saw. No new Negroes could 
 possibly look more despicable, or require more pains to instruct them. 
 Was all the money I have collected to be spent in freeing these three 
 children from slavery, it would be well laid out. I have also in my house 
 near twenty more, who, in all probability, if not taken in, would be as 
 ignorant of God and Christ, comparatively speaking, as the Indians. 
 Blessed be God, they begin to live in order. Continue this and all other 
 blessings to them, for Thy infinite mercy's sake, O Lord, my strength and 
 my Redeemer. Wednesday, January 30th. — Went this day with the 
 carpenter and surveyor, and laid out the ground whereon the orphan- 
 house is to be built. It is to be sixty feet long and forty wide ; a yard 
 and garden before and behind. The foundation is to be brick, and is to 
 be sunk four feet within, and raised three feet above, the ground. The 
 house is to be two story high with a hip roof; the first ten, the second 
 nine feet high. In all there will be nearly twenty commodious rooms. 
 Behind are to be two small houses, the one for an infirmary, the other for 
 a workhouse. There is also to be a still-house for the apothecary ; and I 
 trust ere my return to England, I shall see the children and family quite 
 settled in it. I find it will be an expensive work ; but it is for the Lord 
 Christ. He will take care to defray all charges. The money that will be 
 spent on this occasion will keep many families from leaving the colony ; 
 there are near thirty working at the plantation already, and I would employ 
 as many more if they were to be had. Whatsoever is done for God ought to 
 be done speedily, as well as with all our might. Monday, February 4. 
 Met, according to appointment, with all the magistrates, and the former 
 trustee of the orphans, who heard the recorder read over the grant given 
 me by the Trustees, and took a minute of their approbation of the same. 
 Lord, grant that I and my friends may carefully watch over every soul 
 that is or shall be committed to our charge ! ' 
 
 Whitefield did not wait until the orphanage was ready 
 before beginning his philanthropic work, but at once hired a 
 large house, and took in all the orphans he could find in the 
 colony ; and that he might get all, he went to several of the 
 
THE FOUNDATION-BRICK 133 
 
 settlements and brought them home himself. He says that 
 ' a great many also of the town's children came to school 
 gratis ; and many poor people who could not maintain their 
 children, upon application had leave given them to send their 
 little ones for a month or two, or more, as they could spare 
 them, till at length my family consisted of between sixty and 
 seventy. Most of the orphans were in poor case, and three or 
 four almost eaten up with lice. I likewise erected an infirmary, 
 in which many sick people were cured and taken care of gratis. 
 I have now by me' (he writes this six years afterwards) 'a list 
 of upwards of a hundred and thirty persons who were under 
 the surgeon's hands, exclusive of my private family. This 
 surgeon I furnished with all proper drugs and utensils, which 
 put me to no small expense.' 
 
 The foundation-brick of the 'great house,' as he calls the 
 orphanage, was laid by himself on Tuesday, March 25, 1740, 
 without any parade— even without a silver trowel or a mahogany 
 mallet — but with full assurance of faith. The workmen were 
 the spectators, and knelt down with him to offer the dedication 
 prayer. They sang a hymn together, and he gave them a 
 word of exhortation, bidding them remember to work heartily, 
 knowing that they worked for God. Forty children were then 
 under his care, and nearly a hundred mouths had to be sup- 
 plied with food. 
 
 But all was not at rest. His very friendships were to cause 
 him his greatest troubles ; and the first signs of them appeared 
 while he was busy among his family; there a letter and a 
 journal from John Wesley reached him. That Whitefield him- 
 self had been anxious about the respective views of Calvin and 
 Arminius has been told already, and also that he had deter- 
 mined to speak out the conclusions he had come to. For 
 once he was behind his friend, and it was an honourable slow 
 ness to contention. Wesley, while at Bristol, had been accused 
 
(l 
 
 134 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 in a letter, apparently anonymous, of not preaching the gospel, 
 because he did not preach up election. This led him to 
 consult the lot as to whether he should preach and print his 
 sermon on free-grace, and the lot he drew said ' preach and 
 print ' ; and accordingly he did so ; but at Whitefield's request, 
 who was then in England, he desisted from publishing so long 
 as his friend remained in the country. 
 
 Soon after Whitefield sailed the sermon appeared. Wesley 
 also adopted into his creed the doctrine of perfection ; that is, 
 ' free, full, and present salvation from all the guilt, all the 
 power, and all the in-being of sin.' His letter to Whitefield at 
 Savannah was upon their respective doctrines of election and 
 perfection, asking him to give up the former and embrace the 
 t latter. To this Whitefield could not consent ; he answered 
 him : — 
 
 ' I could now send a particular answer to your last ; but, my honoured 
 friend and brother, for once hearken to a child, who is willing to wash 
 your feet. I beseech you by the mercies of God in Christ Jesus our Lord, 
 if you would have my love confirmed toward you, write no more tome 
 about misrepresentations wherein we differ. To the best of my knowledge, 
 at present no sin has dominion over me, yet I feel the strugglings of in- 
 dwelling sin day by day. I can therefore by no means come into your 
 interpretation of the passage mentioned in the letter, and as explained in 
 your preface to Mr. Halyburton. The doctrine of election, and the final 
 perseverance of those who are in Christ, I am ten thousand times more 
 convinced of, if possible, than when I saw you last. You think otherwise ; 
 why, then, should we dispute, when there is no probability of convincing? 
 Will it not in ■ the end destroy brotherly love, and insensibly take from us 
 that cordial union and sweetness of soul which, I pray God, may always 
 subsist between us ? How glad would the enemies of the Lord be to see 
 us divided ! How many would rejoice, should I join and make a party 
 against you ! And, in one word, how would the cause of our common 
 Master every way suffer by our raising disputes about particular points of 
 doctrine ! Honoured sir, let us offer salvation freely to all by the blood of 
 Jesus ; and whatever light God has communicated to us, let us freely com- 
 municate it to others. I have lately read the life of Luther, and think it 
 nowise to his honour, that the last [tart of his life was so much taken up 
 
/ 
 
 PLEADING FOR UNITY 135 
 
 in disputing with Zuinglius and others, who in all probability equally loved 
 the Lord Jesus, notwithstanding they might differ from him in other points. 
 Let this, dear sir, be a caution to us ; I hope it will be to me ; for, by the 
 blessing of God, provoke me to it as much as you please, I do not think 
 ever to enter the lists of controversy with you on the points wherein we 
 differ. Only I pray to God, that the more you judge me, the more I may 
 love you, and learn to desire no one's approbation but that of my Lord and 
 Master Jesus Christ.' 
 
 Unfortunately he did not abide by these truly Christian 
 purposes, neither was Wesley so forbearing as he ought to 
 have been. 
 
 Whitefield's kind heart was busy with another good work 
 while he was gathering the orphans to his house. That 
 month's ride through Maryland, Virginia, and Carolina had 
 brought him near slavery and all its revolting accessories ; and 
 he was pained at the heart. It would not do to be silent 
 about the wrongs of such as had no helper ; he took pen in 
 hand, and wrote to the inhabitants of those three states, 
 expostulating with them on their cruel treatment of their slaves. 
 But Whitefield was absolutely blind to the wickedness of 
 s lavery as sla very ; it was only the brutal conduct of some of 
 the masters that appeared wrong to him. At his first visit 
 to Georgia he expressed his persuasion that the colony 
 must always continue feeble, if the people were denied the use 
 of rum and slaves ; and he afterwards dishonoured himself by 
 becoming a slave-owner, and working his slaves for the good 
 of the orphanage. There is little or nothing to be said in 
 extenuation of his conduct ; for though it was a popular notion 
 in his day, that slavery was permissible, it was not the notion 
 of every one ; and he might have come to a better understand- 
 ing of the subject had he pondered it. Among his Quaker 
 and Moravian friends there were some who could have led him 
 into the light, had he spent time in conferring with them ; but 
 his incessant preaching gave him no opportunity for thinking 
 
136 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 and forming an independent conclusion. He had only one 
 thought, and cared nothing for a second, because the first was 
 paramount. It might have been impossible for him to preach, 
 and at the same time plead for the freedom of the Negroes ; 
 but at least he might have kept his own hands clean, and have 
 given a practical rebuke to his neighbours' sins. One sentence 
 in his letter shows that his mind might have arrived at a just 
 conclusion but for the hurry which called him away to other 
 things : ' Whether it be lawful for Christians to buy slaves, and 
 thereby encourage the nations from whence they are brought 
 to be at perpetual war with each other, I shall not take upon 
 me to determine.' But that was just the thing he was bound 
 to determine ; and if his convictions on the unlawfulness of 
 war for religious ends had any depth in them, which hardly 
 appears to have been the case, he must have concluded that 
 war for enslaving men who were of the same flesh as their 
 captors and buyers, and of equal value in the sight of God, 
 must be much less justifiable than religious wars. It may be 
 safely affirmed that the lash was never used on the farm where 
 the orphan-house stood ; that the children were not brutalised 
 by the sight of cruelty ; and that the Negroes did not go home 
 weary and sore to grind their corn for the evening meal. But 
 slavery is still slavery, however its condition is mitigated. 
 
 On the day of the appearance of the letter to the slave- 
 owners, Seward chronicled in his journal a story which well 
 illustrates the quality of Negro human nature. He says : 
 ' Heard of a drinking club that had a Negro boy attending 
 them, who used to mimic people for their diversion. The 
 gentlemen bid him mimic our brother Whitefield, which he 
 was very unwilling to do ; but they insisting upon it he stood 
 up, and said, " I speak the truth in Christ, I lie not ; unless 
 you repent, you will all be damned." This unexpected speech 
 broke up the club, which has not met since.' 
 
A LOVE-LETTER 137 
 
 Within six days of the ceremony at Bethesda, Whitefield was 
 called northward by the claims of the orphans, who must be 
 maintained ; and nothing could be found for them in Georgia. 
 He sailed in his sloop, and no sooner got on board than he 
 devoted his time to the writing of as strange and loveless a 
 love-letter as ever was penned. It was addressed to an English 
 lady at Blendon, no doubt Miss Elizabeth Delamotte, sister of 
 Mr. Delamotte, who first welcomed him to Georgia, and was 
 enclosed in one addressed to her parents, in which they are 
 asked whether they think their daughter a proper person to be 
 his helpmeet in his work, i.e., be the matron of his orphanage. 
 He declared that his heart was free from ' that foolish passion 
 
 which the world calls Love.' His letter to Miss E was in 
 
 the same strain ; he makes ' no great profession ' to her. She, 
 however, did not care to be wooed for a housekeeper instead 
 of a wife ; and Whitefield stood a rejected suitor, but not a 
 disappointed lover, for he subsequently learned that at the 
 time of his offer the lady (in spiritual things) was in a 'seeking 
 state ' only ; besides, he was not in love. 
 
 The sloop made a quick passage to Newcastle, from whence 
 Whitefield hastened his journey to Philadelphia by way of 
 Willingtown. The truth had not been inactive during the 
 absence of its eloquent preacher ; some it had conquered, 
 others it had hardened and driven into open hostility. All 
 around Philadelphia, as well as in the city, there was much 
 religious excitement; and many ministers who had been of 
 the 'Pharisee-teacher class,' had become earnest, active 
 labourers, and were following up Whitefield's work. The 
 minister of Abingdon passed through a very great trial before 
 he entered into the spiritual peace enjoyed by Whitefield ; and 
 his honesty of conduct attests his sincerity of mind. He had 
 been for some years a preacher of the doctrines of grace with- 
 out knowing the power of what he taught, until Whitefield 
 
138 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 came and preached for him. After Whitefield's departure, he 
 attempted to preach, but failed. Humbly confessing to his 
 congregation the deception he had practised on himself and 
 them, he asked those of them who could pray to make inter- 
 cession for him. Still anxious and unsettled, he again resumed 
 his work ; for he judged that in the way of duty he would be 
 most likely to find light and peace ; nor was he left without 
 the blessing he so earnestly desired. A congregation which 
 had a pastor in such a state of mind could hardly fail to 
 receive Whitefield's word with great emotion; 'a great in- 
 fluence was observable ' among them when he spoke, and 
 ' the word came with a soul-convicting and comforting power 
 to many.' 
 
 The Commissary of Philadelphia told Whitefield that he 
 could lend him his pulpit no more. Thanking God that the 
 fields were open, he betook himself to Society Hill next day, 
 and preached in the morning to six thousand, and in the even- 
 ing to eight thousand. On the following Sunday morning, at 
 seven o'clock, ten thousand assembled to hear him, and gave 
 him one hundred and ten pounds for his orphans ; and yet 
 Philadelphia itself had only about twelve thousand souls. The 
 same day he went morning and evening to church, and had 
 the comfort of being treated as he treated others who did not 
 think with him. The minister preached upon justification by 
 works, and did his best to damage Whitefield's favourite 
 doctrine of justification by faith, though with ill success ; for 
 many hearers who had entered church on seeing Whitefield go 
 in, were more deeply persuaded than ever of the truth of 
 evangelical doctrines. Besides, such attacks made him look 
 like a persecuted man, and gave him something to answer ; 
 hence it was no wonder that, when he went from the church 
 to preach in the open air, fifteen thousand people came 
 together. A second collection of eighty pounds showed that 
 
THE WORLD GROWING RELIGIOUS 139 
 
 more than curiosity, or a desire to hear a reply, had moved 
 them to come. 
 
 From Franklin to tipplers there was one subject of conver- 
 sation. The tipplers, Whitefield says, ' would mutter in 
 coffee-houses, give a curse, drink a bowl of punch, and then 
 cry out against me for not preaching up more morality/ 
 franklin was amazed at the way in which people of all 
 denominations went to hear him ; he speculated on the extra- 
 ordinary influence of Whitefield's oratory on his hearers, and 
 on their admiration and respect for him, notwithstanding they 
 were often told they were half beasts and half devils. He 
 wondered to see the change soon made in the manners of the 
 inhabitants — how, from being thoughtless or indifferent about 
 religion, it seemed as if all the world were growing religious; 
 so that no one could walk through the town of an evening 
 without hearing psalms sung in different families of every street. 
 
 The indiscreet zeal of Seward might, during this visit, have 
 cost both him and Whitefield, whom he seems to have fawned 
 upon, very serious consequences. Excited at finding that a 
 son of Penn was one of the proprietors of the assembly 
 rooms, he obtained the key of the rooms from the keeper, 
 under a promise that he would take the consequences, and 
 then locked the door, to drive out all the people to hear 
 Whitefield. This freak cost him a good deal of abuse, a 
 threat that he should be caned, and the maintenance of the 
 keeper's family. Another of his follies was to trumpet White- 
 field's praises in the newspapers by writing both advertisements 
 and paragraphs. He gave his own colouring in the New York 
 papers to his exploit with the assembly rooms, and made it 
 appear that the rooms had been closed by some one in 
 authority. His disingenuous paragraph was as follows : — 
 
 ' We hear from Philadelphia that, since Mr. Whitefield's preaching 
 there, the dancing-school and concert-room have been shut up as incon- 
 
Mo GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 sistent with the doctrines of the gospel ; at which some gentlemen were so 
 enraged that they broke open the door. It is most extraordinary that such 
 devilish diversions should be supported in that city, and by some of that 
 very sect whose first principles are an utter detestation of them, as appears 
 from William Penn's "No Cross, no Crown," in which he says, "every 
 step in a dance is a step to hell." ' 
 
 Circumstances called both Gladman and Seward away from 
 Whitefield's side before New York was reached ; and it cannot 
 be regretted that the latter, much as Whitefield was attached 
 to him, never returned. 1 They were despatched to England 
 to bring over some one to take charge of the orphanage in 
 Whitefield's absence, to acquaint the Trustees of Georgia with 
 the state of the colony, to procure an allowance of Negroes — 
 that is, slaves ; also a free title to the lands, an independent 
 magistracy, and money for building the church at Savannah. 
 Seward died in 1741, in Wales, as the result of a blow from a 
 rioter — a martyr, his work for Whitefield unfinished. 
 
 Sick and weary, Whitefield preached his way from Phila- 
 delphia to New York, where his friend Mr. Noble received him. 
 A strong, healthy man might flatter himself that he had achieved 
 marvels, could he say that he had done as much as White- 
 field did there under weakness of body and much loneliness of 
 heart. The services were early and late, numerous, sometimes 
 
 1 Here is a scene in Benjamin Franklin's shop, occasioned by this para- 
 graph. ' May 23, 1740. — Called at Mr. Franklin's the printer's, and met 
 
 Mr. P and several other gentlemen of the Assembly, who accosted me 
 
 very roughly concerning a paragraph I had put in the papers, alleging it to 
 be false. They much insisted that my paragraph insinuated as if the 
 gentlemen were convicted of their error by Mr. Whitefield's preaching, 
 which they abhorred. I told them I thought no one would construe it so ; 
 but if they did, it was an honour to them, for that I myself was formerly as 
 fond of them as they could be, but, blessed be the Lord, that 1 was con- 
 vinced to the contrary,' — 'Journal of a Voyage from Savannah to Philadel- 
 phia, &c, by William Seward, Gent., companion in travel with the Rev. 
 Mr. George Whitefield,' 1740. 
 
FAINTING CONGREGATIONS 141 
 
 in the fields, and attended by crowds which few speakers 
 could have made hear. Brotherly kindness was there to 
 cheer him, and the generosity of the people, who gave him 
 three hundred pounds, stirred all his gratitude. It was here, 
 too, that he received the first of those childish letters from his 
 dear orphans, which were afterwards to reach him both in 
 England and America. He does not say what they contained, 
 but only that in a packet of letters from Charles Town and 
 Savannah ' were two or three letters from my little orphans.' 
 
 Still feeble and low in spirits, he preached his way back 
 from New York to Philadelphia, and was welcomed to the 
 house of Anthony Benezet, the friend of the Negroes ; but to 
 tell how he preached and was preached against — how he com- 
 forted the sin-stricken and cared for the Negroes, who came in 
 large numbers to ask for his counsel, would be to repeat a tale 
 already told. A new feature, however, was beginning to 
 manifest itself in his congregations, though it was not very 
 remarkable until he reached Nottingham, where the Tennents 
 and other men of a similar spirit had been labouring with 
 much success for some time, and to which he was invited in 
 the strongest terms by some of the inhabitants. Thinly 
 populated as the place was, nearly twelve thousand people 
 were assembled, many of them having come from a great 
 distance ; indeed, it was common for a great number to go with 
 him as far from their homes as they conveniently could ; and 
 on the morning when he last left Philadelphia, two boats, that 
 plied the ferry near Derby, were employed from three o'clock 
 in the morning until ten in ferrying passengers across who 
 wanted to hear him as often as possible. He had not spoken 
 long before he perceived numbers melting; as he proceeded 
 the influence increased, till at last, both in the morning and 
 afternoon, thousands cried out, so that they almost drowned 
 his voice. 
 
142 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 Oh, what strong crying and tears,' he says, ' were shed and poured 
 forth after the dear Lord Jesus ! Some fainted, and when they had got a 
 little strength, would hear and faint again. Others cried out in a manner 
 almost as if they were in the sharpest agonies of death. And after I had 
 f finished my last discourse, I myself was so overpowered with a sense of 
 God's love, that it almost took away my life. However, at length I 
 revived, and having taken a little meat, was strengthened to go with 
 -. Messrs. Blair, Tennent, and some other friends, to Mr. Blair's house, about 
 twenty miles from Nottingham. In the way we refreshed our souls by 
 singing psalms and hymns. We got to our journey's end about midnight, 
 where, after we had taken a little food, and recommended ourselves to 
 God by prayer, we went to rest, and slept, I trust, in the favour as well as 
 under the protection of our dear Lord Jesus. Oh, Lord, was ever love like 
 Thine?' 
 
 The next day, at Fog's Manor, where Blair was minister, 
 the congregation was as large as that at Nottingham, and as 
 great, Whitefield says, ' if not a greater, commotion was in the 
 hearts of the people. Look where I would, most were 
 drowned in tears. The word was sharper than a two-edged 
 sword, and their bitter cries and groans were enough to pierce 
 the hardest heart. Oh ! what different visages were there to 
 be seen. Some were struck pale as death, others were 
 wringing their hands, others lying on the ground, others 
 sinking into the arms of their friends, and most lifting up 
 their eyes towards heaven, and crying out to God for mercy ! 
 I could think of nothing, when I looked upon them, so much 
 as the great day. They seemed like persons awakened by the 
 last trump, and coming out of their graves to judgment.' 
 
 His affectionate nature was beautifully shown in the many 
 thoughtful letters and messages which he addressed to all kinds 
 of friends during the time that the sloop waited at Newcastle 
 for a fair wind to take him to Savannah. But the affection he 
 was wont to inspire was strongest in the hearts of the orphans 
 and his dependent family, and on his return to Savannah with 
 the five hundred pounds that he had collected among the 
 
A REVIVAL IN THE ORPHANAGE 143 
 
 northern Churches, each in turn hung upon his neck, kissed 
 him, and wept over him with tears of joy. 
 \ Next day the house was a miniature Nottingham-Fog-Manor 
 congregation. The excitement began with a man who had 
 come with him from the scenes of his preaching triumphs, and 
 who became much stirred up to pray for himself and others. 
 Whitefield also went and prayed for half an hour with some of 
 the women of the house and three girls, who seemed to be 
 weary with the weight of their sins. At public worship young 
 and old were all dissolved in tears. After service, several of his 
 parishioners, all his family, and the little children, returned 
 home crying along the street, and some could not refrain from 
 praying aloud as they went. Weak and exhausted he lay down 
 for a little rest, but the condition of most in the house con- 
 strained him to rise again and pray ; and had he not lifted his 
 voice very high, the groans and cries of the children would 
 have prevented his being heard. This lasted for nearly an 
 hour, and the concern increasing rather than abating, he 
 wisely desired them to retire. They did so, and then began 
 to pray in every corner of the house. A storm of thunder and 
 lightning which burst over the town at this time added to the 
 solemnity of the night, and reminded them the more vividly of 
 the coming of the Son of man. All were not quiet even the 
 next day. And no marvel, when we consider how profoundly 
 interested every one had been in the result of Whitefield's trip 
 to the North. His success was their home, their comfort, 
 their life ; and his failure their return to want and misery. His 
 coming opened the fountain of all hearts, and natural gratitude 
 rose quickly into higher religious emotions under his influence, 
 by whom God had wrought penitence, broken-heartedness, 
 and reformation among total strangers, among rugged sailors, 
 and among opposers, who owed him nothing till they owed 
 him themselves. 
 
144 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 His return to Savannah introduces us again to the Wesley 
 trouble. His last day on board the sloop, May 24, T740, was 
 partly spent in writing to friends in England, John Wesley 
 anions? the number. He said : — 
 
 ' Honoured sir, I cannot entertain prejudices against your principles and 
 conduct without informing you. The more I examine the writings of the 
 most experienced men, and the experiences of the most established 
 Christians, the more I differ from your notion about not committing sin, 
 and your denying the doctrines of election and the final perseverance of the 
 saints. I dread coming to England, unless you are resolved to oppose these 
 truths with less warmth than when I was there last. I dread your coming 
 over to America, because the work of God is carried on here, and that in a 
 most glorious manner, by doctrines quite opposite to those you hold. Here are 
 thousands of God's children who will not be persuaded out of the privileges 
 purchased for them by the blood of Jesus. Here are many worthy ex- 
 perienced ministers who would oppose your principles to the utmost. God 
 direct me what to do ! Sometimes I think it best to stay here, where we 
 all think and speak the same thing : the work goes on without divisions, 
 and with more success, because all employed in it are of one mind. I 
 write not this, honoured sir, from heat of spirit, but out of love. At 
 present I think you are entirely inconsistent with yourself, and therefore 
 do not blame me if I do not approve of all you say. God Himself, I find, 
 
 teaches my friends the doctrine of election. Sister H hath lately been 
 
 convinced of it ; and if I mistake not, dear and honoured Mr. Wesley 
 hereafter will be convinced also. From my soul I wish you abundant 
 success in the name of the Lord. I long to hear of your being made a 
 spiritual father to thousands. Perhaps I may never see you again till we 
 meet in judgment ; then, if not before, you will know that sovereign, dis- 
 tinguishing, irresistible grace brought you to heaven. Then you will know 
 God loved you with an everlasting love, and therefore with loving-kindness 
 did He draw you. Honoured sir, farewell. My prayers constantly attend 
 both you and your labours. I neglect no opportunity of writing. My next 
 journal will acquaint you with new and surprising wonders. The Lord 
 fills me both in body and soul. I am supported under the prospect of 
 present and future trials with an assurance of God's loving me to the end, 
 yea, even to all eternity.' 
 
 The brotherly spirit is still there, but in a more decided 
 attitude towards the disputed question and the treatment it 
 
TROUBLES WITH WESLEY 145 
 
 -j should receive, his intercourse with the northern Presbyterians 
 having made him change thus much. The counsel to modera- 
 tion and to avoid teaching doctrines on which the Methodist 
 leaders were divided was, notwithstanding his resolution, made 
 during his last voyage, to speak out, honourably acted upon by 
 himself. He wrote to a friend in London, beseeching him to 
 ' desire dear brother Wesley, for Christ's sake, to avoid dis- 
 
 ' puting with him. I think I had rather die than to see a 
 division between us ; and yet, how can we walk together if we 
 oppose each other?' In another letter, which was written on 
 June 25th, he beseeches Wesley, for Christ's sake, never, if 
 possible, to speak against election in his sermons. ' No one,' 
 he says, ' can say that I ever mentioned it in public discourses, 
 whatever my private sentiments may be. For Christ's sake 
 let us not be divided among ourselves ; nothing will so much 
 prevent a division as your being silent on this head.' Then he 
 runs into a pleasanter strain, where his heart was most at 
 home : ' I should have rejoiced at the sight of your journal. 
 I long to sing a hymn of praise for what God has done for 
 your soul. May God bless you more and more every day, 
 and cause you to triumph in every place.' 
 
 Before these last words reached Wesley, he replied, in a 
 very short but kindly letter, to the letter of May 24th : — 
 
 'The case is quite plain. There are bigots both for predestination and 
 against it. God is sending a message to those on either side. But neither 
 will receive it, unless from one of their own opinion. Therefore, for a 
 time, you are suffered to be of one opinion, and I of another. But when 
 His time is come, God will do what man cannot, namely, make us both of 
 one mind. Then persecution will flame out, and it will be seen whether 
 we count our lives dear unto ourselves, so that we may finish our course 
 with joy.' 
 
 We look in vain, however, for any response to the entreaty 
 not to follow a public course of hostility to his old friend. 
 
 1 1 
 
I p GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 The fashionable people of Charleston, now considerably 
 changed in spirit and manner by the preaching of Whitefield, 
 were anxious again to hear him before his intended visit to 
 New England. He set sail, and came to them fresh from the 
 excitement of Savannah, where, to use his own metaphor, ' the 
 stately steps of our glorious Emmanuel often appeared.' Com- 
 missary Garden having denied him the use of the church, he 
 preached in the meeting-house of his friend the Independent 
 minister, and for this alleged irregularity the commissary cited 
 him to appear before him. Whitefield denied the authority, 
 and appealed home. To preach his last sermon to ' the dear 
 -people of Charleston ' he went from his bed, and was carried 
 to the chapel, the intense heat having quite exhausted him. 
 Many of the rich people all around showed him great respect 
 and hospitality ; and on the day of his departure from Charles- 
 ton he rode to the house of Colonel Bee, of Ponpon, forty 
 miles from town, which was reached at midnight. The next 
 morning he was too weak to offer family prayer, but at noon 
 he rode a mile and preached under a great tree to an attentive 
 auditory. Weakness hindered either a second sermon or any 
 further advance that day. ' Surely,' he said, ' it cannot be 
 long ere this earthly tabernacle will be dissolved. As the 
 hart panteth after the water brooks, so longeth my soul after 
 the full enjoyment of Thee, my God.' The next day he 
 travelled and preached, but the effort almost cost him his life. 
 Sometimes he hoped that God would set his imprisoned soul 
 / at liberty. The thoughts of his Saviour's love to him, and 
 i that the Lord was his righteousness, melted him into tears. 
 A dear friend and companion wept over him, and seemed not 
 unwilling to take his flight with him into 'the arms of the 
 beloved Jesus.' The poor Negroes, who had learnt from their 
 master that the sufferer was a friend of their race, crowded 
 around the windows, expressing by their looks and attentions 
 
WEAK BUT WILLING 147 
 
 great concern. The master sat by and wept. ' But, alas ! ' 
 says Whitefield, who hoped his time of departure was come, 
 ' alas ! in a short time I perceived my body grow stronger, and 
 I was enabled to walk about.' He got back among the 
 beloved orphans in a very prostrate condition, and could 
 hardly bear up under the joy and satisfaction which he felt. 
 The arrival of some Charleston friends somewhat revived him, 
 but again he was cast down by weakness of body and concern 
 of mind; and one night, just as he began family prayer, he was 
 struck, as he thought, with death. A few broken accents, a 
 soft prayer — ' Lord Jesus, receive my spirit ' — fell from his 
 lips. Yet he was still appointed to life. The next day was 
 Sunday, and feeble indeed must he have been to give up, as 
 he did, the thought of officiating. More friends, however, 
 had come in, and when he solicited a Baptist minister who 
 was among the visitors to preach for him, that gentleman 
 peremptorily refused, and urged (so great was his faith for 
 another !) that God would strengthen him if he began. And 
 Whitefield stood rebuked. The willing heart mustered the 
 body's broken powers for another effort, and hardly had his 
 prayer begun when one of the visitors dropped ' as if shot by 
 a gun.' The power of God's word, as the visitor himself 
 explained his conduct, had entered his heart. He soon arose, 
 and sat attentively to hear the sermon. The influence quickly 
 spread abroad, and the greatest part of the congregation was 
 under deep concern. When Whitefield and his friends 
 returned home, the Baptist minister said : ' Did I not tell you 
 God would strengthen you ? ' Whitefield bowed his head, 
 feeling that he was justly reproved, and prayed, when he 
 recorded the events of the day in his journal, ' Dearest Lord, 
 for Thy mercies' sake, never let me distrust Thee again. 
 O me of little faith!" 
 
 Pressing invitations to visit New England having come to 
 
i 4 8 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 him from the Rev. Dr. Colman and Mr. Cooper, ministers in 
 Boston, and feeling desirous to see the descendants of the 
 Puritans, he left his family again, and sailed first to Charleston 
 and thence to Rhode Island, several Charleston friends 
 accompanying him. By this time his frame had recovered 
 something of its former vigour, through the cooler weather 
 and the fresh sea breezes, yet he was not sanguine of recovery. 
 He wrote to Wesley — 
 
 ' Last night I had the pleasure of receiving an extract of your journal. 
 This morning I took a walk and read it. I pray God to give it His 
 blessing. Many things, I trust, will prove beneficial, especially the 
 account of yourself; only give me leave with all humility to exhort you 
 not to be strenuous in opposing the doctrines of election and final per- 
 severance, when, by your own confession, "you have not the witness of 
 the Spirit within yourself," and, consequently, are not a proper judge. I 
 
 remember dear brother E told me one day that " he was convinced ot 
 
 the perseverance of the saints. I told him you was not. He replied, but 
 he will be convinced when he hath got the Spirit himself. I am assured 
 God has now for some years given me this living witness in my soul. 
 When I have been nearest death, my evidences have been the clearest. I 
 can say I have been on the borders of Canaan, and do every day — nay, 
 k < almost every moment — long for the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ; 
 not to evade sufferings, but with a single desire to see His blessed face. I 
 feel His blessed Spirit daily filling my soul and body, as plain as I feel the 
 air which I breathe, or the food I eat. ... I wish I knew your principles 
 fully. Did you write oftener and more frankly, it might have a better 
 effect than silence and reserve.' 
 
 Whitefield was thoroughly consistent in his pleadings for 
 peace. His complaint that Wesley was silent and reserved 
 came from his deep dislike of having anything hidden. To 
 * ' ' walk with naked hearts together ' was his conception of 
 brotherliness and friendship, and his patience was taxed by 
 the cooler temperament of his friend. Longer consideration 
 might have led him to believe that Wesley's silence was a sign 
 of unwillingness to dispute, but an ardent nature like his 
 cannot understand such profound self-possession. The day 
 
FIRST VISIT TO NEW ENGLAND 149 
 
 after he wrote to Wesley he wrote to a friend in Bristol, and 
 said — 
 
 ' I hear there are divisions among you. Avoid them if possible. The 
 
 1 doctrines of election and final perseverance I hold as well as you. But 
 
 r then they are not to be contended for with heat and passion. Such a 
 
 / proceeding will only prejudice the cause you would defend. Pray show 
 
 this to your other friends. Exhort them to avoid all clamour and evil 
 
 speaking, and with meekness receive the engrafted word, which is able to 
 
 save your soul.' 
 
 Rhode Island was expecting its visitor. He reached New- 
 port just after the beginning of Sunday evening service, and 
 sat in the church undiscovered, as he thought ; but friendly 
 eyes had marked him, and, after sermon, a gentleman asked 
 him whether his name was not Whitefield. ' Yes, it was.' 
 Then the unknown friend would provide lodgings for him and 
 his party. Soon a number of gentlemen, chief of them all old 
 Mr. Clap, an aged Dissenting minister, who had held his 
 charge for forty years, and was much esteemed for his good 
 works, came to pay their respects to him. The minister of 
 the Church of England consented to Whitefield's preaching in 
 , his pulpit. The Assembly one day adjourned its sitting to 
 attend Divine worship. The same respect was shown him at 
 Bristol ; but his heart was cold in his work, and others seemed 
 to feel little. When he had approached within four miles of 
 Boston, he was met by the governor's son, several other 
 gentlemen, and two ministers ; the brother-in-law of Dr. 
 Colman received him to his house ; the governor of Massa- 
 chusetts, Jonathan Belcher, was gratified that he had come, 
 \ and gave him his special friendship, a friendship that never 
 wavered ; the commissary was polite, but declined to give him 
 the use of the church. A famous divine, who was said to be 
 prejudiced against him and also his enemy, when he met him 
 in the street, remarked : ' I am sorry to see you here.' ' And 
 
i5o GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 so is the devil,' replied Whitefield. Once again were the 
 meeting-houses and the fields to be his sanctuaries. But 
 before we mingle with the crowds which thronged them, it 
 will be necessary to pay some attention to several packets of 
 letters which came to him at Boston immediately after his 
 arrival. 
 
 The friends from England wrote him strange things. The 
 Methodist camp was distracted with the cries of two sections 
 of theologians, holding respectively the views of Wesley and 
 Whitefield. To have his favourite doctrine of election con- 
 tested and spoken against had troubled Whitefield ; to see a 
 new doctrine, that of perfection, exalted in its place, ruffled 
 him still more ; and the news which came to Boston made 
 him offer his first word of expostulation. To Howel Harris 
 he expressed his fears for his place in the affection of his 
 English converts. ' Some of Fetter Lane Society, I fear, are 
 running into sad errors ; but this happens for our trial, 
 especially mine. Those that before, I suppose, would have 
 plucked out their eyes for me, now, I suspect, I shall see very 
 shy, and avoiding me. My coming to England will try my 
 fidelity to my Master.' His manner to Wesley was the 
 impatience of an unheeded affection : — 
 
 ' Honoured Sir,' he began, ' this is sent in answer to your letter dated 
 March 25th. I think I have fur some time known what it is to have 
 righteousness, joy, and peace in the Holy Ghost. These, I believe, are 
 the privileges of the sons of God ; but I cannot say I am free from 
 indwelling sin. I am sorry, honoured sir, to hear by many letters that you 
 seem to own a sinless perfection in this life attainable. I think I cannot 
 answer you better than a venerable old minister in these parts answered a 
 Quaker : " Bring me a man that hath really arrived to this, and I will pay 
 his expenses, let him come from where he will." I know not what you 
 may think ; I do not expect to say indwelling sin is finished and destroyed 
 in me till I bow down my head and give up the ghost. Besides, dear sir, 
 what a fond conceit it is to cry up perfection, and yet cry down the 
 doctrine of final perseverance ! But this and many other absurdities you 
 
 I' 
 
TROUBLES WITH WESLEY 151 
 
 will run into, because you will not own election, because you cannot own 
 it without believing the doctrine of reprobation. What, then, is there in 
 reprobation so horrid? I see no blasphemy in holding that doctrine, if 
 rightly explained. If_God might have passed by all, He may pass by 
 sorne^_ Judge_whether it is not a greater blasphemy to say, "Christ died "i 
 for souls now in hell." Surely, dear sir, you do not believe there will he 
 a general gaol delivery of damned souls hereafter? Oh, that you would 
 stud)- the covenant of grace ! Oh, that you were truly convinced of sin 
 and brought to the foot of sovereign grace! Elisha Cole, on "God's 
 Sovereignty," and "Veritas Redux," written by Dr. Edwards, are well 
 worth your reading. But I have done. If you think so meanly of 
 Bunyan and the Puritan writers, I do not wonder that you think me wrong. 
 I find your sermon has had its expected success ; it hath set the nation a 
 disputing. You will have enough to do now to answer pamphlets ; two I 
 have already seen. Oh, that you would be more cautious in casting lots ! 
 Oh, that you would not be too rash and precipitant ! If you go on thus, 
 honoured sir, how can I concur with you ? It is impossible ; I must speak " 
 what I know.' 
 
 That ' great blasphemy,' if blasphemy it be, was not alto- 
 gether avoided by Whitefield himself, who, in the most 
 impassioned way, would call upon his hearers to tell him how 
 he could let souls perish for whom Christ died ; no phrase 
 recurs with greater frequency in his tenderest passages. 
 Neither need much emphasis be laid on the doctrine of 
 reprobation, which he seemed to regard with unruffled com- 
 placency and satisfaction. It was only in his letters and in 
 his talk, and that only for a brief period, that it got such 
 honourable mention. His sermon on 'The Potter and the 
 Clay,' which might fairly have been supposed to be built upon 
 this conception of election and reprobation, rests on a far 
 different foundation — the old foundation of all theology. 
 Every son of man is, in the sight of God, ' only as a piece of 
 marred clay ' ; being marred, he must necessarily be renewed 
 by the Holy Ghost. 'A short word of application ' winds up 
 the whole discourse. 
 
 The Boston meeting-houses were filled to the utmost of 
 
r52 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 their large dimensions by the congregations which crowded to 
 hear the famous clergyman. A terrible and unaccountable 
 panic seized one of the congregations as it was awaiting his 
 appearance. Some threw themselves out of the gallery, others 
 leaped from the windows, and some of the strong trampled 
 upon the weak. When he came it was a scene of wild con- 
 fusion. His invincible presence of mind did not forsake him, 
 and he announced his intention to preach on the common. 
 Many thousands followed him through the rain into the field ; 
 but there were five dead persons left behind in the meeting- 
 house, and others were dangerously wounded. The calamity, 
 which weighed heavily on his spirits, in nowise damaged his 
 popularity, because, notwithstanding the lamentable selfishness 
 shown by some of the people in the meeting-house, there was 
 a real desire to know the truth. 
 
 Neighbouring towns were not forgotten. One of his excur- 
 sions extended over one hundred and seventy-eight miles, and 
 had sixteen preachings, yet he returned to Boston without 
 being in the least fatigued. The students of Cambridge had 
 several visits from him, and his language to them was, accord- 
 ing to his after confession, made in the most public manner 
 both from the pulpit and the press, both harsh and uncharit- 
 able. He suffered himself to be guided too much by hearsay ; 
 and there are always plenty of alarmists who can find nothing 
 but heresy in tutors and worldliness in students. 
 
 One of his greatest pleasures was to meet with the many 
 aged, devout ministers who were in Boston and its neighbour- 
 hood. There was old Mr. Clap, of Rhode Island, a bachelor, 
 who gave away all his income to the poor and needy, and 
 stood the friend of children, servants, and slaves, through a 
 ministry of forty years. There was also old Mr. Walters, of 
 Roxburg, whose ministry, with that of his predecessor, Eliot, 
 the apostle of the Indians, had lasted in the Roxburg congre- 
 
AGED MINISTERS 153 
 
 gation one hundred and six years. There was the Rev. Mr. 
 Rogers, of Ipswich, a lineal descendant of Rogers the martyr, 
 who lived to hear three of his sons and a grandson preach 
 the gospel : they were all labouring in Whitefield's day. At 
 York was one Mr. Moody, a worthy, plain, and powerful 
 minister of Jesus Christ, though now much impaired by 
 old age, says Whitefield. Puritan habits still obtained in 
 New England. Whitefield relates with satisfaction that the 
 ' Sabbath in New England begins on Saturday evening, and 
 perhaps is better kept by the ministers and people than in 
 any other place in the known (!) world.' 
 
 The generosity of Boston was not behind that of any place. 
 At Dr. Sewall's meeting-house an afternoon congregation gave 
 five hundred and fifty pounds to the orphanage ; and on the 
 same day, at Dr. Colman's meeting-house, a second afternoon 
 congregation gave four hundred and seventy pounds. 1 The 
 immense number of people slowly, and as if unwilling to depart 
 without giving, left the meeting-house. The minister said that 
 it was the pleasantest time he had ever enjoyed in that place 
 throughout the whole course of his life. There must have 
 been something thoroughly good in these ' Lord Brethren.' 
 
 By what power of compression Whitefield contrived to get 
 five different services into the Sunday when he had those 
 noble collections is not clear, and the perplexity is increased 
 on finding that three letters bear the date of that autumn day. 
 Well might his animal spirits be almost exhausted, and his 
 legs be almost ready to sink under him at night. One of the 
 letters, the longest, relieved the day with a good-humoured 
 piece of banter, sent to a brother whose weak mind had been 
 disturbed by Whitefield's neatness of dress ; for things were 
 very different from the Oxford days, when he neglected him- 
 
 1 The currency in New England was so much depreciated at this time 
 lliat .£100 sterling was equal to ^'550 Massachusetts currency. 
 
154 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 self that he might be a good Christian. Now his dress and 
 everything about him was kept in scrupulous order. Not a 
 paper in his room was allowed to be out of its place, or put 
 up irregularly ; every chair and piece of furniture was properly 
 arranged when he and his friends retired for the night. He 
 thought he could not die easy if he had an impression that his 
 gloves were mislaid. 
 
 ' I could not but smile ' — he wrote to his friend — 'to find you wink at 
 the decency of my dress. Alas ! my brother, I have known long since 
 what it is to be in that state you are, in my opinion, about to enter into. 
 I myself once thought that Christianity required me to go nasty. I 
 neglected myself as much as you would have me for above a twelvemonth : 
 but when God gave me the spirit of adoption, I then dressed decently, as 
 you call it, out of principle ; and I am more and more convinced that the / 
 Lord would have me act in that respect as I do. But I am almost ashamed 
 to mention any such thing.' 
 
 The second letter of that day's date informed his friend, 
 that so many persons came to him under convictions and for 
 advice, that he scarce had time to eat bread. In the third 
 letter he says : — 
 
 ' Dear Brother Wesley, — What mean you by disputing in all your 
 letters? May God give you to know yourself, and then you will not plead 
 for absolute perfection, or call the doctrine of election a "doctrine of 
 devils." My dear brother, take heed ; see you are in Christ anew creature. 
 Beware of a false peace ; strive to enter in at the strait gate, and give 
 all diligence to make your calling and election sure. Remember you are 
 but a babe in Christ, if so much. Be humble, talk little, think and pray 
 much. Let God teach you, and He will lead you into all truth. I love 
 you heartily. I pray you may be kept from error, both in principle 
 and practice. Salute all the brethren. If you must dispute, stay till 
 you are master of the subject ; otherwise you will hurt the cause that 
 you defend.' 
 
 The commotion caused in Boston by his presence and 
 preaching was not diminished by a report which was very 
 current during one of his excursions, that he had died 
 suddenly, or had been poisoned ; the people were all the 
 
JONATHAN EDWARDS 155 
 
 more rejoiced to see him for their late fear that they had lost 
 him. Everything fanned the flame of zeal, hoth in the people 
 and in the preacher, and the end of the visit was more 
 remarkable than the beginning. The touching words of a 
 little boy, who died the day after he heard Whitefield preach, 
 furnished the ground of one of Whitefield's strongest appeals 
 to old and young ; immediately before he died the child said : 
 ' I shall go to Mr. Whitefield's God.' Old people bowed their 
 heads in grief, not in anger, when the preacher, with a tender- 
 ness that desired the salvation of all, said : ' Little children, if 
 your parents will not come to Christ, do you come, and go to 
 heaven without them.' The last congregation, which con- 
 sisted of about twenty thousand, assembled on the common, 
 and the myriad faces, thoughtful, eager, attentive, the great 
 weeping, and the darkening shades of evening which, towards 
 the close of the service, was coming on fast, recalled Black- 
 heath scenes of a year before. His labours over, Governor 
 Belcher, whose attentions had been most kind and uninter- 
 rupted, drove him, on the Monday morning, in his coach to 
 Charleston Ferry, handed him into the boat, kissed him, and 
 with tears bade him farewell. Whitefield returned with five 
 hundred pounds for his orphans. 
 
 Whitefield's intention on leaving Boston was to proceed to 
 Northampton to see Jonathan Edwards, whom he describes 
 as 'a solid excellent Christian, but at present weak in body.' 
 A great revival had taken place in Northampton some five or 
 six years before, and Whitefield's ministrations quickened 
 afresh all the feelings of that memorable season. In point of 
 fact he was, through all his travels in New England, largely 
 entering into other men's labours, and he frankly and gladly 
 said so. Yet the two great men did not come very close 
 together. Whitefield did not make a confidential friend of 
 Edwards, and Edwards gave Whitefield very necessary 
 
156 GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 cautions about his notions on impulses, and his habit of 
 judging others to be unconverted. They, indeed, loved each 
 other as servants of the same Lord, and rejoiced in each 
 other's work. Edwards might be seen sitting weeping while 
 his visitor preached. 
 
 From Northampton he passed on to other places. At New 
 Haven he dined with the rector of the college, Mr. Clap. 
 The aged governor of the town also received him with tears 
 of joy. His preaching here was upon the subject of an 
 unconverted ministry, and he did not altogether avoid his 
 Cambridge fault of censuring too hastily and too severely. 
 Riding through Milford, Stratford, Fairfield, and Newark, at 
 each of which he preached, he came to Stanford, where his 
 words smote with unusual effect. Many ministers hung upon 
 his track, and at Stanford two of them confessed, with much 
 sorrow, that they had laid hands on two young men without 
 asking them whether they were born again of God or not. 
 An old minister, who could not declare his heart publicly, 
 called Whitefield and his friend Mr. Noble out, to beg, as well 
 as his choking emotions would allow him, their prayers on 
 his behalf. He said that although he had been a scholar, 
 and had preached the doctrines of grace a long time, he 
 believed that he had never felt the power of them in his own 
 soul. 
 
 At this point Whitefield set up his ' Ebenezer ' and gave 
 God thanks for sending him to New England, of which he 
 speaks in the highest terms. It was well settled ; large towns 
 were planted all along the east of it ; meeting-houses abounded ; 
 no such thing as a pluralist or non-resident minister could be 
 found ; the colleges had trained many men of God ; God was 
 honoured in private and public life ; and the Holy Spirit had 
 often been poured out upon churches and people. 
 
 It was with but a desponding heart, and not expecting any 
 
DEPRESSION AND SUCCESS 157 
 
 great movings of soul among his hearers, that he rode towards 
 New York. His companion, Mr. Noble, tried to encourage 
 him, by assuring him that his last visit had done good to 
 many, and bade him look for great things from God. The 
 first service was an earnest of things not looked for. Pember- 
 ton's meeting-house contained an anxious congregation on 
 Friday morning, some being hardly able to refrain from crying 
 out ; and at night the excitement was greater still. On Sunday 
 his soul was down in the depths ; before going to evening 
 service he could only cast himself on the ground before God, 
 confessing himself to be a miserable sinner, and wondering 
 that Christ would be gracious to such a wretch. On his way 
 to the meeting-house he became weaker, and when he entered 
 the pulpit he would rather have been silent than have spoken. 
 The preparation for his work was such as only devoutest souls, 
 who feel a constant need for the comfort and aid of an 
 invisible Friend, can have ; and the effect of the sermon was 
 marvellous. Scarcely was it begun before the whole congre- 
 gation was alarmed. Loud weeping and crying arose from 
 every corner of the building. Many were so overcome with 
 agitation that they fell into the arms of their friends. White- 
 field himself was so carried away, that he spoke until he could 
 hardly speak any longer. 
 
 Larger congregations came the next day, and the feeling 
 was still intense, in the evening he bade them farewell, and 
 carrying with him a hundred and ten pounds as their gift to 
 his orphanage, passed across to Staten Island. At Newark 
 the scenes of New York were renewed. The word fell like a 
 hammer and like fire. Looking pale and sick as if ready to 
 die, one cried as he staggered to the ground, ' What must I do 
 to be saved ? ' Whitefield's host from Charleston, who 
 seemed to be accompanying him because of a personal affec- 
 tion for him, and not because of thorough religious sympathy 
 
158 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 with him, was struck down and so overpowered that his 
 strength quite left him ; it was with difficulty he could move all 
 the night after. From that time he became an exemplary Chris- 
 tian, and continued such to the last. Whitefield was now 
 thoroughly spent, and could only throw himself upon the bed 
 and listen to his friend Tennent while he recounted a 
 preaching excursion he had lately made. The power of the 
 Divine Presence passed on with them to Baskinridge, where 
 weeping penitents and rejoicing believers prayed side by side. 
 The apathy of many was changed into deep alarm, and the 
 alarm passed into exultant joy. 
 
 Whitefield reached Philadelphia exactly a year after his 
 first visit to that city. The season of the year, November, 
 was too late for comfortable open-air services, and the 
 Philadelphia people, having once suffered from inconvenience, 
 had made provision against it for the future. Whitefield had 
 not been long gone when they determined to build a house 
 which should be at the disposal of any preacher who had 
 anything to say to them, but his accommodation was their first 
 object. Persons were appointed to receive subscriptions ; 
 land was bought ; and the building, which was one hundred feet 
 long and seventy broad, begun. When Whitefield returned, 
 it was well advanced, though the roof was not up. The floor 
 was boarded, and a pulpit raised, and he had the satisfaction 
 of preaching the first sermon in it. It afterwards became, by 
 common consent, an academy as well as a preaching place, 
 and is now the Union Methodist Episcopal Church. 
 
 This visit was similar to the previous one ; only a success 
 and a failure were noticeable. The failure was that once his 
 congregation did not cry. The success was with Brockden, 
 the recorder, a man of more than threescore years, who came 
 under the power of Whitefield's words. In his youth he had 
 had some religious thoughts, but the cares of business 
 
A RECORDER CONVERTED 159 
 
 banished them, and he at length sunk almost into atheism. 
 His avowed belief, however, was deism, on behalf of which 
 he was a very zealous advocate. At Whitefield's first visit he 
 did not so much as care to see what his oratory was like, 
 and at the second visit he would not have gone to hear him 
 but for the persuasion of a deistical friend. He went at night 
 when Whitefield was preaching from the court-house steps, 
 upon the conference which our Lord had with Nicodemus. 
 Not many words were spoken before his interest was 
 awakened by the conviction that what he was hearing tended 
 to make people good. He returned home, reaching it before 
 his wife or any of his family. First his wife entered, and 
 expressed her hearty wish that he had heard the sermon ; but 
 he said nothing. Another member of the family came in, and 
 made the same remark ; still he said nothing. A third 
 returned, and repeated the remark again. ' Why,' said he, 
 with tears in his eyes, ' I have been hearing him.' The old 
 man continued steadfast in the truth, and was privileged to 
 have spiritual joys as deep as his teacher's. 
 
 When Whitefield came to Savannah and learnt that his 
 family had been removed to their permanent home at 
 Bethesda, he went thither. The great house, he found, would 
 not be finished for two months longer, in consequence of the 
 Spaniards having captured a schooner laden with bricks 
 intended for it, and with provisions intended for the workmen 
 and children. He found also that a planter, who had learned 
 of Christ at the orphanage, had sent the family rice and beef, 
 and that the Indians had often brought in large supplies of 
 venison when there was no food left. The work of religion, 
 which was dearer to him than even feeding the orphan, 
 prospered among the children, among the labourers, and among 
 the people round about. His heart was contented with his 
 work, although he was five hundred pounds in debt, after all his 
 
160 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 exhausting labours and the generous gifts of his friends. He 
 now appointed Mr. Barber to take care of the spiritual affairs 
 of the institution, and intrusted to James Habersham the 
 charge of its temporal affairs. The institution anticipated, 
 in its cheerful tone and wise management, those well-ordered 
 schools which in later times have brightened childhood's years 
 in thousands of instances. Religion was the great concern ; 
 but due weight was laid upon the connection between its 
 emotional and its practical parts. Praying might not exempt 
 from working in the fields or at some trade, and spiritual 
 delights might not supersede method in labour and humility 
 of heart. The orphans often sang a hymn for their bene- 
 factors ; daily they sang to the praise of their Redeemer ; 
 and always before going to work they joined in a hymn 
 intended to teach them that they must work for their own 
 living. 
 
 Whitefield had carried about with him, and shown to several 
 New England ministers, the draft of a letter which he had 
 written in reply to Wesley's sermon on ' Free-Grace,' and on 
 Christmas Eve, 1740, he sat down at the orphan-house to 
 finish the letter, and send it to his friend. The sermon was 
 a noble specimen of eloquence ; its thrilling denunciations of 
 Calvinistic doctrines almost produce the persuasion that they 
 are as horrible and blasphemous as Wesley believed them to 
 be. The headlong zeal of the preacher allows no time, 
 permits no disposition, to reason. You must go with him ; you 
 must check your questions, and listen to him. At the end 
 it seemsas if the hated doctrines were for ever consumed in 
 a flame of argument and indignation. The letter in reply 
 can boast no such qualities ; it never rises above the level of 
 commonplace. It was headed by a short preface touching the 
 probable effect of its publication and expressing the persuasion 
 that the advocates of universal redemption would be offended ; 
 
BREACH WITH WESLEY 161 
 
 that those on the other side would be rejoiced ; and that the 
 lukewarm on both sides — such as were ' carried away with 
 carnal reasoning ' — would wish that the matter had never been 
 brought under debate. The second were very properly, but 
 very unavailingly, asked not to triumph, nor to make a party ; 
 and the first not to be too much concerned or offended. One 
 paragraph was sadly illustrative of the keenness with which 
 men who have enjoyed each other's confidence can strike at 
 weaknesses. 
 
 'I know,' Whitcfield says, 'you think meanly of Abraham, though he 
 was eminently called the friend of God ; and I believe, also, of David, the 
 man after God's own heart. No wonder, therefore, that in the letter you 
 sent me not long since, you sho..ld tell me, " that no Baptist or Presby- 
 terian writer whom you have read knew anything of the liberties of Christ." 
 What ! neither Bunyan, Henry, Flavel, Halyburton, nor any of the New 
 England and Scots divines ? See, dear sir, what narrow-spiritedness and 
 want of charity arise from your principles, and then do not cry out against 
 election on account of its being " destructive of meekness and love." ' 
 
 It was a small matter what Wesley might think of Abraham 
 or David, but Whitefield should have abstained from alluding 
 to opinions expressed in private. The last part of the letter 
 was a wonderful compound of sense, love, and assumption. 
 
 ' Dear, dear sir, oh be not offended ! For Christ's sake be not rash ! 
 Give yourself to reading. Study the covenant of grace. Down with your 
 carnal reasoning. Be a little child, and then, instead of pawning your 
 salvation, as you have done in the late hymn-book, if the doctrine of 
 universal redemption be not true; instead of talking of sinless perfection, 
 as you have done in the preface to that hymn-book, and making man's 
 salvation to depend on his own free-will, as you have in this sermon, 
 you will compose a hymn in praise of sovereign, distinguishing love. 
 
 . . And it often fills me with pleasure to think how I shall behold 
 you casting your crown down at the feet of the Lamb, and as it were 
 filled with a holy blushing for opposing the Divine sovereignty in the 
 manner you have done. But I hope the Lord will show you this before 
 you go hence. Oh, how do I long for that day ! ' 
 
 12 
 
1 62 GEORGE WHITE 'FIELD 
 
 The letter made a shorter passage across the Atlantic than 
 its writer generally did; and having, in some unexplained 
 way, fallen into the hands of the Calvinistic party in London, 
 was instantly printed, and used for their ends without either 
 Whitefield's or Wesley's consent. A great many copies were 
 given to Wesley's Foundry congregation, both at the door, 
 and in the Foundry itself. ' Having procured one of them,' 
 says Wesley, ' I related (after preaching) the naked fact to the 
 congregation, and told r v em, I will do just what I believe 
 Mr. Whitefield would, were he here himself. Upon which I 
 tore it in pieces before them all. Every one who had received 
 it did the same ; so that, in two minutes, there was not a whole 
 copy left. Oh! poor Ahithophel! "Iln ; omnis effusus labor /'" 
 
 Apprehensive of some difficulties that awaited him in 
 England, Whitefield took ship at Charleston, along with some 
 friends, in the middle of January. During the whole voyage 
 he was anxious for the future. One day he was yearning for 
 a full restoration of friendship with the Wesleys ; the next he 
 was meditating the publication of his answer to the sermon 
 on ' Free-Grace,' and consoling himself with the thought that 
 it was written in much love and meekness ; a third day he 
 seemed to hear the Divine voice saying to him, ' Fear not, 
 speak out, no one shall set upon thee to hurt thee ; ' another 
 day he was writing to Charles Wesley deploring the pending 
 separation, expostulating with him and John as if they could 
 undo the past, and declaring that he would rather stay on the 
 sea for ever than come to England to oppose him and his 
 brother. He knew not what to do, though he knew perfectly 
 well what he wanted — the old friendship to be what it had 
 once been, and every dividing thing, whether raised by him 
 self or the brothers, done utterly away. Nor were his longings 
 for peace stronger than those of Charles Wesley. It is painful 
 to observe the way in which the two friends strove, with un- 
 
BREACH WITH WESLEY 163 
 
 availing effort, against a tide which they felt was hurrying 
 them into trouble and sorrow. Four months before Whitefield 
 wrote his reply to the sermon on ' Free-Grace,' Charles, just 
 recovering from a severe illness, sent him a letter, ' labouring 
 for peace,' in which he used the strongest and most affectionate 
 language ; he declared that he would rather Whitefield saw 
 him dead at his feet than opposing him ; that his soul was 
 set upon peace, and drawn after Whitefield by love stronger 
 than death. When Whitefield reached England, the meeting 
 between them was most touching. ' It would have melted 
 any heart,' says Whitefield, ' to have heard us weeping, after 
 prayer, that, if possible, the breach might be prevented 
 Soon afterwards, however, he submitted his letter, which 1 . 
 had had printed before leaving America, to the judgment . 
 his friend, who returned it endorsed with these words : ^ 
 up thy sword into its place.' But not so. That evil fortune 
 which made Wesley preach and print a sermon on one of the 
 profoundest subjects, under the provocation of an anonymous 
 letter, and at the dictation of a lot ; which prevailed over 
 Charles' loving letter, and tempted Whitefield to pen and 
 print his reply, still hovered near, and soon triumphed over 
 the counsel of love and wisdom which was heeded only for 
 awhile. At first he said that he would never preach against 
 the brothers, whatever his private opinion might be. Then 
 his doctrines seemed to him to be too important to be held 
 back ; and when he went to the Foundry, at the invitation of 
 Charles, to preach there, he so far forgot himself, though 
 Charles was sitting by him, as to preach them, according to 
 the testimony of John, ' in the most peremptory and offensive 
 manner.' When John, who had been summoned to London, 
 met him, he was so far from listening to compromise as to 
 say, that ' Wesley and he preached two different gospels, and 
 therefore he not only would not join with him, or give him 
 
[64 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 the right hand of fellowship, but would publicly preach against 
 him wheresoever he preached at all.' He next ungenerously 
 accused Wesley of having mismanaged things at Bristol, and 
 perverted the school at Kingswood to improper uses, foreign 
 to the intention with which it had been undertaken. It was 
 easy for the accused to answer all that was alleged against 
 him ; but, unfortunately, he took occasion, at the same time, to 
 indulge in most irritating language towards Whitefield. He 
 assumed an air of superiority, of patronage and pity, which 
 would have ruffled many a cooler man than his former friend. 
 It was more taunting than kind to write : ' How easy were it 
 for me to hit many other palpable blots in that which you call 
 en answer to my sermon ! And how above measure con- 
 mptible would you then appear to all impartial men, either 
 E'^ense or learning ! But I spare you ; mine hand shall not 
 be upon you ; the Lord be judge between me and thee ! The 
 general tenor, both of my public and private exhortations, 
 when I touch thereon at all, as even my enemies know, if they 
 would testify, is, " Spare the young man, even Absalom, for 
 my sake ! " ' 
 
 It may be safely affirmed that the two friends would not 
 have quarrelled had they been left to themselves. They were 
 the unwilling heads of rival parties among their own converts. 
 ' Many, I know,' said Charles Wesley in his letter to White- 
 field, ' desire nothing so much as to see George Whitefield 
 and John Wesley at the head of different parties, as is plain 
 from their truly devilish plans to effect it ; but, be assured, 
 my dearest brother, our heart is as your heart.' Whitefield, 
 as we have seen from his American letters, received embittering 
 news from home ; and on his arrival his ear was assailed by 
 reports from brethren who were already openly opposed to 
 Wesley and those who held his views. True, there was also 
 the anger of Wesley on account of Whitefield's indefensible 
 
Breach with Wesley 165 
 
 breach of confidence ; and that and the meddling of partisans 
 did more damage than the doctrines in dispute. The matter 
 may be summed up thus : Wesley was wrong in the beginning — 
 1. In attacking Whitefield's views at the taunt of an anonymous 
 enemy ; he struck the first blow, and struck it without suffi- 
 cient cause. 2. In printing and publishing his sermon because 
 of a lot. 3. In using irritating language to his opponent. 
 Whitefield was wrong — i. In yielding his mind to the influence 
 of inflaming representations sent to him from England, and 
 made to him when he returned home. 2. In exposing private 
 opinions and deeds. 3. In preaching his peculiar views in the 
 chapel of the Wesleys. 
 
 It is but a sad task to record these things, and the high 
 character of the chief actors makes it all the more painful. 
 Happily, the course of events soon took a different direction ; 
 and the shadow resting upon the close of this chapter and the 
 opening of the next will soon be seen breaking and vanishing 
 away. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 March, 1741 — August, 1744 
 
 LOSS OF POPULARITY — FIRST VISIT TO SCOTLAND — CONDUCT 
 OF THE DISSENTERS 
 
 ON March 25, 1741, Whitefield wrote to Habersham at 
 the Orphanage a dark yet hopeful account of his trials. 
 The divisions among the Methodists affected his congregations 
 so greatly that from twenty thousand they dwindled down to 
 two or three hundred, and he was a thousand pounds in debt 
 for the orphans, and not worth twenty pounds of his own ; he 
 was even threatened with arrest for three hundred and fifty 
 pounds drawn for in favour of the orphan-house by his late 
 ' dear deceased friend and fellow-traveller, Mr. Seward.' His 
 bookseller, who had made hundreds by him, refused to print 
 for him. Yet his faith never failed, neither did his charity. 
 He says: 'I am enabled to strengthen myself in the Lord my 
 God ; ' and early one morning, a morning that succeeded 
 earnest prayer on the night before, a friend came to inquire 
 if he knew where a lady of his acquaintance might lend three 
 or four hundred pounds. Whitefield replied : ' Let her lend 
 it to me, and in a few months, God willing, she shall have it 
 again.' All the circumstances were told her, and she cheer- 
 fully put the money into his hands. 
 
 166 
 
CAST OUT 167 
 
 He was an outcast for awhile. Every church was closed 
 against him ; the Wesleys could not have him in their pulpits, 
 seeing he preached against them by name ; there was no way 
 of gathering a congregation but by taking his stand in the 
 open air daily ; and he determined to begin on the old battle- 
 ground — Moorfields — on Good Friday. Twice a day he 
 walked from Leadenhall to Moorfields, and preached under 
 one of the trees. His own converts forsook him ; some of 
 them would not deign him a look as they passed by ; others 
 put their fingers into their ears, either to preserve them from 
 the contamination of one Calvinistic word, or to ward off the 
 witchery of that charming voice which never charmed in vain. 
 Thus he held on his way amid contempt and hatred, not 
 doubting that he must again win the hearts of the people for 
 his Lord and Master. He called Cennick to his aid from 
 Kingswood, and ' a few free-grace Dissenters ' stood firmly by 
 him. It was decided by them to build a large wooden shed 
 for the congregations, which would serve until he should 
 return to America ; and accordingly, they borrowed a piece of 
 ground in Moorfields, and set a carpenter to work upon the 
 erection, which, by the name of the Tabernacle, was opened 
 and filled within two months of ^Vhitelield's landing in 
 England. Crowds were gathered together in it to hear early 
 morning lectures. But it had one drawback in standing so 
 near the Foundry, and Whitefield abhorred the appearance 
 of opposition to his old friends the Wesleys. However, a 
 fresh awakening began immediately ; the congregations grew 
 rapidly ; and at the people's request, he called in the help of 
 a number of laymen, necessity reconciling him to the idea. 
 Here again, as in open-air preaching, he was the forerunner 
 of Wesley. 
 
 His experience at Bristol, to which he paid a visit before 
 his Tabernacle in London was erected, was similar to that at 
 
1 68 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 London. The house at Kingswood which he had founded, 
 for which he had preached and begged, and which was asso- 
 ciated with his first holy works among the colliers, was denied 
 him. Busybodies on both sides carried tales and stirred up 
 strife. He listened too much to them, and a breach ensued. 
 Still there was something stronger in the hearts of these 
 mistaken, angry Methodists on both sides, than abhorrence of 
 their respective tenets ; for Whitefield gratefully records that, 
 though different in judgment, they were one in affection ; that 
 both aimed at promoting the glory of their common Lord ; and 
 that they agreed in endeavouring ' to convert souls to the ever 
 blessed Mediator.' As for Whitefield himself, no part of his 
 career displays his completeness of devotion to the Lord Jesus 
 more perfectly than this, in which he took the ingratitude of 
 his spiritual children with sorrowful meekness, in which he 
 welcomed rebukes as a 'very little child,' in which he carried 
 his burden of debt for the orphans without once regretting his 
 responsibility, in which he found time to intercede with one 
 friend to write to his ' dear little orphans, both boys and girls,' 
 and to thank another for his kindness to them, in which the 
 peace and comfort of his heart through the gospel never failed 
 him for an hour. All his healthfulness of soul got free play 
 when once the storm had discharged itself. It was with 
 profound relief that he wrote to his friend the Independent 
 minister of Charleston, saying that he thought ' the heat of 
 the battle was pretty well over,' and that the Word of God 
 was running and being glorified. That kind hand which had 
 supported him through so many difficulties, and on which he 
 leaned like a little child, cleared his way surprisingly. One 
 day, when he found himself forsaken and almost quite penni- 
 less, his suspense was broken by a stranger coming and putting 
 a guinea into his hand ; then something seemed to say, 
 ' Cannot that God, who sent this person to give thee this 
 
FIELD PREACHING HIS PLAN 169 
 
 guinea, make it up fifteen hundred ? ' And the inward voice 
 was not untrue ; soon he was making his apostolic circuit in 
 Wiltshire, Essex, and other counties, and everywhere his 
 orphans found friends. 'Field preaching,' he said, 'is my 
 plan ; in this I am carried as on eagles' wings. God makes 
 way for me everywhere. The work of the Lord increases. I 
 am comforted day and night.' In London he saw such 
 triumphs of the gospel as he had never seen in England 
 before. The whole kingdom also was opening its doors to 
 him ; and soon he was to have such a list of subscribers to 
 his charity as perhaps no one else ever held in his hand ; he 
 could count on helpers in every county in England and Wales, 
 in large districts of Scotland, and in America from Boston to 
 Savannah. 
 
 The friendly relation between Whitefield and the Erskines, 
 begun by a brotherly letter from Whitefield in the first instance, 
 which letter Ralph Erskine, with true Scottish caution, 
 answered only after making inquiries about his open-hearted 
 correspondent, now caused pressing invitations to be sent 
 from Scotland. The Erskines and their friends had just 
 seceded from the Church of Scotland, on the ground of its 
 corruptness, and had the difficult task of founding and estab- 
 lishing a new church. In this task they were naturally anxious 
 to get all possible help, and looked with high expectation to 
 the mighty preacher who had achieved such wonders in 
 England and America, and whose theological views harmonised 
 perfectly with their own, and with those of their fellow-country- 
 men generally. He was more intimate with them than with 
 any one else in Scotland, and had often said how much 
 pleasure it would afford him to visit them. Accordingly, 
 Ralph wrote in very urgent terms: 'Come,' he said, 'if 
 possible, dear Whitefield ; come, and come to us also.' He 
 strongly deprecated Whitefield's appearing in the pulpits of 
 
170 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 the kirk, lest it should be ' improver! against the Associate 
 Presbytery.' On the day of receiving this letter, Whitefield 
 wrote to Ebenezer, and, referring to it, said that he could not 
 fall in with its suggestion. ' I come only as an occasional 
 preacher, to preach the simple gospel to all who are willing to 
 hear me, of whateyer_jienomination. It will be wrong in me 
 to join a reformation in Church government any further than 
 I have light given me from above.' The answer of Ebenezer 
 was creditable to his candour ; after expressing his pleasure 
 on hearing the good news of Whitefield's success, he said : — 
 
 ' How desirable would it be to all the sincere lovers of Jesus Christ in 
 Scotland, to see Him " travelling in the greatness of His strength " among 
 us also in your ministrations ! . . . All intended by us at present is, that 
 when you come to Scotland, your way may be such as not to strengthen 
 the hands of our corrupt clergy and judicatories, who are carrying on a 
 course of defection, worming out a faithful ministry from the land, and the 
 power of religion with it. Far be it from us to limit your great Master's 
 commission to preach the gospel to every creature. We, ourselves, preach 
 the gospel to all promiscuously who are willing to hear us. But we preach 
 not upon the call and invitation of the ministers, but of the people, which, 
 I suppose, is your own practice now in England.' 
 
 Whitefield thought that the Associate Presbytery was ' a 
 little too hard ' upon him, and said that if he was neuter as 
 to the particular reformation of Church government till he 
 had further light, it would be enough ; he would come simply 
 to preach the gospel, and not to enter into any particular 
 connection whatever. Had none but the Erskines sought a 
 visit from him, there can be no doubt that he would have 
 gone to Scotland to preach only in connection with them, 
 while abstaining from all interference with the points in dispute 
 between them and the Kirk ; but Kirk people were as anxious 
 as their rivals to see him. An opportunity was thus made for 
 him to go to any party who would have him, only the Erskines 
 had the first claim, and must have the first visit. 
 
HIS 'DEAR LAMBS' 171 
 
 Full of cafes he took his passage from London to Leith. 
 Chief of all cares, and yet chief of all earthly joys, was 
 that distant family. He hopes, when he gets aboard, to 
 redeem time to answer his ' dear lambs' letters.' They had 
 rejoiced him exceedingly. He begs Mr. Barber to be 
 particular in the accounts — and not without reason, since 
 slander was soon busy with a tale about personal ends which 
 Whitefield was serving. He sends word that he has ordered 
 hats and shoes for the children, and intends to send brother 
 
 H 's order and other things with some cash very shortly. 
 
 1 But the arrears hang on me yet. My Lord bears my burden ; 
 may He bear all yours for you. I am persuaded He will.' 
 When he sailed he found time to gratify his desire about 
 the orphans, and ten of his short letters are preserved. They 
 cannot compare with such charming letters as Irving wrote 
 to his little daughter, and now and again the harshest parts 
 of his creed appear in a most unpleasing form ; but love 
 keeps breaking through every line to lend its own gentle 
 light to the hearts of the little ones. It was in his best 
 manner that he wrote to a child at Boston : — 
 
 'My dear Child, — I thank you for your letter ; I neither forgot you 
 nor my promise. O, that God may effectually work upon your heart 
 betimes, for you cannot be good too soon, or loo good. The little orphans 
 ; t Georgia are crying out, " What shall we do to be saved? " How early 
 was Jesus in the temple, first hearing and then asking questions ! How 
 did He love the little children, how did He take them up in His sacred 
 arms and bless them ! And when He was just ascending to the highest 
 heaven, how tenderly did He speak to Peter, and bid him "feed His 
 lambs." Let all this encourage you to come to Him.' 
 
 Sifting the rest of the correspondence, we come upon a 
 sentence in a letter to the students at Cambridge and New 
 Haven in America, who had partaken of the religious influence 
 so sedulously diffused by Whitefield during his American tour, 
 which is worth a place m every student's room, ' Hence- 
 
172 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 forward, therefore, I hope you will enter into your studies, 
 not to get a parish, nor to be polite preachers, but to be great 
 saints.' 
 
 The Mary and Ann, after a pleasant passage, landed White- 
 field at Leith on July 30, 1741, ten years before Wesley first 
 visited Scotland. He was come to a generation which Ebenezer 
 Erskine described as ' being generally lifeless, lukewarm, and 
 upsitten.' Yet there was no little warmth about the stranger 
 whom the Associate Presbytery and the Kirk both struggled 
 for. Persons of distinction welcomed him, and urged him 
 to preach in Edinburgh on the day of his arrival. But he 
 stayed in the city only an hour, and went thence, as Ralph 
 Erskine phrases it, ' over the belly of vast opposition,' and 
 came to Ralph's house at Dunfermline at ten o'clock at night. 
 Next morning guest and host conferred together alone on 
 Church matters, when Whitefield admitted that he had changed 
 his views of ordination ; at the time of his ordination he 
 knew no better way, but now, ' he would not have it again 
 in that way for a thousand worlds.' As to preaching, he was 
 firm in his resolution to go wherever he was asked, into the 
 Kirk or into the meeting-house. Were a Jesuit priest or a 
 Mohammedan to give him an invitation he would gladly 
 comply, and go and testify against them ! Whitefield wrote 
 to Cennick, telling him that Erskine had received him 'very 
 lovingly.' He says : — 
 
 ' I preached to his and the townspeople ' — this was in the afternoon of 
 the day after his arrival, and in the meeting-house — ' a very thronged 
 assembly. After I had done prayer and named my text, the rustling made 
 by opening the Bibles all at once surprised me ; a scene I never was 
 witness to before. Our conversation after sermon, in the house, was such 
 as became the gospel of Christ. . . . They urged a longer stay, in order 
 to converse more closely, and to set me right about Church government and 
 the Solemn League and Covenant. I informed them that I had given 
 notice of preaching at Edinburgh this evening, but, as they desired it, 
 
CONFERENCE WITH THE SECEDERS 173 
 
 I would in a few days return and meet the Associate Presbytery in 
 Mr. Ralph's house. This was agreed on. Dear Mr. Erskine accompanied 
 me, and this evening I preached to many thousands in a place called 
 Orphan-house Park. The Lord was there.' 
 
 The proposed conference took place at Ralph Erskine's 
 house on the sixth day after Whitefield's arrival in the country. 
 There were present Ralph and Ebenezer Erskine, Alexander 
 Moncrieff, Adam Gib, Thomas and James Mair, and Mr. 
 Clarkson ; also two elders, James Wardlow and John Mowbray. 
 Ralph called the 'tryst,' and Ebenezer began the proceedings 
 with prayer. Some of the venerable men had come with the 
 persuasion that they would succeed in making Whitefield 
 an Associate Presbyterian ; the wiser portion hoped for 
 nothing more than to stagger his faith in any and every 
 form of Church government which was different from theirs, 
 to keep him in suspense, and in the meanwhile to secure 
 his services in their meeting-houses for the establishment of 
 their cause. These also meant his conversion, but knew that 
 it must be an affair beyond the power of a morning's sitting of 
 any Presbytery ; it would be enough to enter into an alliance 
 with him. Whitefield had evidently come to the meeting 
 determined to keep himself from all alliances. The seceders 
 were separating from the Established Church on the ground 
 that no persons holding ' unscriptural tenets should be 
 admitted members of the Church ; ' and the interpretation 
 unscriptural tenets was so rigid as to mean that any man 
 who differed from them in his views of Church government 
 should not hold communion with them. Hence their reason 
 for wishing to convert Whitefield was plain. Nor need any 
 surprise be felt at such stickling for Church government ; they 
 were in an unenviable position of separation, and thus naturally 
 anxious to prove their zeal for order as well as for orthodoxy. 
 It was thus that the conversation turned upon Church govern- 
 
174 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 merit, though Whitefield went away with the impression that 
 they also wanted to bring him round to the Solemn League 
 and Covenant ! That was most likely a spectre in the mist. 
 To Whitefield's question, ' Whether, supposing Presbyterian 
 government to be agreeable to the pattern shown in the 
 mount, it excluded a toleration of Independents, Anabaptists, 
 and Episcopalians, among whom there are good men,' 
 Ebenezer Erskine replied, with fine dexterity : ' Sir, God has 
 made you an instrument of gathering a great multitude of 
 souls to the faith and profession of the gospel of Christ 
 throughout England, and also in foreign parts ; and now it 
 is fit that you should be considering how that body is to be 
 organised and preserved, which cannot be done without 
 following the example of Paul and Barnabas, who, when 
 they had gathered Churches by the preaching of the gospel, 
 visited them again, and ordained over them elders in every 
 city ; which you cannot do alone, without some two or three 
 met together in a judicative capacity in the name of the 
 Lord.' Whitefield answered that he could not see his way 
 to anything but preaching. But, it was urged, supposing he 
 were to die, the flock would be scattered and might fall a prey 
 to grievous wolves. Then he fixed himself on a resolution, 
 which, with the views that he had expressed about his 
 ordination, it was, no doubt, made sure he could never reach. 
 ' I am of the communion of the Church of England,' he said ; 
 ' none in that communion can join me in the work you 
 have pointed to ; neither do I mean to separate from that 
 communion till I am either cast out or excommunicated.' 
 All tempers were not cool under the reasoning that went on ; 
 indeed, how could nine Scots, each one holding to the skirts 
 of his sacred Church, keep cool when dealing with a prelatist ? 
 The interview ended in a scene. While it was being con- 
 tended that one form of Church government was divine, 
 
U'HITEFIELDS ECCLESIASTICAL POSITION 175 
 
 Whitefield, laying his hand on his heart, said : ' I do not find 
 it here.' Alexander Moncrieff replied, as he rapped the Bible 
 that lay on the table : ' But I find it here.' 
 
 It is evident that Whitefield's ecclesiastical position for 
 the future is to be judged of by these three things: 1. That 
 he did not believe that any form of Church government was of 
 divine origin. 2. That his ordination to be a priest of the 
 Church of England did not any longer accord with his 
 conceptions of ordination to the ministerial functions. 3. That 
 he was not free to leave the Church of England ; he must be 
 cast off, if the connection must cease. 
 
 The unfortunate close of the conference was a great sorrow 
 to Ralph Erskine, who wrote to Whitefield, and plainly, but 
 kindly, told him that he was ' sorrowful for being disappointed 
 about Whitefield's lying open to light, as appeared from his 
 declining conversation on that head ; and also for his coming 
 harnessed with a resolution to stand out against everything 
 that should be advanced against ' (presumably the Estab- 
 lished Church). Ralph must not be allowed to rest under the 
 shade of bigotry which the words attributed to him, ' We are 
 the Lord's people,' would cast over him. He may have used 
 the very words in that warm discussion, when the ringing 
 of bells and the expectation of sermon and the firmness 
 of Whitefield threw him into confusion ; but in calmer 
 moments, when meeting his seceding followers at the table 
 of the Lord, he could speak as became his better self, and 
 say, ' We are far from thinking that all are Christ's friends 
 that join with us, and that all are His enemies that do not. 
 No, indeed.' Had the Presbytery consisted only of the two 
 brothers and young David Erskine, the son of Ebenezer, no 
 disruption would have come about ; neither would Ralph 
 have been provoked to insinuate in a letter to Whitefield, that 
 the orphan-house was making him temporise. ' Indeed, dear 
 
176 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 sir,' Whitefield replied, 'you mistake, if you think I temporise 
 on account of the orphans. Be it far from me. I abhor the 
 very thought of it.' 
 
 There was commotion in all classes of society, and no small 
 division, about this new preacher who depicted scenes, who 
 appealed to the heart and conscience, and who offered to every 
 man the riches of Divine grace with solemn urgency. Some 
 were against him on the ground that his character was 
 not sufficiently established ; and even his friends commonly 
 called him 'that godly youth.' Yet he was on a flood-tide 
 of popularity in the Scottish capital. He had the ear of the 
 people from the poorest to the noblest. At seven in the 
 morning he had a lecture in the fields, which was attended 
 by ' the common people and by persons of rank.' The v ?ry 
 children of the city caught the spirit of his devotion, and 
 would hear him eagerly while he read to them the letters 
 of his orphans. At Heriot's Hospital the boys, who had been 
 x\ r ' d as the most wicked in the city, established fellowship 
 meetings among themselves ; indeed, children's meetings 
 sprung up all over the city. Great numbers of young men 
 met for promoting their Christian knowledge ; and aged 
 Christians, who had long maintained an honest profession 
 of Christianity, were stimulated to seek closer brotherly 
 communion. 
 
 Great as was the danger of this time, Whitefield bore 
 himself with humility in the midst of applause, with love 
 towards his enemies, and with patience and meekness so 
 exemplary under the reproaches, the injuries, and the slanders 
 which were heaped upon him, that one minister thought that 
 God had sent him to show him how to preach, and especially 
 how to suffer. In the pulpit he was like a flame of fire ; 
 among men he was most calm and easy, careful never to 
 give offence, and never courting the favour of any. His 
 
Aberdeen 177 
 
 temper was cheerful and grateful. His disinterestedness 
 shone conspicuously in his refusal to accept a private 
 contribution which some zealous friends thought of giving 
 him. ' I make no purse,' he said ; 'what I have I give away. 
 " Poor, yet making many rich," shall be my motto still.' All 
 that he cared for was his family ; he would rather bear any 
 burden than have it burdened. His pleadings on its behalf 
 had the usual effect, and some ' evil men ' soon had their 
 tongues busy. Thousands of prayers were offered for him, 
 and thousands of lies were spread abroad against him. It 
 was said that he was hindering the poor from paying their 
 debts, and impoverishing their families. But the fact was that 
 his largest donations came from the rich. He said to his 
 friends respecting all this slander, for he never noticed it 
 publicly, ' I would have no one afraid of doing too much 
 good, or think that a little given in charity will impoverish the 
 country.' ' 
 
 Edinburgh did not monopolise his labours ; Glasgow, 
 Dundee, Paisley, Perth, Stirling, Crieff, Falkirk, Airth, Kin^, 
 lassie, Culross, Kinross, Cupar of Fife, Stonehive, Benholm, 
 Montrose, Brechin, Forfar, Cupar of Angus, Inverkeithing, 
 Newbottle, Galashiels, Maxton, Haddington, Killern, Fintry, 
 Balfrone, and Aberdeen received a visit from him. His visit 
 to Aberdeen was at the oft-repeated request of Mr. Ogilvie, 
 one of the ministers of the kirk, and is thus described by 
 himself : — - 
 
 ' At my first coming here, things looked a little gloomy ; for the 
 magistrates had been so prejudiced by one Mr. Bisset, that, when applied 
 to, they refused me the use of the kirk-yard to preach in. This Mr. Bisset 
 
 * This alarm about impoverishing the country does not look so absurd 
 when it is remembered that in 1706 the total revenue of Scotland was only 
 £160,000. 
 
 13 
 
178 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 is colleague with Mr. Ogilvie, at whose repeated invitation I came hither. 
 Though colleagues of the same congregation, they are very different in 
 their natural tempers. The one is what they call in Scotland of a sweet- 
 blooded, the other of a choleric disposition. Mr. Bisset is neither a 
 Seceder nor quite a Kirk man, having great fault to find with both. Soon 
 after my arrival, dear Mr. Ogilvie took me to pay my respects to him ; he 
 was prepared for it, and immediately pulled out a paper containing a great 
 number of insignificant queries, which I had neither time nor inclination to 
 answer. The next morning, it being Mr. Ogilvie's turn, I lectured and 
 preached ; the magistrates were present. The congregation very large, 
 and light and life fled all around. In the afternoon Mr. Bisset officiated ; 
 I attended. He began his prayers as usual, but in the midst of them, 
 naming me by name, he entreated the Lord to forgive the dishonour that 
 had been put upon Him by my being suffered to preach in that pulpit ; 
 and that all might know what reason he had to put up such a petition, 
 about the middle of his sermon he not only urged that I was a curate 
 of the Church of England, but also quoted a passage or two out of my first 
 printed sermons, which he said were grossly Arminian. Most of the 
 congregation seemed surprised and chagrined, especially his good-natured 
 colleague, Mr. Ogilvie, who, immediately after sermon, without consulting 
 me in the least, stood up and gave notice that Mr. Whitefield would preach 
 in about half an hour. The interval being so short, the magistrates returned 
 into the sessions-house, and the congregation patiently waited, big with 
 expectation of hearing my resentment. At the time appointed I went 
 up, and took no other notice of the good man's ill-timed zeal than to 
 observe, in some part of my discourse, that if the good old gentleman had 
 seen some of my later writings, wherein I had corrected several of my 
 former mistakes, he would not have expressed himself in such strong 
 terms. The people being thus diverted from controversy with man, 
 were deeply impressed with what they heard from the Word of God. 
 /ill was hushed, and more than solemn ; and on the morrow the 
 magistrates sent for me, expressed themselves quite concerned at the 
 treatment I had met with, and begged I would accept of the freedom 
 of the city. But of this enough.' 
 
 The spirit of love had been remarkably developed and 
 strengthened in Whitefield since his return from America ; his 
 troubles, keen and undeserved as they were, had proved a 
 kindly chastening to his spirit. The fine frankness of his 
 nature and the sincerity of his religion were shown at Aber- 
 deen in a letter which he wrote to Wesley asking his forgive- 
 
MARRIAGE 179 
 
 ness for a wrong he felt he had done him, and in another to 
 Peter Bohler, whose name he had mentioned in a very 
 inoffensive way in his famous letter to Wesley from Bethesda. 
 In the case of Bohler he had not sinned openly, but he knew 
 that he had broken the law of charity in his own heart ; and 
 such faults are much to the true Christian. 
 
 His Scotch excursion did much for the kingdom of God, if 
 little for the Associate Presbytery ; it also brought him more 
 worldly honour than he had ever before known. He was wel- 
 comed to their houses by several of the nobility, and became 
 the friend, correspondent, and religious helper of the Marquis 
 of Lothian, the Earl of Leven, Lord Rae, Lady Mary Hamil- 
 ton, Colonel Gardiner, Lady Frances Gardiner (wife of the 
 Colonel), Lady Jean Nimmo, and Lady Dirleton. Lord 
 Leven gave him a horse to perform his journeys on ; the 
 Scotch people gave him above five hundred pounds for his 
 orphans. 
 
 Riding his gift-horse, he took his way from Scotland to 
 Wales to be married. Not a word has been found about his 
 courtship. Whether he preached on his journey or not, does 
 not appear, but in ten days (Nov. 14, 1741) he was at Aber- 
 gavenny, ready to be joined in matrimony to Mrs. James, a 
 widow of about thirty-six years of age (he was twenty-six), 
 neither rich nor beautiful, ' once gay, but for three years last 
 past a despised follower of the Lamb,' one of whom he 
 cherished the hope that she would not hinder him in his 
 work. Wesley, who speaks of her in his journal but a month 
 before the marriage, had a favourable opinion of her ; he calls 
 her 'a woman of candour and humanity,' and, we may add, 
 courage, seeing she compelled some complainers, who had 
 been free with their tongues in Wesley's absence, to repeat 
 everything to his face. There is an Eden-like story told about 
 the marriage with the matronly housekeeper, which, though not 
 
180 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 to be depended upon, may serve to brighten a prosaic event. 
 Ebenezer Jones, minister of Ebenezer Chapel, near Pontypool, 
 was most happy in his marriage. His wife was a woman of 
 eminent piety and strong mind ; they were married in youth, 
 and years only deepened their affection. Mrs. Jones died 
 first, and the afflicted widower would say, when speaking of the 
 joys of another world, ' I would not for half a heaven but find 
 her there.' Whitefield, it is said, was so enchanted with their 
 happiness, when visiting at their house, that he immediately 
 determined to change his condition, and soon paid his 
 addresses to Mrs. James. And she seems to have been as 
 good a wife to him as perhaps any woman could have been. 
 Home-life they could never know so long as he would preach 
 all day, and write letters at night, and this practice he kept 
 up until he died. 
 
 There was probably no cessation of preaching ; only a few 
 days after the celebration of the marriage he wrote to tell an 
 Edinburgh friend that God had been pleased to work by his 
 hand since his coming to Wales. Three days later still he was 
 in Bristol, building up religious societies, and preaching in a 
 large hall which his friends had hired ; and Mrs. Whitefield was 
 at Abergavenny, staying till he could conveniently take her 
 with him on his journeys. 1 
 
 His appeal from the jurisdiction of the commissary of 
 Charleston was now returned to him from the Lords, who saw 
 through the commissary's enmity; and there was an end of 
 that trouble. 
 
 1 Bristol had another distinguished visitor at this time. Savage was 
 detained in Newgate for a debt of eight pounds ; his best friend was Mr. 
 Dagge, the tender gaoler, whose virtues Johnson has praised in high terms, 
 probably not knowing that he was praising a convert of Whitefield's. It is 
 almost certain that Whitefield sometimes sat down at the keeper's hospit- 
 able table with that strange guest. 
 
WHITSUNTIDE IN MOORFIELDS 1S1 
 
 His work now lay in Bristol, where he began 'a general 
 monthly meeting to read corresponding letters,' and between 
 that place and London — the same district in which he won his 
 first successes in itinerant preaching ; and everywhere the 
 desire to hear the truth was more intense than ever. Finally, 
 he went to London, taking his wife with him, and probably 
 lodged with some Methodist friend, one carefully chosen, as he 
 was careful about the houses he went to, nor was it every one 
 who could have his presence. To one London brother who 
 wanted to have him and his wife, he replied : — 
 
 ' I know not what to say about coming to your house ; for brother S 
 
 tells me you and your family are dilatory, and that you do not rise some- 
 times till nine or ten in the morning. This, dear Mr. N , will never do 
 
 for me ; and I am persuaded such a conduct tends much to the dishonour 
 of God, and to the prejudice of your own precious soul. Be not slothful 
 in business. Go to bed seasonably, and rise early. Redeem your precious 
 time ; pick up the fragments of it, that not one moment may be lost. 
 Be much in secret prayer. Converse less with man, and more with 
 God.' 
 
 To this wise circumspection, and the fact that he was always 
 the guest of men of undoubted piety or of untarnished repu- 
 tation, may in part be ascribed his triumph over all the base 
 slanders of his enemies. 
 
 He spent the winter 1741-42 mostly in preaching in his 
 wooden tabernacle, London. Everything was helping to 
 prepare him for another of those daring religious forays of 
 which he is the most brilliant captain ; this was the enterprise 
 he attempted — to beat the devil in Moorfields on Whit- 
 Monday. The soldier is the best historian here : — 
 
 ' London, May 11, 1742. 
 ' With this I send you a few out of the many notes I have received from 
 persons who were convicted, converted, or comforted in .Moorfields during 
 the late holidays. For many weeks I found my heart much pressed to deter- 
 
1 82 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 mine to venture to preach there at this season, when, il ever, Satan's 
 children keep up their annual rendezvous. I must inform you that Moor- 
 fields is a large spacious place, given, as I have been told, by one Madam 
 Moore, on purpose for all sorts of people to divert themselves in. For many 
 years past, from one end to the other, booths of all kinds have been erected 
 for mountebanks, players, puppet-shows, and such like. With a heart 
 bleeding with compassion for so many thousands led captive by the devil at 
 his will, on Whit Monday, at six o'clock in the morning, attended by a 
 large congregation of praying people, I ventured to lift up a standard among 
 them in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Perhaps there were about ten 
 thousand in waiting — not for me, but for Satan's instruments to amuse 
 them. Glad was I to find that I had for once, as it were, got the start of 
 the devil. I mounted my field pulpit ; almost all immediately flocked 
 around it. I preached on these words: "As Moses lifted up the 
 serpent," &c. They gazed, they listened, they wept ; and I believe that 
 many felt themselves stung with deep conviction for their past sins. All 
 was hushed and solemn. Being thus encouraged, I ventured out again at 
 noon ; but what a scene ! The fields, the whole fields, seemed, in a bad 
 sense of the word, all white, ready, not for the Redeemer's, but Beelzebub's, 
 harvest. All his agents were in full motion — drummers, trumpeters, 
 Merry Andrews, masters of puppet-shows, exhibitors of wild beasts, 
 players, &c. , &c. — all busy in entertaining their respective audiences. I 
 suppose there could not be less than twenty or thirty thousand people. My 
 pulpit was fixed on the opposite side, and immediately, to their great 
 mortification, they found the number of their attendants sadly lessened. 
 Judging that, like St. Paul, I should now be called, as it were, to fight with 
 beasts at Ephesus, I preached from these words : "Great is Diana of the 
 Ephesians." You may easily guess that there was some noise among the 
 craftsmen, and that I was honoured with having a few stones, rotten eggs, 
 and pieces of dead cat thrown at me, whilst engaged in calling them from 
 their favourite, but lying, vanities. My soul was indeed among lions ! but 
 far the greatest part of my congregation, which was very large, seemed for 
 awhile to be turned into lambs. This encouraged me to give notice that I 
 would preach again at six o'clock in the evening. I came, I saw, but what 
 — thousands and thousands more than before if possible, still more deeply 
 engaged in their unhappy diversions ; but some thousands among them 
 waiting as earnestly to hear the gospel. This Satan could not brook. One 
 of his choicest servants was exhibiting, trumpeting on a large stage; but as 
 soon as the people saw me in my black robes and my pulpit, I think all to 
 a man left him and ran to me. For awhile I was enabled to lift up my 
 voice like a trumpet, and many heard the joyful sound. God's people kept 
 praying, and the enemy's agents made a kind of a roaring at some distance 
 from our camp. At length they approached nearer, and the Merry 
 
THE TABERNACLE SOCIETY 183 
 
 Andrew, attended by others who complained that they had taken many 
 pounds less that day on account of my preaching, got upon a man's shoul- 
 ders, and advancing near the pulpit, attempted to slash me with a long, 
 heavy whip several times, but always with the violence of his motion 
 tumbled down. Soon afterwards they got a recruiting sergeant with 
 his drum, &c, to pass through the congregation. I gave the word 
 of command, and ordered that way might be made for the king's 
 officer. The ranks opened while all marched quietly through, and 
 then closed again. Finding their efforts to fail, a large body, quite on 
 the opposite side, assembled together, and having got a large pole 
 for their standard, advanced towards us with steady and formidable 
 steps till they came very near the skirts of our hearing, praying, and 
 almost undaunted congregation. I saw, gave warning, and prayed to 
 the Captain of our salvation for present support and deliverance. He 
 heard and answered, for just as they approached us with looks full of 
 resentment, I know not by what accident they quarrelled among them- 
 selves, threw down their staff, and went their way, leaving, however, many 
 of their company behind, who, before we had done, I trust were brought 
 over to join the besieged party. I think I continued in praying, preach- 
 ing and singing — for the noise was too great at times to preach — about 
 three hours. We then retired to the Tabernacle, with my pockets full of 
 notes from persons brought under concern, and read them amid the 
 praises and spiritual acclamations of thousands who joined with the holy 
 angels in rejoicing that so many sinners were snatched, in such an unex- 
 pected, unlikely place and manner, out of the very jaws of the devil. This 
 was the beginning of the Tabernacle society. Three hundred and fifty 
 awakened souls were received in one day, and I believe the number of 
 notes exceeded a thousand ; but I must have done, believing you want to 
 retire to join in mutual praise and thanksgiving to God and the Lamb with 
 
 ' Yours, &c. 
 
 ' G. Whitefield.' 
 
 Bare facts support the statement that some had been 
 ' plucked from the very jaws of the devil.' Whitefield married 
 several who had been living in open adultery ; one man was 
 converted who had exchanged his wife for another, and given 
 fourteen shillings to boot ; and several were numbered in the 
 society whose days would in all probability have been ended 
 at Tyburn. But his exploits were not ended. Here is a 
 second letter : — 
 
1 84 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 ' London, May 15, 1742. 
 ' My DEAR Friend, — Fresh matter of praise ; bless ye the Lord, for He 
 hath triumphed gloriously ! The battle that was begun on Monday was not 
 quite over till Wednesday evening, though the scene of action was a little 
 shifted. Being strongly invited, and a pulpit being prepared for me by an 
 honest Quaker, a coal merchant, I ventured on Tuesday evening to preach 
 at Mary-le-bone Fields, a place almost as much frequented by boxers, 
 gamesters, and such like, as Moorfields. A vast concourse was assembled 
 together, and as soon as I got into the field-pulpit their countenance bespoke 
 the enmity of their heart against the preacher. I opened with these words : 
 " I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ ; for it is the power of God 
 unto salvation to every one that believeth." I preached in great jeopardy ; 
 for the pulpit being high and the supports not well fixed in the ground, it 
 tottered every time I moved, and numbers of enemies strove to push my 
 friends against the supporters in order to throw me down. But the 
 Redeemer stayed my soul on Himself, therefore I was not much moved, 
 unless with compassion for those to whom I was delivering my Master's 
 message, which I had reason to think, by the strong impressions that were 
 made, was welcome to many. But Satan did not like thus to be attacked 
 in his strongholds, and I narrowly escaped with my life ; for as I was 
 passing from the pulpit to the coach, I felt my wig and hat to be almost off. 
 I turned about, and perceived a sword just touching my temple. A young 
 rake, as I afterwards found, was determined to stab me ; but a gentleman, 
 seeing the sword thrusting near me, struck it up with his cane, and so the 
 destined victim providentially escaped. Such an attempt excited abhor- 
 rence ; the enraged multitude soon seized him, and had it not been for one 
 of my friends who received him into his house, he must have undergone a 
 severe discipline. The next day I renewed my attack in Moorfields ; but, 
 would you think it ? after they found that peltings, noise, and threatening.* 
 would not do, one of the Merry Andrews got up into a tree very near the 
 pulpit, and shamefully exposed his nakedness before all the people. Such 
 a beastly action quite abashed the serious part of my auditory, whilst 
 hundreds of another stamp, instead of rising up to pull down the unhappy 
 wretch, expressed their approbation by repeated laughs. I must own at 
 first it gave me a shock ; I thought Satan had almost outdone himself; but 
 recovering my spirits I appealed to all, since now they had such a spectacle 
 before them, whether I had wronged human nature in saying, after pious 
 Bishop Hall, " that man, when left to himself, is half a devil and half a 
 beast;" or, as the great Mr. Law expressed himself, "a motley mixture 
 of the beast and devil." Silence and attention being thus gained, I con- 
 cluded with a warm exhortation, and closed our festival enterprises in 
 reading fresh notes that were put up, praising and blessing God amidst 
 thousands at the Tabernacle for what He had done for precious souls, and 
 
ADAM GIB'S 'WARNING' 185 
 
 on account of the deliverances He had wrought out for me and His people, 
 I could enlarge ; but being about to embark in the Mary and Ann for 
 Scotland, I must hasten to subscribe myself, 
 
 ' Yours, &c. , 
 
 ' G. Whitefield. 
 ' P.S. — I cannot help adding that several little boys and girls, who were 
 fond of sitting round me on the pulpit while I preached, and handing to 
 me people's notes, though they were often pelted with eggs, dirt, &c, 
 thrown at me, never once gave way ; but, on the contrary, every time I was 
 struck turned up their little weeping eyes, and seemed to wish they could 
 receive the blows for me. God make them in their growing years great and 
 living martyrs for Him who out of the mouths of babes and sucklings 
 perfects praise ! ' 
 
 Whitefield, accompanied by his wife, now went from the 
 excitement of London to that of Scotland ; and, happily, the 
 voyage afforded him a few days for quieter engagements, before 
 rushing into the heat of an immense revival. Most of his time 
 on board ship was spent in secret prayer. He landed at Leith 
 on June 3, 1742, amid the blessings and tears of the people, 
 many of whom followed the coach up to Edinburgh, again to 
 welcome him when he stepped out. 
 
 But all hearts were not glad for his return. The Associate 
 Presbytery — still smarting under the rebuff of the preceding 
 year, driven to the greater vehemence for their testimony the 
 more they saw it unheeded, and made the more contentious by 
 the ' foreigner's ' low estimate of their ' holy contendings ' — ■ 
 were full of wrath. Even the Erskines were unfriendly. But 
 the most conspicuous enemy was Adam Gib, of Edinburgh, 
 one of the venerable nine with whom Whitefield had the 
 amusing interview at Dunfermline. Gib was resolved to 
 expose Whitefield, and thus to deliver his own soul, and, it 
 might be, the souls of the poor deluded, devil-blinded people 
 that crowded to hear the deceiver. Accordingly he 'published, 
 in the New Church at Bristow, upon Sabbath, June 6, 1742, 
 " A Warning against countenancing the Ministrations of Mr 
 
1 86 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 George Whitefield ; " ' and certainly the trumpet gave no un- 
 certain sound. The ' Warning ' caused such a commotion that 
 Gib was urged to print, and taking this as a hint from Provi- 
 dence that he should finish his holy task, he expanded a short 
 sermon of eight pages into an ' Appendix ' of fifty-seven ; thus 
 getting ample scope to make his charges, and to prove them, if 
 that were possible. Gib shows, in his own way, ' that Mr. White- 
 field was no minister of Jesus Christ ; that his call and coming 
 to Scotland were scandalous ; that his practice was disorderly 
 and fertile of disorder ; that his whole doctrine was, and his 
 success must be, diabolical ; so that people ought to avoid 
 him, from duty to God, to the Church, to themselves, to fellow- 
 men, to posterity, and to him.' 
 
 Whitefield was not soured by such detraction and abuse, but 
 wrote to Ebenezer Erskine, to say how much concerned he was 
 that their difference as to outward things should cut off their 
 sweet fellowship and communion with each other. He pro- 
 tested that his love for Erskine and Erskine's brethren was 
 greater than ever ; that he applauded their zeal for God, though 
 it was not, in some respects, according to knowledge, and was 
 frequently levelled against himself; and that his heart had no 
 resentment in it. Meanwhile the people, not heeding Gib's 
 ' Warning,' flocked to the Hospital Park and filled the shaded 
 wooden amphitheatre which had been erected for their accom- 
 modation. Twice a day Whitefield went to the Park, and twice 
 a day they came to hear him. 
 
 A congregation moved by deeper religious feeling than that 
 which agitated Edinburgh was anxious to hear his voice in a 
 little village called Cambuslang, on the south side of the Clyde, 
 about five miles from Glasgow, and now a suburb of that city. 
 Wonderful things were beginning to take place in that small 
 parish of nine hundred souls. The Rev. William McCulloch, 
 who had been ordained its minister on April 29, 1731, was a 
 
CAMBUSLANG REVIVAL 187 
 
 man of considerable learning and of solid, unostentatious piety, 
 slow and cautious as a speaker, and more anxious to feed his 
 people with sound truth than to move their passions with 
 declamation. The news of the revivals in England and 
 America had awakened a lively interest in him ; he began to 
 detail to his people what he knew, and they, in their turn, felt 
 as interested as he did. A dilapidated church and an over- 
 flowing congregation next compelled the good pastor and his 
 flock to resort to the fields for worship; and nature, as if 
 anticipating their wants, had made a fair temple of her own in 
 a deep ravine near the church. The grassy level by the burn- 
 side, and the brae which rises from it in the form of an amphi- 
 theatre, afforded an admirable place for the gathering of a 
 large mass of people ; and there the pastor would preach the 
 same doctrines which were touching rugged Kingswood colliers, 
 depraved London roughs, and formal ministers and professors 
 of religion in both hemispheres ; but he dwelt mostly on 
 regeneration. The sermon over, he would recount on a 
 Sabbath evening what was going on in the kingdom of God 
 elsewhere, and then renew his application of truth to the con- 
 science. The great evangelist had also been heard by some of 
 the people ; nor could they forget his words, or throw off their 
 influence. On his previous visit to Scotland, when he went to 
 Glasgow, they had stood on the gravestones of the high 
 churchyard in that immense congregation which trembled and 
 wept as he denounced the curses and offered the blessings of 
 the word of God. Others, again, had read the sermons after 
 they were printed, and had been as vitally affected as if they 
 had heard the thrilling voice which had spoken them. The 
 religious leaven was touching the whole body of the people ; 
 and at the end of January, 1742, five months before White- 
 field's second visit to Scotland, Ingram More, a shoemaker, 
 and Robert Bowman, a weaver, carried a petition round the 
 
1 88 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 parish, praying the minister to set up a weekly lecture, and 
 ninety heads of families signed it. The day which was most 
 convenient for the temporal interests of the parish was Thurs- 
 day, and on Thursday a lecture was given. Then wounded 
 souls began to call at the manse to ask for counsel and com- 
 fort, and at last, after one of the Thursday lectures, fifty of 
 them went ; and all that night the faithful pastor was engaged 
 in his good work. Next came a daily sermon, followed by 
 private teaching, exhortation, and prayer ; and before White- 
 field got there to increase the intense feeling and honest con- 
 viction which were abroad, three hundred souls, according to 
 the computation of Mr. McCulloch, ' had been awakened and 
 convinced of their perishing condition without a Saviour, more 
 than two hundred of whom were, he believed, hopefully 
 converted and brought home to God.' The congregations on 
 the hillside had also increased to nine or ten thousand. All 
 the work of preaching and teaching did not devolve upon one 
 man ; ministers from far and near came to see and wonder and 
 help. Great care was taken by them all to hinder hypocrisy 
 and delusion from spreading ; and indeed the work, as examined 
 by faithful men, presented every appearance of a work of the 
 Holy Ghost. It embraced all classes, all ages, and all moral 
 conditions. Cursing, swearing, and drunkenness were given up 
 by those who had been guilty of these sins, and who had come 
 under its power. It kindled remorse for acts of injustice. It 
 compelled restitution for fraud. It won forgiveness from the 
 revengeful. It imparted patience and love to endure the 
 injuries of enemies. It bound pastors and people together 
 with a stronger bond of sympathy. It raised an altar in the 
 household, or kindled afresh the extinguished fire of domestic 
 religion. It made men students of the word of God, and 
 brought them in thought and purpose and effort into com- 
 munion with their Father in heaven. True, there was chaff 
 
CAMBUSLANG REVIVAL 189 
 
 among the wheat, but the watchfulness and wisdom of the 
 minister detected it, and quickly drove it away. And for long 
 years afterwards humble men and women, who dated their con- 
 version from the work at Cambuslang, walked among their 
 neighbours with an unspotted Christian name, and then died 
 peacefully and joyfully in the arms of One whom they had 
 learned in revival days to call Lord and Saviour. 
 
 The most remarkable thing in the whole movement is an 
 absence of terrible experiences. The great sorrow which 
 swelled penitential hearts was not selfish, and came from no 
 fear of future punishment, but from a sense of the dishonour 
 they had done to God and their Redeemer. The influence of 
 the Cambuslang meetings was at work in many a parish, and 
 Whitefield's first ride from Edinburgh into the west was through 
 places where the greatest commotion was visible. When he 
 came to Cambuslang he immediately preached to a vast con- 
 gregation, which, notwithstanding Gib's warning against hearing 
 sermons on other days than the Sabbath, had come together on 
 a Tuesday at noon. At six in the evening he preached again, 
 and a third time at nine. No doubt the audience on the brae- 
 side was much the same at each service, and we are prepared to 
 hear that by eleven at night the enthusiasm had reached its 
 highest pitch. For an hour and a half the loud weeping of the 
 company filled the stillness of the summer night, while now and 
 again the cry of some strong man, or more susceptible woman, 
 rang above the preacher's voice and the general wailing, and 
 there was a swaying to and fro where the w r ounded one fell. 
 Often the word would take effect like shot piercing a regiment 
 of soldiers, and the congregation was broken again and again. 
 It was a very field of battle, as Whitefield himself has described 
 it. Helpers carried the agonised into the house, and, as they 
 passed, the crying of those whom they bore moved all hearts 
 with fresh emotion, and prepared the way for the word to make 
 
19° GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 fresh triumphs. When Whitefield ended his sermon, McCulloch 
 took his place, and preached till past one in the morning; 
 and even then the people were unwilling to leave the spot. 
 Many walked the fields all night, praying and singing, the 
 sound of their voices much rejoicing the heart of Whitefield 
 as he lay awake in the neighbouring manse. 
 
 The following Sunday was sacrament day, and he hurried 
 back to Edinburgh to do some work there, before joining in 
 the great and solemn ceremony. He says that there was such 
 a shock in Edinburgh on Thursday night and Friday morning 
 as he had never felt before. On Friday night he came to 
 Cambuslang, and on Saturday he preached to more than 
 twenty thousand people. Sabbath, however, was the day of 
 days. New converts had looked forward to it as the time 
 of their first loving confession of their Redeemer, and aged 
 Christians were assembled with the freshness of their early 
 devotion upon them. Godly pastors had come from neighbour- 
 ing and also from distant places to assist in serving the tables, 
 and to take part in prayer and exhortation. All around the 
 inner group of believers who were to partake of the sacrament 
 for a remembrance of our Lord was a mighty host, scarcely 
 less earnest or less outwardly devout. Two tents were erected 
 in the glen ; seventeen hundred ' tokens ' were issued to those 
 who wished to communicate. The tables stood under the 
 brae, and when Whitefield began to serve one of them the 
 people so crowded upon him that he was obliged to desist and 
 go to one of the tents to preach. All through the day, preaching 
 by one or another never ceased ; and at night, when the last 
 communicant had partaken, all the companies, still unwearied, 
 and still ready to hear, met in one congregation, and Whitefield, 
 at the request of the ministers, preached to them. His sermon 
 was an hour and a half long, and the twenty thousand were 
 not tired of hearing it. 
 
CAMBUSLANG REVIVAL 191 
 
 Such a day might well have been followed by quietness and 
 repose, but his was no heart to cry for leisure, whatever his 
 body might do. The following Monday was sure to be just 
 such a day as he could most thoroughly enjoy, for the day 
 after communion Sunday has had among Presbyterians almost 
 more sanctity than the Sunday itself. Preachers have preached 
 their most effective sermons on that day, and it was a memor- 
 able time at Cambuslang. 'The motion,' Whitefield says, 
 'fled as swift as lightning from one end of the auditory to 
 another. You might have seen thousands bathed in tears. 
 Some at the same time wringing their hands, others almost 
 swooning, and others crying out and mourning over a pierced 
 Saviour. It was like the Passover in Josiah's time.' 
 
 The sermon preached by him on the Sunday night was upon 
 Isa. liv. 5 — ' For thy Maker is thy husband ' — and was a sermon 
 more frequently referred to by his converts than any other ; 
 yet we look in vain for a single passage of interest or power in 
 it. The thought is meagre and the language tame ; there is 
 a total absence of the dramatic element which abounds in all 
 his treatment of narrative and parable. But, remembering 
 how perfectly his heart realised the idea of union with God, 
 and how intense was his personal devotion to the will of God, 
 it becomes easier to understand the unfailing unction with 
 which his common thoughts were clothed. He could hardly 
 fail to have power, when entreating sinners to yield to God and 
 be joined to the Lord Jesus, who could say, without affectation 
 or boast, ' The hopes of bringing more souls to Jesus Christ 
 is the only consideration that can reconcile me to life. For 
 this cause I can willingly stay long from my wished-for home, 
 my wished-for Jesus. But whither am I going ? I forget my- 
 self when writing of Jesus. His love fills my soul.' 
 
 His qualities of meekness and self-restraint were as hardly 
 tested by the meddlesomeness of would-be advisers as by the 
 
k;2 GEORGE WH1TEFIELD 
 
 blind rage of enemies. Willison, of Dundee, a minister of 
 the Kirk, was jealous over him on two points : first, as to the 
 question of episcopacy ; and secondly, as to his habits of 
 private devotion. As to the first, Whitefield told his corre- 
 spondent that he thought his ' letter breathed much of a 
 sectarian spirit,' and with his wonted charity added : — 
 
 ' To which I hoped dear Mr. Willison was quite averse. As for my 
 
 answer to Mr. M , dear sir, it is very satisfying to my own soul. Morning 
 
 and evening retirement is certainly exceeding good ; but if through weakness 
 of body, or frequency of preaching, I cannot go to God in my usual set times, 
 I think my spirit is not in bondage. It is not for me to tell how often I use 
 secret prayer ; if I did not use it, nay, if in one sense I did not pray without 
 ceasing, it would be difficult for me to keep up that frame of soul which, 
 by the Divine blessing, I daily enjoy. If the work of God prospers, and 
 your hands become more full, you will then, dear sir, know better what 
 I mean.' 1 
 
 As soon as news of the Cambuslang work came from the 
 west, the Seceders called a Presbytery, which, with a prompti- 
 tude that showed their prejudices and condemned their act 
 as rash and ignorant, appointed a fast for the diabolical 
 delusion which had seized the people. The notions of Gib 
 were evidently highly popular; for between the nth of 
 July and the 15th — the date of the act of the Presbytery — 
 no examination of the work could have been made. Whitefield 
 
 1 What would Willison have thought of Whitefield, if he had heard the 
 following vagabond anecdote, which ought to be true, if it is not? Some 
 time after the quarrel upon the five points between Wesley and Whitefield, 
 and their happy reconciliation, the two combatants slept together in the 
 same bed (Methodist preachers sometimes slept three in a bed !), at the 
 close of a toilsome day. Wesley knelt down and prayed before lying 
 down to rest, but Whitefield threw himself upon the bed at once. ' George,' 
 said Wesley in a reproachful tone, ' is that your Calvinism ? ' During the 
 night Whitefield awoke, and found his friend fast asleep on his knees by 
 the bedside ; rousing him up, he said : 'John, is that your Arminianism ?' 
 
A FAST FOR THE REVIVAL 193 
 
 expressed himself with much composure in a letter to a 
 friend : — 
 
 'The Messrs. Erskine,' he says, 'and their adherents, would you think 
 it ? have appointed a public fast to humble themselves, among other things, 
 for my being received in Scotland, and for the delusion, as they term it, 
 at Cambuslang, and other places ; and all this because I would not consent 
 to preach only for them, till I had light into, and could take, the Solemn 
 League and Covenant. But to what lengths may prejudice carry even 
 good men ! From giving way to the first risings of bigotry and a party 
 spirit, good Lord, deliver us ! ' 
 
 And the charity of this large-hearted man was not words 
 on paper; he could believe in the goodness of another, in 
 spite of personal wrong done to himself, and wait with full 
 confidence the time when evil should be overcome with good 
 Soon after the fast, which was proclaimed from Dunfermline, 
 he had a short interview with Ralph Erskine, and brotherly- 
 love so prevailed that they embraced each other, and Ralph 
 said, ' We have seen strange things.' Whitefield's faith in the 
 power of love to bring brethren to a right state of mind was 
 justified even in the case of violent Adam Gib, who, when an 
 old man, confessed to his nephew that he wished that no 
 copies of his pamphlet against Whitefield were on the face 
 of the earth, and that, if he knew how to recall them, every 
 copy should be obtained and burnt : ' My blood at that time 
 was too hot,' said he, 'and I was unable to write with becoming 
 temper. 
 
 The strain made upon Whitefield by his exhausting labours 
 brought back again the spasms of sickness with which he had 
 been so frequently seized in America. Writing to one of his 
 friends, he said : ' Last night some of my friends thought I 
 was going off; but how did Jesus fill my heart! To-day 
 I am, as they call it, much better. In less than a month we 
 are to have another sacrament at Cambuslang — a thing not 
 
 14 
 
] 9 4 GEORGE WHITE EI ELD 
 
 practised before in Scotland. I entreat all to pray in an 
 especial manner for a blessing at that time.' A fortnight later, 
 when he had got to Cambuslang and shared in the much- 
 desired sacrament, he said : ' My bodily strength is daily 
 renewed, and I mount on the wings of faith and love like an 
 eagle.' This second celebration was more remarkable than 
 even the first. It came about in this wise. 
 
 Soon after the first celebration, Webster, of Edinburgh, pro- 
 posed that there should be a second on an early day, and 
 Whitefield seconded him. McCulloch liked the proposal, but 
 must confer with his people before giving an answer. The 
 several meetings for prayer were informed of it, and they, 
 after supplication and deliberation, thought it best to favour 
 it. It was therefore resolved to dispense the Lord's Supper 
 again on August 15th. Meanwhile prayer-meetings were 
 arranged for through the whole of the intervening month. 
 Communicants came from distant as well as neighbouring 
 places, from Edinburgh and Kilmarnock, from Irvine and 
 Stewarton, and some even from England and Ireland. Great 
 numbers of Quakers came to be hearers — not partakers, 
 of course — so, too, did many of the Secession, and some of 
 the latter went to the table. Ministers arrived from Edinburgh, 
 Glasgow, Kilsyth, Kinglassie, Irvine, Douglas, Blantyre, Ruther- 
 glen, and Cathcart. Old Mr. Bonar, of Torphichen, who took 
 three days to ride eighteen miles, was determined to be present, 
 and when helped up to one of the tents which had been 
 pitched, preached three times with much energy ; he returned 
 home with the ' Nunc Dimittis ' on his lips. Between thirty 
 and forty thousand people were gathered in the glen on the 
 Sunday, and of these three thousand communicated. 1 The 
 
 1 It will help us to understand how widespread was the religious work at 
 this time, if we remember that the population of Glasgow was about twenty 
 thousand. Had every man, woman, and child gone from the city and joined 
 
THE COMMUNION AT CAMBUSLANG 195 
 
 energy of the truth which was all day long preached by several 
 ministers in different parts was so great that possibly a thousand 
 more would have done so if they could have had access to 
 procure tokens. The staff of ministers were assisted at the 
 tables by several elders of rank and distinction. There was 
 not wanting that power which perhaps must, if not all, had 
 come hoping to find. Whitefield himself was in a visible 
 ecstasy as he stood in the evening serving some tables ; and 
 at ten at night, his great audience in the churchyard could 
 heed only his words, though the weather, which had been 
 favourable all day, had broken, and it rained fast. On the 
 following morning, at seven o'clock, Webster preached with 
 immense effect, and Whitefield followed in the same manner 
 later in the day. 
 
 The greater the work the hotter the opposition and the more 
 furious the denunciations of opponents. The Seceders _were 
 running greater and greater lengths in misguided zeal, and 
 were beginning to split among themselves. This was a chance 
 for the Kirk presbyters, some of whom had no love for the 
 prelatist, excepting as he fortified their falling Church, to 
 launch out at him ; and they began to call to account some 
 of the ministers who had employed him. The Cameronians, 
 who rallied round the blue flag of the Covenant, rivalled in 
 a ' Declaration ' the ' Act ' of the Associate Presbytery. They 
 called their document ' The Declaration, Protestation, and 
 Testimony of the Suffering Remnant of the anti-Popish, anti- 
 Lutheran, anti-Prelatic, anti-Whitefieldian, anti-Erastian, anti- 
 Sectarian, true Presbyterian Church of Christ in Scotland. 
 
 the people of Cambuslang, the whole would not have made more than 
 two-thirds of one of the congregations assembled to hear Whitefield in that 
 village. In many of the neighbouring places, notably Kilsyth, under the 
 fostering care of that wise and devout minister, James Robe, a similar work 
 of grace was proceeding. 
 
1 96 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Published against Mr. George Whitefield and his encouragers, 
 and against the work at Cambuslang and other places ; ' 
 and the ignorance and injustice of the declaration amply sus- 
 tained its pugnacious title. 
 
 A more crafty way of damaging his reputation and impeding 
 his work was hit upon by one or more persons in America, 
 who wrote to friends in Scotland what they pretended to be 
 true accounts of the condition of religion in New England. 
 One of the letters was written to a minister in Glasgow, and 
 another to Mr. George Wishart, one of the ministers of Edin- 
 burgh. Both letters were published without the names of 
 their writers, and were offered for public acceptance, the one 
 upon the word of its publisher, the other upon the word of 
 Wishart. The first was deemed worthy of an answer, which 
 Whitefield wrote at Cambuslang, where he had fixed his head- 
 quarters for some time, and whence he made constant excur- 
 sions to places that wanted his services. Its authority was 
 effectually shattered when Whitefield pointed out that, if it 
 had come from America at all, it had been tampered with 
 since its arrival ; for reference was made in it to a sermon 
 published in London on May ist; yet the letter itself was 
 written on May 24th, and no mode of transit in those days 
 was swift enough to carry news across the Atlantic and back 
 in twenty-three days. The letters were, indeed, more of an 
 assault upon Whitefield, through Tennent, than of an attempt 
 to assail him through his own work. The letter bearing 
 Wishart's imprimatur only repeated the old cry, that Whitefield 
 had taken people from their business, and filled every one's 
 mouth with talk about religion : its real attack was upon 
 Tennent, and his work and friends, only the people in Scotland 
 were asked to regard Whitefield in the same light. Whitefield 
 summed the whole manner up in a manly, impartial paragraph. 
 He says : — 
 
ENEMIES 197 
 
 ' There has been a great and marvellous work in New England ; but, as 
 it should seem, by the imprudences of some, and the over-boiling zeal of 
 others, some irregularities have been committed in several places, which 
 Mr. Tennent himself, in a letter to Mr. Parsons, printed in the Boston 
 Gazette, has borne his testimony against as strongly as any of these eminent 
 ministers. This is nothing but what is common. It was so in old England 
 some few years ago. Many young persons there ran out before they were 
 called ; others were guilty of great imprudences. I checked them in l he- 
 strictest manner myself, and found, as they grew acquainted with the Lord 
 Jesus and their own hearts, the intemperance of their zeal abated, and they 
 became truly humble walkers with God. But must the whole work of God 
 be condemned as enthusiasm and delusion because of some disorder ? ' * 
 
 The opposition to Whitefield was of various kinds. Some 
 sincere souls were anxious for pure religion, which they con- 
 founded with their familiar, quiet services ; some put Church 
 government in too high a position relative to spiritual religion; 
 some were angry, disappointed, and envious, they would gladly 
 have had a monopoly of the preaching they bitterly assailed ; 
 and, in the dark background, were some who hated the preacher 
 and his message, and struck at him with a deadly malignity. 
 How strong in the grace of God must the man have been who 
 never quailed before the storm, never became bitter, and never 
 allowed his labours for men's salvation to relax in the least 
 degree ! 
 
 The labour of defending is work, as well as doing it, was 
 
 1 How much Tennent himself was sobered in judgment upon some 
 questions, though not at all in his way of expressing himself, appears in a 
 letter published in the Boston Evening Post, July 26, 1742. He says : 
 ' The late method of setting up separate meetings upon the supposed 
 unregeneracy of pastors in places is enthusiastical, proud, schismatical. 
 All that fear God ought to oppose it as a most dangerous engine to bring 
 the Churches into the most damnable errors and confusions. The practice 
 of openly exposing ministers, who are supposed to be unconverted, in 
 public discourses, by particular application of such times and places, serves 
 only to pmvoke them, instead of doing them good, and to declare our own 
 arrogance." 
 
198 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 not all left in Whitefield's hands. Webster, of Edinburgh, 
 vindicated the work in the west of Scotland with great calm- 
 ness and charity towards adversaries. His words, after those 
 of the Cameronians and Associate Presbyterians, were like 
 summer breezes after an east wind. Jonathan Edwards also 
 wrote his ' Thoughts on the Present Revival in New Eng- 
 land,' &c. 
 
 The short retirement which Whitefield managed to snatch 
 from the revival work was devoted to domestic concerns, as 
 well as to the defence of preaching and its fruits. His mother 
 had sought a temporary home in his house at Bristol — probably 
 his sister's house had come into his possession — and the event 
 so delighted him that he must write to welcome her as if he 
 had been present : — 
 
 ' Honoured Mother, — I rejoice to hear that you have been so long under 
 my roof. Blessed be God that I have a house for my honoured mother to 
 come to. You are heartily welcome to anything my house affords as long 
 as you please. I am of the same mind now as formerly. If need was, 
 indeed, these hands should administer to your necessities. I had rather 
 want myself than you should. I shall be highly pleased when I come to 
 Bristol and find you sitting in your youngest son's house. O that I may 
 sit with you in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ! 
 Ere long your doom, honoured mother, will be fixed. You must shortly 
 go hence and be no more seen. Your only daughter, I trust, is now in the 
 paradise of God: methinks I hear her say, "Mother, come up hither." 
 Jesus, I am sure, calls you in His word. May His Spirit enable you to 
 say, " Lord, lo I come." . . .' 
 
 The orphans were still a great, though pleasant burden, 
 troubles having overtaken the institution from two sources. 
 The magistrates had' been acting with a high hand both 
 towards the masters and the children, but General Oglethorpe 
 had proved a warm and useful friend. The Spaniards had 
 also raided the coast, and the orphans had to be carried to a 
 place of safety. News of these alarms and troubles came with 
 
ORPHANAGE ACCOUNTS 199 
 
 successive posts, and he had to wait for reassuring letters. In 
 the long suspense he kept a quiet mind. 
 
 His philanthropic effort laid him open to all kinds of 
 assaults. In America and at home the money was in every 
 enemy's mouth. Accordingly, one of his last works was to 
 write 'A Continuation of the Account of the Orphan-house in 
 Georgia,' and to give a statement of his disbursements and 
 receipts. The latter was satisfactory ; and from the former we 
 learn that the workmen were all discharged, having fulfilled 
 their contract, and carried on the work so far as to make every 
 part of the house habitable ; that the stock of cattle was some- 
 thing considerable, and in a flourishing condition ; that the 
 last Parliament had resolved to support the colony of Georgia ; 
 that they had altered its constitution in two material points, 
 namely, these : they had allowed the importation of rum, and 
 free titles to the lands ; and that if they should see good here- 
 after to grant a limited use of Negroes, it must certainly, in all 
 outward appearance, be as flourishing a colony as South 
 Carolina, but that in the meantime a tolerable shift might be 
 made with white servants. Hunting and shooting for much of 
 their food, killing some of their own stock, growing their own 
 vegetables, helped by the kindness of nearly all around them, 
 and receiving constant remittances from England, the inmates 
 of the orphan-house were always provided for. Whitefield's 
 faith that God would not see them want was never put to 
 shame ; and he delighted to tell how the house had answered 
 to its motto, the burning bush, which, though on fire, was 
 never consumed. 
 
 Winter was coming on fast, and it was time for Whitefield 
 to think of returning to London to the only chapel which he 
 could call his own ; in all other places he was dependent upon 
 other clergymen, and, failing their support, must betake him- 
 self to Nonconformist chapels or to the fields. At the end of 
 
2oo GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 October he took horse, and rode post from Edinburgh to 
 London in less than five days. The city he left was now very 
 dear to him : the writing its name would make him say, ' O 
 Edinburgh! Edinburgh! I think I shall never forget thee!' 
 He passed from a great contention with heart as peaceful as 
 ever rested in human bosom. He went chastened and 
 humbled to Scotland ; he returned in the power of quietness 
 and confidence, persuaded that his was not the task of doing 
 anything but preach the Lord Jesus, as he knew and loved 
 Him. He had tried the disputing way in the Arminian 
 struggle, and the quiet way in the Scotch contendings, and 
 found the latter far preferable to the former. No small 
 influence among men was justly in store for one who, feeling 
 that disputing embitters the spirit, ruffles the soul, and hinders 
 it from hearing the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost, could 
 say, as Whitefield did to Wesley, with whom he was now on 
 the best of terms, but quoting Wesley's own words to himself, 
 ' Let the King live for ever, and controversy die.' ' I care not,' 
 he said to another friend, ' if the name of George Whitefield 
 be banished out of the world, so that Jesus be exalted in it.' 
 
 On his arrival in London he found the Tabernacle enlarged 
 and 'a new awakening begun.' In his winter quarters, as he 
 called them, he found himself as busy as he had been on the 
 common and in the market-place. He worked from morning 
 till midnight ; and was carried through the duties of each day 
 with cheerfulness and almost uninterrupted tranquillity. The 
 society was large and in good order, and daily improvements 
 were made. 
 
 It was at this time that the congregation began to be 
 sprinkled with visitors of distinction. Hitherto, Whitefield's 
 intercourse with the nobility had been confined to those of 
 Scotland, but now English peers and peeresses, led by the 
 Earl and Countess of Huntingdon, and by the Earl's sisters, 
 
NOBLES AT THE TABERNACLE 201 
 
 the Ladies Hastings, began to mingle with the humbler orders, 
 among whom his efforts had won such astonishing success. 
 The low, wooden Tabernacle was sometimes, during this winter 
 of 1742, entered by the Duke of Cumberland, the 'hero of 
 Culloden,' and by Frederick, Prince of Wales. Lord Hervey, 
 too, wretched in health, which he supported by drinking asses' 
 milk, his ghastly countenance covered with rouge, would some- 
 times sit on its benches. The Duke of Bolton, Lord Lonsdale, 
 and Lord Sidney Beauclerk, who hunted the fortunes of the 
 old and childless, but is best known as the father of Dr. 
 Johnson's friend, Topham Beauclerk, also came. Most 
 remarkable of all was the haughty face of the Duchess of 
 Marlborough, 'great Atossa — 
 
 ' Who with herself, or others, from her birth 
 Finds all her life one warfare upon earth. 
 Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools, 
 Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules ! ' 
 
 Her letters to the Countess of Huntingdon are very 
 characteristic of her pride and revenge ; they show also that 
 she did want to be good, but not to give up being wicked. 
 She says : — 
 
 ' My dear Lady Huntingdon is always so very good to me, and I really 
 do feel very sensibly all your kindness and attention, that I must accept 
 your very obliging invitation to accompany you to hear Mr. Whitefield, 
 though I am still suffering from the effects of a severe cold. Your concern 
 for my improvement in religious knowledge is very obliging, and I do hope 
 that I shall be the better for all your excellent advice. God knows we all 
 need mending, and none more than myself. I have lived to see great 
 changes in the world — have acted a conspicuous part myself — and now 
 hope, in my old days, to obtain mercy from God, as I never expect any at 
 the hands of my fellow-creatures. The Duchess of Ancaster, Lady 
 Townshend, and Lady Cobham were exceedingly pleased with many 
 observations in Mr. Whitefield's sermon at St. Sepulchre's Church, which 
 has made me lament ever since that I did not hear it, as it might have been 
 the means of doing me good — for good, alas ! I do want ; but where among 
 
202 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 the corrupt sons and daughters of Adam am I to find it ? Your ladyship 
 must direct me. You are all goodness and kindness, and I often wish I 
 had a portion of it. Women of wit, beauty, and quality cannot hear too 
 many humiliating truths — they shock our pride. But we must die — we 
 must converse with earth and worms. 
 
 ' Pray do me the favour to present my humble service to your excellent 
 spouse. A more amiable man I do not know than Lord Huntingdon. And 
 lielieve me, my dear madam, 
 
 ' Your most faithful and most humble servant, 
 
 ' S. Marlborough.' 
 
 In a second letter to the Countess she says : — 
 
 ' When alone, my reflections and recollections almost kill me, and I am 
 forced to fly the society of those I detest and abhor. Now, there is Lady 
 Frances Saunderson's great rout to-morrow night — all the world will be 
 there, and I must go. I do hate that woman as much as I do hate a 
 physician ; but I must go, if for no other purpose than to mortify and spite 
 her. This is very wicked, I know, but I confess all my little peccadillos to 
 you, for I know your goodness will lead you to be mild and forgiving, and 
 perhaps my wicked heart may gain some good from you in the end. 
 
 ' Lady Fanny has my best wishes for the success of her attack on that 
 crooked, perverse, little wretch at Twickenham.' 
 
 Another occasional hearer at the Tabernacle was the 
 Duchess of Buckingham, the rival of Atossa in pride, but less 
 patient than she under reproof, and hating Methodist doctrines 
 with all her heart. To Lady Huntingdon's invitation to attend 
 one of Whitefield's services, she replies : — 
 
 ' I thank your ladyship for the information concerning Methodist 
 preachers ; their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly tinctured with 
 impertinence and disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually 
 endeavouring to level all ranks, and do away with all distinctions. It is 
 monstrous to be told that you have a heart as sinful as the common 
 wretches that crawl on the earth. This is highly offensive and insulting ; 
 and I cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments 
 so much at variance with high rank and good breeding. Your ladyship 
 does me infinite honour by your obliging inquiries after my health. I shall 
 
ABUNDANT LABOURS 203 
 
 be most happy to accept your kind offer of accompanying me to hear your 
 favourite preacher, and shall await your arrival. The Duchess of Queens- 
 berry insists on my patronising her on this occasion ; consequently she will 
 be an addition to our party.' 
 
 The list of Whitefield's noble hearers is increased by the 
 names of the Earl of Oxford, Lady Lisburne, and Lady 
 Hinchinbroke. With the exception of the last two ladies, 
 none of them accepted his teaching and lived according to it. 
 To gratify their taste for the highest oratory, or to please the 
 pious Countess who invited their attendance, was the motive 
 that brought them to so strange a place. l^ 
 
 In the spring, Whitefield started for his old ground in 
 Gloucestershire, and found preaching there to be like preach- 
 ing in the Tabernacle. His friends in the county had been 
 roughly handled of late, yet he stood unmolested on a spot in 
 Dursley from which his friend Adams had been driven but 
 the Sunday before. On Hampton Common, from the top of 
 a knoll named, after the preacher who first honoured it as his 
 pulpit, ' Whitefield's tump,' he preached amid much solemnity 
 to a congregation of ten thousand ; and when he stood at 
 noon on old Mr. Cole's tump at Quarhouse, it was an ' alarm- 
 ing time,' and his soul enjoyed exceeding great liberty. 
 Perhaps the memory of departed worth helped to expand his 
 susceptible heart. His native city delighted in the sound of 
 his voice ; and not until one o'clock on the Monday morning, 
 after he bade them farewell, before starting for Wales, could 
 he lay his weary body down to rest. Sick and unrefreshed he 
 rose again at five, and, mounting horse, rode to meet a con- 
 gregation which had come at seven, ' hoping to feel the power 
 of a risen Lord.' He read prayers and preached ; then rode 
 on to Stroud, where he preached in a field with uncommon 
 freedom and power to twelve thousand people. At six in the 
 evening he preached to the same number on Hampton 
 
204 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Common ; and still his word was with power. A general 
 love-feast of the religious societies in Hampton was next 
 presided over by him, and that engagement closed the day. 
 All that he has to say about such abundant labours is beauti- 
 fully like the simple loving spirit in which he delighted to be 
 about ' his Father's business,' ' My soul was kept close to 
 Jesus ; my bodily strength renewed ; and I went to bed about 
 midnight very cheerful and very happy.' The next morning 
 a congregation of some thousands was trembling and rejoicing 
 under his word at Uursley ; and at night he was in Bristol, 
 speaking with wonderful power to a full congregation at 
 Smith's Hall. The following morning he met as large a con- 
 gregation in the same place, and then set out for Waterford, in 
 South Wales. 
 
 Only three months previously, January 5, 1743, four clergy- 
 men and three laymen had met at the same place to confer 
 together on the best way of organising Welsh Methodism. 
 Whitefield was chosen moderator, and a plan of classifying the 
 various kinds of workers was decided upon. This was the 
 germ of Welsh Calvinistic Methodism, and in point of arrange- 
 ment English Methodism, as organised by Wesley, at a 
 conference in London, eighteen months later, closely resembled 
 it. One of the resolutions passed at this first Welsh Con- 
 ference reveals in a curious way the relation of Nonconformity 
 to the Established Church and of Methodism to both. It was 
 this : ' That those brethren who scruple to receive the sacra- 
 ment in the Church, on account of the impiety of the 
 administrators and the usual communicants there ; and among 
 the Dissenters, on account of their lukewarmness, should 
 continue to receive it in the Church, until the Lord open a 
 clear way to separate from her communion.' 
 
 Whitefield had come to Waterford a second time to preside 
 over the second General Association of Methodists in Wales 
 
WELSH CALVINISTIC METHODISM 205 
 
 (April, 1743). Judging from the amount of business done, 
 its members were gifted with some capacity for work. White- 
 field opened the Association at noon, on the day after his 
 arrival, with a ' close and solemn discourse upon walking with 
 God ; ' then they betook themselves to business, and despatched 
 several important things, among which was his appointment to 
 the moderatorship whenever he was in England. There was 
 an interval from seven till ten o'clock, from which hour they 
 worked till two in the morning. The next day they sat till 
 four in the afternoon ; a little refreshment followed and ' some 
 warm talk about the things of God,' and then Whitefield 
 preached to them a sermon upon the believer's rest. These 
 — the refreshment for the body and the refreshment for the 
 soul — prepared them for another sitting, which lasted until 
 midnight, when the whole business of the Association was 
 finished, and feeling that God had been with them in all that 
 they had done, they did not forget to bless Him for His help 
 before parting. 
 
 Wales did honour to her visitor. At Carmarthen, which 
 Whitefield describes as ' one of the greatest and most polite 
 places in Wales,' the justices, who were assembled at the great 
 sessions, desired him to stay till they rose, and they would 
 come to hear him at the cross. They came, and many 
 thousands with them, including several persons of quality. 
 On another day, when he was crossing Carmarthen Bay in the 
 ferry, several ships hoisted their flags, and one fired a salute. 
 Yet such attentions never turned him from his great purpose 
 of seeking all the lost, and between the days when justices and 
 sailors honoured him, he mentions with satisfaction that at 
 Jefferson he preached to a Kingswood congregation, and at 
 Llassivran to a Moorfields one. As soon as London was 
 reached he wrote to his friend Ingham in Yorkshire, 
 announcing his intention to stay there for a month, and 
 
^06 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 in the holidays once more to attack the prince of darkness in 
 Moorfields ; for, said he, ' many precious souls have been 
 captivated with Christ's love in that wicked place : Jerusalem 
 sinners bring most glory to the Redeemer.' Besides, there 
 was a bond of sympathy between that wicked place and 
 Bethesda. Many a load of copper, sprinkled here and there 
 with golden guineas, and whitened with a few crowns and 
 shillings, had been gathered from among the crowd for the 
 orphans ; and the old kindness towards the preacher and his 
 adopted ones was not extinct. Moorfields lifted the last straw 
 of obligation in England from Whitefield's back on the second 
 occasion of his getting free. 
 
 The incessant toil was making itself felt on that slim body 
 which contained a spirit of seraphic devotion. In about three 
 weeks, he says, he travelled about four hundred miles, spent 
 three days in attending two associations, preached about forty 
 times, visited about thirteen towns, and passed through seven 
 counties ! No wonder weariness and feebleness hung about 
 it for a time, but preaching was continued at the same rate, the 
 only relief being in the shorter distances travelled. The loving 
 heart made light of the body's weakness, and enjoyed for itself 
 all the more deeply the secret consolations which come from 
 above. It became so full of heaven that Whitefield sometimes 
 longed when in public to lie down anywhere, that on his face 
 he might give God thanks ; and when in private he wept for 
 hours the tears of his consuming love for his Lord. 
 
 ' In perils by mine own countrymen ' was another experience 
 through which he and his friends were now called to pass. 
 Wiltshire had for some time been in commotion through the 
 animosity of several clergymen, and Whitefield felt himself 
 obliged to put the facts before the Bishop of Sarum, who, 
 however, does not seem to have interfered to stop the disgrace- 
 ful proceedings. Churchwardens and overseers were strictly 
 
PERSECUTING THE METHODISTS 207 
 
 forbidden to let the Methodists have anything out of the parish ; 
 they obeyed the clergy, and told the poor that they would 
 punish them, if in no other way they could stop them from 
 joining the new sect. Most of the poor, some of them with 
 large families, braved the threat, and suffered for their con- 
 stancy the loss of goods and friends. A few denied that they 
 had ever been to meetings ; and some promised that they 
 would go no more. 
 
 Trouble arose in Wales also, and Whitefield appealed to the 
 Bishop of Bangor against having certain good people indicted 
 for holding a conventicle when they met to tell their religious 
 experiences to each other. With some effect he urged that a 
 continuance of such treatment must inevitably drive hundreds. 
 if not thousands, from the Church, and compel them to declare 
 themselves Dissenters. 
 
 But the -greatest difficulty was with the Minchin-Hampton 
 rioters, who were of the poorer class, aided and abetted by 
 those of higher rank. Their special hatred was directed 
 against one Adams, a convert of Whitefield's, and a preacher 
 to his neighbours, who proved to be to Whitefield ' my very 
 dear, steady old friend.' On a July Sunday afternoon, a 
 hundred of them came with their rough music, forced their 
 way into his house, carried him to a skin-pit full of stagnant 
 water and the creeping things which breed in it, and threw 
 him in. A friend of his who expostulated was thrown in 
 twice, then beaten and dragged along the kennel. Adams 
 quietly returned to his house to pray, and exhort his brethren 
 to cheerfulness under suffering ; but in half an hour the mob, 
 anxious for more sport, entered his house a second time, 
 dragged him downstairs, and led him to Bourn brook, and 
 threw him in twice, cutting his leg severely against a stone. 
 Meanwhile the constable and justices never heeded the appeals 
 made for their interference, but countenanced the lawless 
 
2o8 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 suppression of Methodism. The clergy was satisfied with the 
 outrages. Preaching was for a time suspended. Whitefield 
 now consulted with London friends as to the line of action it 
 would be best to take, and all wisely determined to claim the 
 protection of the law. He and they moved for a rule of Court 
 in the King's Bench to lodge an information against five of 
 the ringleaders. Counsel for the rioters prayed that the rule 
 might be enlarged until the next term, and it was granted. The 
 interval was employed by the two sides in a characteristic way; 
 the rioters increased their offences, and the Methodists stirred 
 up the liberality of friends to bear the expenses of the trial, and 
 the hearts of the faithful in England, Wales, and Scotland, to 
 keep a day of fasting and prayer for its right issue. 
 
 It must have added to the excitement of a Methodist's 
 coming to a town, in those days when ' such great liberty ' — on 
 one side —'was enjoyed under the mild and gentle government 
 of King George,' to see how the Church and the roughs would 
 receive him. There must have been great glee in the belfry 
 at Ottery when, just as Whitefield announced his text, the 
 ringers pulled the ropes and made the bells utter a clanging 
 peal, in which the finest voice became useless as a whisper. 
 And there must have been profound satisfaction in the 
 parsonage when the clergyman told an admiring circle how 
 he had demanded of the arch-Methodist, as he and his friends 
 made for the fields, where they might worship in peace, his 
 authority for preaching, and called his meeting illegal and a 
 riot. The rabble of Wedgbury, too, must have been delighted 
 when a sod fell on the reverently-bowed head of Whitefield, 
 and another struck his clasped hands, as he stood among them 
 and prayed. 
 
 But happily the clergy and the blackguards, if united for 
 evil in some places, had not a national union. If Ottery was 
 inhospitable, St. Gennis prayed for Whitefield's coming ; and 
 
ACCIDENT 209 
 
 his visit renewed the days of Cambuslang. Exeter also 
 answered to his call, many of its clergy, and nearly a third of 
 its inhabitants, turning out to hear him. He thought that on 
 the whole a healthy change was passing over society ; that 
 prejudices were falling off; and that people were beginning not 
 only rationally to discern, but powerfully to feel, the doctrines 
 of the gospel. 
 
 The expectation of a son's being born to him now filled his 
 heart with all a father's pride ; and, as well as his notions of 
 public duty would permit, he was thoughtful for his wife's 
 comfort and safety. But his was not the best of keeping for a 
 delicate woman to be committed to ; one day he nearly killed 
 both her and himself. In expectation of the birth he restricted 
 his work to London and the neighbourhood, and even indulged 
 his domestic affections so far as to take Mrs. Whitefield for a 
 drive, according to advice. But he was a poor driver, if a fine 
 rider, and soon drove into a ditch fourteen feet deep. Mrs. 
 Whitefield put her hand across the chaise, and thus saved 
 herself and him from being thrown out. The horse went 
 down as though held by a pulley, probably because the ditch 
 narrowed very much towards the bottom. Bystanders shouted 
 out that they were killed, and ran to the rescue ; one of them 
 seized the horse's head, two or three pulled Mrs. Whitefield 
 up the side of the ditch, and others, with a long whip, drew 
 the preacher from the back of the horse, on to which he had 
 scrambled. Doubtless the accident broke off a close religious 
 conversation ; for Whitefield says that, ' being both in a com- 
 fortable frame, I must own to my shame that I felt rather 
 regret than thankfulness in escaping what I thought would be 
 a kind of translation to our wished-for haven. But, oh amazing 
 love ! we were so strengthened, that the chaise and horse 
 being taken up, and our bruises being washed with vinegar in 
 a neighbouring house, we went on our intended way, and came 
 
 15 
 
210 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 home rejoicing in God our Saviour.' It would appear that he 
 never risked that mode of translation again. 
 
 A month afterwards, in October, 1743, his son was born; 
 and as soon as the news reached him in the country to which 
 he had made a short preaching excursion, he hastened to 
 London. When the infant was about a week old, his father 
 baptized him in the Tabernacle in the presence of a great 
 congregation. 
 
 The little one was not born in a sumptuous house ; indeed, 
 his home was not furnished when he came, and his father had 
 to be content with borrowed furniture to complete his little 
 stock in hand. The simple, grateful, humble heart of the 
 mighty orator was just like itself when he wrote to an old 
 friend in Gloucester : ' This afternoon I received your kind 
 letter, and thank you a thousand times for your great generosity 
 in lending me some furniture, having little of my own. I know 
 who will repay you. Next week, God willing, my dear wife and 
 little one will come to Gloucester, for I find it beyond my cir- 
 cumstances to maintain them here. I leave, God willing, this 
 day seven-night. My brother will receive a letter about my 
 wife's coming. She and the little one are brave and well.' 
 The child's life was short as a dream. Within three weeks 
 Whitefield was sitting at the 'Bell' in Gloucester, then his 
 brother's house, writing an account of his death ! He con- 
 fessed and deplored his own need of the chastisement. His 
 letter is touching for its disappointed love and humbled con- 
 fidence. It runs thus : — 
 
 'Last night, February 8, 1744, I was called to sacrifice my Isaac — I 
 mean to bury my own child and son, about four months old. Many things 
 occurred to make me believe he was not only to be continued to me, but to 
 be a preacher of the everlasting gospel. Pleased with the thought, and 
 ambitious of having a son of my own so divinely employed, Satan was per- 
 mitted to give me some wrong impressions, whereby, as I now find, I 
 misapplied several texts of Scripture. . . . Upon my coming here, without 
 
/ , vj ' -^ ire --^-g^ 
 
 ^Whirffidd^ clayV^liS;',; 
 
 (RKOW. 1900. 
 
DEATH OF HIS SON 211 
 
 knowing what had happened, I inquired concerning the welfare of parent 
 and child, and by the answer found that the flower was cut down. I 
 immediately called all to join in a prayer, in which I blessed the Father of 
 mercies for giving me a son, continuing it to me so long, and taking it 
 from me so soon. All joined in desiring that I would decline preaching 
 till the child was buried ; but I remembered a saying of good Mr. Henry, 
 " that weeping must not hinder sowing," and therefore preached twice the 
 next day, and also the day following, on the evening of which, just as I 
 was closing my sermon, the bell struck out for the funeral. At first, I must 
 acknowledge, it gave nature a little shake, but looking up, I recovered 
 strength, and then concluded with saying that this text on which I had 
 been preaching, namely, " All things work together for good to them that 
 love God," made me as willing to go to my son's funeral as to hear of his 
 birth. 
 
 ' Our parting from him was solemn. We kneeled down, prayed, and 
 shed many tears, but I hope tears of resignation ; and then, as he died in 
 the house wherein I was born, he was taken and laid in the church where I 
 was baptized, first communicated, and first preached. . . .' 
 
 There was one sermon, at least, with which he often melted 
 his vast congregation into tears, which would lose no force of 
 tenderness and love now that his always affectionate heart, 
 which might nourish the orphans of other fathers and mothers, 
 was denied the delight of fondling a child of his own — the 
 sermon on Abraham's offering up Isaac. All the grief and 
 struggling of faithful Abraham during the three days' journey 
 to the land of Moriah, with Isaac, the burnt-offering, by his 
 side, was henceforth painfully real to Whitefield while, with 
 trembling voice and glistening eye, he pictured them to his 
 hearers. All could see the vision of — 
 
 ' The good old man walking with his dear child in his hand, and now 
 and then looking upon him, loving him, and then turning aside to weep. And, 
 perhaps, sometimes he stays a little behind to pour out his heart before 
 God, for he had no mortal to tell his case to. Then methinks I see him 
 join his son and servants again, and talking to them of the things pertaining 
 to the kingdom of God, as they walked by the way. . . . Little did Isaac 
 think that he was to be offered on that very wood which he was carrying 
 upon his shoulders; and therefore Isaac innocently, and with a holy freedom 
 
2i2 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 — for good men should not keep their children at too great a distance — 
 spake unto Abraham, his father, and said, " My father ; " and he, with 
 equal affection and holy condescension, said, " Here am I, my son. ..." 
 Come, all ye tender-hearted parents, who know what it is to look over a 
 dying child, fancy that you saw the altar erected before you, and the wood 
 laid in order, and the beloved Isaac bound upon it ; fancy that you saw the 
 aged parent standing by, weeping. For why may we not suppose that 
 Abraham wept, since Jesus Himself wept at the grave of Lazarus? Oh, 
 what pious, endearing expressions passed now alternately between the 
 father and son ! Melhinks I see the tears trickle down the patriarch's 
 cheeks ; and out of the abundance of the heart he cries, " Adieu ! adieu ! 
 my son ! The Lord gave thee to me, and the Lord calls thee away ; blessed 
 be the name of the Lord ! Adieu, my Isaac ! my only son, whom I love 
 as my own soul ! Adieu ! adieu ! " I see Isaac at the same time meekly 
 resigning himself into his heavenly Father's hands, and praying to the Most 
 High to strengthen his earthly parent to strike the stroke.' 
 
 Then, when men had well entered into the greatness of the 
 human sacrifice, and were under the dominion of their finest 
 and purest emotions, the preacher said — 
 
 4 I see your hearts affected, I see your eyes weep. And indeed, who can 
 refrain weeping at the relation of such a story ? But, behold ! I show you a 
 mystery hid under the sacrifice of Abraham's only son which, unless your 
 hearts are hardened, must cause you to weep tears of love, and that plenti- 
 fully too. I would willingly hope you even prevent me here, and are ready 
 to say, "It is the love of God in giving Jesus Christ to die for our sins." 
 Yes, that is it.' 
 
 ^ The evangelist had an ever-changing experience ; and before 
 his grief for his son was assuaged he was putting forth all his 
 energy to secure justice for his poor persecuted converts at 
 Hampton, going from place to place preaching, pleading, and 
 collecting money. The trial, which came off at Gloucester 
 Assizes, on March 3, 1744, was anticipated by the defendants 
 with much confidence, because they reckoned that the gentle- 
 men and the jury would be prejudiced against the Methodists. 
 Whitefield entered court when the second witness was 
 being examined, and was the object of every one's attention, 
 
THE DISSENTERS 213 
 
 while, amid much laughter, the defendants' counsel went on to 
 describe the Methodists after the fashion which best suited his 
 bad case. In spite, however, of hard swearing, of oratorical 
 pleading, and of the genteel influence which the rioters un- 
 doubtedly had at their back, the jury found the defendants 
 guilty of the whole information lodged against them. 
 
 Our narrative must now run back for a few months, that we 
 may note the attitude of the Dissenters towards Whitefield. 
 Many of them had shown him much kindness, but, with the 
 exception of Doddridge and Watts, their leaders looked upon 
 him with contempt, or dislike, or fear. And for the fear there 
 was some reason. Dissenters were only permitted to hold 
 their opinions under great disadvantages, and were studiously 
 kept down in the State. In consequence, there was a great 
 ^desire on the part of most of them to keep on friendly terms 
 with the Established Church, and not to risk in any wise the 
 good opinion of its bishops and clergy. Theirs was the 
 worldly-wise, cautious spirit of men who felt that any false 
 step might multiply their disabilities, not the fearless spirit of 
 those who could safely dare to assume any position. White- 
 field, the dread of orderly bishops and the reproach of idle 
 clergymen, they therefore carefully shunned. To consort with 
 him would have exposed them to double odium — the odium 
 of Dissent and the odium of Methodism. 
 
 Great weight must also be attached to their laudable desire 
 to grapple on safe ground with all forms of religious error ; and 
 it was not deemed safe, in dealing with Deism, to lie open to 
 the charge of enthusiasm. Only the calm, argumentative 
 preacher, such as Butler, or Waterland, could be heard against 
 the wit and arguments of Woolston, Shaftesbury, Collins, and 
 Tindal. A feverish fear, only paralleled by that which any 
 sensible man might now have of being esteemed a fanatic, 
 agitated nearly all Christian apologists, of being suspected of 
 
214 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 any sympathy with ardent devotion and burning zeal. A 
 reasonable faith, a faith well buttressed with arguments on 
 the evidences of religion, and quiet, sedate religious habits, 
 were supposed to constitute the proper, if not the perfect, 
 Christian. Any such passion as glowed in the hearts of the 
 early Methodists, common sense and reason must condemn 
 and avoid. To have anything to do with the most religious, 
 if not the most learned or the most intellectual, class of that 
 time, was virtually to yield up the right of speaking on religion. 
 Who dare write against Collins, if he had shaken hands with 
 Whitefield or Wesley — the enthusiasts, the reproach of Chris- 
 tianity, men whose very profession of Christianity made it 
 require a fresh apology from its accomplished defenders to 
 its equally able assailants ? 
 
 Doddridge, who had many friends in the Establishment, 
 and who also took a lively interest in all public movements 
 affecting the honour of religion and the welfare of mankind, 
 stands out as a noble exception to the somewhat timid body 
 with which he was allied. His sound and varied learning, 
 together with his solid judgment, covered him from the sneer 
 that he was a poor enthusiast, while his humble piety com- 
 pelled him to countenance the new party in the Church. 
 Persuaded of the usefulness of Whitefield's ministrations, he 
 did not fear to entertain the Evangelist and to bid him God 
 speed. His magnanimity surpassed that of Watts, who was 
 very cautious with the ' erratic curate.' He even went to the 
 extent of supplying Whitefield's place as preacher at the Taber- 
 nacle ; and Watts wrote saying — 
 
 ' I am sorry that since your departure I have had many questions asked 
 me about your preaching in the Tabernacle, and sinking the character of 
 a minister, and especially of a tutor, among the Dissenters, so low thereby. 
 I find many of our friends entertain this idea ; but I can give no answer, 
 as not knowing how much you have been engaged there. I pray God to 
 guard us from every temptation.' 
 
DR. DODDRIDGE'S FRIENDLINESS 215 
 
 Doddridge, always thoughtful, conscientious, and liberal, 
 knew what the Methodists were, and what they were doing 
 among the rude, ignorant, and irreligious part of the popula- 
 tion ; and was not to be moved out of his position either by 
 ominous shakes of the head, or by open opposition on the 
 part of his co-religionists. When the hackneyed charge of 
 enthusiasm was levelled against them, his noble reply was — 
 
 ' In some extraordinary conversions there may be and often is a tincture 
 of enthusiasm, but, having weighed the matter diligently, I think a man 
 had better be a sober, honest, chaste, industrious enthusiast, than live 
 without any regard to God and religion at all. I think it infinitely better 
 that a man should be a religious Methodist than an adulterer, a thief, a 
 swearer, a drunkard, or a rebel to his parents, as I know some actually 
 were who have been wrought upon and reformed by these preachers.' 
 
 On Whitefield's first visit to Northampton, Doddridge was 
 only polite in personal intercourse, but on the second, he 
 opened his pulpit to him, which daring charity soon brought 
 a rebuke from London. Nathanael Neal, an attorney, and 
 son of Neal, the historian of the Puritans, said, in a time- 
 serving letter, dated October 11, 1743: — 
 
 ' It was with the utmost concern that I received the information of Mr. 
 Whitefield's having preached last week in your pulpit, and that I attended 
 the meeting of Coward's Trustees this day, when that matter was canvassed, 
 and that I now find myself obliged to apprise you of the very great uneasi- 
 ness which your conduct herein has occasioned them. . . . The Trustees 
 are particularly in pain for it with regard to your academy, as they know 
 it is an objection made to it by some persons in all appearance seriously, 
 and by others craftily ; and yet they are afraid of giving their thoughts 
 even in the most private manner concerning it, lest it should be made an 
 occasion of drawing them into a public opposition to the Methodists, as 
 they are likely to be in some measure by your letter to Mr. Mason (excusing 
 your prefixing a recommendation of a book of theirs, without the advice of 
 the Trustees), which letter they have desired me to inform you has given 
 them great offence.' 
 
216 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 A quick answer returned from Northampton, and on 
 October 15 th Neal wrote again. He says : — 
 
 ' I am not insensible, sir, that the respect many of your people bore to 
 Mr. Whitefield, and your own acquaintance with him, must have made it 
 a matter of difficulty for you to have avoided showing him some polite 
 regards on his coming to Northampton ; and I greatly rejoice in being 
 furnished with so particular an account of the circumstances attending his 
 visit that may enable me to say you were so far at that time from seeking 
 his preaching in your pulpit, that you took several steps, and indeed all 
 that you thought you could prudently venture on, and such as might, 
 if they had succeeded, have been sufficient to have prevented it ; which 
 I doubt not will, and I am sure ought, to have some weight with those 
 who censure this step on the ground of imprudence. I could only wish that 
 I were able to make these circumstances known as far as that censure 
 is likely to extend.' 
 
 Doddridge continued ' imprudent,' and dared ' the cen- 
 sure ' ; so that Neal returned again to the task of remon- 
 strating. His third letter is more direct, and plainly tells 
 the feelings which he had only hinted at before. 
 
 The answer of Doddridge is plain and honest ; in one part 
 of it he says : — 
 
 ' I shall always be ready to weigh whatever can be said against Mr. 
 Whitefield, as well as against any of the rest ; and though I must have 
 actual demonstration before I can admit him to be a dishonest man, and 
 though I shall never be able to think all he has written and all I have 
 heard from him nonsense, yet I am not so zealously attached to him as to 
 be disposed to celebrate him as one of the greatest men of the age, or to 
 think that he is the pillar that bears up the whole interest of religion 
 among us. And if this moderation of sentiment towards him will not 
 appease my angry brethren, as I am sensible it will not abate the enmity 
 which some have for many years entertained towards me, I must acquiesce, 
 and be patient till the day of the Lord, when the secrets of all hearts shall 
 be made manifest ; in which I do from my heart believe that with respect 
 to the part I have acted in this affair I shall not be ashamed.' 
 
 Two sentences, in which the devout, tender, and humble 
 spirit of Doddridge expresses itself, are, when taken in con- 
 
ASSAILED BY THE BISHOPS 217 
 
 nection with many similar expressions of Whitefield, a sufficient 
 explanation of the firm union between these distinguished 
 Christians : ' I am one of the least of God's children,' said 
 Doddridge, ' and yet a child ; and that is my daily joy. 
 Indeed, I feel my love to Him increase ; I struggle forwards 
 towards Him ; and look at Him, as it were, sometimes with 
 tears of love, when, in the midst of the hurries of life, I cannot 
 speak to Him otherwise than by an ejaculation.' 
 
 Other persons of a different communion, and more exalted 
 in station than Neal, were trying as well as he what could be 
 done in a secret way to damage the Methodists in general, 
 and Whitefield in particular. The mean attempt to sever 
 Doddridge from his friend was probably never known to its 
 intended victim ; but this other meaner work of an enemy, 
 or rather enemies, did come to his knowledge. On 
 January 26, 1744, the following advertisement appeared in 
 London : — 
 
 ' Whereas some anonymous papers against the people called Methodists 
 in general, and myself and friends in particular, have been for some weeks 
 printed in a large edition, and handed about and read in the religious 
 societies of the cities of London and Westminster, and given into the hands 
 of many private persons, with strict injunctions to lend them to no one, 
 nor let them go out of their hands to any, and whereas, after having had 
 the hasty perusal of them, I find many queries of great importance con- 
 cerning me and my conduct contained therein ; and as it appears that one 
 paper has little or no connection with another, and a copy, when applied 
 for, was refused me, and I know not how soon I may embark for Georgia, 
 1 am therefore obliged hereby to desire a speedy open publication of the 
 aforesaid papers, in order that a candid, impartial answer may be made 
 thereto by me. 
 
 ' George Whitefield.' 
 
 Rumour was not silent about the authorship of the secret 
 papers ; no less a personage than the Bishop of London was 
 singled out as their writer. Whitefield, accordingly, with the 
 
218 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 frankness and courage which always distinguished him, wrote 
 to the Bishop himself to ask for information : — 
 
 ' London, February i, 1744. 
 
 'My Lord,- Simplicity becomes the followers of Jesus Christ, and 
 therefore I think it my duty to trouble your lordship with these few lines. 
 I suppose your lordship has seen the advertisement published by me, about 
 four days ago, concerning some anonymous papers which have been handed 
 about in the societies for some considerable time. As I think it my duty 
 to answer them, I should be glad to be informed whether the report be 
 true that your lordship composed them, that I may the better know to 
 whom I may direct my answer. A sight also of one of the copies, if in 
 your lordship's keeping, would much oblige, my lord, 
 
 ' Your lordship's most obliged, dutiful son and servant, 
 ' George Whitefield. 
 
 ' PS. — -The bearer will bring your lordship's answer ; or if your lordship 
 please to favour me with a line, be pleased to direct for me, to be left with 
 Mr. J. Syms.' 
 
 To this letter the Bishop sent no answer at all; but two days 
 after it was sent to him his printer left the following suggestive 
 note for Whitefield : — 
 
 ' February 3, 1744- 
 'Sir, — My name is Owen. I am a printer in Amen Corner; and I 
 waited upon you to let you know that I have had orders from several of 
 the bishops to print for their use such numbers of the " Observations upon 
 the Conduct and Behaviour of the Methodists " — with some additions — as 
 they have respectively bespoken. And I will not fail to wait upon you 
 with one copy as soon as the impression is finished. 
 
 ' I am, sir, your most obedient, &c.' 
 
 The contents of the anonymous pamphlet are not difficult 
 to discover from Whitefield's 'Answer,' which he addressed 
 in a ' Letter to the Right Reverend the Bishop of London, 
 and the other Right Reverend the Bishops concerned in the 
 publication thereof,' namely, of the pamphlet. Whitefield 
 charged the pamphlet with having an intention to represent 
 the proceedings of the Methodists as dangerous to Church and 
 
ASSAILED BY THE BISHOPS 219 
 
 State, in order to procure an Act of Parliament against them, 
 or to oblige them to secure themselves by turning Dissenters, 
 that is, putting themselves under the Toleration Act. His 
 answer to such an attempt was the same as he gave to the 
 Scotch Presbyterians : ' As yet we see no sufficient reason to 
 leave the Church of England and turn Dissenters ; neither 
 will we do it till we are thrust out.' The pamphlet charged 
 the Methodists with breaking the statute law by their field- 
 preaching ; and to be quite sure of the law on this point, 
 Whitefield perused all the Acts of Charles II. in which the 
 word ' field ' is mentioned. His conclusion was, that Acts 
 against field-preaching related only to seditious conventicles ; 
 and of this offence Methodism was not guilty. Then White- 
 field enters upon a defence of his favourite mode of reaching 
 the multitude, by quoting the example of our Lord and the 
 apostles, and pungently inquires : ' I would humbly ask your 
 lordships whether it would not be more becoming your lord- 
 ships' characters to put your clergy on preaching against 
 revelling, cock-fighting, and such like, than to move the 
 Government against those who, out of love to God and 
 precious souls, put their lives in their hand, and preach unto 
 such revellers repentance towards God and faith in our Lord 
 Jesus ? What if the Methodists by " public advertisement do 
 invite the rabble? " . . . These rabble, my lords, have precious 
 and immortal souls, for which the dear Redeemer shed His 
 precious blood, as well as the great and rich. These, my 
 lords, are the publicans and harlots that enter into the king- 
 dom of heaven, while self-righteous formal professors reject it. 
 To show such poor sinners the way to God, to preach to them 
 the power of Christ's resurrection, and to pluck them as fire- 
 brands out of the burning, the Methodist preachers go out 
 into the highways and hedges. If this is to be vile, by the 
 help of my God I shall be more vile. ... Is it not ridiculous, 
 
22o GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 my lords, even in the eyes of worldly men, and does it not 
 render the author of this pamphlet justly liable to contempt, 
 to charge the Methodists with breaking canons and rubrics, 
 which is really not their fault ; when at the same time he 
 knows that the generality of the clergy so notoriously break 
 both canons and rubrics, and that too in the most important 
 articles, such as not catechising, pluralities, non-residence, 
 &c, every day themselves ? With what face can he do it ? ' 
 The Rev. Thomas Church, vicar of Battersea, came, among 
 others, to the rescue of the bishops with a ' Serious and 
 Expostulatory Letter to the Rev. G. Whitefield.' He raised 
 a few questions which throw some light upon Whitefield's 
 ecclesiastical position. There were irregularities in curtailing 
 the liturgy, or not using the Common Prayer in the fields — 
 what had Whitefield to say about them ? That when, and 
 only when, his ecclesiastical superiors should arraign him at the 
 bar of the proper courts would he give any answer at all to the 
 question. There was his non-residence at Savannah — what 
 could he say in defence of that ? He replied : — 
 
 ' I wish every non-resident minister in England could give as good an 
 account of their non-residence as I can of my absence from Savannah. 
 When I came over to England to receive priest's orders, and collect money 
 for building an orphan-house, the honourable Trustees, at the request of 
 many, presented me to the living of Savannah. I accepted it, but refused 
 the stipend of fifty pounds per annum which they generously offered me. 
 Neither did I put them to any expense during my stay in England, where 
 I thought it my duty to abide till I had collected a sufficient sum where- 
 with I might begin the orphan-house, though I should have left England 
 sooner had I not been prevented by the embargo. However, I was more 
 easy, because the honourable Trustees I knew had sent out another 
 minister, who arrived soon after I left the colony. Upon my second 
 arrival in Georgia, finding the care of the orphan-house, and the care of 
 the parish, too great a task for me, I immediately wrote over to the honour- 
 able Trustees to provide another minister. In the meanwhile, as most of 
 my parishioners were in debt, or ready to leave the colony for want of 
 being employed, and as I believed that erecting an orphan-house would be 
 
SHAMEFULLY TREATED AT PLYMOUTH 221 
 
 the best thing I could do for them and their posterity, I thought it my duty 
 from time to time to answer the invitations that were sent me to preach 
 Christ Jesus in several parts of America, and to make more collections 
 towards carrying on the orphan-house. The Lord stirred up many to be 
 ready to distribute and willing to communicate on this occasion. I always 
 came home furnished with provisions and money, most of which was 
 expended upon the people, and by this means the northern part of the 
 colony almost entirely subsisted for a considerable time. And now, sir, 
 judge you whether my non-residence was anything like the non-residence 
 of most of the English clergy. When I was absent from my parishioners, 
 I was not loitering or living at ease, but preaching and begging for them 
 and theirs ; and when I returned, it was not to fleece my flocks, and then 
 go and spend it upon my lusts, or lay it up for a fortune for myself and 
 relations.' 
 
 The family at Bethesda, long wishful to see him, and the 
 thousands living between Savannah and Boston, who wished 
 again to hear him and sent him urgent requests to come 
 among them, constrained him to take his fifth voyage to 
 America; and in June, 1744, he took passage in a ship which 
 was to sail from Portsmouth. Second thoughts, but not 
 better ones, led the captain to refuse him a berth in his ship 
 for fear he might spoil the sailors. He then betook himself 
 to Plymouth, and secured a passage in a mast-ship that was to 
 sail under convoy to Piscataway in New England. The 
 journey from London to the sea-port was a pleasant one, 
 through the midst of warm friends and loving converts ; and 
 as he went from place to place he encouraged believers and 
 called sinners to repentance. Plymouth was not at first 
 altogether gratified with the distinction that rested upon it for 
 several weeks. It was presumed that Whitefield would be 
 sure to appear on the Hoe on the night of his arrival, and to 
 oppose him and draw away his congregation some one brought 
 a bear and a drum. But the first announcement of his arrival 
 was false news, and both crowd and bear were disappointed. 
 The following night brought him ; and his first taste of Plymouth 
 
222 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 civility was the bursting open of his room door by several men 
 under pretence of a hue-and-cry. He then withdrew from the 
 inn to private lodgings ; but this was no protection against the 
 purpose of a little knot of fast young men, who had resolved, 
 probably in a bragging spirit, to put indignity upon him, if not 
 to injure him. One of them, a lieutenant of a man-of-war, 
 laid a wager of ten guineas that he would do the business for 
 the Methodist preacher, and went and assailed him with a 
 gold-headed stick as he lay in bed. Thinking he was some 
 Nicodemite, Whitefield had permitted the coward to come up 
 to his room. The cry of murder raised by Whitefield and his 
 landlady and her daughter at last made him afraid, and as he 
 retreated to the chamber door, the landlady helped him down- 
 stairs with a push. Then a second bully — no doubt the 
 whole band were outside listening to the scuffle — shouted out, 
 'Take courage, I am ready to help you,' and, rushing up- 
 stairs while his friend was escaping, took one of the women by 
 the heels and threw her so violently upon the stairs as almost 
 to break her back. By this time the neighbourhood was 
 alarmed, and thus the sport of the young ' gentlemen ' came 
 to an end. The house door was shut, and Whitefield went to 
 sleep meditating on the propriety with which we are taught in 
 the Litany to pray — ' From sudden death, good Lord, deliver 
 us!' 
 
 Preaching called Whitefield out next morning, and he went 
 to it, saying to his friends who counselled the prosecution of 
 the offenders, that he had better work to do, a restraint for 
 which he is to be commended. The assault increased his 
 popularity, curiosity drawing two thousand more to hear a 
 man who ' had like to have been murdered in his bed.' 
 There was undoubtedly some danger to be apprehended. 
 Once his voice arrested the attention of a band of workmen who 
 were passing near the field in which he preached, and thinking 
 
HENRY TANNER 223 
 
 him mad, they filled their pockets with stones to pelt him, and 
 arranged to throw him from his block. Their resolution, how- 
 ever, failed when they came to stand for a little while under the 
 charm of his eloquence ; and one of them — Henry Tanner, 
 a ship-builder — at least went home with a serious heart and 
 a resolution in it that he would come again the next night and 
 hear more. The next night the sermon was on the text 
 ' Beginning at Jerusalem,' and contained, as it was sure to do 
 in the hands of a pictorial preacher, and one who sought the 
 recovery of ' Jerusalem sinners ' with the greatest devotion, a 
 description of the cruel murder of the Lord of life. It was 
 an admirable topic for admitting a close application of truth 
 to the conscience ; and when the last sad scenes in our Lord's 
 life had been portrayed, Whitefield said to his congregation : 
 1 You are reflecting on the cruelty of these inhuman butchers, 
 who imbrued their hands in innocent blood.' As he spoke 
 his eyes fell on the young ship-builder ; and then, while speaker 
 and hearer seemed to be only with each other in the con- 
 sciousness of each other's glance, he added : ' Thou art the 
 man.' The effect was great and manifest; and Whitefield, 
 with his own swift aptitude for fastening on any passing event, 
 and for preaching to one person in the midst of a multitude 
 without any one but that person knowing of it, went on to 
 speak words of tenderness and encouragement. A third time 
 did the young man come to hear, and this time to enter into 
 joy and peace in believing. By and by he in turn ventured to 
 preach the gospel, and his ministry of sixty-five years, mostly 
 exercised at Exeter, was one which could boast that hardly 
 one of its sermons had fallen uselessly to the ground. His 
 last end was according to an earnest and oft-repeated prayer, 
 and such as became a good servant of the Lord Jesus Christ ; 
 strength failed him in the pulpit, and he was carried thence 
 to die. 
 
224 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 The evangelist laboured bravely amidst his troubles, whilst 
 a contrary wind hindered him from sailing; and as had 
 happened a hundred times before, prejudice and opposition 
 yielded to his love and effort. Freely and of themselves some 
 who had been opposed offered him a piece of ground sur- 
 rounded with walls for a society room. Great companies of 
 people, with him in the midst, would return from the dock 
 at night singing and praising God. The ferrymen, too, at the 
 ferry, had an interest in the religious work which had been set 
 on foot, and would not take toll from the crowds which passed 
 over to hear the sermons. ' God forbid that we should sell 
 the word of God,' said the kind-hearted fellows. 
 
 Though Whitefield was leaving the country, Christ's work 
 was not interrupted ; in every county where he had laboured, 
 lay-preachers, who knew the grace of God as a living power 
 in their hearts, went about, sometimes at the hazard of their 
 lives, joyfully proclaiming the good news of redeeming love. 
 In eight years a new ministry, and one of the most efficient, 
 had been called into existence, and penetrated into villages 
 and towns. Even the press-gang aided in diffusing the truth, 
 for Methodists were looked on as fair game, and the Methodist 
 soldier was not ashamed of his Saviour anywhere. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 August, 1744— July, 1748 
 
 FIFTH VOYAGE— ADVENTURES AND CONTROVERSIES — WANDER- 
 INGS IN AMERICA INVALIDED IN BERMUDAS — SIXTH 
 
 VOYAGE 
 
 THE fifth voyage was diversified with nautical adventures 
 and theological discussions. The usual dangers of 
 ocean travelling were at this time, August, 1 744, increased by 
 the men-of-war which were cruising for spoil. France and 
 England were at their old folly of treating each other as 
 natural enemies. The fleet of one hundred and fifty ships 
 which sailed out of Plymouth Sound was therefore attended 
 by several convoys, and a good deal of nervousness was 
 evidently abroad. Whitefield was in poor health, suffering 
 from a violent pain in his side, and the tedious voyage 
 increased his trouble. Fully six weeks were consumed 
 between Plymouth and the Western Isles, and off the islands 
 they lay floating in a calm for days ; then, as the wind sprung 
 up a little, there came a mishap which might have sent a vessel 
 to the bottom. Orders were given to tack about, to take 
 advantage of the breeze, and one of the ships, missing her 
 stays in turning, ran directly against the Wilmington, on the 
 
 16 
 
226 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 deck of which sat Whitefield, his wife and friends around him, 
 singing a hymn. The Wilmington, being the larger vessel, 
 suffered no damage, while the other was so broken that the 
 cries and groans of her apprehensive crew were awful. 
 Presently they came up with the convoy, and when White- 
 field's captain informed them of what had happened, they 
 
 answered, ' This is your praying, and be d to you ! ' 
 
 Shocked by the profanity, the praying men got together, and 
 Whitefield expressing their feelings, cried out, ' God of the sea, 
 and God of the dry land, this is a night of rebuke and blas- 
 phemy ; show Thyself, O God, and take us under Thy own 
 immediate protection ; be Thou our convoy, and make a 
 difference between those who fear Thee and those who fear 
 Thee not.' The next day a violent gale parted the Wilmington 
 from the convoy, which was seen no more during the rest of 
 the voyage — a circumstance which, with one day's exception, 
 proved rather agreeable than otherwise to Whitefield. Until 
 the adventure of that day comes in its proper order, we may 
 go into Whitefield's cabin and consider the thoughts which he 
 is planning for the benefit of the Bishop of London, and the 
 bishop's brethren, who wrote the anonymous pamphlet once 
 before mentioned, or, at any rate, gave authoritative counte- 
 nance to it. 
 
 The pamphlet complained of the irregular practices of the 
 Methodists, and then proceeded to inquire whether the doc- 
 trines they taught or the lengths they ran beyond what was 
 practised among the religious societies or in other Christian 
 Churches would be a service or dis-service to religion. The 
 startling effects of Whitefield's preaching, the crying and 
 fainting and convulsions, such as appeared at Cambuslang, 
 were laid upon him as a reproach ; and it is well to know what 
 he himself thought of them. Referring to a question in the 
 pamphlet on the subject, he says : — 
 
EXTRA ORDINA R Y CONVERSIONS 227 
 
 ' Would not one imagine by this query that these itinerants laid down 
 such things as screamings, tremblings, &c, as essential marks of the 
 co-operation of the Holy Spirit ? But can any such thing be proved ? 
 Are they not looked upon by these itinerants themselves as extraordinary 
 things, proceeding generally from soul distress, and sometimes, it may be, 
 from the agency of the evil spirit, who labours to drive poor souls into 
 despair ? Does not this appear from the relation given of them in one of 
 the journals referred to ? Are there not many relations of the co-operation 
 of the Spirit in the same journal, where no such bodily effects are so much 
 as hinted at? And does not this give ground to suspect that the "due 
 and regular attendance on the public offices of religion, paid by (what our 
 author calls) good men, in a serious and composed way," is little better 
 than a dead formal attendance on outward ordinances, which a man may 
 continue in all his lifetime, and be all the while far from the kingdom of 
 God? Did ever any one before hear this urged as an evidence of the 
 co-operation of the Spirit ? Or would any one think that the author of the 
 observations ever read the relations that are given of the conversion of 
 several in the Holy Scriptures ? For may we not suppose, my lords, that 
 many were cast into sudden agonies and screamings (Acts ii. 37) when 
 "they were pricked to the heart, and said unto Peter and the rest of the 
 apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do to be saved ? " Or what would 
 this author think of the conversion of the jailor (Acts x. 29, 30), "who sprang 
 in, and came trembling and fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought 
 them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved ? " Or what would 
 he think of Paul, who, trembling and astonished (Acts ix. 6), said, " Lord, 
 what wilt Thou have me to do ? " and was afterwards three days without 
 sight, and did neither eat nor drink ? Is it not to be feared that if this 
 author had been seated upon the bench, and heard this apostle give an 
 account of his own conversion, he would have joined with Festus in crying 
 out with a loud voice, "Paul, much learning doth make thee mad?" 
 And are not all these things, and whatever else is recorded in the Book 
 of God, written for our learning ? Is not God the same, yesterday, to-day, 
 and for ever ? And may He not now, as well as formerly, reveal His arm 
 and display His power in bringing sinners home to Himself as suddenly 
 and instantaneously as in the first planting of the Gospel Church ? ' 
 
 With this important deduction from the instances quoted 
 by Whitefield of persons undergoing great agony of mind at 
 the time that they were turned from their own way of living 
 to the way appointed by the Lord — that there was miracle 
 to alarm — his explanation may be accepted. The pamphlet 
 
228 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 further complained of Whitefield's notions of justification, and 
 of the height to which he carried them. The gravamen of the 
 charge is directly against the supposed immoral tendency of jus- 
 tification bestowed solely upon the ground of another's merit, 
 and has been already dealt with ; but all the conceptions which 
 in Whitefield's mind stood related to the conception of jus- 
 tification may now have our consideration. His system was 
 severely logical. The atonement was so much suffering en- 
 dured on the part of our Lord at the hands of His angry 
 Father on behalf of so many sinners ; he says : ' When Christ's 
 righteousness is spoken of, we are to understand Christ's 
 obedience and death — all that Christ has done, and all that 
 Christ has suffered for an elect world, for all that will believe 
 on Him.' The position of our Lord was that of a substitute 
 — the view which has always been effectual, through the Holy 
 Spirit, to the conversion of souls. The sins of the elect were 
 laid on Him in the most literal sense : He was there as a 
 sinner in the Father's sight, and before the Father's law ; and 
 upon the head of such a One it was meet that the indignation 
 should be poured. The active obedience of our Saviour con- 
 stituted the extra righteousness in the moral world, which, not 
 being required for Himself, since He was always pure and 
 sinless, might be imputed to any who would believe on Him. 
 Whitefield's words are : ' In that nature ' — i.e., our human 
 .nature — 'He obeyed, and thereby fulfilled the whole moral 
 law in our stead; and also died a painful death upon the Cross, 
 and thereby became a curse for, or instead of, those whom 
 the Father had given to Him. As God He satisfied at the 
 same time that He obeyed and suffered as man ; and, being 
 God and man in one person, He wrought out a full, perfect, 
 and sufficient righteousness for all to whom it was to be im- 
 puted.' The language in which, in his favourite and thrilling 
 sermon on 'The True Way of Beholding the Lamb of God,' 
 
THE SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST 229 
 
 he describes the sufferings of the Redeemer, is, in some parts, 
 melting and attractive for its tender sympathy of love. It 
 has one short clause which seems to indicate that Whitefield 
 was not quite satisfied with what he said : — 
 
 ' The paschal lamb was further typical of Christ, its great Antitype, in 
 that it was to be killed in the evening, and afterwards roasted with fire. 
 So Christ, our Passover, was sacrificed for us in the evening of the world, 
 only with this material difference, the paschal lamb was first slain and then 
 roasted, whereas the holy Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God, was burnt and 
 roasted in the fire of His Father's wrath before He actually expired upon 
 the cross. To satisfy you of this, if you can bear to be spectators of such an 
 awful tragedy, as I desired you just now to go with me to the entrance, so 
 I must now entreat you to venture a little further into the same garden. 
 But — stop — what is that we see? Behold the Lamb of Cod undergoing the 
 most direful tortures of vindictive wrath ! Of the people, even of His dis- 
 ciples, there is none with Him. Alas ! was ever sorrow like unto that 
 sorrow wherewith His innocent soul was afflicted in this day of His 
 Father's fierce anger? Before He entered into this bitter passion, out of 
 the fulness of His heart he said, " Now is My soul troubled." But how 
 is it troubled now? His agony bespeaks it to be exceeding sorrowful, 
 even unto death. It extorts sweat, yea, a bloody sweat. His face, His 
 hands, His garments are all over stained with blood. It extorts strong 
 crying and many tears. See how the incarnate Deity lies prostrate before 
 His Father, who now laid on Him the iniquities of us all. See how He 
 agonises in prayer! Hark! Again and again He addresses His Father 
 with an "If it be possible, let this cup pass from Me!" Tell me, ye 
 blessed angels, tell me, Gabriel, or whatsoever thou art called, who wast 
 sent from heaven in this important hour to strengthen our agonising Lord, 
 tell me, if ye can, what Christ endured in this dark and doleful night ; and 
 tell me what you yourselves felt when you heard this same God-man, 
 whilst expiring on the accursed tree, breaking forth into that dolorous, 
 unheard-of expostulation, " My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken 
 Me ? " Were you not all struck dumb ? And did not a universal awful 
 silence fill heaven itself when God the Father said unto His sword, 
 " Sword, smite My fellow " ? Well might nature put on its sable weeds ; 
 well might the rocks rend to show their sympathy with a suffering 
 Saviour ; and well might the sun withdraw its light, as though it was 
 shocked and confounded to see its Maker suffer. But our hearts are 
 harder than rocks, otherwise they would now break ; and our souls more 
 stupid than any part of the inanimate creation, or they would even now, 
 in some degree at least, sympathise with a crucified Redeemer, who for us 
 
2 5 o GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 men, and for our salvation, was thus roasted, as it were, in the Father's 
 wrath, and therefore fitly styled the Lamh of God.' 
 
 Note the short clause, 'as it were.' 
 
 Congregations had no time to settle down upon Whitefield's 
 theological mistakes or inconsistencies, and find fault with 
 them. Before the questioner had well begun to consider 
 what hope of acceptance with God any one durst cherish if 
 the atonement was only for the elect, his soul was called to 
 repent and believe ; for Whitefield was too wise at winning 
 souls to leave his ' application ' to the last : he would put an 
 application to every paragraph rather than fail in getting prac- 
 tical results. Love was stronger than logic. In his sermon 
 on ' The Lord Our Righteousness ' he rushes straight in among 
 his hearers' doubts and struggles — doubts and troubles which 
 his own rebukes and pleadings have created, and exclaims : — 
 
 ' Who knows but the Lord may have mercy on, nay, abundantly pardon 
 you ? Beg of God to give you faith ; and if the Lord gives you that, you 
 will by it receive Christ with His righteousness and His all. You need 
 not fear the greatness or number of your sins. For are you sinners? so 
 am I. Are you the chief of sinners? so am I. Are you backsliding 
 sinners? so am I. And yet the Lord — for ever adored be His rich, free, 
 and sovereign grace — is my righteousness. Come, then, O young men, 
 who, as I acted once myself, are playing the prodigal, and wandering away 
 afar off from your heavenly Father's house, come home, come home, and 
 leave your swine-trough. Feed no longer on the husks of sensual delights ; 
 for Christ's sake arise and come home ! Your heavenly Father now calls 
 you. See yonder the best robe, even the righteousness of His dear Son, 
 awaits you. See it ; view it again and again. Consider at how dear a 
 rate it was purchased, even by the blood of God. Consider what great need 
 you have of it. You are lost, undone, damned for ever, without it. Come, 
 then, poor guilty prodigals, come home. Indeed I will not, like the elder 
 brother in the gospel, be angry ; no, I will rejoice with the angels in 
 heaven. And O that God would now bow the heavens and come down ! 
 Descend, O Son of God, descend ; and as Thou hast shown in me such 
 mercy, O let Thy blessed Spirit apply Thy righteousness to some young 
 prodigals now before Thee, and clothe their naked souls with Thy best 
 robe ! ' 
 
A FALSE ALARM 
 
 231 
 
 Here we have, though he might formally have denied it, 
 the doctrine of the Fatherhood of God. But see the tender, 
 passionate pleading ! 
 
 The writing of theological letters was very rudely inter- 
 rupted one day. The good ship Wilmington was toiling 
 through the Atlantic without her convoy, when, to the alarm 
 of all, Whitefield included, two ships were sighted which the 
 captain took to be enemies, bearing down on them with all 
 the sail they could crowd. Preparations were at once made 
 for an engagement. Guns were mounted ; chains were put 
 about the masts ; the great cabin was emptied of everything ; 
 hammocks were slung about the sides of the ship. Mrs. 
 Whitefield dressed herself to be prepared for all events, and 
 then set about making cartridges. All but one stood ready 
 for fire and smoke. Whitefield retreated to the hold of the 
 ship when told that that was the chaplain's place ; but not 
 liking his quarters, and being urged by one of his New 
 England friends to say something to animate the men, he 
 crept on deck, and beat to arms with a warm exhortation. 
 His words warmed the hearts of braver men. On came the 
 dreaded enemy, when lo ! a nearer view showed that they 
 were two friends ! 
 
 The chaplain had another kind of enemy to fight with, and 
 gladly betook himself to his desk and his quill to write ' Some 
 Remarks upon a late Charge against Enthusiasm, delivered 
 by the Right Reverend Father in God, Richard, Lord Bishop 
 of Lichfield and Coventry, in a Triennial Visitation of the 
 same in 1741 ; and published at their request in the present 
 year 1744. In a Letter to the Rev. the Clergy of that 
 Diocess.' The position taken by the bishop is almost the 
 same as that chosen by Dr. Gibson, and the reply was the one 
 with which we are familiar : ' Though it is the quintessence of 
 enthusiasm to pretend to be guided by the Spirit without the 
 
23- GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 written word, yet it is every Christian's duty to be guided by 
 the Spirit in conjunction with the written word.' 
 
 At the end of eleven weeks the Wilmington came within 
 sight of port. The long confinement had made Whitefield im- 
 patient to land; and, with some friends, he eagerly and, in spite 
 of remonstrance, transferred himself from the ship to a little 
 fishing-smack that had come alongside, and which, it was said, 
 would distance the ship by several hours. His haste delayed 
 him. It soon grew dark, the pilots missed the bar of York 
 harbour, and the smack and its passengers were tossed about 
 all night. Exposure increased the pain of a severe attack of 
 nervous colic, from which he had been suffering for some 
 time. He was also so hungry that he could almost have 
 gnawed the boards of the boat, and perhaps wood might have 
 done him no more harm than the raw potatoes, the only food 
 on board, of which he partook freely. It pleased him, as he 
 lay shivering, to hear a fisherman, in answer to a question 
 about what was going on ashore, say that the ' New-lights ' 
 were expecting one Mr. Whitefield, and that the day before 
 many had been praying for his safe arrival. Towards morning 
 the men found the inlet, and Whitefield was received into the 
 house of a physician, formerly a notorious Deist, but con- 
 verted at Whitefield's last American visit. Half an hour after 
 his arrival he was put to bed, racked with nervous colic, con- 
 vulsed from his waist to his toes, and a total convulsion 
 was expected every moment. As his wife and friends stood 
 around him, weeping, he begged them not to be distressed. 
 Fearing that he might fall into a delirium, and say things that 
 were wrong, he told them — so anxious was he never to exert 
 a baneful influence — that such a thing must not surprise 
 them. Happily the worst did not come, yet for four days 
 he could not bear the sound of a footstep or of a voice. 
 
 As soon as he was somewhat better, the minister of York,. 
 
SERIOUS ILLNESSES 233 
 
 old Mr. Moody, called to bid him welcome to America, and 
 then urged him to give them a sermon. He consented. 
 Meanwhile news had gone to Boston that he was dying ; and 
 when it reached that city two of his friends started for York, 
 to nurse him if he were alive, or to attend his funeral if he 
 were dead. On their arrival they found him in the pulpit ! 
 Soon a relapse came on, through his catching cold, and his 
 friends again thought that his end was come ; yet while he 
 lay in agony of body, his greater pain was that he had been 
 announced to preach and could not go. The hour of service 
 drew near; the minister who had been appointed to preach 
 was leaving the house for church, when of a sudden Whitefield 
 said to his friend and doctor, ' Doctor, my pains are sus- 
 pended ; by the help of God I'll go and preach, and then 
 come home and die.' And he did go, pale as death, and 
 looking to the astonished congregation like one risen from the 
 grave. It was taken for a last sermon by both people and 
 preacher. The invisible things of another world lay open to 
 his view, and expecting to be with his Master before morning, 
 he spoke with peculiar energy for an hour. The effect of his 
 word was, he says, worth dying for a thousand times over. 
 But nature was hard pressed by the effort, and when, on his 
 return home, he was laid on a bed before the fire, animation 
 seemed to be suspended, and he could hear his friends say to 
 each other, ' He is gone ! ' Gradually he recovered ; and the 
 first visitor who would see him, yea or nay, was a poor Negro 
 woman. Sitting on the ground beside him, and looking 
 earnestly into that kind face which always wore its gentlest 
 aspect when such as she approached it, she said in her broken 
 English, ' Master, you just go to heaven's gate, but Jesus 
 Christ said, Get you down, get you down ; you must not come 
 here yet ; but go first and call some more poor Negroes.' 
 The sick man prayed that it might be as the simple-hearted 
 
234 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Negress wished it to be ; and prayer and wish were ful- 
 filled. 
 
 In about three weeks, though still very weak, he was able to 
 proceed to Boston. Here he was convinced that since his 
 departure for England a glorious work had been going on, 
 both in Boston and in almost all parts of New England. That 
 there had been irregularities and follies, an unhappy mixture 
 of human infirmity with Divine work, he could not but 
 sorrowfully admit ; but good predominated over evil. What 
 reproach was incurred, either justly or unjustly, was thrown 
 upon him ; and many clergy who had before met him at 
 Governor Belcher's table — Belcher was not now in the post 
 of governor — and ' paid him the nod,' were shy and distant, 
 and refused him their pulpits. There was certainly great 
 excitement in the city, and party feeling ran high. A great 
 number of strongly-worded pamphlets had appeared against 
 him. Some of the clergy began to publish ' halfpenny testi- 
 monials ' against him, and the president, professors, and 
 students of Harvard College joined in the assaults. But they 
 assailed a man who was too good not to wish to be better, 
 and too candid to be afraid of confessing his faults. Their 
 exposure of real blame on his part only gave him the oppor- 
 tunity to acknowledge (which he did with beautiful humility) 
 wherein he had offended ; and their shameful treatment of 
 him in other respects so roused many of his friends, that they 
 came to him to say that they would, with his consent, build in 
 a few weeks the outside of the largest place of worship in 
 America for his use. The democratic feeling was too strong 
 for ministers to control. He gratefully declined their offer as 
 unsuited to his taste and work. Here, as in so many other 
 instances, his humility saved him. 
 
 There were strange instances of the effect of his preaching. 
 One morning the crowd was too dense to be penetrated, and 
 
A SCOFFER CAUGHT 235 
 
 he was obliged to go in at the window. Immediately after 
 him came the high sheriff, who had been hostile to the 'new 
 lights,' and the sight of whose face, as it appeared through the 
 window, almost made the astonished people cry out, ' Is Saul 
 also among the prophets ? ' 
 
 Another day his friend Mr. Prince told him he should 
 shortly be visited by a very pensive and uncommon person, 
 one of good parts, ready wit, and lively imagination, who, to 
 procure matter for tavern amusement, had often gone to hear 
 Whitefield preach, and then returned to his bottle and his 
 friends, and recounted what he could remember, at the same 
 time adorning it with further exposition. He went once too 
 often for his fun. The crowd which bore him easily into 
 
 Dr. S 's meeting-house as Whitefield entered, was like a 
 
 solid rock behind him, when he wished to return with what 
 he thought was sufficient food for sport. Obliged to stay, he 
 kept looking up at Whitefield and waiting for anything he 
 could ridicule. But soon he began to feel miserable under 
 what he heard, and when he withdrew, it was to go to Mr. 
 Prince and confess his sins, and his desire to ask Whitefield's 
 pardon, only he was afraid to see him. Mr. Prince encour- 
 aged him to venture. He went, and Whitefield, on opening 
 the door for him, saw in his pale, pensive, and horrified 
 countenance, the story of his life. In a low, plaintive voice he 
 said, ' Sir, can you forgive me ? ' ' Yes, sir, very readily,' said 
 Whitefield with a smile. The visitor thought that the tale of 
 all his wrong-doings would make that impossible; but White- 
 field asked him to sit down, and then spoke to him such 
 comfort as the gospel has provided for broken hearts. 
 
 The stay among his New England friends was more pro- 
 longed than usual. Upon the renewal of his journeys his 
 course is not easily traced. Such glimpses of him, however, 
 as we do get lend fresh charm both to him and his work. 
 
236 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 One day he is to be seen at a settlement of Delaware Indians, 
 the converts of the devout Brainerd, preaching to them 
 through an interpreter, and watching with that kindly interest 
 which the orphans at Bethesda knew so well, a class of fifty 
 Indian children learning the Assembly's Shorter Catechism. 
 Soon afterwards we find him at Philadelphia, welcomed by 
 twenty ministers of the city and neighbourhood, who own 
 him as their spiritual father ; surrounded with enthusiastic, 
 solemn congregations ; and offered by the gentlemen who had 
 the management of the free temple there, eight hundred 
 pounds a year and liberty to travel six months in the year if 
 he would become a minister in the city, an offer which he 
 treated as he had done that of the Boston people. We see 
 him availing himself of his short stay in the city to write to 
 his mother, and tell her that, though for two years she had 
 not written to him — doubtless his incessant and distant 
 wanderings had helped to hinder her — his attachment to 
 her was as great as ever; and then some snatches of news 
 about the 'golden bait' which 'Jesus had kept him from 
 catching at ; ' about his door of usefulness which opens wider 
 and wider ; about his wife being very weak through a mis- 
 carriage, or she would have enclosed a few lines in his letter; 
 and about the many mercies he receives from God. He 
 rejoiced in roaming the woods, hunting for sinners, as he 
 called his work ; and next we find him among a little band of 
 Christians in the backwoods of Virginia. These men were 
 first gathered together in a remarkable way. Relations and 
 friends in the dear old country, Scotland, had got a volume 
 of those Glasgow sermons which had helped to kindle the 
 revival in the valley of the Clyde, and sent them across the 
 waters. When the precious book was received under the 
 shadow of the great forest, its owner, Samuel Morris, called 
 his friends and neighbours to rejoice with him, and share his 
 
THE CHURCH IN VIRGINIA 237 
 
 feast. As his own house was soon crowded to excess, a 
 meeting-house had to be built, and many quiet, solemn 
 evenings were spent in it, tears flowing from many eyes as 
 freely as if Whitefield's pathetic voice were speaking the words 
 that were only read. The sermons soon took a wider range, 
 and upon invitation Morris carried them to distant little 
 groups of colonists, who could not enjoy such teaching in 
 the churches, which by law they were expected to frequent. 
 The little church of Lutherans, as it was called, lifted up its 
 head, like a flower refreshed with rain, when Whitefield came \ 
 others also ' engaged themselves to the Lord.' 
 
 Somewhere on the road his wife, with a Boston young lady, 
 left him, to travel to Georgia, and tidings came to him that 
 they ' traverse the wood bravely.' Whether he felt lonely 
 without her with whom he had been ' more than happy ' he 
 nowhere says ; but then he never said as much about his 
 troubles as his comforts. We next come upon him at 
 Bethesda, where he wintered in 1746-47. Most likely his 
 letters to friends in London — the only letters he wrote at this 
 time — would have contained news about his dear family, had 
 not London friends needed counsel and comfort in the midst 
 of troubles which had arisen at the Tabernacle. So he said 
 not a word about his own heavy burden with the orphans, but 
 added another load to all that his tender heart already carried. 
 Bethesda had long wished to see him, and as soon as he 
 crossed its threshold the cry came from London to return and 
 succour his distressed flock there. AYhat could he do but 
 direct his people to One whose love was his own daily sup- 
 port? 'Oh, that your eyes,' he exclaims, may be looking 
 towards and waiting on the blessed Jesus : from Him alone 
 can come your salvation ; He will be better to you than a 
 thousand Whitefields.' 
 
 The same generosity which made him accessible to all in 
 
238 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 trouble made him most grateful for any help afforded him in 
 carrying out his benevolent purposes. In a letter he shows 
 both his kindness and his perverted notions about slaves : — 
 
 ' God has put it into the hearts of my South Carolina friends to contri- 
 bute liberally towards purchasing a plantation and slaves in this province, 
 which I purpose to devote to the support of Bethesda. Blessed be God, 
 the purchase is made. I last week bought at a very cheap rate a planta- 
 tion of six hundred and forty acres of ground ready cleared, fenced, and 
 fit for rice, corn, and everything that will be necessary for provisions. 
 One Negro has been given me. Some more I purpose to purchase this 
 week.' 
 
 While benefactors were thanked with exuberant gratitude, 
 detractors were quietly faced with an audited account of 
 receipts and disbursements in behalf of the orphan-house. A 
 very serious affair was auditing in these days, before the intro- 
 duction of limited liability companies. First, Whitefield and 
 Habersham were put upon oath that the accounts laid before 
 the bailiffs contained, to the best of their knowledge, a just 
 and true account of ' all monies collected by, or given to 
 them, or any other, for the use and benefit of the said house ; 
 and that the disbursement had been faithfully applied to and 
 for the use of the same.' Then comes the statement of the 
 auditors, given upon oath, in which they say : ' It doth not 
 appear that the Rev. Mr. Whitefield hath converted any part 
 thereof to his own private use and property, or charged the 
 said house with any of his travelling, or other private expenses ; 
 but on the contrary, hath contributed to the said house many 
 valuable benefactions.' 
 
 The return of spring saw him mounted for another excur- 
 sion. The news of his coming spread from settlement to 
 settlement ; and when the early light of the fresh spring morn- 
 ings flushed the sky, farmers and planters bestirred them- 
 selves, and prepared for a ride to the distant preaching-place. 
 
A FOREST CONGREGATION 239 
 
 Many a lonely forest path and highway, striped with shadows 
 of tall trees and bands of sunshine, was enlivened by groups of 
 horsemen and solitary riders — some of them men of staunch 
 piety, who longed after religious stimulus and instruction, and 
 were going to the open glade as devoutly as ever David went 
 up to Mount Zion ; others of them men of heavy heart and 
 sad countenance, who were getting their first insight into them- 
 selves and the mysteries of religion, and were uneasy as they 
 saw the vision ; and others again men of thoughtless spirit and 
 easy life, who supposed that religion might very well be left to a 
 more serious time than joyous days of health and vigour, when 
 the blood is warm, but who had a fancy to hear the far-famed 
 preacher. Nor were wives and daughters absent from the 
 bands of travellers. As they tied their neighing horses to the 
 trees and hedges, and formed themselves into a great congre 
 gation, few sights could be either more picturesque or more 
 impressive. All hearts were more or less accessible to the 
 glowing eloquence of the evangelist, who pleaded before them, 
 with tears and earnest words, the claims of his gracious and 
 exalted Master on the trust and love of every soul of man. 
 Holy thoughts were carried back home by many of the 
 worldly, as well as by many of the devout ; and the plantation 
 and farm began to give signs that a God-fearing man lived in 
 the pvincipal house on it. 
 
 But the evangelist's health soon began to suffer when the 
 cool spring changed to sultry summer. American summers 
 always exhausted him, and that of 1747 formed no exception. 
 By the middle of May the heat was trying his ' wasting taber- 
 nacle,' but, he says, ' through Christ strengthening me, I 
 intend persisting till I drop.' The condition of the southern 
 colonies was so destitute, and his sense of the love of our Lord 
 so vivid, that he carried out his purpose, and in five weeks 
 made a circuit of five hundred miles ; but by that time fever 
 
\ 
 
 240 GEOXGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 was consuming him, convulsions shaking him, and nervous 
 colic and gravel griping him. At length that which he dreaded 
 came upon him ; he could not preach. His chief solace was 
 gone. It is with an infinite pathos that the burdened, harassed, 
 persecuted man writes : ' Tis hard to be silent, but I must be 
 tried every way.' Compelled to hold his peace, he made his 
 way as far north as New York, and there again resumed his 
 beloved work. To follow him from this point would simply 
 be to recount, with an alteration of the names of places, 
 the experience of alternate sickness and partial recovery, of 
 preaching and its pleasures, which has just been before 
 us. 
 
 His attention had to be given to things in London, though 
 his heart had become so united to America that' he sometimes 
 thought he should never again leave it. Cennick, who had 
 quarrelled with Howel Harris, the chief manager of the Taber- 
 nacle, during Whitefield's absence, had gone over to the 
 Moravians. Whitefield's letter to him upon that step is 
 highly creditable both to his charity and good sense. He 
 says : — 
 
 ' I am sorry to hear there are yet disputings amongst us about brick 
 walls. I was in hopes, after our contests of that kind about seven years ago, 
 such a scene would never occur again ; but I find fresh offences must come, 
 to search out and discover to us fresh corruptions, to try our faith, teach us 
 to cease from man, and to lean more upon Him who by His infinite 
 wisdom and power will cause that " out of the eater shall come forth meat, 
 and from the strong sweetness." I am glad you find yourself happy in the 
 holy Jesus. ... It has been my meat and drink to preach among poor 
 sinners the unsearchable riches of Christ. Mayst thou continue and abide 
 in this place.' 
 
 It is pleasant to know that old divisions were being healed, 
 if, unhappily, new ones were breaking out. The letter just 
 
GROUNDS OF CHRISTIAN UNION 241 
 
 quoted from, and others presently to be referred to, amply 
 sustain the generous eulogy of his friend Charles Wesley : — 
 
 ' When Satan strove the brethren to divide, 
 And turn their zeal to " Who is on my side?" 
 One moment warmed with controversial fire, 
 He felt the spark as suddenly expire ; 
 He felt revived the pure ethereal flame, 
 The love for all that bowed to Jesus' name, 
 Nor ever more would for opinions fight 
 With men whose life, like his, was in the right.' 
 
 On September 11, 1747, he wrote to John Wesley, and 
 said : — 
 
 ' Not long ago I received your kind letter, dated in February last. Your 
 others, I believe, came to hand, and I hope ere now you have received my 
 answer. My heart is really for an outward as well as for an inward I 
 union. Nothing shall be wanting on my part to bring it about, but I / 
 cannot see how it can possibly be effected till we all think and speak the / 
 same things. I rejoice to hear that you and your brothers are more mode- / 
 rate with respect to sinless perfection. Time and experience, I believe, / 
 will convince you that attaining such a state in this life is not a doctrine of/ 
 the everlasting gospel. As for universal redemption, if we omit from each/ 
 side the talking for or against reprobation, which we may do fairly, ana 
 agree as we already do in giving a universal offer to all poor sinners thai 
 will come and taste the water of life, I think we may manage very well.' * 
 
 Thus reprobation sank into oblivion — really died without a 
 struggle. The same day he wrote a shorter but perhaps still 
 warmer letter to Charles. 
 
 At the end of his summer's labours he turned his face again 
 to Bethesda. A little riding tired him, but still he felt that, 
 near as he had been to the kingdom of heaven, some of his 
 friends had prayed him back again into the world. His heart 
 was all gratitude for the success of his word : ' the barren 
 wilderness was made to smile all the way.' What he did 
 during the winter of 1747-48, whether he went about Georgia 
 
 17 
 
2 4 3 GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 preaching to little companies, as in the days when he first 
 entered the colony, at the same time watching the affairs of the 
 orphan-house, or rested to recruit himself, cannot be told. It 
 is certain that in the spring following he was much weighed 
 down with travelling, with care, and with his orphan-house 
 debts — was, in fact, in such poor health that his friends advised 
 him to try the air of Bermudas — 
 
 ' So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
 None sickly lives, or dies before the time.' 
 
 Were we to judge of the clime of the Summer Islands by 
 Whitefield's labours in them, Waller's praise might be taken for 
 literal truth; but Whitefield was an energetic invalid. The 
 diary of his two months' stay on the island is an agreeable 
 renewal of that journal which he unfortunately ceased too soon 
 to write. Its only remarkable difference from his general run 
 of narrative is the half-amused way in which he records the 
 wonder of the great men at his preaching without notes. A 
 clergyman invalid who could preach twice a day and travel 
 considerable distances was a great marvel, but a clergyman 
 who used no ' minutes ' in the pulpit was a greater. There was 
 only one greater degree of marvel possible, and that would 
 have been a clergyman preaching from notes to Kingswood 
 colliers on Hannam Mount, to London rabble at Moorfields 
 Fair, to thirty thousand Scotchmen who were full of anxiety 
 about their salvation, and holding them in rapt attention. 
 One entry from the journal may be given : — 
 
 ' Sunday, May 15th. — Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within 
 thee praise His holy name ! This morning I preached my farewell sermon 
 at Mr. Paul's meeting-house ; it was quite full, and as the president said, 
 above one hundred and fifty whites, besides blacks, were round the house. 
 Attention sat on every face; and when I came to take my leave, oh ! what 
 a sweet unaffected weeping was to be seen everywhere. I believe there 
 
MISTAKES CONFESSED 243 
 
 were few dry eyes. The Negroes without doors, I heard, wept plentifully. 
 My own heart was affected, and though I have parted from friends so often, 
 yet I find every fresh parting almost unmans me, and very much affects my 
 heart. Surely a great work is begun in some souls in Bermudas. Carry 
 it on, O Lord ; and if it be Thy will, send me to this dear people again ! 
 Even so, Lord Jesus. Amen. ' 
 
 The voyage home was not to be without alarms, though it 
 proved, on the whole, both rapid and pleasant. Those dread- 
 ful men-of-war were hanging about like hungry sharks, and on 
 the first day of the voyage one of them gave chase; and when 
 the Betsy approached the English Channel, where they 
 swarmed, 'a large French vessel shot twice at, and bore down 
 upon us. We gave up all for gone.' But some pang of com- 
 passion or a panic seized the Frenchman ; he turned about 
 and left his trembling prey unhurt. 
 
 Whitefield might not preach during this voyage, because his 
 health was so impaired. He says : ' This may spare my lungs, 
 but it grieves my heart. I long to be ashore, if it was for no 
 other reason. Besides, I can do but little in respect to my writing. 
 You may guess how it is when we have four gentlewomen in 
 the cabin ! ' However, he did write, and finished his abridge- 
 ment of Law's ' Serious Call,' which he endeavoured to 
 ' gospelise.' His journals, too, were revised ; and in reference 
 to that work, he makes some remarks which will illustrate his 
 ingenuousness of temper. The revision had brought under his 
 notice many things that his maturer judgment and calmer, 
 though not less earnest, spirit could not but disapprove of. 
 
 'Alas, alas !' he says, 'in how many things have I judged and acted 
 wrong. I have been too rash and hasty in giving characters, both of places 
 and persons. Being fond of Scripture language, I have often used a style 
 too apostolical, and at the same time I have been too bitter in my zeal. 
 Wild-fire has been mixed with it ; and I find that I frequently wrote and 
 spoke in my own spirit, when I thought I was writing and speaking by the 
 assistance of the Spirit of God. I have likewise too much made inward 
 
244 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 impressions my rule of acting, and too soon and too explicitly published 
 what had been better kept in longer, or told after my death. By these 
 things I have given some wrong touches to God's ark, and hurt the blessed 
 cause I would defend, and also stirred up endless opposition. This has 
 humbled me much since I have been on board, and made me think of a 
 saying of Mr. Henry's, "Joseph had more honesty than he had policy, or 
 he never would have told his dreams." At the same time, I cannot but 
 bless and praise and magnify that gracious God, who filled me with so 
 much of His holy fire, and carried me, a poor weak youth, through such a 
 torrent both of popularity and contempt, and set so many seals to my un- 
 worthy ministrations. I bless Him for ripening my judgment a little 
 more, for giving me to see and confess, and I hope in some degree correct 
 and amend, some of my mistakes. I thank God for giving me grace to 
 embark in such a blessed cause, and pray Him to give me strength to hold 
 on and increase in zeal and love to the end.' 
 
 He had been made to prove the truth of one of his wise 
 remarks, ' God always makes use of strong passions for a great 
 work.' Strong passions have great dangers ; but he was now 
 beginning to understand how to rule them with a firm hand. 
 Less robust in health than when he last returned from America, 
 and less disposed to contend with those that differed from him, 
 but not a whit less zealous or self-sacrificing, only showing the 
 first tints of mellow ripeness in all goodness, he stepped again 
 upon English soil on July 6, 1748. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 July, 1748-1752 
 
 APPOINTED CHAPLAIN TO THE C3UNTBSS OF HUNTINGDON — A 
 SLAVE-OWNER STONED BEFORE A BISHOP 
 
 THE English newspapers, Whitefield learned on his arrival 
 in England, had interred him as early as April in that 
 year. From the people he found a welcome the very reverse 
 of that which had pained him seven years before. Thou- 
 sands received him with a joy that almost overcame both him 
 and them. Their love and devotion to him humbled him to 
 the dust. The damaged fortunes of the Tabernacle instantly 
 revived when he resumed the pulpit and the management of 
 affairs. One church also, St. Bartholomew's, was open to him ; 
 and there he preached to immense congregations, and assisted 
 in administering the sacrament to a thousand communicants. 
 Moorfields was as white as ever to the harvest. 
 
 Many tender memories were awakened by the return home ; 
 and his affectionate heart yearned towards his family and 
 friends. Though his mother had remained silent during all 
 his long absence, and he had vainly entreated a letter from her, 
 one of his first acts was to remember her, and announce by a 
 fctler his arrival. A kindly greeting was sent to Wesley. 
 Hervey, one of Whitefield's converts, the author of 'Medi- 
 
 245 
 
246 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 tations among the Tombs,' was complimented on his appear- 
 ance as an author, and encouraged to persevere, because his 
 writings were so adapted to the taste of the polite world. 
 Times have greatly changed since then, and taste too. Thus 
 he tried to keep his place in hearts that had once received 
 him. 
 
 An unexpected call was made upon him on the occasion of 
 this return. Howel Harris had instructions to take him, as 
 soon as he landed, to the house of the Countess of Huntingdon, 
 at Chelsea. That remarkable woman was already acquainted 
 with the power of his oratory over popular assemblies, for she 
 had often seen and felt it ; now she wanted to see what it 
 could avail in her drawing-room upon the hearts of high-born / 
 ladies and gentlemen. It does not appear what kind of an /[ 
 audience he had when he preached in her house the first two ' 
 times, but after the second service the Countess wrote to 
 inform him that several of the nobility wished to hear him, if 
 he would come again. In a few days a brilliant circle was 
 gathered round him, and he spoke to them with all his usual 
 unaffected earnestness and natural gracefulness, while they 
 listened with attention and some degree of emotion. The 
 Earl of Chesterfield thanked him, and paid him one of his 
 studied, high-mannered compliments at the close. ' Sir,' he 
 said, T will not tell you what I shall tell others, how I approve 
 of you.' The wife of Lord Chesterfield and two of his sisters, 
 Lady Gertrude Hotham and the Countess Delitz, became con- 
 sistent lifelong disciples of the new teaching. The Earl 
 himself went so far as to allow Whitefield the use of Bretby 
 Hall in Derbyshire for meetings. Bolingbroke was afterwards 
 prevailed upon to come ; ' he sat like an archbishop,' and at 
 the conclusion condescended to assure Whitefield that he had 
 done great justice to the Divine attributes in his discourse. 
 In a letter to Lady Huntingdon he said : ' Mr. Whitefield is 
 
DISTINGUISHED HEARERS 247 
 
 the most extraordinary man in our times. He has the most 
 commanding eloquence I ever heard in any person.' Hume, 
 also, became an admirer of this eloquence, which had a charm 
 for colliers and peers ; in his opinion Whitefield was the most 
 ingenious preacher he had ever heard ; it was worth going 
 twenty miles to hear him. He gives a remarkable instance of 
 the effect with which Whitefield once employed apostrophe, 
 not, of course, in the drawing-room of Chelsea. 
 
 'Once after a solemn pause, he thus addressed his audience: "The 
 attendant angel is just about to leave the threshold of this sanctuary, and 
 ascend to heaven. And shall he ascend and not bear with him the news of 
 one sinner amongst all this multitude reclaimed from the error of his way?" 
 To give the greater effect to this exclamation, Whitefield stamped with his 
 foot, lifted up his hands and eyes to heaven, and cried aloud, "Stop, 
 Gabriel, stop, ere you enter the sacred portals, and yet carry with you the 
 news of one sinner converted to God." This address was accompanied 
 with such animated, yet natural, action, that it surpassed anything I ever 
 saw or heard in any other preacher. ' 
 
 Within a fortnight the Countess added Whitefield's name to 
 the number of her chaplains, of whom Romaine was the first 
 
 This work among the nobility will shortly demand attention 
 again ; and in the meantime we notice in a few words that, 
 besides a flying visit to Wales this autumn, he paid a third visit 
 to Scotland, where he had to mourn the death of many of his 
 foremost friends, and endure the usual ecclesiastical torment 
 about Church government. The Synods of Glasgow, of Perth 
 and Stirling, of Lothian and Tweedale, and a Presbytery — 
 Edinburgh — wrangled, or, as they thought, had a holy con- 
 tending, about him, whether ministers should be prohibited 
 or discouraged from employing him. ' The more I was 
 blackened,' he says, ' the more the Redeemer comforted me.' 
 The hearts of the multitude responded to him as before ; and 
 his visit gave him great cause for joy and thankfulness. 
 
248 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 One symptom began to show itself on his return, which was 
 premonitory of sad mischief. When he went into Scotland, 
 and began to preach, he suffered from a very severe hoarseness, 
 and when he reached Topcliff, on his way back, he wrote to a 
 friend : ' Though I do not preach, yet I hope I am preparing 
 for it. Reading, prayer, and meditation are the three necessary 
 ingredients for it. Riding and getting proper rest have 
 recruited me ; but I am apt to believe I have strained myself 
 inwardly. I feel sensible pain in my breath. But no matter ; 
 it is for a good Master, who bore inexpressible pain for me.' 
 That pain was to become a grievous burden through many 
 years of incredible labour. It was too late now to take the| 
 prudential measures which he felt were necessary even before 
 he started for Scotland. 
 
 As soon as he reached London, November ioth, Lady 
 Huntingdon came to town, and made arrangements for him to 
 preach in her house to 't he great and nobl e.' As her name 
 and his become inseparably associated from this time forward 
 to the end of his life, it is time to indicate her religious position. 
 Lady Selina Shirley was born on August 24, 1707 — seven 
 years before Whitefield — and was married to Theophilus, 
 ninth Earl of Huntingdon, on June 3, 1728. She entered 
 heartily into the pleasures and duties of her high station, was 
 often at Court, took a lively interest in politics, and cared for 
 the poor on her husband's estate. She determined to win the 
 favour of the Almighty and everlasting life simply by her 
 attention to moral maxims, without any reference to our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, in whom alone is life. It happened, however, 
 that Lady Margaret Hastings, one of her husband's sisters, 
 came under the influence of those new doctrines which were 
 winning such remarkable triumphs ; and not only so, she 
 became an earnest and affectionate teacher of them to her 
 family and friends. Among other things she one day made a 
 
THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON 249 
 
 remark to the Countess which produced a deep impression ; 
 it was this : ' That since she had known and believed in the 
 Lord Jesus Christ for life and salvation, she had been as happy 
 as an angel.' The Countess knew that she herself could pre- 
 tend to no such joy. The thought haunted her, and made 
 her resolve to live a more religious life, which, according to her 
 notions, was to multiply her good works and increase her 
 austerities. This brought her no relief. A dangerous illness 
 then fell upon her ; she was brought nigh to death ; the pros- 
 pect was terrible ; her conscience was restless ; and no 
 remembrance of her almsgivings and fastings could calm it. 
 Then Lady Margaret's words came back into her mind with 
 fresh meaning and force, and she learned that Jesus Christ 
 is our life and our salvation. Her illness left her, and she 
 arose to enter upon a career as remarkable as that of any 
 peeress in England. 
 
 The change was soon manifest; nor were Court beauties, such 
 as the Duchess of Buckingham, well pleased to see it. They 
 thought that the Earl might very properly exert his authority 
 to unconvert her; for it was not to be borne that the Methodists 
 should gain a Countess. The Earl did not care to undertake 
 the task, but thought that a conversation with his former tutor, 
 Bishop Benson, might do her good, and accordingly recom- 
 mended her to see his lordship. The bishop came, but to a 
 much harder task than he had anticipated. Turning to the 
 Scriptures, to the articles and the homilies, the neophyte 
 preached to him his duties in a style not familiar to bishops' 
 ears : she would not relax her devotion ; he must increase his. 
 The kind man was ruffled, and was departing in haste and in 
 anger at having ever laid hands on Whitefield, whom he 
 blamed for the conversion of the Countess, when the lady said 
 in her own firm way, ' My lord ! mark my words : when you 
 are on your dying bed, that will be one of the few ordinations 
 you will reflect upon with complacence.' 
 
250 GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 The Earl of Huntingdon, who rather yielded to his wife's 
 religious zeal than toned it down to harmonise with his colder 
 feelings, died on October 13, 1746, leaving the Countess in 
 command of immense wealth, and free to carry out her wishes 
 without interference from any one. Everything favoured her 
 assumption of that position she was soon to gain, and towards 
 which she took her first decisive step, when, in 1748, she 
 appointed Whitefield her chaplain. Liberal to profusion in 
 her gifts, arbitrary in temper, Calvinistic in creed, consummate 
 in administrative ability, devout in spirit, and thoroughly con- 
 secrated to the glory of Christ, she was unmistakably the proper \ 
 leader of the Calvinistic side of the Methodist body, whether \ 
 in or out of the Established Church. Whitefield might be its 
 great preacher, but he could not, and cared not to form a 
 party. The Countess must form any organisation that might 
 be required, or guide any movement. 
 
 In a letter to Wesley, Whitefield thus refers to the question 
 of union : — 
 
 ' What have you thought about a union ? I am afraid an external one 
 is impracticable. I find by your sermons that we differ in principles more 
 than I thought ; and I believe we are upon two different plans. My 
 attachment to America will not permit me to abide very long in England ; 
 consequently I should but weave a Penelope's web if I formed societies ; 
 and if I should form them I have not proper assistants to take care of them. \ 
 I intend, therefore, to go about preaching the gospel to every creature. \ 
 You, I suppose, are for settling societies everywhere : but more of this 
 when we meet.' 
 
 About this time Whitefield ceased to be moderator of the 
 Calvinistic Methodists, and henceforth his efforts and those of 
 Lady Huntingdon were directed, with much success, to the object 
 of giving an evangelical ministry to the Church of England. 
 
 The following are some of the great and noble who came 
 to the preaching in the drawing-room of the Countess of 
 
LORD BOLINGBROKE 251 
 
 Huntingdon : The Duchess of Argyll, Lady Betty Campbell, 
 Bubb Doddington, George Selwyn, the Duchess of Montagu, 
 Lady Cardigan, Lord Townshend, Charles Townshend, Mr. 
 Lyttleton, Mr. Pitt, Lord North, Lord Sandwich. The 
 doctrines which Whitefield taught found other believers 
 besides the Countess. The first Earl of Bath, formerly Mr. 
 Pulteney, was one of these. Lord St. John, half-brother of 
 Bolingbroke, seems to have been a convert. His last words, 
 spoken to the clergyman who attended him, were, ' To God I 
 commit myself ; I feel how unworthy I am ; but He died to 
 save sinners, and the prayer of my heart now to Him is, God 
 be merciful to me a sinner.' Bolingbroke was only moved so \1 
 far by his brother's death as to offer himself as a champion of 
 the Calvinistic doctrines ; not that he cared for them, but they 
 had a philosophical side, and he would not object to stand as 
 the philosopher of Calvinistic Methodism. ' You may com- . 
 mand my pen when you will,' he said to the Countess ; ' it V 
 shall be drawn in your service. For, admitting the Bible to 
 be true, I shall have little apprehension of maintaining the 
 doctrines of predestination and grace against all your revilers.' 
 What would have been the issue of a contest between Wesley 
 and his lordship on the five points ? 
 
 The eccentric Lady Townshend was one of the first to 
 admire Whitefield's oratory ; and probably she did so quite as 
 much because such admiration was unusual among her friends 
 as because the oratory was noble and commanding. When 
 her freakish fancy pointed to an opposite course, she was 
 equally ready to dislike and disparage her favourite. With 
 equal facility could she turn Papist as Methodist ; a cathedral 
 or a tabernacle for her place of worship, it mattered not which, 
 if she pleased her whim. Once Whitefield cherished some 
 hope of her conversion, through a serious illness which she 
 had; and as late as 1775, Lady Huntingdon wrote to her, 
 
252 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 when she was again in a similar condition, and evidently 
 indulged in hopes such as had previously buoyed Whitefield 
 up. She seemed to prefer Methodism for times of trial. 
 
 The Countess of Suffolk was neither so calmly impartial as 
 Bolingbroke, nor so obligingly changeful as Lady Townshend. 
 Her circumstances — the loss of her husband and only son — at 
 the time that Lady Guildford took her to the Countess's to 
 hear the Methodist chaplain, might have been thought favour- 
 able to her acceptance of the truths of religion : but she was 
 stung and enraged by every word which Whitefield, ignorant 
 both of her presence and her condition, said. Her self-control 
 gave way as soon as he withdrew, at the close of the service. 
 She then abused Lady Huntingdon to her face, in the presence 
 of the illustrious congregation, and ' denounced the sermon as 
 a deliberate attack upon herself.' Her relatives who were 
 present — Lady Betty Germain, Lady Eleanor Bertie, and the 
 Dowager Duchess of Ancaster — attempted in vain alternately 
 to pacify her, by explaining to her that she was mistaken, and 
 to silence her by command. Thinking herself insulted, she 
 would not for some time hear reason ; but at length she was 
 prevailed upon to apologise, though only with a bad grace, to 
 Lady Huntingdon for her rudeness. She was never seen again 
 among Whitefield's hearers, nor did she ever really forgive the 
 Countess ; on her death-bed she denied the Countess per- 
 mission to come and speak with her. 
 
 Lady Fanny Shirley, an aunt of Lady Huntingdon, the 
 friend and neighbour of Pope, and the rival of Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montague, became, through the efforts of the Countess 
 Delitz, a conspicuous member of the aristocratic Methodist 
 circle, and had her change of mind duly chronicled in the 
 gossiping letters of Walpole. 
 
 ' If you ever think of returning to England,' he writes to Sir Horace Mann, 
 ' as I hope it will be long first, you must prepare yourself with Methodism. 
 
'MAKE A BISHOP OF HIM' 253 
 
 I really believe by that time it will be necessary ; this sect increases as fast 
 almost as any religious nonsense did. Lady Fanny Shirley has chosen 
 this way of bestowing the dregs of her beauty ; and Mr. Lyttleton is very 
 near making the same sacrifice of the dregs of all those various characters 
 that he has worn. The Methodists love your big sinners, as proper sub- 
 jects to work upon — and indeed they have a plentiful harvest.' 
 
 To the Countess Delitz, Whitefield writes in a manner 
 which shows that he only cared for his introduction to 
 'society' as a means of winning souls. 'Ceiled houses, gaudy 
 attire, and rich furniture, do not make the world appear less a 
 wilderness to a mind enlightened to see the beauties of Jesus 
 of Nazareth.' 
 
 There can be no doubt that Walpole spoke the truth, both 
 about the rapid increase of Methodism and its love for big 
 sinners ; and some one who shared his alarm at its advance, 
 through the popularity and success of Whitefield, even ven- 
 tured to suggest to the king that the preacher should be 
 restrained. ' I believe the best way,' said the king, ' will be to 
 make a bishop of him.' 
 
 The Countess of Huntingdon told Mr. Barry, R.A., a story 
 which confirms the sneer about big sinners. He reports it 
 thus : — 
 
 ' Some ladies called one Saturday morning to pay a visit to Lady 
 Huntingdon, and during the visit she inquired of them if they had ever 
 heard Mr. Whitefield preach. Upon being answered in the negative, she 
 said, I wish you would hear him ; he is to preach to-morrow evening at 
 such a church or chapel, the name of which the writer forgets — nor is it 
 material. They promised her ladyship they would certainly attend. They 
 were as good as their word ; and upon calling on the Monday morning on 
 her ladyship, she anxiously inquired if they had heard Mr. Whitefield, and 
 how they liked him. The reply was, "Oh, my lady, of all the preachers 
 we ever heard, he is the most strange and unaccountable. Among other 
 preposterous things — would your ladyship believe it ? — he declared that 
 Jesus Christ was so willing to receive sinners that He did not object to 
 receive even the devil's castaways. Now, my lady, did you ever hear of 
 such a thing since you were born ? " To which her ladyship made the 
 
254 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 following reply : "There is something, I acknowledge, a little singular in 
 the invitation, and I do not recollect to have ever met with it before ; but 
 as Mr. Whitefield is below in the parlour, we'll have him up, and let him 
 answer for himself." Upon his coming up into the drawing-room, Lady 
 Huntingdon said: "Mr. Whitefield, these ladies have been preferring a 
 very heavy charge against you, and I thought it best you should come up 
 and defend yourself. They say that in your sermon last evening, in speak- 
 ing of the willingness of Jesus Christ to receive sinners, you expressed 
 yourself in the following terms : That so ready was Christ to receive 
 sinners who came to Him, that he was willing to receive even the devil's 
 castaways." Mr. Whitefield immediately replied, "I certainly, my 
 lady, must plead guilty to the charge ; whether I did what was right or 
 otherwise, your ladyship shall judge from the following circumstance : 
 Did your ladyship notice, about half an hour ago, a very modest single rap 
 at the door ? It was given by a poor, miserable-looking aged female, who 
 requested to speak with me. I desired her to be shown into the parlour, 
 when she accosted me in the following manner : ' I believe, sir, you 
 preached last evening at such a chapel?' ' Yes, I did.' 'Ah, sir, I was 
 accidentally passing the door of that chapel, and hearing the voice of some 
 one preaching, I did what I have never been in the habit of doing— I went 
 in ; and one of the first things I heard you say was, that Jesus Christ was 
 so willing to receive sinners, that he did not object to receive the devil's 
 castaways. Now, sir, I have been on the town for many years, and am so 
 worn out in his service, that I think I may with truth be called one of his 
 castaways. Do you think, sir, that Jesus Christ would receive me ? ' " 
 Mr. Whitefield assured her that there was no doubt of it, if she was but 
 willing to go to Him. From the sequel, it appeared that it was the case, 
 and that it ended in the sound conversion of this poor creature, and Lady 
 Huntingdon, was assured, on most respectable authority, that the woman 
 left a very charming testimony behind her that, though her sins had been 
 of a crimson hue, the atoning blood of Christ had washed them white as 
 snow.' 
 
 Whitefield's labours among the rich were relieved by the 
 more congenial work of visiting some of the provincial towns. 
 From Gloucester he wrote a letter to the Trustees of Georgia, 
 which is painful to read, for its defence of slavery ; nay, worse 
 than that, its entreaty that slavery might be introduced where 
 it did not already exist. The profit of the slave trade was now 
 becoming so great that all who had any interest in its extension 
 
 w 
 
DR. WATTS 255 
 
 were clamouring to have restrictions removed. The mercenary 
 spirit was blind and deaf to the griefs and wrongs of the poor 
 African ; and it is deplorable that Whitefield, one of the most 
 generous and self-denying of men, should have been affected 
 with the popular tone of thought and feeling. It was often 
 said, when slavery was the ' domestic institution ' of America, 
 that contact with it too frequently dulled conscience, and 
 turned anti-slavery men into pro-slavery men ; and from that 
 letter which, under the first burst of indignation at the sight of 
 shameful cruelties, Whitefield wrote to the inhabitants of South 
 Carolina, it would seem that he was no exception to the rule. 
 
 Whitefield is seen, at the end of 1748, in kindly and close 
 communion with the two foremost Nonconformists of his day. 
 On November 25th, he called at Lady Abney's to see Dr. 
 Watts, who described himself as ' a waiting servant of Christ.' V 
 He helped to raise the venerable man to take some medicine ; 
 and within half an hour of his departure from the house, 
 the ' servant ' had ceased his waiting, and entered into the joy 
 of his Lord. 
 
 Whitefield's letter to Doddridge, on December 21st, is full 
 of brotherly sympathy with the doctor in his trouble through 
 the Moravians, who had disturbed his congregation. White- 
 field had felt all the annoyance of having his work damaged and 
 broken by meddling men, and could thoroughly enter into 
 Doddridge's feelings. He speaks as a chastened, humbled, 
 submissive, charitably-minded man, not blaming his troublers 
 more than he condemns himself, and gratefully acknowledging 
 the personal benefit that their conduct, under the Divine 
 blessing, had been to him. It is with touching humility that 
 he refe.s to those dark days when he came from America and 
 found his converts turned against him. He says — 
 
 ' The Moravians first divided my family, then my parish at Georgia, and 
 after that the societies which, under God, I was an instrument of gathering. 
 
 \ 
 
256 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 I suppose not less than four hundred, through their practices, have left the 
 Tabernacle. But I have been forsaken other ways. I have not had above 
 a hundred to hear me where I had twenty thousand, and hundreds now 
 assemble within a quarter of a mile of me who never come to see or 
 speak to me, though they must own at the great day I was their spiritual 
 father. All this I find but little enough to teach me to cease from man, 
 and to wean me from that too great fondness which spiritual fathers are apt 
 to have for their spiritual children.' 
 
 It is not less pleasant to find Whitefield and his old tutor 
 
 together again at Bristol. Dr. R was now a prebendary, 
 
 and when Whitefield called upon him he received him gladly. 
 They talked about the Church and Methodism ; and Whitefield 
 told him that his judgment was riper than it had been at the 
 outset of his career, and that as fast as he found out his faults 
 he should be glad to acknowledge them. The prebendary 
 replied that as Whitefield grew moderate, the offence of the 
 bishops and other dignitaries would wear away — a change which 
 Whitefield would have hailed with satisfaction, though he was 
 content to be under displeasure ; his great anxiety was to act 
 an honest part and keep from trimming. This is the last 
 glimpse we shall get of the kindly man, who did Whitefield 
 no slight service by his fatherly oversight, when misguided 
 earnestness and anxiety in religion might have ruined White- 
 field's energies for life. 
 
 The winter's work among the nobility damaged Whitefield's 
 health not a little. He was glad to get away into the west, to 
 revisit some of his former places of labour — Bristol, Plymouth, 
 Exeter, Gloucester. Between January 28 and March 10, 
 1749, this feeble, suffering man performed a journey of six 
 hundred miles, preaching as frequently as he ever had done in 
 the days of health, and, notwithstanding the unseasonable 
 time of the year for open-air services, often in the open air. 
 His life was a faithful embodiment of some of his happy 
 sayings — such as, ' I do not preach for life, but from life ; ' 
 
NOT A SECTARIAN 257 
 
 'Like a pure crystal, I would transmit all the glory that God 
 is pleased to pour upon me, and never claim as my own what 
 is His sole property.' It was with much reluctance that he 
 thought of turning from his beloved ' ranging ' to renew his 
 work in the Countess's house. The same diffidence which 
 made him shrink from encountering the shocks of life, when 
 he approached the American coast on his second visit to 
 America, made him write to his friend Hervey — 
 
 ' Lady Huntingdon writes me word that " the prospect of doing gcod at 
 my return to London is very encouraging." Thither I am now bound. I 
 go with fear and trembling, knowing how difficult it is to speak to the 
 great, so as to win them to Jesus Christ. . . . My dear brother, fail not to 
 pray for me, that I may hold on and hold out to the end, and in prosperity 
 and adversity, press forward with an even, meek, and lowly mind towards 
 the' mark for the prize of our high calling in Christ Jesus.' 
 
 In quite the same spirit he says to the same friend, a few 
 weeks later — 
 
 ' You judge right when you say, it is your opinion that I do not want to 
 make a sect, or set myself at the head of a party. No ; let the name of 
 Whitefield die, so that the cause of Jesus Christ may live. I have seen 
 enough of popularity to be sick of it, and did not the interest of my blessed 
 Master require my appearing in public, the world should hear but little oi 
 me henceforward.' 
 
 To one brother minister he says : ' I am glad your children 
 grow so fast ; they become fathers soon ; I wish some may 
 not prove dwarfs at last. A word to the wise is sufficient. I 
 have always found awakening times like spring times : many 
 blossoms, but not always so much fruit.' 
 
 But other work than preaching demanded his attention ; for 
 it was no idle word which he spoke to his old tutor, when he 
 told him that he wottld acknowledge his faults as fast as 
 he found them out. The Bishop of Exeter, Dr. Lavingtpn, 
 
 18 
 
258 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 furnished him with a fine opportunity of retraeting many 
 blameworthy words and deeds ; and no part of his life is more 
 remarkable than this for its exhibition of frankness and 
 humility. The bishop wrote, in 1747, when Whitefield was 
 absent in America, a treatise on ' The Enthusiasm of the 
 Methodists and Papists,' in which he attempted to draw a 
 parallel between the old Church and the new sect, or rather 
 the new men of his own Church. The subject was tempting 
 to an enemy ; and the argument adopted valid, if everything 
 belonging to Popery be evil. The syllogism was : Everything 
 belonging to Popery is bad ; the enthusiasm of the Methodist 
 and Papists is the same ; therefore the enthusiasm of the 
 Methodists is bad. The identity of Methodist and Popish 
 enthusiasm is traced with much patience and astounding 
 malevolence through nine characteristics. Dominicans, 
 Franciscans, and Jesuits are shown to be the true forerunners 
 of Whitefield and Wesley ! 
 
 There is only one thing more painful than the reading of 
 such unscrupulous attacks, and it is the assurance of Arch- 
 deacon More that the assertion that ' Bishop Lavington in his 
 latter days repented of his writings against the Methodists, I 
 know to be without foundation, as far as his conversation 
 could afford assurance to the contrary. To the very last he 
 always spoke of them as a fraternity compounded of hypocrites 
 and enthusiasts.' 
 
 A crushing answer might have been penned by any honest 
 man ; but Whitefield's ' Remarks upon the Pamphlet,' as he 
 calls his reply, are better than any formal answer. Their 
 spirit is something wonderful ; and it is impossible to turn 
 from perusing the bishop's slanders and abuse, to read White- 
 field's reply, without feeling how good and blessed a thing is 
 an honest, forgiving heart. Lavington had said that the 
 Methodist preachers, like St. Anthony, were attended by 'a 
 
BISHOP LA VI NG TON'S ATTACK 259 
 
 sturdy set of followers, as their guards, armed with clubs under 
 their clothes, menacing and terrifying such as should speak 
 lightly of their apostle.' 
 
 'You add,' says Whitefield, ' " I have heard it often affirmed ; " and so 
 might the heathens have said that they heard it often affirmed, that when 
 the primitive Christians received the blessed sacrament, they killed a young 
 child, and then sucked its blood. But was that any reason why they 
 should believe it? It is true, indeed, some of the Methodist preachers 
 have more than once been attended with a sturdy set of followers, armed 
 with clubs and other weapons, not as their guards, but opposers and 
 persecutors ; and who have not only menaced and terrified, but actually 
 abused and beat many of those who came to hear him whom you, I 
 suppose, would call their apostle. Both Methodist preachers and 
 Methodist hearers, too, for want of better arguments, have often felt the 
 weight of such irresistible power, which, literally speaking, hath struck 
 many of them dumb, and I verily believe, had it not been for some 
 superior, invisible guard, must have struck them dead. These are all the 
 sturdy set of armed followers that the Methodists know of. And whatever 
 you may unkindly insinuate about my being aware of a turbulent spirit, a 
 fighting enthusiasm amongst them, because I said, " I dread nothing more 
 than the false zeal of my friends in a suffering hour,"' I think many years' 
 experience may convince the world that the weapons of their warfare, like 
 those of their blessed Redeemer and His apostles, have not been carnal ; 
 but, thanks be to God, however you may ridicule His irresistible power, 
 they have, through Him, been mighty to the pulling down of Satan's 
 strongholds in many a sturdy sinner's heart.' 
 
 Whitefield confessed that ' there is generally much — too 
 much — severity in our first zeal ; at least there was in mine ; ' 
 also that his and Seward's treatment of Archbishop Tillotson 
 ' was by far too severe. We condemned his state, when we 
 ought only, in a candid manner, which I would do again if 
 called to it, to have mentioned what we judged wrong in his 
 doctrines. I do not justify it. I condemn myself most 
 heartily, and ask pardon for it, as I believe he (Seward) would 
 do, were he now alive. But then, do not you still go on, 
 sir, to imitate us in our faults ; let the surviving Methodists 
 
260 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 answer for themselves ; let Seward and Tillotson lie undis- 
 turbed.' Whitefield adds, on the subject of desiring persecution : 
 ' Whatever can be produced out of any of my writings to prove 
 that I have desired or prayed for ill-usage, persecution, 
 martyrdom, death, &c, I retract it with all my heart, as 
 proceeding from the overflowings of an irregular, though well- 
 meant zeal.' He also thanks Lavington for pointing out the 
 ' very wrong expression ' about the ' hosannas of the multitude.' 
 'Your remark,' he says, 'runs thus: "Very profane, unless it 
 be a false print for huzzas." I could wish it had been so, but 
 the word was my own ; and though not intended to convey a 
 profane idea, was very wrong and unguarded, and I desire 
 may be buried in oblivion, unless you, or some other kind 
 person, are pleased to remind me of it, in order to lay me low 
 before God and man.' The last admission of all, that he was 
 wrong in making public the lot Wesley cast in private, is worth 
 all the rest, and does honour to Whitefield's candour ; it is a 
 perfect atonement for his fault. 
 
 The whole of the summer, and the early part of the autumn, 
 of 1749, were spent in a tour through the west and through 
 Wales, thousands answering his call, and coming as of old, 
 even when the rain rendered an open-air service both uncom- 
 fortable and dangerous. For two days he sought retirement in 
 his wife's house at Abergavenny (she was now on her way 
 from Bethesda to join him), and found it ' so very sweet,' that 
 he would have been glad never to have been heard of again. 
 From thence he wrote to his brother at Bristol a letter which 
 exhibits so many sides of his life and character that it demands 
 a place in his biography : — 
 
 ' My very dear Brother, — Enclosed you have a letter from out 
 good Lady Huntingdon, whom, I suppose, you will have the honour of 
 receiving in a few days under your roof. Both before and ever since I left 
 Bristol, I have been frequently thinking of the unspeakable mercies that 
 
A BROTHER'S LOVE 261 
 
 the infinitely great and glorious God is pleased to pour down upon us. 
 Surely the language of both our hearts ought to be, " What shall we render 
 unto the Lord? " For my part, I am lost in wonder, and want a thousand 
 lives to spend in the Redeemer's service. Oh, let not my dear brother be 
 angry if I entreat him at length to leave off killing, and begin to redeem, 
 lime. A concern for your eternal welfare so affects me, that it often brings 
 bodily sickness upon me, and drives me to a throne of grace, to wrestle in 
 your behalf. Even now, whilst I am writing, my soul is agonising in 
 prayer for you, hoping I shall see that day when you will have poured out 
 on you a spirit of grace and of supplication, and look to Him whom we have 
 pierced, and be made to mourn as one mourneth for a first-born. Till this 
 be done, all resolutions, all schemes for amendment, will be only like 
 spiders' webs. Nature is a mere Froteus, and till renewed by the Spirit of 
 God, though it may shift its scene, will be only nature still. Apply then, 
 my dearest brother, to the fountain of light and life, from whence every 
 good and perfect gift cometh. 
 
 ' A worthy woman, in all probability, is going to throw herself under 
 God into your hands. A considerable addition will then be made to your 
 present talents, and consequently a greater share of care and circumspec- 
 tion necessary to improve all for the glory of Him who hath been always 
 preventing and following you with His blessings. Should you prove any 
 otherwise than a pious husband, it will be one of the greatest afflictions I 
 ever met with in my life. At present you can only hurt yourself, which is 
 hurt enough ; but then, forgive me, my dear brother, I am jealous over 
 you with a godly jealousy. My tears shall be turned into prayers, and I 
 will follow this letter with strong crying unto God in your behalf. My 
 retirement here these two days hath been very sweet ; but to-morrow I 
 begin a three weeks' circuit. Next Sabbath I am to be at Carmarthen ; 
 the Friday following at Haverford West. For the present, adieu. That 
 you may take Christ to be your all in all, and that the remainder of your 
 life may be one continued sacrifice of love to Him who hath shed His 
 precious blood for you, is the hearty prayer of, my dear brother, 
 
 ' Yours most affectionately 
 
 'George Whitefield.' 
 
 These prayers appear to have been answered. 
 
 His work among the rich was done with a scrupulous dis- 
 regard of all self-interest. To a friend, who thought that 
 Whitefield had carried religion very near the Court, if not quite 
 into it, and that he might have influence enough to secure the 
 appointment of a religious governor to some colony where a 
 
 X 
 
262 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 governor was wanted, he replied that he should be very shy to 
 ask favours, even if he had interest at Court, lest he should be 
 thought to preach for himself and not for Christ Jesus, his 
 Lord, and because he would fain convince all that he sought 
 not theirs, but them. Yet he would use his influence with 
 equal freedom in other quarters, and especially if it was for 
 any one in more than usually humble circumstances. Such a 
 worthy object came under his notice during this tour, an 
 obscure Dissenting minister, who had sold part of his library 
 to finish the meeting-house in which he preached, whose dress 
 was very mean — as well it might be, seeing he had but three 
 pounds per annum from a fund, and the same sum from his 
 people — who lived very low, but enjoyed much of God, and 
 who was something of a poet ; for Whitefield found that he had 
 as good an understanding of the figurative parts of Scripture as 
 any one that ' he knew of in the world.' How could he for- 
 bear using his interest with a rich and benevolent friend for 
 such a ' poor, despised, faithful minister of Christ ? ' So he hints 
 that four or five guineas might be bestowed on this Zachary, 
 who had also a faithful Elizabeth. 
 
 A hard task was it for him to inspire other hearts with as- 
 much moral courage as always bore up his own. By word, as 
 well as by example, by reproach, and by loving persuasion, he 
 would try to free the fearful from the fear of man, which 
 hindered their full and self-denying consecration to the will of 
 Jesus Christ. One of the most difficult cases he ever had to 
 manage was that of Dr. Stonehouse, of Northampton, an 
 eminent physician, a friend of Doddridge, and a man of great 
 refinement. Many were the expostulations of the bold 
 evangelist before the shrinking man could be brought to a firm 
 stand, but at last it was done. 
 
 On the day of his arrival at Bristol after a month's circuit 
 he gives this account of his work : — 
 
NOT ONE DRY MEETING 263 
 
 ' Yesterday God brought me here, after having carried me a circuit of 
 about eight hundred miles, and enabled me to preach, I suppose, to 
 upwards of a hundred thousand souls. I have been in eight Welsh 
 counties, and I think we have not had one dry meeting. The work in 
 Wales is much upon the advance, and likely to increase daily. Had my 
 dear Mr. Hervey been there to have seen the simplicity of so many dear 
 souls, I am persuaded he would have said, M Sit aniiiia mea cum Metho- 
 distis!" But every one to his post. During this excursion I have been 
 kept happy inwardly, and well in body till the latter end of last week, when 
 the Lord was pleased to lay His hand upon me. so that I was almost 
 brought to the crave. But lie that wounds heals also.' 
 
 Soon afterwards Whitefield resumed his work in London for 
 a little while, and then returned into the west, where Methodist 
 doctrines were agitating all minds, and where he was an 
 especial object of interest, on account of his reply to the first 
 part of Bishop Lavington's pamphlet. The journey has as many 
 incidents as would form the remarkable parts of many a life, 
 but in this career they are in danger of being passed over as 
 commonplace. It would be a rare thing in the life of any 
 clergyman were he, on being recognised as he passed through 
 a town, to be asked and entreated by a humble, unknown 
 woman to stay and give the people a sermon ; and upon con- 
 senting to do so, soon to find himself surrounded ' with a great 
 company.' And the next day the congregation at the same 
 place was still greater. This happened at Wellington when 
 Whitefield rode through it. 
 
 All along his way he found the good seed of past sowing 
 times springing up and promising an abundant harvest. At 
 Plymouth the wonderful power which attended his first visit 
 was making things look quite new. His pamphlet in reply to 
 the bishop had been useful to some ; its candour and simplicity 
 deserved nothing less. The bishop, when asked by some one 
 if he had seen it, replied, ' Yes : Whitefield writes like an 
 honest man, and has recanted several things ; but he goes on 
 
264 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 in the same way yet.' His loidship also promised a second 
 part of his pamphlet, which in due time appeared ; but as it 
 was mainly directed against Wesley, in Wesley's hands 
 Whitefield was content to leave it. 
 
 The bishop was troubled with Methodists in his own diocese, 
 and among his own clergy, the Rev. Mr. Thompson, vicar of 
 St. Gennis, being one of these undesirable 'sons.' When 
 Lavington threatened him to his face that he would pull off 
 his gown, Thompson immediately pulled it off himself, and 
 throwing it at the feet of the astounded bishop, exclaimed, 
 ' I can preach the gospel without a gown.' The bishop 
 thought it was best to send for him, and try to soothe him. 
 Next he had the mortification of seeing Whitefield welcomed 
 to Thompson's house, from whence he had thought to banish 
 him, and the two friends fraternising with such cordiality as 
 only men whose endangered friendship has stood firm can 
 feel. 
 
 The bishop was not, however, to go without his gratification. 
 In his presence, and in that of many of his clergy, Whitefield 
 I was for the fourth time violently assaulted while preaching the 
 gospel. The blow of a cudgel at Basingstoke, the thump of a 
 sod from a Staffordshire heathen, and the pelting with the 
 refuse of a Moorfield's fair, were followed by a stunning blow 
 from a great stone, which struck deep into Whitefield's head, 
 and almost rolled him off the table, from which, amidst an 
 awful stillness, he was addressing ten thousand hearers at 
 Exeter. A second stone, also meant for him, struck a poor 
 man quite to the ground. A third, aimed at the same object, 
 fell and did no damage. This was done in the presence of the 
 man who had unblushingly repeated the lie, that Methodist 
 preachers were often attended with a set of sturdy fellows 
 carrying clubs under their clothes to make the congregations 
 reverence their preaching apostle ; nor did he mount the table 
 
STONED BEFORE A BISHOP 265 
 
 to express his shame and regret at being the witness of such 
 an outrage, neither did he act the part of the kind Samaritan 
 to the injured man. The only alleviating thought to this story is 
 that the bishop and his clergy do not seem to have been accessory 
 to the assault. Whitefield, never wishful to magnify his deeds 
 and sufferings, nor to exaggerate another's fault, simply says 
 that it was ' a drunken man ' who threw three great stones at 
 him ; but the assailant must have been tolerably sober when 
 once he aimed so well as to hit his man on the head, and the 
 next time threw with such force as to lay a man on the ground ; 
 neither do drunken men often manage to carry three large 
 stones into a dense crowd. 1 
 
 Weak and suffering, yet a moral conqueror, Whitefield re- 
 turned to London, not forgetting on his way to call at Dorchester 
 Gaol to comfort John Haime, a soldier who had headed a 
 
 1 It would have been more becoming a Christian bishop had Dr. Laving- 
 ton tried to reform the heathen of Exeter, instead of wasting his time in 
 slandering others who did his neglected work. For the sake of truth it 
 should be stated that the city had a band of ruffians called ' Church 
 Rabble,' or ' The God-damn-me Crew,' who carried persecution to every 
 length short of death. In 1745, the crew, led by a bailiff, a sexton, a parish- 
 clerk, and several tradesmen, and encouraged by many ' gentlemen,' who 
 \ laced themselves in windows to see the obscene sport, abused the Metho- 
 dists as they would, neither the mayor nor the magistrates interfering to 
 stop them. They kicked the men and subjected them to every abuse and 
 indignity. They rubbed the faces of the women with lamp-black and oil ; 
 they beat their breasts with their clenched fists ; they stripped them almost 
 naked, then turned the rest of their clothes over their heads, and in that 
 condition kicked or dragged them along the street, or rolled them in the 
 gutters or in mud-heaps prepared for them. To save herself from one of 
 the mob who attempted even worse outrage, one woman leaped from the 
 gallery of the meeting-house to the floor. The riot lasted for hours, and in 
 the presence of thousands. — See 'An Account of a late Riot at Exeter,' by 
 John Cennick, 1745; and 'A brief Account of the late Persecution and 
 Barbarous Usage of the Methodists at Exeter,' by an Impartial Hand, 
 1746. The riot occurred in 1745 ; Eavington's Treatise was written jn 
 1747 ; Whitefield was assaulted in 1749. 
 
266 GEORGE Iff //TEE/ELD 
 
 revival movement among his comrades in Flanders, and since 
 his return home had preached in Methodist fashion, and been 
 rewarded for his zeal by a place among knaves and felons ! 
 
 Whitefield's ' grand catholicon ' under both public and 
 domestic trials — preaching — was now used by him with un- 
 remitting diligence ; and in the autumn of 1 749 we find him in a 
 new district, and among a people as different from those of the 
 west of England as Yorkshire moors are different from Devon- 
 shire lanes and orchards. It was the splendid autumn season 
 when he first clambered up that steep road ' winding between 
 wave-like hills that rise and fall on every side of the horizon, 
 with a long, illimitable look, as if they were a part of the line 
 of the great serpent, which, the Norse legend says, girdles the 
 world ; ' and was received at bleak little Haworth, sacred both to 
 piety and genius, by William Grimshaw, the incumbent. The 
 old parsonage (not the one in which the Brontes afterwards 
 lived), standing half a mile from the church, and commanding 
 from its windows a wide view of the valley of the Worth, and 
 from its door the interlacing hills towards Keighley, the 
 sheltered valley at their feet, and the swelling moors, traced 
 with winding roads, that lie bordering on the moors of Ilkley, 
 was solid and weather-beaten, like the sturdy man who then 
 inhabited it. We do not know whether his eye often lingered 
 on the beauty and grandeur that lay around his home ; perhaps 
 at the most it would be a hurried glance that he would give, 
 when he halted for a moment on the doorstone, as he went 
 forth to preach, or returned from the same duty ; for he was an 
 untiring apostle of the truth, and it would be little time that he 
 could find for communion with nature. His work was to 
 soften and change the rugged, hardened sinners of the village, 
 and of all the district round, as far as his iron strength could 
 carry him ; and for that he must only exchange the saddle 
 where he made his sermons for the pulpit where he preached 
 
THE VICAR OF HA WORTH 267 
 
 them. An all-absorbing thing was the enjoying and teaching 
 those truths which had turned his own soul from sin to holiness, 
 and which had changed a clergyman, a mere professional, who 
 had entered holy orders with the unholy wish to get the best 
 living he could, into a loving shepherd, who sought the lambs 
 and the sheep by night and day, in summer and winter, in weari- 
 ness and painfulness, nor ever thought of his sacrifice, if so be 
 he might save that which was lost. Thirty times a week would 
 he preach in cottage or church, or on hillside ; it was an idle 
 week when he preached but twelve times. Neither was he 
 satisfied simply to preach, to get through his subject ; he would 
 dwell with unwearied patience on each part of his message, 
 loving the tenderness and mercy of which it spoke, and anxious 
 that the feeblest mind should also love and understand it. 
 ' Affectionately desirous ' of his people, he would have 
 imparted to them, not the gospel of God only, but also his 
 own soul, because they were dear to him. Truer and kinder 
 shepherd never tended flock than this overseer of the flock 
 among the hills. Much has been said about his eccentricities, 
 but these were little noticed by his people, who lived daily in the 
 light of his shining purity, and received in their every sorrow 
 and in their every joy the sympathy of his faithful heart. 
 
 His church always presented a remarkable appearance on 
 the Sunday. The shepherding of the week made a full fold 
 that day. Weavers and farmers, shepherds and labourers, came 
 from the remotest parts of his wild district to hear his words of 
 grace and truth, and listened as if they felt the power of another 
 world upon their spirits. When Whitefield first visited them, 
 which was in September, 1749, six thousand people stood in 
 the churchyard to hear him, and above a thousand communi- 
 cants approached the table with feelings of awe and joy. So 
 great a number could have been collected together in this 
 thinly-populated district only by a strong desire to hear 
 
268 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 an unequalled preacher, whose fame was familiar through the 
 lips of their pastor, and by a deep and real interest in the great 
 subjects on which he discoursed, as the congregations at Cam- 
 buslang and in the American woods were called together. ' It 
 was,' says Whitefield, 'a great day of the Son of man.' 
 
 Whitefield paid his first visit to Leeds at the request of 
 one of Wesley's preachers and of all Wesley's people ; he was 
 welcomed by all, and had a congregation of ten thousand to 
 hear him. About the same time he visited Armley, Pudsey, 
 and Birstall. 1 
 
 Proceeding northwards, he met Charles Wesley returning 
 from Newcastle, where Methodism had already won a remark- 
 able triumph, and where he had been confirming the believers. 
 Charles immediately turned his horse's head round towards 
 Newcastle, and went (a pleasant sight to see) to introduce his 
 brother in Christ to the Methodist pulpit in that town. He 
 wrote a letter giving an account of what took place which 
 reflects the highest credit upon the spirit in which the three 
 friends were now doing their work : — 
 
 ' I snatch a few moments before the people come to tell you what you 
 will rejoice to know — that the Lord is reviving His work as at the 
 beginning ; that multitudes are daily added to His Church; so that G. W. 
 and myjjroth pr n ,ntU_are one — a threefold cord which shall no more be 
 broken. The week before last I waited on our friend George to our 
 house in Newcastle, and gave him full possession of our pulpit and 
 people's hearts ; as full as was in my power to give. The Lord united all 
 
 1 Tradition long retained a story about the preaching at Birstall. Nancy 
 Bowling, a pious old maid of Heckmondwike, who died sixty years ago 
 at the advanced age of eighty, used to tell how the wind blew from Birstall 
 towards Heckmondwike when Whitefield preached, and that his voice could 
 be heard on Staincliffe Hill, a mile and a half from where he stood, crying, 
 ' O earth, earth, hear the Word of the Lord ! ' The story must have been 
 lold her ; but most likely she heard him preach, as she was ten years old 
 when he died, 
 
 \ 
 
MRS. GRACE MURRAY 269 
 
 our hearts. I attended his successful ministry for some days. He was 
 never more blessed or better satisfied. . . . At Leeds we met my brother, 
 who gave honest George the right hand of fellowship, and attended him 
 everywhere to our societies. Some at London will be alarmed at the 
 news ; but it is the Lord's doing, as they, I doubt not, will by and by 
 acknowledge.' 
 
 ' Brother Charles ' and 'honest George ' did something more 
 at Newcastle than preach ; they got Mrs. Grace Murray, a 
 widow, to whom Wesley was engaged, married to John 
 Bennet, to the great anguish of Wesley's heart. Whitefield 
 played only a secondary part in this blamable transaction, and 
 under the strain it caused he kept the two brothers together. 
 Wesley showed astonishing magnanimity towards all con- 
 cerned, but especially towards Charles and Mrs. Bennet. 
 
 This second visit to Leeds, to which Charles refers, was 
 after a ride with Whitefield through part of Lancashire and 
 part of Cheshire. It made the Established and Dissenting 
 clergy very angry, and their churches and chapels echoed with 
 the thunder of their displeasure. 
 
 It was November now, and, says Whitefield, ' indeed it 
 begins to be cold abroad.' Winter was warning him home to 
 his Tabernacle ; so he only called at Sheffield, Nottingham, 
 and Ashby on his way southwards. At Sheffield, then a town 
 of ten thousand inhabitants, he unwittingly gave the Wesleys 
 a most appropriate return for their kindness at Leeds and 
 Newcastle. In 1743 Charles had been stoned there, and the 
 society house pulled down by a mob, while the constable 
 looked on approvingly. Three years later Charles found the 
 hardened sinners at Sheffield still the same ; and felt himself 
 constrained to warn them from the awful words : ' Except the 
 Lord of hosts had left unto us a very small remnant, we 
 should have been as Sodom, and we should have been like 
 unto Gomorrah ! ' God filled his mouth with judgments 
 
270 GEORGE WH1TEF1ELD 
 
 against them, which he trembled to utter, and they to hear; 
 yet he had no deeper satisfaction than that of having delivered 
 his own soul. Other labourers toiled, then came Whitefield, 
 the success of whose preaching is thus noticed by Charles 
 Wesley, eighteen months after Whitefield's visit : — 
 
 'At two I rejoiced to meet some of my dear children in Sheffield. 
 I encouraged them by that most glorious promise — "Behold He cometh 
 with clouds, and every eye shall see Him." The door has continued 
 open ever since Mr. Whitefield preached here, and quite removed the 
 prejudices of our first opposers. Some of them were convinced by 
 him, some converted and added to the Church. "He that escapes the 
 sword of Jehu shall Elisha slay.'" 
 
 He was no mighty man, glorying in his strength, who won 
 these conquests over fierceness, rage, and hate, but one who 
 passed his days in humble watchfulness and dependence upon 
 heavenly aid. When others were wondering at his unflagging 
 devotion, he was ' more afraid of declining in the latter stages 
 of his road than of anything else.' There was not a grain of V 
 self-satisfaction in him. He was hungering and thirsting after 
 simplicity and godly sincerity. He was subjecting all personal 
 interests to the glory and kingdom of his Lord. ' If souls 
 were profited he desired no more.' Every expense was con- 
 tracted with miserly vigilance, that he might have the more to 
 give to the poor, and for the furtherance of the gospel. And 
 in every sacrifice made, in every reproach endured, there was 
 before his soul the image of his humbled, homeless, suffering 
 Redeemer, cheering and reviving and defending him. He 
 had struggled upwards to a glorious height of consecration 
 and love, yet was he ever mindful of the past, when self-will 
 and fear of contempt marred the beauty and excellence of his 
 piety, and anxious for the day of his final emancipation from 
 sin. ' Oh, my dear sir,' he exclaims to a friend, ' this pretty 
 character of mine I did not at first care to part with ; 'twas 
 
INTIMATE WITH CONTEMPT 271 
 
 death to be despised, and worse than death to think of being 
 laughed at by all. But when I began to consider Him who 
 endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself, I then 
 longed to drink of the same cup ; and blessed be God, con- 
 tempt and I are pretty intimate, and have been so for above 
 twice seven years.' Humility was now one of the most 
 conspicuous among all that radiant cluster of virtues and 
 graces which crowned his head like stars. ' Oh, that I may 
 learn from all I see to desire to be nothing ! ' he cries out, 
 ' and to think it my highest privilege to be an assistant to all, 
 but the head of none. I find a love of power sometimes 
 intoxicates even God's own dear children, and makes them to 
 mistake passion for zeal, and an overbearing spirit for an 
 authority given them from above. For my own part, I find it 
 much easier to obey than govern, and that it is much safer to 
 be trodden under foot than to have it in one's power to serve 
 others so. This makes me fly from that which at our first 
 setting out we are too apt to court. Thanks be to the Lord 
 of all lords for taking any pains with ill and hell-deserving 
 me ! I cannot well buy humility at too dear a rate.' 
 
 He went to ' golden seasons ' in London, in the winter 
 1749-50. Large congregations were gathered together in the 
 Tabernacle, at six in the morning. The nobility were 
 preached to, and poor people and orphans not forgotten. He 
 tells Lady Huntingdon that he ' hopes to write to the poor 
 baker soon ;' and to Habersham at the orphan-house he sends 
 word that he has agreed to take ' little Joseph and his sister,' 
 also that he hears there is a little infant beside the other two, 
 and that he would willingly have it too, if it could be kept till 
 it was about three years old; 'for,' says he, 'I hope to grow 
 rich in heaven by taking care of orphans on earth.' Haber- 
 sham is further instructed to let Mrs. V (probably some 
 
 widow) and the other poor of Savannah reap the benefit of the 
 
 l/ 
 
272 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 crop, if it answers expectation. ' Pray let one barrel ol rice 
 be reserved for them.' 
 
 Something now induced him to offer to preach in Wesley's 
 chapel. His friendly advance was kindly met ; and he 
 preached four or five times to large congregations, and 
 administered the sacrament twice. Wesley also came to the 
 Tabernacle, and preached for Whitefield, and administered 
 the sacrament to twelve hundred communicants. 
 
 His work among the nobility,, which was in a fair measure 
 satisfying even to him, with his spiritual conceptions of the 
 work of God, was now the subject of conversation at Court, 
 as well as in private circles. The following anecdote, which he 
 communicated to the Countess, will show how his friends 
 were observed. He says : — 
 
 ' His Majesty seems to have been acquainted with some things about 
 us, by what passed in his discourse with Lady Chesterfield. The 
 particulars are these : her ladyship had a -suit of clothes-on, with a brown 
 ground and silver flowers, which was brought from abroad. His Majesty 
 coming round to her, first smiled, and then laughed right out. Her 
 ladyship could not imagine what was the matter. At length his Majesty 
 said : " I know who chose that gown for you — Mr. Whitefield ; and I hear 
 that you have attended on him this year and a half." Her ladyship 
 answered : "Yes, I have, and I like him very well ; " but after she came 
 to her chair was grieved she had not said more ; so that I find her ladyship 
 is not ashamed.' 
 
 Early in 1750 London was several times shaken with earth- 
 quakes ; and the state of excitement into which it and other 
 causes threw the people, gave Whitefield a grand opportunity 
 for displaying the fulness of his love and the strength of his faith 
 in God. The first shocks were felt on the 8th of February, 
 and on the 8th of March there came another, at a quarter 
 past five in the morning. There was no more harm done 
 than the rocking of the houses and the tumbling down of 
 some chimneys; but men's hearts failed them for fear. There 
 
EARTHQUAKES IN LONDON 273 
 
 was talking about judgment and the last day. A soldier, 
 bolder and more fanatical than the rest of the people, an- 
 nounced the coming overthrow of a great part of the city on 
 a certain night between twelve and one o'clock. Multitudes 
 fled the city altogether, while others crowded the fields and 
 open places for safety from falling houses. The Methodist 
 chapels had enormous congregations. Whitefield sought his 
 congregation in Hyde Park on the dreaded night of the 
 soldier's prediction. He warned and entreated them all to 
 prepare for the coming of the Son of man, an event much 
 more stupendous and important than that which they now 
 expected every moment to see. Neither moon nor star shed 
 any light upon audience or preacher, and only one voice was 
 heard in the still darkness, like a voice crying in the wilder- 
 ness. It spoke of mercy and judgment, and could hardly 
 have spoken in vain. 
 
 The winter in London had been very trying to Whitefield's 
 health, if refreshing to his heart ; throughout the whole of it 
 his body was a daily trial to him, and sometimes he could 
 ' scarce drag the crazy load along.' It was with delight that 
 he saw spring return, and that he went off into the west 
 for a time of ranging. He went with his hands so full of 
 work, and moved so rapidly from place to place, that he could 
 hardly find time to eat. He found it exceedingly pleasant, 
 and hoped now, in his Master's strength, ' to begin beginning 
 to spend and be spent for Him ! ' Twelve times in six days 
 did he preach at Plymouth, and the longer he preached, the 
 greater became the congregations and the mightier his word. 
 Still he was not satisfied. He wanted ' more tongues, more 
 bodi ;s, more souls for the Lord Jesus ; ' had he been gifted 
 with ten thousand, Christ should have had them all. 
 
 It was inevitable that his flaming zeal, kindled as it was by 
 the love of the Lord Jesus, and burnin only for His glory, 
 
 r 9 
 
274 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 should fire all the district through which he passed. Glouces- 
 ter, Bristol, Plymouth, and Cornwall right to the Land's End, 
 were all ablaze with religious fervour. He seemed to travel in 
 the strength of the Holy Ghost, and to be independent of that 
 crazy body which had oppressed him in London. Friends 
 were jubilant at his coming ; and when he was speaking at 
 Bideford, where there was one of the best little flocks in 
 all England, the bold vicar of St. Gennis almost fell under 
 the mighty power of God which came down upon the 
 \ people. 
 
 Such exertions as he put forth could not fail to do him 
 physical mischief. That pain which he felt as he came last 
 from Scotland was not inactive ; it now and again pierced 
 him, and stayed his headlong pace. It had plagued him in 
 London when he was preaching four times a day ; and when 
 he was over the first burst of effort in the west, and thought 
 himself so much better for the change, it returned upon him 
 with increased power. He had continued vomitings which 
 .'almost killed him,' he says; and yet the pulpit was his only 
 cure, so that his friends began to pity him less, and to leave 
 off ' that ungrateful caution, " Spare thyself ! " ' 
 
 He does not appear to have permitted one day's rest to his 
 body when he returned to London from the west. Early in 
 May, 1750, he started for Ashby, where Lady Huntingdon 
 was lying ill, whom he hoped God's people would keep out of 
 heaven as long as possible by their prayers. He had some 
 pleasant interviews with Doddridge, with Stonehouse (now a 
 clergyman, and not afraid to attend Whitefield's preaching in 
 the fields, nor to take the evangelist's arm down the street), 
 with Hervey and Hartley. At Ashby there began the first of 
 a series of little incidents in this town which well illustrate 
 what kind of a life his was. ' The kind people of Ashby,' he 
 says, 'stirred up some of the baser sort to riot before her 
 
ADVENTURES BY THE WAY 275 
 
 ladyship's door while the gospel was preaching ; and on 
 Wednesday evening some people, on their return home, 
 narrowly escaped being murdered. Her ladyship has just 
 received a message from the justice, in order to bring the 
 offenders before him.' After passing through Nottingham, 
 Mansfield, and Sutton, at which places his message was 
 reverently listened to by vast numbers, another rough reception 
 was given to him at Rotherham. The crier was employed to 
 give notice of a bear-baiting. At seven o'clock on a Saturday 
 morning the 'bear' had his congregation round him; then 
 the drum sounded, and several watermen came with great 
 staves to the baiting. The constable was struck ; two of the 
 mobbers were apprehended, but afterwards rescued. One of 
 the most active opponents of Whitefield at Rotherham, but 
 afterwards one of his best friends, was one Thorpe, who also 
 thought to make merry with his public-house friends at the 
 evangelist's expense. He and three others engaged to com- 
 pete, in a public-house, for a wager, at mimicking Whitefield. 
 His competitors took their turn first ; then he jumped on the 
 table, saying, ' I shall beat you all.' According to the terms 
 of the contest, he opened the Bible at haphazard, and took the 
 first text that his eye fell upon, which was this, ' Except ye 
 repent, ye shall all likewise perish.' The words pierced his 
 conscience at once, and instead of mimicking, he began to 
 preach in right earnest, neither thoughts nor language failing 
 him. His audience hung their heads in silence and gloom ; 
 none attempted to interrupt him as he went on to make 
 remarks which filled his own mind with amazement and 
 terror. His sermon — which he always affirmed was preached 
 by the help of the Spirit of God — ended, he descended from 
 the table, and left the room in silence, without noticing any 
 one. Afterwards he joined Ingham's society, then Wesley's, 
 and finally becoming an Independent, settled as the pastor of 
 
276 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 the Independent Church at Masbro. 1 The people of Bolton 
 rivalled those of Rotherham in rudeness and violence ; a 
 drunkard stood up behind Whiter! eld to preach ; and a woman 
 twice attempted to stab the person who erected the preaching- 
 stand in her husband's field. At Newby Cote, from whence 
 he wrote the letter detailing the treatment he had received at 
 Bolton, he had to append to his letter, at seven on the morning 
 after writing it, a postscript which ran thus : ' This last night 
 Satan hath showed his teeth. Some persons got into the 
 barn and stable, and have cut my chaise and one of the 
 horse's tails. What would men do, if they could ? ' It was 
 reserved for 'a clergyman at Ulverstone, who looked more 
 like a butcher than a minister,' to render the last of those 
 insults which Whitefield bore during this journey. He came 
 with two others, and charged a constable to take Whitefield 
 into custody ; ' but,' adds Whitefield, ' I never saw a poor 
 creature sent off in such disgrace.' Thus the poor pilgrim 
 went on from town to town, from county to county. 
 
 The journey had also its bright side. Sheffield hardened 
 sinners were visibly altered in their looks since the last visit, 
 and received the word with such gladness that many went 
 away because they could not come near enough to hear. The 
 moors around Haworth were thronged on Whit Sunday with 
 thousands of people, and the church was thrice almost filled 
 with communicants. Increasing in power as he went, he 
 reached Edinburgh at the end of two months, during which 
 
 ' Whitefield's house was often the village inn, and there he was exposed 
 to annoyance both from drunkards and gamblers. One night the room in 
 which he and a friend slept was next to that in which a set of gamblers 
 were carousing ; and their foul language so troubled him that he felt he 
 must go and reprove them. In vain did his friend try to dissuade him. 
 He went and spoke, but apparently without any effect. When he returned 
 and lay down again, his friend said, 'What did you gain by it?' 'A soft 
 pillow,' he answered, and soon fell asleep. 
 
VISITING THE DYING 277 
 
 time he had preached more than ninety times, and to perhaps 
 as many as one hundred and forty thousand people. 
 
 His coming was hailed with joy in Scotland ; larger con- 
 gregations than ever waited on his word ; and results, not so 
 striking, but quite as useful, followed his efforts as formerly. 
 His general plan was to preach twice every day, the first time 
 early in the morning, and the second in the evening at six ; 
 but one day he preached thrice, and another day four times. 
 This exertion proved too much. Ralph Erskine and he met, 
 and shook hands. The pamphleteers were quiet ; and many 
 of his enemies were glad to be at peace with him. ' The 
 parting was rather more affectionate than ever,' he says, 'and 
 I shall have reason to bless God for ever for this last visit to 
 Scotland.' 
 
 His active life did not altogether remove him from the quiet 
 sphere of an ordinary pastor; and sometimes we find .him 
 comforting the dying, and preparing them for their change. 
 Such work awaited him on his return to England. The 
 Honourable Miss Hotham, daughter of Lady Hotham, re- 
 ceived her last religious teaching from him, and passed into 
 the joy of her Lord. It is striking to see Whitefield kneeling 
 at her bedside, and praying 'as low as he could,' and then 
 giving her the communion. 
 
 The end of 1750 and the beginning of 1 751 do not appear 
 to have been so stirring as other times in Whitefield's life ; but 
 the fact is that his public labours, numerous and exhausting as 
 ever, when he was well enough to work at all, were consider- 
 ably overshadowed by personal affliction and the affliction of 
 his wife and friends. At first, and for some short time after 
 his return from Scotland, all was most pleasant and most quiet. 
 He looks at home in his house adjoining the Tabernacle. There 
 he entertains his dearly beloved friend Hervey ; Wesley, too, 
 comes up one morning to breakfast with him, and then to 
 
278 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 pray with him. ' His heart,' as Wesley says, ' was susceptible 
 of the most generous and the most tender friendship. I have 
 frequently thought that this of all others was the distinguish- 
 ing part of his character. How few have we known of so kind 
 a temper, of such large and flowing affections ! ' Charles 
 Wesley, too, had the same judgment on this point, and said 
 of him — 
 
 ' For friendship formed by nature and by grace, 
 His heart made up of truth and tenderness, 
 He lived, himself on others to bestow.' 
 
 It is in the spirit of this beautiful expression of his, ' It is my 
 comfort that those who are friends to Jesus shall live eternally 
 together hereafter,' that he comes in from the Tabernacle to 
 enjoy the conversation of his friend ; and by and by goes 
 down to Ashby to see the Countess and four clergymen who 
 are enjoying her hospitality. He says that she looks like ' a 
 good archbishop with his chaplains around him.' 'They have 
 ' the sacrament every morning, heavenly conversation all day, 
 and preaching at night.' He calls this living at Court indeed. 
 Nor is the heavenly conversation without wit and pleasantry, 
 for Whitefield was one of the cheerfullest of men. 'Strong 
 good sense, a generous expansion of heart, the most artless 
 but captivating affability, the brightest cheerfulness, and the 
 promptest wit,' Toplady says, ' made him one of the best 
 companions in the world.' 
 
 But it is only for a few days that we sec him spending a life 
 so free from the strain of preaching to thousands. He is 
 hardly withdrawn from the fields, yet is longing to die preach- 
 ing in them. His favourite caution to ministers — ' Beware of 
 nestling ' — is never out of mind ; and although he has won 
 converts in this short stay at Ashby, he is soon off to 
 London, and plunged into all the excitement of his countless 
 w labours. 
 
ILLNESS OF LADY HUNTINGDON 279 
 
 Two months' work brought on a violent and dangerous 
 fever, which confined him to his room for two weeks. He 
 soon was well enough to engage again in his work; but he had 
 thought to cast anchor in the haven of eternal rest. Half 
 regretfully he received the summons ' to put out to sea again ; ' 
 but his thought for himself was quickly forgotten in the old 
 passion of his soul — love of others — and he wished that he 
 might live to direct them to the haven he had almost sighted. 
 
 His wife, too, was in very delicate health, near her third 
 confinement, and after that event she still continued for some 
 time in a precarious state. Not a word fell from his pen 
 about his third child, which, like the second, was probably 
 still-born. 
 
 Trouble next fell upon Lady Huntingdon, and what affected 
 her affected him. She was, indeed, unwell at the same 
 time as Whitefield, but in January, 1751, she became much 
 worse, and he was sent for to see her at once. When he 
 arrived at Ash by, he found her somewhat better, but her sister- 
 in-law, Lady Frances Hastings, lying dead in the house. He 
 remarks concerning her : ' She was a retired Christian, lived 
 silently, and died suddenly without a groan. May my exit be 
 like hers ! Whether right or not, I cannot help wishing that I 
 may go off in the same manner. To me it is worse than death 
 to live to be nursed, and see friends weeping about one. 
 Sudden death is sudden glory.' 
 
 Whitefield's preaching this winter was as remarkable as on 
 any previous winter for its efficacy in comforting mourners, in 
 cheering the faithful, and in converting the impenitent. 
 When he finished and started for Bristol, in March, he wrote 
 a characteristic letter to his friend Hervey, urging him to come 
 to Lady Huntingdon at Bristol ; ' for,' he says, ' she will have 
 nobody to give her the sacrament unless you come ! ' White- 
 held proceeds : ' I ventured the other day to put out a guinea 
 
280 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 to interest for you. It was to relieve an excellent Christian, 
 who, by living very hard and working near twenty hours out of 
 four-and-twenty, had brought himself very low. He has a wife 
 and four children, and was above two guineas in debt. I gave 
 one for myself and one for you. We shall have good interest 
 for our money in another world.' 
 
 This year his mind was much relieved about Georgia, 
 because the introduction of slaves was at length permitted by 
 the Government. The pertinacity of those who wanted to 
 make money out of their fellow-men out-wearied the better 
 feelings and holier principles of those who saw in the trade a 
 violation of human rights, a political and social curse ; and free 
 scope was given for the capture of Negroes in Africa and for 
 their introduction into America. Whitefield's remarks upon 
 his new acquisition are too strange, as coming from one who 
 had just helped the poor indebted Christian, to be omitted. 
 They cause a sigh of regret that he never appears to have met 
 his contemporary, that beautiful character, John Woolman, the 
 American Quaker, who certainly would have talked and prayed 
 him into a different state of mind. 
 
 ' Thanks be to God,' he says, 'that the time for favouring that colony 
 seems to be come. I think now is the season for us to exert our utmost 
 for the good of the poor Ethiopians. We are told that even they are soon 
 to stretch out their hands to God. And who knows but their being settled 
 in Georgia may be overruled for this great end ? As for the lawfulness of 
 keeping slaves I have no doubt, since I hear of some that were bought with 
 Abraham's money, and some that were born in his house. And I cannot 
 help thinking that some of those servants mentioned by the apostles in their 
 epistles were or had been slaves. It is plain that the Gibeonites were \ J 
 doomed to perpetual slavery, and though liberty is a sweet thing to such as 
 are born free, yet to those who never knew the sweets of it, slavery perhaps 
 may not be so irksome. However this be, it is plain to a demonstration 
 that hot countries cannot be cultivated without Negroes. What a flourish- 
 ing country might Georgia have been, had the use of them been permitted 
 years ago ! How many white people have been destroyed for want of 
 
SLA VER V IN GEORGIA 28 1 
 
 them, and how many thousands of pounds spent to no purpose at all ! 
 Had Mr. Henry ' — Matthew Henry ? — ' been in America, I believe he 
 would have seen the lawfulness and necessity of having Negroes there. 
 And though it is true that they are brought in a wrong way from their own 
 country, and it is a trade not to be approved of, yet as it will be carried on 
 whether we will or not, I should think myself highly favoured if I could 
 purchase a good number of them, in order to make their lives comfortable, 
 and lay a foundation for breeding up their posterity in the nurture and 
 admonition of the Lord. You know, dear sir, that I had no hand in 
 bringing them into Georgia ; though my judgment was for it, and so much 
 money was yearly spent to no purpose, and I was strongly importuned 
 thereto, yet I would not have a Negro upon my plantation till the use of 
 them was publicly allowed in the colony.' (It will be remembered that he 
 had a hand in urging on the alteration of the law. ) ' Now this is done, 
 dear sir, let us reason no more about it, but diligently improve the present 
 opportunity for their instruction. The Trustees favour it, and we may 
 never have a like prospect. It rejoiced my soul to hear that one of my 
 poor Negroes in Carolina was made a brother in Christ. How know we 
 but we may have many such instances in Georgia ere it be long? In the 
 fall, God willing, I intend to see what can be done towards laying a 
 foundation.' 
 
 In a copy of the earliest orphan-house accounts may be 
 found, on the same page which records the number of 
 pounds paid for so many horses, cows, calves, and pigs, an 
 entry 'For two servant s bought of George Cuthbert, j£ \2.' \^ 
 And this was done sincerely in the name of philanthropy and 
 religion, nor does one protest from any quarter appear to have 
 been raised against it. To Whitefield himself it never seemed 
 to occur that the brotherly love he showed to Negroes per- 
 sonally was a spirit utterly opposed to the spirit of slavery, 
 and that soon or later one must destroy the other. Love and 
 slavery never can co-exist in peace. And little did he dream 
 what a ghastly failure this attempt to unite Christianity and 
 slavery would prove to be. From this dark deed flowed, for 
 more than a century, a river of wrong, misery, and shame. In 
 the original Declaration of Independence of the United States 
 there was a clause reprobating the enslavement of African 
 
282 GEORGE WH1TEFIELD 
 
 Negroes, but at the instigation of South Carolina and Georgia, 
 which had never attempted to restrain the importation of 
 slaves, and still wished to continue it, the clause was struck 
 out. Georgia became one of the worst of the slave States. It 
 offered, in 1831, a reward of five thousand dollars for William 
 Lloyd Garrison, the leader of American Negro Emancipation, 
 which was a bribe to any ruffian to seize him and convey him 
 South, whence it is certain he never would have come out alive. 
 The reward was on his head for thirty-four years, when Lincoln's 
 Proclamation of Emancipation annulled it. But Providence had 
 a strange revenge for Whitefield's fault, for in the house next 
 to that in which he died at Newbury Port, Garrison was born, 
 and over the ramparts of Fort Sumter, Charleston, S.C., from 
 which the first shot was fired by the South on the Federal flag, 
 Garrison and a band of Abolitionists, invited by the Govern 
 ment to be present, had the joy of seeing that flag raised again 
 as the symbol of liberty for all, black and white alike. In New 
 England, which had shared so largely in the revival, was 
 generated the force that destroyed slavery. The good over- 
 came the evil. Nevertheless, evangelist i and ministers should 
 be warned by this painful part of Whitefield's life not to give 
 their support, either directly or indirectly, to anything, under 
 any pretext whatsoever, that is a violation of justice, lest 
 thereby they do more harm than by all their labours they do 
 good. Whitefield might not have been able to prevent the 
 introduction of slavery into Georgia, but he would have been 
 honoured for failing in an attempt to stop it, and he need not 
 have availed himself of the right to hold slaves. 
 
 On March 30, 1 75 1, Whitefield writes from Plymouth: 'I 
 suppose the death of our Prince has affected you. It has 
 given me a shock.' The Prince of Wales counted many of 
 Lady Huntingdon's friends among his political supporters, 
 and she herself, before her conversion, often attended his 
 
IN IRELAND 283 
 
 Court. Her absence from Court after her conversion was not 
 unnoticed by the Prince ; and inquiring one day of Lady 
 Charlotte Edwin where she was, he received the laconic, 
 mocking answer, ' I suppose praying with her beggars.' The 
 Prince shook his head, and turning to her said, ' Lady 
 Charlotte, when I am dying, I think I shall be happy to 
 seize the skirt of Lady Huntingdon's mantle, to lift me up 
 with her to heaven.' 
 
 From January, 1751, to December, 1752, there occurred 
 nothing that deserves detailed record in a life like this, where 
 effort was generally at the full stretch, and where sufferings, 
 both mental and bodily, as well as joys, abounded. We 
 are prepared to hear of journeys and voyages made with the 
 promptness of a general at the head of an attacking army ; and 
 of weariness and sickness paid as the price for the risks run. 
 A few pages of Whitefield's letters carry us into Wales, where, 
 since nothing is said about it, we must imagine what work he 
 did ; and into Ireland, where he was received into the house 
 of Mr. Lunell, a Dublin banker, and where the people 
 welcomed him, everything, apparently, having prepared his 
 way. Dublin was soon aroused by his earnest words, and 
 'Moorfield's auditories' rewarded him for his toil, as they stood 
 with solemn countenances,Jike men who were hearing as for 
 eternity. Athlone and Limerick, where, as a hunger-bitten, 
 weary traveller, he had preached fourteen years before, next 
 heard his voice. Then Waterford and Cork, where he stood 
 unhurt in the midst of a populace which had shamefully 
 treated the Methodists whom the Wesleys and their helpers 
 had gathered into a society. Hundreds in that city prayed 
 him to continue among them ; and many Papists promised td 
 leave their priests if he would consent to the request ; but 
 their pleading and promising were alike ineffectual. He was 
 soon in Dublin again, and as quickly away to Belfast and 
 
284 GEORGE WN/TE FIELD 
 
 other places in the north. What the efforts of the people 
 of Cork, and the tears of the people of Dublin could not 
 procure — a few days longer stay — the importunity of the 
 people of Belfast won from him. The numbers that attended 
 were so large, and the opportunities for good were so promising, 
 that he grieved he had not come among them sooner. And 
 all the while he had been performing these journeys and 
 labours in the heat of summer, and under physical weakness 
 which caused violent vomiting, attended with great loss of 
 blood after preaching ! Yet in five days he was at Glasgow, 
 in the house of his old friend, Mr. Niven, a merchant, who 
 lived above the cross. The enthusiasm of Cambuslang days 
 still burned in the hearts of the peasantry and the weavers in 
 the country, and by three o'clock in the morning many of 
 them were on their way to the city, to hear him on the day of 
 his farewell preaching. In Edinburgh, whither he went next, 
 the selecter society living in the capital evinced, along with 
 the poor and the degraded, a strong desire to receive his 
 message. More work brought on more haemorrhage and more 
 prostration, till his body was almost worn out. Riding recruited 
 him ; and he was no sooner in London, than he took ship for 
 his fourth voyage to America, his seventh across the Atlantic. 
 vDr. Doddridge thought his constitution was quite worn out 
 with labour. After spending the winter in America, he 
 embarked for his eighth voyage in the spring, and was in 
 England preaching and journeying as usual the whole of 
 the summer. His special object in returning so soon 
 was ' to put the orphanage upon a proper footing.' He 
 retired to London for the winter of 1752 ; but at the end of 
 what exertion and triumph did that laborious repose come ! 
 For about twenty-eight days he preached in Scotland to not 
 less than ten thousand a day. ' His progress through the north 
 of England towards London was a sublime march. From 
 
MISSING FACES 285 
 
 Sheffield he wrote that since his leaving Newcastle he had 
 sometimes scarce known whether he was in heaven or on 
 earth. As he swept along from town to town, thousands and 
 thousands flocked twice and thrice a day to hear the word of 
 life. ' A gale of Divine influence everywhere attended it.' He 
 continued his work till he reached Northampton, where he 
 took coach for London. No wonder that, on his arrival in the 
 city, it seemed as if the broken tabernacle of the body must 
 release the ardent spirit that quickened it. Moreover, the 
 inner life was as intense as the outward was active and busy. 
 'Oh, my dear friend,' he exclaims to a correspondent, 'what 
 manner of love is this, that we should be called the sons of 
 God ! Excuse me. I must pause awhile, my eyes gush out 
 with water ; at present they are almost fountains of tears. But 
 thanks be to God they are tears of love ! ' 
 
 Looking round upon the circle of Whitefield's friends at 
 Christmas, 1752, we miss some kind, familiar faces. His 
 mother's face is not there ; she had died a year before, while 
 he was paying his last visit to America. Doddridge's face is 
 not there ; he died at Lisbon, and the news of his decease 
 followed Whitefield to America. Like the soldier on the 
 battlefield who can but drop a word of pity for a fallen com- 
 rade, and lift up a prayer for himself, Whitefield could only say, 
 1 Dr. Doddridge, I find, is gone ; Lord Jesus, prepare me to 
 follow after ! ' The face of good Bishop Benson is not there ; 
 he died on August 30, 1752. His last days verified the remark 
 of the Countess of Huntingdon : ' My lord, mark my words ; 
 when you are on your dying bed, Whitefield's will be one of the 
 few ordinations you will reflect upon with complacence ' On 
 his dying bed he sent Whitefield a present of ten guineas for 
 his orphan-house as a token of his regard, and begged to be 
 remembered in his prayers. The face of Whitefield's only 
 sister is not there. Her house in Bristol had been his home, 
 
286 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 and also his early Sunday morning preaching-room, while in 
 that city ; and when she died he believed that she had entered 
 into 'the rest that remaineth for the people of God.' The 
 face of Ralph Erskine is not there. His death occurred on 
 November 6, 1752; and when the intelligence was brought to 
 Ebenezer, he said with great emotion, 'And is Ralph gone? 
 He has twice got the start of me ; he was first in Christ, and 
 now he is first in glory.' But the start was not a long one ; 
 for Ebenezer Erskine was now an old man, and worn with 
 heavy labours. On June 2, 1754, he followed his brother 
 quietly and gently ; as one sleeping and resting himself after 
 toil, he went to his reward. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 1 753-i-770 
 
 CHAPEL-BUILDING — ATTACKS BY ENEMIES — INFIRMITIES — HIS 
 DEATH THE RESULTS OF HIS WORK 
 
 NO small portion of the year 1753 was spent by Whitefield 
 in what he called cross-ploughing the land ; and what 
 that work was is well enough known without our following him 
 from field to field. But while he thought that he was the 
 happiest man who, being fond neither of money, numbers, nor 
 power, went on day by day without any other scheme than ' a 
 general intention to promote the common salvation amongst 
 people of all denominations,' his attention was forcibly called 
 to the work of providing a permanent place of worship for his 
 followers in London. The churches were as inaccessible to 
 Methodists as ever ; but had they been open probably few 
 would have cared to enter them, for the freedom of the 
 Tabernacle was in their estimation preferable to the un- 
 alterable forms of the Church. The Tabernacle was still the 
 wooden building that was hastily erected at the time of the 
 division between the Calvinists and Arminians. The idea of 
 a permanent building seems to have been first suggested by 
 the Countess of Huntingdon ; but Whitefield was slow to 
 
 move. In the winter of 1752, she and Lady Frances Shirley 
 
 287 
 
288 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 again urged the work upon him, and this time he was brought 
 to their side, and began to collect money. His people re- 
 sponded with their usual liberality, and contributed a hundred 
 and seventy-six pounds on one Sunday. With eleven hundred 
 pounds in hand, he, on March i, 1753, laid the first brick of 
 the new Tabernacle, which was to be eighty feet square, and 
 built round the old place. The ceremony was performed with 
 great solemnity, and Whitefield preached a sermon from the 
 text, ' In all places where I record My name, I will come unto 
 thee and bless thee.' Three months later the Tabernacle 
 was ready to receive its congregation ; and he opened it by 
 preaching in it morning and evening, to four thousand people 
 or more. 
 
 In the spring of this year Whitefield came into serious 
 collision with the Moravians. The reports of their proceedings 
 and of their financial position which he published in ' An Ex- 
 postulatory Letter' to Count Zinzendorf, were brought to his 
 ears by one whom Peter Bohler stigmatises as an apostate ; 
 but there can be no doubt that Whitefield had his information 
 from more sources than one ; and as Bohler was assailed in 
 the letter, his phrase must be somewhat discounted. A man 
 might be an apostate from Moravianism, and yet a true witness. 
 Whitefield opened his letter with a protestation that a real 
 regard for his king and country, and a disinterested love for 
 his Saviour and his Saviour's Church, would not let him keep 
 silence longer with respect to the shocking things of which he 
 had heard, and the offences which had swelled to such an 
 enormous bulk. According to the statements which he had 
 received, there had been much foolishness and some wicked- 
 ness practised by the Brethren, and they were seriously in debt. 
 But these are things that need not be further named here. 
 Whitefield evidently acted with candour and kindness, and his 
 remonstrances did the Brethren good. 
 
ILLNESS OF WESLEY 289 
 
 His open-air preaching was concluded this year in a way too 
 beautiful to be left without notice. He had opened in Bristol 
 another chapel, called by the same name as that in London, 1 
 and then started for Somersetshire. He writes, on December 1st, 
 that on the Tuesday before, he had preached at seven in the 
 evening to a great multitude in the open air ; that all was 
 hushed and exceeding solemn ; that the stars shone with great 
 brightness ; that then, if ever, he had by faith seen Him who 
 calls them all by their names ; and that his soul was filled with 
 holy ambition, and he longed to be one of those who shall 
 shine as the stars for ever and ever. His hands and body had 
 been pierced with cold; 'but what,' he asks, 'are outward 
 things when the soul within is warmed with the love of God ? ' 
 
 Much and sincerely as he desired his crown and joy, it 
 seemed at this time as if another were to precede him. His 
 friend Wesley was ill of what the physicians thought was 
 galloping consumption. Whitefield pitied the Church and 
 himself, but not Wesley. He almost grieved to think that 
 he must stay behind in 'this cold climate,' while Wesley took 
 ' his flight to a radiant throne prepared for him from the 
 foundations of the world.' Then, again, he thought how 
 ' poor Mr. Charles ' was to be pitied, upon whom double 
 work would come. The time was full of sorrow, and it 
 gave Whitefield and the Countess an excellent opportunity 
 
 1 Lord Chesterfield contributed twenty pounds towards the erection of 
 Bristol Tabernacle ; but begged that his name might not appear in any 
 way. Sainte Beuve says that he feared ridicule ; and very likely that 
 feeling made him wish his name to be withheld. He seems also to have 
 been afraid of Lady Huntingdon's importunities, and a little impatience 
 with her is perceptible. ' Really,' he said, ' there is no resisting youi 
 ladyship's importunities. It would ill become me to censure your enthusi- 
 astic admiration of Mr. Whitefield. His eloquence is unrivalled, his zeal 
 inexhaustible ; and not to admire both would argue a total absence of taste, 
 and an insensibility not to be coveted by anybody.' 
 
 20 
 
2QO GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 to serve their friends. The Countess and another lady, just 
 arrived in Bath from London, went from Bath to Bristol, to 
 inform Charles of his brother's dangerous state. He imme- 
 diately started for London, and found John at Lewisham ; he 
 fell on his neck and wept. Prayer was now offered in all the 
 Methodist societies for the recovery of their great leader ; and 
 Charles records that a change for the better came when the 
 people were praying for him at the Foundry. Hope, however, 
 had been relinquished by all ; and Wesley had written his 
 epitaph, which was a longer composition than Whitefield had 
 penned for his own tombstone, but similar in spirit. White- 
 field wrote from Bristol to both the brothers, but enclosed 
 John's letter in Charles's. To John he wrote : — 
 
 ' If seeing you so weak, when leaving London, distressed me, the news 
 and prospect of your approaching dissolution hath quite weighed me down. 
 I pity the Church, and myself, but not you. A radiant throne awaits you, 
 and ere long you will enter into your Master's joy. Yonder He stands 
 with a massy crown, ready to put it on your head amid an admiring throng 
 of saints and angels. But I, poor I, that have been waiting for my 
 dissolution these nineteen years, must be left behind to grovel here 
 below ! Well, this is my comfort, it cannot be long ere the chariots 
 are sent even for worthless me. If prayers can detain them, even you, 
 reverend and very dear sir, shall not leave us yet ; but if the decree is 
 gone forth that you must now fall asleep in Jesus, may He kiss your soul 
 away, and give you to die in the embraces of triumphant love. If in the 
 land of the living, I hope to pay my last respects to you next week ; if not, 
 reverend and dear sir, farewell ! I pra, sequar, etsi non passibus aquis. 
 My heart is too big, tears trickle down too fast, and I fear you are too 
 weak for me to enlarge. May underneath you be Christ's everlasting 
 arms ! I commend you to His never-failing mercy.' 
 
 Wesley disappointed his friends' fears by slowly regaining 
 his health. He who seemed so nigh to his rest returned to 
 work for almost forty years longer, and, among other services, 
 preached the funeral sermon of his brother Whitefield. It 
 was the cause of sincere joy to Whitefield to see his fellow- 
 
17 SITS LISBON 291 
 
 labourers spared to stand by his side ; he prayed that the 
 Wesleys might both spring up afresh, and their latter end 
 increase more and more. ' Talk not of having no more work 
 in the vineyard,' he wrote to Charles; 'I hope all our work is 
 but just beginning. I am sure it is high time to do some- 
 thing for Him who hath done and suffered so much for me. 
 Near forty years old, and such a dwarf! The winter come 
 already, and so little done in the summer ! I am ashamed ; I 
 blush, and am confounded ! ' 
 
 This winter of affliction for the Wesleys was one of much 
 physical prostration to Whitefield also ; every sermon, he says, 
 was fetched out of the furnace. He itinerated between Ports- 
 / mouth and Scotland and back in this state. When spring 
 I came he sailed with twenty-two orphans for Georgia, via 
 h Lisbon. This was his ninth voyage ; and his reason for 
 I making it by way of Lisbon was that as a preacher and a 
 Protestant he might see something of the superstitions of 
 the Church of Rome. For this purpose he could have chosen 
 no better season and no better place ; he was in time for 
 all the pageantry and activity of Easter week. A gentleman 
 of the factory, whose brother had received good through 
 Whitefield's preaching, welcomed the evangelist to his house, 
 and afforded him every opportunity of gratifying his wishes. 
 Nor were these the wishes of idle curiosity. Whitefield 
 delighted in travelling for the sake of preaching and also 
 for the sake of seeing men and things. He thought that 
 it expanded a man's mind to see strange places and fresh 
 customs ; and there can be no doubt that his own wide 
 charity was due in no small degree to his intercourse with 
 men of all classes, of all Churches, and of many nations. 
 At first he did not care much for the distinctions between 
 Churches ; and when Quakers, Independents, Presbyterians, 
 and Baptists showed him equal kindness wherever he 
 
292 GEORGE WHITEE1ELD 
 
 travelled, and displayed the great qualities of purity and love, 
 he cared yet less. A more impartial Christian it would be hard 
 to find. He expected perfection in none, and hailed every 
 tendency to it in all. Even Lisbon was to do more than 
 present him with things to be hated and shunned. Amid 
 so much that was against his judgment and conscience, 
 there were things to delight his taste. The singing in St. 
 Domingo Church by the Dominican friars while the queen 
 performed her devotions there, was ' most surprisingly sweet.' 
 The action of the preachers, a great number of whom he 
 heard, struck him as most graceful. ' Vividi oa//i, vivida 
 manus, omnia vivida? He thought, as he beheld their im- 
 pressive gesticulation and heard their tender tones, that 
 English preachers, who have truth on their side, would do 
 well to be a little more fervent in their address, and not 
 let falsehood and superstition run away with all that is 
 pathetic and affecting. The city was a scene to make him 
 all eye and ear. There were images of saints with lanterns 
 burning in front of them, and churches hung with purple 
 damask trimmed with gold. There were the richest and 
 noblest of the land bowing before the gorgeous altars, or 
 hurrying from church to church to offer their sacrifices. 
 There was the spectacle of the king, attended with his 
 nobles, washing the feet of twelve poor men, and of the 
 queen and ier royal daughters doing the same to twelve 
 poor women. There were processions of penitents, headed 
 by preaching friars bearing crucifixes in their hands, which 
 they held up before the eyes of the devotees as they exhorted 
 them to fresh acts of sacrifice. His soul was moved with pity 
 as he saw by moonlight one night some two hundred penitents, 
 dressed in white linen vestments, barefooted, and with heavy 
 chains attached to their ankles, which made a dismal noise as 
 they passed along the streets ; some carried great stones on 
 
HIS WIFE'S LONELINESS 293 
 
 their backs, and others dead men's bones and skulls in their 
 hands ; most of them whipped and lashed themselves with 
 cords or with flat bits of iron. Even in the moonlight the 
 effects of their heavy penances could be seen on their red and 
 swollen backs. It struck him as a horrible sight, in the same 
 church where he so greatly admired the singing, that over the 
 great window were the heads of many Jews, painted on canvas, 
 who had been condemned by the inquisition, and carried out 
 from that church to be burnt. ''Strange way this of com- 
 pelling people to come in ! ' he exclaimed. ' Such was not 
 Thy method, O meek and compassionate Lamb of God ! But 
 bigotry is as cruel as the grave.' The whole time was, as he 
 said, instructive, though silent. 
 
 His wife was not with him this voyage, indeed she seems to 
 have performed but one long journey with him after their mar- 
 riage. Her health was unequal to the trials of an American 
 summer; and it would have been useless for her to have 
 travelled with him as a companion from place to place. 
 He could but leave her to her own resources and the kind- 
 ness of his friends — not a pleasant position for a wife, but 
 the best in which he could place her, unless he relinquished 
 his evangelistic work, and that would simply have overturned 
 his whole plan of life, and violated his most solemn convic- 
 tions. He implored one of his London friends to visit his 
 wife frequently. 'Add to my obligations,' he said, 'by fre- 
 quently visiting my poor wife. Kindnesses shown to her in my 
 absence will be double kindnesses.' 
 
 With a family, but not with his wife, he arrived at Bethesda, 
 which he found in a flourishing state, as was also the colony. 
 He had a hundred and six persons, black and white, to pro- 
 vide for and to guide ; and he seems to have known the ages 
 and capabilities and condition of all at the orphan-house, and 
 often to have sent specific and peremptory directions concern- 
 
294 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 ing particular cases. Honour, too, was beginning to come to 
 early and faithful colonists. His friend Habersham, who came 
 over with him at his first voyage, and to whom he committed 
 the temporal affairs of the orphan-house, was now appointed 
 secretary of the colony ; afterwards he became president of the 
 Council and Commons House of Assembly. Whitefield him- 
 self received from the new college of New Jersey, for which he 
 had greatly exerted himself before leaving England, the degree 
 of Master of Arts. Altogether a better reception was given 
 him by the country than he had received fourteen years before, 
 and that, as we have seen, was gratifying enough. His weak- 
 nesses still clung to him, that is, his weaknesses of the flesh, 
 and from this time he may be considered a confirmed invalid 
 who refused to be invalided ; but his strength of heart was not 
 at all diminished, and when he got as far north as Portsmouth, 
 he said in the quietest way, ' I am now come to the end of my 
 northward line, and in a day or two purpose to turn back, in 
 order to preach all the way to Georgia. It is about a sixteen 
 hundred miles' journey.' This was he who was ashamed of 
 his sloth and lukewarmness, and longed to be on the stretch 
 for God ! Yet again, when his ride of two thousand miles was 
 ended, scenes of wonder having opened all the way, and when 
 he had preached for nearly five months, he longed to have 
 time to spend in retirement and deep humiliation before that 
 Saviour for whom he had done so little ! He had learnt to be 
 humble. 
 
 Whitefield's tenth voyage was performed in the spring of 
 1755. About two months after his arrival in England his 
 friend Cennick died. ' John Cennick,' he said, ' is now 
 added to the happy number of those who see God as He 
 is. I do not envy, but want to follow after him.' If not 
 a strong Christian, Cennick was a very devout one ; and the 
 Church cannot forget her indebtedness to him for a few good 
 
DEATH OF JOHN CENNICK 295 
 
 hymns which he added to her treasury. Some tender, beau- 
 tiful lines, headed ' Nunc dimitiis,' were found in his pocket- 
 book when he died. Here are some of them : — 
 
 ' I never am forsaken or alone ; 
 Thou kissest all my tears and griefs away ; 
 Art with me all night long, and all the day ; 
 I have no doubt that I belong to Thee, 
 And shall be with Thee to eternity. 
 I would not Thee offend — Thou know'st my heart — 
 Nor one short day before Thy time depart : 
 But I am weary and dejected too, 
 O let me to eternal Sabbath go.' 
 
 Whitefield found the Methodists very lively in England, and 
 had the pleasure of hearing that several clergymen were 
 preaching those truths which he had done so much to pro- 
 pagate. But enemies were also alert. He found it difficult to 
 keep clear of collision with Wesley's friends, his own admirers 
 and they being, as usual, as careless about unneighbourly acts 
 as their leaders were anxious to love and serve one another. 
 He also had open and dangerous opposition from some 
 ruffians in the metropolis. It was to be expected that one who 
 eclipsed the best actors of the day in grace of action and natural 
 ness of expression (Garrick said he would give a hundred 
 guineas to be able to say ' Oh ' as did Whitefield), and who, 
 at the same time, assailed theatre-going with unsparing 
 severity, would be attacked in turn. The trouble with ad- 
 mirers of the stage this time was of a complicated kind, and it 
 is difficult to say how much they were to blame ; for play- 
 houses, a bishop and his vestry, and Roman Catholics, who 
 hated King George, are mingled in a strange medley in the 
 story. It is possible to get consistency only by supposing that 
 all these hated the Methodist for special reasons of their own, 
 and were, by this common feeling, banded against him. Even 
 
// 
 
 296 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 hatred of the same thing will make enemies wondrous kind for 
 a season. The Seven Years' War was also raging, and feeling 
 ran high. Some religious people, apparently the Dissenters, 
 had built a chapel, called Long Acre Chapel, near the play- 
 houses. It was an unconsecrated building, duly licensed for 
 preaching ; its minister was the Rev. John Barnard, an In- 
 dependent, one of Whitefield's converts. Mr. Barnard asked 
 Whitefield to preach in his chapel twice a week, and Whitefield 
 consented to do so on the understanding that he might use 
 the liturgy if he thought proper ; for he judged that he might 
 ' innocently preach the love of a crucified Redeemer, without 
 giving any just offence to Jew or Gentile, much less to any 
 bishop or overseer of the Church of God. ; Every one was not 
 of his mind. A band of roughs were hired to disturb him 
 while he preached, by making a noise with a copper furnace, 
 bells, drum, &c, at the chapel door. Part of their pay came 
 from some gentlemen of the vestry of the Bishop of Bangor 
 and Dean of Westminster, Dr. Zachary Pearce ; and they did 
 their work to perfection. They used more dangerous means 
 of silencing the obnoxious preacher than drums ; they threw 
 stones through the windows at him, and always missed him, 
 though some one else suffered ; they rioted at the door, and 
 abused him and his congregation as they were leaving the 
 chapel. Things were serious, though Whitefield with his 
 strong sense of humour called their behaviour 'a serenading 
 from the sons of Jubal and Cain.' An appeal made by him 
 to a magistrate procured protection for a time. An appeal to 
 Dr. Pearce was less successful ; that prelate forbade his 
 preaching in the chapel again ; but his inhibition was use- 
 less. Whitefield continued his work. The bishop's vestry 
 now revived the persecution by the mob ; and Whitefield 
 made repeated appeals to this exemplary overseer to stay 
 the violence, and he appealed in vain ! Several persons 
 
RIOTS AT LONG ACRE CHAPEL 297 
 
 were seriously injured, and he himself was threatened with 
 death. Once when he entered the pulpit, he found a letter 
 laid upon the cushion, which threatened him with 'a certain, 
 sudden, and unavoidable stroke, unless he desisted from 
 preaching and pursuing the offenders by law.' It was his 
 determination, formed with the advice of some members of 
 the Government, to prosecute the offenders, that made them 
 assail him in this cowardly way ; and it is certain there were 
 some with audacity and wickedness enough to give the stroke. 
 For some unusual purpose a man followed him into the pulpit 
 of the Tabernacle while the Long Acre trouble was at its worst ; 
 and it was generally supposed that he was an assassin. White- 
 field dared the worst, and let the prosecution go on, until its 
 preparation to enter the King's Bench terrified his enemies. 
 One of them also had previously come under better influences, 
 and regretted the part he had taken in paying ruffians to com- 
 mit violence. 
 
 The letters to the Bishop of Bangor are important for more 
 than the information they give of the rioting. They give us a 
 last explanation and vindication of the course Whitefield had 
 followed for so many years, and which he followed to his 
 death. The letters of the bishop to Whitefield were not 
 published, because Whitefield thought that it would be a 
 breach of courtesy to proclaim their contents, and his lordship, 
 fearing exposure, had signified his intention to use his right as 
 a peer to hinder them from appearing ; but it is easy to see 
 what their substance must have been, from the answers they 
 received. Dr. Pearce had charged Whitefield with unfaithful- 
 ness to the Church of England, and the reply was : — 
 
 ' For near these twenty years past, as thousands can testify, I have con- 
 scientiously defended her homilies and articles, and upon all occasions 
 spoken well of her liturgy. Either of these, together with her discipline, 
 I am so far from renouncing, much less from throwing aside all regard to, 
 
298 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 that I earnestly pray for the clue restoration of the one, and daily lament 
 the wanton departure of too, too many from the other. But, my lord, 
 what can I do? When I acted in the most regular manner, and when 
 I was bringing multitudes even of Dissenters themselves to crowd the 
 churches, without any other reason being given than that of too many 
 followers after me, I was denied the use of them. Being thus excluded, 
 and many thousands of ignorant souls, that perhaps would neither go to 
 church nor meeting-houses, being very hungry after the gospel, I thought 
 myself bound in duty to deal out to them the bread of life. Being further 
 ambitious to serve my God, my king, and my country, I sacrificed my 
 affections and left my native soil, in order to begin and carry on an orphan- 
 house in the infant colony of Georgia, which, through the Divine blessing, 
 is put upon a good foundation. This served as an introduction, though 
 without my design, to my visiting the other parts of his Majesty's 
 dominions in North America ; and I humbly hope that many made truly 
 serious in that foreign clime will be my joy and crown of rejoicing in the 
 day of the Lord Jesus. 
 
 ' Your lordship judgeth exceeding right when you say, " I presume you 
 do not mean to declare any dissent from the Church of England." Far be 
 it from me ; no, my loid, unless thrust out, I shall never leave her, and 
 even then (as I hope whenever it happens it will be an unjust extrusion) I 
 shall continue to adhere to her doctrines, and pray for the much wished- 
 for restoration of her discipline, even to my dying day. Fond of displaying 
 her truly Protestant and orthodox principles, especially when Church and 
 State are in danger from a cruel and Popish enemy, I am glad, my lord, of 
 an opportunity of preaching, though it be in a meeting-house: and I think 
 it discovers a good and moderate spirit in the Dissenters, who will quietly 
 attend on the Church service, as many have done and continue to do at 
 Long Acre Chapel, while many, who I suppose style themselves her faith- 
 ful sons, by very improper instruments of reformation, have endeavoured to 
 disturb and molest us.' 
 
 Another extract from the letter cannot be read without 
 great pain by any one who holds that the acceptance of creeds 
 or the subjection to canons ought to be made in simple, 
 literal honesty, without qualifications or reservations of any 
 kind. Whitefield's answer to the bishop might be irrefragable 
 if treated upon the ground on which he placed it ; but truth 
 should not be made dependent upon the customs of any class 
 of men, otherwise the law of God is made void by human 
 
CANONS AND CUE EDS 299 
 
 tradition. Neither were matters mended by his appealing so 
 solemnly to the Almighty, as he did in the following words : — 
 
 ' But, my lord, to come nearer to the point in hand — and for Christ's 
 sake let not your lordship he offended by ray using such plainness of 
 speech— I would, as in the presence of the living God, put it to your 
 lordship's conscience whether there is one hishop or presbyter in England, 
 Wales, or Ireland, that looks upon our canons as his rule of action? Ii 
 they do, we are all perjured with a witness, and consequently in a very 
 bad sense of the word irregular indeed. When canons and other Church 
 laws are invented and compiled by men of little hearts and bigoted prin- 
 ciples on purpose to hinder persons of more enlarged souls from doing 
 good, or being more extensively useful, they become mere briita fulmina ; 
 and when made use of only as cords to bind up the hands of a zealous few, 
 that honestly appear for their king, their country, and their God, like the 
 withes with which the Philistines bound Samson, in my opinion they may 
 very legally be broken. ... As good is done, and souls are benefited, I 
 hope your lordship will not regard a little irregularity, since at the worst it 
 is only the irregularity of doing well.' 
 
 Impossible as it is to withhold sympathy from an irregular 
 well-doer, who was singled out as the object of pastoral 
 warnings and the mark of scoundrels' brickbats, while card- 
 playing, gambling, idle clergymen were passed by without 
 rebuke or punishment, there is no gainsaying that he was 
 irregular. To judge his conscience is not our office ; but it 
 would have made one inconsistency the less in his life had 
 he severed himself from a Church with which he could hold 
 but a nominal connection so long as he persisted in his 
 irregularities ; and it would have been a yet happier thing had 
 no Church been so rigid in its forms as to make the warmest 
 zeal and the tenderest love in its communion things which 
 it could not tolerate, and yet remain true to its constitution. 
 It is strange when the best Christian becomes the most objec- 
 tionable member of a Church. 
 
 Early in 1756, the year which our narrative has now reached, 
 a great change passed over Whitefield's personal appearance. 
 
300 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 The graceful figure which was familiar on many a common 
 and park and market- cross of England, which Londoners 
 knew so well as he rapidly walked their streets, and country 
 people recognised as he dashed along their lanes, attended by 
 a knot of brethren on horseback, in haste to meet some 
 mighty congregation, or rode slowly along, pondering his next 
 sermon or silently communing with God — that figure which 
 was associated with the godly young man who entranced and 
 awed his countrymen — was now changed, when he was forty- 
 two years old, into the heavy, corpulent, unwieldy form, which 
 several painters and engravers have preserved for us in their 
 likenesses of the great preacher. 1 The observation of the 
 common people who heard him gladly has pictured him in 
 happy lines, as they knew him in his earlier and in his later 
 days. It is the bold and active young preacher whom we see 
 when we hear him described by a poor man as one who 
 'preached like a lion.' It is the stout man of middle age 
 whom we see when another describes him as ' a jolly, brave 
 man, and sich a look with him.' 2 And no doubt his kindly 
 face and rounded form did make him seem ' a jolly, brave 
 man ' ; but the truth is, that this change was owing wholly to 
 
 1 These likenesses were a great bugbear to him ; he especially disliked 
 that in which he is represented with his hands lifted above his head, an 
 attitude which he seldom assumed, and but for a moment. He used to 
 say that he should hate himself were he ' the sour-looking creature ' they 
 represented him to be. They all agree in painting him with a massive 
 chin and a large mouth, pinched tight at the corners, and long, flexible 
 lips, capable of expressing anything — the orator's lips. 
 
 2 The words are those of an aged Oxfordshire peasant, and were spoken 
 in answer to the question, whether he remembered Whitefield's appearance. 
 ' Ay, sure,' said he, ' he was a jolly, brave man ; and what a look he had 
 when he put out his right hand thus, to rebuke a disturber as tried to stop 
 him, under the pear-tree. The man had been very threatening and noisy ; 
 but he could not stand the look. Off he rode, and Whitefield said, 
 " There he goes; empty barrels make most din." ' An American said he 
 was ' a cheery, a very cheery old gentleman. ' 
 
PERSONAL APPEARANCE 301 
 
 disease. It was neither less work nor less care that made him 
 seem so hale. As for work, he says : ' I have been enabled 
 to preach twice and thrice a day to many, many thousands for 
 these two months last past. And yet I cannot die. Nay, 
 they tell me I grow fat. I dread a corpulent body ; but it 
 breaks in upon me like an armed man.' Preaching failed to 
 cure, it rather increased, his complaint. When advised by 
 a physician to try a perpetual blister for an inflammatory 
 quinsey, he changed the receipt and tried perpetual preaching; 
 and he vigorously and perseveringly applied the same remedy 
 to corpulency, flux, and asthma, but not with the same success. 
 He was doomed to carry a heavy burden of flesh. 
 
 He had care as well as work. It had been his plan to 
 give those who helped at the orphan-house no certain income, 
 or a very slender one : he said that if they loved him they 
 would serve him disinterestedly; he asked nothing for his own 
 exhausting toils but food and raiment, and judged that others 
 should be equally devoted. This surrounded him with syco- 
 phants, who pretended to be as high-minded as he wanted to 
 see them, and who humoured his impatience of contradiction, 
 but who at the same time served themselves in an under- 
 handed way. He could be roughly honest himself, and might 
 well have borne with it among the managers of his institution ; 
 the smooth deceit which crept into office turned upon him 
 and pierced him, when its time came. 
 
 When Whitefield had got one permanent chapel in London, 
 he began to feel that it would be useful to have a second, in 
 another part of the city. The foundation-stone of Tottenham 
 Court Chapel was accordingly laid by himself on May 10, 
 1756, and the building opened for worship on November 7th, 
 the same year. It became the mother of many chapels, and 
 the birthplace of many souls. It was now becoming a difficult 
 question for the increasing number of Methodists, who, like 
 
302 GEORGE WHITEF1ELD 
 
 Whitefield and Wesley, nominally adhered to the Established 
 Church, and called themselves Churchmen, to determine their 
 standpoint. Churchmen they might be in name and spirit 
 and faith, but Churchmen in modes of action they were not. 
 As Methodists they were no part of the Church of England, 
 neither would she recognise them ; yet they were not Dis- 
 senters. They did not feel the objections of the Independents 
 to Episcopacy; they did not feel the scruples of Baptists 
 about the baptism of infants ; they did not feel the repugnance 
 of Quakers to forms and sacraments of every kind ; they did 
 not feel the abhorrence of Presbyterians to prelates and the 
 liturgy. Neither State nor Church had made any provision 
 for this new people. The action of the Church had already 
 been taken ; it now remained for the State to determine its 
 mode of procedure. It quietly let Methodism fall into the 
 ranks of Dissent, politically considered. There was a Tolera- 
 tion Act, and the worshippers in the new tabernacles and 
 chapels that were beginning to multiply might avail themselves 
 of its protection. Hence it has followed that this movement, 
 which arose at Oxford, which was impelled and guided by 
 duly ordained clergymen, and which might have crowded the 
 Church of England with vast congregations of devout and 
 holy people, has become more and more identified with the 
 oldest and most extreme forms of dissent in this land. 
 Whitefield's chapels and those of the Countess of Huntingdon 
 are all Independent chapels, the use of the liturgy in some 
 of them not hindering either minister or congregation from 
 declaring that they regard the union of State and Church as 
 an unholy alliance, damaging to the Church and burdensome 
 and useless to the State. Even the society which Wesley 
 established, and the members of which he so solemnly coun- 
 selled to abide loyal to the Church of which he was a minister, 
 has gradually gone the way of all dissenting societies ; it has 
 
METHODISTS AND THE TOLERATION ACT 303 
 
 also declared firmly that it will not return to the ancient fold, 
 to which it has been invited back. It is thus happening 
 that Methodism, which never contemplated any severance 
 from the Church at all, is aiding to bring about the dissolution 
 of a bond which has existed ever since the Reformation. Its 
 numbers are multiplied by tens of thousands ; its chapels 
 throng every town, and stand in every village in England ; its 
 ministers and lay preachers and helpers are legion ; baptism 
 and the Lord's Supper are duly administered within its pale ; 
 its adherents are married and buried by their own spiritual 
 teachers. A denomination or denominations constituted and 
 managed in this way are not likely to long for other pastures 
 and another fold. Nor is their unwillingness to be absorbed, 
 or appended as an auxiliary, decreased by some petty annoy- 
 ances, remnants of former days, to which they are subjected. 
 Their social disadvantages in villages and country districts, the 
 injustice with which their children are forced into High Church 
 day schools, and the rudeness which too often shocks and 
 pains them at the parish churchyard, serve to excite their 
 anger and hostility. As Englishmen they cannot help asking 
 themselves what is their fault, what their sin, that they should 
 be thus treated ; and when they see that it is only their love 
 of Methodism and their attendance upon its services, they 
 cleave all the more closely to their denomination. How 
 distant does all this seem to be from the day when Whitefield 
 strove to put his new chapel in Tottenham Court Road under 
 the protection of the Countess of Huntingdon, and thus to 
 preserve it for the Church ; and when the Countess herself 
 was annoyed at nothing so much as at the idea of one of her 
 ministers becoming a Dissenter. Berridge of Everton wrote 
 to her twenty years after the opening of this chapel, and seven 
 after the death of Whitefield, in a strain which shows that 
 even at that time, although she had practically been a Dis- 
 
304 GEORGE WHITE EI ELD 
 
 senter for forty years, she disliked her position, and was 
 impatient when any one told her the bare truth about it. 
 But Berridge was an honest man, and minded little how any 
 one resented his plain speaking. His language to the Countess 
 was : — 
 
 ' However rusty or rickety the Dissenters may appear to you, God hath 
 His remnant among them ; therefore lift not up your hand against them 
 for the Lord's sake, nor yet for consistency's sake, because your students 
 are as real Dissenting preachers as any in the land, unless a gown and 
 band can make a clergyman. The bishops look on your students as the 
 worst kind of Dissenters ; and manifest this by refusing that ordination to 
 your preachers which would be readily granted to other teachers among the 
 Dissenters.' 
 
 There are other passages in the same letter which describe, 
 almost with the accuracy of prophecy, the course of future 
 events in Methodism and in the Establishment, and which 
 might afford food for profitable thought even yet. 
 
 With regard to his new chapel, Whitefield wrote to Lady 
 Huntingdon to say that they had consulted the Commons 
 about putting it under her ladyship's protection, and that the 
 answer was : — 
 
 ' No nobleman can license a chapel, or in any manner have one put 
 in his dwelling-house ; that the chapel must be a private one, and not with 
 doors to the street for any persons to resort to at pleasure, for then it 
 becomes a public one ; that a chapel cannot be built and used as such 
 without the consent of the parson of the parish, and when it is done with 
 his consent, no minister can preach therein, without licence of the bishop 
 of the diocese.' 
 
 ' There seems then,' he says, ' to be but one way, to license it 
 as our other houses are ; and thanks be to Jesus for that liberty 
 which we have.' That licensing does not seem to have been 
 made at once, for it was in 1764 that as owner, both of the 
 Tabernacle, Moorfields, and Tottenham Court Road Chapel, 
 
PRACTICALL V AN INDEPENDENT MINISTER 305 
 
 he registered them in the registry of the Dean and Chapter 
 of St. Paul, London, as ' meeting-places of certain congrega- 
 tions of Protestant Dissenters from the Church of England 
 calling themselves Independents.' He thus became the owner 
 of two Independent chapels, and was practically an Independent 
 minister, while remaining a clergyman of the Church of 
 England. 
 
 There was the same crush of hearers, when the place was 
 opened, as there had been at the Tabernacle. Many great 
 people came, and begged that they might have a constant 
 seat. A neighbouring physician called it ' Whitefield's soul- 
 trap,' and by that name it was commonly known among the 
 foolish scoffers. Among the distinguished visitors who were 
 accommodated in Lady Huntingdon's pew, Lord Chesterfield 
 might not unfrequently be seen ; and once his rigid decorum 
 and self-possession were as much overpowered by the eloquence 
 of the preacher as if he had been a peasant at a Cambuslang 
 preaching or a Welsh miner among a host of his countrymen 
 shouting, ' Gogoniant bendith iti ! ' Whitefield, who was 
 unrivalled in description, could easily make his hearers see 
 with his eyes, and feel with his heart ; and on this occasion 
 he was giving a vivid and horrifying picture of the peril of 
 sinners. He carried his audience out into the night, and nigh 
 to a dangerous precipice, where in the feeble light might be 
 seen, dim and staggering, the form of an old man, a blind 
 beggar, deserted by his dog. The old man stumbles on, staff 
 in hand, vainly endeavouring to discover his way. His face 
 is towards the cliff ; step by step he advances ; his foot trembles 
 on the edge ; another moment and he will lie mangled in the 
 valley below, when up starts the agonised Chesterfield, crying 
 as he bounds forward to save him, ' Good God ! he is gone ! ' 
 
 Oratory so perfect and so exciting could not fail to bring 
 some actors among the motley throng that listened to him. 
 
 21 
 
3o6 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Foote and Garrick might sometimes be seen side by side ; 
 their opinion was that the sermon was preached best when 
 preached for the fortieth time. All its weaknesses were cut 
 off, and all its ineffective parts suppressed ; all its impressive 
 passages were retained, and improved to the uttermost, and 
 his memory holding with unerring accuracy what he wished 
 to say, his tone and look and gesture were adapted to its 
 utterance with perfect art. Yet he was not bound by memory, 
 but seized upon any passing circumstance, and turned it to 
 account. The heavy thunder-cloud hanging on the horizon, 
 and the flash of lightning which rent its bosom, were, for his 
 field congregations, his most vivid emblems of the coming day 
 of wrath. A scoffer's levity would point his stern rebuke ; and 
 a penitent's tear seen in some bedimmed eye would prompt a 
 word of loving encouragement. 
 
 It was more than the oratorical display which attracted to 
 the ' soul-trap ' Shuter, who was pronounced by Garrick the 
 greatest comic genius he had ever seen. Shuter had a warm, 
 kind heart, and must have felt his better nature moved by the 
 humanity of the teaching of Whitefield. It was he who came 
 to the rescue of a remarkable play which was rejected by 
 Garrick, Powel, and Colman ; Goldsmith thanked him with 
 tears in his eyes for having established the reputation of his 
 ' Good-Natured Man,' when they had deemed it unfit for 
 production on the stage. He also acted in ' She Stoops to 
 Conquer.' At the time of his first coming to hear Whitefield 
 he was acting the part of Ramble in ' The Rambler.' The 
 name of the play tempted Whitefield into that playing upon 
 words to which he was somewhat addicted, and in the use 
 of which he did not always exhibit the best taste. Seeing 
 Shuter sitting in the front of the gallery — they were by this time 
 known to each other personally — he fixed his eye upon him, 
 and exclaimed in his warm invitation to sinners to come to the 
 
SHUTER THE COMEDIAN 307 
 
 Lord Jesus : ' And thou, poor Ramble, who hast long rambled 
 from Him, come thou also. Oh, end thy ramblings by coming 
 to Jesus.' Shuter went to Whitefield at the close of the ser- 
 vice, and said to him : ' I thought I should have fainted — how 
 could you serve me so ? ' But neither this pointed appeal, 
 nor many others to which he listened, succeeded in drawing 
 him from his unsatisfying life to a nobler career. His part in 
 the production of Goldsmith's plays, which appeared two 
 years before White field's death, shows that he continued to 
 follow his old calling. There is, however, an anecdote told 
 of him which proves that the old thoughts and feelings were 
 not extinguished, if they were not sufficiently strong to rule 
 him. The Rev. Mr. Kinsman, who was an intimate friend 
 of his, and had tried hard to wean him from his profession, 
 met him one day in Portsmouth, and said to him that he had 
 been preaching so often, and to such large congregations, that 
 his physician advised change of air for his health. 
 
 ' And I,' said Shuter, ' have been acting till ready to die ; but oh, how 
 different our conditions ! Had you fallen, it would have been in the 
 service of God ; but in whose service have my powers been wasted ? I 
 dread to think of it. I certainly had a call once, while studying my 
 part in the Park, and had Mr. Whitefield received me at the Lord's table 
 I never should have gone back ; but the caresses of the great, who, when 
 unhappy, want Shuter to make them laugh, are too seducing. There is a 
 good and moral play to-night ; but no sooner is it over than I come in with 
 my farce of " A Dish of all Sorts," and knock all the moral on the head.' 
 
 When his friends rated him as a Methodist, because they had 
 seen him with Mr. Kinsman, he said : ' A precious method 
 is mine ; no, I wish I were ; if any be right, they are.' Lady 
 Huntingdon gives us yet another glimpse of this kind-hearted 
 actor. Writing from Bath to Lady Fanny Shirley, she says : — 
 
 ' I have had a visit from Shuter the comedian, whom I saw in the street, 
 and asked to call on me. He was wonderfully astonished when I announced 
 
3o8 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 my name. We had much conversation ; but he cannot give up his pro- 
 fession for another more respectable. lie spoke of Mr. YVhitefield with 
 much affection, and with admiration of his talents. He promised to come 
 some other time, when he had more leisure for conversation. Poor fellow ! 
 I think he is not far from the kingdom.' 
 
 Much has been said of Whitefield's efforts for his orphan- 
 house, and of the success with which he pleaded its claims ; 
 but let it not be thought that he never sent the collection-box 
 round for any other object. He would help others when debt 
 and anxiety pressed upon himself, the money which would 
 have freed him being cheerfully sent to meet other wants. He 
 often preached for the French Protestants in Prussia, who 
 had suffered much at the hands of the Russians, and collected 
 as much as fifteen hundred pounds for them (one pound then 
 was equal to four now). Many of the nobility attended his 
 chapels while he was making this effort, and the King of 
 Prussia sent him his thanks for it. At another time he 
 collected in his chapels, on one day, five hundred and sixty 
 pounds, for ' the relief of the German Protestants and the 
 sufferers by fire at Boston.' But on this occasion he resorted 
 to a strange stratagem . At the close of the sermon, he said : 
 ' We will sing a hymn, during which those who do not choose 
 to give their mite on this awful occasion may sneak off.' Not 
 one stirred ; he then ordered the doors to be closed, and, 
 descending from the pulpit, held the plate himself ! * It was 
 a common thing to make a collection for the orphan hospital 
 in Edinburgh, when he visited Scotland. He also made a 
 levy on the generosity of the Glasgow people, and taught them 
 practical charity, as he did all who heard him. Franklin's 
 
 1 We are not quite sure that this anecdote is authentic ; it is inserted 
 here upon the authority of ' Sketches of the Life and Labours of the Rev. 
 George YVhitefield,' issued by the Committee of the General Assembly of 
 the Free Church of Scotland. 
 
STONED IN DUBLIN 309 
 
 story of the man who borrowed money for the collection at 
 Philadelphia is matched by a story of Whitefield's power in 
 this Scotch city. An officer, who knew Whitefield's influence, 
 laid a wager with another who was going to hear him with 
 a prejudiced mind, that he would feel himself obliged to 
 give something, notwithstanding his dislike. The wager was 
 accepted ; and the challenged man went to church with 
 empty pockets. But Whitefield so moved his heart that he 
 was fain to borrow from his neighbour, and his bet was lost. 
 In May, 1757, Whitefield was the most highly honoured 
 man in Edinburgh, the next month he was mobbed and 
 stoned in Dublin. Several Scotch towns had previously made 
 him a freeman ; and this year he received the marked respect 
 of the ministers of the General Assembly and of the Lord High 
 Commissioner. From the aristocracy of Scotland he went to 
 the Ormond and Liberty Boys of Ireland, and at their hands 
 received the last violence to which he was to be subjected. 
 It was their custom to meet and fight on Oxmanton Green, on 
 Sunday, but when Whitefield had appeared once on the ground, 
 and then came a second time, they turned their strength 
 against him, after he had preached to a vast multitude, and 
 stoned him as, all alone, he was returning home. He writes to 
 a friend that every step he took a fresh stone struck him, and 
 made him reel backwards and forwards, till he ' was almost 
 breathless, and all over a gore of blood.' He thought he 
 should have gone off ' in this bloody triumph to the immediate 
 presence of his Master.' Hatless, wounded, and bleeding, he 
 found a brief shelter in a minister's house, and some friends 
 bringing him a coach, he rode ' in gospel triumph through the 
 oaths, curses, and imprecations of whole streets of Papists,' 
 and without further injury reached Wesley's room. This 
 assault, of which he bore the scar all his life, was entirely 
 owing to his having exhorted all ranks to be faithful to the 
 
 n 
 
3 io GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Lord Jesus Christ, and to King George, not to his having 
 spoken against Popery. 
 
 To escape the danger of open-air preaching was to encounter 
 the danger of ministering in two large chapels all the winter 
 through; and in the winter 1757-58 Whitefield suffered so 
 much that he was put upon ' the short allowance,' as he called 
 it, of preaching but once a day, and thrice on a Sunday. With 
 so little to do, he began to examine things that were near him ; 
 and finding that round his chapel there was a most beautiful 
 spot of ground, he designed a plan for building twelve alms- 
 houses upon it. Some other ' good folks ' agreed with him, 
 and soon one hundred pounds of the necessary four hundred 
 were in his hand. The houses were to be for godly widows, 
 who were to have half a crown a week from the sacrament 
 money. The cost of building them was defrayed by private 
 subscriptions, the public being kept in ignorance of the 
 scheme until the whole sum was promised. In June, 1758, 
 the houses received their first inmates, and stood as ' a monu- 
 ment that the Methodists were not against good works.' 
 
 The summer travels of 1758 were begun at Gloucester, and 
 continued into Wales ; and it is grievous to mark the increasing- 
 difficulties under which they were undertaken. No trifle ever 
 hindered this willing traveller, but, although he is only forty- 
 four, he is compelled to say to a friend : — 
 
 ' This tabernacle makes me to groan. The one-horse chaise will not do 
 for me ; as it will not quarter, I am shaken to pieces. Driving likewise 
 wearies me, and prevents my reading ; and if the road be bad my servant 
 that rides the fore-horse is dirtied exceedingly. I have therefore sent to 
 
 Mr. S 's about the postchaise, and desired him to beg the favour of you, 
 
 my dear sir, to look at it, and let me know your thoughts. This is giving 
 you trouble, but you are my friend.' 
 
 Possibly the weakness of the body added to the fervour of the 
 spirit, and increased the interest of the congregations. 
 
mth visit — he / 
 ■ked way, by \ 
 
 ACTORS 
 
 When he visited Scotland in 1759 — his elevei 
 exhibited his disinterestedness in a very marked 
 refusing, either for himself personally or for his orphan-house, 
 the estate, both money and lands, valued at seven thousand 
 pounds, of a Miss Hunter, which she offered him. 
 
 From the account already given of the kindly feeling of 
 Shuter, the comedian, for Whitefield, and of the visits paid by 
 the chief of actors to the Tabernacle and Tottenham Court 
 Chapel, it might be supposed that actors were among White- 
 field's friends ; that is to say, that they admired his talents, 
 and respected his character and his calling, while refusing to 
 yield to his warnings and entreaties to seek another profession ; 
 but such was not the case. To be inferior to him in histrionic 
 talent would not calm the fretful temper which most of them 
 had. Garrick would doubtless have been better pleased had 
 the public called Whitefield the Garrick of the pulpit, and not 
 himself ' the Whitefield of the stage.' He could not always 
 disguise his pleasure when another actor was burlesqued and 
 mimicked, and his feelings would hardly be more generous 
 towards a Methodist preacher. Dr. Johnson, guided no doubt 
 by what he saw and knew of the actors of his day, never made 
 a truer remark than when he observed, that the stage made 
 ' almost every other man, for whatever reason, contemptuous, 
 insolent, petulant, selfish, and brutal.' To these qualities he 
 might have added — for a description of the staff of actors who 
 are the most brilliant in the history of the English stage — 
 envious, faithless, deceptive. Foote first of all entertained 
 the play-house goers by imitating Whitefield's appearance and 
 manner of speaking. Finding himself so successful, he next 
 wrote a comedy, called the ' Minor,' which affected to kill 
 Methodism by ridicule, and took the chief part in it himself. 
 There is not one happy line in it, and it is as destitute of wit 
 as of piety. There was something in the impudence of the 
 
312 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 opening sentence worthy of both author and performer : 
 ' What think you of one of those itinerant field-orators, who, 
 though at declared enmity with common sense, have the 
 address to poison the principles and, at the same time, pick 
 the pockets, of half our industrious fellow-subjects ? ' ' 
 
 Whitefield, on hearing of the merriment of the town at his 
 expense, simply said, ' All hail such contempt ! ' But his 
 friends were not content to remain inactive. The Rev. Mr. 
 Madan wrote to Garrick on the intended representation of the 
 play at Drury Lane. Lady Huntingdon waited upon the 
 Lord Chamberlain, the Duke of Devonshire, and applied for 
 its suppression altogether — a most proper request, apart from 
 anything that was levelled against Methodists ; for its impurity 
 condemned it. Yet his lordship could only assure her that 
 had the evil tendency of the play been found out before it was 
 licensed, licence would have been refused ; as it was, he could 
 do nothing immediately. The Countess next appealed to 
 Garrick, who promised to use his influence in excluding it for 
 the present, and added ' that had he been aware of the offence 
 that it was calculated to give, it should never have appeared 
 with his concurrence.' Nevertheless the offence was con- 
 tinued, yet not to the detriment of Whitefield's ministry, which 
 drew crowds of the aristocracy. Foote showed his brutality 
 by bringing the play upon the stage at Edinburgh within two 
 months after Whitefield's death ; but its indecency, combined 
 with the heartlessness of caricaturing a man who had never 
 entered the city but to bless it, and who was just dead, emptied 
 the theatre after the first night, and made many a pulpit 
 
 1 The favourite dish of the pocket-picking Mr. Squintum, as Foote, 
 alluding to Whitefield's defect, called the greatest of the field-orators, was 
 a cow-heel. He would cheerfully say, as he sat down to it, ' How surprised 
 would the world be, if they were to peep upon Dr. Squintum, and see 
 a cow-heel only upon his table.' 
 
DELIGHTS IN OPEN-AIR WORK 313 
 
 thunder out rebukes. Edinburgh had more self-respect than 
 London. 
 
 Whitefield was this same year brought into contact with the 
 notorious Earl Eerrers, cousin of Lady Huntingdon. He was 
 tried by his peers for the murder of his steward, Mr. Johnson. 
 His execution was delayed from April 16th to May 5th, an 
 interval which he spent in careless self-indulgence, and in indif- 
 ference to all the religious solicitude shown in his behalf. 
 Lady Huntingdon restrained him a little, and kept him from 
 appearing utterly shameless. He twice received Whitefield 
 very politely ; but his heart was unmoved. His last words 
 before the bolt was drawn were : ' O God, forgive me all my 
 errors ; pardon all my sins.' 
 
 An unusually sad and weary tone is perceptible in nearly all 
 Whitefield's letters of 1761, nor did he write many. For 
 weeks he did not preach a single sermon ; the ability to- say 
 but a few words was gratefully received as a little reviving in 
 his bondage. He was beginning to know what nervous dis- 
 orders are, and was thankful when his friends were prudent, 
 and did not press him to preach much. His prayer was for 
 resignation, so long as the Lord Jesus enforced silence upon 
 him. As to the cause of his weakness and sickness, he 
 thought it was the loss of his usual voyages, which certainly 
 had always been an acceptable cessation of the toils of preach- 
 ing, if they often brought the quieter and less exhausting toils 
 of writing. Thus he proceeded slowly from place to place, 
 getting as far north as Edinburgh, where he had to say, ' Little, 
 very little, can be expected from a dying man.' It was his old 
 enjoyment, field-preaching, which revived him again. The 
 open sky above his head, the expansive landscape, and the 
 sight and sound of all nature's charms, refreshed him, as an 
 imprisoned Indian would live a new life at the sight and touch 
 of the prairie. ' How gladly would I bid adieu to ceiled 
 
314 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 houses and vaulted roofs ! ' he exclaimed when he resumed his 
 open-air work. Yet his revival was only temporary ; winter 
 prostrated him as much as ever, and he was glad to make 
 arrangements for sailing to America the following summer. 
 The condition and wants of Bethesda, and his own feeble 
 health, seemed to tell him that he must attempt another 
 voyage. He accordingly persuaded his friends, Mr. Robert 
 Keen, a woollen-draper in the Minories, and Mr. Hardy, to 
 accept the office of trustees to the two London chapels and all 
 his other concerns in England. He told them that their com- 
 pliance with his request would relieve him of a ponderous load 
 which oppressed him much. When they accepted the respon- 
 sibility, he entreated Mr. Keen not to consult him about any- 
 thing, unless absolutely necessary ; for, he added, ' the Lord, 
 I trust and believe, will give you a right judgment in all 
 things.' In this confidence he was not mistaken ; his friends 
 proved true to him and to the cause which he served. But 
 before we see him on board ship at Greenock, where he em- 
 barked for his eleventh voyage, there is one assailant to be 
 answered (there was a constant fusillade of pamphlets kept up 
 against him), and a faithful labourer to be laid in his grave. 
 
 The assailant was Dr. Warburton, who since 1759 had filled 
 the place of good Bishop Benson, as Bishop of Gloucester. 
 Where Whitefield had found kindness and help he was now to 
 encounter fierce and uncompromising hostility. Warburton 
 was totally opposed to the doctrines of Methodism, and the 
 success they had gained in the land was a sufficient reason for 
 his attempting to demolish them. Even before the death of 
 the charitable Doddridge, he showed his dislike of enthusiasm 
 in a characteristic way by rating Lady Huntingdon and 
 Doddridge in Lady Huntingdon's house, where he was paying 
 the dying man a farewell visit before his departure for Lisbon. 
 Neither the politeness due from guest to hostess, nor the con- 
 
A SSA I LED BY BISHOP WA RB UR TON 3 1 5 
 
 sideration due to a feeble friend, could restrain his vehement 
 temper. On another occasion he provoked a skirmish at 
 Prior Park — afterwards his own residence — where he met Dr. 
 Hartley, Dr. Oliver, Mr. Allen, and Lady Huntingdon. Dr. 
 Hartley having spoken in laudatory terms of Whitefield's 
 abilities, and respectfully of his doctrines, Warburton remarked, 
 'Of his oratorical powers and their astonishing influence on 
 the minds of thousands, there can be no doubt : they are of 
 a high order ; but with respect to his doctrines, I consider 
 them pernicious and false.' The conversation grew into a 
 debate, and the debate became so warm that Warburton, 
 pressed by argument and sorely ruffled in temper, hastily left 
 the room, no doubt leaving as many marks as he carried with 
 him. He was now to strike a heavier and more effective blow 
 at ' the false and pernicious doctrines,' which were spreading 
 and triumphing on every hand. 
 
 The work he wrote was called a vindication of the office and 
 operations of the Holy Spirit from the insults of infidelity and 
 the abuses of fanaticism. As by Bishop Gibson, at whose 
 hands Warburton had received ordination to the priest's office, 
 so by Warburton, the fanatics were more warmly assailed than 
 the infidels. Indeed, the word used by Warburton is less 
 courteous than Gibson's ; with Gibson the Methodists were 
 'enthusiasts'; with Warburton they are 'fanatics.' Nay, 
 fanatics on the title-page is changed into ' fools ' in the pre- 
 face ; it was more than he could do to treat a Methodist with 
 fairness and charity. 
 
 His book might have done one great service to the Church 
 had it been devoted only to the discussion of a question 
 which he introduces as but a stepping-stone to his conclusions 
 against the infidels and the fanatics, namely, the inspiration 
 of Holy Scripture. His sober, thoughtful view of that great 
 subject might have saved Christianity from many a reproach 
 
316 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 had it been commonly adopted by the believers of our faith. 
 But the conclusion he wanted to reach was something subver- 
 sive of the Methodistical belief concerning the operations of 
 the Holy Ghost upon the heart of man ; substantially the 
 same view which Bishop Gibson had advanced against 
 ' enthusiasm,' but supported by a greater show of reasoning. 
 To these views Whitefield wrote an answer, in the form of a 
 letter to a friend, which he called ' Observations on some fatal 
 mistakes in a book lately published, and entitled, &c.' He 
 fairly and exactly summed up the bishop's reasoning by saying 
 that, in effect, it robbed the Church of its promised Comforter, 
 and thereby left us without any supernatural influence or 
 Divine operations whatsoever. Left in this forlorn state, 
 and yet told by the bishop that charity is the one thing 
 which is to abide in the Church for ever, Whitefield asks with 
 pertinence and force : ' Now, can human reason, with all its 
 heights ; can calm philosophy, with all its depths ; or moral 
 suasion, with all its insinuating arts, so much as pretend to 
 kindle, much less to maintain and blow up into a settled, 
 habitual flame of holy fire, such a spark as this in the human 
 heart ? ' Upon our ability to do without the Holy Ghost he 
 remarked with a pungency which Warburton must have felt 
 keenly : ' Supposing matters to be as this writer represents 
 them, I do not see what great need we have of any established 
 rule at all, at least in respect to practice, since corrupt nature 
 is abundantly sufficient of itself to help us to persevere in a 
 religion attended with ease and honour. And I verily believe 
 that the Deists throw aside this rule of faith entirely, not 
 barely on account of a deficiency in argument to support its 
 authenticity, but because they daily see so many who profess 
 to hold this established, self-denying rule of faith with their 
 lips, persevering all their lives long in nothing else but an 
 endless and insatiable pursuit after worldly ease and honour.' 
 
( / BELIE VE IN THE HOL V GHOST ' 317 
 
 He proceeds : ' The Scriptures are so far from encouraging us 
 to plead for a diminution of Divine influence in these last 
 days of the gospel, because an external rule of faith is thereby 
 established, that, on the contrary, we are encouraged by this 
 very established rule to expect, hope, long, and pray for larger 
 and more extensive showers of Divine influence than any 
 former age hath ever yet experienced.' 
 
 It is not without interest to observe that Whitefield's first 
 and last discussion was with a bishop, and upon the doctrine 
 of the Holy Ghost. Years of labour had only strengthened 
 his persuasion that the Comforter still abides personally with 
 believers, and that without His action upon the heart no man 
 can be led into the new life in Christ Jesus. 
 
 Before Whitefield sails we must notice the death of his 
 friend Grimshaw, which occurred on April 7, 1763. Probably 
 they met at Leeds, as Whitefield travelled north in March, for 
 he seldom got so near Havvorth without affording himself the 
 pleasure of preaching there. No such startling and appalling, 
 as well as happy, effects had ever attended his ministry as were 
 felt there. It was as if the very voice of God were speaking, 
 when once he cried out to a man who had seated himself on 
 the tower of the church : ' Man, I have a word for thee ; ' that 
 man was afterwards found among Grimshaw's converts. More 
 solemn was the effect of his words on another occasion. He 
 was standing on the scaffold which used to be erected for 
 these outside gatherings ; worship had been offered by the 
 congregation ; the time for the sermon had come ; all eyes were 
 turned upon him and all ears waiting for his first words, when 
 he was seen to spend a few moments in silent prayer. Silently 
 they waited ; then looking round upon them, he lifted up his 
 hands and earnestly invoked the presence and working of the 
 Holy Ghost. A little while longer, and he announced with 
 solemn voice and manner the solemn text : 'It is appointed 
 
318 GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.' He 
 paused, and while he did so ' a wild shriek of terror arose from 
 amidst the mass.' Some confusion followed, but Whitefield 
 exhorted the people to remain still, while Grimshaw pressed 
 into the crowd to see what had happened. Hastening back 
 in a few minutes, he said as he approached the scaffold : 
 ' Brother Whitefield, you stand amongst the dead and the 
 dying ; an immortal soul has been called into eternity ; the 
 destroying angel is passing over the congregation ; cry aloud 
 and spare not ! ' The people were then told that one of their 
 number had died. A second time the text was announced : 
 ' It is appointed unto men once to die.' Again, from the spot 
 where Lady Huntingdon and Lady Margaret Ingham were 
 standing, arose a second shriek ; and a shudder of awe ran 
 through every heart when it was known that a second person 
 had died. Not overcome by the terror of the scene, but 
 strengthened by the secret Helper whose grace he had implored, 
 Whitefield commenced again, and proceeded, ' in a strain of 
 tremendous eloquence,' to warn the impenitent of their perilous 
 position. Fear and eager interest were in all hearts as the 
 silent, motionless congregation listened to his word. 
 
 Such preaching as this might lead to the opinion that 
 Whitefield was always either solemn or vehement ; but really 
 no one could have tried more ways than he ; and faithful as 
 he was, he was not always faithful enough for the stern preacher 
 of the moors. It was common for him to expose the mistakes 
 and pretensions of professors of religion, and getting on that 
 topic before Grimshaw's congregation, it occurred to him that 
 his remarks could hardly be appropriate to them ; he therefore 
 proceeded to say that as they had long enjoyed the ministry 
 of a faithful pastor, they must surely be a sincerely godly people, 
 when Grimshaw interrupted him, and cried out, ' Oh, sir, for 
 God's sake do not speak so ; I pray you do not flatter them ; 
 
DEA TH OF GRIM S HA W 319 
 
 I fear the greater part of them are going to hell with their eyes 
 open ! ' 
 
 If Grimshaw was not mistaken in this judgment, which was 
 probably spoken early in his ministry, a great change must 
 have passed over his congregation through his labours. He 
 afterwards assured Romaine that not fewer than twelve hundred 
 people were in communion with him ; most of whom, in the 
 judgment of charity, he could not but believe to be one with 
 Christ. The church could not hold the number who some- 
 times came to communicate, and one congregation would with- 
 draw for another to fill its place. In one instance, when 
 Whitefield was present, thirty-five bottles of wine were used 
 in the ordinance. 
 
 The complaint which carried Grimshaw off was putrid fever, 
 caught by him in visiting his flock, among whom it was work- 
 ing most fatally. For one-and-twenty years had he proved 
 himself a good minister ; not one soul was there in all the 
 district of his travels with whose spiritual condition he was 
 unacquainted ; and after he died no parishioner could hear 
 his name without tears. 
 
 It may have been Grimshaw that Whitefield was specially 
 thinking of when he said, ' Others can die, but I cannot.' 
 Weak and weary he preached in Scotland several times. 
 Ready to fall, as it seemed, yet able to do something, he 
 sailed for America the sixth time on June 4, 1763, and after a 
 twelve week's voyage landed in Virginia. The war between 
 England and France had kept him absent from America eight 
 years. 
 
 • Jesus,' he says, ' hath made the ship a Bethel, and I enjoyed that quiet- 
 ness which I have in vain sought after for some years on shore. Not an 
 oath to be heard, even in the greatest hurry. All hath been harmony and 
 love. But my breath is short, and I have little hopes since my last relapse 
 of much turther public usefulness. A few exertions, like the last struggles 
 
3 20 GEORGE WHITEEIELD 
 
 of a dying man, or glimmering flashes of a taper just burning out, is all that 
 can be expected from me. But, blessed be God, the taper will be lighted 
 up again in heaven.' 
 
 From Virginia he proceeded northwards to Philadelphia, 
 New York, and Boston ; and was so much strengthened by 
 the cold as to be able to preach thrice a week. There was 
 such a flocking of all ranks in New York to his preaching as 
 he had never seen there before. It was in this city that he 
 gained one of his greatest oratorical conquests ; and a com- 
 parison of the anecdote with that which relates Chesterfield's 
 excitement will serve to show his mastery over all classes of 
 people. On this occasion he was preaching before the seamen 
 of New York — 
 
 ' when suddenly, assuming a nautical tone and manner that were irre- 
 sistible, he thus suddenly broke in with, " Well, my boys, we have a clear 
 sky, and are making fine headway over a smooth sea, before a light breeze, 
 and we shall soon lose sight of land. But what means this sudden lowering 
 of the heavens, and that dark cloud rising from beneath the western horizon ? 
 Hark ! don't you hear distant thunder ? Don't you see those flashes of 
 lightning ? There is a storm gathering ! every man to his duty ! How the 
 waves arise and dash against the ship ! The air is dark ! The tempest 
 rages ! Our masts are gone ! The ship is on her beam ends ! What 
 next ? " ' 
 
 This appeal instantly brought the sailors to their feet with a 
 shout, ' Take to the long boat ! ' 
 
 His power to engage the attention of ship-builders was as 
 great as that of exciting sailors, one builder declaring that he 
 could build a ship from stem to stern every Sunday under the 
 sermon at the parish church, but could not get a plank down 
 when Whitefield preached. 
 
 Still, his success was not uniform, only he would have success 
 if it could be gained. If the fault were in his own heart, he 
 would pray, while he preached, for help from above. If the 
 
A SLEEPER AROUSED 321 
 
 fault were in his hearers, he would correct it ; if they were 
 thoughtless, he would charge them with it as they sat ; if they 
 were stupid and uninterested, he would ask them whether he 
 were preaching to men or to stones. Dr. Young is said to 
 have sat down and wept when his royal hearers slept during 
 his sermon j but Whitefield would have done something very 
 different — most likely what he did to a small American con- 
 gregation on a rainy day. A curious student from Princeton 
 (New Jersey) College was present, and has told the story. The 
 first part of the sermon made no impression upon the student, 
 and he began to say to himself, ' This man is not so great a 
 wonder after all. His ideas are all commonplace and super- 
 ficial — mere show, and not a great deal even of that.' The 
 congregation seemed as uninterested as himself, one old man 
 who sat in front of the pulpit having fallen sound asleep ! 
 Whitefield now stopped ; his face darkened with a frown ; and 
 changing his tone, he cried out, ' If I had come to speak to 
 you in my own name, you might rest your elbows on your 
 knees, and your heads upon your hands, and sleep ; and once 
 in a while look up and say, "What does the babbler talk of? " 
 But I have not come to you in my own name. No : I come 
 to you in the name of the Lord of Hosts ' — here he brought 
 his hand and foot down with a force that made the building 
 ring — ' and I must and will be heard ! ' The congregation 
 started, and the old man awoke. ' Ay, ay/ said Whitefield, 
 fixing his eyes on him, ' I have waked you up, have I ? I 
 meant to do it. I am not come here to preach to stocks and 
 stones ; I have come to you in the name of the Lord God of 
 Hosts, and I must, and I will, have an audience.' There was 
 no more sleeping or indolence that day. 
 
 Other things besides preaching filled his mind when, after a 
 long delay in the north of the colonies, caused by bad health 
 and the unsettled state of the Indians, he travelled to Bethesda, 
 
 22 
 
322 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 and reached it, as he had so often done before, in time to 
 spend Christmas with the orphans. It had long been his wish 
 to add to the orphanage a college like New Jersey, for the 
 training of gentlemen's sons ; and now, along with the pleasure 
 which he felt in seeing the peace and plenty of his cherished 
 retreat, he had the satisfaction of thinking that his second 
 project would be accomplished. He memorialised the 
 governor, James Wright, Esq., setting forth in his petition 
 that in addition to his original plan, which he had carried out 
 these many years at great expense, he had long wished to make 
 further provision for the education of persons of superior rank, 
 who might thus be fitted for usefulness, either in Church or 
 State ; that he witnessed with pleasure the increasing prosperity 
 of the province, but saw with concern that many gentlemen, 
 who would have preferred having their sons educated nearer 
 home, had been obliged to send them to the northern pro- 
 vinces ; that a college in Georgia would be a central institu- 
 tion for the whole of the southern district, and might even 
 count upon many youths being sent from the British West 
 India Islands and other parts ; that a considerable sum of 
 money was soon to be laid out in purchasing a large number 
 of Negroes, for the further cultivation of the orphan-house and 
 other additional lands, and for the future support of ' a worthy, 
 able president, professors and tutors, and other good purposes 
 intended ' ; he therefore prayed his Excellency and the 
 members of his Majesty's Council to grant him in trust two 
 thousand acres of land on the north fork of Turtle River, or 
 lands south of the river Altamaha. This memorial was sup- 
 ported by an earnest ' Address of both Houses of Assembly,' 
 which bore the signature of James Habersham as president. 
 His Excellency gave a favourable answer, and referred the 
 matter to the home authorities ; and Whitefield returned to 
 support it. 
 
AN OLD MAN AT FIFTY 323 
 
 Work and sickness had wrought a striking change in his 
 appearance when he ended his twelfth voyage. That his 
 health must have been grievously broken is evident from his 
 touching appeal to his friends Keen and Hardy : ' Stand, my 
 friends,' he said, ' and insist upon my not being brought into 
 action too soon. The poor old shattered barque hath not 
 been in dock one week, for a long while. I scarce know what 
 I write. Tender love to all.' Asthma had now firmly seated 
 itself in his constitution, and he felt sure that he should never 
 breathe as he would, till he breathed in yonder heaven. 
 Wesley was painfully struck when he met him towards the 
 close of the year in London. 'I breakfasted,' he says in his 
 journal, ' with Mr. Whitefield, who seemed to be an old, old 
 man, being fairly worn out in his Master's service, though he 
 has hardly seen fifty years ; and yet it pleases God that I, who 
 am now in my sixty-third year, find no disorder, no weakness, 
 no decay, no difference from what I was at five-and-twenty, 
 only that I have fewer teeth and more grey hairs.' A month 
 later Wesley again wrote in his journal : ' Mr. Whitefield called 
 upon me. He breathes nothing but peace and love. Bigotry 
 cannot stand before him, but hides its head wherever he 
 comes.' 
 
 The silver cord was not even yet to be loosed, although the 
 body appeared to be ready for the grave, and the soul for 
 heaven. Lady Huntingdon was increasing the number of her 
 chapels. She had one at Brighton, which was partly due to 
 Whitefield's preaching under a tree behind the White Lion 
 Inn ; she had another at Norwich ; and a third at Tunbridge 
 Wells ; and when she had got one finished at Bath, Whitefield 
 must needs open it. He went and preached one of the sermons 
 on October 6, 1765. It was a chapel in which many of the 
 witty and the learned were to hear his expositions of truth. It 
 had also a strange corner, called ' Nicodemus's Corner,' into 
 
324 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 which Lady Betty Cobbe, daughter-in-law of the Archbishop 
 of Dublin, used to smuggle bishops, whom she had persuaded 
 to go and hear Whitefield, but who did not want to be seen in 
 such a place as an unconsecrated chapel. The curtained seats 
 just inside the door were both convenient and secret. 
 
 And how was the plan for a college at Bethesda prospering ? 
 First of all Whitefield waited a long time, to give the home 
 authorities the fullest opportunities for maturing their thoughts; 
 but by delay they intended hindrance, not help. He therefore 
 memorialised his Majesty, praying that since the colonists were 
 deeply interested in the scheme, and were impatiently waiting 
 for information, something might be done. Now came the 
 intricacies of 'red-tape.' The original memorial of Whitefield, 
 supported by the ' Address ' of the colonial Houses of 
 Assembly, was remitted to the Lords Commissioners for 
 Trade and Plantations, and they sent it to the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, who effectually frustrated its intention by a bigoted 
 demand that the charter of the college, were one granted, 
 should contain a clause making it obligatory to appoint none 
 but a member of the Church of England to the office of head- 
 master. To this demand Whitefield offered respectful but 
 uncompromising opposition. He would have no exceptional 
 privilege for a Churchman ; he would not have the daily use 
 of the liturgy enjoined ; he would not have one doctrinal 
 article entered in the charter. His letter to the archbishop 
 stating and defending his views is as noble and catholic a 
 production as ever came from his pen, while its references to 
 himself and his toils are as pathetic as they are modest. Why 
 did he object to a compulsory clause respecting the master? 
 Was he opposed to the Church of England ? By no means ; 
 the majority of the wardens were sure to be of that communion, 
 and their choice would be sure to fall upon a master like them- 
 selves in belief; but choice and compulsion were very different 
 
RELIGIOUS LIBERTY AND EQUALITY 325 
 
 things. Did he dislike the liturgy ? No ; he loved it, and had 
 injured himself by his frequent reading of it in Tottenham 
 Court Chapel ; moreover, it had been read twice every Sunday 
 in the orphan-house from the day of the first institution of the 
 house. Did he disbelieve the doctrinal articles ? No : on the 
 contrary, his acceptance of them was as literal and honest as 
 man could give, and he had preached and upheld them 
 everywhere. The whole question turned upon freedom or 
 compulsion. As for the orphan-house, Whitefield thought 
 that an institution to which Dr. Benson had made a dying 
 bequest, and for which he had offered his dying prayers, had 
 some claim upon the archbishop also. 
 
 All that he could say could not move either the archbishop 
 or the Lord President; for was not the memorialist a Methodist? 
 and was he not pleading for liberty of thought and action ? In 
 reply to their remarks upon the disputed points, Whitefield 
 said that, in addition to all the reasons already given, his 
 truthfulness was at stake, and he might not trifle with it. 
 From the first, whenever he had been asked ' upon what 
 bottom the intended college was to be founded,' he had 
 repeatedly and readily replied, ' Undoubtedly upon a broad 
 bottom ' ; he had even gone so far as to say from the pulpit 
 that it should be upon 'a broad bottom and no other,' and 
 how could he now withdraw from his word ? More than that, 
 most of the money which he had collected for the orphan- 
 house had been given by Dissenters, and could he be so basely 
 ungrateful as to deny them admission to the very place which 
 their liberality had created and sustained ? If it were asked 
 by what warrant he had said that the college should stand only 
 on a liberal charter, he replied, ' Because of the known, long- 
 established, mild, and uncoercive genius of the English Govern- 
 ment ; because of his Grace's moderation towards Protestant 
 Dissenters ; because of the unconquerable attachment of the 
 
326 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Americans to toleration principles ; because of the avowed 
 habitual feelings and sentiments of his own heart.' He wrote 
 as feeling that his very piety and salvation were involved in 
 the position he assumed, and his last words to the archbishop 
 are well worth preserving : — 
 
 ' If I know anything of my own heart, I have no ambition to be looked 
 upon at present, or remembered for the future, as a founder of a college ; 
 but I would fain, may it please your Grace, act the part of an honest man, 
 a disinterested minister of Jesus Christ, and a truly catholic, moderate 
 presbyter of the Church of England. In this way, and in this only, can I 
 hope for a continued heartfelt enjoyment of that peace of God which passeth 
 all understanding, whilst here on earth, and be thereby prepared to stand 
 with humble boldness before the awful, impartial tribunal of the great 
 Shepherd and Bishop of souls at the great day.' 
 
 ~^ His plan was defeated. In order to uphold his reputation 
 in America, he published his correspondence with the arch- 
 bishop, and sent it to the Governor of Georgia for circulation. 
 To come as near his idea as possible, he now proposed to add 
 a public academy to the orphan-house, and to form a proper 
 trust, to act after his decease, or even before, with this proviso, 
 that no opportunity should be omitted of making a fresh 
 application for a college charter, ' upon a broad bottom, 
 whenever those in power might think it for the glory of God 
 and the interest of their king and country to grant the same.' 
 Thus his beloved Bethesda would not only be continued as a 
 house of mercy for orphans, but be confirmed as a seat and 
 nursery of sound learning and religious education to the latest 
 posterity. Great and worthy aspirations, which were doomed 
 to disappointment ! 
 
 In 1768 six students of St. Edmund Hall, Oxford, were 
 expelled from the university for holding Methodistical tenets, 
 for taking upon them to pray, read, and expound the Scrip- 
 tures, for singing hymns in private houses, and for being 
 tradesmen before entering as students. But their judges did 
 
METHODISTS EXPELLED FROM OXFORD 327 
 
 not escape public censure. It was to be expected that the 
 Methodists would be against them ; they were also opposed by 
 men of equal standing in the Church with themselves. White- 
 field could not let the matter pass without notice ; and he 
 wrote and published a letter to Dr. Durell, the vice-chancellor, 
 besides showing the students much private sympathy. As to 
 the charges, what evil or crime worthy of expulsion, he asked, 
 could there be in having followed a trade before entering the 
 university? and whoever heard of its being accounted a 
 disparagement to any great public character that he had once 
 been a mechanic ? Why, David was a shepherd, and even 
 Jesus of Nazareth was a carpenter. But the delinquents had 
 been found guilty of praying. And how could that, he 
 demanded, disqualify them for the private or public discharge 
 of their ministerial functions ? But it was extempore prayer 
 that they had used. Extempore prayer a crime ! It was not 
 a crime to be found in any law book, neither had any one 
 been called before the bar of any public court of judicature to 
 answer for it for at least a century. Expelled for extempore 
 praying ! Then it was high time there were some expulsions 
 for extempore swearing, which was surely the greater sin of the 
 two. But these men sang hymns. Yes, he replied, and so 
 did David ; and this very exercise of praise are we taught by 
 St. Paul to cultivate. Praise ! Well, Catholic students might 
 sing ; then why not Protestants ? Ought Protestants to be 
 less devout than Papists ? And if the Duke of Cumberland 
 allowed his pious soldiers to sing, why should the Vice- 
 Chancellor of a University forbid his pious students ? Or was 
 there more harm in hearing a psalm-tune than in listening to 
 the noise of box and dice, which was not an unknown sound 
 even at Oxford ? 
 
 Thus far his polemics. We must now follow him to other 
 engagements. As if with an expectation of soon dying, he now 
 
328 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 began to collect his numerous letters ; and to them we are 
 indebted, along with his journals, for the best story of his life. 
 He felt that another voyage to America, whither he must go again 
 on account of Bethesda's affairs, would probably be the last ; 
 and he begged his friends Keen and Hardy to let him have 
 his papers and letters, that he might revise and dispose of them 
 in a proper manner. 
 
 It was in June and July, 1768, that he paid his fourteenth 
 and last visit to Edinburgh, always a dear city to him. He 
 thanked God for ordering his steps thither. The congrega- 
 tions in the orphan-house park were as large and attentive as 
 those which he addressed when he was called ' a godly youth ' 
 by his friends, and a ' minister of the devil ' by his enemies. 
 Great was their affection for him, and his only danger was that 
 of ' being hugged to death ; ' for there were friends of twenty- 
 seven years' standing, and spiritual children of the same age, 
 who remembered the days of old. They were seeking after 
 their first love ; and the Spirit of God seemed to be moving 
 amongst them. He often got into the open air upon what he 
 was beginning fondly to call his ' throne ' ; and indeed he was 
 a king of men when there. ' O to die there ! ' he exclaimed ; 
 then checking himself, he added, ' Too great, too great an 
 honour to be expected ! ' No doubt the parting was as painful 
 as any he had ever known ; and he was wont to call parting 
 days ' execution days.' 
 
 Soon after his return to London, Mrs. Whitefield was seized 
 with an 'inflammatory fever,' and died on August 9, 1768. 
 He preached her funeral sermon from Romans viii. 20, ' For 
 the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by 
 reason of Him who hath subjected the same in hope.' 
 Speaking of her fortitude, he observed : — 
 
 ' Do you remember my preaching in those fields by the old stump of a 
 tree? The multitude was great, and many were disposed to be riotous. A 
 
DEATH OF HIS WIFE 329 
 
 first I addressed them firmly ; but when a desperate gang drew near, with 
 the most ferocious and horrid imprecations and menaces, my courage began 
 to fail. My wife was then standing behind me, as I stood on the table. I 
 think I hear her now. She pulled my gown, and, looking up, said, 
 "George, play the man for your God." My confidence returned. I spoke 
 to the multitude with boldness and affection. They became still, and 
 many were deeply affected/ 
 
 He afterwards called her death an 'unexpected breach,' and 
 said that he felt the loss of his ' right hand ' daily. 
 
 He might quickly have followed his wife to the grave, for 
 within a month of her death he burst a vein by hard riding and 
 frequent preaching. Rest and quietness were enjoined upon 
 him until the flux was quite stopped. The fact is, he had been 
 in Wales, and it was not easy to keep himself within bounds 
 among the fiery, rapturous Welsh. Moreover, he had been 
 attending a significant ceremony — the opening of a college for 
 the education of godly young men who aspired to be ministers. 
 The Countess of Huntingdon had for some time purposed 
 founding such an institution ; and on the anniversary of her 
 birthday, August 24, 1768, Trevecca House, in the parish of 
 Talgarth, South Wales, was dedicated by her to a new purpose, 
 and was afterwards known as Trevecca College. Whitefield 
 opened both the college and the chapel attached to it ; and on 
 the following Sunday, he preached in the court before the 
 college, to a congregation of some thousands. The college 
 was removed to Cheshunt, Herts, August 24, 1792. 
 
 The winter of 1768-69 was spent by Whitefield in London ; 
 it was the last but one he lived to see. He was well enough 
 to preach frequently; it was always with the same power of the 
 Spirit ; and as we shall not again find him among his London 
 friends, it may be best now to notice some of his habits and 
 characteristics which have not yet been mentioned. We 
 know how neat and punctual he was in his younger days, and 
 he was not different as an old man. It was a great fault for 
 
330 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 his meals to be but a few minutes late ; and he would suffer 
 no sitting up after ten o'clock at night, and no lying in bed 
 after four in the morning. He would rise up abruptly in the 
 midst of a conversation at ten at night, and say, ' But we 
 forget ourselves. Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good 
 folks to be at home.' Whether any one or no one sat down 
 to table with him, and whether he had but bread and cheese 
 or a complete dinner, the table must be properly spread. His 
 love of exactness and order was the same in business trans- 
 actions ; every article was paid for at once, and for small 
 articles the money was taken in the hand. His temper was 
 soon ruffled, but quickly appeased. Not being patient 
 enough one day to hear an explanation of a fault from some 
 one who was studious to please, he gave much pain, and saw 
 it by the tears which he started ; this instantly touched him 
 with grief, and bursting into tears himself, he said, ' I shall 
 live to be a poor peevish old man, and every one will be tired 
 of me.' His commands were given kindly, and he always 
 applauded when a person did right. 
 
 It is painful to learn that in his later years his confidence in 
 mankind was much shaken. Always true to his friends in all 
 fortunes, he yet was doomed to feel the treachery of many; 
 and on that account he seemed to dread outliving his useful- 
 ness. The same experience made him exacting, and almost 
 harsh, with young men who wanted to be ministers. To curb 
 their vanity, as he would say, he would place them in 
 humiliating circumstances, and then refer to the young 
 Roman orators, who, after being applauded, were sent upon 
 trifling errands. He would keep them in suspense, and 
 afford them little or no encouragement. One man, who 
 answered him that he was a tailor, was dismissed with, ' Go 
 to rag-fair, and buy old clothes ; ' and very likely rag-fair was 
 his proper destination. He said of another who had preached 
 
CHARACTERISTICS 331 
 
 in his vestry from the text, ' These that have turned the world 
 upside down, have come hither also.' ' That man shall come 
 no more here ; if God had called him to preach, He would 
 have furnished him with a proper text.' He judged rightly ; 
 for the man afterwards became an inconsistent clergyman ; he 
 too would have been best at rag-fair. 
 
 Tormented as he must have been with all kinds of visitors 
 and all kinds of requests, had he kept an open door, he wisely 
 suffered but few to see him freely. ' Who is it ? what is his 
 business ? ' he would demand before his door was opened ; and 
 if the door was opened, he would say, ' Tell him to come 
 to-morrow morning at six o'clock, perhaps five, or immediately 
 after preaching ; if he is later, I cannot see him.' 
 
 Knowing that he sometimes preached an hour and a hah 
 / or two hours, it prepares us for long prayers also ; and perhaps 
 if others had prayed as well as he preached he might have 
 borne with them. But he hated all unreality. In the middle 
 of an immoderately long prayer by the master of the house 
 where he was once staying, he rose from his knees and sat down 
 in the chair ; when the drawler concluded, he said to him with 
 a frown, 'Sir, you prayed me into a good frame, and you 
 prayed me out of it again.' 
 
 We have seen that he was like old Mr. Cole in his use of 
 anecdotes, nor were they always without a touch of humour. 
 He was no more afraid of his congregations smiling than 
 weeping ; to get the truth into their hearts and heads was his 
 object. His observant habits gathered illustrations from all 
 quarters ; and the last book he had read was sure to colour his 
 next sermon. 
 
 He always ascended the pulpit with a pale, serious face, 
 and a slow, calm step, as if he had a great message for the 
 expectant thousands. Much preaching made him, not more 
 familiar with his awful themes, but more solemn ; and towards 
 
332 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 the close of life, he sometimes entreated his friends to mention 
 nothing to him which did not relate to eternity. On Sabbath 
 morning his preaching was explanatory and doctrinal ; in the 
 afternoon it was more general and hortatory ; and in the 
 evening it was more general still. In the morning he was 
 calm and conversational, occasionally making a modest show 
 of learning ; in the evening he was oratorical, and attempted 
 by every art of persuasion and every terror of denunciation to 
 save his hearers from sin and its punishment. Then his 
 perfect elocution and graceful gestures were in full play, his 
 uttermost acting never appearing unnatural or improper. It is 
 difficult to believe that any preacher could successfully put a 
 fold of his gown over his eyes to express grief, yet Whitefield 
 invariably did it when he was depicting in his own vivid way 
 the downfall of Peter, and grieving over it. 
 ■-.- He seemed to have no particular time for preparing for the 
 pulpit, although before entering it he loved to have an hour or 
 two alone ; and on Sunday mornings he generally had Clarke's 
 Bible, Matthew Henry's Commentary, and Cruden's Concor- 
 dance within reach. It was remarked also that at this time 
 his state of mind was more than usually devout ; but 
 ordinarily, indeed, the intervals of conversation were filled 
 up with private ejaculations of praise and prayer, notwith- 
 standing his love of pleasantry, which he did not care to 
 suppress. His was an honest, real life from beginning to end ; 
 he was himself at all times and everywhere. 
 
 He did not love to be known and observed wherever he 
 went. If he ever was fond of popularity, he was weary of it 
 long before he became old, and often said that he almost 
 ' envied the man who could take his choice of food at an 
 eating-house, and pass unnoticed.' 
 
 It is said that when he wrote his pamphlets, he shut himself 
 up in his room, and would see no one until his work was 
 
HIS PRINTED WORKS 333 
 
 done. Besides the productions of his pen already noticed, he 
 wrote a ' Recommendatory Preface to the Works of John 
 Bunyan,' which would have been more appropriately called a 
 recommendation of Puritans and Puritan divinity ; it contains 
 not one discriminating remark on the writings of the dreamer. 
 Early in his ministry he began some ' Observations on select 
 passages of Scripture, turned into catechetical questions,' 
 which are much like questions that an ordinary Sunday 
 school teacher would put to his class ; but they were soon 
 discontinued. A more elaborate work was ' Law Gospelised,' 
 which means 'an attempt to render Mr. Law's " Serious Call," 
 more useful to the children of God, by excluding whatever is 
 not truly evangelical, and illustrating the subject more fully 
 from the Holy Scriptures.' We never hear of Law in this 
 evangelical garb now, though we do hear of him without it. 
 He has been preferred ungospelised. ' A Communion Morn- 
 ing's Companion,' which he compiled, contained extracts from 
 Bishop Ken and Bishop Wilson and fifty-nine sacramental 
 hymns and seventeen doxologies taken from several authors ; 
 the book was a public favourite. Whitefield also published 
 ' Pious Aspirations for the use of Devout Communicants,' a 
 book of quotations from a work of Professor Rambach, of 
 Giessen University. Whitefield published several prayers, some 
 of which are most appropriate in petition and language. Their 
 titles are a leaf of Church history, and the petitions contained 
 in some are as plain an index to passing conditions of life as 
 are the peculiarities of the psalms. They were composed for 
 persons desiring and seeking after the new birth, for those 
 newly awakened to a sense of the Divine life, for those under 
 spiritual desertion, for those under the displeasure of relations 
 for being religious ; then come the cases of servants, Negroes, 
 labourers, rich men, the sick, travellers, sailors, and persons in 
 a storm at sea. 
 
334 GEORGE WHITEFfELD 
 
 In 1753 Whitefield published 'Hymns for Social Worship,' 
 a collection of hymns from various authors, ' more particularly 
 designed for the use of the Tabernacle Congregation in 
 London.' He drew most of its hundred and seventy hymns 
 from Watts, and many from the Wesleys. The book, which 
 was quickly followed by Wesley's ' Hymns and Spiritual 
 Songs ' and a Moravian Hymn Book, passed through thirty-six 
 editions in forty-three years. It contained a preface addressed 
 to the 'Courteous Reader,' and is as like the author as Wesley's 
 famous preface to his book of 1779 is like him. Whitefield 
 himself has left no great hymn to the Church, though the 
 Methodist revival gave the English Church in all its branches 
 the greater number of its best hymns. Watts, John and 
 Charles Wesley, Doddridge, Cennick, Olivers, Toplady, and 
 others, all of them either taking an active part in the movement 
 or coming within the range of its influence, have expressed for 
 us the humblest grief of our repentance, the fullest trust of our 
 faith, and the brightest expectation of our hope ; but White- 
 field has given us not a verse worth retaining. Emotional, like 
 Charles Wesley, he yet had none of that fervid poet's music. 
 One gift in a supreme degree is enough for any man ; and as 
 a preacher he was the greatest of all his brethren, the most 
 competent of his contemporaries being judges. 
 
 The only direct association of Whitefield's name with the 
 names of the brilliant and gifted men of his time has already 
 appeared in the narrative of his preaching triumphs. It was 
 principally statesmen — Pitt and Fox among the number, never 
 Burke — who went to hear him. Hogarth disgraced his genius 
 by some indecent caricatures of him ; Pope by abusing him in 
 the Dunciad. Not one of the celebrated Literary Club, Garrick 
 excepted, was ever seen in the ' soul-trap.' Oglethorpe makes 
 a kind of link between the Club and the Tabernacle. A friend 
 of Whitefield, he was also a friend of Goldsmith ; and some- 
 
THE LAST HYMN OF THE EVANGELISTS 335 
 
 times he and Topham Beauclerc would turn in of an evening 
 to drink a glass of wine with ' Goldy,' at his chambers in Brick 
 Court, Middle Temple — the chambers which he bought with 
 the proceeds of the play that Shuter lifted into popularity. But 
 the easy ways of many of these sons of genius, their wine- 
 sipping, when they could get it, their comfortable suppers at 
 the 'Turk's Head,' their gaiety and their sins, sufficiently explain 
 how it was that in all Whitefield's career not one of them crossed 
 his path. They talked about him, as they talked about every- 
 thing and everybody ; they theorised about his popularity ; 
 Johnson was sure that it was ' chiefly owing to the peculiarity 
 of his manner. He would be followed by crowds were he to 
 wear a night-cap in the pulpit, or were he to preach from a tree.' 
 For a while ; but the night-cap would not have made grasping 
 men give of their beloved money to the orphan-house, nor 
 hardened sinners go home as gentle as lambs, nor worldly 
 wretches, who had been living only for the body and for this 
 life, begin to lift up their abject souls to look towards the 
 splendours and joys of a heavenly kingdom ! 
 
 We turn again with him to the places which he had loved 
 to frequent, and where his form has become familiar to us. It 
 is the last interview between Whitefield and Wesley that 
 Wesley records in his journal on Monday (their old meeting 
 day), February 27, 1769. He says : ' I had one more agree- 
 able conversation with my old friend and fellow-labourer, 
 George Whitefield. His soul appeared to be vigorous still, 
 but his body was sinking apace ; and unless God interposes 
 with His mighty hand, he must soon finish his labours.' And 
 this is a pleasant picture of the now aged, grey-headed 
 evangelists, who in their youth had fired the nation with 
 religious enthusiasm, which is sketched by Charles Wesley in 
 a letter to his wife : ' Last Friday I dined with my brother at 
 George's chapel. Mrs, Herritage was mistress, and provided 
 
336 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 the dinner. Hearty Mr. Adams was there ; and to complete 
 our band, Howel Harris. It was indeed a feast of love. My 
 brother and George prayed : we all sang an hymn in the chapel.' 
 They were never all together again in this world. Their last 
 hymn in ' George's chapel ' carries the soul up to that house 
 in the heavens, and we seem to hear it renewed again there. 
 
 The parting solemnities were exceedingly awful, when, early 
 in September, 1769, Whitefield, accompanied by Cornelius 
 Winter, took his last farewell of his English friends. His 
 thirteenth voyage much resembled his first ; it was hindered 
 by similar delays ; it was made dangerous by similar high gales. 
 He took to his old employment when sailing, of reading the 
 History of England, composing sermons, and writing letters. 
 The greatest respect was shown him by both captain and 
 passengers ; and all attended service. He only wanted some- 
 body about him with ' a little more brains,' he said, and then 
 his comforts would have been complete. 
 
 His reception at Charleston was very hearty, and he 
 preached the day after landing. Bethesda was in a satisfactory 
 condition; he admitted ten orphans in the spring of 1770. 
 They were what he called his prizes. The peace and happi- 
 ness of the place were his daily joy ; and thus Bethesda, after 
 all the trouble it had cost him, after all his prayers, and tears, 
 and pleadings for it, was to minister largely to the comfort of 
 his last days. His health continued better than it had been 
 for years ; and when summer approached he started on his 
 old preaching circuit in the north. Invitations crowded in 
 upon him \ and he travelled from place to place as if the 
 vigour of his youth were renewed. During one month, July, 
 he travelled five hundred miles, riding and preaching during 
 the heat of every day. 
 
 How like the language of his youth is that which he penned 
 at New York to his friend Keen : — ■ 
 
B VENTIDB y 3l 
 
 ' O whut a new scene of usefulness is opening in various parts of this new 
 world ! All fresh work where I have been. The Divine influence hath 
 been as at the first. Invitations crowded upon me, both from ministers 
 and people, from many, many quarters. A very peculiar providence led 
 me lately to a place where a horse-stealer was executed ; thousands 
 attended. The poor criminal had sent me several letters, hearing I was in 
 the country. The sheriff allowed him to come and hear a sermon under an 
 adjacent tree. Solemn ! solemn ! After being by himself about an hour, 
 I walked half a mile with him to the gallows. His heart had been softened 
 before my first visit. He seemed full of solid, Divine consolations. An 
 instructive walk ! I went up with him into the cart. He gave a short 
 exhortation. I then stood upon the coffin, added, I trust, a word in 
 season, prayed, gave the blessing, and took my leave.' 
 
 This was not the first execution he had been present at. 
 He pressed all things into the service of the pulpit, and was 
 wont to make even the final scenes of a criminal's career give 
 effect to the urgency and solemnity of his appeals and warn- 
 ings. At the close of a sermon, and after pausing for a 
 moment, he would say, ivith his eyes full of tears and his heart 
 almost too big for words : ' I am going now to put on my 
 condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it; I must pronounce 
 sentence upon you.' Then, like a peal of thunder, fell the 
 terrible curse, ' Depart from Me, ye cursed, into everlasting 
 fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.' 
 
 It was now eventide with him ; only one week of life 
 remained. There was a hush and quietness gathering round 
 the close of his marvellous ministry, which seemed to tell of 
 coming rest for the weary and broken servant. Opposition 
 was silent ; none spoke or wrote a word against him. The 
 people, as if they expected to see his face no more, clung to 
 him, and were unwilling to let him leave their towns and 
 villages, through which he was still attempting to travel on his 
 evangelistic work. But it was not always he could meet them 
 when they had assembled together ; fur the body was being 
 shaken to its lull. They were, he said, but 'poor efforts he 
 
33& GEORGE WHITE FIELD 
 
 could make to serve his Lord. for a warm heart ! to 
 stand fast in the faith — to quit ourselves like men and be 
 strong ! ' To the letter which contains this prayer, he sub- 
 scribed himself, as was now his way, ' Less than the least 
 of all, George Whitefield.' It was the last he penned, 
 and well did it harmonise with one of the strongest wishes he 
 had ever made known to God — the wish to be humble. 
 
 On Friday, September 28th, he preached at Portsmouth, 
 and on the following morning started for Boston, travelling by 
 way of Exeter and Newbury Port, in order to fulfil an engage- 
 ment at the latter place on the Sunday. But the people of 
 Exeter could not let him pass without his giving them a 
 sermon ; and he yielded to their entreaties. He had ridden 
 fifteen miles that morning, and, as he was more than usually 
 uneasy, one remarked to him before going out to preach, 
 'Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.' Whitefield 
 remarked, ' True sir ' ; then turning aside, he clasped his hands 
 together, and looking up, said, ' Lord Jesus, I am weary in 
 Thy work, but not of Thy work. If I have not yet finished 
 my course, let me go and speak for Thee once more in the 
 fields, seal Thy truth, and come home and die.' The Lord 
 heard his request. He went out, and, taking his stand on a 
 hogshead for a pulpit, preached in the fields for nearly two 
 hours to a large congregation, at first slowly and with great 
 effort, then with all his wonted animation and power, ' his 
 countenance,' says a spectator, ' shining like the unclouded 
 sun.' Then he dined, and went forward to Newbury Port with 
 a dear old friend, the Rev. Jonathan Parsons. In the evening 
 he was tired, and after an early supper, of which he partook 
 very sparingly, begged Mr. Parsons, at whose house he was 
 staying, to have family prayer, so that he might retire to rest at 
 once. Meanwhile the pavement in front of the house and the 
 hall became crowded with people who wanted to hear some 
 
THE LAST NIGHT 339 
 
 words of grace and truth from his lips; but he felt himself un- 
 equal to the task of addressing them, and said to another 
 clergyman, ' Brother, you must speak to these dear people ; I 
 cannot say a word.' To his friend and companion, Mr. 
 Richard Smith, who slept in the same room with him, he said, 
 ' I will sit and read till you come to me.' But there were the 
 waiting people to be passed, as, with candle in hand, he went 
 to his bedroom ; and his heart strove with him to say some- 
 thing. He halted on the staircase, turned towards them, and 
 began an exhortation. Tearful eyes were lifted up to him, 
 while his words flowed on and ceased not ' until the candle, 
 which he still held, burned away, and went out in its socket.' 
 
 When his friend entered his room, Whitefield was found 
 reading the Bible, with Watts' psalms lying open before him. 
 After committing himself into the hands of God, he went to 
 rest, and slept, with the window half-open, till two in the 
 morning, when an attack of asthma seized him. Yet he talked 
 of his work as if many days more were left to him ; he must 
 have two or three days' riding without preaching, and then he 
 would be all right, or, he thought, his preaching the next day 
 would make him better — his old remedy, a ' pulpit-sweat ' — he 
 used to sweat through and through — would relieve him ; he 
 would rather wear out than rust out. It had long been his 
 habit to rise in the night and pray ; and this night, weary and 
 panting, he sat up in bed and prayed God to bless his preach- 
 ing on the past day, and his forthcoming services on the 
 Sunday ; to bring more souls to Christ ; to give him the 
 direction in the way he should take, whether he should winter 
 at Boston, or hasten to the south ; to remember Bethesda and 
 his dear family ; to smile on the congregations at the Taber- 
 nacle and Tottenham Court Chapel, and on all his English 
 friends. He lay down again to sleep ; but in an hour he called 
 his friend for help. ' My asthma — my asthma is coming on,' 
 
 S 
 
34o GEORGE WHITE EI ELD 
 
 he said. At five o'clock he rose to open the window wider for 
 more air. A few minutes afterwards he turned to his com- 
 panion, and said, ' I am dying.' He ran to the other window, 
 panting for breath, but could get no relief. They seated him 
 in his chair, wrapped his cloak round him, and did their utmost 
 to restore him. But the end was come. The device on his 
 seal, of wings outspread for flight, and the motto it bore, ' x Astra 
 petamus,' had long expressed his ardent desire to pass even 
 beyond the stars; and at six o'clock on Sunday morning, 
 September 30, 1770, he entered heaven itself. 
 
 The end was conformable to his hope and prayer. He was 
 an evangelist and died in a foreign land, although not among 
 strangers. He was a field-preacher, and preached his last 
 sermon in the fields. He had feared outliving his useful- 
 ness, and was permitted a reviving of his strength before he 
 departed at the comparatively early age of fifty-six, and after 
 thirty-four years of exertion. He had expected to die silent ; 
 for he said, ( It has pleased God to enable me to bear so many 
 testimonies for Him during my life, that He will require none 
 from me when I die.' And so it was. 
 
 His dying prayer for the salvation of souls was also answered 
 that very day. When he preached at Portsmouth on the 
 previous Friday, a young sail-maker named Benjamin Randall 
 heard him, and was, as he had often been before, greatly im- 
 pressed with his words and tears. Randall, however, was hard 
 and bitter even against the man who fascinated him. But 
 about noon on the Sunday a stranger rode into the town, and 
 halting at the different corners in the main street, cried in a clear 
 but subdued voice, ' Whitefield is dead ! Whitefield is dead I 
 He died at Newbury Port this morning at six o'clock.' A voice 
 also cried in the young man's soul, ' Whitefield is dead. 
 Whitefield is in heaven, but I am on the road to hell. He 
 was a man of God, and yet I reviled him, and spoke reproach- 
 
MS FUNERAL 341 
 
 fully of him. He taught me the way to heaven, but I regarded 
 him not. that I could hear his voice again ! But ah, never, 
 no, never shall I again hear it till in the judgment of the great 
 day he shall appear as a swift witness against me.' He yielded 
 himself to God. 
 
 On Tuesday, October 2nd, Whitefield was buried, according 
 to his wish, in front of the pulpit of Mr. Parsons, in the Presby- 
 terian Church at Newbury Port, the mighty host of mourners 
 present, six thousand members and ministers of many denomi- 
 nations, fitly representing the catholicity of his heart and the 
 magnitude of his labours. When the coffin was placed close 
 to the mouth of the vault, the Rev. Daniel Rogers, of Exeter, 
 one of his sons in the faith, ascended the pulpit, offered prayer, 
 and confessed before all his vast obligations to him whose 
 body they were about to commit to the grave. His emotion 
 conquered him, and as he cried out, ' O my father, my father ! ' 
 and stood and wept, the people mingled their tears with his. 
 They tried to sing a hymn, but weeping choked many voices. 
 A sermon was then preached ; the coffin was lowered into the 
 vault ; another short prayer was offered ; and the congregation, 
 still in tears, passed along the streets to their homes. 
 
 The outward demonstrations of grief were numerous and 
 sincere. The bells of Newbury Port were tolled, and the ships 
 in the harbour fired their guns, and hung their flags half-mast 
 high. Funeral sermons were preached in the principal cities 
 of America. In Georgia all the black cloth in the stores was 
 bought up for mourning by the sorrowing people. They hung 
 the church at Savannah in black, and the Governor and 
 Council led the procession which attended to hear the funeral 
 sermon. In London, where the news of his death was received 
 on November 5th, the same grief was felt and expressed. The 
 London Chronicle of November 19th says that the multitudes 
 which went to hear his funeral sermon by Wesley, in Totten- 
 
342 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 ham Court Chapel and the Tabernacle, exceeded all belief; 
 and in churches and chapels of all orders there were similar 
 commemorations of him. 
 
 Lovers of absolute, unvarying consistency, and lovers of real 
 or apparent contradictions, may measure him by the room he 
 had for diverse things. He loved privacy, but always lived 
 in public ; he was the foremost philanthropist of his time, but 
 owned fifty slaves to maintain his orphans, and bequeathed 
 them in his will to Lady Huntingdon in trust for the same 
 use ; he was slim in person, but occasionally stormed in his 
 preaching as if he were a giant ; he was weak, but worked to the 
 last, and crowded a long life into a short one ; he was the 
 favourite preacher of colliers and London roughs, but was an 
 equal favourite of peers and scholars ; he believed in a limited 
 atonement for sin, but proclaimed the love of God with a 
 tenderness which made all feel that Christ had died for them ; 
 he was a clergyman of the Church of England, and also 
 practically an Independent minister, but, at his own request, 
 lies buried in a Presbyterian church ; he was a Calvinist in 
 doctrine, but chose an Arminian to preach his funeral sermon. 
 Nominally narrow and exclusive, he was really one of the most 
 liberalising influences of his age, and beneath his apparent 
 inconsistencies and behind his ever-changing life there was 
 a true unity. From his first sermon to his last he had one 
 motive — the love of Christ — and one aim — the salvation of 
 souls. Nor through all his distractions did he ever turn aside 
 for a moment from his great work. The hostility of mobs, the 
 bitterness of controversy, the unfaithfulness of friends, the 
 opposition of the clergy and bishops, the seductions of popu- 
 larity and the praise of the titled, all failed to make any 
 impression upon his resolution to preach Christ to every soul 
 that he could reach. 
 
 Two questions are almost sure to be upon the reader's 
 
RESULTS OF HIS WORK 343 
 
 tongue. First, what became of the orphan-house ? Secondly, 
 where are the results of his preaching ? These shall now be 
 answered. 
 
 I. The orphan-house, with everything connected with it, 
 was left to the Countess of Huntingdon, Mr. Habersham to 
 act in her absence from America. Arrangements had been 
 made in Whitefield's lifetime for carrying on an academy along 
 with the orphanage. It became also a home, whence mission- 
 aries, sent from England by Lady Huntingdon, started on 
 mission work among the Indians and the settlers. It was 
 accidentally burnt down about two years after the death of 
 Whitefield, and rebuilt, but not upon the original site. Other 
 changes of fortune happened to it, one of which was the 
 appointment of Franklin, its early opponent, as a trustee, 
 because he was ' an honest man.' Its original charter appointed 
 its continuance as long as there were three members to cele- 
 brate the anniversary, which falls on St. George's Day. This 
 provision might once have sealed its fate. Three members, 
 'a Protestant, a Catholic, and an Israelite,' who apparently 
 constituted the whole board at that time, were all prisoners of 
 war on board a British man-of-war when St. George's Day came 
 round. Remembering the charter, they begged permission 
 of the captain to go ashore and celebrate the anniversary 
 under an oak tree in Tunbury, Georgia. He consented, and the 
 ceremony was duly performed. Mr. Joseph S. Fay succeeded, 
 during the time he was president of the institution, in repur- 
 chasing the old site, and placing the orphanage upon it again. 
 In 1870 a new building was begun, making the fourth since 
 Whitefield laid the first brick of Bethesda with his own hand. 
 
 Whittier falls into a strange mistake when, in his fine poem, 
 1 The Preacher,' he says — 
 
 'Alas for the preacher's cherished schemes ! 
 Mission and church are now but dreams ; 
 
344 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 Nor prayer nor fasting availed the plan 
 To honour God through the wrong of man. 
 Of all his labours no trace remains 
 Save the bondman lifting his hands in chains.' 
 
 Hallowed traces of his labours remain in every place he 
 visited ; the reproachful bondman only is gone ; and had the 
 liberal-minded Quaker known and realised all the facts, he 
 would have penned a glowing tribute to Christ's abounding 
 love, which forgives our sins and mistakes, and fulfils for us 
 in nobler forms our purposes and prayers. 
 
 II. The results of Whitefield's work may be classed as 
 indirect and direct. Little can be affirmed positively of the 
 bearing of his work upon political and social life, but it must 
 have corresponded to the religious effect. Men like Pulteney, 
 Chatham, and Fox were not uninfluenced in their political 
 action by the words they heard at Lady Huntingdon's ; while 
 among the people Whitefield saved to the nation thousands 
 of its finest men and women. In America he saw, during 
 his last visit, the beginnings of the War of Independence, and 
 sympathised with the feelings of the colonists. Whether he 
 would ultimately have sided with them no one can say ; he was 
 spared the pain of the strife; but there can be no doubt which 
 side his converts were on and which part they played. One 
 of the men whom he greatly influenced was the Rev. Alex- 
 ander Craighead, and he again is said to have aroused the 
 Presbyterian patriots who framed the Mecklenburg Declaration, 
 which was copied only one year later by the Philadelphia 
 Declaration of Independence. Thus Calvinism became once 
 more the stone of stumbling on which tyranny has so often 
 been broken. 
 
 i. Among indirect results must be placed the impetus which 
 he undoubtedly gave to philanthropic work. His preaching to 
 prisoners and his constant pleadings for orphans, for perse- 
 
RESULTS OF HIS WORK 345 
 
 cuted Protestants on the Continent, and for other distressed 
 persons, accustomed all classes of people to kindly thoughts 
 and generous deeds for the wretched and the forlorn. If his 
 collections be taken in present equivalent, they will appear 
 enormous. He created, not altogether, but largely, the feeling 
 upon which philanthropy in its active forms must live. The 
 benevolent objects of present religious work received recogni- 
 tion in every city and village, when the connection between 
 acceptance with God through our Lord Jesus Christ and the 
 necessity for good works was repeatedly and clearly pointed 
 out. Justification was the introduction to feeding the hungry, 
 clothing the naked, and housing the orphan. 
 
 It is equally significant that the great missionary move- 
 ments of our time followed closely upon the Methodist 
 reformation ; and in that reformation who was there among 
 the hosts of preachers and evangelists to be compared with 
 Whitefield for missionary enterprise ? Whose foot ranged 
 over so wide a circuit ? Whose sympathies were enlisted for 
 so many objects ? If he did not go to the heathen who 
 worship idols of wood and stone, he went to those who were 
 debased by the lowest vices ; and when, under his leadership, 
 the Church had conducted them to a holy life and pure enjoy- 
 ments, her attention was next directed to the heathen beyond. 
 Whitefield accustomed the Church to the idea of aggression 
 upon the kingdom of darkness ■ he taught her that all lost and 
 forgotten people are the inheritance of her Lord. The Church 
 Missionary Society, the child of the evangelical fervour of the 
 followers of Whitefield — Newton, Thornton, Scott, and Venn — 
 is the strongest foreign missionary society in the world, and 
 the history of its first century's work just completed would 
 have been a book exactly after Whitefield's heart. 
 
 Again, it needs but a simple statement of facts to show that 
 Whitefield's preaching and his catholic spirit (the latter more 
 
346 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 than the former) have tended in no small measure to produce 
 in England, as they first did in America, a true love of spiritual 
 freedom and an honest reverence for religious equality. In 
 his labours among all denominations he affected no con- 
 descension, he never played the patron. All were equally, 
 truly brethren. Neither to benefit himself, nor to forward any 
 of his plans, would he place one denomination before another. 
 His conduct with regard to Bethesda College proves indis- 
 putably that he believed in religious equality, and would not 
 support or countenance anything else. 
 
 Could nothing more than this be said, then Whitefield has 
 not lived in vain ; since the power of a life consists not so 
 much in the formation of parties and sects and schools as in 
 the anticipation of the truest and holiest things of future days, 
 and in the preparation of the world for their advent. Churches 
 may be cemeteries of the dead railed off from the living, or 
 loving messengers of Christ going about doing good. White- 
 field found them generally the former, and left them the latter. 
 He was a breath, an inspiration, which to this day thrills 
 evangelical Christendom. 
 
 2. Still, the demand is sure to be made for facts and figures. 
 What did he accomplish ? is the question asked. The answer 
 is : — 
 
 (i) That his converts were to be found wherever he had 
 travelled, nay, even beyond that extensive range, and were to 
 be counted by tens of thousands. His preaching was remark- 
 able for challenging the strongest characters, and either con- 
 quering them or else rousing their active opposition ; neutrality 
 was not easy in his presence. Among his converts were 
 Thomas Olivers, author of the hymn ' The God of Abraham 
 praise ' ; Samuel Davies, of the Presbyterian Church in Vir- 
 ginia; Thomas Rankin, of Dunbar, one of Wesley's best 
 helpers ; Robert Robinson, the famous Baptist minister of 
 
RESULTS OF HIS WORK 347 
 
 Cambridge, and author of ' Come, Thou Fount of every bless- 
 ing ' ; Andrew Kinsman, Whitefield's ' dear Timothy,' a mighty 
 preacher of the Word ; Cornelius Winter, the spiritual father 
 of William Jay, of Bath ; Henry Tanner, a useful preacher at 
 Exeter ; John Edwards, of Dublin, who preached in many 
 parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland ; John Fawcett, a 
 Yorkshire preacher, author of ' Blest is the tie that binds ' and 
 ' Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing ' ; Thomas Adams, of 
 Minchin Hampton, the fearless witness, the able minister, the 
 faithful friend ; Samuel Cooper, one of the most popular 
 preachers in America. 
 
 (2) That a great number of his converts were ministers 
 properly trained for their ministerial work, who handed the 
 truth down to children's children. Such, e.g., was James Hervey, 
 the once popular author. In the neighbourhood of Boston in 
 America alone there were at one time twenty ministers who 
 owned him as their spiritual father. Some of the ministers 
 had a spiritual history not less wonderful than his own. 
 
 (3) That he was the first of the evangelical clergy in the 
 Church of England ; and had they formed a separate sect, 
 instead of a party in a church, no one would have asked what 
 are the results of his labours. This is the party which holds 
 Whitefield's legacy to mankind strictly in the letter — sometimes 
 not more than that. Other parties, again, to whose faith and 
 practice he would have taken serious exception, have imbibed 
 his spirit of zeal and love, and closely resemble him in all that 
 makes his character lofty and his life beautiful. The whole- 
 Church of England has been moved by the wave which first 
 lifted on its breast only a small section of her people, though 
 parties have drifted in different directions. 
 
 (4) That he helped to revive and increase the Churches of 
 the Dissenters. His own chapels belong to them, and in York- 
 shire at least it is affirmed, on competent authority, that all the 
 
348 GEORGE WHITEFIELD 
 
 chapels in which his preaching and that of other evangelicals 
 was welcomed continue to this day to be centres of spiritual 
 influence, while such as rejected it have declined or become 
 extinct. Whitefield's lay-preachers supplied many of their 
 pulpits. In many favourite Nonconformist preachers, down 
 even to a generation ago, if not now, it is not difficult to trace 
 the influence of his popular oratory — the doctrinal solidity, the 
 pungent application, the tender and passionate appeal, the 
 solemn warning. Nonconformist ministers proclaim our Lord's 
 atonement for sin, while possibly differing as to the nature of 
 the atonement ; they insist upon a personal and vital union of 
 spirit with Jesus Christ ; they invoke the help of the Holy 
 Ghost, feeling that without His power upon preacher and 
 hearer no spiritual good can be done. But they say little 
 about predestination, and nothing at all about Christ's having 
 died for an elect world. 
 
 (5) That the Church of Scotland was made alive again by 
 his numerous visits to Scotland, and by his impassioned appeals 
 to the slumbering and the dead. Scotch journeys were nearly 
 always an unmixed joy to Whitefield because of the good 
 he did ; and it is noticeable that, sixty years ago, the foremost 
 ministers and the great bulk of the members of the Scotch 
 Church assumed the position of the English Dissenters, and 
 made of themselves 'a Free Church.' 
 
 (6) That the Church in Wales, of all denominations, received 
 a remarkable impetus from Methodism, and that Whitefield 
 was the first to join hands with the earnest men of the Princi- 
 pality. The early representations of the Methodists as to the 
 religious condition of the country cannot be relied upon, but 
 the following comparative table was carefully prepared by Dr. 
 Rees, and published in his volume on Nonconformity in 
 Wales. It gave the number of Nonconformist congregations 
 in Wales as no in 1716, 105 in 1742, 171 in 1775, 993 in 
 
RESULTS OF HIS WORK 349 
 
 1816, 2,927 in 1861. It is now 3,456, besides the congrega- 
 tions connected with 91 Wesleyan Methodist, and 32 Primitive 
 Methodist, circuits. The great increase between 1775 and 
 1 81 6 was owing to the separation of the Calvinistic Metho- 
 dists from the Established Church, which took place in 181 1 ; 
 and from 1816 to 1899 the increase is the result of the zeal 
 and labours of the Churches, crowned with the blessing of God. 
 Broadly stated, the result of Methodism in Wales has been the 
 changing of a nation of ignorant, irreligious Churchmen into 
 a nation of conscientious Nonconformists, who adhere to their 
 convictions in spite of much persecution and disadvantage. 
 Whitefield neither desired nor sought the Nonconformity; but, 
 as in the case of Scotland, an intense religious life would have 
 freedom of action. 
 
 (7) That in America he founded the Presbyterian Church 
 of Virginia, and helped more than any man to triple the 
 ministers of the New York Synod within seven years, and to 
 bring into existence a hundred and fifty Congregational 
 Churches in less than twenty years. He gave a welcome in 
 1769 to two of Wesley's preachers who were sent to America — 
 Richard Boardman and Joseph Pilmoor — and his preaching 
 prepared the way for the formation of the Methodist Episcopal 
 Church, one of the strongest churches in the world. His 
 labours materially aided the building of Princeton College and 
 Dartmouth College. They also produced the same effect upon 
 Church government in America, which we have seen to have 
 been produced in Scotland, England, and Wales. The spiritual 
 life would not be fettered ; and the union between Church and 
 State was broken. 
 
 What did Whitefield accomplish ? It is true that he did not 
 organise his converts into a new denomination, but some will 
 think that he did a nobler service by encouraging them to join 
 any existing Church to which their beliefs and sympathies 
 
350 GEORGE U'MTEFIELD 
 
 might draw them. He was chiefly the means of rejuvenating 
 the Episcopal, the Independent, the Presbyterian, and the 
 Baptist Churches ; even the Society of Friends was quickened 
 by his labours, and he frequently preached for Wesley's 
 societies. The catholic spirit of the work is perhaps more 
 than the work itself. He also founded churches and inaugu- 
 rated religious revolutions by a sermon. His last sermons, 
 as we have seen, touched the heart of a young man named 
 Randall; his death sealed all the holy impressions as with the 
 mark of God ; and that young man shortly afterwards founded 
 in the United States the Free-will Baptist Church, a Church 
 always opposed to slavery, and now nearly one hundred 
 thousand members strong. His works do follow him. Only 
 this year (1900) the pastor of Tottenham Court Road Chapel 
 received a donation towards the cost of rebuilding that structure 
 from a gentleman in Australia who had been converted in 
 that colony by reading one of Whitefield's sermons. 
 
 Could his hand add one word to this record of his life and 
 its fruits, it would be this — ' Grace ! Grace ! Grace ! ' For 
 his sake, then, and especially for the sake of Him who came 
 bringing grace and truth with Him, it shall be inscribed as the 
 last word here — GRACE. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Aberdeen, 177-8 
 
 Acting, W.'s opinion concerning, 
 
 5 
 
 Actors, their opinion of W.'s preach- 
 ing, 306-7; caricature W. , 311— 
 12 
 
 Adams, Thomas, 207, 212, 336, 
 
 347 
 Anecdotes, 2, 119-20, 125, 126, 166, 
 16S, 192 note, 233, 235, 253, 
 263, 264, 268 note, 272, 276, 
 300 note, 305-9, 312 note, 317- 
 
 21, 33 1 - 2 
 Associate Presbytery, the views of, 
 127 ; first negotiations of with 
 W., 127; W. invited to preach 
 for, 169-70 ; W. preaches for, 
 172 ; confers with W. about join- 
 ing them, 173-6 ; angry with W., 
 185 ; condemns the Cambuslang 
 revival, 192 
 
 Barber, Mr., appointed one of the 
 Superintendents of Bethesda, 
 160; and the Bethesda accounts, 
 171 
 
 Barry, Mr., his story of W.'s preach- 
 ing. 253 
 
 Basingstoke, W. ill-used at, 103-6 
 
 Bath, 45, 323 
 
 Bath, Earl of, 251 
 
 Beauclerk, Lord Sidney, 201 
 
 Bedford, W. at, 97 
 
 Belcher, Jonathan, receives W. to 
 Boston, 149; bids farewell to W., 
 
 155 
 
 Benson, Dr., sends for W., 27 ; 
 ordains W., 28; further relations 
 with, 38, 71, 103 ; and Lady- 
 Huntingdon, 249 ; the death of, 
 2S5 
 
 Bermondsey, W. preaches at, 71 
 
 Bermudas, W. at, 242 
 
 Berridge, Rev. John, 303 
 
 Bethlehem Hospital, 95 
 
 Bexley, W. denied the church at, 
 100 
 
 Bibliomancy, 84 
 
 Birstall, W. preaches at, 268 
 
 Bishops, the, assail W., 217-219; 
 answered by W., 218-20 
 
 Bisset, Rev. Mr., preaches against 
 W., 178 
 
 Blackheath, W. and Wesley at, 99 
 
 Blair, Rev. Mr., 142 
 
 Bohler, Peter, and W., 179, 288 
 
 Bolingbroke, Lord, hears W., 246; 
 offers to defend Calvinism, 251 
 
 Bolton, the Duke of, 201 
 
 Bonar, Rev. Mr., at Cambuslang, 
 
 194 
 Boston (U.S.), W.'s first visit to, 
 149 ; effects of W.'s preaching at, 
 234-6 
 Brainerd, Rev. D., W. teaching the 
 converts of, 236 
 
352 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Bristol, W.'s early preaching at, 
 38-9 ; W. denied the use of the 
 churches at, 73-4 ; Wesley 
 preaches in the open air at, 85-6 ; 
 the tabernacle at, 289 
 Brockden, Mr., the conversion of, 
 
 158-9 
 Brought on, Rev. Mr., 12 
 Buckingham, the Duchess of, 202 
 Bunyan, John, 151, 161, 333 
 
 Calvinism, as held by W., 115- 
 16; Wesley denounces, 160; W. 
 defends, 161-2; its power, 344 
 
 Cambridge (U.S.), 152 
 
 Cambuslang, the great revival at, 
 186-92 ; a day of humiliation for 
 the revival at, 192-3 ; the second 
 celebration of the Lord's Supper 
 at, 194-5 ; the Cameronians assail 
 the work at, 195 
 
 Cameronians, the ' Declaration,' &c, 
 of the, 195 
 
 Cardiff, 81 
 
 Carmarthen, W. honoured at, 205 
 
 Carolina, slavery in, 135, 282 
 
 Castaniza's ' Spiritual Combat,' 18 
 
 Causton, Mr., and W., 59, 65 
 
 Cennick, John, aids W., 167 ; joins 
 the Moravians, 240 ; his death, 295 
 
 Charleston, changes at, 130 ; W. 
 cited before Mr. Garden at, 146 
 
 Chesterfield, Earl of, 246, 289, 305 
 
 Chesterfield, Lady, 272 
 
 Church, Rev. Thomas, 220 
 
 Clap, Rev. Mr., 149, 152 
 
 Clergy, the, close their pulpits 
 against W., 51 ; persecute the 
 Methodists, 207 ; W. assails the 
 conduct of some of, 2 1 9-20 
 
 Cole, Rev. Thomas, and the boy 
 W., 1,2; his love of anecdotes, 
 2 ; signs himself W.'s curate, 87 ; 
 his death, 87 ; his ' tump ' at 
 (^uarhouse, 203 
 
 Colman, Dr., invites W. to New 
 
 England, 148 
 Coward's Trustees, their treatment 
 
 of Dr. Doddridge, 215-16 
 Cumberland, the Duke of, at the 
 
 Tabernacle, 201 
 
 Dagge, Mr., tries to retain W. as 
 preacher at Newgate, 81 ; and 
 Savage the poet, 180 
 
 Deal, W. and Wesley at, 53 
 
 Deism, 213 
 
 Delamotte, Mr., in Georgia, 37 ; 
 welcomes W. to Savannah, 58 ; 
 beloved by the poor, 64 ; W. 
 seeks his sister in marriage, 
 137 
 
 Delitz, Countess, becomes an active 
 Methodist, 252-3 
 
 Dissenters, the, W. friendly with, 
 51 ; work of Doddridge amongst, 
 97 ; some of, hostile to W., 
 213-17 ; W. brings many to 
 church, 298 ; W. practically one 
 of, 304-5 ; Methodists become, 
 301-4 
 
 Dissenters, the, in Wales, 80, 
 
 348-9 
 
 Doddridge, Dr., assailed for coun- 
 tenancing W., 214-17 ; and Dr. 
 Warburton, 314; the death of, 
 285 
 
 Dublin, W. entertained at, 66 ; 
 stoned at, 309 
 
 Dummer, W. acts as clergyman at, 
 
 35-6 
 Dunfermline, W. preaches at, 172 ; 
 
 W. and the Associate Presbytery 
 
 meet at, 173-4 
 Durell, Dr., prosecutes six 
 
 Methodist students, 327 
 
 Ecclesiastical, the, position of 
 W., 174-5, -298-9, 3 U 4 5 
 
INDEX 
 
 353 
 
 Edinburgh, W.'s first arrival at, 
 
 172 ; W.'s first sermon in, 173 ; 
 excitement about W. in, 176; 
 W.'s love for, 200 ; W.'s last 
 visit to, 328 
 
 Edwards, Elizabeth, marries 
 Thomas Whitefield, I 
 
 Edwards, Dr., 116 
 
 Edwards, Jonathan, and W., 155, 
 198 
 
 Election, W. and the doctrine of, 
 116; controversy between W. 
 and Wesley respecting, 133, 144, 
 148, 160-165 
 
 Eliot, the apostle of the Indians, 
 152 
 
 ' Enthusiasm and Eukewarmness,' 
 Bishop Gibson's pastoral letter 
 on, 1 07- 1 1 
 
 Enthusiasm, Dr. Doddridge on, 
 215 ; Bishop of Lichfield on, 231 ; 
 Bishop Lavington on, 257-60 
 
 Erskine, Ebenezer, informs W. of 
 his success, 97 ; description of, 
 127 ; W. replies to, on joining 
 the Associate Presbytery, 170 ; 
 replies again to W., 170; de- 
 scribes the religious state of Scot- 
 land, 172 ; tries to draw W. into 
 the Secession, 174 ; unfriendly 
 towards W., 185 ; W. grieves for 
 the loss of, 186 ; and Seceders 
 appoint a day of humiliation for 
 W.'s work, 192 ; death of, 286 
 
 Erskine, Ralph, W.'s love for, 127 ; 
 negotiations between, and W., 
 127 ; entreats W. to join the 
 Secessionists, 170; entertains YV., 
 
 173 ; death of, 286 
 
 ' Evangelical School,' the, 347 
 Exeter, W. stoned at, 264-5 
 
 Ferrers, Earl, 313 
 Eetter Lane, Methodist meetings in, 
 69, 70 
 
 Fog's Manor, excitement at, 142 
 Foote, Samuel, hears W. preach, 
 
 305-6 ; comedy of the ' Minor ' 
 
 by, 311-12 
 Foundry, the, Wesley tears W.'s 
 
 letter at, 162 ; nearness of the 
 
 Tabernacle to, 167 
 Francke, Professor, on ' The Fear 
 
 of Man,' 13; his orphan-house, 
 
 65 
 Franklin, Benjamin, on W.'s ser- 
 mons, 47-8 ; W. preaches in front 
 of his shop, 119 ; yields to W.'s 
 power, 119-20; notices W. in 
 his newspaper, 126; wonders at 
 the effects of W.'s preaching, 139 ; 
 scene in the shop of, 140 ; is 
 appointed a trustee of Bethesda, 
 343 
 
 Garden, Commissary, becomes 
 
 opposed to W., 130 
 Garrick, David, 306, 311, 312 
 Garrison, William Lloyd, 280-2 
 Georgia, the Wesleys in, 33 ; W. 
 invited to go to, 36 ; formation of 
 the colony of, 40-1 ; W. appointed 
 chaplain to, 41 ; slavery in, 254, 
 2S0-2 
 Gib, Adam, in the Associate 
 Presbytery, 173; writes against 
 W., 185-6; repents of doing so, 
 
 193 
 Gibraltar, W. at, 55-7 
 Gibson, Dr., writes against W., 
 
 108-10 
 Gladman, Captain, 1 12-13 
 Gloucester, W. born at, 1 ; a 
 
 Methodist Society formed at, 
 
 22-3 ; W. ordained at, 25-9 ; W. 
 
 preaches his first sermon at, 30 ; 
 
 W.'s child dies at, 210-1 1 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 45, 306-7 
 ' Grace, Free,' Wesk-y"s sermon on, 
 
 133-4, 160; W. on, 161 
 
 24 
 
554 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Grimshaw, Rev. William, character 
 
 and labours of, 266 ; death of, 
 317-19 
 
 Habersham, James, chooses the 
 site of the orphan-house, 131 ; 
 appointed a manager of the 
 orphan-house, 160 ; appointed 
 President of the Commons House 
 of Assembly, 294 
 
 Hampton (Minchin), riots at, 207- 
 8, 212 
 
 Hannam Mount, 74> 85 
 
 Hardy, Mr. Charles, a trustee of 
 W.'s chapels, 314 
 
 Harvard College, 234 
 
 Harris, Howel, character and 
 work, 79 > W. follows the 
 example of, 105 ; letter of W. 
 to, 114; sings a hymn with W., 
 336 
 
 Hastings, Lady Betty, 34 
 
 Haworth, W. at, 266-7, 3 I 7 _I 9 
 
 Haime, John, 265 
 
 Henry, Matthew, W. and the com- 
 mentary of, 32 
 
 Hervey, James, one of the first 
 Methodists, 12; a convert of W., 
 20 ; an author, 245 ; letter from 
 W. to, 263 ; lives in W.'s house, 
 277 ; W. uses his friendship, 279 
 
 Hervey, Lord, 201 
 
 Hinchinbroke, Lady, 203 
 
 ' Holy Club,' the, 15 
 
 Holy Ghost, the, operations of, 
 108-10 ; W. on, 109-10, 151, 
 231, 316-17; Bishop Warburton 
 on, 314-15 
 
 Hotham, the Hon. Miss, 277 
 
 Hume, David, his opinion of W.'s 
 preaching, 247 
 
 Humility, W.'s prayer for, 17 ; evi- 
 dences of W.'s, 147, 271, 338 
 
 Huntingdon, Earl of, 71 
 
 Huntingdon, Countess of, attends 
 the Tabernacle, 200 ; letters from 
 the Duchess of Marlborough to, 
 201-2 ; letter from the Duchess 
 of Buckingham to, 202 ; invites 
 W. to preach at her house, 246 ; 
 appoints W. one of her chaplains, 
 247 ; her religious life, 248-50 ; 
 services at the house of, 250-4, 
 272 ; illness of, 279 ; life at 
 Ashby, 278 ; the relation of, to 
 Dissent, 303; and the 'Minor,' 
 312; her chapel at Bath, 323; 
 founds Trevecca College, 329 
 
 Hyde Park, W. preaches in, at 
 midnight, 273 
 
 'Imitation of Christ,' 7 
 Impressions, Jonathan Edwards 
 cautions W. against, 1 55-6 ; W. 
 sees his mistakes about, 210 
 Indians, the, W. visits, 236 
 Ingham, Benjamin, 12, 68 
 Ireland, W.'s visits to, 66, 283, 309 
 Islington, Methodist ministers at, 
 70 ; W. preaches in the church- 
 yard of, 89 
 
 Johnson, Dr., 11, 311, 335 
 Jones, Rev. Griffith, his work in 
 
 Wales, 78-9 
 Justification, W. on, 228-30 
 
 Keen, Mr. Robert, a trustee of 
 W.'s chapels, 314 
 
 Ken's ' Manual for Winchester 
 Scholars,' 5 
 
 Kennington Common, W. on, 92, 
 99 ; collections at, 93 
 
 Kingswood, condition of, 73 ; W. 
 preaches to the colliers of, 74, 76, 
 "]"], 82 ; W. lays the foundation 
 of a school at, 86 ; effects of W.'s 
 teaching upon the colliers of, 101 
 
INDEX 
 
 Kinsman, Rev. Andrew, 307, 347 
 Kirk of Scotland, W. and the, 170, 
 172 
 
 LAVINGTON, Bishop, writes against 
 
 YY., 257-60; threatens the Rev. 
 
 Mr. Thompson, 264 ; sees W. 
 
 stoned, 264-5 > tne bad state of 
 
 his diocese, 265 note 
 Law, William, his ' Serious Call ' 
 
 and 'Christian Perfection,' 11; 
 
 his ' Ourania,' 35 ; his estimate 
 
 of human nature, 184 ; gospelised 
 
 by W., 243 
 Lichfield, Bishop of, W. answers, 
 
 231 
 Lisbon, W. visits, 291-3 
 Lisburne, Lady, 203 
 Long Acre Chapel, riots at, 295-9 
 London, W.'s early efforts in, 32, 
 
 49 ; the religious societies of, 69 
 Lonsdale, Lord, 201 
 Ludgate prison, W. preaches in, 33 
 
 Marriage, W.'s, 179 
 
 Marlborough, the Duchess of, 
 201-2 
 
 Maryland, slavery in, 135 
 
 Mary-le-Bone fields, W. preaches 
 in, 184 
 
 McCulloch, Rev. W., his work at 
 Cambuslang, 1S6-91, 194 
 
 Methodists, the, at Oxford, 12; are 
 joined by W., 12 ; their rules of 
 living, 14, 15 ; under the Tole- 
 ration Act, 301-4 
 
 Ministers, W.'s influence among, 
 
 137. 347 
 • Minor,' the, 311-12 
 Moncrieff, Rev. Alexander, 173 
 Moody, Rev. Samuel, 153, 233 
 Moorfields, W.'s first sermon in, 
 90-2 ; his second, 93 ; the love 
 of W. for the conrrretrations at, 
 
 98, 205 ; the Tabernacle built in, 
 167 ; W. preaches in, at Whit- 
 suntide, 181 ; the collections at, 
 205 
 
 Morality, W. on the connexion 
 between religion and, 46-7 
 
 Morgan, Thomas, 12 
 
 Moravians, the, W. accuses, of 
 drawing away his friends, 255 ; 
 W. exposes their faults, 288 
 
 Morris, Mr. Samuel, founds the 
 Virginian Church, 236-7 
 
 Neal, Nathanael, his letters to Dr. 
 Doddridge, 215-16 
 
 Negroes, W.'s remembrance of the, 
 128 ; W.'s adventures among, 
 130; W. rebukes their owners 
 for their miserable condition in 
 Maryland, Virginia, and Caro- 
 lina, 135 ; the love of some for 
 W., 146; preaches to, in Ber- 
 mudas, 242 
 
 Newark (U.S.), extraordinary effects 
 of W.'s preaching at, 157 
 
 New Birth, the, W. passes through, 
 14 ; preached in Scotland, 186 
 
 New England, W.'s first visit to, 
 147-57 ; letters upon the con- 
 dition of religion in, 196-7 
 
 New York, W. invited to, 122 ; 
 arduous labours in, 140 ; wonder- 
 ful effects of W.'s preaching, 157 
 
 Noble, Mr , 122 
 
 Northampton racecourse, 97 
 
 Nottingham (U.S.), W.'s preaching 
 at, 141 
 
 OGILVIE, Rev. Mr., 177 
 
 Oglethorpe, General, befriends 
 prisoners, 40 ; founds the Georgian 
 colony, 40-1 ; receives W., 41 ; 
 C. Wesley and, plan an orphan- 
 house, 62 ; a link between W. 
 and the literary world, 3 ^ \ 
 
356 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Open-air preaching, W. first thinks 
 of, 71 ; W. begins, 74 ; W. justi- 
 fies, 2195 W. induces Wesley to 
 adopt, 85, 99 ; W. begins in 
 London, 89 ; W. exhorts others 
 to use, in ; in America, 126, 
 236-8 ; resumed in England by 
 W., 167; W.'s plan, 169; its 
 happy influence upon W., 313 ; 
 W. glories in, 328 
 
 Oratory, W.'s estimate of, 60, 292 ; 
 characteristics of W.'s, 90, 
 331-2 ; Hume's estimate of W.'s, 
 247 ; Lord Chesterfield's, 289 
 note ; Rolingbroke's, 246 
 
 Ordination, W.'s, 25-9; his change 
 of view, 172, 175 
 
 Orphan-house, its origin, 62 ; the 
 scheme adopted by W., 63 ; its 
 influence upon W., 63; W. col- 
 lects money for the, 93 ; its site 
 131 ; work before the opening, 
 131 ; W. lays the foundation- 
 brick of, 133 ; W. sends for a 
 manager, 140 ; W. loved by the 
 children of, 142; opened, 160; 
 life at, 160, 199; W. in danger 
 of arrest for the debts of, 166 ; 
 W. prays for help for, 167 ; W.'s 
 tender interest in the children, 
 171 ; subscribers to, 169 ; troubles 
 from debts, from managers, from 
 magistrates, and from the 
 Spaniards, 198; W. writes an 
 account of, 199 ; Moorfields' 
 congregations and, 206 ; the 
 accounts audited, 238 ; W.'s 
 knowledge of the working, 293 ; 
 W.'s plan of paying the officials, 
 301 ; W. purposes to add a col- 
 lege to the house, 321-2, 324-6; 
 W.'s last visit to, 336 ; its history 
 after W.'s death, 343 
 
 Ottery church bells rung against 
 W., 208 
 
 Oxford, W.'s life at, 10-24; W. is 
 threatened by the Vice-Chan- 
 cellor of, 87 ; expulsion of 
 Methodist students from, 326 
 
 Oxford, the Earl of, 203 
 
 Pearce, Dr. Z., and the Long Acre 
 disturbances, 296 
 
 Pemberton, Rev. Mr., W.'s apology 
 to, 124 ; W. preaches in the 
 meeting-house of, 157 
 
 Penn, Wm., son of, 140 
 
 Perfection, the doctrine of, 134, 
 150, 161 
 
 Periam, Joseph, is taken from Beth- 
 lehem Hospital by W. , 95 ; sails 
 with W. to Georgia, 96 
 
 Philadelphia, W.'s first visit to, 
 117; W. leaves, amid a great 
 company, 126 ; the excitement 
 concerning W., 138-9 ; a hall 
 built for, 158; the conversion of 
 the recorder of, 15S-9 ; W. in- 
 vited to become a minister in, 236 
 
 Philips, Sir John, his annuity to W., 
 28 
 
 Plymouth, W.'s adventures at, 
 221-4 
 
 Prayer, extemporaneous, W. first 
 uses, 69 
 
 Prisons, W. labours in, 31, 33, 45, 
 74, 81 
 
 Puritans and Puritanism in America, 
 148-51 
 
 Puritan theology, 115 
 
 Quakers and W. , 44, 102, 106, 
 
 113, 141, 184, 194 
 Queensbury, the Duchess of, 203 
 Quietism, W. and, 18, 19 
 
 Races, W. preaches at, 103-6 
 Reprobation, the doctrine of, W. 
 
 defends, 150-51; W. relinquishes, 
 
 241 
 
INDEX 
 
 3=7 
 
 Rhode Island, 149 
 
 Rogers, Rev. Mr., of Ipswich 
 
 (U.S.), 153 
 Rogers, Rev. Mr., of Bedford, 97 
 
 Saltzburgers, the, 40, 65 
 Savannah, W.'s pastoral life in, 
 
 58—65 ; W.'s second visit to, 131 
 Scotland, result of W.'s work in, 34S 
 Scougal, Rev. Henry, 14 
 Selwyn, Lady, 27 
 Sermons by W. , 30, 90-2, 191, 
 
 211-12, 228-9 
 
 Sewal, Dr., W. preaches in the 
 
 meeting-house of, 153 
 Seward, William, his character, 
 
 112; sails with W. to America, 
 
 112; visits Philadelphia, 117; 
 
 his unwise zeal, 139-40; his 
 
 death and its consequences to W., 
 
 140, 166 
 Sheffield, Charles Wesley opposed 
 
 at, 269; W.'s spiritual triumph 
 
 at, 270 
 Shirley, Lady Fanny, 252 
 Shuter, Mr. Charles, his love for 
 
 W., 306; his religious indecision, 
 
 307 
 
 Slavery, forbidden in Georgia, 40 ; 
 its effects, 135; W.'s unsatis- 
 factory views on, 135-6 ; W. 
 pleads for its introduction into 
 Georgia, 254-5 ; is introduced, 
 280-2 
 
 Smith, Rev. Josiah, of Charleston, 
 146 
 
 Sortilegium is practised by Wesley, 
 
 53-4; 133-4 
 Sovereignty, the Divine, 115-16 
 St. Gennis, 208, 264, 274 
 St. John, Lord, 251 
 St. Mary de Crypt, Gloucester, W. 1 
 
 in, as a boy, 4 ; school of, 4 ; W. 
 
 preaches his first sermon in, 50 
 Slonehouse, W. labours at, 42 
 
 Stonehouse, Rev. Mr., S9 
 Stonehouse, Dr., 262, 274 
 Suffolk, Countess of, 252 
 
 Tabernacle, the, is built for W., 
 167 ; attended by the nobility, 
 200-3; W.'s son is baptized at, 
 210 ; Doddridge preaches at, 214 ; 
 Wesley preaches at, 272 ; W. lives 
 at the house adjoining, 277 ; made 
 a permanent building, 2S7 ; W.'s 
 funeral sermon at, 341-2 
 
 Tennent, Rev. Win, visits W., 
 118 ; his house and college, 125 
 
 Tennent, Rev. Gilbert, his manner 
 of preaching, 122; conducts W. 
 to New York, 123 ; views on the 
 Scotch Seceders, 128 ; letters con- 
 cerning his work and W.'s in 
 America, 196-7 
 
 Tewkesbury, 100 
 
 Thompson, Rev. Mr., 264, 274 
 
 Thorpe, Rev. John, 275 
 
 Toleration Act, the, and the Metho- 
 dists, 301-4 
 
 Tottenham Court Chapel built, 
 301 ; congregations at, 305 ; regis- 
 tered as an Independent Chapel, 
 304-5 
 
 Tower Chapel, 32 
 
 Townshend, Lady, 251 
 
 Trevecca College, 329 
 
 Virginia, slavery in, 135 ; the 
 Presbyterian church in, 230, 349 
 
 Voyages, W.'s, his first, 52 ; second, 
 65; third, 112-17; fourth, 162; 
 fifth, 225-32 ; sixth, 243-4 J 
 seventh, 284 ; eighth, 284 ; ninth, 
 291 ; tenth, 294; eleventh, 319; 
 twelfth, 322 ; thirteenth, 336 
 
 Wales, Methodism in, 78-81, 204, 
 
 348 
 Wales, Prince of, 201, 282-3 
 
558 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Walpole, Horace, 253 
 
 Warburton, Bishop, on the work of 
 the Holy Spirit, 314-17 
 
 Watts, Dr. Isaac, 71, 214, 255 
 
 Webster, Rev. Alex., of Edinburgh, 
 194, 198 
 
 Wellington, 263 
 
 Wesley, Charles, and W. at Oxford, 
 12-19; m Georgia, 36, 41 ; thinks 
 of an orphanage, 62 ; his verses 
 on W., 13, 96, 241, 278 ; strives 
 to prevent breach between his 
 brother and W., 162; at New- 
 castle, 268; and his brother's 
 intended marriage, 269 ; his 
 dangers at Sheffield, 269 ; and the 
 last meeting with W. , 335 
 
 Wesley, John, at Oxford, 12-19 ! m 
 Georgia, 33, 36, 41, 64; seeks 
 to prevent W. from sailing to 
 America, 53 : his conversion, 64 ; 
 meets W. , 67; is refused the 
 churches, 68 ; joins W. at Bristol, 
 84 ; learns from W. to preach in 
 the open air, 84-6, 99 ; sermon 
 on 'Free-Grace,' 133; sermon 
 described, 160-1 ; occasions a 
 breach between W. and, 134 ; his 
 breach with W., 134, 144-45, 
 14S-151, 154, 160-5; is hindered 
 from marrying Mrs. Grace Murray, 
 269; preaches for W. , 272; on 
 W.'s disposition, 278; serious 
 illness of, 289 ; on W.'s appear- 
 ance, 323 ; last meeting with W., 
 335 ; preaches W.'s funeral ser- 
 mon, 341 
 
 Whitefield, Andrew, 1 
 
 IVhitefield, George, childhood, 1 ; 
 his appearance as a child, 2 ; as a 
 young man, 91 ; in middle life, 
 299 ; at the close of life, 300, 
 323 ; early faults, 3 ; love of act- 
 ing, 4, 5 ; school life, 5 ; assists 
 in the Bell Inn, 6 ; enters Oxford, 
 
 10; his life there, 11-22; his 
 new birth, 14; persecutions, 16; 
 adopts Quietism, 18 ; his charac- 
 teristics and habits, 2, 3, 55, 85, 
 123, 142, 148, 152-4, 261-2, 
 277-8, 30S, 311, 329-332; 
 ordained deacon, 28 ; first sermon, 
 30-1 ; visits London, 32 ; invited 
 to Georgia, 36 ; appointed to 
 Georgia, 41 ; labours at Stone- 
 house, 42; great success at Bristol, 
 43-6 ; on morality and religion, 
 46-7 ; his printed sermons, 48, 
 2 3^> 35° 5 f^St excitement in 
 London, 49 ; breaks with the 
 clergy, 51 ; and Dissenters, 51, 
 97. 213-17, 295-9, 304-5; sails 
 for Georgia, 52 ; at Gibraltar, 
 55-7 ; his illnesses, 57, 60, 72, 140, 
 146, 193, 206, 232-3, 239, 248, 
 256, 274, 279, 284, 310, 313, 
 329; first visit to Savannah, 58- 
 65 ; sails for England, 65 ; arrives 
 in London, 67 ; extemporaneous 
 prayer, 69 ; ordained priest, 71; 
 preaches in the open air, 74 ; his 
 emotion while preaching, 77-8, 
 82, 140-2, 337 ; visits Wales, 
 yS, 80, 87, 204-5 5 an d Howel 
 Harris, 79, 105, 114, 336; 
 his relation to the Quakers (see 
 Quakers) ; lays the foundation 
 of Kings wood School, 86 ; 
 preaches in Islington churchyard 
 and in Moorfields, 89; and Joseph 
 Periam, 95 ; his connexion with 
 the Erskines (see Ebenezer and 
 Ralph Erskine) ; at Basingstoke, 
 103 ; at races, 103 ; and Dr. Gib- 
 son, 108; his theology, 115; 
 breach with Wesley, (see John 
 Wesley), his courtship, 137 ; his 
 marriage, 179; his domestic life, 
 293 ; his influence through 
 ministers, 137, 347 ; the physical 
 
INDEX 
 
 359 
 
 effects of his preaching in America, 
 141-3, 157 ; in England, 227 ; in 
 Scotland, 186-92; first visit to 
 New England, 147 ; loses his 
 popularity, 166-7; the Tabernacle 
 built for, 167 ; resigned under 
 reverses, 168 ; invited to Scotland, 
 169 ; first visit to Scotland, 172 ; 
 his ecclesiastical position, 175, 
 2 98-9, 301-5 ; in Moorfields and 
 Mary-le-Bone fields, 181-5 ; at- 
 tempts on his life, 106, 184, 264, 
 296-7 ; Adam Gib's warning 
 against, 185 ; at Cambuslang, 
 186-95 > assailed by the Came- 
 ronians, 195 ; and the nobility, 
 200-3, 246, 250-3, 272, 305; 
 defends the Hampton Methodists, 
 212 ; at Hampton, at Ottery, and 
 at Wedgbury, 207 ; good effects 
 of his preaching, 209; birth and 
 death of his son, 209 ; is assailed 
 by the bishops, 217-21 ; at Ply- 
 mouth, 221-4 5 answers the 
 bishops, 226-7 ; his view of the 
 atonement, 228 ; answers the 
 bishop of Lichfield, 231 ; at 
 Boston (U.S.), 234 ; ranges the 
 woods, 235-9; at Bethesda, 241 ; 
 at Bermudas, 242 ; confesses 
 his mistakes, 243, 259-60 ; ap- 
 pointed chaplain to the Countess 
 of Huntingdon, 246-7 ; Bishop 
 Lavington writes against, 257-60; 
 answers the bishop, 259 ; assaulted 
 at Exeter, 264 ; visits Haworth, 
 266-8, 276, 317-19; at Leeds, 
 268 ; at Newcastle, 268 ; inter- 
 feres between Wesley and Mrs. 
 Grace Murray, 269 ; his Christian 
 graces, 270-1 ; his success at 
 Sheffield, 269-70 ; preaches for 
 Wesley, 272 ; in Hyde Park, 
 273 ; on the north road, 274-7 > 
 
 in Ireland, 283, 309 ; writes to 
 Count Zinzendorf, 288 ; visits 
 Lisbon, 291 ; at Long Acre 
 Chapel, 295 ; builds Tottenham 
 Court Chapel, 301 ; is heard by 
 actors, 305 ; stoned in Ireland, 
 309 ; is mimicked on the stage, 
 311; visits Earl Ferrers, 313; 
 appoints trustees to his chapels, 
 314; assailed by Bishop War- 
 burton, 314; opens a chapel at 
 Bath, 323 ; and his proposed 
 college, 324-6 ; defends the 
 students of St. Edmund Hall, 
 327 ; death of his wife, 328 ; opens 
 Trevecca College, 329 ; his writ- 
 ings, 333 ; and literary men, 334; 
 his last meeting with the Wesleys, 
 335 ; sails from England for the 
 last time, 336 ; attends an execu- 
 tion, 337 ; his last journey and 
 last sermon, 338 ; his death, 
 339-40 ; his funeral, 341 ; the 
 history of his orphan-house, 343 ; 
 the results of his work, 343-50 
 
 Whitefield, Mrs. (W.'s mother), 
 her marriage, 1 ; her character, 
 1-2 ; her treatment of W., 5, 7, 
 S ; marries Mr. Longden, 4 ; 
 wishes W. to go to Oxford, 8 ; 
 her farewell to W., 38; letters 
 from W. to, 124, 198, 236, 245 ; 
 her death, 285 
 
 Whitefield, Rev. Samuel, 1 
 
 Whitefield, Thomas, 1 
 
 Willison, Rev. Mr., 192 
 
 Winter, Cornelius, describes W.'s 
 emotions, 78 ; sails with W. on 
 his last voyage, 336 
 
 Wishart, Rev. George, 196 
 
 Woodward, Dr., 78 
 
 Zinzendorf, Count, 228 
 
Ubc ©resbam picas 
 
 UN WIN BROTHERS, 
 WOKING AND LONDON 
 
EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES 
 
 " It is a wonderful story which he has to tell. He has caught the tone 
 of romance which belongs to the days of the Evangelical Revival in this 
 country, and there is hardly a dull page in the book from first to last. 
 . . . Whitefield's was a fascinating though somewhat unintelligible 
 personality, and one follows the extraordinary tale of his journeys 
 and adventures with the greatest interest and curiosity. Mr. Gledstone 
 has done his work so well, and maintained the balance of the narrative 
 so carefully, that we doubt whether there is any other single book which 
 throws so much light on the period under survey, and gives so clear a 
 picture of the religious movements of the time." — The Speaker. 
 
 "The best biography of one of the world's epoch-makers, and to read 
 it will be not only a liberal education but an intense delight. Mr. 
 Gledstone must have exhausted all the sources of information concerning 
 Whitefield, for there are continual evidences of his up-to-date knowledge 
 of his hero. There is a beautiful photogravure and other illustrations 
 to this book, which must be regarded as a classic among religious 
 biographies.'' — Examiner. 
 
 " We hasten to offer to Mr. Gledstone the right hand ot congratulation 
 upon this practical demonstration of the advantages of compression. This 
 story of the firebrand of Welsh Methodism is packed very tight ; so as by 
 fire have been purged away all hay, straw, and stubble, and the residue is 
 a crystal of many facets." — Academy. 
 
 "It is well that the characteristics of such a man should be set in a 
 dramatic light by one who understands the secret of his power in an age 
 when other and less spiritual ideals are in the ascendant. . . . Written 
 with an entire mastery of the facts and forces which made the Evangelical 
 Revival of last century resistless, this monograph sets forth the greatness 
 of Whitefield's labours, the lofty abandon of his faith, the far-reaching 
 consequences of his life." — Leeds Mercury. 
 
PRESS NOTICES (continued)— 
 
 " Mr. Gledstone permits none of the dramatic episodes of Whitefield's 
 career nor the curious aspects of his strange personality to evade him. 
 His biography is well planned and well written upon ample knowledge 
 and with a sense of historical perspective which lends it singular interest 
 and especial value." — Christian World. 
 
 " A sufficient and well-written account of this remarkable, if not very 
 attractive, personality. Mr. Gledstone's capital sketch forms a very 
 useful and judicial account of a man whose influence still counts for 
 more than is generally supposed."— Literature. 
 
 " In this convenient size the biography will do much to reawaken 
 interest in a preacher who in his day exercis :d so powerful an influence 
 on both sides of the Atlantic." — Scotsman. 
 
 "This work is all that one could desire — ample in details, clear in 
 arrangement, and written with much force as well as deep sympathy. It 
 is no bald narrative ; every page has some striking fact or story — some 
 things that may astonish such as would complacently associate everything 
 that is aggressive and ingenious with our own clays. This is a book which 
 wealthy Christians should take an interest in circulating among such as 
 cannot buy for themselves, but are eager to read. Every page has some- 
 thing that may be turned to account in service for Christ." — Christian. 
 
 "Mr. Gledstone's work is excellent and interesting, and he is to be 
 congratulated upon a readable and well-written biography." 
 
 Literary World. 
 
 "Is one of the very best religious biographies we have, and this con- 
 densed version preserves all its merits and features, the only important 
 exception being that details are abbreviated and documents summarised." 
 
 Aberdeen Free Press. 
 
 " We wish this book could be placed in the hands of every minister, 
 whether Episcopalian or non-Episcopalian, for we believe that many who 
 are at present dissatisfied with the results of their labours, and have lost 
 heart in consequence, would, by reading the story of Whitefield's labours, 
 have their eyes opened to see the secret of ministerial success, and be led 
 to seek power from the same source from which he obtained it." 
 
 The English Churchman. 
 
Princeton Theological Seminary-Speer Library 
 
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