“Behold here one of therighteous over-much—yet nought doth he give away in charity! No, no! He is the bell-wether of the flock, who hath broken downorthodoxy’s bounds, and now riots on thecommon of hypocrisy. Withoneeye he looks up to heaven, to make his congregation think he isdevout, that’s hisspiritualeye; and with the other eye he looks down to see what he can get, and that’s hiscarnaleye; and thus, with jokes flowing down his face, he says, or seems to say, or, at least with your permission, we’ll attempt to say for him, ‘Bretheren! bretheren! bretheren! The word bretheren comes from the Tabernacle, because we allbreathe-there-in. If ye wantrouzing, I’llrouzeyou. I’ll beat atat-tooupon the parchment cases of your consciences, and whip thedevilabout like awhirl-a-gig.’”Quantum sufficit!The remainder is a great deal worse than this.Another pamphlet of the same description, price eighteen-pence, was entitled “The Methodist and Mimic. A Tale in Hudibrastic Verse. By Peter Paragraph. Inscribed to Samuel Foote,Esq.” The gist of this foul publication is, that Whitefield sends one of his congregation to Foote, with a proposal that the comedian should turn preacher; and, of course, Samuel Foote,Esq., rejects the proposal with disdain.One more must be mentioned: “The Methodist. A Poem. By the Author of the Powers of the Pen, and the Curate. London, 1766.” (4to.pp.54.) Some parts of this impious publication are obscene, and attribute to Whitefield behaviour of the most infamous and impure description. The general purport of it is to describe the devil making a tour of discovery, to find some one to manage his affairs on earth, so that he himself might have leisure to attend to his government in hell. With this object in view,“he searched, without avail,Each meeting, dungeon, court, and jail,Each mart of villainy, where vicePresides, and virtue bears no price.”But nowhere could he find an agent suited to his mind, tillhe got to Tottenham Court Road chapel, where he discovered Whitefield. For the sake of gold, Whitefield became his terrestrial viceroy, and swore fealty to him. One of the devil’s requirements was, that, because what Whitefielddidwas contrary to what hesaid, his eyes ought to look different ways; and, accordingly, they were twisted. Describing Whitefield’s sermons, the writer says:—“He knows hisMaster’srealm so well,His sermons are amapof hell,AnOlliomade of conflagration,Ofgulphsof brimstone, anddamnation,Eternal torments,furnace,worm,Hell-fire, awhirlwind, and astorm.”An apology is almost needed for the insertion of such profanity as this, and yet, without it, it is impossible to convey to the reader an adequate idea of the ridicule and odium cast upon dying Whitefield. Vile as are the extracts given, much viler remain unquoted.Whitefield concluded the year 1766 by writing one of his characteristic letters to Thomas Powys,Esq., who was entertaining, at his mansion in Shropshire, during Christmastide, theRev.Messrs.Venn, Ryland,Dr.Conyers, and Powley, vicar ofDewsbury.555“At my Tottenham Court Bethel,“Six in the Morning, December 30, 1766.“My very dear Sir,—The Christmas holiday season has prevented me sending an immediate answer to your last kind letter. The love therein expressed shall be returned, by praying for the writer’s whole self, and the honourable, Christian, and ministerial circle with which you are at present happily surrounded.Four Methodist parsons!Honourable title! so long as it is attended with the cross. When fashionable, we will drop it.Four Methodist parsons!Enough, when Jesus says, ‘Loose them and let them go,’ to set a whole kingdom on fire for God. I wish them prosperity in the name of the Lord.“To-morrow, God willing, and on Thursday also, with many hundreds more, I intend to take the sacrament upon it, that I will begin to be a Christian. Though I long to go to heaven, to see my glorious Master, what a poor figure shall I make, among saints, confessors, and martyrs, without some deeper signatures of His divine impress—without more scars of Christian honour!“Our truly noble mother in Israel is come to London full of them.Crescit sub pondere virtus.Happy they who have the honour of her acquaintance! Highly honoured are the ministers, who have the honour of preaching for and serving her!“O this single eye,—this disinterested spirit,—this freedom from worldly hopes and worldly fears,—this flaming zeal,—this daring to be singularly good,—this holy ambition to lead the van! O, it is, what? a heaven upon earth! O for a plerophory of faith! to be filled with the Holy Ghost! This is the grand point. All our lukewarmness, all our timidity, all our backwardness to do good, to spend and be spent for God,—all is owing to our want of more of that faith, which is the inward, heartfelt, self-evident demonstration of things not seen.“But whither am I going? Pardon me, good sir. I keep you from better company. Praying that all of you (if you live to be fifty-two) may not be such dwarfs in the Divine life as I am, I hasten to subscribe myself,etc.,“George Whitefield.”Whitefield began the year 1767 by writing a preface to the third edition of the collected works of Bunyan, published in two large folio volumes (pp.856 and 882), admirably printed, and containing curious and well-executed illustrations. The title was, “The Works of that Eminent Servant of Christ,Mr.John Bunyan, Minister of the Gospel, and formerly Pastor of a Congregation at Bedford. With Copperplates, adapted to the Pilgrim’s Progress, the Holy War,etc., in Two Volumes. The Third Edition. To which are now added The Divine Emblems, and several other Pieces, which were never printed in any former Collection, with a Recommendatory Preface by the Reverend George Whitefield,M.A., Chaplain to the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon. London: printed for W. Johnston, in Ludgate Street; and E. and C. Dilly, in the Poultry, near the Mansion House.1767.”556Whitefield’s preface is dated January 3, 1767. Two extracts from it must suffice. In reference to the fact thatBunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress was written in Bedford Gaol, Whitefield remarks:—“Ministers never write or preach so well as when under the cross. The Spirit of Christ and of glory then rests upon them. It was this, no doubt, that made the Puritans of the last century such burning and shining lights. When cast out by the black Bartholomew Act, and driven from their respective charges to preach in barns and fields, in the highways and hedges, they, in an especial manner, wrote and preached as men having authority. Though dead, by their writings they yet speak. A peculiar unction attends them to this very hour. For these thirty years past, I have remarked that the more true and vital religion has revived, either at home or abroad, the more the good old Puritanical writings, or the authors of a like stamp, who lived and died in the communion of the Church of England, have been called for.”Then again, with reference to what, throughout the whole of his career, was one of Whitefield’s favourite virtues, namely, catholicity of spirit, he writes:—“I must own that what more particularly endearsMr.Bunyan to my heart is this, he was of a catholic spirit. The want ofwater adult baptism, with this man of God, was no bar to outward Christian communion. And I am persuaded, that if, like him, we were more deeply and experimentally baptized into the benign and gracious influences of the blessed Spirit, we should be less baptized into the waters of strife, about circumstantials and non-essentials. We should have but one grand, laudable, disinterested strife, namely, who should live, preach, and exalt the ever-loving, altogether lovely Jesus most.”Just at this period, Whitefield took under his patronage a young man, who, if not a tinker, was quite as poor as the “immortal dreamer.” Cornelius Winter, the son of a shoemaker, and bred in a workhouse, was now in the twenty-fifth year of his age. For twelve long years, he had been the drudge and the butt of a drunken brute in Bunhill Row. The poor workhouse lad had been converted by attending Whitefield’s Tabernacle, and had become a member of its Society. During the last year or two, he had been an itinerant preacher, and now he applied to Whitefield to send him, as a minister, to America. Whitefield replied:—“London,January 29, 1767.“DearMr.Winter,—Your letter met with proper acceptance. The first thing to be done now is to get some knowledge of the Latin language. We can talk of the method to be pursued, at your return to London.Mr.Green557would make a suitable master. No time should be lost. One would hope that the various humiliations you have met with were intended as preparations for future exaltations. The greatest preferment under heaven is to be an able, painful, faithful, successful, suffering, cast-out minister of the New Testament. That this may be your happy lot is the hearty prayer of yours,etc.,“George Whitefield.”558On coming to London, Cornelius Winter waited upon Whitefield. He writes:—“Mr.Whitefield gave me a mild reception. The interview was short. He said he should expect me to preach in the Tabernacle next morning at six o’clock, and he appointed a time when I should come to him again. I heard him in the evening. He announced that a stranger, recommended byMr.Berridge, would preach on the morrow morning. I had little rest that night, and prayed, rather than studied for the service.”This was in February, 1767. The result was, Whitefield desired Winter to procure testimonials from the places he had visited, and also to write him an account of his conversion. Winter says:—“For several days,Mr.Whitefield kept me in suspense. At last, he set me upon a little business, and told me he should expect me to preach two mornings in the week. He appointed me particular times when I was to call upon him; and, besides sending me upon errands, of which he always had a great number, he set me to transcribe some of his manuscripts. He shewed himself much dissatisfied with my writing and orthography; but he desired me to take a lodging near the chapel, where he could conveniently send for me; gave me a little money to defray my expenses; and, by degrees, brought me into a capacity to be useful to him. Soon after, he proposed my going toMr.Green’s for a few hours in the day, to be initiated into the Latin grammar; but he interrupted the design by requiring a close attention to his own business, and the large demand he made of my pulpit services. A single quarter of a year closed my school exercise, in which I hardly gained knowledge enough to declineMusa. It was plainMr.Whitefield did not intend to promote my literary improvement. Indeed, he said, Latin was of little or no use, and that they who wish to enter upon it late in life, had better endeavour to acquire a good knowledge of their mother tongue. Having recently attendedMr.Wesley’s conference, and having heard him speak to the same effect, he was confirmed in this sentiment, and discouraged my perseverance.“Perhaps it would be putting the picture of so valuable a man, asMr.Whitefield was, into too deep a shade, to say that he was not a fit person for a young man in humble circumstances to be connected with. He was not satisfied with deficient abilities, but he did not sufficiently encourage the use of the lamp for their improvement. The attention of a youth, designed for the ministry, was too much diverted from the main object, and devoted too much to objects comparatively trifling. I was considered as much the steward of his house as his assistant in the ministry. While I was kept in bay and at anchor, many, piloted by him, set sail, and I at last knew not whether I was to indulge a hope for America or not. My fidelity being proved, I became one of the family, slept in the room of my honoured patron, and had the privilege to sit at his table. I judged I was where I should be, and was determined never to flinch from the path of duty, nor intentionally to grieve the man, who had many burdens upon him, and for whom I could have laid down mylife.”559Considering the circumstances of Cornelius Winter, there is a little unseemly grumbling in the foregoing extract; but let it pass. The quondam workhouse boy seems to have been an inmate of Whitefield’s house for about eighteen months; and as he is the only one,thus privileged, who has left behind him any account of Whitefield’s domestic habits and public life, this is a fitting place to introduce what he says concerning the patron to whom he owed so much.In reference to the composition of sermons, the mode of conducting public services, and action in the pulpit, Winter writes:—“The timeMr.Whitefield set apart for preparations for the pulpit, during my connection with him, was not distinguished from the time he appropriated to other business. If he wanted to write a pamphlet, he was closeted; nor would he allow access to him, except on an emergency, while he was engaged in the work. But I never knew him engaged in the composition of a sermon, until he was on board ship, when he employed himself partly in the composition of sermons, and partly in reading the history of England. He had formed a design of writing the history of Methodism, but never entered upon it. He was never more in retirement on a Saturday than on another day; nor sequestered at any particular time for a period longer than he used for his ordinary devotions. I never met with anything like the skeleton of a sermon among his papers, with which I was permitted to be familiar, and I believe he knew nothing of such a kind of exercise as the planning of a sermon.“Usually, for an hour or two before he entered the pulpit, he claimed retirement; and, on the Sabbath morning especially, he was accustomed to have Clarke’s Bible, Matthew Henry’s Comment, and Cruden’s Concordancewithin his reach. His frame at that time was more than ordinarily devotional; I say more than ordinarily, because, though there was a vast vein of pleasantry usually in him, the intervals of conversation then appeared to be filled up with private ejaculation and with praise.“His rest was much interrupted, and he often said at the close of an address, ‘I got this sermon when most of you were fast asleep.’ He made very minute observations; and, in one way or another, the occurrences of the week, or of the day, furnished him with matter for the pulpit. When an extraordinary trial was going on, he would be present, and I have known him, at the close of a sermon, avail himself of the formality of the judge putting on the black cap to pronounce sentence. With his eyes full of tears, and his heart almost too big to admit of speech, he would say, after a momentary pause, ‘I am now going to put on my condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it. I must pronounce sentence upon thee.’ And then, in a strain of tremendous eloquence, he would recite our Lord’s words, ‘Depart, ye cursed.’ It was only by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and his tears, that the effect could be conceived.“My intimate knowledge of him enables me to acquit him of the charge of affectation. He always appeared to enter the pulpit with a countenance that indicated he had something of importance to divulge, and was anxious for the effect of the communication. His gravity on his descent was the same. As soon as he was seated in his chair, he usually vomited a considerable quantity of blood.“He was averse to much singing after preaching, supposing it diverted attention from the subject of his sermon. Nothing awkward, nothing careless appeared about him in the pulpit. Whether he frowned or smiled, whether he looked grave or placid, it was nature acting in him. Professed orators might object to his hands being lifted up too high, and it is to be lamented that in that attitude, rather than in any other, he is represented in print. His own reflection upon that picture was, when it was first put into his hands, ‘Sure I do not look such a sour creature as this sets me forth. If I thought I did, I should hate myself.’ The attitude was very transient, and always accompanied by expressions which would justify it. He sometimes had occasion to speak of Peter going out and weeping bitterly; and, then, he had a fold of his gown at command, which he put before his face with as much gracefulness as familiarity.“I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping, and I 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 souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught I know, you are hearing your last sermon!’ Sometimes he wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome, that nature required some little time to compose itself.“When he treated upon the sufferings of our Saviour, it was with great pathos. As though Gethsemane were in sight, he would cry, stretching out his hand, ‘Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!’ And, as though it were no difficult matter to catch the sound ofthe Saviour praying, he would exclaim, ‘Hark! Hark! Do you not hear?’ This frequently occurred; but though we often knew what was coming, it was as new to us as if we had never heard it before.“The beautiful apostrophe, of the prophet Jeremiah, ‘O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!’ was very subservient to him, and was never used impertinently. He abounded with anecdotes, which, though not always recited verbatim, were very just as to the matter of them. On the Sabbath morning, he dealt far more in the explanatory and doctrinal mode of preaching, than, perhaps, at any other time; and occasionally made a little, but by no means improper, shew of learning. If he had read upon astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He had his charms for the learned as well as for the unlearned. The peer and the peasant alike went away satisfied.“This was his work, in London, at one period of his life. After administering the Lord’s supper to several hundred communicants at half-past six o’clock in the morning, he, in the forenoon, read the Liturgy, and preached full an hour. In the afternoon, he again read prayers and preached. At half-past five, he preached again, and, afterwards, addressed a large Society. At the Society meeting, widows, married people, young men, and spinsters were placed separately in the area of the Tabernacle. Hundreds used to stay, and receive from him, in a colloquial style, various exhortations, comprised in short sentences, and suitable to their various stations.“Perhaps he never preached greater sermons than at six in the morning; for at that hour he did preach, winter and summer, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. At these times, his congregations were of the select description. Young men received admonitions similar to what were given in the Society meetings. ‘Beware of being golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and copper masters,’ was one of the cautions I remember being given. His style was now colloquial, with little use of motion; pertinent expositions, with suitable remarks; and all comprehended within the hour.“Christian experience principally was the subject of his Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening lectures; when, frequently having funeral sermons to preach, the character and experience of the dead helped to elucidate the subject.“Mr.Whitefield adopted the custom of the inhabitants of New England, in their best days, of beginning the Sabbath at six o’clock on Saturday evenings. The custom could not be observed by many, but it was convenient to a few. Now ministers of every description found a peculiar pleasure in relaxing their minds from the fatigues of study. It was also an opportunity peculiarly suited to apprentices and journeymen in some businesses, which allowed of their leaving work sooner than on other days, and of availing themselves of, at least, the sermon.“The peculiar talents he possessed can be but faintly guessed from his sermons in print. The eighteen, taken in shorthand, and faithfully transcribed byMr.Gurney, have been supposed to do discredit to his memory, and, therefore, they were suppressed; but much of his genuine preachingmay be collected from them. They were far from being the best specimens that might have been produced. He preached many of them when, in fact, he was almost incapable of preaching at all. His constitution, long before they were taken, had received its shock, and all of them, except the two last, were the productions of a Wednesday evening, when, by the business of the day, he was fatigued and worn out. He was then like an ascending Elijah, and many were eager to catch his dropping mantle. In the sermons referred to, there are many jewels, though not connected in proper order. Whatever invidious remarks may be made upon his written discourses, they cannot invalidate his preaching.Mr.Toplady called him the prince of preachers, and with good reason, for none in our day preached with the like effect.”So much in reference to Whitefield as a preacher, to which may be added another fact stated by Cornelius Winter, namely, that, excepting Andrew Kinsman, most of Whitefield’s substitutes at the Tabernacle and at Tottenham Court chapel were very inferior preachers to himself, and that, in consequence, the congregations, during his absence, were greatly diminished. Notwithstanding this, however, “conversions were veryfrequent.”560Winter’s portraiture of Whitefield will not be perfect without the addition of what he says respecting the renowned preacher’s private character and habits. He continues:—“Mr.Whitefield was accessible but to few. He was cautious in admitting people to him. He would never be surprised into a conversation. You could not knock at his door and be allowed to enter at any time. ‘Who is it?’ ‘What is his business?’ and such-like enquiries usually preceded admission; and, if admission were granted, it was thus, ‘Come to-morrow morning at six o’clock, perhaps five, or immediately after preaching. If later, I cannot see you.’“A person consulting him upon going into the ministry, might expect to be treated with severity, if not well recommended, or if he had not something about him particularly engaging. One man, on saying, in answer to his enquiry, that he was a tailor, was dismissed with, ‘Go to rag-fair, and buy old clothes.’ Another, who was admitted to preach in the vestry one winter’s morning at six o’clock, took for his text, ‘These that have turned the world upside down have come hither also.’ ‘That man shall come here no more,’ saidMr.Whitefield. ‘If God had called him to preach, he would have furnished him with a proper text.’ A letter well written, as to style, orthography, and decency, would prepossess him much in favour of a person.“He used too much severity to young people, and required too much from them. He connected circumstances too humiliating with publicservices, in a young man with whom he could take liberty; urging that it was necessary as a curb to the vanity of human nature, and referred to the young Roman orators, who, after being exalted by applauses, were sent upon the most trifling errands. His maxim was, if you love me, you will serve me disinterestedly; hence he settled no certain income, or a very slender one, upon his dependants, many of whom were sycophants, and, while they professed to serve him, underhandedly served themselves. Through this defect, his charity in Georgia was materially injured, owing to the wrong conduct of some who insinuated themselves into his favour by humouring his weakness, and letting him act and speak without contradiction. He was impatient of contradiction, but this is a fault to be charged upon almost all great people.“No time was to be wasted; and his expectations generally went before the ability of his servants to perform his commands. He was very exact to the time appointed for his stated meals. A few minutes’ delay would be considered a great fault. He was irritable, but soon appeased. Not being patient enough, one day, to receive a reason for his being disappointed, he hurt the mind of one who was studious to please; but, on reflection, he burst into tears, saying, ‘I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and everybody will be tired of me.’ He never commanded haughtily, and always took care to applaud when a person did right. He never indulged parties at his table; but a select few might now and then breakfast with him, dine with him on a Sunday, or sup with him on a Wednesday night. In the last-mentioned indulgence, he was scrupulously exact to break up in time. In the height of a conversation, I have known him abruptly say, ‘But we forget ourselves;’ and, rising from his seat and advancing to the door, would add, ‘Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good folks to be at home.’“Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must be spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was unjustly charged with being given to appetite. His table was never spread with variety. A cow-heel was his favourite dish, and I have known him cheerfully say, ‘How surprised would the world be, if they were to peep uponDr.Squintum, and see a cow-heel only upon his table.’ He was extremely neat in his person, and in everything about him. Not a paper must be out of place, or be put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture, likewise, must be in its proper position before we retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if he thought his gloves were not where they ought to be. There was no rest after four in the morning, nor sitting up after ten in the evening.“He never made a purchase without paying the money immediately. He was truly generous, and seldom denied relief. More was expected from him than was meet. He was tenacious in his friendship. He felt sensibly when he was deserted, and would remark, ‘The world and the church ring changes.’ He dreaded the thought of outliving his usefulness. He often dined among his friends; and usually connected a comprehensive prayer with his thanksgiving when the table was dismissed, in which he noticed particular cases relative to the family. He never protracted hisvisit long after dinner. He often appeared tired of popularity; and said, he almost envied the man who could take his choice of food at an eating-house, and pass unnoticed. He apprehended he should not glorify God in his death by any remarkable testimony; and he desired to die suddenly.”Cornelius Winter’s critique on Whitefield is unartistic, but it is not, on that account, the less valuable. Facts are not lost among words, as is the case too often, in the philosophic and eloquent eulogies, or censures, written by men who have a greater wish to display their own cleverness than to pourtray the life and character of the person on whom they exercise their skill. In some of his statements, Winter may have been, unconsciously to himself, somewhat swayed by his relationship to Whitefield; but, generally speaking, his description of Whitefield’s preaching, and of his spirit and habits in domestic life, is the most exact that has ever yet been published. The foregoing extracts may be long, but they were written by a man who, during Whitefield’s last two years in England, read prayers in Whitefield’s Tottenham Court Road chapel, assisted in Whitefield’s study, sat at Whitefield’s table, and occupied a bed in the same room as Whitefield did. The man knew his master, and wrote with the utmost frankness concerning him.It is now time to return to Whitefield’s history. Little is known concerning him during the first three months of 1767. They seem, however, to have been chiefly spent in London, where his “feeble hands were full ofwork.”561The Orphan House in Georgia still occupied his attention. He was anxious for “Bethesda to put on its collegedress.”562The warm friendship between him and Wesley yet continued. On Ash-Wednesday, March 4, Wesley wrote, “I dined at a friend’s withMr.Whitefield, still breathing nothing butlove.”563On the20thof the same month, the Countess of Huntingdon, at Brighton, had all her chaplains around her, and Whitefield re-opened her ladyship’s enlarged chapel, in that town, by preaching, to a crowded congregation, from “Grow in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord andSaviour Jesus Christ: to Him be glory both now and for ever.Amen.”564In April, Whitefield set out for Norwich, and visited Rowland Hill and his Society, at Cambridge, on hisway.565A month later, he was introduced to a young clergyman, who, afterwards, became famous. Richard de Courcy was the descendant of an ancient and respectable family in Ireland, and was distantly related to Lord Kinsale. He had been educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and, at the age of twenty-three, had received deacon’s orders, and become curate of theRev.Walter Shirley. Being invited to preach inSt.Andrew’s Church, Dublin, his fame brought a crowded congregation. Whilst the prayers were being read, and because the young preacher was a reputed Methodist, the pulpit was seized by order of the metropolitan,Dr.Arthur Smythe, and De Courcy was not allowed to enter it. Upon this, he immediately left the church; the congregation followed him; and, mounting a tombstone, he at once commenced preaching in the open air. This was a crime too great to be forgiven. The bishop refused to ordain him priest. Shirley wrote to the Countess of Huntingdon, and, at her request, De Courcy came to England, expecting, by the help of her ladyship, to obtain ordination by an English bishop. On arriving in London, he immediately called on Whitefield at the Tabernacle House. Whitefield being told who he was, took off his cap, and bending towards De Courcy, and, at the same time placing his hand on the deep scar in his head, said, “Sir, this wound I got in your country for preaching Christ.” De Courcy was captivated, and became Whitefield’s guest, Cornelius Winter being charged to take care of him. The next day, which was Sunday, the young Hibernian preached in Tottenham Court Road chapel, and, by his sermon, laid the foundation of his future popularity. Whitefield and he became ardentfriends.566About the middle of the month of May, Whitefield set out for the west of England and Wales. His progress willbe best told by extracts from his letters. On arriving at Rodborough, where his old assistant, Thomas Adams, lived and preached, he wrote toMr.Keen as follows:—“Rodborough, May 13, 1767. My new horse failed the first night; but, through mercy, we got here last evening. I was regaled with the company of some simple-hearted, first-rate old Methodists, of near thirty years’ standing. God willing, I am to preach to-morrow morning, and to have a general sacrament on Friday evening. Perhaps, I may move after Sunday towards Wales; but, I fear, I shall be obliged to take post-horses. I care not, so that I can ride post to heaven. Hearty love to all who are posting thither, hoping myself to arrive first. This tabernacle often groans under the weight of my feeble labours. O when shall I be unclothed! When, O my God, shall I be clothed upon! But I am a coward, and want to be housed before the storm.”A week after this, he reached Gloucester, where he spent several days, and wrote as follows:—“Gloucester, May 20, 1767. We have had good seasons at Rodborough. I have been out twice in the fields. Lady Huntingdon has been wonderfully delighted. She and her company lay at Rodborough House. DearMr.Adams is about to be married to a good Christian nurse. He is sickly in body, but healthy in soul.”“Gloucester, May 21, 1767. I have preached twice in the open air. Thousands and thousands attended. I am about to preach here this morning, in my native city. On Sunday I hope to take to Rodborough wood again. Good Lady Huntingdon and her company were wonderfully delighted. They honoured dearMr.Adams’s house with their presence. He is but poorly, and wants a nurse. Perhaps, before next Sunday, he may be married to a simple-hearted, plain, good creature, who has waited upon him and the preachers near twenty years. She has no fortune, but is one who, I think, will take care of, and be obedient to him, for Christ’s sake.”“Gloucester, May 25, 1767. I am just setting out in a post-chaise for Haverfordwest; and I have therefore drawn upon you” (Mr.Keen) “for£20. This is expensive; but it is for One who has promised not to send us a warfare on our own charges. We had a most blessed season yesterday. Thousands and thousands heard, saw, and felt.Mr.Adams preached in the evening, on ‘The Lord is my portion, therefore will I trust in Him.’ A good text for a new-married man. I have advised him to preach next on these words, ‘The Lord’s portion is His people.’ He is now here.”“Haverfordwest, May 31, 1767, Sunday. I am just come from my field-throne. Thousands and thousands attended by eight in the morning. Life and light seemed to fly all around. On Tuesday, God willing, I am to preach at Woodstock; on Friday, at Pembroke; here again next Sunday; and then for England. Rooms are not so lofty or large, prospects not so pleasant, bedsteads not so easy, in these parts, as in someplaces in or near London; but all are good enough for young and old pilgrims who have got good breath. I have been pushing dear sickMr.Davies to go out and preach six miles off. He is gone finely mounted, and, I am persuaded, will return in high spirits. Who knows but preaching may be our grand catholicon again? This is the good, Methodistical, thirty-year-old medicine.”“Gloucester, June 10, 1767. Blessed be God, I am got on this side the Welsh mountains! Blessed be God, I have been on the other side! What a scene lastSunday!567What a cry for more of the bread of life! But I was quite worn down. I am now better than could be expected. To-morrow, God willing, my wife shall know what route I take. O when shall I begin to live to Jesus, as I would! I want to be a flame of fire.”A week after this, Whitefield was in London. During his absence, he had tried to secure the services of Fletcher of Madeley, and Fletcher’s reply to his application is too characteristic to be omitted:—“Madeley,May 18, 1767.“Reverend and dear Sir,—Your mentioning my poor ministrations among your congregations opens again a wound of shame that was but half healed. I feel the need of asking God, you, and your hearers’ pardon, for weakening the glorious matter of the gospel by my wretched, broken manner, and spoiling the heavenly power of it by the uncleanness of my heart and lips. I should be glad to go and be your curate some time this year; but I see no opening, nor the least prospect of any. What between the dead and the living, a parish ties one down more than a wife. If I could go anywhere this year, it should be to Yorkshire, to accompany Lady Huntingdon, according to a design that I had half formed last year; but I fear that I shall be debarred even from this. I set out, God willing, to-morrow morning for Trevecca, to meet her ladyship there, and to show her the way to Madeley, where she proposes to stay three or four days in her way to Derbyshire. What chaplain she will have there I know not;God will provide. I rejoice that, though you are sure of heaven, you have still a desire to inherit the earth, by being apeacemaker. Somehow, you will enjoy the blessings that others may possibly refuse.“Last Sunday seven-night, Captain Scott preached, to my congregation, a sermon, which was more blessed, though preached only upon my horse-block, than a hundred of those I preach in the pulpit. I invited him to come and treat her Ladyship next Sunday with another, now the place is consecrated. If you should ever favour Shropshire with your presence, you shall have the captain’s or the parson’s pulpit at your option. Many ask me whether you will not come to have some fruit here also. What must I answer them? I, and many more, complain of a stagnation in the work. What must we do? Everything buds and blossoms around us, yet our winter is not over. I thoughtMr.Newton,568who has been three weeks in Shropshire, would have brought the turtle-dove along with him; but I could not prevail upon him to come to this poor Capernaum. I think I hardly ever met his fellow for a judicious spirit. Still, what has God done in him and in me? I am out of hell, and mine eyes have seen something of His salvation. Though I must and do gladly yield toMr.Newton and all my brethren, yet I must and will contend, that my being in the way to heaven makes me as rich a monument of mercy, as he, or any of them.“I am, reverend and dear sir, your willing, though halting and unworthy servant,“John Fletcher.”Rowland Hill has been mentioned. Though not ordained, and still an undergraduate atSt.John’s College, Cambridge, he had begun to preach. He had also formed a small Society of his fellow-students, and was infusing into them a portion of his own ardent zeal. For these proceedings he was bitterly assailed. His father and mother were decidedly opposed to the action he had taken. His superiors in the University condemned, in the strongest terms, what they were pleased to call his infringements of discipline; and hints were given him of a refusal of testimonials and his degree, as the probable result of his irregularities. In the midst of all this, Whitefield wrote to him as follows:—“Haverfordwest,June 4, 1767.“My dear Professor,—I wish you joy of the late high dignity conferred upon you—higher than if you were made the greatest professor in the University ofCambridge.569The honourable degrees you intend giving toyour promising candidates, I trust, will excite a holy ambition, and a holy emulation. Let me know who is first honoured. As I have been admitted to the degree of doctor for near these thirty years, I assure you I like my field preferment, my airy pluralities, exceeding well.“For these three weeks past, I have been beating up for fresh recruits in Gloucestershire and South Wales. Thousands and thousands attended. Good Lady Huntingdon was present at one of our reviews. Her ladyship’s aide-de-camp preached in Brecknock Street; and Captain Scott, that glorious field-officer, lately fixed his standard upon dearMr.Fletcher’s horse-block at Madeley. Being invited thither, I have a great inclination to lift up the Redeemer’s ensign, next week, in the same place;—with what success, you and your dearly beloved candidates for good old Methodistical contempt shall know hereafter. God willing, I intend fighting my way up to town. Soon after my arrival thither, I hope thousands and thousands of vollies of prayers—energetic, effectual, fervent, heaven-besieging, heaven-opening, heaven-taking prayers—shall be poured forth for you all.“Oh, my dearly beloved and longed for in the Lord, my bowels yearn towards you. Fear not to go without the camp. Keep open the correspondence between the twoUniversities.570Remember the praying legions. They were never known to yield. God bless those who are gone to their respectivecures! I say notlivings,—a term of too modern date. Christ is our life. Christ is the Levite’s inheritance. Greet your dear young companions whom I saw. They are welcome to write to me when they please.“I am,etc.,“George Whitefield.”571At this period, there was great excitement in the English colonies of America respecting the proposed introduction of bishops of the Established Church. TheRev.Thomas Bradbury Chandler,D.D., was now in the forty-first year of his age. He had graduated at Yale College, but, in 1751, came to England, and was episcopally ordained. He returned to America as a missionary of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, and became rector ofSt.John’s Church, at Elizabeth Town, New Jersey, where he long maintained a high character for talent and learning. In the present year, 1767, he published “An Appeal to the Public in Behalf of the Church of England in America,” and dedicated his able performance to Secker,Archbishop of Canterbury. The object of it was to secure the designation of two or more bishops, to reside and to exercise episcopal jurisdiction inthetransatlantic settlements.He alleged that the appointment of commissaries had been a failure, and that, as a consequence, such appointments had ceased for near twenty years. The result of this was, the episcopal clergy in America had no ecclesiastical superiors to unite or to control them; they were independent of each other; and the people were free from all restraints of ecclesiastical authority. For want of bishops, candidates for the ministry had to come to England for ordination, at great hazard and expense; and, because of this, numerous congregations were without ministers. In the province of New Jersey, there were twenty-one churches and congregations, eleven of which were entirely destitute of clergymen, and there were but five to supply the pulpits of the other ten. In Pennsylvania, there were in the city of Philadelphia three churches, and but two ministers; and, in the rest of the province, the number of the churches was twenty-six, and that of the clergy only seven. In North Carolina, there were six clergymen, to supply the wants of twenty-nine parishes, each parish containing a whole county. Another argument adduced byDr.Chandler was “the impossibility that a bishop residing in England should be sufficiently acquainted with the characters of those coming to them for Holy Orders. To this it was owing, that ordination had been sometimes fraudulently and surreptitiously obtained by such wretches, as were not only a scandal to the Church, but a disgrace to the human species.”Dr.Chandler further stated that the white population of America numbered about three millions; and that, of these, about a third were professed members of the Church of England; “the Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists were not so many; and the Germans, Papists, and other denominations, amounted to more.” Besides these three millions, however, there were, in the different colonies, about 840,000 negroes, most of whom “belonged to the professors of the Church of England.” And there were also the native Indians, the conversion of whom had been almost altogether neglected. It was proposedthat the “two or more bishops” to be sent should “have no authority, but purely of a spiritual and ecclesiastical nature; that they should not interfere with the property or privileges, whether civil or religious, of Churchmen or Dissenters; that, in particular, they should have no concern with the Probate of Wills, Letters of Guardianship and Administration, or Marriage Licences, nor be judges of any cases relating thereto; but that they should only ordain and govern the clergy, and administer confirmation to those who might desire it.” It was also proposed that they should be supported, not bytithes, but by “perquisites such as the people might freely grant them;” by the interest arising from a fund already in existence for the purpose, in connection with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts; and, if need were (which was not likely), by the levying of a tax at the rate of fourpence in£100.Such was the substance ofDr.Chandler’s temperate “Appeal,”—an appeal which embodied the general views and feelings of the clergy and members of the Church of England in America. Considerable excitement existed previous to its publication; but now the subject became one of the great controversies of the day. An American writer affirms that “it had more to do with the American Revolution than is generallysupposed.”572TheAmerican Whig, a weekly newspaper, stoutly opposed the scheme ofDr.Chandler. So also did thePhiladelphia Centinél. Their articles on the subject were reprinted in several of the colonies; and a general agitation followed. The chief opponent, however, wasDr.Chauncy, minister in Boston, who, more than twenty years before, had made a vigorous onslaught upon Whitefield and his co-revivalists. The general apprehension was, that the taxation of the colonies, and the proposal to send them bishops, were parts of the same system, the object of which was to infringe upon the political and religious privileges of the people. Chauncy and his friends were afraid, and perhaps not without reason, that the power and influence of the government were beingused to give ascendancy to the Episcopal Church. They were angry with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts for sending so many of their clergy to New England, where they were not wanted. At this time, there were at least five hundred and fifty educated ministers in the province, and not a town, unless just settled, without a pastor. Besides, the clergy thus sent were arrogant. They spoke of all the inhabitants of the town, in which they lived, astheirparishioners, and as bound both by the law of God and the state to be in communion with the Church of England. Other churches were represented as mere excrescences or fungosities, and their ministers were declared to be unauthorised, and their ordinances invalid. All this naturally created opposition among the non-episcopal churches. And, further, thoughDr.Chandler professed that the bishops to be sent would be no burden to the population, the people feared it would be otherwise. Already the support of the episcopal clergy had been thrown upon the community in South Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland; and it was thought to be possible and probable that the bishops, if sent, would have to be sustained, at least in part, by the public taxes.Amid this state of things, Whitefield commenced a correspondence with the Archbishop of Canterbury, respecting the conversion of his Orphanage into a College; and a remembrance of the facts just noticed will help to a better understanding of some parts of that correspondence. The letters are too long to be insertedin extenso, but their substance shall be given. They were first published in the month of May, 1768, with the title, “A Letter to his Excellency Governor Wright, giving an Account of the Steps taken relative to the converting the Georgia Orphan House into a College; together with the Literary Correspondence that passed upon that Subject between his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury and the ReverendMr.Whitefield. To which also is annexed the Plan and Elevation of the present and intendedBuildings,574and Orphan House Lands adjacent,By G. Whitefield,A.M., late of Pembroke College, Oxford, and Chaplain to the Countess of Huntingdon. London, 1768.” (8vo. 31pp.)In his letter to “Governor Wright,” Whitefield mentions the deep interest which his Excellency and the Council of Georgia had taken in the scheme to convert the Orphan House into a College. He relates that, since his return to England, in 1765, he had exerted his utmost efforts to accomplish this; but various circumstances had impeded the fulfilment of his plan. He had “delivered a memorial into the hands of the late Clerk of his Majesty’s most honourable Privy Council.” The memorial had been “transmitted to the Lord President;” and the Lord President had submitted it “to the consideration of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.” He (Whitefield) had had “a literary correspondence” with his Grace; but the correspondence, and the negotiations, were now ended. He, therefore, wished to lay an account of the whole transactions before his Excellency, and the Council and Assembly of Georgia, and also before “all the other American colonists, and the public in general.”Whitefield commenced his correspondence with the Archbishop on June 17, 1767, and terminated it on February 12, 1768, within six months of his Grace’s death.He begins by reminding the Primate that the Lord President had submitted his memorial to his Grace’s consideration, and that the Earl of Dartmouth had put into his hands a copy of the intended charter for the College. The Archbishop had made “judicious corrections,” and had suggested that the charter should provide that the president of the College should be a member or minister of the Church of England. In reply to this, Whitefield writes:—
“Behold here one of therighteous over-much—yet nought doth he give away in charity! No, no! He is the bell-wether of the flock, who hath broken downorthodoxy’s bounds, and now riots on thecommon of hypocrisy. Withoneeye he looks up to heaven, to make his congregation think he isdevout, that’s hisspiritualeye; and with the other eye he looks down to see what he can get, and that’s hiscarnaleye; and thus, with jokes flowing down his face, he says, or seems to say, or, at least with your permission, we’ll attempt to say for him, ‘Bretheren! bretheren! bretheren! The word bretheren comes from the Tabernacle, because we allbreathe-there-in. If ye wantrouzing, I’llrouzeyou. I’ll beat atat-tooupon the parchment cases of your consciences, and whip thedevilabout like awhirl-a-gig.’”
“Behold here one of therighteous over-much—yet nought doth he give away in charity! No, no! He is the bell-wether of the flock, who hath broken downorthodoxy’s bounds, and now riots on thecommon of hypocrisy. Withoneeye he looks up to heaven, to make his congregation think he isdevout, that’s hisspiritualeye; and with the other eye he looks down to see what he can get, and that’s hiscarnaleye; and thus, with jokes flowing down his face, he says, or seems to say, or, at least with your permission, we’ll attempt to say for him, ‘Bretheren! bretheren! bretheren! The word bretheren comes from the Tabernacle, because we allbreathe-there-in. If ye wantrouzing, I’llrouzeyou. I’ll beat atat-tooupon the parchment cases of your consciences, and whip thedevilabout like awhirl-a-gig.’”
Quantum sufficit!The remainder is a great deal worse than this.
Another pamphlet of the same description, price eighteen-pence, was entitled “The Methodist and Mimic. A Tale in Hudibrastic Verse. By Peter Paragraph. Inscribed to Samuel Foote,Esq.” The gist of this foul publication is, that Whitefield sends one of his congregation to Foote, with a proposal that the comedian should turn preacher; and, of course, Samuel Foote,Esq., rejects the proposal with disdain.
One more must be mentioned: “The Methodist. A Poem. By the Author of the Powers of the Pen, and the Curate. London, 1766.” (4to.pp.54.) Some parts of this impious publication are obscene, and attribute to Whitefield behaviour of the most infamous and impure description. The general purport of it is to describe the devil making a tour of discovery, to find some one to manage his affairs on earth, so that he himself might have leisure to attend to his government in hell. With this object in view,
“he searched, without avail,Each meeting, dungeon, court, and jail,Each mart of villainy, where vicePresides, and virtue bears no price.”
“he searched, without avail,Each meeting, dungeon, court, and jail,Each mart of villainy, where vicePresides, and virtue bears no price.”
“he searched, without avail,
Each meeting, dungeon, court, and jail,
Each mart of villainy, where vice
Presides, and virtue bears no price.”
But nowhere could he find an agent suited to his mind, tillhe got to Tottenham Court Road chapel, where he discovered Whitefield. For the sake of gold, Whitefield became his terrestrial viceroy, and swore fealty to him. One of the devil’s requirements was, that, because what Whitefielddidwas contrary to what hesaid, his eyes ought to look different ways; and, accordingly, they were twisted. Describing Whitefield’s sermons, the writer says:—
“He knows hisMaster’srealm so well,His sermons are amapof hell,AnOlliomade of conflagration,Ofgulphsof brimstone, anddamnation,Eternal torments,furnace,worm,Hell-fire, awhirlwind, and astorm.”
“He knows hisMaster’srealm so well,His sermons are amapof hell,AnOlliomade of conflagration,Ofgulphsof brimstone, anddamnation,Eternal torments,furnace,worm,Hell-fire, awhirlwind, and astorm.”
“He knows hisMaster’srealm so well,
His sermons are amapof hell,
AnOlliomade of conflagration,
Ofgulphsof brimstone, anddamnation,
Eternal torments,furnace,worm,
Hell-fire, awhirlwind, and astorm.”
An apology is almost needed for the insertion of such profanity as this, and yet, without it, it is impossible to convey to the reader an adequate idea of the ridicule and odium cast upon dying Whitefield. Vile as are the extracts given, much viler remain unquoted.
Whitefield concluded the year 1766 by writing one of his characteristic letters to Thomas Powys,Esq., who was entertaining, at his mansion in Shropshire, during Christmastide, theRev.Messrs.Venn, Ryland,Dr.Conyers, and Powley, vicar ofDewsbury.555
“At my Tottenham Court Bethel,“Six in the Morning, December 30, 1766.“My very dear Sir,—The Christmas holiday season has prevented me sending an immediate answer to your last kind letter. The love therein expressed shall be returned, by praying for the writer’s whole self, and the honourable, Christian, and ministerial circle with which you are at present happily surrounded.Four Methodist parsons!Honourable title! so long as it is attended with the cross. When fashionable, we will drop it.Four Methodist parsons!Enough, when Jesus says, ‘Loose them and let them go,’ to set a whole kingdom on fire for God. I wish them prosperity in the name of the Lord.“To-morrow, God willing, and on Thursday also, with many hundreds more, I intend to take the sacrament upon it, that I will begin to be a Christian. Though I long to go to heaven, to see my glorious Master, what a poor figure shall I make, among saints, confessors, and martyrs, without some deeper signatures of His divine impress—without more scars of Christian honour!“Our truly noble mother in Israel is come to London full of them.Crescit sub pondere virtus.Happy they who have the honour of her acquaintance! Highly honoured are the ministers, who have the honour of preaching for and serving her!“O this single eye,—this disinterested spirit,—this freedom from worldly hopes and worldly fears,—this flaming zeal,—this daring to be singularly good,—this holy ambition to lead the van! O, it is, what? a heaven upon earth! O for a plerophory of faith! to be filled with the Holy Ghost! This is the grand point. All our lukewarmness, all our timidity, all our backwardness to do good, to spend and be spent for God,—all is owing to our want of more of that faith, which is the inward, heartfelt, self-evident demonstration of things not seen.“But whither am I going? Pardon me, good sir. I keep you from better company. Praying that all of you (if you live to be fifty-two) may not be such dwarfs in the Divine life as I am, I hasten to subscribe myself,etc.,“George Whitefield.”
“At my Tottenham Court Bethel,
“Six in the Morning, December 30, 1766.
“My very dear Sir,—The Christmas holiday season has prevented me sending an immediate answer to your last kind letter. The love therein expressed shall be returned, by praying for the writer’s whole self, and the honourable, Christian, and ministerial circle with which you are at present happily surrounded.Four Methodist parsons!Honourable title! so long as it is attended with the cross. When fashionable, we will drop it.Four Methodist parsons!Enough, when Jesus says, ‘Loose them and let them go,’ to set a whole kingdom on fire for God. I wish them prosperity in the name of the Lord.
“To-morrow, God willing, and on Thursday also, with many hundreds more, I intend to take the sacrament upon it, that I will begin to be a Christian. Though I long to go to heaven, to see my glorious Master, what a poor figure shall I make, among saints, confessors, and martyrs, without some deeper signatures of His divine impress—without more scars of Christian honour!
“Our truly noble mother in Israel is come to London full of them.Crescit sub pondere virtus.Happy they who have the honour of her acquaintance! Highly honoured are the ministers, who have the honour of preaching for and serving her!
“O this single eye,—this disinterested spirit,—this freedom from worldly hopes and worldly fears,—this flaming zeal,—this daring to be singularly good,—this holy ambition to lead the van! O, it is, what? a heaven upon earth! O for a plerophory of faith! to be filled with the Holy Ghost! This is the grand point. All our lukewarmness, all our timidity, all our backwardness to do good, to spend and be spent for God,—all is owing to our want of more of that faith, which is the inward, heartfelt, self-evident demonstration of things not seen.
“But whither am I going? Pardon me, good sir. I keep you from better company. Praying that all of you (if you live to be fifty-two) may not be such dwarfs in the Divine life as I am, I hasten to subscribe myself,etc.,
“George Whitefield.”
Whitefield began the year 1767 by writing a preface to the third edition of the collected works of Bunyan, published in two large folio volumes (pp.856 and 882), admirably printed, and containing curious and well-executed illustrations. The title was, “The Works of that Eminent Servant of Christ,Mr.John Bunyan, Minister of the Gospel, and formerly Pastor of a Congregation at Bedford. With Copperplates, adapted to the Pilgrim’s Progress, the Holy War,etc., in Two Volumes. The Third Edition. To which are now added The Divine Emblems, and several other Pieces, which were never printed in any former Collection, with a Recommendatory Preface by the Reverend George Whitefield,M.A., Chaplain to the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon. London: printed for W. Johnston, in Ludgate Street; and E. and C. Dilly, in the Poultry, near the Mansion House.1767.”556
Whitefield’s preface is dated January 3, 1767. Two extracts from it must suffice. In reference to the fact thatBunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress was written in Bedford Gaol, Whitefield remarks:—
“Ministers never write or preach so well as when under the cross. The Spirit of Christ and of glory then rests upon them. It was this, no doubt, that made the Puritans of the last century such burning and shining lights. When cast out by the black Bartholomew Act, and driven from their respective charges to preach in barns and fields, in the highways and hedges, they, in an especial manner, wrote and preached as men having authority. Though dead, by their writings they yet speak. A peculiar unction attends them to this very hour. For these thirty years past, I have remarked that the more true and vital religion has revived, either at home or abroad, the more the good old Puritanical writings, or the authors of a like stamp, who lived and died in the communion of the Church of England, have been called for.”
“Ministers never write or preach so well as when under the cross. The Spirit of Christ and of glory then rests upon them. It was this, no doubt, that made the Puritans of the last century such burning and shining lights. When cast out by the black Bartholomew Act, and driven from their respective charges to preach in barns and fields, in the highways and hedges, they, in an especial manner, wrote and preached as men having authority. Though dead, by their writings they yet speak. A peculiar unction attends them to this very hour. For these thirty years past, I have remarked that the more true and vital religion has revived, either at home or abroad, the more the good old Puritanical writings, or the authors of a like stamp, who lived and died in the communion of the Church of England, have been called for.”
Then again, with reference to what, throughout the whole of his career, was one of Whitefield’s favourite virtues, namely, catholicity of spirit, he writes:—
“I must own that what more particularly endearsMr.Bunyan to my heart is this, he was of a catholic spirit. The want ofwater adult baptism, with this man of God, was no bar to outward Christian communion. And I am persuaded, that if, like him, we were more deeply and experimentally baptized into the benign and gracious influences of the blessed Spirit, we should be less baptized into the waters of strife, about circumstantials and non-essentials. We should have but one grand, laudable, disinterested strife, namely, who should live, preach, and exalt the ever-loving, altogether lovely Jesus most.”
“I must own that what more particularly endearsMr.Bunyan to my heart is this, he was of a catholic spirit. The want ofwater adult baptism, with this man of God, was no bar to outward Christian communion. And I am persuaded, that if, like him, we were more deeply and experimentally baptized into the benign and gracious influences of the blessed Spirit, we should be less baptized into the waters of strife, about circumstantials and non-essentials. We should have but one grand, laudable, disinterested strife, namely, who should live, preach, and exalt the ever-loving, altogether lovely Jesus most.”
Just at this period, Whitefield took under his patronage a young man, who, if not a tinker, was quite as poor as the “immortal dreamer.” Cornelius Winter, the son of a shoemaker, and bred in a workhouse, was now in the twenty-fifth year of his age. For twelve long years, he had been the drudge and the butt of a drunken brute in Bunhill Row. The poor workhouse lad had been converted by attending Whitefield’s Tabernacle, and had become a member of its Society. During the last year or two, he had been an itinerant preacher, and now he applied to Whitefield to send him, as a minister, to America. Whitefield replied:—
“London,January 29, 1767.“DearMr.Winter,—Your letter met with proper acceptance. The first thing to be done now is to get some knowledge of the Latin language. We can talk of the method to be pursued, at your return to London.Mr.Green557would make a suitable master. No time should be lost. One would hope that the various humiliations you have met with were intended as preparations for future exaltations. The greatest preferment under heaven is to be an able, painful, faithful, successful, suffering, cast-out minister of the New Testament. That this may be your happy lot is the hearty prayer of yours,etc.,“George Whitefield.”558
“London,January 29, 1767.
“DearMr.Winter,—Your letter met with proper acceptance. The first thing to be done now is to get some knowledge of the Latin language. We can talk of the method to be pursued, at your return to London.Mr.Green557would make a suitable master. No time should be lost. One would hope that the various humiliations you have met with were intended as preparations for future exaltations. The greatest preferment under heaven is to be an able, painful, faithful, successful, suffering, cast-out minister of the New Testament. That this may be your happy lot is the hearty prayer of yours,etc.,
“George Whitefield.”558
On coming to London, Cornelius Winter waited upon Whitefield. He writes:—
“Mr.Whitefield gave me a mild reception. The interview was short. He said he should expect me to preach in the Tabernacle next morning at six o’clock, and he appointed a time when I should come to him again. I heard him in the evening. He announced that a stranger, recommended byMr.Berridge, would preach on the morrow morning. I had little rest that night, and prayed, rather than studied for the service.”
“Mr.Whitefield gave me a mild reception. The interview was short. He said he should expect me to preach in the Tabernacle next morning at six o’clock, and he appointed a time when I should come to him again. I heard him in the evening. He announced that a stranger, recommended byMr.Berridge, would preach on the morrow morning. I had little rest that night, and prayed, rather than studied for the service.”
This was in February, 1767. The result was, Whitefield desired Winter to procure testimonials from the places he had visited, and also to write him an account of his conversion. Winter says:—
“For several days,Mr.Whitefield kept me in suspense. At last, he set me upon a little business, and told me he should expect me to preach two mornings in the week. He appointed me particular times when I was to call upon him; and, besides sending me upon errands, of which he always had a great number, he set me to transcribe some of his manuscripts. He shewed himself much dissatisfied with my writing and orthography; but he desired me to take a lodging near the chapel, where he could conveniently send for me; gave me a little money to defray my expenses; and, by degrees, brought me into a capacity to be useful to him. Soon after, he proposed my going toMr.Green’s for a few hours in the day, to be initiated into the Latin grammar; but he interrupted the design by requiring a close attention to his own business, and the large demand he made of my pulpit services. A single quarter of a year closed my school exercise, in which I hardly gained knowledge enough to declineMusa. It was plainMr.Whitefield did not intend to promote my literary improvement. Indeed, he said, Latin was of little or no use, and that they who wish to enter upon it late in life, had better endeavour to acquire a good knowledge of their mother tongue. Having recently attendedMr.Wesley’s conference, and having heard him speak to the same effect, he was confirmed in this sentiment, and discouraged my perseverance.“Perhaps it would be putting the picture of so valuable a man, asMr.Whitefield was, into too deep a shade, to say that he was not a fit person for a young man in humble circumstances to be connected with. He was not satisfied with deficient abilities, but he did not sufficiently encourage the use of the lamp for their improvement. The attention of a youth, designed for the ministry, was too much diverted from the main object, and devoted too much to objects comparatively trifling. I was considered as much the steward of his house as his assistant in the ministry. While I was kept in bay and at anchor, many, piloted by him, set sail, and I at last knew not whether I was to indulge a hope for America or not. My fidelity being proved, I became one of the family, slept in the room of my honoured patron, and had the privilege to sit at his table. I judged I was where I should be, and was determined never to flinch from the path of duty, nor intentionally to grieve the man, who had many burdens upon him, and for whom I could have laid down mylife.”559
“For several days,Mr.Whitefield kept me in suspense. At last, he set me upon a little business, and told me he should expect me to preach two mornings in the week. He appointed me particular times when I was to call upon him; and, besides sending me upon errands, of which he always had a great number, he set me to transcribe some of his manuscripts. He shewed himself much dissatisfied with my writing and orthography; but he desired me to take a lodging near the chapel, where he could conveniently send for me; gave me a little money to defray my expenses; and, by degrees, brought me into a capacity to be useful to him. Soon after, he proposed my going toMr.Green’s for a few hours in the day, to be initiated into the Latin grammar; but he interrupted the design by requiring a close attention to his own business, and the large demand he made of my pulpit services. A single quarter of a year closed my school exercise, in which I hardly gained knowledge enough to declineMusa. It was plainMr.Whitefield did not intend to promote my literary improvement. Indeed, he said, Latin was of little or no use, and that they who wish to enter upon it late in life, had better endeavour to acquire a good knowledge of their mother tongue. Having recently attendedMr.Wesley’s conference, and having heard him speak to the same effect, he was confirmed in this sentiment, and discouraged my perseverance.
“Perhaps it would be putting the picture of so valuable a man, asMr.Whitefield was, into too deep a shade, to say that he was not a fit person for a young man in humble circumstances to be connected with. He was not satisfied with deficient abilities, but he did not sufficiently encourage the use of the lamp for their improvement. The attention of a youth, designed for the ministry, was too much diverted from the main object, and devoted too much to objects comparatively trifling. I was considered as much the steward of his house as his assistant in the ministry. While I was kept in bay and at anchor, many, piloted by him, set sail, and I at last knew not whether I was to indulge a hope for America or not. My fidelity being proved, I became one of the family, slept in the room of my honoured patron, and had the privilege to sit at his table. I judged I was where I should be, and was determined never to flinch from the path of duty, nor intentionally to grieve the man, who had many burdens upon him, and for whom I could have laid down mylife.”559
Considering the circumstances of Cornelius Winter, there is a little unseemly grumbling in the foregoing extract; but let it pass. The quondam workhouse boy seems to have been an inmate of Whitefield’s house for about eighteen months; and as he is the only one,thus privileged, who has left behind him any account of Whitefield’s domestic habits and public life, this is a fitting place to introduce what he says concerning the patron to whom he owed so much.
In reference to the composition of sermons, the mode of conducting public services, and action in the pulpit, Winter writes:—
“The timeMr.Whitefield set apart for preparations for the pulpit, during my connection with him, was not distinguished from the time he appropriated to other business. If he wanted to write a pamphlet, he was closeted; nor would he allow access to him, except on an emergency, while he was engaged in the work. But I never knew him engaged in the composition of a sermon, until he was on board ship, when he employed himself partly in the composition of sermons, and partly in reading the history of England. He had formed a design of writing the history of Methodism, but never entered upon it. He was never more in retirement on a Saturday than on another day; nor sequestered at any particular time for a period longer than he used for his ordinary devotions. I never met with anything like the skeleton of a sermon among his papers, with which I was permitted to be familiar, and I believe he knew nothing of such a kind of exercise as the planning of a sermon.“Usually, for an hour or two before he entered the pulpit, he claimed retirement; and, on the Sabbath morning especially, he was accustomed to have Clarke’s Bible, Matthew Henry’s Comment, and Cruden’s Concordancewithin his reach. His frame at that time was more than ordinarily devotional; I say more than ordinarily, because, though there was a vast vein of pleasantry usually in him, the intervals of conversation then appeared to be filled up with private ejaculation and with praise.“His rest was much interrupted, and he often said at the close of an address, ‘I got this sermon when most of you were fast asleep.’ He made very minute observations; and, in one way or another, the occurrences of the week, or of the day, furnished him with matter for the pulpit. When an extraordinary trial was going on, he would be present, and I have known him, at the close of a sermon, avail himself of the formality of the judge putting on the black cap to pronounce sentence. With his eyes full of tears, and his heart almost too big to admit of speech, he would say, after a momentary pause, ‘I am now going to put on my condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it. I must pronounce sentence upon thee.’ And then, in a strain of tremendous eloquence, he would recite our Lord’s words, ‘Depart, ye cursed.’ It was only by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and his tears, that the effect could be conceived.“My intimate knowledge of him enables me to acquit him of the charge of affectation. He always appeared to enter the pulpit with a countenance that indicated he had something of importance to divulge, and was anxious for the effect of the communication. His gravity on his descent was the same. As soon as he was seated in his chair, he usually vomited a considerable quantity of blood.“He was averse to much singing after preaching, supposing it diverted attention from the subject of his sermon. Nothing awkward, nothing careless appeared about him in the pulpit. Whether he frowned or smiled, whether he looked grave or placid, it was nature acting in him. Professed orators might object to his hands being lifted up too high, and it is to be lamented that in that attitude, rather than in any other, he is represented in print. His own reflection upon that picture was, when it was first put into his hands, ‘Sure I do not look such a sour creature as this sets me forth. If I thought I did, I should hate myself.’ The attitude was very transient, and always accompanied by expressions which would justify it. He sometimes had occasion to speak of Peter going out and weeping bitterly; and, then, he had a fold of his gown at command, which he put before his face with as much gracefulness as familiarity.“I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping, and I 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 souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught I know, you are hearing your last sermon!’ Sometimes he wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome, that nature required some little time to compose itself.“When he treated upon the sufferings of our Saviour, it was with great pathos. As though Gethsemane were in sight, he would cry, stretching out his hand, ‘Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!’ And, as though it were no difficult matter to catch the sound ofthe Saviour praying, he would exclaim, ‘Hark! Hark! Do you not hear?’ This frequently occurred; but though we often knew what was coming, it was as new to us as if we had never heard it before.“The beautiful apostrophe, of the prophet Jeremiah, ‘O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!’ was very subservient to him, and was never used impertinently. He abounded with anecdotes, which, though not always recited verbatim, were very just as to the matter of them. On the Sabbath morning, he dealt far more in the explanatory and doctrinal mode of preaching, than, perhaps, at any other time; and occasionally made a little, but by no means improper, shew of learning. If he had read upon astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He had his charms for the learned as well as for the unlearned. The peer and the peasant alike went away satisfied.“This was his work, in London, at one period of his life. After administering the Lord’s supper to several hundred communicants at half-past six o’clock in the morning, he, in the forenoon, read the Liturgy, and preached full an hour. In the afternoon, he again read prayers and preached. At half-past five, he preached again, and, afterwards, addressed a large Society. At the Society meeting, widows, married people, young men, and spinsters were placed separately in the area of the Tabernacle. Hundreds used to stay, and receive from him, in a colloquial style, various exhortations, comprised in short sentences, and suitable to their various stations.“Perhaps he never preached greater sermons than at six in the morning; for at that hour he did preach, winter and summer, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. At these times, his congregations were of the select description. Young men received admonitions similar to what were given in the Society meetings. ‘Beware of being golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and copper masters,’ was one of the cautions I remember being given. His style was now colloquial, with little use of motion; pertinent expositions, with suitable remarks; and all comprehended within the hour.“Christian experience principally was the subject of his Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening lectures; when, frequently having funeral sermons to preach, the character and experience of the dead helped to elucidate the subject.“Mr.Whitefield adopted the custom of the inhabitants of New England, in their best days, of beginning the Sabbath at six o’clock on Saturday evenings. The custom could not be observed by many, but it was convenient to a few. Now ministers of every description found a peculiar pleasure in relaxing their minds from the fatigues of study. It was also an opportunity peculiarly suited to apprentices and journeymen in some businesses, which allowed of their leaving work sooner than on other days, and of availing themselves of, at least, the sermon.“The peculiar talents he possessed can be but faintly guessed from his sermons in print. The eighteen, taken in shorthand, and faithfully transcribed byMr.Gurney, have been supposed to do discredit to his memory, and, therefore, they were suppressed; but much of his genuine preachingmay be collected from them. They were far from being the best specimens that might have been produced. He preached many of them when, in fact, he was almost incapable of preaching at all. His constitution, long before they were taken, had received its shock, and all of them, except the two last, were the productions of a Wednesday evening, when, by the business of the day, he was fatigued and worn out. He was then like an ascending Elijah, and many were eager to catch his dropping mantle. In the sermons referred to, there are many jewels, though not connected in proper order. Whatever invidious remarks may be made upon his written discourses, they cannot invalidate his preaching.Mr.Toplady called him the prince of preachers, and with good reason, for none in our day preached with the like effect.”
“The timeMr.Whitefield set apart for preparations for the pulpit, during my connection with him, was not distinguished from the time he appropriated to other business. If he wanted to write a pamphlet, he was closeted; nor would he allow access to him, except on an emergency, while he was engaged in the work. But I never knew him engaged in the composition of a sermon, until he was on board ship, when he employed himself partly in the composition of sermons, and partly in reading the history of England. He had formed a design of writing the history of Methodism, but never entered upon it. He was never more in retirement on a Saturday than on another day; nor sequestered at any particular time for a period longer than he used for his ordinary devotions. I never met with anything like the skeleton of a sermon among his papers, with which I was permitted to be familiar, and I believe he knew nothing of such a kind of exercise as the planning of a sermon.
“Usually, for an hour or two before he entered the pulpit, he claimed retirement; and, on the Sabbath morning especially, he was accustomed to have Clarke’s Bible, Matthew Henry’s Comment, and Cruden’s Concordancewithin his reach. His frame at that time was more than ordinarily devotional; I say more than ordinarily, because, though there was a vast vein of pleasantry usually in him, the intervals of conversation then appeared to be filled up with private ejaculation and with praise.
“His rest was much interrupted, and he often said at the close of an address, ‘I got this sermon when most of you were fast asleep.’ He made very minute observations; and, in one way or another, the occurrences of the week, or of the day, furnished him with matter for the pulpit. When an extraordinary trial was going on, he would be present, and I have known him, at the close of a sermon, avail himself of the formality of the judge putting on the black cap to pronounce sentence. With his eyes full of tears, and his heart almost too big to admit of speech, he would say, after a momentary pause, ‘I am now going to put on my condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it. I must pronounce sentence upon thee.’ And then, in a strain of tremendous eloquence, he would recite our Lord’s words, ‘Depart, ye cursed.’ It was only by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and his tears, that the effect could be conceived.
“My intimate knowledge of him enables me to acquit him of the charge of affectation. He always appeared to enter the pulpit with a countenance that indicated he had something of importance to divulge, and was anxious for the effect of the communication. His gravity on his descent was the same. As soon as he was seated in his chair, he usually vomited a considerable quantity of blood.
“He was averse to much singing after preaching, supposing it diverted attention from the subject of his sermon. Nothing awkward, nothing careless appeared about him in the pulpit. Whether he frowned or smiled, whether he looked grave or placid, it was nature acting in him. Professed orators might object to his hands being lifted up too high, and it is to be lamented that in that attitude, rather than in any other, he is represented in print. His own reflection upon that picture was, when it was first put into his hands, ‘Sure I do not look such a sour creature as this sets me forth. If I thought I did, I should hate myself.’ The attitude was very transient, and always accompanied by expressions which would justify it. He sometimes had occasion to speak of Peter going out and weeping bitterly; and, then, he had a fold of his gown at command, which he put before his face with as much gracefulness as familiarity.
“I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping, and I 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 souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught I know, you are hearing your last sermon!’ Sometimes he wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome, that nature required some little time to compose itself.
“When he treated upon the sufferings of our Saviour, it was with great pathos. As though Gethsemane were in sight, he would cry, stretching out his hand, ‘Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!’ And, as though it were no difficult matter to catch the sound ofthe Saviour praying, he would exclaim, ‘Hark! Hark! Do you not hear?’ This frequently occurred; but though we often knew what was coming, it was as new to us as if we had never heard it before.
“The beautiful apostrophe, of the prophet Jeremiah, ‘O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!’ was very subservient to him, and was never used impertinently. He abounded with anecdotes, which, though not always recited verbatim, were very just as to the matter of them. On the Sabbath morning, he dealt far more in the explanatory and doctrinal mode of preaching, than, perhaps, at any other time; and occasionally made a little, but by no means improper, shew of learning. If he had read upon astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He had his charms for the learned as well as for the unlearned. The peer and the peasant alike went away satisfied.
“This was his work, in London, at one period of his life. After administering the Lord’s supper to several hundred communicants at half-past six o’clock in the morning, he, in the forenoon, read the Liturgy, and preached full an hour. In the afternoon, he again read prayers and preached. At half-past five, he preached again, and, afterwards, addressed a large Society. At the Society meeting, widows, married people, young men, and spinsters were placed separately in the area of the Tabernacle. Hundreds used to stay, and receive from him, in a colloquial style, various exhortations, comprised in short sentences, and suitable to their various stations.
“Perhaps he never preached greater sermons than at six in the morning; for at that hour he did preach, winter and summer, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. At these times, his congregations were of the select description. Young men received admonitions similar to what were given in the Society meetings. ‘Beware of being golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and copper masters,’ was one of the cautions I remember being given. His style was now colloquial, with little use of motion; pertinent expositions, with suitable remarks; and all comprehended within the hour.
“Christian experience principally was the subject of his Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening lectures; when, frequently having funeral sermons to preach, the character and experience of the dead helped to elucidate the subject.
“Mr.Whitefield adopted the custom of the inhabitants of New England, in their best days, of beginning the Sabbath at six o’clock on Saturday evenings. The custom could not be observed by many, but it was convenient to a few. Now ministers of every description found a peculiar pleasure in relaxing their minds from the fatigues of study. It was also an opportunity peculiarly suited to apprentices and journeymen in some businesses, which allowed of their leaving work sooner than on other days, and of availing themselves of, at least, the sermon.
“The peculiar talents he possessed can be but faintly guessed from his sermons in print. The eighteen, taken in shorthand, and faithfully transcribed byMr.Gurney, have been supposed to do discredit to his memory, and, therefore, they were suppressed; but much of his genuine preachingmay be collected from them. They were far from being the best specimens that might have been produced. He preached many of them when, in fact, he was almost incapable of preaching at all. His constitution, long before they were taken, had received its shock, and all of them, except the two last, were the productions of a Wednesday evening, when, by the business of the day, he was fatigued and worn out. He was then like an ascending Elijah, and many were eager to catch his dropping mantle. In the sermons referred to, there are many jewels, though not connected in proper order. Whatever invidious remarks may be made upon his written discourses, they cannot invalidate his preaching.Mr.Toplady called him the prince of preachers, and with good reason, for none in our day preached with the like effect.”
So much in reference to Whitefield as a preacher, to which may be added another fact stated by Cornelius Winter, namely, that, excepting Andrew Kinsman, most of Whitefield’s substitutes at the Tabernacle and at Tottenham Court chapel were very inferior preachers to himself, and that, in consequence, the congregations, during his absence, were greatly diminished. Notwithstanding this, however, “conversions were veryfrequent.”560
Winter’s portraiture of Whitefield will not be perfect without the addition of what he says respecting the renowned preacher’s private character and habits. He continues:—
“Mr.Whitefield was accessible but to few. He was cautious in admitting people to him. He would never be surprised into a conversation. You could not knock at his door and be allowed to enter at any time. ‘Who is it?’ ‘What is his business?’ and such-like enquiries usually preceded admission; and, if admission were granted, it was thus, ‘Come to-morrow morning at six o’clock, perhaps five, or immediately after preaching. If later, I cannot see you.’“A person consulting him upon going into the ministry, might expect to be treated with severity, if not well recommended, or if he had not something about him particularly engaging. One man, on saying, in answer to his enquiry, that he was a tailor, was dismissed with, ‘Go to rag-fair, and buy old clothes.’ Another, who was admitted to preach in the vestry one winter’s morning at six o’clock, took for his text, ‘These that have turned the world upside down have come hither also.’ ‘That man shall come here no more,’ saidMr.Whitefield. ‘If God had called him to preach, he would have furnished him with a proper text.’ A letter well written, as to style, orthography, and decency, would prepossess him much in favour of a person.“He used too much severity to young people, and required too much from them. He connected circumstances too humiliating with publicservices, in a young man with whom he could take liberty; urging that it was necessary as a curb to the vanity of human nature, and referred to the young Roman orators, who, after being exalted by applauses, were sent upon the most trifling errands. His maxim was, if you love me, you will serve me disinterestedly; hence he settled no certain income, or a very slender one, upon his dependants, many of whom were sycophants, and, while they professed to serve him, underhandedly served themselves. Through this defect, his charity in Georgia was materially injured, owing to the wrong conduct of some who insinuated themselves into his favour by humouring his weakness, and letting him act and speak without contradiction. He was impatient of contradiction, but this is a fault to be charged upon almost all great people.“No time was to be wasted; and his expectations generally went before the ability of his servants to perform his commands. He was very exact to the time appointed for his stated meals. A few minutes’ delay would be considered a great fault. He was irritable, but soon appeased. Not being patient enough, one day, to receive a reason for his being disappointed, he hurt the mind of one who was studious to please; but, on reflection, he burst into tears, saying, ‘I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and everybody will be tired of me.’ He never commanded haughtily, and always took care to applaud when a person did right. He never indulged parties at his table; but a select few might now and then breakfast with him, dine with him on a Sunday, or sup with him on a Wednesday night. In the last-mentioned indulgence, he was scrupulously exact to break up in time. In the height of a conversation, I have known him abruptly say, ‘But we forget ourselves;’ and, rising from his seat and advancing to the door, would add, ‘Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good folks to be at home.’“Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must be spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was unjustly charged with being given to appetite. His table was never spread with variety. A cow-heel was his favourite dish, and I have known him cheerfully say, ‘How surprised would the world be, if they were to peep uponDr.Squintum, and see a cow-heel only upon his table.’ He was extremely neat in his person, and in everything about him. Not a paper must be out of place, or be put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture, likewise, must be in its proper position before we retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if he thought his gloves were not where they ought to be. There was no rest after four in the morning, nor sitting up after ten in the evening.“He never made a purchase without paying the money immediately. He was truly generous, and seldom denied relief. More was expected from him than was meet. He was tenacious in his friendship. He felt sensibly when he was deserted, and would remark, ‘The world and the church ring changes.’ He dreaded the thought of outliving his usefulness. He often dined among his friends; and usually connected a comprehensive prayer with his thanksgiving when the table was dismissed, in which he noticed particular cases relative to the family. He never protracted hisvisit long after dinner. He often appeared tired of popularity; and said, he almost envied the man who could take his choice of food at an eating-house, and pass unnoticed. He apprehended he should not glorify God in his death by any remarkable testimony; and he desired to die suddenly.”
“Mr.Whitefield was accessible but to few. He was cautious in admitting people to him. He would never be surprised into a conversation. You could not knock at his door and be allowed to enter at any time. ‘Who is it?’ ‘What is his business?’ and such-like enquiries usually preceded admission; and, if admission were granted, it was thus, ‘Come to-morrow morning at six o’clock, perhaps five, or immediately after preaching. If later, I cannot see you.’
“A person consulting him upon going into the ministry, might expect to be treated with severity, if not well recommended, or if he had not something about him particularly engaging. One man, on saying, in answer to his enquiry, that he was a tailor, was dismissed with, ‘Go to rag-fair, and buy old clothes.’ Another, who was admitted to preach in the vestry one winter’s morning at six o’clock, took for his text, ‘These that have turned the world upside down have come hither also.’ ‘That man shall come here no more,’ saidMr.Whitefield. ‘If God had called him to preach, he would have furnished him with a proper text.’ A letter well written, as to style, orthography, and decency, would prepossess him much in favour of a person.
“He used too much severity to young people, and required too much from them. He connected circumstances too humiliating with publicservices, in a young man with whom he could take liberty; urging that it was necessary as a curb to the vanity of human nature, and referred to the young Roman orators, who, after being exalted by applauses, were sent upon the most trifling errands. His maxim was, if you love me, you will serve me disinterestedly; hence he settled no certain income, or a very slender one, upon his dependants, many of whom were sycophants, and, while they professed to serve him, underhandedly served themselves. Through this defect, his charity in Georgia was materially injured, owing to the wrong conduct of some who insinuated themselves into his favour by humouring his weakness, and letting him act and speak without contradiction. He was impatient of contradiction, but this is a fault to be charged upon almost all great people.
“No time was to be wasted; and his expectations generally went before the ability of his servants to perform his commands. He was very exact to the time appointed for his stated meals. A few minutes’ delay would be considered a great fault. He was irritable, but soon appeased. Not being patient enough, one day, to receive a reason for his being disappointed, he hurt the mind of one who was studious to please; but, on reflection, he burst into tears, saying, ‘I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and everybody will be tired of me.’ He never commanded haughtily, and always took care to applaud when a person did right. He never indulged parties at his table; but a select few might now and then breakfast with him, dine with him on a Sunday, or sup with him on a Wednesday night. In the last-mentioned indulgence, he was scrupulously exact to break up in time. In the height of a conversation, I have known him abruptly say, ‘But we forget ourselves;’ and, rising from his seat and advancing to the door, would add, ‘Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good folks to be at home.’
“Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must be spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was unjustly charged with being given to appetite. His table was never spread with variety. A cow-heel was his favourite dish, and I have known him cheerfully say, ‘How surprised would the world be, if they were to peep uponDr.Squintum, and see a cow-heel only upon his table.’ He was extremely neat in his person, and in everything about him. Not a paper must be out of place, or be put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture, likewise, must be in its proper position before we retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if he thought his gloves were not where they ought to be. There was no rest after four in the morning, nor sitting up after ten in the evening.
“He never made a purchase without paying the money immediately. He was truly generous, and seldom denied relief. More was expected from him than was meet. He was tenacious in his friendship. He felt sensibly when he was deserted, and would remark, ‘The world and the church ring changes.’ He dreaded the thought of outliving his usefulness. He often dined among his friends; and usually connected a comprehensive prayer with his thanksgiving when the table was dismissed, in which he noticed particular cases relative to the family. He never protracted hisvisit long after dinner. He often appeared tired of popularity; and said, he almost envied the man who could take his choice of food at an eating-house, and pass unnoticed. He apprehended he should not glorify God in his death by any remarkable testimony; and he desired to die suddenly.”
Cornelius Winter’s critique on Whitefield is unartistic, but it is not, on that account, the less valuable. Facts are not lost among words, as is the case too often, in the philosophic and eloquent eulogies, or censures, written by men who have a greater wish to display their own cleverness than to pourtray the life and character of the person on whom they exercise their skill. In some of his statements, Winter may have been, unconsciously to himself, somewhat swayed by his relationship to Whitefield; but, generally speaking, his description of Whitefield’s preaching, and of his spirit and habits in domestic life, is the most exact that has ever yet been published. The foregoing extracts may be long, but they were written by a man who, during Whitefield’s last two years in England, read prayers in Whitefield’s Tottenham Court Road chapel, assisted in Whitefield’s study, sat at Whitefield’s table, and occupied a bed in the same room as Whitefield did. The man knew his master, and wrote with the utmost frankness concerning him.
It is now time to return to Whitefield’s history. Little is known concerning him during the first three months of 1767. They seem, however, to have been chiefly spent in London, where his “feeble hands were full ofwork.”561
The Orphan House in Georgia still occupied his attention. He was anxious for “Bethesda to put on its collegedress.”562The warm friendship between him and Wesley yet continued. On Ash-Wednesday, March 4, Wesley wrote, “I dined at a friend’s withMr.Whitefield, still breathing nothing butlove.”563On the20thof the same month, the Countess of Huntingdon, at Brighton, had all her chaplains around her, and Whitefield re-opened her ladyship’s enlarged chapel, in that town, by preaching, to a crowded congregation, from “Grow in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord andSaviour Jesus Christ: to Him be glory both now and for ever.Amen.”564
In April, Whitefield set out for Norwich, and visited Rowland Hill and his Society, at Cambridge, on hisway.565A month later, he was introduced to a young clergyman, who, afterwards, became famous. Richard de Courcy was the descendant of an ancient and respectable family in Ireland, and was distantly related to Lord Kinsale. He had been educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and, at the age of twenty-three, had received deacon’s orders, and become curate of theRev.Walter Shirley. Being invited to preach inSt.Andrew’s Church, Dublin, his fame brought a crowded congregation. Whilst the prayers were being read, and because the young preacher was a reputed Methodist, the pulpit was seized by order of the metropolitan,Dr.Arthur Smythe, and De Courcy was not allowed to enter it. Upon this, he immediately left the church; the congregation followed him; and, mounting a tombstone, he at once commenced preaching in the open air. This was a crime too great to be forgiven. The bishop refused to ordain him priest. Shirley wrote to the Countess of Huntingdon, and, at her request, De Courcy came to England, expecting, by the help of her ladyship, to obtain ordination by an English bishop. On arriving in London, he immediately called on Whitefield at the Tabernacle House. Whitefield being told who he was, took off his cap, and bending towards De Courcy, and, at the same time placing his hand on the deep scar in his head, said, “Sir, this wound I got in your country for preaching Christ.” De Courcy was captivated, and became Whitefield’s guest, Cornelius Winter being charged to take care of him. The next day, which was Sunday, the young Hibernian preached in Tottenham Court Road chapel, and, by his sermon, laid the foundation of his future popularity. Whitefield and he became ardentfriends.566
About the middle of the month of May, Whitefield set out for the west of England and Wales. His progress willbe best told by extracts from his letters. On arriving at Rodborough, where his old assistant, Thomas Adams, lived and preached, he wrote toMr.Keen as follows:—
“Rodborough, May 13, 1767. My new horse failed the first night; but, through mercy, we got here last evening. I was regaled with the company of some simple-hearted, first-rate old Methodists, of near thirty years’ standing. God willing, I am to preach to-morrow morning, and to have a general sacrament on Friday evening. Perhaps, I may move after Sunday towards Wales; but, I fear, I shall be obliged to take post-horses. I care not, so that I can ride post to heaven. Hearty love to all who are posting thither, hoping myself to arrive first. This tabernacle often groans under the weight of my feeble labours. O when shall I be unclothed! When, O my God, shall I be clothed upon! But I am a coward, and want to be housed before the storm.”
“Rodborough, May 13, 1767. My new horse failed the first night; but, through mercy, we got here last evening. I was regaled with the company of some simple-hearted, first-rate old Methodists, of near thirty years’ standing. God willing, I am to preach to-morrow morning, and to have a general sacrament on Friday evening. Perhaps, I may move after Sunday towards Wales; but, I fear, I shall be obliged to take post-horses. I care not, so that I can ride post to heaven. Hearty love to all who are posting thither, hoping myself to arrive first. This tabernacle often groans under the weight of my feeble labours. O when shall I be unclothed! When, O my God, shall I be clothed upon! But I am a coward, and want to be housed before the storm.”
A week after this, he reached Gloucester, where he spent several days, and wrote as follows:—
“Gloucester, May 20, 1767. We have had good seasons at Rodborough. I have been out twice in the fields. Lady Huntingdon has been wonderfully delighted. She and her company lay at Rodborough House. DearMr.Adams is about to be married to a good Christian nurse. He is sickly in body, but healthy in soul.”“Gloucester, May 21, 1767. I have preached twice in the open air. Thousands and thousands attended. I am about to preach here this morning, in my native city. On Sunday I hope to take to Rodborough wood again. Good Lady Huntingdon and her company were wonderfully delighted. They honoured dearMr.Adams’s house with their presence. He is but poorly, and wants a nurse. Perhaps, before next Sunday, he may be married to a simple-hearted, plain, good creature, who has waited upon him and the preachers near twenty years. She has no fortune, but is one who, I think, will take care of, and be obedient to him, for Christ’s sake.”“Gloucester, May 25, 1767. I am just setting out in a post-chaise for Haverfordwest; and I have therefore drawn upon you” (Mr.Keen) “for£20. This is expensive; but it is for One who has promised not to send us a warfare on our own charges. We had a most blessed season yesterday. Thousands and thousands heard, saw, and felt.Mr.Adams preached in the evening, on ‘The Lord is my portion, therefore will I trust in Him.’ A good text for a new-married man. I have advised him to preach next on these words, ‘The Lord’s portion is His people.’ He is now here.”“Haverfordwest, May 31, 1767, Sunday. I am just come from my field-throne. Thousands and thousands attended by eight in the morning. Life and light seemed to fly all around. On Tuesday, God willing, I am to preach at Woodstock; on Friday, at Pembroke; here again next Sunday; and then for England. Rooms are not so lofty or large, prospects not so pleasant, bedsteads not so easy, in these parts, as in someplaces in or near London; but all are good enough for young and old pilgrims who have got good breath. I have been pushing dear sickMr.Davies to go out and preach six miles off. He is gone finely mounted, and, I am persuaded, will return in high spirits. Who knows but preaching may be our grand catholicon again? This is the good, Methodistical, thirty-year-old medicine.”“Gloucester, June 10, 1767. Blessed be God, I am got on this side the Welsh mountains! Blessed be God, I have been on the other side! What a scene lastSunday!567What a cry for more of the bread of life! But I was quite worn down. I am now better than could be expected. To-morrow, God willing, my wife shall know what route I take. O when shall I begin to live to Jesus, as I would! I want to be a flame of fire.”
“Gloucester, May 20, 1767. We have had good seasons at Rodborough. I have been out twice in the fields. Lady Huntingdon has been wonderfully delighted. She and her company lay at Rodborough House. DearMr.Adams is about to be married to a good Christian nurse. He is sickly in body, but healthy in soul.”
“Gloucester, May 21, 1767. I have preached twice in the open air. Thousands and thousands attended. I am about to preach here this morning, in my native city. On Sunday I hope to take to Rodborough wood again. Good Lady Huntingdon and her company were wonderfully delighted. They honoured dearMr.Adams’s house with their presence. He is but poorly, and wants a nurse. Perhaps, before next Sunday, he may be married to a simple-hearted, plain, good creature, who has waited upon him and the preachers near twenty years. She has no fortune, but is one who, I think, will take care of, and be obedient to him, for Christ’s sake.”
“Gloucester, May 25, 1767. I am just setting out in a post-chaise for Haverfordwest; and I have therefore drawn upon you” (Mr.Keen) “for£20. This is expensive; but it is for One who has promised not to send us a warfare on our own charges. We had a most blessed season yesterday. Thousands and thousands heard, saw, and felt.Mr.Adams preached in the evening, on ‘The Lord is my portion, therefore will I trust in Him.’ A good text for a new-married man. I have advised him to preach next on these words, ‘The Lord’s portion is His people.’ He is now here.”
“Haverfordwest, May 31, 1767, Sunday. I am just come from my field-throne. Thousands and thousands attended by eight in the morning. Life and light seemed to fly all around. On Tuesday, God willing, I am to preach at Woodstock; on Friday, at Pembroke; here again next Sunday; and then for England. Rooms are not so lofty or large, prospects not so pleasant, bedsteads not so easy, in these parts, as in someplaces in or near London; but all are good enough for young and old pilgrims who have got good breath. I have been pushing dear sickMr.Davies to go out and preach six miles off. He is gone finely mounted, and, I am persuaded, will return in high spirits. Who knows but preaching may be our grand catholicon again? This is the good, Methodistical, thirty-year-old medicine.”
“Gloucester, June 10, 1767. Blessed be God, I am got on this side the Welsh mountains! Blessed be God, I have been on the other side! What a scene lastSunday!567What a cry for more of the bread of life! But I was quite worn down. I am now better than could be expected. To-morrow, God willing, my wife shall know what route I take. O when shall I begin to live to Jesus, as I would! I want to be a flame of fire.”
A week after this, Whitefield was in London. During his absence, he had tried to secure the services of Fletcher of Madeley, and Fletcher’s reply to his application is too characteristic to be omitted:—
“Madeley,May 18, 1767.“Reverend and dear Sir,—Your mentioning my poor ministrations among your congregations opens again a wound of shame that was but half healed. I feel the need of asking God, you, and your hearers’ pardon, for weakening the glorious matter of the gospel by my wretched, broken manner, and spoiling the heavenly power of it by the uncleanness of my heart and lips. I should be glad to go and be your curate some time this year; but I see no opening, nor the least prospect of any. What between the dead and the living, a parish ties one down more than a wife. If I could go anywhere this year, it should be to Yorkshire, to accompany Lady Huntingdon, according to a design that I had half formed last year; but I fear that I shall be debarred even from this. I set out, God willing, to-morrow morning for Trevecca, to meet her ladyship there, and to show her the way to Madeley, where she proposes to stay three or four days in her way to Derbyshire. What chaplain she will have there I know not;God will provide. I rejoice that, though you are sure of heaven, you have still a desire to inherit the earth, by being apeacemaker. Somehow, you will enjoy the blessings that others may possibly refuse.“Last Sunday seven-night, Captain Scott preached, to my congregation, a sermon, which was more blessed, though preached only upon my horse-block, than a hundred of those I preach in the pulpit. I invited him to come and treat her Ladyship next Sunday with another, now the place is consecrated. If you should ever favour Shropshire with your presence, you shall have the captain’s or the parson’s pulpit at your option. Many ask me whether you will not come to have some fruit here also. What must I answer them? I, and many more, complain of a stagnation in the work. What must we do? Everything buds and blossoms around us, yet our winter is not over. I thoughtMr.Newton,568who has been three weeks in Shropshire, would have brought the turtle-dove along with him; but I could not prevail upon him to come to this poor Capernaum. I think I hardly ever met his fellow for a judicious spirit. Still, what has God done in him and in me? I am out of hell, and mine eyes have seen something of His salvation. Though I must and do gladly yield toMr.Newton and all my brethren, yet I must and will contend, that my being in the way to heaven makes me as rich a monument of mercy, as he, or any of them.“I am, reverend and dear sir, your willing, though halting and unworthy servant,“John Fletcher.”
“Madeley,May 18, 1767.
“Reverend and dear Sir,—Your mentioning my poor ministrations among your congregations opens again a wound of shame that was but half healed. I feel the need of asking God, you, and your hearers’ pardon, for weakening the glorious matter of the gospel by my wretched, broken manner, and spoiling the heavenly power of it by the uncleanness of my heart and lips. I should be glad to go and be your curate some time this year; but I see no opening, nor the least prospect of any. What between the dead and the living, a parish ties one down more than a wife. If I could go anywhere this year, it should be to Yorkshire, to accompany Lady Huntingdon, according to a design that I had half formed last year; but I fear that I shall be debarred even from this. I set out, God willing, to-morrow morning for Trevecca, to meet her ladyship there, and to show her the way to Madeley, where she proposes to stay three or four days in her way to Derbyshire. What chaplain she will have there I know not;God will provide. I rejoice that, though you are sure of heaven, you have still a desire to inherit the earth, by being apeacemaker. Somehow, you will enjoy the blessings that others may possibly refuse.
“Last Sunday seven-night, Captain Scott preached, to my congregation, a sermon, which was more blessed, though preached only upon my horse-block, than a hundred of those I preach in the pulpit. I invited him to come and treat her Ladyship next Sunday with another, now the place is consecrated. If you should ever favour Shropshire with your presence, you shall have the captain’s or the parson’s pulpit at your option. Many ask me whether you will not come to have some fruit here also. What must I answer them? I, and many more, complain of a stagnation in the work. What must we do? Everything buds and blossoms around us, yet our winter is not over. I thoughtMr.Newton,568who has been three weeks in Shropshire, would have brought the turtle-dove along with him; but I could not prevail upon him to come to this poor Capernaum. I think I hardly ever met his fellow for a judicious spirit. Still, what has God done in him and in me? I am out of hell, and mine eyes have seen something of His salvation. Though I must and do gladly yield toMr.Newton and all my brethren, yet I must and will contend, that my being in the way to heaven makes me as rich a monument of mercy, as he, or any of them.
“I am, reverend and dear sir, your willing, though halting and unworthy servant,
“John Fletcher.”
Rowland Hill has been mentioned. Though not ordained, and still an undergraduate atSt.John’s College, Cambridge, he had begun to preach. He had also formed a small Society of his fellow-students, and was infusing into them a portion of his own ardent zeal. For these proceedings he was bitterly assailed. His father and mother were decidedly opposed to the action he had taken. His superiors in the University condemned, in the strongest terms, what they were pleased to call his infringements of discipline; and hints were given him of a refusal of testimonials and his degree, as the probable result of his irregularities. In the midst of all this, Whitefield wrote to him as follows:—
“Haverfordwest,June 4, 1767.“My dear Professor,—I wish you joy of the late high dignity conferred upon you—higher than if you were made the greatest professor in the University ofCambridge.569The honourable degrees you intend giving toyour promising candidates, I trust, will excite a holy ambition, and a holy emulation. Let me know who is first honoured. As I have been admitted to the degree of doctor for near these thirty years, I assure you I like my field preferment, my airy pluralities, exceeding well.“For these three weeks past, I have been beating up for fresh recruits in Gloucestershire and South Wales. Thousands and thousands attended. Good Lady Huntingdon was present at one of our reviews. Her ladyship’s aide-de-camp preached in Brecknock Street; and Captain Scott, that glorious field-officer, lately fixed his standard upon dearMr.Fletcher’s horse-block at Madeley. Being invited thither, I have a great inclination to lift up the Redeemer’s ensign, next week, in the same place;—with what success, you and your dearly beloved candidates for good old Methodistical contempt shall know hereafter. God willing, I intend fighting my way up to town. Soon after my arrival thither, I hope thousands and thousands of vollies of prayers—energetic, effectual, fervent, heaven-besieging, heaven-opening, heaven-taking prayers—shall be poured forth for you all.“Oh, my dearly beloved and longed for in the Lord, my bowels yearn towards you. Fear not to go without the camp. Keep open the correspondence between the twoUniversities.570Remember the praying legions. They were never known to yield. God bless those who are gone to their respectivecures! I say notlivings,—a term of too modern date. Christ is our life. Christ is the Levite’s inheritance. Greet your dear young companions whom I saw. They are welcome to write to me when they please.“I am,etc.,“George Whitefield.”571
“Haverfordwest,June 4, 1767.
“My dear Professor,—I wish you joy of the late high dignity conferred upon you—higher than if you were made the greatest professor in the University ofCambridge.569The honourable degrees you intend giving toyour promising candidates, I trust, will excite a holy ambition, and a holy emulation. Let me know who is first honoured. As I have been admitted to the degree of doctor for near these thirty years, I assure you I like my field preferment, my airy pluralities, exceeding well.
“For these three weeks past, I have been beating up for fresh recruits in Gloucestershire and South Wales. Thousands and thousands attended. Good Lady Huntingdon was present at one of our reviews. Her ladyship’s aide-de-camp preached in Brecknock Street; and Captain Scott, that glorious field-officer, lately fixed his standard upon dearMr.Fletcher’s horse-block at Madeley. Being invited thither, I have a great inclination to lift up the Redeemer’s ensign, next week, in the same place;—with what success, you and your dearly beloved candidates for good old Methodistical contempt shall know hereafter. God willing, I intend fighting my way up to town. Soon after my arrival thither, I hope thousands and thousands of vollies of prayers—energetic, effectual, fervent, heaven-besieging, heaven-opening, heaven-taking prayers—shall be poured forth for you all.
“Oh, my dearly beloved and longed for in the Lord, my bowels yearn towards you. Fear not to go without the camp. Keep open the correspondence between the twoUniversities.570Remember the praying legions. They were never known to yield. God bless those who are gone to their respectivecures! I say notlivings,—a term of too modern date. Christ is our life. Christ is the Levite’s inheritance. Greet your dear young companions whom I saw. They are welcome to write to me when they please.
“I am,etc.,
“George Whitefield.”571
At this period, there was great excitement in the English colonies of America respecting the proposed introduction of bishops of the Established Church. TheRev.Thomas Bradbury Chandler,D.D., was now in the forty-first year of his age. He had graduated at Yale College, but, in 1751, came to England, and was episcopally ordained. He returned to America as a missionary of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, and became rector ofSt.John’s Church, at Elizabeth Town, New Jersey, where he long maintained a high character for talent and learning. In the present year, 1767, he published “An Appeal to the Public in Behalf of the Church of England in America,” and dedicated his able performance to Secker,Archbishop of Canterbury. The object of it was to secure the designation of two or more bishops, to reside and to exercise episcopal jurisdiction inthetransatlantic settlements.
He alleged that the appointment of commissaries had been a failure, and that, as a consequence, such appointments had ceased for near twenty years. The result of this was, the episcopal clergy in America had no ecclesiastical superiors to unite or to control them; they were independent of each other; and the people were free from all restraints of ecclesiastical authority. For want of bishops, candidates for the ministry had to come to England for ordination, at great hazard and expense; and, because of this, numerous congregations were without ministers. In the province of New Jersey, there were twenty-one churches and congregations, eleven of which were entirely destitute of clergymen, and there were but five to supply the pulpits of the other ten. In Pennsylvania, there were in the city of Philadelphia three churches, and but two ministers; and, in the rest of the province, the number of the churches was twenty-six, and that of the clergy only seven. In North Carolina, there were six clergymen, to supply the wants of twenty-nine parishes, each parish containing a whole county. Another argument adduced byDr.Chandler was “the impossibility that a bishop residing in England should be sufficiently acquainted with the characters of those coming to them for Holy Orders. To this it was owing, that ordination had been sometimes fraudulently and surreptitiously obtained by such wretches, as were not only a scandal to the Church, but a disgrace to the human species.”Dr.Chandler further stated that the white population of America numbered about three millions; and that, of these, about a third were professed members of the Church of England; “the Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists were not so many; and the Germans, Papists, and other denominations, amounted to more.” Besides these three millions, however, there were, in the different colonies, about 840,000 negroes, most of whom “belonged to the professors of the Church of England.” And there were also the native Indians, the conversion of whom had been almost altogether neglected. It was proposedthat the “two or more bishops” to be sent should “have no authority, but purely of a spiritual and ecclesiastical nature; that they should not interfere with the property or privileges, whether civil or religious, of Churchmen or Dissenters; that, in particular, they should have no concern with the Probate of Wills, Letters of Guardianship and Administration, or Marriage Licences, nor be judges of any cases relating thereto; but that they should only ordain and govern the clergy, and administer confirmation to those who might desire it.” It was also proposed that they should be supported, not bytithes, but by “perquisites such as the people might freely grant them;” by the interest arising from a fund already in existence for the purpose, in connection with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts; and, if need were (which was not likely), by the levying of a tax at the rate of fourpence in£100.
Such was the substance ofDr.Chandler’s temperate “Appeal,”—an appeal which embodied the general views and feelings of the clergy and members of the Church of England in America. Considerable excitement existed previous to its publication; but now the subject became one of the great controversies of the day. An American writer affirms that “it had more to do with the American Revolution than is generallysupposed.”572TheAmerican Whig, a weekly newspaper, stoutly opposed the scheme ofDr.Chandler. So also did thePhiladelphia Centinél. Their articles on the subject were reprinted in several of the colonies; and a general agitation followed. The chief opponent, however, wasDr.Chauncy, minister in Boston, who, more than twenty years before, had made a vigorous onslaught upon Whitefield and his co-revivalists. The general apprehension was, that the taxation of the colonies, and the proposal to send them bishops, were parts of the same system, the object of which was to infringe upon the political and religious privileges of the people. Chauncy and his friends were afraid, and perhaps not without reason, that the power and influence of the government were beingused to give ascendancy to the Episcopal Church. They were angry with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts for sending so many of their clergy to New England, where they were not wanted. At this time, there were at least five hundred and fifty educated ministers in the province, and not a town, unless just settled, without a pastor. Besides, the clergy thus sent were arrogant. They spoke of all the inhabitants of the town, in which they lived, astheirparishioners, and as bound both by the law of God and the state to be in communion with the Church of England. Other churches were represented as mere excrescences or fungosities, and their ministers were declared to be unauthorised, and their ordinances invalid. All this naturally created opposition among the non-episcopal churches. And, further, thoughDr.Chandler professed that the bishops to be sent would be no burden to the population, the people feared it would be otherwise. Already the support of the episcopal clergy had been thrown upon the community in South Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland; and it was thought to be possible and probable that the bishops, if sent, would have to be sustained, at least in part, by the public taxes.
Amid this state of things, Whitefield commenced a correspondence with the Archbishop of Canterbury, respecting the conversion of his Orphanage into a College; and a remembrance of the facts just noticed will help to a better understanding of some parts of that correspondence. The letters are too long to be insertedin extenso, but their substance shall be given. They were first published in the month of May, 1768, with the title, “A Letter to his Excellency Governor Wright, giving an Account of the Steps taken relative to the converting the Georgia Orphan House into a College; together with the Literary Correspondence that passed upon that Subject between his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury and the ReverendMr.Whitefield. To which also is annexed the Plan and Elevation of the present and intendedBuildings,574and Orphan House Lands adjacent,By G. Whitefield,A.M., late of Pembroke College, Oxford, and Chaplain to the Countess of Huntingdon. London, 1768.” (8vo. 31pp.)
In his letter to “Governor Wright,” Whitefield mentions the deep interest which his Excellency and the Council of Georgia had taken in the scheme to convert the Orphan House into a College. He relates that, since his return to England, in 1765, he had exerted his utmost efforts to accomplish this; but various circumstances had impeded the fulfilment of his plan. He had “delivered a memorial into the hands of the late Clerk of his Majesty’s most honourable Privy Council.” The memorial had been “transmitted to the Lord President;” and the Lord President had submitted it “to the consideration of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.” He (Whitefield) had had “a literary correspondence” with his Grace; but the correspondence, and the negotiations, were now ended. He, therefore, wished to lay an account of the whole transactions before his Excellency, and the Council and Assembly of Georgia, and also before “all the other American colonists, and the public in general.”
Whitefield commenced his correspondence with the Archbishop on June 17, 1767, and terminated it on February 12, 1768, within six months of his Grace’s death.
He begins by reminding the Primate that the Lord President had submitted his memorial to his Grace’s consideration, and that the Earl of Dartmouth had put into his hands a copy of the intended charter for the College. The Archbishop had made “judicious corrections,” and had suggested that the charter should provide that the president of the College should be a member or minister of the Church of England. In reply to this, Whitefield writes:—