Chapter XXIV: Part 24

Captain Joss has just been mentioned, and deserves further notice. Torial Joss was born on September 29, 1731, at Auck-Medden, a small village, on the sea coast, about twenty miles north of Aberdeen. His father died when Torial was very young; his mother neglected him; and he went to sea. The vessel in which he sailed was taken by the French, and he became an inmate of a foreign prison, where his sufferings were great. At the age of fifteen, he returned to Scotland; was seized by a press-gang; and sent on board a man-of-war. He made his escape; travelled to Sunderland; and bound himself an apprentice to the captain of a coasting vessel, belonging to Robin Hood’s Bay. By overhearing a religious conversation, and by reading the works of Bunyan, and “The Whole Duty of Man,” he was converted. The Methodist preachers visited Robin Hood’s Bay; a number of the people were convinced of sin; and Wesley came and formed them into a Society. Previous to this, Torial had begun to pray and exhort in public; and Wesley encouraged him to continue. He was now about eighteen years of age, and became a member of Wesley’s Society. When his apprenticeship expired, he was appointed first mate of his captain’s vessel. Wherever the ship put into port, he tried to preach, and, in some instances, suffered cruel persecution. At Shields, a press-gang dragged him through the town, amid shoutings and triumph, and sent him on board a tender, where he was kept a prisoner for seven weeks. The profane swearing and the obscene language of the crew were terrific trials; and, added to this, having but twenty minutes in forty-eight hours on deck, he was nearly suffocated with the foul air and heat. Soon after his release, he was made captain of a ship, set up regular worship, and, as often as the weather would permit, preached regularly to his crew. During a long detention at Berwick-upon-Tweed, his preaching to the crowds was so successful, that a gentleman wrote to Whitefield, telling him Joss was sailing to London, in a vessel named the _Hartley Trader_, but which the people nicknamed “The Pulpit.” On arriving in the Thames, Joss was surprised by being told that Whitefield had announced him to preach in the Tabernacle. Whitefield was so gratified with the sermon, that he urged the captain to quit the compass, the chart, and the ocean, for the Christian pulpit. After considerable delay, Joss, in 1766, yielded to Whitefield’s wish, and, henceforth, acted as one of his assistants. In London, his congregations were crowds, and his sermons full of converting power. Four or five months every year he spent in itinerating, regularly visiting Bristol, Gloucestershire, and South Wales, and, occasionally, other parts of the kingdom. In Wales, especially, the people followed him in multitudes, and, on Sundays, would travel twenty miles to hear him. He died in 1797, and was interred in Tottenham Court Road chapel.[550] Berridge used to call him “The Archdeacon of Tottenham.”[551]

Another of Whitefield’s helpers must be introduced. Captain Scott, son of Richard Scott, Esq., of Betton, in the county of Salop, belonged to the 7th regiment of dragoons. He was present at the famous battle, at Minden, on the 1st of August, 1759, attached to the cavalry of the right wing, commanded by Lord George Sackville. After this, he became the subject of powerful religious impressions, and made it his daily practice to read the psalms and lessons of the day. In due time, he heard Romaine, and found peace with God. He soon began to preach. Fletcher of Madeley, in a letter to Lady Huntingdon, wrote:――

“I went last Monday to meet Captain Scott――a captain of the
truth, a bold soldier of Jesus Christ. He boldly launches into
an irregular usefulness. For some months, he has exhorted his
dragoons daily; for some weeks, he has preached publicly at
Leicester, in the Methodist meeting-house, in his regimentals,
to numerous congregations, with good success. The stiff regular
ones pursue him with hue and cry; but, I believe, he is quite
beyond their reach. I believe this _red coat_ will shame many
a black one. I am sure he shames me.”

Whitefield heard of the military preacher, and, on February 12, 1767, wrote to him as follows:――

“What, not answer so modest a request as to send dear Captain
Scott a few lines! God forbid! I must again welcome him into
the field of battle. I must entreat him to keep his rank as
a captain, and not suffer any persuasions to influence him to
descend to the lower degree of a common soldier. If God shall
choose a red-coat preacher, who shall say unto Him, ‘What doest
Thou?’

‘Strong in the Lord’s almighty power,
And armed in panoply divine,
Firm may’st thou stand in danger’s hour,
And prove the strength of Jesus thine.
The helmet of salvation take;
The Lord the Spirit’s conquering sword;
Speak from the word; in lightning speak;
Cry out, and thunder from the Lord.’

“Gladly would I come, and, in my poor way, endeavour to
strengthen your hands; but, alas! I am fit for nothing but,
as an invalid, to be put into some garrison, and then put my
hand to some old gun. Blessed be the Captain of our salvation
for drafting out young champions to reconnoitre and attack the
enemy. You will beat the march in every letter and bid the common
soldiers not halt, but go forward. Hoping one day to see your
face in the flesh, and more than hoping to see you crowned with
glory in the kingdom of heaven, I am, my dear captain, yours in
our all-glorious Captain-General,

“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”[552]

As yet, Whitefield had not seen Captain Scott; but he requested him to come and preach in London. “I have invited the captain,” said Whitefield to the Tabernacle congregation, “to bring his artillery to the Tabernacle rampart, and try what execution he can do here.” Soon after this, Captain Scott sold his commission, and, for upwards of twenty years, was one of the supplies of the Tabernacle pulpit.[553]

In this same year, 1766, Whitefield entered into correspondence with another distinguished man, who was destined, for a brief period, to be one of his successors at the Tabernacle and at Tottenham Court Road chapel. Rowland Hill, the sixth son of Sir Rowland Hill, Bart., was now twenty-one years of age. He had been to school at Eton, and, for the last two years, had been an undergraduate at Cambridge. Here he became intimately acquainted with good old Berridge, of Everton, and scarcely a week elapsed without their holding religious intercourse with each other. Rowland, even now, was full of religious fire and energy and boldness. He had already been the means of awakening anxiety about their souls in several of his fellow-students. He had also visited the gaol, and the sick, and had begun to preach in several places in Cambridge, and in the adjacent villages. This brought upon him the severest censure of his college. Mobs also commenced to insult him; and, at length, the opposition he encountered became so serious, that he wrote to Whitefield for advice. Whitefield’s reply was as follows:――

“LONDON, _December 27, 1766_.

“About thirty-four years ago, the master of Pembroke College,
where I was educated, took me to task for visiting the sick,
and going to the prisons. In my haste, I said, ‘Sir, if
it displeaseth you, I will go no more.’ My heart smote me
immediately. I repented, and went again. He heard of it,
and threatened; but, for fear he should be looked upon as
a persecutor, let me alone. The hearts of all are in the
Redeemer’s hands. I would not have you give way, no not for
a moment. The storm is too great to hold long. Visiting the
sick and imprisoned, and instructing the ignorant, are the very
vitals of true and undefiled religion. If threatened, denied
degree, or expelled for _this_, it will be the best degree you
can take――a glorious preparative for, and a blessed presage
of, future usefulness. I have seen the dreadful consequences
of giving way and looking back. How many, by this wretched
cowardice, have been turned into pillars, not of useful, but of
useless salt! _Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum._ Now
is the time to prove the strength of Jesus yours. If opposition
did not so much abound, your consolations would not so abound.
Blind as he is, Satan sees some great good coming. We never
prospered so much at Oxford, as when we were hissed at and
reproached as we walked along the street. Go on, therefore,
my dear man, go on. Old Berridge, I believe, would give you
the same advice. You are honoured in sharing his reproach and
name. God be praised, that you are helped to bless when others
blaspheme. Do not drop the Bible and old books. You write good
sense. Nothing is wanting but to write it in a proper manner.
God bless, direct, and prosper you! He will, He will. Good Lady
Huntingdon is in town. She will rejoice to hear you are under
the cross. You will not want her prayers, or the prayers of, my
dear young honest friend,

“Yours, in the all-conquering Jesus,

“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.[554]

“To Mr. Rowland Hill,

“At St. John’s College, Cambridge.”

For above thirty years, Whitefield had been the butt of persecution, and, therefore, was not unprepared to give advice to young Rowland Hill. He was still hunted by the hatred of his enemies. Among other publications, there was issued, about this period, a sixpenny pamphlet, in folio, with the title, “The Celebrated Lecture upon Heads,” most of which is too coarse and blasphemous to be quoted. One specimen, concerning Whitefield, must suffice.

“Behold here one of the _righteous over-much_――yet nought doth
he give away in charity! No, no! He is the bell-wether of the
flock, who hath broken down _orthodoxy’s bounds_, and now riots
on the _common of hypocrisy_. With _one_ eye he looks up to
heaven, to make his congregation think he is _devout_, that’s
his _spiritual_ eye; and with the other eye he looks down to
see what he can get, and that’s his _carnal_ eye; 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 all _breathe-there-in_. If ye want
_rouzing_, I’ll _rouze_ you. I’ll beat a _tat-too_ upon the
parchment cases of your consciences, and whip the _devil_ about
like a _whirl-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 vice
Presides, and virtue bears no price.”

But nowhere could he find an agent suited to his mind, till he 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 Whitefield _did_ was contrary to what he _said_, his eyes ought to look different ways; and, accordingly, they were twisted. Describing Whitefield’s sermons, the writer says:――

“He knows his _Master’s_ realm so well,
His sermons are a _map_ of hell,
An _Ollio_ made of conflagration,
Of _gulphs_ of brimstone, and _damnation_,
_Eternal torments_, _furnace_, _worm_,
_Hell-fire_, a _whirlwind_, and a _storm_.”

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, the Rev. Messrs. Venn, Ryland, Dr. Conyers, and Powley, vicar of Dewsbury.[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.”[556]

Whitefield’s preface is dated January 3, 1767. Two extracts from it must suffice. In reference to the fact that Bunyan’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 endears Mr. Bunyan to my
heart is this, he was of a catholic spirit. The want of _water
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_.

“DEAR MR. 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. Green[557] would 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 by Mr. 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 to Mr. 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 decline
_Musa_. It was plain Mr. 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 attended Mr. 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,
as Mr. 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 my
life.”[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 time Mr. 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 Concordance within 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 of the 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 by Mr. Gurney, have been supposed to do
discredit to his memory, and, therefore, they were suppressed;
but much of his genuine preaching may 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 very frequent.”[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,’ said Mr. 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
public services, 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 upon Dr. 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 his
visit 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 of work.”[561]

The Orphan House in Georgia still occupied his attention. He was anxious for “Bethesda to put on its college dress.”[562] The warm friendship between him and Wesley yet continued. On Ash-Wednesday, March 4, Wesley wrote, “I dined at a friend’s with Mr. Whitefield, still breathing nothing but love.”[563] On the 20th of 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 and Saviour 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 his way.[565] A 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 the Rev. Walter Shirley. Being invited to preach in St. 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 ardent friends.[566]

About the middle of the month of May, Whitefield set out for the west of England and Wales. His progress will be best told by extracts from his letters. On arriving at Rodborough, where his old assistant, Thomas Adams, lived and preached, he wrote to Mr. 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. Dear Mr. 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 dear Mr. 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 some places in or near London; but all are
good enough for young and old pilgrims who have got good breath.
I have been pushing dear sick Mr. 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 last Sunday![567] What 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 a
_peacemaker_. 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 thought Mr. Newton,[568]
who 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 to Mr.
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 at St. 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 of Cambridge.[569] The honourable
degrees you intend giving to your 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 dear Mr. 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 two Universities.[570] Remember
the praying legions. They were never known to yield. God bless
those who are gone to their respective _cures_! I say not
_livings_,――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. The Rev. 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 of St. 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 in ♦the transatlantic settlements.