Chapter XXVIII: Part 28

“Bethesda, April 16, 1770. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! All is
well, all more than well here! Never, never did I enjoy such
domestic peace and happiness. I have taken in about ten orphans.
Prizes! prizes! Hallelujah! Join, join in praising Him whose
mercy endureth for ever! If possible, I shall write a line to
the Welsh brethren. They have indeed sustained a loss in the
death of Mr. Howell Davies. God sanctify it! Surely my turn will
come by-and-by.”[662]

“Bethesda, April 20, 1770. We enjoy a little heaven upon earth
here. With regret, I go northward, as far as Philadelphia at
least, next Monday. Everything concurs to shew me, that Bethesda
affairs must go on, as yet, in their old channel. A few months
may open strange scenes. O for a spirit of love and moderation
on all sides, and on both sides of the water! In all probability,
I shall not return hither till November. Was ever man blessed
with such a set of skillful, peaceful, laborious helpers! O
Bethesda, my Bethel, my Peniel! My happiness is inconceivable.
Nine or ten orphans have been lately taken in. Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Let chapel, tabernacle, heaven, and earth, resound
with hallelujah!”

“Savannah, April 24, 1770. Five in the morning. I am just going
into the boat, in order to embark for Philadelphia. This will
prove a blessed year for me, at the day of judgment. Hallelujah!
Come, Lord, come! Mr. Robert Wright is a quiet, ingenuous, good
creature, and his wife an excellent mistress of the family.
Such a set of helpers I never met with. They will go on with
the buildings, while I take my gospel range to the northward.”

Whitefield had now left his beloved Bethesda for ever. He arrived in Philadelphia on Sunday, the 6th of May, and met with the missionaries of his old friend Wesley, Messrs. Boardman and Pilmoor, whom he encouraged to proceed to their arduous work.[663] Writing to Mr. Keen, he says:――

“Philadelphia, May 9, 1770. I arrived here on the 6th instant.
The evening following, I was enabled to preach to a large
auditory, and am to repeat the delightful task this evening.
Pulpits and hearts seem to be as open to me as ever. Praise
the Lord, O our souls! I have my old plan in view, to travel in
these northern parts all summer, and return late in the fall to
Georgia. Through infinite mercy, I continue in good health, and
am more and more in love with a pilgrim life.”

“Philadelphia, May 24, 1770. I have now been here nearly three
weeks. People of all ranks flock as much as ever. Impressions
are made on many, and, I trust, they will abide. To all the
_Episcopal Churches_, as well as to most of the other places of
worship, I have free access. My health is preserved; and, though
I preach twice on the Lord’s-day, and three or four times a week
besides, I am rather better than I have been for many years.
This is the Lord’s doing. To Him be all the glory!”

Three weeks after this, Whitefield wrote again to Mr. Keen:――

“Philadelphia, June 14, 1770. I have just returned from a
hundred and fifty miles’ circuit, in which I have been enabled
to preach every day. So many new, as well as old, doors are open,
and so many invitations sent from various quarters, that I know
not which way to turn myself. However, at present I am bound for
New York, and so on further northward.”

He arrived at New York on Saturday, June 23, and, in another letter to Mr. Keen, remarked:――

“New York, June 30, 1770. I have been here just a week. Have
been enabled to preach four times, and am to preach again
this evening. Congregations are larger than ever. Next week,
I purpose to go to Albany: from thence, perhaps, to the Oneida
Indians. There is to be a very large Indian congress. Mr.
Kirkland accompanies me. He is a truly Christian minister and
missionary. Everything possible should be done to strengthen his
hands and his heart.”

A word must be interposed respecting this valuable man. Samuel Kirkland had been educated in Dr. Wheelock’s school, and in New Jersey College. While at school, he had learned the language of the Mohawks; and, in 1764, commenced a journey to the Senecas, among whom he spent a year and a half. In 1766, he was ordained a missionary to the Indians; and, in 1769, removed with his wife to the Oneida tribe, for whose benefit he laboured more than forty years. His son, Dr. Kirkland, became president of Harvard College. No wonder Whitefield fell in love with such a man. Unfortunately, no record of his visit to the “Indian congress” now exists; but an idea of his enormous labours may be gathered from the following letter to Mr. Keen:――

“New York, July 29, 1770. During this month, I have been above
a five hundred miles’ circuit, and have been enabled to preach
every day. The congregations have been very large, attentive,
and affected, particularly at Albany, Schenectady, Great
Barrington, Norfolk, Salisbury, Sharon, Smithfield, Powkeepsy,
Fishkill, New Rumburt, New Windsor, and Peckshill. Last night,
I returned hither, and hope to set out for Boston in two or
three days. O what a new scene of usefulness is opening in
various parts of this new world! All fresh work where I have
been. The Divine influence has been as at the first. Invitations
crowd upon me, both from ministers and people, from many, many
quarters. A very peculiar providence led me lately to a place
where a horse-stealer was executed. Thousands attended. The
poor criminal, hearing I was in the country, had sent me several
letters. The sheriff allowed him to come and hear a sermon
under an adjacent tree. Solemn! solemn! After being by himself
about an hour, I walked half a mile with him to the gallows. His
heart had been softened before my first visit. He seemed full
of Divine consolations. An instructive walk! I went up with him
into the cart. He gave a short exhortation. I then stood upon
the coffin; added, I trust, a word in season; prayed; gave the
blessing; and took my leave. I hope effectual good was done to
the hearers and spectators.”

While travelling this “five hundred miles’ circuit,” Whitefield, one day, dined, with a number of ministers, at the manse of his old friend, the Rev. William Tennent. After dinner, as often happened, Whitefield expressed his joy at the thought of soon dying and being admitted into heaven; and, then, appealing to the ministers present, he asked if his joy was shared by them. Generally they assented; but Tennent continued silent. “Brother Tennent,” said Whitefield, “you are the oldest man among us. Do you not rejoice that your being called home is so near at hand?” “I have no wish about it,” bluntly answered Tennent. Whitefield pressed his question, and Tennent again replied, “No, sir, it is no pleasure to me at all; and, if you knew your duty, it would be none to you. I have nothing to do with death. My business is to live as _long_ as I can, and as _well_ as I can.” Whitefield was not satisfied, and a third time urged the good old man to state, whether he would not choose to die, if death were left to his own choice. “Sir,” answered Tennent, “I have no choice about it. I am God’s servant, and have engaged to do His business as long as He pleases to continue me therein. But now, brother Whitefield, let me ask you a question. What do you think I would say, if I were to send my man Tom into the field to plough, and if at noon I should find him lounging under a tree, and complaining, ‘Master, the sun is hot, and the ploughing hard, and I am weary of my work, and overdone with heat: do, master, let me go home and rest’? What would I say? Why, that he was a lazy fellow, and that it was his business to do the work I had appointed him, until I should think fit to call him home.” For the present, at least, Whitefield was silenced, and was taught, that it is every Christian man’s duty to say, “All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come.”[664]

Whitefield’s preaching was never more popular and powerful than now. Sharon has been mentioned in the foregoing extract. The minister here was the Rev. Cotton Mather Smith, who offered him his pulpit. Whitefield selected his favourite subject, and preached from, “Ye must be born again.” The immense congregation was moved and melted throughout, but the pronunciation of the concluding words of the sermon, it is said, produced a life-time impression on those who heard them: “Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon this garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into this garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.” (Solomon’s Song, iv. 16.) Simple words, but uttered in a manner and with a pathos which thrilled the enormous crowd, and which caused many of them to follow him into the adjacent towns for several successive days.[665]

Another anecdote may be inserted here. An eminent shipbuilder being invited to hear Whitefield, at first made several objections, but at last was persuaded to go. “What do you think of Mr. Whitefield?” asked his friend. “Think,” said he, “I never heard such a man in my life. I tell you, sir, every Sunday, when I go to church, I can build a ship from stem to stern, under the sermon; but, were it to save my soul, under Mr. Whitefield, I could not lay a single plank.”[666]

Whitefield sailed from New York on Tuesday, July 31st, and arrived at New Port on the Friday following. With the exception of six days, on five of which he was seriously ill, he preached daily until he died. From August 4th to 8th inclusive, he preached at New Port; August 9th to 12th, at Providence; August 13th, at Attleborough; and 14th, at Wrentham. With the exception of the 19th, when he discoursed at Malden, he officiated every day at Boston, from the 15th to the 25th. On August 26th, he preached at Medford; on the 27th, at Charlestown; and on the 28th, at Cambridge. The next two days were employed at Boston; August 31st, at Roxbury Plain; September 1st, at Milton; 2nd, at Roxbury; 3rd, at Boston; 5th, at Salem; 6th, at Marble Head; 7th, at Salem; 8th, at Cape Ann; 9th, at Ipswich; 10th and 11th, at Newbury Port; and 12th and 13th, at Rowley. On the 14th and two following days, he was disabled by violent diarrhœa. From September 17th to 19th, he again preached at Boston; and on the 20th, at Newton. The next two days he was ill, but managed to travel from Boston to Portsmouth, where he preached on the 23rd to the 25th.[667] The 26th, he employed at Kittery; the 27th, at Old York; the 28th, at Portsmouth; and the 29th, at Exeter.[668] At six o’clock in the morning of the 30th, he died.

Thus were spent the last two months of Whitefield’s life. He was too much occupied to have time for his wonted correspondence with his friends; but there are two letters, belonging to this interval, which must be quoted: the first to Mr. Wright, his manager at Bethesda; the second to his beloved and faithful friend, Mr. Keen, of London.

“BOSTON, _September 17, 1770_.

“DEAR MR. WRIGHT,――Blessed be God! I find all is well at
Bethesda; only I want to know what things are needed, that I
may order them from Philadelphia, by Captain Souder. Fain would
I contrive to come by him, but people are so importunate for my
stay in these parts, that I fear it will be impracticable. Lord
Jesus, direct my goings in Thy way! He will, He will! My God
will supply all my wants, according to the riches of His grace
in Christ Jesus. Two or three evenings ago, I was taken in the
night with a violent lax, attended with retching and shivering,
so that I was obliged to return to Boston. Through infinite
mercy, I am restored, and to-morrow morning hope to begin _to
begin_ again. Never was the word received with greater eagerness
than now. All opposition seems, as it were, for a while to cease.
I find God’s time is the best. The season is critical as to
outward circumstances. But when forts are given up, the Lord
Jesus can appoint salvation for walls and bulwarks. He has
promised to be a wall of fire round about His people. This
comforts me concerning Bethesda, though we should have a Spanish
war. You will be pleased to hear I never was carried through the
summer’s heat so well. I hope it has been so with you, and all
my family. Hoping ere long to see you, I am, etc.,

“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”

The letter to Mr. Keen, written only seven days before Whitefield’s death, was to the following effect:――

“PORTSMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, _September 23, 1770_.

“MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,――By this time, I thought to be moving
southward: but never was greater importunity used to detain me
longer in these northern parts. Poor New England is much to be
pitied; Boston people most of all. How falsely misrepresented!
What a mercy that our Christian charter cannot be dissolved!
Blessed be God for an unchangeable Jesus! You will see, by the
many invitations enclosed, what a door is opened for preaching
His everlasting gospel. I was so ill on Friday, that I could
not preach, though thousands were waiting to hear. Well, the
day of release will shortly come, but it does not seem yet;
for, by riding sixty miles, I am better, and hope to preach here
to-morrow. I hope my blessed Master will accept of these poor
efforts to serve Him. O for a warm heart! O to stand fast in the
faith, to quit ourselves like men, and to be strong! May this
be the happy experience of you and yours! If spared so long, I
expect to see Georgia about Christmas. Still pray and praise.
I am so poorly, and so engaged when able to preach, that this
must apologize for not writing to more friends. It is quite
impracticable. Hoping to see all dear friends about the time
proposed, and earnestly desiring a continued interest in all
your prayers, I must hasten to subscribe myself,

“My dear, very dear sir,

“Less than the least of all,

“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”

This was Whitefield’s last letter; at all events, no letter of a subsequent date has been published.

Though Whitefield scarcely alludes to the circumstance, it ought to be noted, that, the last six months of his life were spent in the midst of great political excitement. It is a well-known fact, that the inhabitants of the British colonies in America strongly objected to pay taxes upon goods imported from England; and defended themselves by the famous aphorism, “Taxation, without representation, is tyranny.” So stout was their resistance, that, during the year 1769, the exports of English merchants fell short of what they had been to the value of three-quarters of a million sterling; and, since the year 1767, the revenue, received by government from duties paid in America, had decreased from £110,000 to £30,000. In consequence of this state of things, Lord North, on the 5th of March, 1770, moved in the House of Commons for leave to bring in a bill to repeal all the American taxes and duties, except the duty upon tea. Great debates followed. On the 1st of May, the opposition called for the correspondence with the American colonies. Eight days later, Burke moved eight resolutions censuring the plan the government were pursuing. On the 14th of May, Chatham moved that, in consequence of “the alarming disorders in his Majesty’s American dominions,” an humble address be presented to the king, beseeching him “to take the recent and genuine sense of the people, by dissolving this present parliament, and calling another, with all convenient dispatch.”

So much as it regards England. In America, the excitement had become dangerous. In nearly all the principal seaports of the colonies, committees had been appointed, by the people, to examine cargoes arriving from Great Britain, and to prevent the sale of taxed commodities. At Boston, meetings were regularly held, and strong votes of censure passed upon every one who dared to introduce or sell any of the prohibited goods; and, still further to increase the odium and danger of such departures from the popular will, the names of offenders were published in the newspapers, with comments representing them as slaves and traitors.

As might naturally be expected, riots followed. In the month of February, 1770, the shop of Theophilus Lillie was attacked. A friend of Lillie’s seized a gun, and fired upon the assailants. The shot killed Christopher Snider, a dirty boy, who, as “the first martyr to the glorious cause of liberty,” was buried with great pomp, the procession which followed the young reformer to his grave being a quarter of a mile in length. In the meantime, the inhabitants of Boston, and the soldiers quartered there, were perpetually quarrelling. No man in a red coat could go through the streets without being insulted, and no discipline could prevent the soldiers from retorting. Words led to blows. On the 2nd of March, a private of the 29th Regiment got into a quarrel, and was beaten by a set of ropemakers. A dozen of the soldier’s comrades chastised the ropemakers, and made them run for their very lives. The townspeople were exasperated, and armed themselves with clubs. Meetings were held by the mob; and, on the 5th of March, a crowd, with sticks and clubs, marched to Dock Square, and made an attack upon the soldiers. Muskets were fired, and the rioters ran away; but three were killed, and five were dangerously wounded. The subject need not here be pursued at greater length. In point of fact, the American Rebellion was begun, and, during the last six months of his eventful life, Whitefield preached among the excited and angry discontents. In some degree, he evidently sympathised with their protests concerning their grievances; and, hence, the exclamations in his last letter to Mr. Keen: “Poor New England is much to be pitied! Boston people most of all! How falsely misrepresented!” No doubt, both sides were misrepresented. The hour was pregnant with the most disastrous events. For years afterwards, the roar and ravages of war were terrific. Fortunately for himself, Whitefield escaped to the land of love, and peace, and blessedness, while the storm was only gathering, and before it burst in all its devastating deadliness.

On Saturday morning, September 29, Whitefield set out from Portsmouth to Boston, with the intention of preaching at Newbury Port next morning. On the way, he was stopped at Exeter, fifteen miles from Portsmouth, and was prevailed upon to give a sermon to the people there. A friend said to him, “Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.” “True, sir,” replied Whitefield; and then, clasping his hands, and looking up to heaven, he added, “Lord Jesus, I am weary in Thy work, but not of it. If I have not yet finished my course, let me go and speak for Thee once more in the fields, seal Thy truth, and come home and die!” An immense multitude assembled. He mounted a hogshead.[669] His text was, “Examine yourselves, whether you be in the faith.” One, who was present, thus described the preacher and his sermon:――

“The subject was ‘Faith and works.’ He rose up sluggishly and
wearily, as if worn down and exhausted by his stupendous labours.
His face seemed bloated, his voice was hoarse, his enunciation
heavy. Sentence after sentence was thrown off in rough,
disjointed portions, without much regard to point or beauty. At
length, his mind kindled, and his lion-like voice roared to the
extremities of his audience. He was speaking of the inefficiency
of works to merit salvation, and suddenly cried out in a tone of
thunder, ‘Works! works! a man get to heaven by works! I would as
soon think of climbing to the moon on a rope of sand!’”[670]

Another gentleman, who was present, wrote:――

“Mr. Whitefield rose, and stood erect, and his appearance alone
was a powerful sermon. He remained several minutes unable to
speak; and then said, ‘I will wait for the gracious assistance
of God; for He will, I am certain, assist me once more to
speak in His name.’ He then delivered, perhaps, one of his best
sermons. ‘I go,’ he cried, ‘I go to rest prepared; my sun has
arisen, and by aid from heaven, has given light to many. It is
now about to set for――no, it is about to rise to the zenith of
immortal glory. I have outlived many on earth, but they cannot
outlive me in heaven. Oh, thought divine! I soon shall be in
a world where time, age, pain, and sorrow are unknown. My body
fails, my spirit expands. How willingly would I live for ever
to preach Christ! But I die to be _with_ Him.’”[671]

Whitefield’s sermon was two hours in length,――characteristic of the man, but, in his present health, quite enough to kill him.

The Rev. Jonathan Parsons, who, for the last twenty-four years, had been the Presbyterian minister at Newbury Port, met him at Exeter. In piety, the two were kindred spirits. Mr. Parsons’ congregation was one of the largest in America. As a preacher, he was eminently useful; his imagination was rich, and his voice clear and commanding. He was well skilled in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages; and many were the seals of his faithful ministry, which closed six years after that of his friend Whitefield’s.

After Whitefield’s enormous sermon, the two friends dined at Captain Gillman’s, and then started for Newbury Port. On arriving there, Whitefield was so exhausted, that he was unable to leave the boat without assistance, but, in the course of the evening, he recovered his spirits.[672]

Newbury Port was an ordinary New England village; in fact, it remains such at the present day,――its streets narrow, and not overcrowded with either traffic or passengers.[673] It is a remarkable coincidence, that, _exactly_ thirty years before his death, Whitefield, for the first time, visited the place which contains his sepulchre. In his Journal, he wrote:――

“Tuesday, September 30, 1740. Preached at Ipswich in the morning
to many thousands. There was a great melting in the congregation.
Dined. Set out for Newbury, another town twelve miles from
Ipswich, and arrived about three. Here again the power of the
Lord accompanied the word. The meeting-house was very large.
Many ministers were present, and the people were greatly
affected. Blessed be God!”

Little did the great preacher think, that, on the same day, thirty years afterwards, his work would terminate in the meeting-house’s manse. The venerable building still stands, in a narrow lane, and, though now used as two comfortable residences, the spacious entrance hall yet exists, and likewise the fine oak staircase which led to the room in which Whitefield died.[674]

While Whitefield partook of an early supper, the people assembled at the front of the parsonage, and even crowded into its hall, impatient to hear a few words from the man they so greatly loved. “I am tired,” said Whitefield, “and must go to bed.” He took a candle, and was hastening to his chamber. The sight of the people moved him; and, pausing on the staircase, he began to speak to them. He had preached his last sermon; this was to be his last exhortation. There he stood, the crowd in the hall “gazing up at him with tearful eyes, as Elisha at the ascending prophet. His voice flowed on until the candle which he held in his hand burned away and _went out in its socket_! The next morning he was not, for God had taken him!”[675]

Mr. Richard Smith, who had accompanied Whitefield from England, and had attended him in his journeyings, followed him to his chamber. He found him reading the Bible, and with Dr. Watts’s Psalms before him. Whitefield drank some water-gruel, knelt by his bedside, engaged in prayer, and then went to rest. He slept till two in the morning, when he asked for cider, and drank a wine-glassful.

“He panted for want of breath,” says Mr. Smith. “I asked him
how he felt. He answered, ‘My asthma is returning; I must have
two or three days’ rest. Two or three days’ riding, without
preaching, will set me up again.’ Though the window had been
half up all night, he asked me to put it a little higher.
‘I cannot breathe,’ said he, ‘but I hope I shall be better
by-and-by. A good pulpit sweat to-day may give me relief. I shall
be better after preaching.’ I said to him, I wished he would
not preach so often. He replied, ‘I had rather wear out, than
rust out.’ He then sat up in bed and prayed that God would bless
his preaching where he had been, and also bless his preaching
that day, that more souls might be brought to Christ. He prayed
for direction, whether he should winter at Boston, or hasten
southward. He asked for blessings on his Bethesda College
and his family there; likewise on the congregations at the
Tabernacle and Tottenham Court chapel, and on all his English
friends.

“He then lay down to sleep again. This was nigh three o’clock.
At a quarter to four he awoke, and said, ‘My asthma, my asthma
is coming on again. I wish I had not promised to preach at
Haverhill to-morrow. I don’t think I shall be able; but I shall
see what to-day will bring forth. If I am no better to-morrow,
I will take a two or three days’ ride.’ He then asked me to
warm him a little gruel; and, in breaking the firewood, I awoke
Mr. Parsons, who rose and came in. He went to Mr. Whitefield’s
bedside, and asked him how he felt. He answered, ‘I am almost
suffocated. I can scarce breathe. My asthma quite chokes me.’
He got out of bed, and went to the open window for air. This was
exactly at five o’clock. Soon after, he turned to me, and said,
‘I am dying.’ I said, ‘I hope not, sir.’ He ran to the other
window, panting for breath, but could get no relief. I went for
Dr. Sawyer; and, on my coming back, I saw death on his face.
We offered him warm wine with lavender drops, which he refused.
I persuaded him to sit down and put on his cloak; he consented
by a sign, but could not speak. I then offered him the glass of
warm wine; he took half of it, but it seemed as if it would have
stopped his breath entirely. In a little while, he brought up
a considerable quantity of phlegm. I was continually employed
in taking the mucus from his mouth, bathing his temples, and
rubbing his wrists. His hands and feet were as cold as clay.
When the doctor came, and felt his pulse, he said, ‘He is a dead
man.’ Mr. Parsons replied, ‘I do not believe it. You must do
something, doctor.’ He answered, ‘I cannot. He is now near his
last breath.’[676] And indeed so it proved; for he fetched but
one gasp, stretched out his feet, and breathed no more. This was
exactly at six o’clock.”[677]

Thus died the most popular and powerful evangelist of modern times, on Sunday morning, September 30, 1770. “I shall die silent,” remarked Whitefield at the dinner table of Finley, the president of New Jersey College: “I shall die silent. It has pleased God to enable me to bear so many testimonies for Him during my life, that He will require none from me when I die.” Whitefield’s words were strangely verified. In this respect, his death was a contrast to that of his friend Wesley.

Whitefield was interred on Tuesday, October 2. “At one o’clock, all the bells in Newbury Port were tolled for half an hour, and all the ships in the harbour hoisted signals of mourning. At two o’clock, the bells tolled a second time. At three o’clock, the bells called to attend the funeral.”[678] Meanwhile, a large number of ministers had assembled at the manse of Mr. Parsons, and had spent two hours in conversation respecting Whitefield’s usefulness, and in prayer that his mantle might fall on them and others. The pall-bearers were the Revs. Samuel Haven, D.D., of Portsmouth; Daniel Rogers, of Exeter; Jedediah Jewet and James Chandler, of Rowley; Moses Parsons, of Newbury; and Edward Bass, D.D.,[679] the first bishop of the Church of England in Massachusetts. The funeral procession was a mile in length. About 6,000 persons crowded within the church, and many thousands stood outside.[680] The corpse being placed at the foot of the pulpit, the Rev. Daniel Rogers offered prayer, in which he confessed that he owed his conversion to Whitefield’s ministry, and then exclaiming, “O my Father! my Father!” stopped and wept as though his heart was breaking. The scene was one never to be forgotten. The crowded congregation were bathed in tears. Rogers recovered himself, finished his prayer, sat down, and sobbed. [681] One of the deacons gave out the hymn beginning with the line,――

“Why do we mourn departing friends?”

Some of the people sang, and some wept, and others sang and wept alternately. The coffin was then put into a newly prepared tomb, beneath the pulpit; and, before the tomb was sealed, the Rev. Jedediah Jewet delivered a suitable address, in the course of which he spoke of Whitefield’s “peculiar and eminent gifts for the gospel ministry, and his fervour, diligence, and success in the work of it.” “What a friend,” cried Jewet, “he has been to us, and our interests, religious and civil; to New England, and to all the British colonies on the continent!”[682] After this, another prayer was offered, and the immense crowd departed, weeping through the streets, as in mournful groups they wended their way to their respective homes.[683]

The sensation occasioned by the sudden decease of the “man greatly beloved” was enormous. The people came in crowds, begging to be allowed to see his corpse. Ministers of all denominations hastened to the house of Mr. Parsons, where several of them related how his ministry had been the means of their conversion. Two days before his death, he had preached at Portsmouth, and one of his hearers was a young man named Benjamin Randall, then unconverted, and also cherishing a dislike to Whitefield. “O how wonderful he spoke!” wrote Randall. His soul inflamed with love, his arms extended, and tears rolling from his eyes――with what power he spoke!” At noon on Sunday, a stranger was seen riding through the streets of Portsmouth, and crying at the different corners, “Whitefield is dead! Whitefield is dead!” Young Randall heard the announcement. It pierced his heart. He afterwards wrote: “It was September 30, 1770――that memorable day! that blessed day to Whitefield! that blessed day to me! A voice sounded through my soul, more loud and startling than ever thunder pealed upon my ears, ‘_Whitefield is dead!_’ Whitefield is now in heaven, but I am on the road to hell. He was a man of God, and yet I reviled him. He taught me the way to heaven, but I regarded it not. O that I could hear his voice again!” Whitefield’s death led to Randall’s conversion. He became a Baptist minister, and _founded_ the Free-Will Baptist denomination, which now numbers sixty thousand church members, more than a thousand ministers, two colleges, and one theological seminary; and also has its weekly periodicals, its _Quarterly Review_, and its flourishing missions in India.[684]

The effect of Whitefield’s death upon the inhabitants of Georgia was indescribable. All the black cloth in the colony was bought up. The pulpit and desk, the chandeliers and organ, the pews of the Governor and Council in the church at Savannah were draped with mourning; and the Governor and members of the two Houses of Assembly went in procession to the church, and were received by the organ playing a funereal dirge.[685] A sum of money also was unanimously voted for the removal of Whitefield’s remains to Georgia, to be interred at his Orphan House; but the people of Newbury Port strongly objected, and the design had to be relinquished. Forty-five years later, however, when a new county was formed in Georgia, it received the name of Whitefield, in memory of his worth and useful services.[686]

Jesse Lee, in his “History of the American Methodists,” (page 36,) remarks: “Mr. Whitefield had often felt his soul so much comforted in preaching in the Presbyterian meeting-house at Newbury Port, that he told his friends long before his death, that, if he died in that part of the world, he wished to be buried under the pulpit of that house. The people, who remembered his request, had it now in their power to grant it; and they prepared a vault under the pulpit, where they laid his body.” During the last hundred years, thousands of persons have visited that vault; and, as time flows on, the numbers still increase. The _Christian’s Magazine_, for 1790, inserted a startling letter, written by “J. Brown, of Epping, Essex,” to the following effect:――

“In 1784, I visited my friends in New England, and, hearing that
Whitefield’s body was undecayed, I went to see it. A lantern and
candle being provided, we entered the tomb. Our guide opened the
coffin lid down to Whitefield’s breast. His body was perfect.
I felt his cheeks, his breast, etc.; and the skin immediately
rose after I had touched it. Even his lips were not consumed, nor
his nose. His skin was considerably discoloured through dust and
age, but there was no effluvium; and even his gown was not much
impaired, nor his wig.”

If this were true in 1784, it had ceased to be a fact in 1796. In a letter dated “Newbury Port, August 15, 1801,” William Mason remarks: “About five years ago, a few friends were permitted to open Whitefield’s coffin. We found the flesh totally consumed, but the gown, cassock, and bands were almost the same as when he was buried in them.”[687] After all, the two statements are not incompatible; and it has been asserted, that “several other corpses are in the same state,” as Whitefield’s was said to have been in fourteen years after his decease, “owing to the vast quantities of nitre with which the earth there abounds.”[688]

A cenotaph in honour of Whitefield’s friends, John and Charles Wesley, has recently been erected in Westminster Abbey. That is a distinction which has not been conferred on Whitefield.

Indeed, I am not aware that England has now any monument of Whitefield whatever. Gillies says that, at the bottom of Mrs. Whitefield’s monument, in Tottenham Court Road chapel, an inscription was placed in memory of Whitefield himself; but that monument, years ago, was broken, and has disappeared. The inscription, composed by Titus Knight, of Halifax, is not worth quoting. One cenotaph exists――and, so far as I know, only one, in either England or America. That is in the chapel containing Whitefield’s bones and dust. It is a plain, but tasteful tablet, surmounted by a flame burning from an uncovered urn; and its history is the following. The Rev. Dr. Proudfit, a former pastor of the old South Church, Newbury Port, remarked at its centenary anniversary in 1856:――

“As my eye rests on that monument, let me recall the way in
which it came there. I called one evening on Mr. Bartlett. He
told me he had heard Whitefield, when he was boy, and had never
forgotten the impression made upon him by his preaching. He
expressed a desire to have a suitable monument erected to his
memory in this church. He asked if I would look after the matter,
and employ an eminent artist to do the work. I enquired how much
he was willing it should cost. ‘On that point,’ he replied, ‘I
leave you entirely at liberty. Let it be something worthy of a
great and good man.’ That monument, designed by Strickland, and
executed by Strothers, is the result. I used the liberty he gave
me moderately. Had it cost ten times as much, he would, no doubt,
have paid it cheerfully. When the artist presented the demand,
Mr. Bartlett gave him one hundred dollars above the amount. When
I was in England, the congregations at Tottenham Court and at
the Tabernacle intimated a desire to have Whitefield’s remains
removed to England; but when I told them what Mr. Bartlett had
done, they said, if any American gentleman was willing to give
£300 to do honour to Whitefield’s memory, America was well
entitled to his remains.”[689]

This monument was not put up until the year 1828. The inscription, written by Dr. Ebenezer Porter, of Andover,[690] is as follows:――

This Cenotaph
is erected, with affectionate veneration,
To the Memory of
THE REV. GEORGE WHITEFIELD,
Born at Gloucester, England, December 16, 1714;
Educated at Oxford University; ordained 1736.
In a ministry of thirty-four years,
He crossed the Atlantic thirteen times,
And preached more than eighteen thousand Sermons.
As a soldier of the cross, humble, devout, ardent,
He put on the whole armour of God:
Preferring the honour of Christ to his own interest,
repose, reputation, and life.
As a Christian orator, his deep piety, disinterested
zeal, and vivid imagination,
Gave unexampled energy to his look, utterance, and action.
Bold, fervent, pungent, and popular in his eloquence,
No other uninspired man ever preached to so large assemblies,
Or enforced the simple truths of the Gospel by motives so
persuasive and awful, and with an influence so powerful,
on the hearts of his hearers.
He died of asthma, September 30, 1770:
Suddenly exchanging his life of unparalleled labours
for his eternal rest.”

It ought to be added that another, and more imposing, monument to Whitefield’s memory, was proposed to be erected in 1839. In that year, the Congregational ministers of Gloucestershire associated themselves together in a society called the “Christian Union,” and determined to preach, in the open air, in every town, village, and hamlet of their county. They went forth, like the seventy of old, by two and two, in the prosecution of their mission. While these services were being held, many of the missioners met in a central town, when one of them proposed, that, as the present year was “the centenary of Whitefield’s labours in reviving the apostolic practice of open-air preaching,――that as Whitefield was a native of Gloucester,――and that as Stinchcombe Hill was one of the places where Whitefield preached a century ago,”――it would be well to hold a monster meeting there for the promotion of evangelical religion. The proposal was favourably received; and, on Tuesday, July 30, nearly one hundred ministers and twenty thousand people assembled on the summit of this memorable hill. Drs. Redford, Ross, and Matheson, with the Rev. Messrs. East, Hinton, and Sibree, preached upon appropriate subjects, previously announced; and hymns, specially composed by J. Conder, Esq., and others, were sung on the occasion. The rain, during the afternoon, fell in torrents, but, till about five o’clock, when they adjourned to Dursley, the vast assemblage preserved the utmost order and compactness. The party partook of dinner and tea upon the hill, in large booths and tents erected for the day; and the services were, in all respects, remarkable. A few fastidious persons thought the preachers dwelt more on Whitefield than was seemly, forgetting, however, that the design of the commemoration was specially to use Whitefield’s character and example for the glory of God, the illustration of piety, the instruction of the world, and the revival of religion. The results were, the ministers of the county re-entered with ardour upon their itinerant engagements, the churches of the neighbourhood were refreshed, and several modes of perpetuating the influence of Whitefield’s piety were proposed.

At the half-yearly meeting of the Gloucestershire Association, held in Bristol soon after, an “Address to the Christian Public” was read and adopted, and afterwards published, to the following effect:――

“It is proposed to erect, by small subscriptions, a plain
monumental column, surmounted by a statue, on the summit
of Stinchcombe Hill, near Dursley, to commemorate the life
and labours of the Rev. George Whitefield. The site appears
peculiarly eligible, as being situated in the centre of his
native county, the scene of some of his earliest itinerant
labours, surrounded by churches established by his ministry, and
commanding a prospect of twelve or thirteen counties, together
with much of the Bristol Channel. A noble column, upon such
a base, to testify that tens of thousands regard his labours
as blessed of God to the revival of religion in our land, will
exert a moral influence which many may undervalue, but which few
can calculate. Thousands, as they travel on the great highway,
almost beneath the shadow of the statue, will think and talk of
Whitefield,――of his life, his labours, and his holy success, as
they have never done before. Its erection would open a chapter
in the book of providence, which many, who never enter our
sanctuaries, will be obliged to read; and will cherish, perhaps,
amongst themselves, an imitation of those zealous labours, which
God made so pre-eminently useful. We suggest a subscription
of a shilling each person; and hope, by this means, to erect
a magnificent testimonial of one who was in England as great
a blessing to his country, as he was in America an honour.
Whitefield was a man of no sect; the sphere of his labours had
no boundary; holding office, as it were, in every church, his
communion was with the pious of every name. In the erection of
this cenotaph all may unite――the Episcopalian, who would say
with Toplady, that ‘he was a true and faithful son of the Church
of England,’――the Dissenter, who considers his whole course
but practical independency,――the Calvinist, who admires his
conscientious adherence to the truth,――and, likewise, the
Wesleyan, who remembers him as, in life and death, the dearest
friend of Wesley.”[691]

An instinctive awe pervades thoughtful men when in the presence of the last earthly remains of those who wielded a controlling influence upon their times. Napoleon lingered thoughtfully and reverently in the tomb of Frederick the Great. The Prince of Wales took off his hat at the grave of Washington. This may be a sort of hero-worship, but it is not a weakness. Thousands have entered the vault beneath the pulpit at Newbury Port, to look at the open coffin of Whitefield, the good and eloquent. The coffin, apparently of oak, is yet undecayed, and rests upon the coffin of a Mr. Prince, a blind preacher, and one of the first pastors of the church. The skull, the bones of the arms, the backbone, and the ribs are in good preservation. Many years ago, Mr. Bolton, an Englishman, and one of Whitefield’s great admirers, wished to obtain a small memento of the great preacher. A friend of Bolton’s stole the main bone of Whitefield’s right arm, and sent it to England in a parcel. Bolton was horrified with his friend’s sacrilegious act, and carefully returned the bone, in 1837, to the Rev. Dr. Stearns, then pastor of the church at Newbury Port. Great interest was created by the restoration of Whitefield’s relic; a procession of two thousand people followed it to the grave; and it was restored to its original position.[692] That bone now lies crosswise near the region of the breast; and the little box, in which it was returned, is laid upon the coffin.[693]

The good taste of those who exhibit the dust and bones of Whitefield may be fairly doubted; but so long as they are exposed to the public view, Whitefield’s sepulchre will have its visitors. Of the numerous descriptions published by those whose curiosity or piety had brought them to Whitefield’s resting-place, one only shall suffice,――and that by an outsider. Henry Vincent, the eloquent English lecturer, thus described his visit in 1867[694]:――

“We descended into a cellar, through a trap-door behind the
pulpit, and entered the tomb of the great preacher. The upper
part of the lid of Whitefield’s coffin opens upon hinges.
We opened the coffin carefully, and saw all that was mortal
of the eloquent divine. The bones are blackened, as though
charred by fire. The skull is perfect. I placed my hand upon
the forehead, and thought of the time when the active brain
within throbbed with love to God and man; and when those silent
lips swayed the people of England, from the churchyard in
Islington to Kennington Common,――from the hills and valleys
of Gloucestershire to the mouths of the Cornish mines, and on
through the growing colonies of America. In these days of High
Church pantomime, would it not be well to turn our attention to
the times of Whitefield and his glorious friend Wesley? Not by
new decorations and scenery,――not by candles and crosses,――not
by what Wycliffe boldly called the ‘priests’ rags,’――not by
Pan-Anglican Synods, or by moaning out bits of Scripture in
unearthly chants; but by such lives as those of Whitefield
and Wesley, are the people to be reached and won. I confess
that, as an Englishman, I envy America the possession of the
earthly remains of dear George Whitefield; but perhaps it is
appropriate that, while England claims the dust of Wesley, the
great republic should be the guardian of the dust of his holy
brother.”[695]

The Americans are proud of their possession, and, to this day, not only preserve his sepulchre, but, at Newbury Port, still use in the pulpit the old Bible out of which Whitefield was wont to read his texts, and still keep the old chair in which he died, and still shew the ring taken from the finger of his corpse.

Excepting the value of the copyright of his publications, Wesley died almost penniless; and the same would have been Whitefield’s case, but for certain legacies bequeathed to him only a short time before his death. By the decease of his wife, in 1768, he became possessed of £700. Mrs. Thomson, of Tower Hill, bequeathed him £500; Mr. Whitmore, £100; and Mr. Winder, £100;[697] making a total of £1,400. This, in round figures, was the sum disposed of in Whitefield’s “last will and testament.” The Orphan House buildings, furniture, slaves, and lands might be regarded as property held in trust, and, as such, were left “to that elect lady, that mother in Israel, that mirror of true and undefiled religion, the Right Honourable Selina, Countess-Dowager of Huntingdon;”[698] and, in case of her death, to Whitefield’s “dear first fellow-traveller, and faithful, invariable friend, the Honourable James Habersham, Esq., President of His Majesty’s Honourable Council,” in Georgia. The Tabernacle, and Tottenham Court Road chapel, with the adjacent manses, coach-houses, stables, and other buildings, having been erected, in great part, by the subscriptions of the public, were also, in a certain sense, trust properties; and were left to be managed by Whitefield’s “worthy, trusty, tried friends, Daniel West, Esq., in Church Street, Spitalfields; and Mr. Robert Keen, woollen draper, in the Minories.” The remainder of Whitefield’s bequests were as follows:――

£ s. d.
Lady Huntingdon 100 0 0
The Honourable James Habersham, for mourning 10 0 0
Gabriel Harris, Esq., of Gloucester 50 0 0
Ambrose Wright, a faithful servant 500 0 0
Mr. Richard Whitefield, a brother 50 0 0
Mr. Thomas Whitefield, a brother 50 0 0
Mr. James Smith, a brother-in-law 80 0 0
Mrs. Frances Hartford, a niece 70 0 0
Mr. J. Crane, steward at the Orphan House 40 0 0
Mr. Benjamin Stirk, for mourning 10 0 0
Peter Edwards,[699] at the Orphan House 50 0 0
William Trigg, at ditto 50 0 0
Mr. Thomas Adams, of Rodborough 50 0 0
Rev. Mr. Howell Davies, for mourning 10 0 0
Mr. Torial Joss, for ditto 10 0 0
Mr. Cornelius Winter, for ditto 10 0 0
Mr. Ambrose Wright’s three brothers, for
ditto 30 0 0
Ditto’s sister-in-law, for ditto 10 0 0
Mr. Richard Smith 50 0 0
The old servants in London, the widows,
etc., for mourning 100 0 0
───── ── ──
£1330 0 0
═════ ══ ══

The residue of Whitefield’s monies, if any, were to be given to the Orphan House Academy. His wife’s gold watch, he bequeathed to James Habersham; his wearing apparel, to Richard Smith; to his four executors, James Habersham, Charles Hardy, Daniel West, and Robert Keen, each a mourning ring; also, he added:――

“I leave a mourning ring to my honoured and dear friends and
disinterested fellow-labourers, the Rev. Messrs. John and
Charles Wesley, in token of my indissoluble union with them, in
heart and Christian affection, notwithstanding our difference in
judgment about some particular points of doctrine. Grace be with
all them, of whatever denomination, that love our Lord Jesus,
our common Lord, in sincerity.”

The conclusion of Whitefield’s will is too characteristic to be omitted:――

“To all my other Christian benefactors, and more intimate
acquaintance, I leave my most hearty thanks and blessing,
assuring them that I am more and more convinced of the undoubted
reality and infinite importance of the grand gospel truths,
which I have, from time to time, delivered; and am so far from
repenting my delivering them in an itinerant way, that, had I
strength equal to my inclination, I would preach them from pole
to pole, not only because I have found them to be the power of
God to the salvation of my own soul, but because I am as much
assured that the Great Head of the Church hath called me by
His Word, Providence, and Spirit, to act in this way, as that
the sun shines at noonday. As for my enemies, and misjudging,
mistaken friends, I most freely and heartily forgive them, and
can only add, that the last tremendous day will soon discover
what I have been, what I am, and what I shall be when time
itself shall be no more. And, therefore, from my inmost soul,
I close all, by crying, ‘_Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly!_ Even
so, Lord Jesus! Amen and amen!’

“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”

Whitefield’s will was written by himself, and signed, at the Orphan House, on March 22, 1770, in the presence of Robert Bolton, Thomas Dixon, and Cornelius Winter, as witnesses. It was proved in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, on February 5, 1771.[700]

When great men die, poets sing. So it was in the case of Whitefield. To say nothing of poems printed in newspapers and magazines, the following were a few of the elegies published separately: “Zion in Distress, an Elegy on the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield. By W. S.” “The Bromsgrove Elegy, in blank verse, in which are represented the Subjects of his Ministry, his Manner of Preaching, the Success of his Labours, his excellent Moral Character, and his Death. By John Fellows, of Bromsgrove, in Worcestershire.” “An Elegy. By Jacob Rowel.” “An Elegy, exhibiting a brief History of the Life, Labours, and Glorious Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield. By T. Knight, Minister of the Gospel at Halifax.”[701] “A Monody on the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield.” “An Elegiac Poem, dedicated to the Memory of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield. By James Stevens, Preacher of the Gospel.” “Elegiac Lines. By Rev. Mr. De Courcy.”[702] “A Pastoral. By the Rev. Walter Shirley.”[703]

All these were pious, and some of them respectable. The best published was by Whitefield’s oldest friend: “An Elegy on the late Reverend George Whitefield, M.A., who died September 30, 1770, in the 56th year of his age. By Charles Wesley, M.A., Presbyter of the Church of England. Bristol: 1771.” (8vo. 29 pp.) No one knew or loved Whitefield better than Charles Wesley did; and the following extracts from his “Elegy” may be acceptable:――

“And is my _Whitefield_ enter’d into rest,
With sudden death, with sudden glory blest?
Left for a few sad moments here behind,
I bear his image on my faithful mind;
To future times the fair example tell
Of one who lived, of one who died, so well,
Pay the last office of fraternal love,
And then embrace my happier friend above.”

“Can I the memorable day forget,
When first we, by Divine appointment, met?
Where undisturb’d the thoughtful student roves,
In search of truth, through academic groves,
A modest, pensive youth, who mus’d alone,
Industrious the frequented path to shun:
An Israelite without disguise or art
I saw, I loved, and clasp’d him to my heart,
A stranger as my bosom friend carest,
And unawares receiv’d an angel-guest.”

“Through his abundant toils, with fixt amaze,
We see reviv’d the work of ancient days;
In his unspotted life, with joy we see
The fervours of primeval piety:
A pattern to the flock by Jesus bought,
A living witness of the truths He taught,――
He shew’d the man regenerate from above,
By fraudless innocence, and childlike love.
For friendship form’d by nature and by grace,
(His heart made up of truth and tenderness),
Stranger to guile, unknowing to deceive,
In anger, malice, or revenge to live,
Betwixt the mountain and the multitude,
His life was spent in prayer and doing good.”