WHITEFIELD and the Wesleys were now not the only evangelical clergymen in London. Not to mention others, there was the Rev. Thomas Jones, of St. Saviour’s, Southwark,—a young man of feeble health, but whose preaching was characterised by great eloquence and power. There was the Rev. Martin Madan, founder and first chaplain of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner. And there was the Rev. William Romaine, who had been at Oxford at the same time Whitefield and the Wesleys were, but without becoming an Oxford Methodist,—one of the most popular preachers in the metropolis, and now curate of St. Olave’s, Southwark. The ministry of such men occasioned Whitefield unmingled joy. One of his first letters, after his arrival in England, was addressed to the Countess of Huntingdon, in which, with a full heart, he wrote: “Glad am I to hear that so many have lately been stirred up to preach the crucified Saviour. Surely that Scripture must be fulfilled, ‘And many of the priests also were obedient to the word.’ The work is of God, and therefore must prosper.”
In a letter to Governor Belcher, on the same subject, he remarked:—
“London, May 14, 1755. The word has still free course in this metropolis. The poor, despised Methodists are as lively as ever; and, in several churches, the gospel is now preached with power. Many in Oxford are awakened to a knowledge of the truth; and, almost every week, I have heard of some fresh minister, who seems determined to know nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”
This was a most important movement,—the commencement of that great change which gradually came over the Church of England, until hundreds of its pulpits were filled with converted men, weekly preaching the doctrines which Whitefield and the Wesleys preached. For sixteen years, the three Methodist itinerants had been scattering seed, which, in many thousands of instances, had sprung up, and was bearing fruit; but now a new fact occurred,—the seed-sowers were being multiplied. In a letter to a lady, in 1752, stating the case of a poor divinity student, who needed help, Whitefield wrote: “Every student’s name is Legion. Helping one of these, is helping thousands.” No wonder that he now exulted in the increase of gospel ministers.
During his recent visit to America, the Rev. Aaron Burr and the trustees of New Jersey College conferred on Whitefield an M.A. degree. Within a week after his return to England, Whitefield commenced an endeavour to return the compliment. He had formed a high opinion of Mr. Burr, and wished him to be honoured; but, apart from this, he doubtless thought that the college would be helped if its president were made a doctor of divinity. The Marquis of Lothian had been a generous benefactor of the college, and, through him, Whitefield hoped to procure the coveted distinction. In a letter to the Marquis, he spoke of the college as “the purest seminary” he had known, and added, “If the degree of doctor of divinity could be procured for Mr. Burr, the present president, it would make an addition to its honours.” The Marquis replied, “The University of Edinburgh desire me to obtain some account of Mr. Burr’s literature, or performances. This I hope you will send; and a diploma will be immediately transmitted.” Whitefield’s answer, which deserves insertion, was as follows:—
“Mr. Burr was educated at Yale College, in Connecticut, New England; and, for his pregnant abilities and well-approved piety, was unanimously chosen to succeed the Rev. Mr. Dickinson,363 in the care of New Jersey College. It would have delighted your lordship to have seen how gloriously he filled the chair last year, at the New Jersey commencement. His Latin oration was beautifully elegant, and was delivered with unaffected, yet striking energy and pathos. As a preacher, disputant, and head of a college, he shines in North America; and the present prosperity of New Jersey College is greatly owing to his learning, piety, and conduct. The students revere and love him. Your lordship might have testimonials enough from good Governor Belcher, Mr. Jonathan Edwards,364 cum multis aliis. I believe they would all concur in saying that, of his age, now upwards of forty, there is not a more accomplished deserving president in the world. As for anything of his in print, that can be referred to, I can say nothing, except a little pamphlet lately published,365 in which he has animated the people against the common enemy, and discovered a close attachment to the interest of our rightful sovereign, King George. This piece of Mr. Burr’s I have in London, and hope it is in Scotland. I wish the diploma may be transmitted against the next commencement. It will endear your lordship more and more to the good people of America.”366
To say the least, there was a great amount of large-heartedness in this attempt to distinguish the college of a church with which Whitefield was not officially connected.
After his arrival in England, Whitefield spent about six weeks in London, where his preaching was as popular as ever. Writing to the Countess of Huntingdon, on May 27th, he said:—
“What a blessed week have we had! Sinners have come like a cloud, and fled like doves to the windows. What a happiness is it to be absorbed and swallowed up in God! To have no schemes, no views, but to promote the common salvation! This be my happy lot!”
In another letter, dated “London, June 7th,” he wrote:—
“It will rejoice you to hear that the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ gets ground apace. Several of the clergy, both in town and country, have been lately stirred up to preach Christ crucified, in the demonstration of the Spirit, and with power. This excites the enmity of the old Serpent. The greatest venom is spit against Mr. Romaine, who, having been reputed a great scholar, is now looked upon and treated as a great fool, because he himself is made wise unto salvation, and is earnestly desirous that others should be. Methinks I hear you say, ‘O happy folly!’ May this blessed leaven diffuse itself through the whole nation! The prospect is promising. Many students at Oxford are earnestly learning Christ. Dear Mr. Hervey has learnt and preached Him some years. As for myself, I can only say, ‘Less than the least of all,’ must be my motto still. I labour but feebly, and yet Jesus owns my labours. People still flock to the gospel, like doves to the windows. Will you be pleased to accept of my Lisbon letters?367 My little Communion book is not yet out. God be praised! there is a time coming when we shall need books and ordinances no more, but shall be admitted into uninterrupted communion and fellowship with the blessed Trinity for ever.”
The “little Communion book” here mentioned was a 12mo. volume, of 140 pages, with the following title: “A Communion Morning’s Companion. By George Whitefield, A.B., late of Pembroke College, Oxford, and Chaplain to the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon. London, 1755.” The book consists of: 1. Meditations on the five last Questions and Answers of the Catechism of the Church of England. Extracted from Bishop Ken. 2. The Order for Administration of the Lord’s Supper. After the pattern of Bishop Wilson. 3. Fifty-nine Sacramental Hymns, and seventeen Doxologies, extracted from several authors. Except a few written by the Wesleys, most of the hymns are pious doggerel. The extracts from Ken and Wilson are intensely religious, and, to a devout mind, must be useful. The book had an extensive sale. As early as 1758, it had passed through a third edition; The following is taken from Whitefield’s preface:—
“There is but little in this ‘Communion Morning’s Companion’ of my own; and, as it is intended purely for the assistance of the professed members of the Church of England, I thought it most advisable to extract the meditations and practical remarks on the public form of administration from our own bishops. I particularly fixed on Bishop Ken, not only because his sweet meditations on the Redeemer’s passion were some of the first things that made a religious impression on my own soul, but because he was one of those seven bishops who were sent to the Tower for making a noble stand against popish tyranny and arbitrary power in the latter end of the reign of King James the Second. Imagining that the words ‘real presence,’ though evidently meant by the good bishop only of the Redeemer’s spiritual presence (which is all the presence I know of), might stumble some, I erased them, and also made a few alterations in some other passages, which, by some, might be judged objectionable.
“As for those who are against any offices or set forms at all, I shall only say, ‘Let not him who useth a form judge him who useth it not; and let not him who useth it not despise him who doth use it.’ Though I profess myself a minister of the Established Church, and never yet renounced her articles, homilies, or liturgy, I can and, if God’s providence direct my course thither again, shall join in occasional communion with the churches of New England and Scotland, being persuaded there are as many faithful ministers among them as in any parts of the known world.”
About the middle of the month of June, Whitefield set out on a three weeks’ tour to Gloucester, Bristol, and the west of England. “Thousands and thousands,” says he, “flocked in Gloucestershire; and here, in Bristol, the congregations fall little short of those in London.” At Bath, he preached several times in the house of Lady Gertrude Hotham; Lord Chesterfield, Mrs. Grinfield, Mrs. Bevan,368 and other members of the aristocracy being among his hearers.
On the 1st of July, Lady Anne Hastings, after a short illness, was removed to her eternal rest, in the sixty-fifth year of her age.369 Whitefield heard of this event at Bristol, and, on his return to London, wrote as follows to the Countess of Huntingdon:—
“London, July 11, 1755.
“Ever-honoured Madam,—Yesterday, about noon, after being worn down with travelling, and preaching twice and thrice a day in Gloucestershire, at Bath, and Bristol, a gracious Providence brought me to town. At Bristol, I heard of the death of good Lady Anne. Alas! how many has your ladyship lived to see go before you! An earnest this, I hope, that you are to live to a good old age, and be more and more a mother in Israel. A short, but sweet character. God knows how long I am to drag this crazy load, my body, along. Blessed be His holy name! I have not one attachment to earth. I am sick of myself, sick of the world, sick of the Church, and am panting daily after the full enjoyment of my God. John Cennick is now added to the happy number of those who are called to see Him as He is.370 I do not envy, but I want to follow after him.
“The fields at Bristol and Kingswood were whiter and more ready to harvest than for many years past. If the new Tabernacle at Bristol were as large as that in London, it would be filled. Thrice last Sunday, and twice the Sunday before, I preached in the fields to many, many thousands. At Bath, we had good seasons. Good Lady Gertrude, Mrs. Bevan, and Mrs. Grinfield, were very hearty. God was with us of a truth. O for an humble, thankful heart! I am now looking up for direction what course to steer next. I suppose it will be northward.”
Whitefield spent about another month in London. It was at this period that Cornelius Winter, then a boy in the thirteenth year of his age, was induced to hear Whitefield preach. Cornelius was an orphan, whose father had been a shoemaker, and his mother a laundress. At the age of eight, he was admitted into the Charity School of St. Andrew’s, Holborn. He then became the inmate of a workhouse. When his “schooling closed,” he “had merely learned to write, without being set to put three figures together, or to learn one line in any of the tables.” The half-hungered child next became errand boy, and a sort of general drudge in the kitchen and the workshop of a distant relative, Mr. Winter, watergilder, in Bunhill Row. His master was bad-tempered, and a drunkard, and often beat young Cornelius so unmercifully that the lad sometimes wished to die. The boy regularly attended the Church of St. Luke, in Old Street, but says, he had “strong prejudices against the Methodists and Dissenters.” “However,” he writes, “when my clothes were disgracefully bad, which was sometimes the case, I absconded from my own church, and occasionally wandered into a meeting-house. At last, I got to hear Mr. Whitefield, and was particularly struck with the largeness of the congregation, the solemnity that sat upon it, the melody of the singing, and Mr. Whitefield’s striking appearance, and his earnestness in preaching. From this time, I embraced all opportunities to hear him.”371
Whitefield remained in London till the commencement of the month of August, when, unexpectedly, he was requested, by Colonel and Mrs. Galatin, and the Countess of Huntingdon, to go to Norwich, and re-open the Tabernacle built for Wheatley, Wesley’s expelled itinerant preacher. Wesley already had a mongrel Society in Norwich, and disapproved of Whitefield’s preaching in an apparently opposition chapel.372 He complained to Whitefield, who replied as follows:—
“Norwich, August 9, 1755.
“Reverend and dear Sir,—Till Tuesday evening” (August 5th) “I knew no more of coming to Norwich than a child unborn. Had I been well enough, and my private business permitted, I should have been some miles on my way towards Donington Park. This I told Mr. Hartley, and acquainted him with every step. He should have written himself, and not retailed our conversation. As I expect to be in town some time next week, I choose to defer writing more till we have a personal interview. My time is too precious to be employed in hearkening to, or vindicating myself against, the false and invidious insinuations of narrow and low-life informers. Never was I more satisfied of my call to any place than of my present call to Norwich. The Redeemer knows the way that I take. I came hither purely for His glory, without the least design to make a party for myself, or to please or displease any other party whatsoever. In this way, and in this spirit, through His divine assistance, I hope to go on. Blessed be His name! I trust my feeble labours have not been in vain. Sin, I hope, has been prevented, errors detected, sinners convicted, saints edified, and my own soul sweetly refreshed. But I must add no more. That Jesus may give us all a right judgment in all things, and keep all parties from giving a wrong touch to the ark, is and shall be the constant prayer of, reverend and dear sir, yours most affectionately in our common Lord,
“George Whitefield.”
The Society at Norwich were the most refractory set of Methodists in the United Kingdom. It would be a bootless task to write their history. Suffice it to say, that Whitefield was satisfied with his visit. “Here,” says he, “there has undoubtedly been a glorious work of God. Twice a day, both gentle and simple flock to hear the word; and, I think, it comes with power.”373 “Notwithstanding offences have come, I scarce ever preached a week together with greater freedom.”374 After he left, the Rev. William Cudworth took his place, and, henceforth, became Wesley’s enemy, and the dangerous friend of the gentle Hervey. Cudworth was assisted by Wheatley and Robert Robinson, the latter a youth of twenty, but afterwards the famous Baptist minister at Cambridge. They established preaching stations in the surrounding villages; and, at Forncett, about twelve miles from Norwich, a Tabernacle was erected. About five years after this, from 1758 to 1763, the Norwich Tabernacle seems to have been occupied by Wesley and the preachers in connection with him. He then abandoned it, utterly despairing to keep in order James Wheatley’s “lambs.” Indeed, he designates them “bullocks unaccustomed to the yoke, who had never had any rule or order among them, but every man did what was right in his own eyes.” Lady Huntingdon next bought the Tabernacle for £900, and vested it in seven trustees, who were to manage its secular concerns, and appoint or dismiss its ministers at their pleasure.375
Notwithstanding the foregoing letter addressed to Wesley, there continued to be misgiving. It also seems that, at first, Cudworth and Wheatley found it difficult to co-operate. When Whitefield got back to London, he wrote, as follows, to the turbulent Norwich Methodists:—
“London, August 26, 1755.
“My dear Friends,—I received your kind letters, and likewise one from Mr. Wheatley; and, last night, a long one from Mr. Cudworth; but, alas! I have no time for controversy. To their own Master they must both either stand or fall. All I can say, in your present circumstances, is, that you had best make a trial, and let matters, for a while, stand as they are. I have sent letters, if possible, to prevent the spreading, at least the publishing, of any further tales. Meanwhile, do you strengthen yourselves in the Lord your God. The cause is His. I believe you honestly embarked in it, for His great name’s sake, and He will help you out of all. To-morrow, I must away to the north. Follow me with your prayers; and assure yourselves that you and yours, and the dear people of Norwich, will not be forgotten by me. If ever the Redeemer should bring me thither again, I can then converse with Mr. Wheatley and Mr. Cudworth face to face; but I beg to be excused from writing, when I think, by so doing, I can do no service. The Lord clothe us all with humility, and give us all true simplicity and godly sincerity!”
On August 27, Whitefield left London for the north of England. On his way, he spent two or three days with his friend Hervey, at the rectory of Weston-Favell. Hervey had just published, in three octavo volumes, his “Theron and Aspasio,” part of which work had been submitted to Wesley in manuscript, for his revision. Wesley and Hervey had already become alienated, for Wesley had made more corrections in the manuscript than Hervey liked. At all events, on January 9, 1755, Hervey wrote to Lady Frances Shirley: “Mr. John Wesley takes me roundly to task on the score of predestination; at which I am much surprised, because this doctrine (be it true or false) makes no part of my scheme. I cannot but fear he has some sinister design. I do not charge such an artifice, but sometimes I cannot help forming a suspicion.”376 In the interval, Wesley had written to Hervey a long letter, freely animadverting on “Theron and Aspasio,” and begging him to lay aside the phrase, “the imputed righteousness of Christ,” adding, “It is not scriptural, it is not necessary, it has done immense hurt.” Hervey, for once in his lovely life, neglected to exercise his natural gentleness. Wesley’s letter offended him, and he declined to acknowledge it; but, whilst Whitefield was his guest, he wrote to his Baptist friend, the Rev. John Ryland: “I find, by private intelligence, that Mr. Wesley has shewn his letter in London, and has thought proper to animadvert upon me, by name, from his pulpit.”
There can be little doubt that Whitefield was Hervey’s informant. Affairs among these old Oxford Methodists were in a ticklish state. It is a mournful fact, that, chiefly through the machinations of William Cudworth, the friendship between Hervey and Wesley was not renewed; but it was otherwise with the large-hearted Whitefield. In his Journal, under the date, November 5th, 1755, Wesley wrote: “Mr. Whitefield called upon me; disputings are now no more; we love one another, and join hand in hand to promote the cause of our common Master.” Charles Wesley, also, wrote to his old friend a poetical epistle,377 breathing with Christian love, from which the following lines are taken:—
“Come on, my Whitefield! (since the strife is past,
And friends at first are friends again at last,)
Our hands, and hearts, and counsels let us join
In mutual league, t’ advance the work divine;
Our one contention now, our single aim,
To pluck poor souls as brands out of the flame;
To spread the victory of that bloody cross,
And gasp our latest breath in the Redeemer’s cause.
“In a strange land I stood,
And beckon’d thee to cross th’ Atlantic flood:
With true affection wing’d, thy ready mind
Left country, fame, and ease, and friends behind,
And, eager all heaven’s counsels to explore,
Flew through the watery world and grasp’d the shore.
Nor did I linger, at my friend’s desire,
To tempt the furnace, and abide the fire:
When suddenly sent forth, from the highways
I call’d poor outcasts to the feast of grace;
Urg’d to pursue the work, by thee begun,
Through good and ill report, I still rush’d on,
Nor felt the fire of popular applause,
Nor fear’d the torturing flame in such a glorious cause.
“One in His hand, O may we still remain,
Fast bound with love’s indissoluble chain;
(That adamant which time and death defies,
That golden chain which draws us to the skies!)
His love the tie that binds us to His throne,
His love the bond that perfects us in one;
His love, (let all the ground of friendship see,)
His only love constrains our hearts t’ agree,
And gives the rivet of eternity!”
Just at the time when Whitefield left America, the ministers of George the Second announced to Parliament that a war with France was inevitable. The Committee of Supply eagerly voted a million of money for the defence of their American possessions; and Admiral Boscawen was sent with a fleet towards the Gulf of St. Lawrence, to intercept a French fleet which had been prepared in the forts of Rochefort and Brest, and which was carrying reinforcements to the French Canadians. America was now in martial confusion. Among others, Whitefield’s old friend Sir William Pepperell had gone to the field of action; and Whitefield, while a guest at Hervey’s, wrote to Lady Pepperell and her daughter, to cheer them in the colonel’s absence, as follows:—
“Weston-Favell, August 30, 1755.
“Dear Miss,—A few days past, as I was going into the Tabernacle to read letters, yours came to hand. Immediately, I read it among the rest, and you and my other New England friends had the prayers of thousands. How did I wish to be transported to America! How did I long to stir up all against the common enemy, and to be made instrumental of doing my dear country some little service! Dear New England,—dear Boston lies upon my heart! Surely the Lord will not give it over into the hands of the enemy. He has too many praying ministers and praying people there, for such a dreadful catastrophe.”
“Weston-Favell, August 30, 1755.
“Dear Madam,—I find you are once more called to give up your honoured husband for his country’s good. The God whom you serve will richly reward you for such a sacrifice, and be better to you than seven husbands. I long to hear that he is returned victorious. He is gone upon a good cause, and under the conduct of the best general, even the Captain of our salvation. To Him I am praying, night and day, for the temporal and spiritual welfare of dear, never-to-be-forgotten New England. Courage, dear madam, courage! A few more partings, a few more changes, a few more heart-breakings, heart-purifying trials, and we shall be safely landed.”
Such were Whitefield’s feelings at the commencement of the Seven Years’ War, which was ended by the Peace of Paris, February 10, 1763. The terrific strife kept Whitefield from his beloved America for the space of eight long years, and, during this lengthened period, many and great were his anxieties concerning his Orphan House, and his transatlantic friends; but more of this anon. An extract from another letter, written at Hervey’s, and addressed to a rich, but miserly American, is too characteristic to be omitted.
“Weston-Favell, August 30, 1755.
“Your friends everywhere take notice, that the sin which doth most easily beset you is a too great love of money; and this, in many cases, makes you act an unfriendly part. If God should suffer our enemies to prevail, you will wish you had laid up more treasure in heaven. Blessed be God, mine is out of the reach of men or devils. Strange that five per cent. from man should be preferred to a hundredfold from Christ! A word to the wise is sufficient. I am looking out for more news from dear America. May the late defeat be sanctified! Adieu, my dear Mr. V——! Non magna loquimur, non magna scribimus, sed vivimus, is the Christian’s motto. Mr. D—— can English it.”
On Sunday, August 31st, Whitefield preached twice, not in his friend Hervey’s church, but at Northampton. He then proceeded to Lady Huntingdon’s, at Donington Park. At Liverpool, on September 12th, “some fallow ground was broken up;” at Bolton, “the cup of many ran over;” at Manchester, “people heard most gladly;” at Leeds and Bradford, “what many felt was unutterable;” and at York, “a smart gentleman was touched.” On reaching Newcastle-on-Tyne, Whitefield wrote to the Countess of Huntingdon, as follows:—
“Newcastle, September 24, 1755.
“Ever-honoured Madam,—I know not how long it is since I left your ladyship; but this I know, a sense of the satisfaction I felt when at Donington still lies upon my heart. Were I not called to public work, waiting upon, and administering to your ladyship in holy offices would be my choice and highest privilege.
“The only new ground that has been broken up is Liverpool. There the prospect is promising. I preached in a great square on the Lord’s-day, and the alarm, I hear, went through the town. At Bolton, the cup of God’s people ran over; and at Manchester we had large auditories and blessed seasons. At Leeds, we felt what is unutterable; and at Bradford, last Sunday, the congregation consisted of at least ten thousand.378 But, oh, how has my pleasure been alloyed at Leeds! I rejoiced there with trembling; for, unknown to me, they had almost finished a large house, in order to form a separate congregation.379 If this scheme succeeds, an awful separation, I fear, will take place amongst the Societies.380 I have written to Mr. Wesley, and have done all I could to prevent it. O this self-love, this self-will! It is the devil of devils!
“I write this from Newcastle, where the people, twice a day, hear the gospel gladly. What to do now, I know not. Calls on all sides are very loud, and it is too late to go either to Ireland or Scotland. O my God! winter is at hand, and, in the summer, how little has been done for Thee! I cannot bear to live at this poor dying rate.”
Whitefield spent ten or a dozen days in the neighbourhood of Newcastle, and then set out for London, where he arrived on October 30th. The following are extracts from his letters:—
“London, October 31, 1755.
“Last night, a never-failing God brought me from the north of England, where I have been enabled to preach twice and thrice a day to many, many thousands, for two months past. And yet I cannot die. Nay, they tell me I grow fat. Never did I see the word more blessed, or so many thousands run after it with greater greediness. Next to inviting them to Christ, I have always taken care to exhort them to pray for King George, and our dear friends in America.”
“London, November 1, 1755.
“On Thursday evening, I came to town, after having preached about a hundred times, and travelled about eight hundred miles. For more than ten days together, I preached thrice a day. O that I could preach three hundred times! All would be infinitely too little to testify my love to Jesus. After about a week’s stay here, I hope to move westward. O winter! winter! Haste and fly, that I may again set out! Yesterday, I waited upon the Countess Delitz, and, on Thursday, I am to dine with her ladyship.”
“London, November 8, 1755.
“I hear you have been sitting night and day in council. All we can do on this side the water is to pray. This, I trust, thousands are doing every day. I seldom preach without mentioning dear New England. Blessed be God! the prospect is promising here. In the north of England, the word runs and is glorified more than ever. In London, people flock like doves to the windows.”
To Lady Huntingdon, who had gone to Clifton Hotwells, Bristol, Whitefield wrote:—
“London, November 10, 1755.
“Ever-honoured Madam,—Your ladyship’s kind and condescending letter found me just returned from Chatham. The court, in the best sense of the word, is now removed to Clifton. For there only is the real court kept, where Jesus reigns, and where He has erected a spiritual kingdom in the heart. All besides this is only tinsel and glitter. Here alone is real and abiding happiness to be found. O for further searches into the heights and depths of God! O for further leadings into the chambers of that selfish, sensual, and devilish imagery, that yet lie latent in my partly renewed heart! This self-love, what a Proteus! This self-will, what a Hydra! This remaining body of sin and death, what an Antichrist! what a scarlet whore! what a hell! what a red dragon! what a cursed monster is it! How hard, how slow, he dies! O what gratitude do I owe to the Bruiser of this serpent’s head! O for a heart gladly to embrace every cross, every trying dispensation, that may have a tendency to poison, or starve the old man, and cherish, promote, or cause to bloom and blossom the graces and tempers of the new! Ordinances, providences, doctrines are of no service to believers, except as they are attended with this mortifying and life-giving power. Happy family, who have this one thing in view! Happy retirement, that is improved to this blessed purpose! Happy, therefore, good Lady Huntingdon, and the other elect ladies, who are determined thus to go hand in hand to heaven! All hail, ye new-born, heaven-born souls! Ye know, by happy experience, that Jesus is an inward as well as outward Saviour. Were even annihilation to follow death, who would not but have this redemption whilst they live? But glory, glory be to God! it is only the dawning of an eternal day, the beginning of a life that is ere long to be absorbed in never-ceasing, uninterrupted fruition of the ever-blessed Triune Deity. O the depth, the height of this love of God! It passeth human and angelic knowledge. My paper only permits me to add, that I am, ever-honoured madam,
“Your ladyship’s most dutiful and ready servant,
“George Whitefield.”
Soon after this, Whitefield joined her ladyship at Bristol, where he spent about a month, but, to a great extent, was prevented preaching. Hence the following:—
“Bristol, November 30.
“For near ten days past, I have preached in pain, occasioned by a sore throat, which I find now is the beginning of a quinsy. The doctor tells me silence and warmth may cure me; but (if I had my will) heaven is my choice, especially if I can speak no longer for my God on earth. However, painful as the medicine of silence is, I have promised to be very obedient, and, therefore, I have not preached this morning.”
Whitefield returned to London towards the end of December, and closed the year by writing to the Countess of Huntingdon:—
“London, December 31, 1755.
“Ever-honoured Madam,—Your ladyship’s kind and condescending letter should not have been so long unanswered, had not bodily weakness, and my Christmas labours, prevented my writing. It has been a joyful-mourning season. Saturday last being my birthday, my soul was deeply exercised, from morning till evening, in thinking how much, in one-and-forty years, I had sinned against God, and how little I have done for Him. This impression yet lies deep upon my heart, and, therefore, I purpose to end the old year by preaching on these words, ‘I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.’ O that all things belonging to the old man may die in me, and all things belonging to the new man may live and grow in me! But, alas! this is a work of time. Every day and every hour must we be passing from death to life. Mortification and vivification make up the whole of the Divine work in the new-born soul.
“But shall I conceal the goodness of my long-suffering Master? No, I dare not; for, in spite of my unworthiness, He still continues to smile upon my poor ministrations. A noble chapel is now opened in Long Acre, where I am to read prayers and preach twice a week. Hundreds went away last night, who could not come in; but those who could, I trust, met with Jesus.”
Long Acre has just been mentioned,—Long Acre, with the London theatres on the left, and Wesley’s West Street chapel on the right,—then a fashionable street; now, to a great extent, consisting of workshops for making and exhibiting all kinds of carriages. In the theatres, John Rich, the harlequin, with a kind of dumb eloquence, was electrifying his audiences by the mere gesticulations of his body. Catherine Clive was cleverly acting the characters of chambermaids, fashionable ladies, country girls, romps, hoydens, dowdies, superannuated beauties, viragoes, and humorists. David Garrick, who once said “I would give a hundred guineas if I could only say ‘Oh!’ like Mr. Whitefield,” was the celebrated manager of the theatre in Drury Lane. Margaret Woffington was an admired favourite at Covent Garden. And Samuel Foote was at the height of his popularity.
The chapel in Long Acre381 was rented by the Rev. John Barnard, one of Whitefield’s early converts, who was now an Independent minister, but afterwards became a Sandemanian, and was ultimately expelled by that Society for entertaining too exalted notions of his preaching powers.382
The Dean of Westminster, who, in some capacity, claimed some sort of clerical jurisdiction in Long Acre, was Zachary Pearce, D.D., the son of a distiller in Holborn; from 1748 to 1756, was Bishop of Bangor; and, afterwards, Bishop of Rochester;—an accomplished scholar, a perspicuous writer, a feeble orator, an active prelate, and a hearty hater of the Methodists.
Whitefield had long wished to have a West-end chapel, which might serve as the meeting-house, not only of the rich in general, but especially of the distinguished persons who were accustomed to assemble in the mansions of the Countess of Huntingdon, Lady Frances Shirley, and Lady Gertrude Hotham.
These brief memoranda will help to explain the allusions in the following extracts from Whitefield’s letters.
The first is taken from a letter addressed to the Rev. John Gillies, of Glasgow:—
“London, January 22, 1756. Ever since I came from the north, I have had a violent cold and sore throat, which threatened an inflammatory quinsy. One physician prescribed a perpetual blister, but I have found perpetual preaching to be a better remedy. When this grand catholicon fails, it is over with me. You will pray that, if I must put out to sea again, it may be to take fresh prizes for my God. Every day brings us fresh news of newly awakened souls. Both at this and the other end of the town (where I now preach in a chapel twice a week), there is a glorious stirring among the dry bones.”
The next is from a letter written to the Countess of Huntingdon:—
“London, January 29, 1756. I know not how soon I may be called before my superiors. The sons of Jubal and Cain continue to serenade me at Long Acre chapel. They have been called before a justice; and, yesterday, the Bishop of Bangor sent for them, and enquired where I lived. My house is pretty public, and the ‘Bishop of souls’ shall answer for me. One, who subscribes to hire men to make the noise, has been pricked to the heart, and can have no rest till he speaks with me. Thus Jesus gets Himself the victory. One of the enclosed extracts comes from a person who, a few weeks ago, was a confirmed Deist; now, I trust, he is a little child. The Redeemer speaks, and it is done; He commands, and new creatures instantaneously arise before Him.”
Did these “sons of Jubal and Cain” belong to the adjoining theatres? Perhaps they did. Still, it is curious that Wesley, in West Street chapel, had never been disturbed by their unwelcome serenading; and it is equally remarkable, that though Bishop Pearce did his utmost to silence Whitefield in Long Acre, he seems not at all to have interfered with Wesley in a neighbouring street. The annoyance, to Whitefield and his West-end congregation, was great; but he was more wishful to convert the serenaders than to punish them. Hence the following, addressed to the gentleman who had brought some of the disturbers before a magistrate:—
“January 30. Gratitude constrains me to send you a few lines of thanks for the care and zeal you have exercised in suppressing the late disorders at Long Acre chapel. I hear that some unhappy man has incurred the penalty inflicted by our salutary laws. As peace, not revenge, is the thing aimed at, I should rejoice if this could be procured without the delinquents suffering any further punishment. Perhaps what has been done already may be sufficient to deter others from any further illegal proceedings; and that will be satisfaction enough for me.”
But for the meddling of Bishop Pearce, it is possible, perhaps probable, that these disreputable disturbances might have ceased; but, two days after writing thus to the gentleman who had commenced a prosecution of the noisy musicians, Whitefield received a letter from the Bishop, in which he prohibited Whitefield’s further preaching in the Long Acre chapel. This led to an important correspondence between the prelate and the preacher. Whether his lordship had a legal right to issue such a prohibition, ecclesiastical lawyers must determine; but, to say the least, his action had the appearance of episcopal persecution. The Bishop’s letters to Whitefield have not been published; for, with contemptible cowardice, Pearce informed Whitefield that, if he dared to publish them, he must be prepared to undergo the penalty due to the infringement of “the privilege of a peer!” Still, the substance of his letters may be gathered from Whitefield’s answers; and, as these answers contain an explanation and a defence of the course of conduct which Whitefield had pursued for nearly the last twenty years, they are inserted here at greater length, than, under other circumstances, they would have been.
“Tabernacle House, February 2, 1756.
“My Lord,—A few weeks ago, several serious persons, chosen to be a committee for one Mr. Barnard, applied to me, in the name of Jesus Christ, and a multitude of souls desirous of hearing the gospel, to preach at a place commonly called Long Acre chapel. At the same time, they acquainted me, that the place was licensed; that Mr. Barnard either had taken or was to take it for a certain term of years; that he had preached in it for a considerable time, as a Protestant Dissenting minister; but that, notwithstanding this, I might use the Liturgy if I thought proper, so that I would but come and preach once or twice a week.
“Looking upon this as a providential call from Him, who, in the days of His flesh, taught all who were willing to hear, on a mount, in a ship, or by the sea-side, I readily complied; and I humbly hope that my feeble labours have not been altogether in vain.
“This being the case, I was somewhat surprised at the prohibition I received from your lordship this evening. For, I looked upon the place as a particular person’s property; and being, as I was informed, not only unconsecrated, but also licensed according to law, I thought I might innocently preach the love of the crucified Redeemer, and loyalty to the best of princes, our dread sovereign King George, without giving any just offence to Jew or Gentile, much less to any bishop or overseer of the Church of God. As I have, therefore, given notice of preaching to-morrow evening, and every Tuesday and Thursday whilst I am in town, I hope your lordship will not look upon it as contumacy, if I persist in prosecuting my design, till I am more particularly apprized wherein I have erred.
“Controversy, my lord, is what I abhor; and, as raising popular clamours and ecclesiastical dissensions must be quite unseasonable, especially at this juncture, when France and Rome, and hell ought to be the common butt of our resentment, I hope your lordship will be so good as to inform yourself and me more particularly about this matter; and, upon due consideration, as I have no design but to do good to precious souls, I promise to submit. But, if your lordship should judge it best to decline this method, and I should be called to answer for my conduct, either before a spiritual court, or from the press, I trust the irregularity I am charged with will appear justifiable to every true lover of English liberty, and (what is all to me) will be approved of at the awful and impartial tribunal of the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, in obedience to whom I beg leave to subscribe myself, your lordship’s most dutiful son and servant,
“George Whitefield.”
The Bishop of Bangor replied to this straightforward letter; but, of course, his threat, as a peer of the realm, suppressed his communication. Whitefield’s next letter was as follows:—