Volume 2 — WHITEFIELD’S LAST FOUR YEARS IN GREAT BRITAIN. From July 7, 1765, to September 5, 1769.

UPON the whole, Whitefield’s health was not improved by his visit to America. He had worked when others would have rested. If he had them with him, which perhaps is doubtful, he had worn “gown and cassock,” when it would have been more prudent to have lounged and travelled in a tourist’s dress. No doubt, his preaching in America had been of inestimable service; but he came back to England scarcely able to preach at all. On his arrival, he thus wrote to Mr. Keen:—

“Plymouth, July 12, 1765. I left the Halifax packet, from New York, near the Lizard; and, by the blunder of a drunken fellow, missed the post on the 8th inst. I want a gown and cassock. Child, in Chancery Lane, used to make for me, and perhaps knows my measure. Amazing, that I have not been measured for a coffin long ago! I am very low in body, and, as yet, undetermined what to do. Perhaps, on the whole, it may be best to come on leisurely, to see if my spirits can be a little recruited. You may write a few lines, at a venture, to Bristol. Had I bodily strength, you would find me coming upon you unawares; but that fails me much. I must have a little rest, or I shall be able to do nothing at all.”

Six days after this, he was at Bristol, in “a fine commodious house, and kept from much company,” but still begging “not to be brought into action too soon.” He wrote, “The poor old shattered bark has not been in dock one week for a long while.”

A fortnight afterwards, he arrived in London, and wrote as follows, probably to one of his old assistants, John Edwards, now Congregationalist minister in Leeds:—

“London, August 3, 1765. I am very weak in body, but gratitude constrains me to send you a few lines of love unfeigned, for your labours during my absence abroad. I rejoice to hear they were blessed. Our friends tell me that the sound of your Master’s feet was heard behind you. To Him, and Him alone, be all the glory! Thanks be to God! we do not go a warfare at our own charges. The Captain of our Salvation will conquer for, and in us. Let us but acknowledge Him in all our ways, and He will direct and prosper all our paths. Our enemies shall be at peace with us. The very ravens—birds of prey—shall be obliged to come and feed us. O for an increase of faith! I hope you have refreshing times from the presence of the Lord, among your own flock. O to end life well! Methinks, I have now but one more river to pass over,—Jordan; and we know who can carry us over, without being ankle deep. Yet a little while, and all true labourers shall enter into the joy of their Lord. Amen! Hallelujah!”

Despite his wish that Messrs. Keen and Hardy would continue to manage his London chapels, Whitefield was obliged to obtain supplies for them himself. To Mr. Andrew Kinsman, whom he was accustomed to address as his “dear Timothy,” he wrote:—

“London, September 20, 1765. Pray, when are we to have the honour of a visit from you? I believe more than three weeks are elapsed since you came to Bristol. Mr. Adams523 is to be your colleague here. I purpose for both of you to preach at the” (Tottenham Court Road) “chapel as well as at the Tabernacle. Write an immediate answer, fixing your time of coming; and you must not think of returning soon. I have been better in health for a week past than I have been for these four years. My wife,524 last night, returned well, from Bury. She indulges this morning, being weary; but, I take it for granted, that, you and I rise at five. Mr. Adams’s room will be large enough for you to breathe in. I shall never breathe as I would, till I breathe in heaven.”

Mr. Kinsman, in reply, evidently proposed that, if he came to supply in London, Whitefield should supply in Bristol. Apart from his health, Whitefield had no liking for this proposal. His labours at Bristol had not been so successful and happy as in other places. Hence the following extract from a second letter to Mr. Kinsman:—

“London, September 28, 1765.

“Nothing is wanting at Bristol, London, and elsewhere, but labourers full of the first old Methodistical spirit; but where to get them is the question. Those, who are thus minded, are almost worn out. I would gladly fly to Bristol if I could; but I see it is best to be here for some time. Besides, things have always been at such a low ebb, when I have been at Bristol, and matters carried on with so little spirit, that I have generally come away mourning. If a few, such as Mr. Collet,525 would exert themselves steadily and perseveringly, and if proper preachers were sent, something might be done to purpose; but, as neither of these things is likely to happen, my expectations are not much raised. However, the residue of the Spirit is in the Redeemer’s hands. Fain would I have you up at London for some time, at this season. Mr. D—r expects to see you in a clerical habit about Christmas. He asked me if I would get him a scarf? I answered, that, you must have one first. You may guess how he smiled. However, I really intend you shall preach in the” (Tottenham Court Road) “chapel. I want you also to read the letters, and give me leave to comment upon them, as my breath will allow.”

Without unduly commenting on Whitefield’s letter, there are five facts in it, which must be apparent to every careful reader;—three of them interesting, and two of great importance. 1. Tottenham Court Road chapel was considered to occupy a higher position, than the Tabernacle in Moorfields. 2. Meetings for reading letters were still held among Whitefield’s followers. 3. Bristol was not one of Whitefield’s favourite preaching places. 4. In Whitefield’s opinion, Methodist preachers were already deteriorated. 5. That, without right preachers and a working Church, spiritual progress is next to impossible.

On October 1, Whitefield set out for Bath. For twenty-five years, the Countess of Huntingdon had been accustomed to visit that fashionable city. Wherever she went, she took her religion with her, for her religion was a part of herself. Her position, in many respects, was new and peculiar. She seemed to be a combination of Puritan, Churchman, Dissenter, and Reformer. Her chief characteristic, however, was heartfelt and practical religion. Her lighted “candle” was never “put under a bushel.” On all suitable occasions, she was ready to speak of the sins and errors of her early life, and to tell of her conversion to God, and to insist that the same change is necessary in all. At Bath, she had conversed on religious subjects, with many of the most distinguished personages of the time. Whitefield, Charles Wesley, and others, had conducted religious services in her lodgings, and the services had been attended by considerable numbers of the aristocracy, who would have declined to enter an ordinary Methodist meeting-house. To meet the case of such, her ladyship, years ago, had built chapels of her own at Brighton, and at Bristol; and now she erected a third at Bath; and, soon afterwards, built a fourth at Tunbridge Wells,—all of them places of fashionable resort.

The chapel at Bath being completed, the Countess summoned six clergymen of the Church of England to the opening, namely, Whitefield, Romaine, Venn, Madan, Shirley,526 and Townsend.527 On October 6, Whitefield and Townsend preached, and an immense crowd attended, including a large number of the nobility, who had been specially invited by her ladyship.528 Whitefield mentions this event in the following letter addressed to Mr. Keen:—

“Bath, October 7, 1765.

“The Chapel is extremely plain, and yet equally grand. A most beautiful original!529 All was conducted with great solemnity. Though a very wet day, the place was very full; and assuredly the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, by His presence, consecrated and made it holy ground. I preached in the morning, and Mr. Townsend in the evening. I am to preach to-morrow night, and have hopes of setting off on Wednesday morning.”

Whitefield, probably, spent the remainder of the year in London. Wesley breakfasted with him on October 28, and spoke of him as “an old, old man, fairly worn out in his Master’s service, though he has hardly seen fifty years.”530 No doubt, he preached as often as he could. He was also occupied with his project for converting his Orphan House into a college. In a letter to Mr. Dixon, his manager, he wrote:—

“London, October 26, 1765.

“Bethesda matters are likely to come to a speedy and happy issue. We talk of my coming over again. It is not impossible, if my health admits. At present, blessed be God! I am better than I was last year. The word runs and is glorified in London.”

This was written only two days before he and Wesley breakfasted together. Evidently, he scarcely considered his case so serious as Wesley did. Hopefulness, throughout life, was one of his prominent characteristics. This was true at present, both in reference to his health and to the affairs of Bethesda. He was pushing the proposal for a college as much as possible; but the accomplishment of his wish was more remote than he expected. He had sent a memorial to the king, in which he embodied nearly the whole of his memorial to the Governor and Council of Georgia. That to the king concluded thus:—

“Upon the arrival of your memorialist, he was informed that this address, ‘of the General Assembly to the Governor of Georgia,’ was remitted to, and laid before the Lords Commissioners for Trade and Plantations; and, having received repeated advices that numbers both in Georgia and South Carolina are waiting with impatience to have their sons initiated in academical exercises, your memorialist therefore prays that a charter, upon the plan of New Jersey College, may be granted; upon which your memorialist is ready to give up his present trust, and make a free gift of all lands, negroes, goods, and chattels, which he now stands possessed of in the Province of Georgia, for the present founding, and towards the future support of a college, to be called by the name of Bethesda College, in the Province of Georgia.”

At this stage of the business, Bethesda must be left until the beginning of the year 1767.

One of the first of Whitefield’s good deeds, in 1766, was to heal a breach. Four years before, Wesley’s Society in London had been thrown into great confusion, by a large number of its members using the most fanatical expressions in reference to the doctrine of Christian Perfection. Thomas Maxfield, generally reputed (though incorrectly) to have been the first layman, whom Wesley authorised to preach, and George Bell, a corporal in the Life Guards, and who, for a season, seemed to be insane, became the chief agitators. The result was a great scandal, a reduction of Wesley’s metropolitan Society from 2,800 members to 2,200, and a Society debt of more than £600. After many strange vicissitudes, Bell was brought back to a better state of feeling, and Whitefield was the means of it. Wesley writes:—

“January 3, 1766. Mr. Bell called upon me, now calm, and in his right mind. God has repressed his furious, bitter zeal, by means of Mr. Whitefield.”

And again, a month later:—

“January 31. Mr. Whitefield called upon me. He breathes nothing but peace and love. Bigotry cannot stand before him, but hides its head wherever he comes.”531

Another event occurred about the same time, but of a painful character. In Lloyd’s Evening Post, for February 10, 1766, the following announcement was made:—

“Lately died suddenly, at the Countess of Huntingdon’s, at Bath, Mr. James Whitefield, formerly a merchant of Bristol, and brother of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield.”

At the commencement of the year, Whitefield was invited to Sheerness, where there existed a Society of what might be considered his followers. Some of Wesley’s preachers had visited the town. The simple-minded, but somewhat bigoted people took alarm. They were angry at their Calvinistic enclosure being approached by Arminian forces. Cornelius Winter, then in Kent, heard of this, and went and preached to them, from—“Gideon said unto him, O my lord, if the Lord be with us, why then is all this befallen us? And where be all His miracles which our fathers told us of, saying, Did not the Lord bring us out of Egypt? but now even the Lord hath forsaken us, and delivered us into the hands of the Midianites.”532

The people now wanted Whitefield to visit them, and his affecting and admonitory answer was as follows:—

“London, January, 18, 1766.

“Dearly Beloved,—Not want of love, but of leisure and health, has occasioned you the trouble of writing a second letter. And now I am sorry to acquaint you, that it is not in my power to comply with your request. For want of more assistance, I am confined in town, with the care of two important posts, when I am only fit to be put into some garrison, among the invalids, to stand by an old gun or two. However, my former ambition still remains, and, through the help of your prayers, who knows but I may yet be strengthened to annoy the enemy? If others are blessed to do any execution, God forbid that I should hinder, though in all things they follow not with us. Let the Lord send by whom He will send. So that Christ is preached, and holiness promoted, I rejoice, yea, and will rejoice.”

Whitefield was glad to get away from London. The care of his two chapels was too much for him. He went to Bath and Bristol, and was willing, if not wishful, to visit Wales. Hence the following to Mr. Keen:—

“Bristol, March 17, 1766. A desire to be free from London cares has made me indifferent about frequent hearing from thence. If dear Mr. Howell Davies will continue to officiate, I have a mind to visit Wales for him. Last Friday evening, and twice yesterday, I preached at Bath, to thronged and brilliant audiences.533 I am told it was a high day. The glory of the Lord filled the house. To-morrow, God willing, I return thither. Mr. Townsend is too ill to officiate. If any urgent business requires, be pleased to direct either to this place or Bath. Pray shew my wife this. Cordial respects attend her, yourself, dear Mr. Hardy and sisters, and Mr. Howell Davies. Many think old times are coming round again.”

At this period, England was visited by a man who rose to great notoriety. Samson Occum was a descendant of Uncas, the celebrated chief of the Mohegans, and was born at Mohegan, about the year 1723. His parents led a wandering life, dwelt in wigwams, and depended chiefly upon hunting and fishing for subsistence. During the religious excitement, at the time of Whitefield’s first visits to America, Occum was converted, chiefly by the preaching of Whitefield and Gilbert Tennent, and became desirous of acting as the teacher of his tribe. In a year or two, he learned to read the Bible, and then went to the Indian school of Mr. Wheelock, of Lebanon. Here he remained for four years. During the next ten or eleven years, he taught a school among the Indians, and also preached to them, in their own language. Many of his hearers became Christians. He lived in a house covered with mats, and changed his abode twice a year, to be near the planting ground in the summer, and the woods in the winter. Amongst his various toils for sustenance, he was expert with his fish-hook and his gun; he bound old books for the people at East Hampton; and made wooden spoons, cedar pails, piggins, and churns. In 1759, he was ordained by the Suffolk Presbytery. During his late visit to America, Whitefield met with Occum, took him along with him in his travels, and sometimes heard him preach.534 Now, in 1766, in company with the Rev. Mr. Whitaker, Occum was sent to England, to obtain subscriptions towards the support of Wheelock’s school.535 He was the first Indian preacher who had visited Great Britain. The chapels, in which he preached, were thronged. Between February 16, 1766, and July 22, 1767, he delivered, in various parts of the kingdom, above three hundred sermons. He and Mr. Whitaker met with the most liberal patronage from Christians of all denominations, and of all ranks in society. His majesty, King George III., gave a subscription of £200, and the whole contributions, in England and Scotland, amounted to £12,500.536 After his return, Occum sometimes resided at Mohegan, but was often employed in missionary labours among distant Indians. In 1786, he removed to Brotherton, near Utica, in the neighbourhood of the Stockbridge Indians, where he died in 1792.537 Upwards of three hundred Indians attended his funeral. A portrait of him appeared in the Evangelical Magazine for 1808. Whitefield refers to him and his mission, in the following letter to the Rev. Mr. Gillies, of Glasgow:—

“London, April 25, 1766.

“Reverend and very dear Sir,—Not want of love, but of leisure and better health, has prevented you hearing from me more frequently. I find I cannot do as I have done; but, through infinite mercy, I am enabled to ascend my gospel-throne three or four times a week; and a glorious influence attends the word. People have a hearing ear, but we want more preachers.

“The prospect of a large and effectual door opening among the heathen is very promising. Mr. Occum, the Indian preacher, is a settled humble Christian. The good and great, with a multitude of lower degree, heard him preach last week at Tottenham Court chapel, and felt much of the power and presence of our common Lord. Mr. Romaine has preached, and collected £100; and, I believe, seven or eight hundred pounds more are subscribed. Lord Dartmouth espouses the cause most heartily, and His majesty has become a contributor. The King of kings, and Lord of all lords, will bless them for it.

“I trust you and all my other dear friends at Glasgow are so grown as to become tall cedars in the spiritual Lebanon. I pray for them, though I cannot write to them. I hope all is well at Cambuslang. Blessed be God! all will be well in heaven. I will not interrupt you. You want to say, Amen! Hallelujah! I only add, when upon the mount, put in a word for an old friend, who retains his old name, ‘the chief of sinners, less than the least of all saints’—but, for Jesus Christ’s sake,

“Reverend and very dear sir, your willing servant,

“George Whitefield.”

Shortly after this, Whitefield formed a friendship with Thomas Powys, Esq., a gentleman in Shropshire, of large fortune and of high connections, who, in conjunction with Sir Richard Hill, in that county, became conspicuous for zeal in the cause of God and truth.538 To Mr. Powys, Whitefield wrote as follows:—

“Tottenham Court, May 15, 1766. Though at present almost in a breathless state, by preaching last night, yet I hope to be strengthened to give the holy sacrament at seven next Sunday morning; and, if able, to preach afterwards at ten. If good Mr. R―― and lady will come, at near seven, to the Chapel House, they shall be conducted to a proper place. I wish them a Pentecost, not only on Whit-Sunday, but every day, every hour, and every moment of their lives.”

In the month of June, Whitefield set out for Bath and Bristol. He complained of the continuance of his “feverish heat,” and drank the water of the Hot Wells twice a day; but managed, at six o’clock, in the mornings, “to call thirsty souls to come and drink of the water of life freely.”539

On his return to London, he and the Wesleys met several days in succession, for the purpose of promoting a closer union between themselves and the Countess of Huntingdon. Wesley had set out on one of his gospel tours, but was summoned back to join in these important conferences. He writes:—

“My brother and I conferred with Mr. Whitefield every day; and, let the honourable men do what they please, we resolved, by the grace of God, to go on, hand in hand, through honour and dishonour.”540

One of their arrangements was, that the Wesleys should preach in the chapels of the Countess of Huntingdon, as Whitefield, for many years, had been accustomed to preach in theirs. Charles Wesley was delighted. In a letter to his wife, he wrote:—

“London, August 21, 1766. Last night, my brother came. This morning, we spent two blessed hours with George Whitefield. The threefold cord, we trust, will never more be broken. On Tuesday next, my brother is to preach in Lady Huntingdon’s Chapel at Bath. That and all her chapels (not to say, as I might, herself also) are now put into the hands of us three.”541

Some, however, were dissatisfied. In another letter to his “Dear Sally,” written within three weeks afterwards, he remarks:—

“September 9, 1766. This morning, I spent in friendly, close conference with George Whitefield, who is treated most magnificently, by his own begotten children, for his love to us.”542

On the other hand, the Countess of Huntingdon approved of the arrangements made. In a letter to Wesley, she wrote:—

“September 14, 1766. I am most highly obliged by your kind offer of serving the chapel at Bath during your stay at Bristol. I do trust that this union which is commenced will be for the furtherance of our faith and mutual love to each other. It is for the interest of the best of causes that we should all be found, first, faithful to the Lord, and then to each other. I find something wanting, and that is, a meeting now and then agreed upon, that you, your brother, Mr. Whitefield, and I, should, at times, regularly communicate our observations upon the general state of the work. Light might follow, and would be a kind of guide to me, as I am connected with many.”543

This “quadruple alliance,” as Charles Wesley called it, lasted till Whitefield’s death. Then, as all readers of Methodist history are well aware, there was, in more respects than one, a distressing rupture.

Whitefield continued his pulpit labours, as far as he was able; and also wrote letters in abundance. Hence the following extracts from his correspondence.

John Fawcett, afterwards Doctor of Divinity, and, for above half a century, a laborious minister of Christ in Yorkshire, had recently begun to preach, and, having been convinced of sin under Whitefield’s ministry, he wrote to him, asking his advice. Part of the answer was as follows:—

“London, September 1, 1766. I have been so often imposed upon by letters from strangers, that it is high time to be a little more cautious” [in answering them]. “Besides, bodily weakness prevents my writing as formerly; but your letters seem to evidence simplicity of heart. If truly called to the glorious work of the ministry, of which I can be no judge at this distance, I wish you much prosperity in the name of the Lord. The language of my soul is, ‘Would to God that all the Lord’s servants were prophets!’ A clear head, and an honest, upright, disinterested, warm heart, with a good elocution, and a moderate degree of learning, will carry you through all, and enable you to do wonders. You will not fail to pray for a decayed, but, thanks be to God! not a disbanded soldier. Whether I shall ever visit Yorkshire again, is only known to Him, who holdeth the stars in His right hand.”544

The next extract is from a letter addressed to a gentleman at Wisbeach:—

“London, September 25, 1766. I am sorry your letter has been so long unanswered; but bodily weakness, and a multiplicity of correspondents, at home and abroad, must be pleaded as excuses. The shout of a King is yet heard in the Methodist camp. Had I wings, I would gladly fly from pole to pole; but they are clipped by the feeble labours of thirty years. Twice or thrice a week, I am permitted to ascend my gospel-throne. Pray that the last glimmering of an expiring taper may be blessed to the guiding of many wandering souls to the Lamb of God.”545

The next was written to Mr. Gustavus Gidley, an officer of Excise, who was the principal founder of Wesley’s Society in Exeter, and the chief promoter of Wesley’s first chapel in that city:—

“London, October 2, 1766. The love of Christ constrains me to wish you joy. Of what? Of being made partaker of the grace and cross of Christ. You will find that both are inseparably connected. God be praised that you have an inclination to invite others to partake of your joy in the Lord. Thus, your brother Matthew the publican did. He made a feast. Jesus, that friend of publicans and sinners, was there. With such He is now; and with such, to all eternity, He will be surrounded in the kingdom of glory. There you and I must strive which will shout loudest, ‘Grace, grace!’ And why should not this contest begin on earth? It will, it must, if the kingdom of God be within us. Look continually unto Jesus. That He may be the Alpha and Omega—the beginning and end of all your thoughts, words, and deeds, is the earnest prayer of, dear sir,

“Your brother sinner,

“George Whitefield.”546

Not unfrequently was Whitefield accused of disloyalty. From first to last, all such charges were absolutely false and calumnious. If he erred at all, it was in expressing his attachment to the throne and government of the day, in language stronger than they merited. His eulogiums of George II. were extravagant, but it would be unjust to designate them insincere. Everywhere, at home and abroad, he availed himself of every opportunity to evince his fidelity to his rightful sovereign, and his respect for the House of Hanover. This, at the time, was of more than ordinary importance. Jacobite and popish plots were numerous. Traitors existed in abundance. Loyal men were needed, and declarations of loyalty were of greater value than at present, when treason is not so rampant as it was in the days of the Pretender. Such facts will help to explain the following incident:—

On October 1, Her Royal Highness Princess Caroline Matilda, sister of George III., at the age of sixteen, was married to the worthless king of Denmark. The ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, in the Grand Council Chamber at St. James’s, in the presence of the Royal Family and a large number of the English nobility. The puny king of Denmark was not present; but Her Royal Highness’s brother, the Duke of York, acted as his proxy. On the day after the marriage, at half-past six o’clock in the morning, the young queen set out for Harwich, to embark for Denmark, being escorted by a detachment of Horse Guards, and a numerous train of attendants. On the same day, says Lloyd’s Evening Post, “The Rev. Mr. Whitefield preached, at the Tabernacle, in praise of the queen of Denmark, and concluded with a fervent prayer for her preservation and good journey.”

This was an odd kind of service for worn-out Whitefield to undertake; but loyalty to the House of Hanover led him for once to use his “gospel-throne” in sounding the praises, not of King Jesus, but of the unfortunate queen of Denmark.

Among others, who now began to render assistance in Whitefield’s London chapels, was the saintly Fletcher, vicar of Madeley.547 It is not improbable that this was one of the results of the “quadruple alliance,” formed two months before. Be that as it may, the following extract from Whitefield’s letter to Mr. Powys will interest the reader:—

“London, November 1, 1766. Dear Mr. Fletcher is become a scandalous Tottenham Court preacher. I trust he will come down into your parts, baptized with the Holy Ghost. Dear Mr. Romaine has been much owned in good Lady Huntingdon’s chapel” (at Bath). “I am to go thither next week. Dear Mr. Madan is detained at Aldwinkle, by his children having the small-pox in town. The shout of a King is yet heard in the Methodist camp. The glorious cry, ‘What shall I do to be saved?’ is frequently sounding in our years. Had we more reproach, and were we more scandalous, more good would be done. Several promise well. Some say shibboleth with a good grace, and very proper accent; others, as yet, can only say sibboleth; but I have heard of one who can teach the tongue of the stammerer to speak plain. Good Lady Huntingdon is an excellent school-mistress in this way. But I must have done. A dear company of ministerial cast-outs are coming to breakfast under my despised roof. I cannot die. Cold bathing and cool weather brace me up.”

Whitefield went to Bath, as he intended; and, whilst there, wrote to his faithful friend, Mr. Keen, as follows:—

“Bath, November 12, 1766. I have been low ever since my coming here. The Bath air, I believe, will never agree with me long. However, if good is done, all will be well. They tell me, that Sunday and last night were seasons of power. Some, we trust, were made willing. I hope you enjoy much of God in town. Surely, London is the Jerusalem of England. Happy they who know the day of their visitation! Remember me to all at the Tabernacle. I hope to write to Mr. Fletcher to-morrow or next day.”

“Bath, November 20, 1766. On Tuesday evening, I preached at Bristol, to a very crowded auditory, though the weather was very foul. Last night” (Wednesday) “I administered the sacrament there. We used near eight bottles of wine. I trust some tasted of the new wine of the kingdom. I want just one week more to settle Bristol affairs; and have, therefore, written to dear Mr. Jesse548 to stay two or three weeks at London. Mr. Howell Davies,549 who, they say, is expected here next week, may then officiate for that space of time at Bath, and, at Mr. Jesse’s leaving London, may go up to town. I beg that Captain Joss would go through with the Tabernacle work, and stick to it with his whole heart. I hope, at farthest, to be in London by next Tuesday se’nnight, and to preach at the Tabernacle the following evening. I was afraid my wife would get cold by her late excursions, as, at other times, she is so much confined. Be pleased to show this to her.”

“Bristol, November 23, 1766. Such a numerous brilliant assembly of the mighty and noble, I never saw attend before at Bath. Everything is so promising, that I was constrained to give notice of preaching next Sunday. Congregations have been very large and very solemn. O what Bethels has Jesus given to us! O that God would make my way into every town in England! I long to break up fresh ground. I am just come here, weary, but am going to speak a few words.”

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

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

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

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

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

‘Strong in the Lord’s almighty power,

And armed in panoply divine,

Firm may’st thou stand in danger’s hour,

And prove the strength of Jesus thine.

The helmet of salvation take;

The Lord the Spirit’s conquering sword;

Speak from the word; in lightning speak;

Cry out, and thunder from the Lord.’

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

“George Whitefield.”552

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

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

“London, December 27, 1766.

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

“Yours, in the all-conquering Jesus,

“George Whitefield.554

“To Mr. Rowland Hill,

“At St. John’s College, Cambridge.”

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

“Behold here one of the righteous over-much—yet nought doth he give away in charity! No, no! He is the bell-wether of the flock, who hath broken down orthodoxy’s bounds, and now riots on the common of hypocrisy. With one eye he looks up to heaven, to make his congregation think he is devout, that’s his spiritual eye; and with the other eye he looks down to see what he can get, and that’s his carnal eye; and thus, with jokes flowing down his face, he says, or seems to say, or, at least with your permission, we’ll attempt to say for him, ‘Bretheren! bretheren! bretheren! The word bretheren comes from the Tabernacle, because we all breathe-there-in. If ye want rouzing, I’ll rouze you. I’ll beat a tat-too upon the parchment cases of your consciences, and whip the devil about like a whirl-a-gig.’”

Quantum sufficit! The remainder is a great deal worse than this.

Another pamphlet of the same description, price eighteen-pence, was entitled “The Methodist and Mimic. A Tale in Hudibrastic Verse. By Peter Paragraph. Inscribed to Samuel Foote, Esq.” The gist of this foul publication is, that Whitefield sends one of his congregation to Foote, with a proposal that the comedian should turn preacher; and, of course, Samuel Foote, Esq., rejects the proposal with disdain.

One more must be mentioned: “The Methodist. A Poem. By the Author of the Powers of the Pen, and the Curate. London, 1766.” (4to. pp. 54.) Some parts of this impious publication are obscene, and attribute to Whitefield behaviour of the most infamous and impure description. The general purport of it is to describe the devil making a tour of discovery, to find some one to manage his affairs on earth, so that he himself might have leisure to attend to his government in hell. With this object in view,

“he searched, without avail,

Each meeting, dungeon, court, and jail,

Each mart of villainy, where vice

Presides, and virtue bears no price.”

But nowhere could he find an agent suited to his mind, till he got to Tottenham Court Road chapel, where he discovered Whitefield. For the sake of gold, Whitefield became his terrestrial viceroy, and swore fealty to him. One of the devil’s requirements was, that, because what Whitefield did was contrary to what he said, his eyes ought to look different ways; and, accordingly, they were twisted. Describing Whitefield’s sermons, the writer says:—

“He knows his Master’s realm so well,

His sermons are a map of hell,

An Ollio made of conflagration,

Of gulphs of brimstone, and damnation,

Eternal torments, furnace, worm,

Hell-fire, a whirlwind, and a storm.”

An apology is almost needed for the insertion of such profanity as this, and yet, without it, it is impossible to convey to the reader an adequate idea of the ridicule and odium cast upon dying Whitefield. Vile as are the extracts given, much viler remain unquoted.

Whitefield concluded the year 1766 by writing one of his characteristic letters to Thomas Powys, Esq., who was entertaining, at his mansion in Shropshire, during Christmastide, the Rev. Messrs. Venn, Ryland, Dr. Conyers, and Powley, vicar of Dewsbury.555

“At my Tottenham Court Bethel,

“Six in the Morning, December 30, 1766.

“My very dear Sir,—The Christmas holiday season has prevented me sending an immediate answer to your last kind letter. The love therein expressed shall be returned, by praying for the writer’s whole self, and the honourable, Christian, and ministerial circle with which you are at present happily surrounded. Four Methodist parsons! Honourable title! so long as it is attended with the cross. When fashionable, we will drop it. Four Methodist parsons! Enough, when Jesus says, ‘Loose them and let them go,’ to set a whole kingdom on fire for God. I wish them prosperity in the name of the Lord.

“To-morrow, God willing, and on Thursday also, with many hundreds more, I intend to take the sacrament upon it, that I will begin to be a Christian. Though I long to go to heaven, to see my glorious Master, what a poor figure shall I make, among saints, confessors, and martyrs, without some deeper signatures of His divine impress—without more scars of Christian honour!

“Our truly noble mother in Israel is come to London full of them. Crescit sub pondere virtus. Happy they who have the honour of her acquaintance! Highly honoured are the ministers, who have the honour of preaching for and serving her!

“O this single eye,—this disinterested spirit,—this freedom from worldly hopes and worldly fears,—this flaming zeal,—this daring to be singularly good,—this holy ambition to lead the van! O, it is, what? a heaven upon earth! O for a plerophory of faith! to be filled with the Holy Ghost! This is the grand point. All our lukewarmness, all our timidity, all our backwardness to do good, to spend and be spent for God,—all is owing to our want of more of that faith, which is the inward, heartfelt, self-evident demonstration of things not seen.

“But whither am I going? Pardon me, good sir. I keep you from better company. Praying that all of you (if you live to be fifty-two) may not be such dwarfs in the Divine life as I am, I hasten to subscribe myself, etc.,

“George Whitefield.”

Whitefield began the year 1767 by writing a preface to the third edition of the collected works of Bunyan, published in two large folio volumes (pp. 856 and 882), admirably printed, and containing curious and well-executed illustrations. The title was, “The Works of that Eminent Servant of Christ, Mr. John Bunyan, Minister of the Gospel, and formerly Pastor of a Congregation at Bedford. With Copperplates, adapted to the Pilgrim’s Progress, the Holy War, etc., in Two Volumes. The Third Edition. To which are now added The Divine Emblems, and several other Pieces, which were never printed in any former Collection, with a Recommendatory Preface by the Reverend George Whitefield, M.A., Chaplain to the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon. London: printed for W. Johnston, in Ludgate Street; and E. and C. Dilly, in the Poultry, near the Mansion House. 1767.”556

Whitefield’s preface is dated January 3, 1767. Two extracts from it must suffice. In reference to the fact that Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress was written in Bedford Gaol, Whitefield remarks:—

“Ministers never write or preach so well as when under the cross. The Spirit of Christ and of glory then rests upon them. It was this, no doubt, that made the Puritans of the last century such burning and shining lights. When cast out by the black Bartholomew Act, and driven from their respective charges to preach in barns and fields, in the highways and hedges, they, in an especial manner, wrote and preached as men having authority. Though dead, by their writings they yet speak. A peculiar unction attends them to this very hour. For these thirty years past, I have remarked that the more true and vital religion has revived, either at home or abroad, the more the good old Puritanical writings, or the authors of a like stamp, who lived and died in the communion of the Church of England, have been called for.”

Then again, with reference to what, throughout the whole of his career, was one of Whitefield’s favourite virtues, namely, catholicity of spirit, he writes:—

“I must own that what more particularly endears Mr. Bunyan to my heart is this, he was of a catholic spirit. The want of water adult baptism, with this man of God, was no bar to outward Christian communion. And I am persuaded, that if, like him, we were more deeply and experimentally baptized into the benign and gracious influences of the blessed Spirit, we should be less baptized into the waters of strife, about circumstantials and non-essentials. We should have but one grand, laudable, disinterested strife, namely, who should live, preach, and exalt the ever-loving, altogether lovely Jesus most.”

Just at this period, Whitefield took under his patronage a young man, who, if not a tinker, was quite as poor as the “immortal dreamer.” Cornelius Winter, the son of a shoemaker, and bred in a workhouse, was now in the twenty-fifth year of his age. For twelve long years, he had been the drudge and the butt of a drunken brute in Bunhill Row. The poor workhouse lad had been converted by attending Whitefield’s Tabernacle, and had become a member of its Society. During the last year or two, he had been an itinerant preacher, and now he applied to Whitefield to send him, as a minister, to America. Whitefield replied:—

“London, January 29, 1767.

“Dear Mr. Winter,—Your letter met with proper acceptance. The first thing to be done now is to get some knowledge of the Latin language. We can talk of the method to be pursued, at your return to London. Mr. Green557 would make a suitable master. No time should be lost. One would hope that the various humiliations you have met with were intended as preparations for future exaltations. The greatest preferment under heaven is to be an able, painful, faithful, successful, suffering, cast-out minister of the New Testament. That this may be your happy lot is the hearty prayer of yours, etc.,

“George Whitefield.”558

On coming to London, Cornelius Winter waited upon Whitefield. He writes:—

“Mr. Whitefield gave me a mild reception. The interview was short. He said he should expect me to preach in the Tabernacle next morning at six o’clock, and he appointed a time when I should come to him again. I heard him in the evening. He announced that a stranger, recommended by Mr. Berridge, would preach on the morrow morning. I had little rest that night, and prayed, rather than studied for the service.”

This was in February, 1767. The result was, Whitefield desired Winter to procure testimonials from the places he had visited, and also to write him an account of his conversion. Winter says:—

“For several days, Mr. Whitefield kept me in suspense. At last, he set me upon a little business, and told me he should expect me to preach two mornings in the week. He appointed me particular times when I was to call upon him; and, besides sending me upon errands, of which he always had a great number, he set me to transcribe some of his manuscripts. He shewed himself much dissatisfied with my writing and orthography; but he desired me to take a lodging near the chapel, where he could conveniently send for me; gave me a little money to defray my expenses; and, by degrees, brought me into a capacity to be useful to him. Soon after, he proposed my going to Mr. Green’s for a few hours in the day, to be initiated into the Latin grammar; but he interrupted the design by requiring a close attention to his own business, and the large demand he made of my pulpit services. A single quarter of a year closed my school exercise, in which I hardly gained knowledge enough to decline Musa. It was plain Mr. Whitefield did not intend to promote my literary improvement. Indeed, he said, Latin was of little or no use, and that they who wish to enter upon it late in life, had better endeavour to acquire a good knowledge of their mother tongue. Having recently attended Mr. Wesley’s conference, and having heard him speak to the same effect, he was confirmed in this sentiment, and discouraged my perseverance.

“Perhaps it would be putting the picture of so valuable a man, as Mr. Whitefield was, into too deep a shade, to say that he was not a fit person for a young man in humble circumstances to be connected with. He was not satisfied with deficient abilities, but he did not sufficiently encourage the use of the lamp for their improvement. The attention of a youth, designed for the ministry, was too much diverted from the main object, and devoted too much to objects comparatively trifling. I was considered as much the steward of his house as his assistant in the ministry. While I was kept in bay and at anchor, many, piloted by him, set sail, and I at last knew not whether I was to indulge a hope for America or not. My fidelity being proved, I became one of the family, slept in the room of my honoured patron, and had the privilege to sit at his table. I judged I was where I should be, and was determined never to flinch from the path of duty, nor intentionally to grieve the man, who had many burdens upon him, and for whom I could have laid down my life.”559

Considering the circumstances of Cornelius Winter, there is a little unseemly grumbling in the foregoing extract; but let it pass. The quondam workhouse boy seems to have been an inmate of Whitefield’s house for about eighteen months; and as he is the only one, thus privileged, who has left behind him any account of Whitefield’s domestic habits and public life, this is a fitting place to introduce what he says concerning the patron to whom he owed so much.

In reference to the composition of sermons, the mode of conducting public services, and action in the pulpit, Winter writes:—

“The time Mr. Whitefield set apart for preparations for the pulpit, during my connection with him, was not distinguished from the time he appropriated to other business. If he wanted to write a pamphlet, he was closeted; nor would he allow access to him, except on an emergency, while he was engaged in the work. But I never knew him engaged in the composition of a sermon, until he was on board ship, when he employed himself partly in the composition of sermons, and partly in reading the history of England. He had formed a design of writing the history of Methodism, but never entered upon it. He was never more in retirement on a Saturday than on another day; nor sequestered at any particular time for a period longer than he used for his ordinary devotions. I never met with anything like the skeleton of a sermon among his papers, with which I was permitted to be familiar, and I believe he knew nothing of such a kind of exercise as the planning of a sermon.

“Usually, for an hour or two before he entered the pulpit, he claimed retirement; and, on the Sabbath morning especially, he was accustomed to have Clarke’s Bible, Matthew Henry’s Comment, and Cruden’s Concordance within his reach. His frame at that time was more than ordinarily devotional; I say more than ordinarily, because, though there was a vast vein of pleasantry usually in him, the intervals of conversation then appeared to be filled up with private ejaculation and with praise.

“His rest was much interrupted, and he often said at the close of an address, ‘I got this sermon when most of you were fast asleep.’ He made very minute observations; and, in one way or another, the occurrences of the week, or of the day, furnished him with matter for the pulpit. When an extraordinary trial was going on, he would be present, and I have known him, at the close of a sermon, avail himself of the formality of the judge putting on the black cap to pronounce sentence. With his eyes full of tears, and his heart almost too big to admit of speech, he would say, after a momentary pause, ‘I am now going to put on my condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it. I must pronounce sentence upon thee.’ And then, in a strain of tremendous eloquence, he would recite our Lord’s words, ‘Depart, ye cursed.’ It was only by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and his tears, that the effect could be conceived.

“My intimate knowledge of him enables me to acquit him of the charge of affectation. He always appeared to enter the pulpit with a countenance that indicated he had something of importance to divulge, and was anxious for the effect of the communication. His gravity on his descent was the same. As soon as he was seated in his chair, he usually vomited a considerable quantity of blood.

“He was averse to much singing after preaching, supposing it diverted attention from the subject of his sermon. Nothing awkward, nothing careless appeared about him in the pulpit. Whether he frowned or smiled, whether he looked grave or placid, it was nature acting in him. Professed orators might object to his hands being lifted up too high, and it is to be lamented that in that attitude, rather than in any other, he is represented in print. His own reflection upon that picture was, when it was first put into his hands, ‘Sure I do not look such a sour creature as this sets me forth. If I thought I did, I should hate myself.’ The attitude was very transient, and always accompanied by expressions which would justify it. He sometimes had occasion to speak of Peter going out and weeping bitterly; and, then, he had a fold of his gown at command, which he put before his face with as much gracefulness as familiarity.

“I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping, and I believe his were the tears of sincerity. His voice was often interrupted by his affection; and I have heard him say in the pulpit, ‘You blame me for weeping, but how can I help it, when you will not weep for yourselves, though your souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught I know, you are hearing your last sermon!’ Sometimes he wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome, that nature required some little time to compose itself.

“When he treated upon the sufferings of our Saviour, it was with great pathos. As though Gethsemane were in sight, he would cry, stretching out his hand, ‘Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!’ And, as though it were no difficult matter to catch the sound of the Saviour praying, he would exclaim, ‘Hark! Hark! Do you not hear?’ This frequently occurred; but though we often knew what was coming, it was as new to us as if we had never heard it before.

“The beautiful apostrophe, of the prophet Jeremiah, ‘O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!’ was very subservient to him, and was never used impertinently. He abounded with anecdotes, which, though not always recited verbatim, were very just as to the matter of them. On the Sabbath morning, he dealt far more in the explanatory and doctrinal mode of preaching, than, perhaps, at any other time; and occasionally made a little, but by no means improper, shew of learning. If he had read upon astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He had his charms for the learned as well as for the unlearned. The peer and the peasant alike went away satisfied.

“This was his work, in London, at one period of his life. After administering the Lord’s supper to several hundred communicants at half-past six o’clock in the morning, he, in the forenoon, read the Liturgy, and preached full an hour. In the afternoon, he again read prayers and preached. At half-past five, he preached again, and, afterwards, addressed a large Society. At the Society meeting, widows, married people, young men, and spinsters were placed separately in the area of the Tabernacle. Hundreds used to stay, and receive from him, in a colloquial style, various exhortations, comprised in short sentences, and suitable to their various stations.

“Perhaps he never preached greater sermons than at six in the morning; for at that hour he did preach, winter and summer, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. At these times, his congregations were of the select description. Young men received admonitions similar to what were given in the Society meetings. ‘Beware of being golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and copper masters,’ was one of the cautions I remember being given. His style was now colloquial, with little use of motion; pertinent expositions, with suitable remarks; and all comprehended within the hour.

“Christian experience principally was the subject of his Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening lectures; when, frequently having funeral sermons to preach, the character and experience of the dead helped to elucidate the subject.

“Mr. Whitefield adopted the custom of the inhabitants of New England, in their best days, of beginning the Sabbath at six o’clock on Saturday evenings. The custom could not be observed by many, but it was convenient to a few. Now ministers of every description found a peculiar pleasure in relaxing their minds from the fatigues of study. It was also an opportunity peculiarly suited to apprentices and journeymen in some businesses, which allowed of their leaving work sooner than on other days, and of availing themselves of, at least, the sermon.

“The peculiar talents he possessed can be but faintly guessed from his sermons in print. The eighteen, taken in shorthand, and faithfully transcribed by Mr. Gurney, have been supposed to do discredit to his memory, and, therefore, they were suppressed; but much of his genuine preaching may be collected from them. They were far from being the best specimens that might have been produced. He preached many of them when, in fact, he was almost incapable of preaching at all. His constitution, long before they were taken, had received its shock, and all of them, except the two last, were the productions of a Wednesday evening, when, by the business of the day, he was fatigued and worn out. He was then like an ascending Elijah, and many were eager to catch his dropping mantle. In the sermons referred to, there are many jewels, though not connected in proper order. Whatever invidious remarks may be made upon his written discourses, they cannot invalidate his preaching. Mr. Toplady called him the prince of preachers, and with good reason, for none in our day preached with the like effect.”

So much in reference to Whitefield as a preacher, to which may be added another fact stated by Cornelius Winter, namely, that, excepting Andrew Kinsman, most of Whitefield’s substitutes at the Tabernacle and at Tottenham Court chapel were very inferior preachers to himself, and that, in consequence, the congregations, during his absence, were greatly diminished. Notwithstanding this, however, “conversions were very frequent.”560

Winter’s portraiture of Whitefield will not be perfect without the addition of what he says respecting the renowned preacher’s private character and habits. He continues:—

“Mr. Whitefield was accessible but to few. He was cautious in admitting people to him. He would never be surprised into a conversation. You could not knock at his door and be allowed to enter at any time. ‘Who is it?’ ‘What is his business?’ and such-like enquiries usually preceded admission; and, if admission were granted, it was thus, ‘Come to-morrow morning at six o’clock, perhaps five, or immediately after preaching. If later, I cannot see you.’

“A person consulting him upon going into the ministry, might expect to be treated with severity, if not well recommended, or if he had not something about him particularly engaging. One man, on saying, in answer to his enquiry, that he was a tailor, was dismissed with, ‘Go to rag-fair, and buy old clothes.’ Another, who was admitted to preach in the vestry one winter’s morning at six o’clock, took for his text, ‘These that have turned the world upside down have come hither also.’ ‘That man shall come here no more,’ said Mr. Whitefield. ‘If God had called him to preach, he would have furnished him with a proper text.’ A letter well written, as to style, orthography, and decency, would prepossess him much in favour of a person.

“He used too much severity to young people, and required too much from them. He connected circumstances too humiliating with public services, in a young man with whom he could take liberty; urging that it was necessary as a curb to the vanity of human nature, and referred to the young Roman orators, who, after being exalted by applauses, were sent upon the most trifling errands. His maxim was, if you love me, you will serve me disinterestedly; hence he settled no certain income, or a very slender one, upon his dependants, many of whom were sycophants, and, while they professed to serve him, underhandedly served themselves. Through this defect, his charity in Georgia was materially injured, owing to the wrong conduct of some who insinuated themselves into his favour by humouring his weakness, and letting him act and speak without contradiction. He was impatient of contradiction, but this is a fault to be charged upon almost all great people.

“No time was to be wasted; and his expectations generally went before the ability of his servants to perform his commands. He was very exact to the time appointed for his stated meals. A few minutes’ delay would be considered a great fault. He was irritable, but soon appeased. Not being patient enough, one day, to receive a reason for his being disappointed, he hurt the mind of one who was studious to please; but, on reflection, he burst into tears, saying, ‘I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and everybody will be tired of me.’ He never commanded haughtily, and always took care to applaud when a person did right. He never indulged parties at his table; but a select few might now and then breakfast with him, dine with him on a Sunday, or sup with him on a Wednesday night. In the last-mentioned indulgence, he was scrupulously exact to break up in time. In the height of a conversation, I have known him abruptly say, ‘But we forget ourselves;’ and, rising from his seat and advancing to the door, would add, ‘Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good folks to be at home.’

“Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must be spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was unjustly charged with being given to appetite. His table was never spread with variety. A cow-heel was his favourite dish, and I have known him cheerfully say, ‘How surprised would the world be, if they were to peep upon Dr. Squintum, and see a cow-heel only upon his table.’ He was extremely neat in his person, and in everything about him. Not a paper must be out of place, or be put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture, likewise, must be in its proper position before we retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if he thought his gloves were not where they ought to be. There was no rest after four in the morning, nor sitting up after ten in the evening.

“He never made a purchase without paying the money immediately. He was truly generous, and seldom denied relief. More was expected from him than was meet. He was tenacious in his friendship. He felt sensibly when he was deserted, and would remark, ‘The world and the church ring changes.’ He dreaded the thought of outliving his usefulness. He often dined among his friends; and usually connected a comprehensive prayer with his thanksgiving when the table was dismissed, in which he noticed particular cases relative to the family. He never protracted his visit long after dinner. He often appeared tired of popularity; and said, he almost envied the man who could take his choice of food at an eating-house, and pass unnoticed. He apprehended he should not glorify God in his death by any remarkable testimony; and he desired to die suddenly.”

Cornelius Winter’s critique on Whitefield is unartistic, but it is not, on that account, the less valuable. Facts are not lost among words, as is the case too often, in the philosophic and eloquent eulogies, or censures, written by men who have a greater wish to display their own cleverness than to pourtray the life and character of the person on whom they exercise their skill. In some of his statements, Winter may have been, unconsciously to himself, somewhat swayed by his relationship to Whitefield; but, generally speaking, his description of Whitefield’s preaching, and of his spirit and habits in domestic life, is the most exact that has ever yet been published. The foregoing extracts may be long, but they were written by a man who, during Whitefield’s last two years in England, read prayers in Whitefield’s Tottenham Court Road chapel, assisted in Whitefield’s study, sat at Whitefield’s table, and occupied a bed in the same room as Whitefield did. The man knew his master, and wrote with the utmost frankness concerning him.

It is now time to return to Whitefield’s history. Little is known concerning him during the first three months of 1767. They seem, however, to have been chiefly spent in London, where his “feeble hands were full of work.”561

The Orphan House in Georgia still occupied his attention. He was anxious for “Bethesda to put on its college dress.”562 The warm friendship between him and Wesley yet continued. On Ash-Wednesday, March 4, Wesley wrote, “I dined at a friend’s with Mr. Whitefield, still breathing nothing but love.”563 On the 20th of the same month, the Countess of Huntingdon, at Brighton, had all her chaplains around her, and Whitefield re-opened her ladyship’s enlarged chapel, in that town, by preaching, to a crowded congregation, from “Grow in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ: to Him be glory both now and for ever. Amen.”564

In April, Whitefield set out for Norwich, and visited Rowland Hill and his Society, at Cambridge, on his way.565 A month later, he was introduced to a young clergyman, who, afterwards, became famous. Richard de Courcy was the descendant of an ancient and respectable family in Ireland, and was distantly related to Lord Kinsale. He had been educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and, at the age of twenty-three, had received deacon’s orders, and become curate of the Rev. Walter Shirley. Being invited to preach in St. Andrew’s Church, Dublin, his fame brought a crowded congregation. Whilst the prayers were being read, and because the young preacher was a reputed Methodist, the pulpit was seized by order of the metropolitan, Dr. Arthur Smythe, and De Courcy was not allowed to enter it. Upon this, he immediately left the church; the congregation followed him; and, mounting a tombstone, he at once commenced preaching in the open air. This was a crime too great to be forgiven. The bishop refused to ordain him priest. Shirley wrote to the Countess of Huntingdon, and, at her request, De Courcy came to England, expecting, by the help of her ladyship, to obtain ordination by an English bishop. On arriving in London, he immediately called on Whitefield at the Tabernacle House. Whitefield being told who he was, took off his cap, and bending towards De Courcy, and, at the same time placing his hand on the deep scar in his head, said, “Sir, this wound I got in your country for preaching Christ.” De Courcy was captivated, and became Whitefield’s guest, Cornelius Winter being charged to take care of him. The next day, which was Sunday, the young Hibernian preached in Tottenham Court Road chapel, and, by his sermon, laid the foundation of his future popularity. Whitefield and he became ardent friends.566

About the middle of the month of May, Whitefield set out for the west of England and Wales. His progress will be best told by extracts from his letters. On arriving at Rodborough, where his old assistant, Thomas Adams, lived and preached, he wrote to Mr. Keen as follows:—

“Rodborough, May 13, 1767. My new horse failed the first night; but, through mercy, we got here last evening. I was regaled with the company of some simple-hearted, first-rate old Methodists, of near thirty years’ standing. God willing, I am to preach to-morrow morning, and to have a general sacrament on Friday evening. Perhaps, I may move after Sunday towards Wales; but, I fear, I shall be obliged to take post-horses. I care not, so that I can ride post to heaven. Hearty love to all who are posting thither, hoping myself to arrive first. This tabernacle often groans under the weight of my feeble labours. O when shall I be unclothed! When, O my God, shall I be clothed upon! But I am a coward, and want to be housed before the storm.”

A week after this, he reached Gloucester, where he spent several days, and wrote as follows:—

“Gloucester, May 20, 1767. We have had good seasons at Rodborough. I have been out twice in the fields. Lady Huntingdon has been wonderfully delighted. She and her company lay at Rodborough House. Dear Mr. Adams is about to be married to a good Christian nurse. He is sickly in body, but healthy in soul.”

“Gloucester, May 21, 1767. I have preached twice in the open air. Thousands and thousands attended. I am about to preach here this morning, in my native city. On Sunday I hope to take to Rodborough wood again. Good Lady Huntingdon and her company were wonderfully delighted. They honoured dear Mr. Adams’s house with their presence. He is but poorly, and wants a nurse. Perhaps, before next Sunday, he may be married to a simple-hearted, plain, good creature, who has waited upon him and the preachers near twenty years. She has no fortune, but is one who, I think, will take care of, and be obedient to him, for Christ’s sake.”

“Gloucester, May 25, 1767. I am just setting out in a post-chaise for Haverfordwest; and I have therefore drawn upon you” (Mr. Keen) “for £20. This is expensive; but it is for One who has promised not to send us a warfare on our own charges. We had a most blessed season yesterday. Thousands and thousands heard, saw, and felt. Mr. Adams preached in the evening, on ‘The Lord is my portion, therefore will I trust in Him.’ A good text for a new-married man. I have advised him to preach next on these words, ‘The Lord’s portion is His people.’ He is now here.”

“Haverfordwest, May 31, 1767, Sunday. I am just come from my field-throne. Thousands and thousands attended by eight in the morning. Life and light seemed to fly all around. On Tuesday, God willing, I am to preach at Woodstock; on Friday, at Pembroke; here again next Sunday; and then for England. Rooms are not so lofty or large, prospects not so pleasant, bedsteads not so easy, in these parts, as in some places in or near London; but all are good enough for young and old pilgrims who have got good breath. I have been pushing dear sick Mr. Davies to go out and preach six miles off. He is gone finely mounted, and, I am persuaded, will return in high spirits. Who knows but preaching may be our grand catholicon again? This is the good, Methodistical, thirty-year-old medicine.”

“Gloucester, June 10, 1767. Blessed be God, I am got on this side the Welsh mountains! Blessed be God, I have been on the other side! What a scene last Sunday!567 What a cry for more of the bread of life! But I was quite worn down. I am now better than could be expected. To-morrow, God willing, my wife shall know what route I take. O when shall I begin to live to Jesus, as I would! I want to be a flame of fire.”

A week after this, Whitefield was in London. During his absence, he had tried to secure the services of Fletcher of Madeley, and Fletcher’s reply to his application is too characteristic to be omitted:—

“Madeley, May 18, 1767.

“Reverend and dear Sir,—Your mentioning my poor ministrations among your congregations opens again a wound of shame that was but half healed. I feel the need of asking God, you, and your hearers’ pardon, for weakening the glorious matter of the gospel by my wretched, broken manner, and spoiling the heavenly power of it by the uncleanness of my heart and lips. I should be glad to go and be your curate some time this year; but I see no opening, nor the least prospect of any. What between the dead and the living, a parish ties one down more than a wife. If I could go anywhere this year, it should be to Yorkshire, to accompany Lady Huntingdon, according to a design that I had half formed last year; but I fear that I shall be debarred even from this. I set out, God willing, to-morrow morning for Trevecca, to meet her ladyship there, and to show her the way to Madeley, where she proposes to stay three or four days in her way to Derbyshire. What chaplain she will have there I know not; God will provide. I rejoice that, though you are sure of heaven, you have still a desire to inherit the earth, by being a peacemaker. Somehow, you will enjoy the blessings that others may possibly refuse.

“Last Sunday seven-night, Captain Scott preached, to my congregation, a sermon, which was more blessed, though preached only upon my horse-block, than a hundred of those I preach in the pulpit. I invited him to come and treat her Ladyship next Sunday with another, now the place is consecrated. If you should ever favour Shropshire with your presence, you shall have the captain’s or the parson’s pulpit at your option. Many ask me whether you will not come to have some fruit here also. What must I answer them? I, and many more, complain of a stagnation in the work. What must we do? Everything buds and blossoms around us, yet our winter is not over. I thought Mr. Newton,568 who has been three weeks in Shropshire, would have brought the turtle-dove along with him; but I could not prevail upon him to come to this poor Capernaum. I think I hardly ever met his fellow for a judicious spirit. Still, what has God done in him and in me? I am out of hell, and mine eyes have seen something of His salvation. Though I must and do gladly yield to Mr. Newton and all my brethren, yet I must and will contend, that my being in the way to heaven makes me as rich a monument of mercy, as he, or any of them.

“I am, reverend and dear sir, your willing, though halting and unworthy servant,

“John Fletcher.”

Rowland Hill has been mentioned. Though not ordained, and still an undergraduate at St. John’s College, Cambridge, he had begun to preach. He had also formed a small Society of his fellow-students, and was infusing into them a portion of his own ardent zeal. For these proceedings he was bitterly assailed. His father and mother were decidedly opposed to the action he had taken. His superiors in the University condemned, in the strongest terms, what they were pleased to call his infringements of discipline; and hints were given him of a refusal of testimonials and his degree, as the probable result of his irregularities. In the midst of all this, Whitefield wrote to him as follows:—

“Haverfordwest, June 4, 1767.

“My dear Professor,—I wish you joy of the late high dignity conferred upon you—higher than if you were made the greatest professor in the University of Cambridge.569 The honourable degrees you intend giving to your promising candidates, I trust, will excite a holy ambition, and a holy emulation. Let me know who is first honoured. As I have been admitted to the degree of doctor for near these thirty years, I assure you I like my field preferment, my airy pluralities, exceeding well.

“For these three weeks past, I have been beating up for fresh recruits in Gloucestershire and South Wales. Thousands and thousands attended. Good Lady Huntingdon was present at one of our reviews. Her ladyship’s aide-de-camp preached in Brecknock Street; and Captain Scott, that glorious field-officer, lately fixed his standard upon dear Mr. Fletcher’s horse-block at Madeley. Being invited thither, I have a great inclination to lift up the Redeemer’s ensign, next week, in the same place;—with what success, you and your dearly beloved candidates for good old Methodistical contempt shall know hereafter. God willing, I intend fighting my way up to town. Soon after my arrival thither, I hope thousands and thousands of vollies of prayers—energetic, effectual, fervent, heaven-besieging, heaven-opening, heaven-taking prayers—shall be poured forth for you all.

“Oh, my dearly beloved and longed for in the Lord, my bowels yearn towards you. Fear not to go without the camp. Keep open the correspondence between the two Universities.570 Remember the praying legions. They were never known to yield. God bless those who are gone to their respective cures! I say not livings,—a term of too modern date. Christ is our life. Christ is the Levite’s inheritance. Greet your dear young companions whom I saw. They are welcome to write to me when they please.

“I am, etc.,

“George Whitefield.”571

At this period, there was great excitement in the English colonies of America respecting the proposed introduction of bishops of the Established Church. The Rev. Thomas Bradbury Chandler, D.D., was now in the forty-first year of his age. He had graduated at Yale College, but, in 1751, came to England, and was episcopally ordained. He returned to America as a missionary of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, and became rector of St. John’s Church, at Elizabeth Town, New Jersey, where he long maintained a high character for talent and learning. In the present year, 1767, he published “An Appeal to the Public in Behalf of the Church of England in America,” and dedicated his able performance to Secker, Archbishop of Canterbury. The object of it was to secure the designation of two or more bishops, to reside and to exercise episcopal jurisdiction in the transatlantic settlements.

He alleged that the appointment of commissaries had been a failure, and that, as a consequence, such appointments had ceased for near twenty years. The result of this was, the episcopal clergy in America had no ecclesiastical superiors to unite or to control them; they were independent of each other; and the people were free from all restraints of ecclesiastical authority. For want of bishops, candidates for the ministry had to come to England for ordination, at great hazard and expense; and, because of this, numerous congregations were without ministers. In the province of New Jersey, there were twenty-one churches and congregations, eleven of which were entirely destitute of clergymen, and there were but five to supply the pulpits of the other ten. In Pennsylvania, there were in the city of Philadelphia three churches, and but two ministers; and, in the rest of the province, the number of the churches was twenty-six, and that of the clergy only seven. In North Carolina, there were six clergymen, to supply the wants of twenty-nine parishes, each parish containing a whole county. Another argument adduced by Dr. Chandler was “the impossibility that a bishop residing in England should be sufficiently acquainted with the characters of those coming to them for Holy Orders. To this it was owing, that ordination had been sometimes fraudulently and surreptitiously obtained by such wretches, as were not only a scandal to the Church, but a disgrace to the human species.” Dr. Chandler further stated that the white population of America numbered about three millions; and that, of these, about a third were professed members of the Church of England; “the Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists were not so many; and the Germans, Papists, and other denominations, amounted to more.” Besides these three millions, however, there were, in the different colonies, about 840,000 negroes, most of whom “belonged to the professors of the Church of England.” And there were also the native Indians, the conversion of whom had been almost altogether neglected. It was proposed that the “two or more bishops” to be sent should “have no authority, but purely of a spiritual and ecclesiastical nature; that they should not interfere with the property or privileges, whether civil or religious, of Churchmen or Dissenters; that, in particular, they should have no concern with the Probate of Wills, Letters of Guardianship and Administration, or Marriage Licences, nor be judges of any cases relating thereto; but that they should only ordain and govern the clergy, and administer confirmation to those who might desire it.” It was also proposed that they should be supported, not by tithes, but by “perquisites such as the people might freely grant them;” by the interest arising from a fund already in existence for the purpose, in connection with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts; and, if need were (which was not likely), by the levying of a tax at the rate of fourpence in £100.

Such was the substance of Dr. Chandler’s temperate “Appeal,”—an appeal which embodied the general views and feelings of the clergy and members of the Church of England in America. Considerable excitement existed previous to its publication; but now the subject became one of the great controversies of the day. An American writer affirms that “it had more to do with the American Revolution than is generally supposed.”572 The American Whig, a weekly newspaper, stoutly opposed the scheme of Dr. Chandler. So also did the Philadelphia Centinél. Their articles on the subject were reprinted in several of the colonies; and a general agitation followed. The chief opponent, however, was Dr. Chauncy, minister in Boston, who, more than twenty years before, had made a vigorous onslaught upon Whitefield and his co-revivalists. The general apprehension was, that the taxation of the colonies, and the proposal to send them bishops, were parts of the same system, the object of which was to infringe upon the political and religious privileges of the people. Chauncy and his friends were afraid, and perhaps not without reason, that the power and influence of the government were being used to give ascendancy to the Episcopal Church. They were angry with the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts for sending so many of their clergy to New England, where they were not wanted. At this time, there were at least five hundred and fifty educated ministers in the province, and not a town, unless just settled, without a pastor. Besides, the clergy thus sent were arrogant. They spoke of all the inhabitants of the town, in which they lived, as their parishioners, and as bound both by the law of God and the state to be in communion with the Church of England. Other churches were represented as mere excrescences or fungosities, and their ministers were declared to be unauthorised, and their ordinances invalid. All this naturally created opposition among the non-episcopal churches. And, further, though Dr. Chandler professed that the bishops to be sent would be no burden to the population, the people feared it would be otherwise. Already the support of the episcopal clergy had been thrown upon the community in South Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland; and it was thought to be possible and probable that the bishops, if sent, would have to be sustained, at least in part, by the public taxes.

Amid this state of things, Whitefield commenced a correspondence with the Archbishop of Canterbury, respecting the conversion of his Orphanage into a College; and a remembrance of the facts just noticed will help to a better understanding of some parts of that correspondence. The letters are too long to be inserted in extenso, but their substance shall be given. They were first published in the month of May, 1768, with the title, “A Letter to his Excellency Governor Wright, giving an Account of the Steps taken relative to the converting the Georgia Orphan House into a College; together with the Literary Correspondence that passed upon that Subject between his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Reverend Mr. Whitefield. To which also is annexed the Plan and Elevation of the present and intended Buildings,574 and Orphan House Lands adjacent, By G. Whitefield, A.M., late of Pembroke College, Oxford, and Chaplain to the Countess of Huntingdon. London, 1768.” (8vo. 31 pp.)

In his letter to “Governor Wright,” Whitefield mentions the deep interest which his Excellency and the Council of Georgia had taken in the scheme to convert the Orphan House into a College. He relates that, since his return to England, in 1765, he had exerted his utmost efforts to accomplish this; but various circumstances had impeded the fulfilment of his plan. He had “delivered a memorial into the hands of the late Clerk of his Majesty’s most honourable Privy Council.” The memorial had been “transmitted to the Lord President;” and the Lord President had submitted it “to the consideration of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.” He (Whitefield) had had “a literary correspondence” with his Grace; but the correspondence, and the negotiations, were now ended. He, therefore, wished to lay an account of the whole transactions before his Excellency, and the Council and Assembly of Georgia, and also before “all the other American colonists, and the public in general.”

Whitefield commenced his correspondence with the Archbishop on June 17, 1767, and terminated it on February 12, 1768, within six months of his Grace’s death.

He begins by reminding the Primate that the Lord President had submitted his memorial to his Grace’s consideration, and that the Earl of Dartmouth had put into his hands a copy of the intended charter for the College. The Archbishop had made “judicious corrections,” and had suggested that the charter should provide that the president of the College should be a member or minister of the Church of England. In reply to this, Whitefield writes:—

“I cannot in honour and conscience oblige the master of the Georgia College to be a member or minister of the Church of England. Such an obligation has greatly retarded the progress of the College of New York; as, on the contrary, the letter signed by your Grace, Proprietor Penn, and the late Dr. Chandler, engaging that the College of Philadelphia shall be continued on a broad bottom, has promoted the growth of that institution. The trustees of that seminary (as your Grace is pleased to observe) have agreed ‘That their provost shall always be a minister of the Established Church.’ But they are not thereto enjoined by their charter. That is entirely silent concerning this matter. Their agreement is purely voluntary. The wardens of the College of Georgia will not be prohibited by charter from following the example of the trustees of the College of Philadelphia,” if they choose.

“The first master will assuredly be a clergyman of the Church of England. By far the majority of the intended wardens are, and always will be, members of that communion; and, consequently, the choice of a master will always run in that channel. I also desire that some worthy duly qualified minister of that Church may be always found for this office. But, as persons of all denominations have been contributors, I dare not confine or fetter the future electors. The monies for the erecting a college in New York were given by persons of all religious persuasions, in confidence that the college would be founded on an enlarged basis; and great numbers think themselves injured by its being confined within its present contracted boundary. Hence, many fine promising youths are sent from the college in their native city to that of New Jersey. I dread giving the same occasion of offence, and, therefore, am determined to avoid it in the wording of the Georgia College charter.”

The Archbishop had further suggested that the charter should provide for the daily use of the liturgy of the Church of England in the College, and that the doctrines to be taught in it should be specified. Whitefield objected to these suggestions, and wrote:—

“For the same reasons, I dare not enjoin the daily use of our Church liturgy. I myself love to use it. I have fallen a martyr, in respect to bodily health, to the frequent reading it in Tottenham Court chapel. It has, also, been constantly read twice every Sunday in the Orphan House, from its first institution to this very day. The wardens, likewise, when the power is devolved upon them, may determine this point as they please. But I cannot enjoin it by charter; and have, therefore, in the accompanying draught, not only omitted the paragraph concerning public prayer, but also that concerning doctrinal articles.

“Your Grace further wisely observes, ‘His Majesty should be well advised, whom he names for the first master.’ I trust he will be so. I believe the Earl of Dartmouth will be so good as to present the first master to your Grace’s approbation; but, in the meanwhile, you may be assured the lot will not fall upon me. My shoulders are too weak for such an academical burden. My capacity is by no means extensive enough for such a scholastic trust. To be a Presbyter at large is the station which Divine Providence has called me to for near thirty years past. During that space, I trust my eye has been single, and my views disinterested; and my highest, my only ambition is that the last glimmerings of an expiring taper may be blessed to guide some wandering sinners to the practical knowledge of the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls.

“I desire to bless His name, that I have been spared long enough to see the colony of the once-despised Georgia, and the yet more despised Orphan House, advanced to such a promising height. My honoured friend and father, good Bishop Benson, from his dying bed, sent me a benefaction for it of ten guineas, and poured forth his dying breathings for its future prosperity. That your Grace may be instrumental in promoting its welfare, when turned into a College, is the earnest prayer of, etc.,

“George Whitefield.”

On July 1, the Archbishop acknowledged the receipt of Whitefield’s letter, and stated that he had put Whitefield’s draught of a charter for the College into the hands of the Lord President, who had promised to consider it, but, meanwhile, desired to know how Whitefield proposed to endow the College. Whitefield replied to this three days afterwards to the following effect:—