LABORS IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND--CHAPLAIN TO LADY HUNTINGDON.
1748, 1749.
On the evening of July 6, 1748, Whitefield again found himself in
London, after an absence of nearly four years. Here he was welcomed
with joy by many thousands. The large church of St. Bartholomew
was at once thrown open to him, where multitudes flocked to hear,
and where on the first Sabbath he had a thousand communicants. But
in his own more immediate circle many things were in an unhappy
condition. His congregation at the Tabernacle had been much
scattered during his absence; Antinomianism had made sad havoc
among the people; and one of this party threatened to rival him in
Moorfields. Whitefield sent him word, "The fields are no doubt as
free to you as to another. God send you a clear head and a _clean_
heart. I intend preaching there on Sunday evening." He did so; and
found "Moorfields as white to harvest as ever." Our evangelist
was again called to mourn the evils of poverty. He found himself
compelled to sell his household furniture, to pay, in part, the
debts of his orphan-house, which were yet far from being cancelled;
his aged mother, for whom he always retained the highest regard,
also needed his aid. These and other trials pressed him sorely; but
on the other hand, he felt happy in his work, and his congregation
were soon reunited, and happy in his labors.
We have seen that as early as 1738, Lady Huntingdon, with his
lordship her husband, as frequently as they could, heard Whitefield
preach; since that period his lordship had died, leaving her
ladyship a widow, in the thirty-ninth year of her age. At what
period she became more openly and intimately Whitefield's friend
does not appear; but when he landed at Deal from his third visit
to America, she sent Howel Harris to bring him to her house at
Chelsea, where he preached to large circles of the gay world, who
thronged this then fashionable watering-place. For the benefit of
this class of hearers, she soon after removed to London, at that
time some three miles distant from Chelsea, appointed Whitefield her
chaplain, and during the winter of 1748 and '49, opened her splendid
mansion in Park-street for the preaching of the gospel. "Good Lady
Huntingdon," he writes, "has come to town, and I am to preach twice
a week at her house to the great and noble. O that some of them
might be effectually called to taste the riches of redeeming love."
On the first day appointed, Chesterfield and Bolingbroke, both of
them well-known for their gayety and infidelity, and a circle of the
nobility, attended; and having heard him once, they desired to come
again. "Lord Chesterfield thanked me," he says. "Lord Bolingbroke
was moved, and asked me to come and see him the next morning. My
hands have been full of work, and I have been among great company.
All accepted my sermons. Thus the world turns round. '_In all time
of my wealth, good Lord, deliver me._'"
The death-bed of Lord St. John Bolingbroke, whom we have already
mentioned as one of his parlor-hearers, exhibited scenes unusual in
the circle where he moved. The Bible was read to him, and his cry
was, "God be merciful to me a sinner." "My Lord Bolingbroke," wrote
Lady Huntingdon to Whitefield, "was much struck with his brother's
language in his last moments. O that his eyes might be opened by the
illuminating influence of divine truth. He is a singularly awful
character; and I am fearfully alarmed, lest the gospel which he so
heartily despises, yet affects to reverence, should prove the savor
of death unto death to him. Some, I trust, are savingly awakened,
while many are inquiring; thus the great Lord of the harvest hath
put honor on your ministry, and hath given my heart an encouraging
token of the utility of our feeble efforts."
It is related that the Rev. Mr. Church, a clergyman who died curate
of Battersea, near London, one day called on Bolingbroke, who said
to him, "You have caught me reading John Calvin; he was indeed a man
of great parts, profound sense, and vast learning; he handles the
doctrines of grace in a very masterly manner." "Doctrines of grace,"
replied the clergyman; "the doctrines of grace have set all mankind
by the ears." "I am surprised to hear you say so," answered Lord
Bolingbroke, "you who profess to believe and to preach Christianity.
Those doctrines are certainly the doctrines of the Bible, and if I
believe the Bible I must believe them. And let me seriously tell
you, that the greatest miracle in the world is the subsistence of
Christianity, and its continued preservation, as a religion, when
the preaching of it is committed to the care of such unchristian
men as you."
At this period Whitefield renewed his acquaintance with the Rev.
James Hervey, who has not improperly been called the Melancthon
of the second reformation in England. Among all the converts
of our evangelist, no one was more distinguished for piety, or
for his fascination as a writer, than this admirable clergyman.
His writings, though too flowery in their style, were eminently
suitable, as Whitefield himself says, "for the taste of the polite
world." Hervey wrote to Whitefield, "Your journals and sermons, and
especially that sweet sermon on 'What think ye of Christ?' were a
means of bringing me to the knowledge of the truth." Whitefield felt
the warmest attachment to Hervey in return, and when he introduced
some of his works into America, wrote, "The author is my old friend;
a most heavenly-minded creature; one of the first Methodists, who
is contented with a small _cure_, and gives all he has to the poor.
We correspond with, though we cannot see each other." Whitefield
intimated in one of his journals his intention of sketching Hervey's
character, but this was one of the many intended things which
were never accomplished. Dr. Doddridge wrote a preface to one of
his works, which Warburton, as might be expected, called "a weak
rhapsody."
Under the auspices of Lady Huntingdon, a prayer-meeting was
established for the women who, from the circles of rank and fashion,
became the followers of the Lord. Among these were Lady Frances
Gardiner, Lady Mary Hamilton, daughter of the Marquis of Lothian,
who had attended the ministry of Whitefield in Scotland, Lady
Gertrude Hotham and Countess Delitz, sisters of Lady Chesterfield,
Lady Chesterfield herself, and Lady Fanny Shirley. "Religion," says
Lady Huntingdon, when writing to Doddridge, "was never so much the
subject of conversation as now. Some of the great ones hear with me
the gospel patiently, and thus much seed is sown by Mr. Whitefield's
preaching. O that it may fall on good ground, and bring forth
abundantly."
Some one, we believe a bishop, complained to George II. of the
popularity and success of Whitefield, and entreated his majesty in
some way or other to silence him. The monarch, thinking, no doubt,
of the class described by the martyr Latimer, as "unpreaching
prelates," replied with jocose severity, "I believe the best way
will be to make a bishop of him."
But if Whitefield was honored by some of the great, he received from
others unmingled hostility. Horace Walpole, the gay man, and the
corrupt courtier, thought it worth while to introduce the Methodist
preacher into his "Private Correspondence." The statement he makes
of professed facts is altogether incredible, but shows unmistakably
the spirit of the writer. "The apostle Whitefield is come to some
shame. He went to Lady Huntingdon lately, and asked for forty pounds
for some distressed saint or other. She said she had not so much
money in the house, but would give it him the first time she had. He
was very pressing, but in vain. At last he said, 'There's your watch
and trinkets, you don't want such vanities; I will have that.'
She would have put him off; but he persisting, she said, 'Well, if
you must have it, you must.' About a fortnight afterwards, going
to his house, and being carried into his wife's chamber, among the
paraphernalia of the latter the countess found her own offering.
This has made a terrible schism; she tells the story herself. I had
not it from Saint Frances, [Lady Fanny Shirley,] but I hope it is
true." Every thing goes to prove the sincerity of his hope, though
founded on falsehood.
It has generally happened that the most effective public speakers,
whether secular or sacred, have been accused by a fastidious class
with _vulgarisms_. So with Cicero, Burke, and Chatham; so with
Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster; and to turn to eminent preachers,
so with Luther, Latimer, and Whitefield. The reason was, that
intent on the greatest good to the greatest number, they used what
Dr. Johnson, after Daniel Burgess, called "market language." Dr.
William Bates, an accomplished and courtly non-conformist minister,
in the seventeenth century, once complained in the presence of his
faithful but unpolished friend Daniel Burgess, that he found very
little success in his work as a minister; when his aged brother
smartly replied, "Thank your velvet mouth for that--too fine to
speak market language." Whitefield, very happily for thousands, had
no squeamishness of this sort.
Some ladies called one Saturday morning to pay a visit to Lady
Huntingdon, and during the interview, her ladyship inquired of them
if they had ever heard Mr. Whitefield preach. On being answered
in the negative, she said, "I wish you would hear him; he is to
preach to-morrow evening." They promised her ladyship they would
certainly attend. They fulfilled their promise; and when they called
on her ladyship the next Monday morning, she anxiously inquired if
they had heard Mr. Whitefield on the previous evening, and how they
liked him. The reply was, "Oh, my lady, of all the preachers we
ever heard, he is the most strange and unaccountable! Among other
preposterous things, would your ladyship believe it, he declared
that Jesus Christ was so willing to receive sinners, that he did not
object to receive even the devil's _castaways_! Now, my lady, did
you ever hear of such a thing since you were born?" Her ladyship, in
reply, said, "There is something, I acknowledge, a little singular
in the invitation, and I do not recollect to have met with it
before; but as Mr. Whitefield is below in the parlor, we will have
him up, and let him answer for himself."
On Mr. Whitefield's entering the drawing-room, Lady Huntingdon
said, "Sir, these ladies have been preferring a very heavy charge
against you, and I thought it best that you should come up and
defend yourself. They say, that in your sermon last evening, in
speaking of the willingness of Jesus Christ to receive sinners, you
said, that 'so ready was Christ to receive sinners who came to him,
that he was willing to receive even the devil's castaways.'" Mr.
Whitefield immediately replied, "I certainly, my lady, must plead
guilty to the charge; whether I did what was right, or otherwise,
your ladyship shall judge when you have heard a fact. Did your
ladyship notice, about half an hour ago, a very modest single rap
at the door? It was given by a poor, miserable looking aged female,
who requested to speak with me. I desired that she might be shown
into the parlor, when she thus addressed me: 'I believe, sir, you
preached last evening at such a chapel.' 'Yes, I did.' 'Ah, sir, I
was accidentally passing the door of that chapel, and hearing the
voice of some one preaching, I did what I have never been in the
habit of doing--I went in; and one of the first things I heard you
say, was, that Jesus Christ was so willing to receive sinners, that
he did not object to receive the devil's castaways. Do you think,
sir, that Jesus Christ would receive me?' I answered her that there
was not a doubt of it, if she was but willing to go to him."
It is pleasant to add, that the impression conveyed in the singular
language of Mr. Whitefield ended in the conversion of the poor
woman to God. She gave satisfactory evidence that her great and
numerous sins had been forgiven through the atonement of the Lord
Jesus Christ. Was Mr. Whitefield to be censured for the use of this
language?
In September, 1748, Mr. Whitefield made his third visit to Scotland,
where he met with a cordial welcome, and where his labors became
increasingly valued. Some of the clergy at Glasgow, Perth, and
Edinburgh used their influence to exclude him from the pulpits, but
the majority voted in his favor; and a full examination vindicated
his character, and made his excellences more generally known. All
the ministers who were disposed to invite him to preach, were at
liberty to do so, except in the presbytery of Edinburgh; here,
however, he was accommodated by the magistrates with a church to
preach in whenever he visited the city. In Scotland he now warmly
advocated the cause of the college in New Jersey: of the results of
his labors we shall hear more hereafter.
On his return to London, Whitefield resumed his preaching at
Lady Huntingdon's to "the great ones," as he calls them. Thirty,
and sometimes even sixty persons of rank attended, although the
newspapers gave false and degrading accounts of the reception he
met with in Scotland. He now availed himself of the influence he
possessed, to forward his intended college, in addition to his
orphan-house, for which his plea was, "If some such thing be not
done, I cannot see how the southern parts will be provided with
ministers; for all are afraid to go over." On this ground he
appealed to the trustees of Georgia; reminding them that he had
expended five thousand pounds upon the orphan-house; begging them
to relieve it, as a charitable institution, from all quit-rent
and taxes; and especially to allow him the labor of blacks in
cultivating the farm. "White hands," he said, "had left his tract of
land uncultivated."
It will not be expected that Whitefield could stay long, even in the
courtly circles of London, where he met with so much acceptance. We
very soon find him among his old friends at Gloucester and Bristol.
The bishop of the latter see, he says, behaved very respectfully
to him; he visited also his old tutor, now become one of the
prebendaries, and met with the old kindness received at Oxford. "I
told him, that my judgment, as I trust, was a little more ripened
than it was some years ago; and that as fast as I found out my
faults, I should be glad to acknowledge them. He said the offence of
the governors of the church would wear off as I grew _moderate_."
The evangelist did not tell the doctor how little he cared for such
moderation as the governors of the church in that day required;
but he wrote to Lady Huntingdon, on the subject of their favor, "I
am pretty easy about that. If I can but act an honest part, and be
kept from _trimming_, I leave all consequences to Him who orders all
things well." During this journey, many new converts were won. One
of these was a counsellor, who was so much affected, that his zeal
in inviting others to hear Whitefield led his wife to suspect him of
madness.
An interesting fact connected with Gloucestershire, his native
county, may be introduced in this place, though we are not sure
that it occurred during this journey. John Skinner of Houndscroft
was a strolling fiddler, going from fair to fair, supplying music
to any party that would hire him. Having determined to interrupt
Mr. Whitefield while preaching, he obtained a standing on a ladder
raised to a window near the pulpit. Here he remained a quiet, if not
an attentive hearer, till the text was read, when he intended to
begin his annoying exercise on the violin. It pleased God, however,
while he was putting his instrument in tune, to convey the word
preached with irresistible power to his soul; his attention was
diverted from his original purpose, he heard the whole sermon, and
became a new man.
Happily Whitefield was blessed in bringing to Christ many who were
made eminently useful. Among others we might mention the late Rev.
Cornelius Winter, an eminent minister, who afterwards accompanied
our evangelist in his last voyage to America, and who after his
death conveyed his will to England, and sought ordination to return
and labor in Georgia. Disappointed in this, he became an able and
successful minister in England; and also trained several young men
for the Christian ministry, including the late celebrated William
Jay of Bath. Whitefield had often been heard by Winter with great
pleasure, for he admired his eloquence; but for some time no good
effects were apparent. One night, while playing at cards, an
amusement in which he much delighted, and though surrounded by a
number of gay companions, the thought presented itself to Winter's
mind that he might that evening hear his favorite preacher. He broke
off from play in the midst of the game, which made his companions
very angry, as they suspected where he was going. He tells us that
it was a night much to be remembered. He had reason to hope the
scales of ignorance were then removed from his eyes, he had a sense
of his misery as a sinner, and was led to earnest inquiry after the
way of salvation. It is scarcely necessary to say, that he never
again played at cards.
From the exhilarating scenes of Gloucestershire and Bristol, we
must accompany Whitefield into Cornwall, among the glens and dales
of which, or on the seaside to a somewhat similar population and
with almost equal success, he spoke "all the words of this life."
The robust and determined miners of the west of England, whose
very employment gives hardihood alike to their character and frame,
at first received him in somewhat rough and unpolished style,
but were soon after melted and transformed by the grace which
had displayed its triumphs among their brethren at Kingswood.
"I am just returned," he writes on one occasion, "from near the
Land's End, where thousands and thousands heard the gospel gladly.
Everywhere the word of God has run and been glorified. Every day I
have been travelling and preaching; and could I stay a month, it
might be spent to great advantage. At a place called Port Isaac,
the Redeemer's stately steps were indeed seen. At Camelford I
preached with great quietness in the streets. At St. Ann's we had
a very powerful season; and yesterday at Redruth several thousands
attended, and the word was quick and powerful." Again he writes,
"Immediately after writing my last, I preached to many thousands at
a place called Gwennap. The rain descended, but the grace of God
seemed to fall like a gentle dew, sprinkling rain upon our souls. It
was indeed a fine spring shower. In the evening I rode to St. Ives,
and preached to many who gladly attended to hear the word; a great
power seemed to accompany it. On the Lord's day I preached twice to
great auditories. On Monday I preached again at Redruth, at ten in
the morning, to nearly, as they were computed, ten thousand souls.
Arrows of conviction seemed to fly fast." Again, in a communication
to the Countess of Huntingdon, he says, "I have been very near
the Land's End, and everywhere souls have fled to hear the word
preached, 'like doves to their windows.' The harvest is great, yea,
very great, but laborers are few. O that the Lord of the harvest
would thrust out more laborers." And yet again he says, "Invitations
are sent to me from Falmouth and several other places, but I cannot
attend to them all at present. I want more tongues, more bodies,
more souls, for the Lord Jesus. Had I ten thousand, he should have
them all." Such was the noble spirit he displayed, and such were
the manner and fruits of his "entering in among" the, at that time,
benighted children of Cornwall. A great light shone upon them. They
came from the caverns of the earth to welcome its rising, and to
look upon its brightness. Thousands of them were indeed "brought out
of darkness into marvellous light," and turned by it from sin to
holiness, and from Satan to God; and thousands are still rejoicing
in its beams.
On his return to London, Whitefield found his assemblies at the
countess's "brilliant indeed," and Lord Bolingbroke still one among
them. Of this talented nobleman our evangelist at this time indulged
a happy hope, which, alas, seems never to have been realized.
In February, 1749, Whitefield made an excursion to Exeter and
Plymouth, where he was agreeably surprised to find a great
alteration had taken place since his preceding visit, five years
before. He loved to "range," as he called it, "after precious
souls," and happily for him and for others he found them. During
this and subsequent visits to Plymouth, he resided with the Rev.
Andrew Kinsman, an excellent Congregational minister, of whom we
have already spoken. He was born in Devonshire in 1724, and was
therefore ten years younger than Whitefield. While peculiarly
amiable in his manners, and remarkable for his regard to his
parents, he was unacquainted with the religion of the heart till
his seventeenth year, when he met with a volume of Mr. Whitefield's
sermons, and one of those on the new birth alarmed him. His pious
friends were few, but his religious feelings were deeply moved,
and God at length gave him "the oil of joy for mourning, and the
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." Concerned for the
highest interests of his relatives, he one night, as the family were
retiring to rest, broke out, with intense emotion, "What, shall we
go to bed without prayer? How do we know but some of us may awake
in hell before morning?" This unexpected address struck the family
with solemn awe; and while they looked at each other with conscious
shame, for the neglect of so clear a duty, he fell upon his knees
and prayed with so much readiness and fervor that it excited their
astonishment.
As might be expected, his concern for others did not stop here; he
was anxious that his neighbors might also find "the unsearchable
riches of Christ." He began, therefore, to read Whitefield's sermons
to as many as would attend, supposing, with Melancthon, that what
had proved so great a blessing to himself, would not fail of similar
effects on others, as soon as they were heard. After a short time,
he began himself to expound and preach, and was encouraged by many
conversions under his ministry, including those of his father,
mother, and three sisters. Not long after these events, Whitefield,
in entering on one of his voyages to America, had been compelled
to stay at Plymouth, where Kinsman first saw and heard him. By a
series of remarkable events, Mr. Kinsman was brought to settle
as a minister at Plymouth, where the "Tabernacle" was erected on
ground given by himself, and the congregation were served by him and
other ministers with abundant success. In the whole neighborhood an
extraordinary blessing attended his labors, and his usefulness and
deliverances from danger were only second to those of Whitefield
himself. Nor was he less respected, nor his ministry attended with
less success, at Bristol and London--cities to which he was invited
by Whitefield; who used to call Bristol "_Kinsman's America_,"
alluding to his own reception and success in the western world.
On one occasion, when Whitefield was about to sail for America,
he sent for Kinsman to London, and on his arrival dined with his
distinguished friend at the Tabernacle house. After dinner there
was a violent storm of thunder and lightning. As they stood at the
window looking out on the raging elements, Mr. Kinsman, supposing a
young clergyman who had dined with them, and who now stood by his
side, to be a pious man, familiarly put his hand on his shoulder,
and with great cheerfulness and energy repeated the lines of Dr.
Watts:
"The God who rules on high,
And thunders when he please;
Who rides upon the stormy sky,
And manages the seas--
_This awful God is ours_,
Our Father, and our love!"
The words so appropriately introduced, and so emphatically spoken,
made a deep impression on the mind of the young clergyman, and gave
rise to a conversation which, by the blessing of God, led to his
conversion.
At the Tabernacle in London, the ministry of Mr. Kinsman was greatly
distinguished for its excellence and success, and he thought himself
highly honored in preaching the first sermon delivered from the
pulpit of the present Tabernacle. His musical voice, his lively and
pathetic address, and the richness of the evangelical truths he
proclaimed, brought numbers of all classes of society to hear him.
Among them was Shuter, the comedian, to whom we shall again refer as
a hearer of Whitefield, and who years afterwards, in an interview
with Kinsman, drew a striking contrast between their professions,
and bitterly lamented that he had not cordially embraced religion,
when his conscience was impressed under the preaching of the great
evangelist.
But we must not stay longer to speak of Kinsman; suffice it to say
that he founded, in addition to Plymouth, a new church three miles
from thence, at a place now called Devonport, and labored with
energy and holy success till the sixty-ninth year of his age, when
he died in triumph, February 28, 1793. Of such a man it was truly
said, that for Whitefield "he retained the most filial affection to
his dying day; and frequently travelled with, and consulted him as a
father upon all his religious concerns."
In March Whitefield returned to London, where the feeble state of
his health made him feel weary even in his success. He says, "I
have seen enough of popularity to be sick of it, and did not the
interest of my blessed Master require my appearing in public, the
world should hear but little of me henceforward." Yet his zeal
abated not. "I dread the thoughts of flagging in the latter stages
of my road," is an expression often used in his letters to his
friends. He thought that preaching and travelling contributed to his
health. In a letter to Hervey, he says, "Fear not your weak body,
we are immortal till our work is done. Christ's laborers must live
by miracle; if not, I must not live at all, for God only knows what
I daily endure. My continual vomitings almost kill me, and yet the
pulpit is my cure; so that my friends begin to pity me less, and to
leave off that ungrateful caution, 'Spare thyself.' I speak this to
encourage you."
All this Whitefield meant. Hence in May we find him preaching at
Portsmouth daily, for more than a week, to very large and attentive
auditories; where was shown another remarkable instance of the power
which attended his preaching, for many who a few days before were
speaking all manner of evil against him, were very desirous of his
longer stay to preach the gospel among them. From Bristol, June 24,
he writes, "Yesterday God brought me here, after a circuit of about
eight hundred miles, and enabled me to preach to, I suppose, upwards
of a hundred thousand souls. I have been in eight Welsh counties,
and I think we have not had one dry meeting. The work in Wales is
much upon the advance, and likely to increase daily."
Whitefield returned to London to welcome his wife home from the
Bermuda Islands. From her he learned that there his character had
been aspersed by one of the clergy; but while he grieved over the
fact, he said, "I am content to wait till the day of judgment for
the clearing up of my character; and after I am dead, I desire no
other epitaph than this, 'Here lies George Whitefield. What sort of
a man he was, the great day will discover.'"
In the midst of his sorrows, Whitefield was comforted by a visit
from two German ministers, who had been laboring among the Jews with
apparently happy results. He found also several of the peeresses,
and others of "the great," cordially disposed to receive him; and
shortly afterwards was visited by Mr. Grimshaw, a clergyman from
Yorkshire, for whom in September he went to preach. Thousands in the
village of Haworth attended his preaching, even ten thousand at a
time, and a thousand communicants approached the table of the Lord.
At Leeds also he preached, at the invitation of Mr. Wesley's people,
to ten thousand persons, and Mr. Charles Wesley himself introduced
him to the pulpit at Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
In the north of England the visits of Mr. Whitefield were always
looked for with intense interest. In one of his letters, he thus
describes the state of things there in August, 1756: "It is now a
fortnight since I came to Leeds, in and about which I preached eight
days successively, three times almost every day, to thronged and
affected auditories. On Sunday last at Bradford, in the morning,
the audience consisted of above ten thousand; at noon, and in
the evening, at Birstal, of nearly double that number. Though
hoarse, I was able to speak so that they all heard." These hallowed
services were often spoken of by the late Rev. Dr. John Fawcett,
for more than half a century an eminent Baptist minister of that
neighborhood, to whose soul they proved a rich blessing. After
having heard Whitefield at Bradford in the morning, he followed
him to Birstal, where a platform was erected at the foot of a hill
adjoining the town, whence Mr. Whitefield addressed an immense
concourse of people, not fewer, it was believed, than twenty
thousand, who were ranged before him on the declivity in the form of
an amphitheatre. "I lay," says Fawcett, "under the scaffold, and it
appeared as if all his words were addressed to me, and as if he had
known my most secret thoughts from ten years of age. As long as life
remains, I shall remember both the text and the sermon." Accustomed
as he was to preach to large and promiscuous multitudes, when he
looked on this vast assemblage, and was about to mount the temporary
stage, he expressed to his surrounding friends a considerable
feeling of timidity; but when he began to speak, an unusual
solemnity pervaded the assembly, and thousands, in the course of the
sermon, as was often the fact, gave vent to their emotions by tears
and groans. Fools who came to mock, began to pray, and to cry out,
"What must we do to be saved?"
Mr. Shirley, in giving an account of this same service, tells us
that "not only the field, but the woodlands about it, were covered
with crowds collected from different parts. An unusual solemnity
pervaded this vast multitude, and at the close of the service the
one hundredth psalm was sung, and concluded with Mr. Grimshaw's
favorite doxology,
"'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.'
The volume of sound produced by the united voices of thousands,
while it reëchoed through the vale below, had such an effect as no
language can describe."
Mr. Grimshaw was a very remarkable clergyman connected with the
church of England, though found fault with on account of his
irregularity. He studied at Cambridge for the ministry before he
was acquainted with the reality of true religion. His conversion
was very striking; after which he became a remarkably faithful and
pungent preacher. He settled at Haworth, in Yorkshire, where Mr.
Whitefield visited him.
In one of the services held by Mr. Whitefield in Yorkshire, a
deep solemnity was created by providential circumstances. He had
mounted the temporary scaffold to address the thousands before him.
Casting a look over the multitude, he elevated his hands, and in an
energetic manner implored the divine presence and blessing. With a
solemnity peculiarly his own, he then announced his text, "It is
appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment." Heb.
11:27. After a short pause, as he was about to proceed, a wild,
terrifying shriek issued from the centre of the congregation. A
momentary alarm and confusion ensued. Mr. Whitefield waited to
ascertain the cause, and requested the people to remain still. Mr.
Grimshaw hurried to the spot, and in a few minutes was seen pressing
towards the place where Mr. Whitefield stood. "Brother Whitefield,"
said he, manifesting in the strongest manner the intensity of his
feelings, and the ardor of his concern for the salvation of sinners,
"you stand among the dead and the dying. An immortal soul has been
called into eternity; the destroying angel is passing over the
congregation; cry aloud, and spare not." The awful occurrence was
speedily announced to the congregation. After the lapse of a few
moments, Mr. Whitefield again announced his text. Again a loud and
piercing shriek proceeded from the spot near where Lady Huntingdon
and Lady Margaret Ingham were standing. A thrill of horror seemed
to escape from the multitude when it was understood that a _second_
person had fallen a victim to the king of terrors. When the
consternation had somewhat subsided, Mr. Whitefield gave indications
of proceeding with the service. The excited feelings of many were
wound up to their highest point. All was hushed; not a sound was to
be heard; and a stillness like the awful silence of death spread
over the assembly, as he proceeded in melting strains to warn the
careless, Christless sinner to "flee from the wrath to come."
As winter was now approaching, Whitefield felt it important to
return to the metropolis. During the tour he had made, he won to
Christ not a few of those who afterwards laid the foundations of
churches now flourishing in the counties of Lancaster, York, and
Northumberland. He met, however, with so much "rude treatment here
and there, as sent him home praying, 'Lord, give me a pilgrim heart
for my pilgrim life.'" He was now in "winter quarters," but was
neither idle nor useless. To use his own words, "The glory of the
Lord filled the tabernacle, and the shout of a king was in the
camp," and that from week to week. "Thousands, thousands crowded to
hear." Every day also he heard of instances of conversion. One of
these pleased him greatly. It was that of a boatswain, who, before
hearing him, knew no more about divine truth "than the whistle he
blew on board." He mentions also a boy eleven years of age, a woman
of eighty, and a baker, who had been "a Jerusalem sinner," all of
whom bowed before the cross, and placed their hopes of salvation on
Him who died thereon.