to erect the necessary additional buildings for the intended
Academy at the Orphan House, on Saturday last, being the
anniversary of laying the foundation of that house in the year
1739, his Excellency, the Governor, attended by most of the
members of the Honourable Council and a great number of other
gentlemen, after the service of church was performed, and
a sermon preached by the Rev. Mr. Samuel Frink, Rector of
Christ Church parish, laid the foundation of both the intended
wings; and the whole company, being entertained at dinner in
a plentiful and decent manner, returned to their habitations
seemingly much pleased with the occasion of their meeting,
and their treatment there. From this beginning, we have the
most sanguine hopes, that, in a short time, we shall enjoy the
advantage of educating our youth within ourselves; a benefit we
have, in a great measure, been deprived of, for want of such an
establishment.”
Early in April, Whitefield set out to Bath, on a visit to the
Countess of Huntingdon. Here and in the neighbourhood, he spent a
month, preaching at a large number of places, to most of which he
was accompanied by her ladyship, and by Lady Anne Erskine.[623]
Bath and Bristol were the chief scenes of action; but he had “a
good field-preaching at Kingswood;” had “a blessed day in Bradford
_church_;” and also another in “the fields at Frome, where thousands
attended.” He had “golden seasons” at Chippenham, Castle-Combe,
Dursley, Rodborough, Painswick, Gloucester, and Cheltenham. On his
way back to London, he wrote, to Captain Joss:――
“Rodborough, Thursday, May 11, 1769. Ebenezer! Ebenezer! Blessed
seasons at Chippenham, Castle-Combe, and Dursley, in our way
from Frome. Have been enabled to preach five times this week.
It is good to go into the highways and hedges. Field-preaching,
field-preaching for ever!”
A week after this, he was in London, and wrote to Thomas Adams, at
Rodborough, in the most jubilant strain:――
“London, Thursday, May 18, 1769. My very dear old friend.
On Monday we reached Letchlade, on Tuesday Maidenhead, and
yesterday London. Never was Rodborough so endeared to me, as
at this last visit. Old friends, old gospel wine, and the great
Governor ordering to fill to the brim!
‘O to grace what mighty debtors!’
“If we should die singing that hymn, what then? Why, then,
welcome, welcome eternity! Christ’s grace will be sufficient for
us. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
The next three months were chiefly spent in London. Whitefield
complained of a “hoarseness, gotten in the highways and hedges;” but he
was as full of holy buoyancy as ever. He had now determined to sail for
America, and began to make the necessary preparations for his voyage.
He bought “Osnaburg linen,” for his negroes; he begged maps and books
for his Bethesda Institution; and, in thanking his friend Mr. Keen for
a benefaction to his Orphanage, wrote: “Our Lord will write Himself
your debtor for it. His interest is pretty good――‘a hundredfold.’ A
hundredfold! What can the most avaricious trader desire more?”
One of his last public services was the opening of the Countess of
Huntingdon’s chapel at Tunbridge Wells. This took place on Sunday,
July 23. The Countess, Lady Anne Erskine, Lady Buchan, and Miss Orton
went with him.[624] Early in the morning, a large number of persons
assembled at the front of Lady Huntingdon’s residence, and, in the
open air, sang hymns and prayed, till the time announced for the
commencement of public service in the chapel. “Never,” said her
ladyship, “can I forget the sensations of pleasure I felt, on being
awoke by the voice of praise and thanksgiving.” The chapel, of course,
was thronged. De Courcy read the prayers of the Established Church; and,
then, a large crowd not being able to get inside the chapel, Whitefield
came out, followed by those who had joined in the reading of the
liturgy, and preached to the assembled thousands, from “How dreadful
is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is
the gate of heaven.”[625] The sermon was said to be “a perfect piece
of oratory.” “Look yonder!” cried the preacher, as he stretched out
his hands “Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!
Hark! hark! hark! Do not you hear? O earth, earth, earth, hear the
word of the Lord!” Simple words, but producing effects which cannot
be described. In connection with these and all Whitefield’s utterances,
the reader must bear in mind that Whitefield’s face was language, his
intonation music, and his action passion. Garrick used to say of him,
that, he could make men weep or tremble by his varied pronunciation of
the word “Mesopotamia.” This was an exaggeration; but it expressed the
opinion of the greatest of theatrical orators concerning the power of
Whitefield’s eloquence.
The day at Tunbridge Wells, a hundred and seven years ago, was probably
one of the most remarkable in the history of that resort of fashionable
gaiety. After Whitefield’s sermon, the sacrament of the Lord’s supper
was administered, at which four clergymen attended, besides Whitefield
himself. During the day, three of these clergymen, at three different
times, preached to the assembled multitudes, from a small mount raised
for that purpose at the front of the chapel.[626] One of these was
Richard de Courcy,[627] the fervid young Irishman, already mentioned,
and whose talent and eloquence made him immensely popular. The chapel
itself, said _Lloyd’s Evening Post_[628], “has been inspected by some
ingenious artists, and is looked upon to be the most complete piece of
Gothic architecture that has been constructed for many years!”
Whitefield’s days in England were now nearly ended. In a letter to
Captain Joss, dated “Tottenham Court, August 9, 1769,” he wrote:――
“My hands and heart are full. Last night, I went on board
the _Friendship_. The captain is to dine with me to-morrow.
I expect to sail the first week in September. You must then be
in town.[629] Mr. Brooksbanks will supply your place. I hope
all things will be settled on a right plan. I have the greatest
confidence in you. I only wish some means may be found to save
the late great expense of coach hire. It has mounted very high.”
In another letter, dated ten days later, and addressed to Mr. Adams,
Whitefield wrote:――
“My very dear Tommy, talk not of taking a personal leave.
You know my make. Paul could stand a _whipping_, but not a
_weeping_ farewell. Many thanks for your intended present. God
bless you and yours! God bless all our never-to-be-forgotten
Gloucestershire friends! I can no more. Adieu! Cease not to pray
for, my very dear steady old friend,
“Less than the least of all,
“GEORGE WHITEFIELD.”
Six days after this, on Friday night, August 25, Whitefield held one of
his last sacramental services in England. This was in the Tabernacle,
near Moorfields. Nearly two thousand communicants were present![630]
On the Sunday following, he preached his last sermon in Tottenham Court
Road chapel. The text was, Genesis xxviii. 12–15. A few extracts must
be given. Besides the interest they possess as being among Whitefield’s
_last words_ in England, they will help to illustrate his style of
preaching, when his work was nearly ended.
“When we are travelling in the woods of America, we are obliged
to light a fire; and that keeps off the beasts from us. I have
often got up in the night, and said to them that were with
me (and God forbid I should ever travel with any one, even a
quarter of an hour, without speaking something of Jesus!)――‘This
fire,’ said I, ‘is like the fire of God’s love, which keeps off
the devil and our own lusts from hurting our souls.’
“It comforts me much, I assure you, to think that, whenever
God shall call for me, angels will carry me into the bosom of
Abraham; but it comforts me more to think, that, as soon as they
lay hold of me, my first question to them will be, ‘Where is my
_Master_? Where is my _Jesus_?’ And that, after all my tossings
and tumblings here, I shall be brought to see His face at last.
“It is now high time for me to preach my own _funeral sermon_.
I am going, for the thirteenth time, to cross the Atlantic.
When I came from America last, my health was so bad that I
took leave of all friends on the continent, from one end to
the other, without the least design of returning to them again.
But, to my great surprise, God has been pleased to restore to
me some measure of strength; and, though I intended to give up
the Orphan House into other hands, God has so ordered it, that
his Grace the late Archbishop of Canterbury refused me a charter,
unless I would confine it to episcopacy. I could not, in honour,
comply with this, as Dissenters, and other serious people of
different denominations, had contributed towards its support.
I would sooner cut off my head than betray my trust. I always
meant the Orphan House to be kept upon a broad bottom, for
people of all denominations. I hope, by the 25th of March next,
all intended alterations and additions will be completed, and a
blessed provision be made for many hundreds; and a comfortable
support for poor orphans and poor students. This is my only
design in going. I intend to travel all along the continent.
I am going in no public capacity. I am going trusting in God
to bear my charges. I call heaven and earth to witness that I
have never had the love of the world one quarter of an hour in
my heart. I might have been rich; but now, though this chapel
is built, and though I have a comfortable room to live in, I
assure you I built the room at my own expense. It cost nobody but
myself anything, and I shall leave it with an easy mind. I have
thought of these words with pleasure, ‘I will bring thee again
to this land.’ I know not whether that will be my experience;
but, blessed be God! I have a better land in view. I do not
look upon myself at home till I land in my Father’s house. My
greatest trial is to part with those who are as dear to me as my
own soul. O keep close to God, my dear London friends. I do not
bid you keep close to chapel. You have always done that. I shall
endeavour to keep up the word of God among you during my absence.
I might have had a thousand a year out of this place, if I had
chosen it. When I am gone to heaven, you will see what I have
got on earth. I do not like to speak now, because it might be
thought boasting.”[631]
Whitefield’s last sermon[632] in London was preached in the Tabernacle,
Moorfields, at seven o’clock on Wednesday morning, August 30.[633]
The text he selected was, John x. 27, 28. The sermon (if so it may be
called) was earnest talk, incoherent, and, some would say, egotistic;
but it was interspersed with characteristic sentences.
“Sheep,” said Whitefield, “love to be together. They don’t love
to be alone. You seldom see a sheep by itself; and Christ’s
people may well be compared to them in this. Oh, think some, if
we had great people on our side, the King, Lords, and Commons!
What then? Alas! alas! Do you think the Church of God would go
on a bit the better? No! no! Religion never prospers when it
has too much sunshine. Dr. Marryat was not ashamed to preach
in _market language_; and I once heard him say at Pinner’s Hall,
‘God has a great dog to fetch His sheep back when they wander.’
Yes, when God’s people wander, He sends the devil after them,
and suffers him to bark at them; but instead of barking them
further off, he only barks them back again to the fold of
Christ.”
In another part of his discourse, Whitefield, unnecessarily if not
egotistically, stated that, before he was twenty-two years of age,
he had the offer of two parishes, by Benson, Bishop of Gloucester;
that, when he first came to London, most of the metropolitan churches
were open to him; and that twelve or fourteen constables had to guard
the doors of the churches where he preached. He then referred to his
intention to turn the Orphan House into a College; and highly eulogised
Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, his “old servants” there, and also the Messrs.
Wright and Mr. Crane, whom he had sent out to execute the improvements
and additions to the building. He concluded as follows:――
“This is the thirteenth time of my crossing the mighty waters.
It is a little difficult at this time of life; but I delight in
the cause, and God fills me with a peace that is unutterable. I
expect many trials while on board. Satan always meets me there;
but God, I believe, will keep me. I thank God, I have the honour
of leaving everything quite well and easy at both ends of the
town. If I am drowned, I will say, if I can, while I am drowning,
‘Lord, take care of my English friends!’ Some of you, I doubt
not, will be gone to Christ before my return; but, though parted,
it will be to meet again for ever. God grant that none who
weep now at my parting, may weep at our meeting at the day of
judgment! Come, sinner, come, see what it is to have eternal
life! Haste! haste! haste away to the great, the glorious
Shepherd! I care not what shepherds you are under, so that you
are kept near the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls. The Lord
bless you and keep you! The Lord make His face shine upon you,
and be gracious unto you! The Lord lift up His countenance upon
you, and give you peace!”
Such was Whitefield’s final benediction upon his Tabernacle
congregation, on Wednesday _morning_, August 30. In point of fact,
this was a _second_ farewell sermon, in the same building; for, on the
Wednesday night previous, he had addressed those of the congregation
who were unable to attend a week-day morning service. His sermon, on
that occasion, was, in all respects, superior to his final one. The
text was, “And thy God thy glory” (Isaiah lx. 19). He then made his
last London collection.
“The Tabernacle has been repaired,” said he; “and I wish
to leave it unencumbered. I told my friends, I would make a
collection. Remember, it is not for me, but for yourselves――for
the place where you are to meet, when I am tossing on the water,
and in a foreign clime. The arrears are nearly £70. I hope you
will not run away. If you can say, God is my glory, you will
not push one upon another, as though you would lose yourselves
in a crowd, and say, Nobody sees me. Does not God Almighty see
you? You must excuse me. I cannot say much more. I beg you will
excuse me from a particular parting with you. Take my public
farewell. I will pray for you when in the cabin; I will pray for
you when tempests are about me; and this shall be my prayer, ‘O
God, be Thou their God! and grant their God may be their glory!’”
A few other extracts, from Whitefield’s last sermons in London, may be
welcome. They are taken from the 8vo. volume, published by Gurney
immediately after Whitefield’s death.[634]
“_The Devil’s Children._――‘O,’ says one, ‘I never felt the
devil.’ I am sure thou mayest feel him now. Thou art _dadda’s_
own child. Thou art speaking the very language of the devil; and
he is teaching thee to deny thy own father. Graceless child of
the devil, if thou hast never felt the devil’s fiery darts, it
is because the devil is sure of thee. He has got thee into a
damnable slumber. May the God of love awaken thee before real
damnation comes!” (p. 262.)
“_Persecution._――Our suffering times will be our best times. I
know I had more comfort in Moorfields and on Kennington Common,
especially when rotten eggs, cats, and dogs were thrown upon
me,――I had more comfort in these burning bushes than I have
had when I have been in ease. I remember when I was preaching
at Exeter, and a stone made my forehead bleed, the word came
with double power; and a labourer, wounded at the same time by
another stone, came to me and said. ‘The man gave me a wound,
but Jesus healed me; I never had my bonds broken till my head
was’” (p. 268).
“_Penitents._――I have reason to believe, from the notes put
up at both ends of the town, that many of you have arrows of
conviction stuck fast in your souls. I have taken in near two
hundred, at Tottenham Court Road, within a fortnight. God is
thus at work. Let the devil roar; we will go on in the name of
the Lord” (p. 280).
“_Self-condemnation._――I wish I could make you all angry. I am a
sad mischief-maker; but I don’t want to make you angry with one
another. Some people, who profess to have grace in their hearts,
seem resolved to set all God’s people at variance. They are like
Samson’s foxes with firebrands in their tails, setting fire to
all about them. Are any of you come from the Foundery, or any
other place, to-night? I care not where you come from. I pray
God you may all quarrel; that is, I want you to fall out with
your own hearts” (p. 289).
“_Baptismal Controversy._――It is a strange thing how bigots can
set the world on fire by throwing water at one another; and that
people cannot be baptized, without shewing that the chief thing
they have been baptized into, are the waters of strife. This is
making sport for the devil. For my part, I do not enter into the
debate about infant or adult baptism, nor yet about its mode.
I believe you might as well attempt to draw two parallel lines,
and bring them to meet at some certain place, as to bring these
learned combatants together; for, of all disputants, religious
disputants are the most obstinate and fiery” (p. 297).
“_Catholicity._――The world pretty well knows the temper of my
mind, both in respect to politics and church-government. I am
a professed avower of moderation. I don’t care whether you go
to church or meeting. I profess to be a member of the Church of
England; but, if they will not let me preach in a church, I
will preach anywhere. All the world is my parish; and I will
preach wherever God gives me an opportunity. You will never find
me disputing about the outward appendages of religion. Don’t
tell me you are a Baptist, an Independent, a Presbyterian, a
Dissenter: tell me you are a Christian. That is all I want. This
is the religion of heaven, and must be ours upon earth” (p. 310).
“_Whitefield’s Salary._――I intend to give you a parting word on
Sunday evening, and to take my last farewell in the ensuing week,
for I must have a day or two to dispatch my private business.
As this place has been repaired, and I am wishful to leave
everything clear before I go, a collection must be made for
defraying the expense incurred. The world thinks I am very rich.
A man, the other day, sent me word, that, if I did not lay £30
in a certain place, I should be killed. You yourselves, perhaps,
think I get a great deal for preaching here; and, therefore, now
that I am going away, I will tell you my stated allowance for
preaching at the Tabernacle. I have no more from this place than
£100 a year; and, yet, when I asked last night how the accounts
stood, I was told there were £50 arrears. ‘Well,’ I said,
‘ungrateful as it is to me, I will make a collection, that all
may be left free.’ There are not six people in this Tabernacle
from whom I have had the value of a guinea from last January to
the present month of August; nor have I had a guinea from all
the ordinances of the place towards bearing the expenses of my
voyage” (p. 372).
These _Whitefieldiana_ might easily be multiplied, but sufficient
have been given to shew the familiar, and (as some will think) the
objectionable style used by Whitefield at the close of his public
ministry. His sermons now, as compared with those he published at the
commencement of his career, were notably inferior. As compared with the
sermons preached and printed by Wesley, they were a perfect contrast.
They were neither scriptural expositions nor doctrinal disquisitions;
but free and easy talk, intermixed with anecdotes, personal
reminiscences, and quaint quotations. Matthew Henry’s Exposition was
Whitefield’s favourite Commentary; and to this circumstance Wesley
attributed the quaintness of Whitefield’s style. In the preface to his
“Explanatory Notes upon the Old Testament,” published in 1765, Wesley,
with an obvious reference to Whitefield, says:――
“I omit” (in these Notes) “abundance of Mr. Henry’s quaint
sayings and lively antitheses; as, ‘God feeds His _birds_. Shall
He not feed His _babes_?’ I used once to wonder, whence some,
whom I greatly esteem, had so many pretty turns in preaching.
But when I read Mr. Henry, my wonder ceased. I saw they were
only copying after him: although probably without designing
it. They generally consulted his exposition of their text, and
frequently just before preaching. And, hence, little witticisms
and a kind of archness insensibly stole upon them, and took
the place of that strong, manly eloquence, which they would
otherwise have learned from the inspired writers.”
Two of Whitefield’s _last sermons in England_ were preached at
Gravesend, on Sunday, September 3, 1769. Hence the following, taken
from _St. James’s Chronicle_, for September 7: “On Saturday last, the
Rev. Mr. Whitefield went from town to Gravesend, where he preached, on
Sunday morning, in the Methodist Tabernacle, and, in the evening, in
the Market Place.” Whitefield himself writes:――
“Sunday, September 3. Preached this morning at the Methodist
Tabernacle, from John xii. 32. The congregation was not very
large, but God gave me great freedom of speech. In the afternoon,
I preached in the Market Place, from Genesis iii. 13, to a much
larger, but not more devout auditory. In the outskirts, some
were a little noisy, but most were very attentive, and I was
enabled to lift up my voice like a trumpet. The evening was
spent, as the night before, with my Christian friends from
London.”
“Monday, September 4. Had my dear Christian friends on board
to breakfast with me this morning. Conversation was sweet,
but parting bitter. However, I was helped to bear up; and,
after their departure the Divine Presence made up the loss of
all.”[635]
_SEVENTH VISIT TO AMERICA._
SEPTEMBER, 1769, TO SEPTEMBER, 1770.
WHITEFIELD embarked for America on September 4th; but it was not
until the end of the month that he looked his last look on glorious
old England. His detentions were annoying; but they gave him the
opportunity of writing last letters to his friends.[636] Extracts from
these will be welcome.
To his old assistant, Thomas Adams, of Rodborough, he wrote:――
“On board the _Friendship_, (Captain Ball,) September 5, 1769.
Six in the morning. My very dear Tommy, I could not write you
whilst ashore, but drop you a few lines now I am come on board.
Just now we have taken up the anchor; and I trust my anchor
is within the veil. I have not been in better spirits for
some years; and I am persuaded this voyage will be for the
Redeemer’s glory, and the welfare of precious souls. Our parting
solemnities have been exceedingly awful. O England! England! God
preserve thee from every threatening storm!”
To a lady and her daughter, at Gravesend, who had shewn him kindness,
he thus expressed his thanks:――
“September 6, 1769. God bless and reward you and your daughter!
Gravesend Bethels, I trust, will not easily be forgotten. I
am sure you do not forget to pray for a very worthless worm.
Jesus, the never-failing, ever-loving, altogether-lovely Jesus,
comforts me.”
To other friends Whitefield wrote:――
“September 7, 1769. I am comforted on every side. Fine
accommodations. A civil captain and passengers. All willing to
attend on divine worship. Praise the Lord, O my soul! I am brave
as to my bodily health. Grace! Grace!”
“September 8, 1769. O these partings! Without Divine support,
they would be intolerable. But with that, we can do even this
and everything besides, which we are called to do or suffer.
Everything turns out beyond expectation, as to bodily health,
ship accommodation, and civility of passengers. I only want
somebody with more brains about me. O the privilege and honour
of leaving a little all, for the great unfailing All, the
ever-blessed God!”
To his faithful friend, Mr. Robert Keen, Whitefield addressed the
following:――
“September 8, 1769. Ebenezer! Ebenezer! Hitherto the Lord helps.
We have had contrary winds to the Downs, but not violent. The
young soldiers are not yet sick, though the ship has some motion.
I seem to be now, as I was thirty years ago. Praise the Lord,
O my soul! The care of my annual pensioners, with all money
matters, I must beg you to take wholly into your hands.”
His letter to Wesley shall be given at full length:――
“THE DOWNS, ON BOARD THE ‘FRIENDSHIP,’ _September 12, 1769_.
“REV. AND VERY DEAR SIR,――What hath God wrought _for_ us, _in_
us, _by_ us! I sailed out of these Downs almost thirty-three
years ago. O the height, the depth, the length, the breadth of
Thy love, O God! Surely it passeth knowledge. Help, help us,
O heavenly Father, to adore what we cannot fully comprehend!
I am glad to hear that you had such a Pentecost season at
the College.[637] One would hope that these are earnests of
good things to come, and that our Lord will not remove His
candlestick from among us. Duty is ours. Future things belong to
Him, who always did, and always will, order all things well.
‘Leave to His sovereign sway,
To choose and to command;
So shall we wondering own His way,
How wise, how strong His hand.’