George Whitefield: A Biography, with special reference to his labors in America

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."