From His Admission to the University of Oxford to His Embarking for Georgia, 1737

At the age of eighteen Mr. Whitefield was removed to Oxford; the reconmiendation of his friends was successful; another friend borrowed for him ten pounds to defi’ay the expense of entering; and wath a good fortune beyond his hopes, he was admitted servitor immediately’-. He felt the advantage of having been trained up in a public house; his skill and diligence in his occupation led many to seek his attendance; and thus, aided by the mcorae of his services, and some few presents made him by a kind-hearted tutor, he enabled to live without incurring debts to the amount of more than twenty-four pounds during three years.

At first he was harrassed and tempted by the society into which he was thrown; he had several chamber fellows, who would fain have made him join their riotous mode of life. He however, showed his energy of resolution by sitting alone in his study till he was sometimes benumbed with cold, in order to escape their persecutions; and when they discovered his singularity of character, and his strength and fortitude in carrying it out, they abandoned him to his own course, and suflered him to pursue it in peace.

It may well be conjectured that one thus mal-treated by the wicked, on account of the ri^orous purity and strictness of his life, would have sympathy with a small band despised for their austere principles and scrupulous observances. Such a company Oxford then contained. Before Whitefleld went there, he had heard of some young men who “lived by rule anq method,” and were therefore called Methodists. They wer now much talked of, and generally despised. Drawn toward them by kindred feelings, he defended them strenuously whenl ever he heard them reviled, and when he saw them go through the ridiculing crowd to receive the sacrament at St. Mary’s was strongly inclined to follow their example. For more thanj a year he yearned to be acquainted with them: and a feeling of inferiority alone checked his advances. The object of his desires was finally thus accomplished. A pauper had attempted; suicide, and Whitefield sent a poor woman to inform Charles Wesley that he might visit her, and administer spiritual medi-1 cine: the messenger was charged not to tell who sent her :1 contrary to this injunction, she told his name, and Charles’ Wesley, who had seen him frequently walking by himself, and heard something of his character, invited him to breakfast the next morning. An introduction to this little brotherhood soon followed, and he also, like them, “began to live by rule, and pick up the very fragments of his time, that not a moment might be lost.”

They were now about fifteen in number. When they becran to meet they read divinity on Sunday evenings only, and pursued their classical studies on other nights; but religion soon became the sole business of their meetings; they now regularly visited the prisoners and the sick, communicated once a week, and fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays, the stationary days of the Ancient Church, which was thus set apart, because on (hose days our Saviour had been betrayed and crucified. They also drew up a scheme of self-examination, to assist themselves by means of prayer and self-subjugation, in attaining the love and simplicity of God.

As Whitefield was one of the master-spirits who communicated to Methodism its first impulse and direction, a brief survey of the religious condition of that period, and the production of this sect from it, is highly pertinent to an account of his life. At that time, serious and practical Christianity in England was in a very low condition; scriptural, experimental religion (which in the last century had been the subject of the sermons and writings of the clergy) had become quite unfashionable; and the only thing insisted on was, a defense of the out-works of Christianity against the objections of infidels. What was the consequence? The writings of infidels multiplied every day, and infidelity made a rapid progress among persons of every rank; not because they were reasoned into it by the force of argument, but because they were kept strangers to Christ and the power of the gospel. We have a most aflecting description of this, by Bishop Butler, whom none will suspect of exaggerating the fact: “It is come, 1 Imow not how, to be taken for granted, by many persons, that Christianity is not so much as a subject of inquiry; but that it is, now at length, discovered to lie fictitions; and accordingly they treat it as if in the present age this were an agreed point among all people of discernment; and nothing remained but to set it up as a principal subject of mirth and ridicule; as it were by way of reprisals for its having so long interrupted the pleasures of the world.”

While pure and undefiled religion was thus well nigh extinct in England, and fast becoming so in Scotland, it pleased God to keep alive, in the persons of this despised band, that salt of the earth, which was to save it from moral putrefaction. Its beginnings were so feeble as to be scarcely obseiwable; but, like the mustard seed, it shot up into a mighty tree, whose branches now clasp, in greater or less degrees, all Christendom. John and Charles Wesley, had, in good earnest, been religiously educated, by parents who had been quickened by the Spirit of God, and manifested the fruits thereof in sober and godly lives.

In the course of their education, God in mercy delivered thera from conformity to the habits and feelings of an age of abounding impiety, by his super-abounding grace. John was the first to feel its renewing and quickening power, and to transfuse its spirit into the details of life and action. He sought to press upon his brother the importance of austerer habits, and a more active devotion, but found him too much imbued with the current notion of a gradual reformation of character to think of becoming a saint all at once. While, however, John was absent at Wroote, the process which he had been vainly endeavoring to accelerate in his brother, was silently going on. His disposition, his early education, the example of his parents, and of both his brethren, all concurred toward a change, which he piously referred to his mother’s prayers. Finding two or three fellow-students, whose inclinations and principles resembled his own, they associated together for the purpose of religions improvement, lived by rule and received the sacraments weekly. Such conduct would at any time have excited attention in an English University; it was peculiarly noticeable during the dreadful laxity of opmions and morals, which then obtained. The awful prevalence of infidelity in the country, has been already alluded to. It found its way also to the Univemty, and was becoming so contasoiis, that the *ice-chancellor had. in a proramma, exhorted the tutors to discharcre their duty by double dihgence, and had forbidden the undergraduates to read such books as might go to sap the fouiKiations of their faith.

The greatest prudence could not have shielded men from ridicule, who at such an age. and in such a sphere, professed to make religion the great concern of their lives. It is too true, that the men of this world are wiser in their generation than die children of light: and that inflexible fortitude, which was reckless enough of consequences to itself to brave the maledictions of an age spell-bound in wickedness, could scarcely be expected to be imited with that wakeful prudence, which is ever on the alert to ward off petty misconstructions of character and actions. Accordingly they were called in derison the Sacramentarians, Bible-bigots, Bible-moths, the Holy or the Godly Club. One person, with less irreverence and more learning, observed, in reference to their methodical manner of life, that a new sect of Methodists had spnmg up, alluding to the ancient school of physicians laiown by that name. They lived under Nero, and were remarkable for putting their patients imder regimen and administering their applications ‘• by rule and method,-’ and were therefore called Methodists. ‘-The name of Methodist,” it is observed by one of the correspondents of Wesley ‘• is not a new name, never before given to any religious people. Dr. Calamy, in one of his volumes of the ejected ministers, observes, they called those who stood up for God. Methodists.” It is altogether probable, that before, as well as since the distinct existence of the sect of Methodists, whoever distinguished themselves from their neighbors by a stricter profession and more scrupulous performance of the duties of religion. were occasionally styled Methodists, Methodical, Method istical. Be this as it may, a certain fimess in it to indicate the peculiar habits of the first teachers of Methodism gave it general vosrue; and it has now become, by universal consent, the appellation of the sect which they founded.

It was to Charles Wesley and his few associates that the name was first given. “Uli’en John remrned to Oxford, they gladly placed themselves imder his direction; their meetings acquired more form and regularity, and obtained an accession of numbers. His standing and character in the University g-ave him a degree of credit; and his emdition, his keen logic, and ready speech, commanded respect wherever he was knouTi. But no talents, and, it may be added, no virtues, can protect the possessor from the ridicule of fools and profligates, “I hear,” says Mr. Wesley, the father of these youthful apostles, “my son John has the honor of being styled the father of the

Holy Cliilj: if it be so, I am sure I must be the grandfather of it; and I need not say, that I had rather any of my sons should be so dignified and distinsrnished, than to have the title of His Holiness.” This club was finally composed of the following persons, the originators and first champions of Methodism. Mr. John Wesley, fellow of Lincoln College, Mr. Charles Wesley, student of Christ’s Church, Mr. Richard Morgan, of Christ’s Church, Mr. Kirkham, of Merton College, Mr. Benjamin Ingham, of Kijig’s College, Mr. Broughton, of Exeter, Mj. Clayton, of Brazen Nose College, Mr. James Ilervey, author of the Meditations, which have acquired such celebrity, and Mr. George Whitefield. of Pembroke College. Some six or eight of their pupils also joined them, and the whole company amounted to fifteen.

The finger of God is evident in thus bringing together, during the forming period of their characters, those, whom His providence had appointed to be the chief agents in restoring the power to the form of godliness. Mr. WTiitefield always reverted to his acquaintance with the Rev. Charles Wesley with aflectionate interest. jTr. W esley’s ministry was so full of profit and consolation to him, that he always accounted him his spiritual father. And the reciprocal affection felt by Mr. Wesley stands recorded in the verses at the begimiing of Mr. Whitefield’s second and third journals.

Meanwhile, it may not be unwise to retrace his spiritual progress. A character so ardent and precipitate by nature, might be expected to miscarry itself, and misguide others, in the early stages of an enterprise of brealdng up mveterate habits of spiritual drowsiness, and erecting a new standard of religious character. Undisciplined in logic, not far-sighted or comprehensive in the character of his mind, but vehement and impetuous beyond example in his feelings, and of quick and fertile imagination, he came directly at conclusions, as it were, by intuition, which others only reached by long and laborious deduction, and only admitted as parts of a system self-consistent throughout. In reading a treatise entitled “The Life of God in the Soul of Man,” wherein he found it asserted, that true religion is a union of the soul with God or Christ, formed within us, a ray of divine light, he says, instantaneously darted in upon him, and from that moment he knew he must be a new creature.

In seeking however to attain that “peace of mind that passeth all underslanding,” his vehemence and ardency of character betrayed him into many ill-judged processes of moral discipline and self-subjugation.

He describes himself as having all sensible comforts withdrawn from him, overwhelmed with a horrible fearfulness and dread, all power of meditation, or even thinkintr, taken away, his memory gone, his whole soul barren and dry, and his sensations, as lie imagined, like those of a man locked up in iron armor. “WTienever I knelt down,” he says, “I felt great pressure both on soul and body; and have often prayed under the weight of them till the sweat came through me. God only knows how many nights I have lain upon my bed, groaning under what I felt. Whole days and weeks have I spent in lying prostrate on the ground in silent or vocal prayer.” In this state he began to practice austerities, such as the monkish discipline encourages: he chose the worst food, and affected mean apparel; he made himself remarkable by leaving off powder in his hair, when every one else was powdered, because he thought it becoming a penitent; and he wore woollen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes, as visible signs of humility. Such conduct drew upon him contempt, insult, and the more serious consequence, that part of the pay on which he depended for his support was taken from him by men who did not choose to be served by so slovenly a servitor. Other practices injured his health: he would kneel under the trees in Christ Church walk, m silent prayer, shivering the while with cold, till the great bell summoned him to his college for the night; he exposed himself to cold in the morning till his hands were quite black: he kept Lent so strictly, that, except on Saturdays and Sundays, his only food was coarse bread and sage tea, without sugar. The end of this was, that before the termination of forty days he had scarcely strength enough left to creep up stairs, and was under a physician for many weeks.

At the close of the severe illness which he had thus brought on himself, a happy change of mind confirmed his returning health; — it may best be related in his own words. He says,” Notwithstanding my fit of sickness continued six or seven weeks, I trust I shall have reason to bless God for it through the endless ages of eternity. For, about the end of the seventh week, after having undergone innumerable buftetings of Satan, and many months inexpressible trials, by night and by day, under the spirit of bondage, God was pleased at length to remove the heavy load, to enable me to lay hold on his dear Son by a living faith, and, by giving me the spirit of adoption, to seal me, as I humbly hope, even to the day of everlasting redemption. But oh! with what joy, joy unspeakable, even joy that was full of, and big with glory, was my soul filled, when the weight of sin went off, and an abiding sense of the pardoning love of God, and a full assurance of faith, broke in upon my disconsolate soul! Surely it was the day of my espousals, — a

18 MEMOIRS OK WlllTKFIELD.

day to be had in everlasting remembrance. At first my joys were like a sprinjof tide, and, as it were, overflowed the banks. Go where I would I could not avoid singing of psalms almost aloud; afterwards they became more settled, and, blessed be God, saving a few casual mtervals, have abode and increased in my soul ever since.”

The Wesleys at this time were in Georgia; and some person, who feared lest the little society, which they had formed at Oxford, should be broken up and totally dissolved for want of a superintendent, had written to a certain Sir John Philips of London, who was ready to assist in religious works with Ids purse, and recommended Whitefield as a proper person to be encouraged and patronized more especially for this purpose. Sir John immediately gave him an annuity of 20/., and promised to make it 30/., if he would continue at Oxford; — for if this could be leavened with the vital spirit of religion, it would be like medicating the waters at their spring. His illness rendered it expedient for him to change the air; and he went accordingly to his native city, where, laying aside all other books, he devoted liirnself to the study of the scriptures, reading them upon his Imees, and praying over every line and word. “Thus,” as he expresses himself, ‘• he daily received fresh life, light, and power from above; and found it profitable for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, every way sufficient to make the man of God perfect, throughly furnished unto every good word and work.” His general character, his demeanor at church, his visiting the poor, and praying with the prisoners, attracted the notice of Dr. Benson, the then bishop of Gloucester, Vho sent for him one day. after the evening service, and having asked his age, which was little more than twenty-one, told him, that although he had resolved not to ordain any one under three-and-twenty, he should tlnnk it his duty to ordain him whenever he came for holy orders. Whitefield himself had felt a proper degree of fear at undertaking so sacred an office; his repugnance was now overrided by this encouragement, and by the persuasion of his friends; and as he preferred remaining at Oxford, Sir John Philips’s allowance was held a sufficient title by the bishop, who would otherwise have provided him with a cure. Whitefield prepared himself by abstinence and prayer; and on the Saturday eve, retiring to a hill near the town, he there prayed fervently for about two hours, in behalf of himself and those who were to enter into holy orders at the same time. On the following morning he was ordained. “I trust,” he says, “I answered to every question from the bottom of my heart; and heartily prayed that God might say Amen. And when the bishop laid his hands upon my head, if my vile heart doth not deceive me, I offered Uy) my whole spirit, soul and body”, to the service of God’s sanctuary.” “Let come what will, life or death, depth or height, I shall henceforwards live like one who this day, in the presence of men and angels, took the holy sacrament, upon the profession of being inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon me that ministration in the church. I can call heaven and earth to witness, that when the bishop laid his hand upon me, I gave myself up to be a martyr for Him who hung upon the cross for me. Known unto him are all future events and contingencies; I have thrown myself blindfold, and I trust, without reserve, into His Almighty hands.” Such were his feelings at the hour, and they were not belied by the whole tenor of his after life.

Bishop Benson appears to have felt a sincere regard for the young man whom he had thus ordained, little aware of the course which he was designed to run. Whitefield speaks at this time of having received from the good prelate another present of five guineas; “a great supply,” he says, “for one who had not a guinea in the world.” He began with as small a stock of sermons as of wordly wealth. It had been his intention to have prepared at least a hundred, wherewith to commence his ministry; — he found himself with only one; it proved a fruitful one; for having lent it to a neighboring clergyman, to convince him how unfit he was, as he really believed himself to be, for the work of preaching, the clergyman divided it into two, which he preached morning and evening to his congregation, and sent it back with a guinea for its use. With this sermon he first appeared in the pulpit, in the church of St. Mary de Crypt, where he had been baptized, and where he had first received the sacrament. Curiosity had brought together a large congregation; and he now, he says, felt the unspeakable advantage of having been accustomed to public speaking when a boy at school, and of exhorting and teaching the prisoners and poor people at Oxford.* More than this, he

* “Last Sunday in the afternoon I preached my first sermon in the church where I was baptized, and also first received the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Curiosity drew a large congregation together. The sight at first, a little awed me. But I was comforted with a heart-felt sense of the Divine Presence; and as soon found the advantage of having been accustomed to public speaking when a boy at school, and of exhorting and teaching the prisoners, and foor people at their private houses, whilst at the University. By these means was kept from being daimted over-much. As I proceeded, I perceived the fire kindled, till at last, though so young, and amidst a crowd of those who knew me in my childish days, I trust I was enabled to speak with some degree of gospel authority. Some few mocked, but most, for the present, seemed struck: and I have since heard, that a complaint had leen made to the Bishop, that I drove fifteen mad the first sermon. The worthy prelate, as I am informed, wished that the madness might not be forgotten before next Sunday.”

/iO MEMOIRS OF WHITEFIELD.

felt what he believed to be a sense of the Divine presence, and kindling as he went on in his belief, spake, as he thought, with some degree of gospel authority. A few of his hearers mocked, but upon the greater number a strong impression was produced, and complaint was made to the Bishop that fifteen persons had been driven mad by the sermon. The good man replied, he wished the madness might not be forgotten before the next Sunday.

That same week he returned to Oxford, took his degree, and continued to visit the prisoners, and inspect two or three charity schools which were supported by the Methodists. With this state of life he was more than contented, and thought of continuing in the University, at least for some years, that he might complete his studies, and do what good he might among the gowiismen; to convert one of them would be as much as converting a whole parish. From thence, however, he was invited ere long to officiate at the Tower chapel, in London, during the absence of the curate. It was a summons whiich he obeyed with fear and trembling; but he was soon made sensible of his power; for though the first time he entered a pulpit in the metropolis the congregation seemed disposed to sneer at him on account of his youth, they grew serious during his discourse, showed him great tokens of respect as he came down, and blessed him as he passed along, while inquiry was made on every side, from one to another, who he was. Two months he continued in London, reading prayers every evening at Wapping chapel, and twice a week at the Tower, preaching and catechising there once; preaching every Tuesday at Ludgate prison, and daily visiting the soldiers in the infirmary and barracks. The chapel was crowded when he preached, persons came from different parts of the town to hear him, and proof enough was given that an earnest minister will make an attentive congregation.

Havino- returned to Oxford, the society grew under his care, and friends were not wanting to provide for their temporal support. Lady Betty Hastings allowed small exhibitions to some of his disciples: he himself received some marks of wellbestowed bounty, and was intrusted also with money for the poor. It happened after a while that Mr. Kinchin, the minister of Dummcr, in Hampshire, being likely to be chosen Dean of Corpus Christi College, invited him to officiate in his parish, while he went to Oxford, till the election should be decided. Here Whitefield found himself among poor and illiterate people, and his proud heart, he says, could not at first brook the change; he would have given the world for one of his Oxford friends, and “mourned for the want of them like a dove.” He found, however, in one of Mr. Law’s books, a fictitious character held up for imitation: this ideal being served him for a friend; and he had soon full satisfaction, as well as full employment, in pursuing the same round of duties as his predecessor. For the people had been taught by their pastor to attend public prayers twice a-day; in the morning before they went to work, and in the evening after they returned from it; their zealous minister had also been accustomed to catechise the children daily, and visit his parishioners from house to house. In pursuance of this plan, Whitefield allotted eight hours to these offices, eight for study and retirement, and eight for the necessities of nature; he soon learnt to love the people among whom he labored, and derived from their society a greater improvement than books could have given him.

While he was in Ijondon, some letters from Ingham and the Wesleys had made him long to follow them to Georgia; but when he opened these desires to his friends, they persuaded him that laborers were wanting at home; that he had no visible call abroad; and that it was his duty to wait and see what Providence might point out for him, — not to do any thing rashly. He now learned that Charles Wesley had come over to procure assistance; and though Charles did not invite him to the undertaking, yet he wrote in terms which made it evident that he was in his thoughts, as a proper person. Soon afterwards came a letter from John: “Only Mr. Delamotte is with me,” said he, “till God shall stir up the hearts of some of his servants, who, putting their lives in his hands, shall come over and help us, where the harvest is so great, and the laborers so few. Vhat if thou art the man, Mr. Whitefield?” In another letter, it was said, ‘• Do you ask me what you shall have 1 Food to eat, and raiment to put on; a house to lay your head in, such as your Lord had not; and a crown of glory that fadeth not away.” Upon reading this, his heart, he says, leaped within him, and, as it were, echoed to the call. The desire thus formed soon ripened into a purpose, for which all circumstances seemed favorable. Mr. Kinchin had been elected Dean, and must therefore reside at College; he would take upon him the charge of his prisoners: Hervey was ready to supply his place in the curacy; there were many Indians in Georgia, — for their sake it was a matter of great importance that serious clergymen should be sent over; there he should find Wesley, his spiritual teacher and dear friend; a sea voyage, too, might not improbably be helpful to his weakened constitution. Thus he reasoned, finding in every circumstance something which flattered his purpose; and havmg strengthened it by prayer into a settled rasolution, which he knew could never be carried into effect if he “conferred with flesh and blood,” be wrote to his relations at Gloucester, telling- them his design, and saying, that if they would promise not to dissuade him, he would visit them to take his leave; but otherwise he would embark without seeing them, for he knew his own weakness.

Herein he acted wisely, but the promise which he extorted was not strictly observed: his aged mother wept sorely; and others, who had no such cause to justify their interference, represented to him what “pretty preferment” he might have if he would stay at home. The Bishop approved of his determination, received him like a father, as he always did, and doubted not but that God would bless him, and he would do much good abroad. From Gloucester he went to bid his friends at Bristol farewell. Here he was held in high honor: the mayor appointed him to preach before the corporation; (Quakers, Baptists, Presbyterians, people of all denominations, flocked to hear; the churches were as full on week days as they used to be on Sundays; and on Sundays crowds were obliged to go away for want of room. “The whole city,” he said, “seemed to be alarmed.” But though he says that “the word was sharper than a two-edged sword, and that the doctrine of the new birth made its way like lightning into the hearers’ consciences,” the doctrine did not assume a fanatic tone, and produced no extravagance in public.

He himself, however, was in a state of high toned feeling. Having been accepted by General Oglethorpe and the trustees, and presented to the Bishop of London and the Primate, and finding that it would be some months before the vessel in which he was to embark would be ready, he went for a while to serve the church of one of his friends at Stone-house, in his native country; and there he describes the habitual exaltation of his mind in glowing language. Uncommon manifestations, he says, were granted him from above. Early in the morning, at noon-day, evening, and midnight, — nay, all the day long, did the Redeemer visit and refresh his heart. Could the trees of the wood speak, they would tell what sweet communion he and his christian brethren had, under their shade enjoyed with their God, “Sometimes, as I have been walking,” he continues, “my soul would make such sallies, that I thought it would go out of the body. At other times I would be so overpowered with a sense of God’s, infinite majesty, that I would be constrained to throw myself prostrate on the ground, and offer my soul as a blank in his hands, to write on it what he pleased. One night was a time never to be forgotten. It happened to lighten exceedingly. T had been expounding to many people, and some being afraid to go home, I thought it my duty to accompany them, and improve the occasion, to stir tlieni up to prepare for the coming of the Son of Man. In my return to the parsonaae, whilst others were rishig from their beds, and frightened almost to death to see the lightning run upon the ground, and shine from one part of the heavens unto the other, I and another, a poor but pious countryinan, were in the field, praising, praying too, and exulting in our God, and longing for that time when Jesus shall be revealed from heaven in a name of fire! Oh that my soul may be in a like frame when he shall actually come to call me!”

From hence he went again to Bristol, having received many and pressing invitations. Multitudes came out on foot to meet him, and some in coaches, a mile without the city; and the people saluted and blessed him as he passed along the street. He preached about five times a week to such congregations, that it was with great difficulty he could make way along the crowded aisles to the reading-desk. “Some hung upon the rails of the organ-loft, others climbed upon the leads of the church, and all together made the church so hot with their breath, that the steam would fall from the pillars like drops of rain.” When he preached his farewell sermon, and said to the people that perhaps they might see his face no more, high and low, young and old, burst into tears. Multitudes after the sermon followed him home weeping: the next day he was employed from seven in the morning till midnight in talking and giving spiritual advice to awakened hearers; and he left Bristol secretly in the middle of the night, to avoid the ceremony of being escorted by horsemen and coaches out of the town.

The man who produced this extraordinary effect had many natural advantages. He was something above the middle stature, well proportioned, though at that tniie slender, and remarkable for native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, his eyes small and lively, of a dark blue color: in recovering from the measles he had contracted a squint with one of them; but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his countenance more rememberable, than in any degree lessening the effect of its uncommon sweetness. His voice excelled both in melody and compass, and its fine modulations were happily accompanied by that grace of action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite of an orator. An ignorant man described his eloquence oddly, but strildngly, when he said that Mr. Whitefield preached like a hon. So strange a comparison conveyed no unapt a notion of the force and vehemence and passion of that oratory which awed the hearers, and made them tremble like Felix before the apostle. For believing himself to be the messenger of God, commissioned to call sinners to repentance, he spoke as one conscious of his high credentials, with authority and power; yet in all his discourses there was a fervent and melting charity, an earnestness of persuasion, an out pouring of redundant love, partaking of the virtue of that faith from which it flowed, insomuch it seemed to enter the heart which it pierced, and to heal it as with balm.

From Bristol he went to Gloucester, and preached to a very crowded auditory, and after staying a few days went on to Oxford, where he had an agreeable interview with the other Methodists, and came to London about the end of August.

Here he was invited to preach, and assist in administering the sacrament, in a great many churches. The congregations continually increased; and generally on the Lord’s day he used to preach four times to very large and very much affected auditories, and to walk ten or twelve miles in going to the different churches. His friends began to be afraid he would hurt himself; but he used to say, he found by experience, the more he did, the more he might do, for God.

His name was now put into the newspapers (though without his consent or knowledge) as a young gentleman going volunteer to Georgia, who was to preach before the societies at their general quarterly meeting. This stirred up the people’s curiosity more and more. He preached, on that occasion, his sermon on Early Piety, which was printed at the request of the societies. After this, for near three months successively, there was no end of people’s flocking to hear him, and the managers of charity schools were continually applying to him to preach for the benefit of the children; for that purpose they procured the liberty of the churches on other days of the week besides the Lord’s day; and yet thousands went away from the largest churches, not being able to get in. The congregations were all attention, and seemed to hear as for eternity. He preached generally nine times a week, and often administered the sacrament early on the Lord’s day morning, when you might see the streets filled with people going to church with lanterns in their hands, and hear them conversing about the things of God.

As his popularity increased, opposition increased proportionably. Some of the clergy became angry; two of them sent for him, and told him they would not let him preach in their pulpits any more, unless he renounced that part of the preface of his sermon on Regeneration, (lately published,) wherein he wished “that his brethern would entertain their auditors oftener with discourses upon the new birth.” Probably some of them were irritated the more, by his free conversation with some of the serious dissenters, who invited him to their houses, and

MEMOIRS OP WniTEFlELD. 25

repeatedly told him, “That if the doctrines of the new birth, and justification by faith, were preached powerfully in the churches, there would be few dissenters in England.” Nor was he without opposition even from some of his friends. But, under these discouragements, he had great comfort in meeting every evening with’ a band of religious inmates, to spend an hour in prayer for the advancement of the gospel, and for all their acquaintance, so far as they knew their circumstances. In this he had uncommon satisfaction: once he spent a whole night with them in prayer and praise; and sometimes at midnight, after he had been quite wearied with the labors of the day, he found his strength renewed in this exercise, which made him compose his sermon upon Intercession.

The nearer the time of his embarkation approached, the more affectionate and eager the people grew. Thousands and thousands of prayers were put up for him. They would run and stop him m the alleys of the churches, and follow him with wishful looks. But, above all, it was hardest for him to part with his weeping friends at St. Dunstan’s, where he helped to administer the sacrament to them, after spending the night before in prayer. This parting was to him almost insupportable.