While Whitefield was opening the Bristol Tabernacle, Wesley was seized with an illness, which all his friends expected to prove fatal. Just at the same time, the wife of Charles Wesley caught the small-pox at Bristol, and was in the greatest danger. Between this excellent lady and the Countess of Huntingdon there existed a close intimacy and friendship; and, whenever the Countess was in Bristol, Charles Wesley and his wife always received a warm welcome to her house. Charles was now in London, visiting his apparently dying brother; but was greatly needed by his wife in Bristol. In this emergency, Lady Huntingdon hurried Whitefield to the metropolis, to enable Charles Wesley to pay a visit to his seemingly dying wife.[345] This brief statement will help to explain the following beautifully pathetic letters, written by Whitefield, at this afflictive period. The first was probably addressed to the noted Methodist at Leeds, William Shent:—
“Bristol, December 3, 1753.
“I have been preaching the last week in Somersetshire. The fire there warmed and inflamed me, though I preached in the open air on Tuesday evening at seven o’clock, as well as on Wednesday and Thursday. I purposed to go as far as Plymouth, but Providence has brought me back, and I am now hastening to London, to pay my last respects to my dying friend. It may be, that shortly Mr. John Wesley will be no more. The physicians think his disease a galloping consumption. I pity the Church; I pity myself; but not him. We must stay behind in this cold climate, whilst he takes his flight to a radiant throne. Poor Mr. Charles will now have double work.”
On the same day, Whitefield wrote to both the Wesleys.The first of the ensuing letters was addressed to Charles; the second to John.
“Bristol, December 3, 1753.
“Being unexpectedly brought back from Somersetshire, and hearing you are gone on such a mournful errand, I cannot help sending after you a few sympathising lines. The Lord help and support you! May a double spirit of the ascending Elijah descend and rest on the surviving Elisha! Now is the time to prove the strength of Jesus yours. A wife, a friend, and brother, ill together! Well, this is our comfort, all things shall work together for good to those that love God.
“If you think proper, be pleased to deliver the enclosed. It is written out of the fulness of my heart. To-morrow, I leave Bristol, and purpose reaching London on Saturday. Glad shall I be to reach heaven first; but faith and patience hold out a little longer. Yet a little while, and we shall be all together with our common Lord. I commend you to His everlasting love, and am, my dear friend, with much sympathy, yours, etc.,
“G. Whitefield.”
“Bristol, December 3, 1753.
“Reverend and very dear Sir,—If seeing you so very weak, when leaving London, distressed me, the news and prospect of your approaching dissolution have quite weighed me down. I pity myself and the Church, but not you. A radiant throne awaits you, and, ere long, you will enter into your Master’s joy. Yonder He stands with a massy crown, ready to put it on your head, amidst an admiring throng of saints and angels; but I, poor I, who have been waiting for my dissolution these nineteen years, must be left behind, to grovel here below! Well, this is my comfort, it cannot be long ere the chariots will be sent even for worthless me. If prayers can detain them, even you, reverend and very dear sir, shall not leave us yet; but, if the decree is gone forth, that you must now fall asleep in Jesus, may He kiss your soul away, and give you to die in the embraces of triumphant love! If in the land of the dying, I hope to pay my last respects to you next week. If not, reverend and very dear sir, F-a-r-e-w-e-ll! I prae sequar, etsi non passibus aequis. My heart is too big: tears trickle down too fast; and you, I fear, are too weak for me to enlarge. Underneath you may there be Christ’s everlasting arms! I commend you to His never-failing mercy, and am, reverend and very dear sir, your most affectionate, sympathising, and afflicted younger brother, in the gospel of our common Lord,