Whitefield began the year 1757 with mingled feelings. He rejoiced because of the prosperity of the work of God; he was distressed by political and Church contentions; and he was full of care respecting his distant Orphan House. Hence the following selections from his letters:—
“London, January 12, 1757.
“A wide door seems to be opening at Tottenham Court chapel. The word flies like lightning in it. O that it may prove a Bethel—a house of God—a gate of heaven! I believe it will. As the awakening continues, I have some hopes that we are not to be given up. Alas! alas! we are testing and contesting, while the nation is bleeding to death. We are condemning this and that; but sin, the great mischief-maker, lies unmolested, or rather encouraged by every party.”
To his housekeeper at Bethesda, Whitefield wrote:—
“London, February 5, 1757.
“Tottenham Court chapel is made a Bethel, and the awakening increases every day. O that it were so in Georgia! Surely the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls will bless you, for taking care of the lambs in that distant wilderness. Mr. P.’s leaving Bethesda sadly distresses me. I desire that all, who are capable, may be put out, and the family reduced as low as possible, till the war is over, and the institution out of debt. Lord, remember me and all my various concerns! God bless and direct you in every step! He will, He will. What is to become of us here, God only knows. A year perhaps may determine. The best sign is, that the awakening continues.”
Four years ago, Whitefield had published his pamphlet against Zinzendorf and the Moravians. Things since then had altered for the better. Hence the following:—
“London, February 17, 1757.
“O to be an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile! Simplicity and godly sincerity are all in all. A want of this, I fear, has led the Count into all his mistakes. With great regret, I speak or write of any people’s weaknesses; but I thought Divine Providence called me to publish what you mention. The Redeemer gave it His blessing. I do not find that their fopperies are continued, and I hear also that they have discharged many debts.”
At this period, one of the most popular of the metropolitanactors was a young man of twenty-seven—Edward Shuter, born in a cellar adjoining Covent Garden—“the offspring of a chairman on the one side, and of an oyster-woman on the other.” He had been a marker at a billiard table, and a tapster at a public-house. He had joined a company of strolling players, among whom, by his drolleries and good nature, he soon acquired the appellation of Comical Ned. At length, Garrick engaged him at Drury Lane. “He was so thoroughly acquainted,” says a critical authority, “with the vis comica, that he seldom called in those common auxiliaries, grimace and buffoonery, but rested entirely on genuine humour. He had strong features, and a peculiar turn of face, which, without any natural deformity, he threw into the most ridiculous shapes.” His facetiousness was irresistible. Being in disgrace, on one occasion, for some irregularity in his performance, the audience demanded an apology, and vehemently called for him, after he had made his exit. At the time they were vociferating “Shuter! Shuter!” an actress happened to be the only person on the stage, when Shuter, poking out his comical face, from behind one of the scenes, called out, “Don’t shoot her!” which restored the good temper of the spectators for the rest of the evening.