“We have instances on record, how an audience has been dissolved into tears by an orator, without knowing a single syllable of that which he uttered; have been moved by the efficacy of words which they did not understand, and by the goodly appearance of the speaker, whom they knew nothing of, to yield the sincerest proofs of their convictions by a liberal supply of such good things as he wanted. Some incidents of the same sort are said to have happened to yourself, and that the bare sight of your blessed gown and wig, though out of the reach of that elocution which so much surprises, and that pathos which so much moves, has not only softened the hearts and moistened the eyes, but drawn large pecuniary supplies to your charitable designs from the pity and benevolence of your female disciples.”
These were taunts unworthy of a bishop of the Established Church, and undeserved by poor afflicted Whitefield.Doubtless, they were painful; but they were patiently endured.
Whitefield’s health was somewhat better. On January 8, 1762, he wrote: “The Scotch journey did me service. I preached on New Year’s Day, and am to do so again to-morrow. I had a violent fall upon my head, from my horse, last Thursday, but was not hurt. Mr. Berridge is here, and preaches with power. Blessed be God that some can speak, though I am laid aside!”
No information exists as to how Whitefield spent the first three months of 1762. He still, however, was the subject of disgraceful persecution. During this interval, there was published a small 8vo. volume (price 2s. 6d.), entitled, “A Plain and Easy Road to the Land of Bliss, a Turnpike set up by Mr. Orator ——.” No good end would be answered by quotations from it. “It is,” said the Monthly Review, “contemptible for its stupidity. It is a filthy, obscene thing, for which the dirty author ought to be washed in a horse-pond.”[490]
In April, Whitefield went to Bristol, where he continued for about a month. The following extracts from his letters will shew the progress he was making:—
“Bristol, April 17, 1762. Bristol air agrees with me. I have been enabled to preach five times this last week, without being hurt. Were the door open for an American voyage, I believe it would be serviceable in bracing up my relaxed tabernacle. But He who knoweth all things, knoweth what is best. I see more and more, that grace must be tried. O for a heart to be made willing to be nothing, yea, less than nothing, that God may be all in all!”
“Bristol, April 18, 1762. Sunday. This morning I have been administering the ordinance; and this evening I hope to be upon my throne again. Who knows but I may yet be so far restored as to sound the gospel trumpet for my God? The quietness I enjoy here, with the daily riding out, seems to be one very proper means. Be this as it will, I know ere long I shall serve our Lord without weariness. A few more blows from friends, and from foes, and the pitcher will be broken. Then the wicked one will cease from troubling, and the weary traveller arrive at his wished-for rest.”
“Bristol, May 4, 1762. I see it is always darkest before the break of day. O that we could always remember that blessed promise, ‘At evening-tide it shall be light’! The archers have of late shot sorely atme and grieved me; but blessed be God for a little revival in my bondage. For these three weeks past, I have been enabled to preach four or five times a week; but you would scarce know me, I am so swollen, and so corpulent. Blessed be God for the prospect of a glorious resurrection!”
On his way back to London, Whitefield wrote as follows:—
“Rodborough, May 21, 1762. I hope to be in London on Tuesday or Wednesday next. Through Divine mercy, preaching four or five times a week has not hurt me; and twice or thrice I have been enabled to take the field: in my opinion, a greater honour than to be monarch of the universe. London cares and London labours, I expect, will bring me low again; but I hope soon to slip away, and to get strength, and then to hunt for precious souls again. How gladly would I bid adieu to ceiled houses, and vaulted roofs! Mounts are the best pulpits, and the heavens the best sounding-boards. O for power equal to my will! I would fly from pole to pole, publishing the everlasting gospel of the Son of God. I write this at a house built for dear Mr. Adams.[491] From his window is a prospect perhaps of thirty miles. I have wished you here with your telescope. But if the footstool is so glorious, what must the throne be!”