Considering the circumstances of Cornelius Winter, there is a little unseemly grumbling in the foregoing extract; but let it pass. The quondam workhouse boy seems to have been an inmate of Whitefield’s house for about eighteen months; and as he is the only one, thus privileged, who has left behind him any account of Whitefield’s domestic habits and public life, this is a fitting place to introduce what he says concerning the patron to whom he owed so much.
In reference to the composition of sermons, the mode of conducting public services, and action in the pulpit, Winter writes:—
“The time Mr. Whitefield set apart for preparations for the pulpit, during my connection with him, was not distinguished from the time he appropriated to other business. If he wanted to write a pamphlet, he was closeted; nor would he allow access to him, except on an emergency, while he was engaged in the work. But I never knew him engaged in the composition of a sermon, until he was on board ship, when he employed himself partly in the composition of sermons, and partly in reading the history of England. He had formed a design of writing the history of Methodism, but never entered upon it. He was never more in retirement on a Saturday than on another day; nor sequestered at any particular time for a period longer than he used for his ordinary devotions. I never met with anything like the skeleton of a sermon among his papers, with which I was permitted to be familiar, and I believe he knew nothing of such a kind of exercise as the planning of a sermon.
“Usually, for an hour or two before he entered the pulpit, he claimed retirement; and, on the Sabbath morning especially, he was accustomed to have Clarke’s Bible, Matthew Henry’s Comment, and Cruden’s Concordancewithin his reach. His frame at that time was more than ordinarily devotional; I say more than ordinarily, because, though there was a vast vein of pleasantry usually in him, the intervals of conversation then appeared to be filled up with private ejaculation and with praise.
“His rest was much interrupted, and he often said at the close of an address, ‘I got this sermon when most of you were fast asleep.’ He made very minute observations; and, in one way or another, the occurrences of the week, or of the day, furnished him with matter for the pulpit. When an extraordinary trial was going on, he would be present, and I have known him, at the close of a sermon, avail himself of the formality of the judge putting on the black cap to pronounce sentence. With his eyes full of tears, and his heart almost too big to admit of speech, he would say, after a momentary pause, ‘I am now going to put on my condemning cap. Sinner, I must do it. I must pronounce sentence upon thee.’ And then, in a strain of tremendous eloquence, he would recite our Lord’s words, ‘Depart, ye cursed.’ It was only by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and his tears, that the effect could be conceived.
“My intimate knowledge of him enables me to acquit him of the charge of affectation. He always appeared to enter the pulpit with a countenance that indicated he had something of importance to divulge, and was anxious for the effect of the communication. His gravity on his descent was the same. As soon as he was seated in his chair, he usually vomited a considerable quantity of blood.
“He was averse to much singing after preaching, supposing it diverted attention from the subject of his sermon. Nothing awkward, nothing careless appeared about him in the pulpit. Whether he frowned or smiled, whether he looked grave or placid, it was nature acting in him. Professed orators might object to his hands being lifted up too high, and it is to be lamented that in that attitude, rather than in any other, he is represented in print. His own reflection upon that picture was, when it was first put into his hands, ‘Sure I do not look such a sour creature as this sets me forth. If I thought I did, I should hate myself.’ The attitude was very transient, and always accompanied by expressions which would justify it. He sometimes had occasion to speak of Peter going out and weeping bitterly; and, then, he had a fold of his gown at command, which he put before his face with as much gracefulness as familiarity.
“I hardly ever knew him go through a sermon without weeping, and I believe his were the tears of sincerity. His voice was often interrupted by his affection; and I have heard him say in the pulpit, ‘You blame me for weeping, but how can I help it, when you will not weep for yourselves, though your souls are upon the verge of destruction, and, for aught I know, you are hearing your last sermon!’ Sometimes he wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and passionately, and was frequently so overcome, that nature required some little time to compose itself.
“When he treated upon the sufferings of our Saviour, it was with great pathos. As though Gethsemane were in sight, he would cry, stretching out his hand, ‘Look yonder! What is that I see? It is my agonizing Lord!’ And, as though it were no difficult matter to catch the sound ofthe Saviour praying, he would exclaim, ‘Hark! Hark! Do you not hear?’ This frequently occurred; but though we often knew what was coming, it was as new to us as if we had never heard it before.
“The beautiful apostrophe, of the prophet Jeremiah, ‘O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord!’ was very subservient to him, and was never used impertinently. He abounded with anecdotes, which, though not always recited verbatim, were very just as to the matter of them. On the Sabbath morning, he dealt far more in the explanatory and doctrinal mode of preaching, than, perhaps, at any other time; and occasionally made a little, but by no means improper, shew of learning. If he had read upon astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He had his charms for the learned as well as for the unlearned. The peer and the peasant alike went away satisfied.