“No time was to be wasted; and his expectations generally went before the ability of his servants to perform his commands. He was very exact to the time appointed for his stated meals. A few minutes’ delay would be considered a great fault. He was irritable, but soon appeased. Not being patient enough, one day, to receive a reason for his being disappointed, he hurt the mind of one who was studious to please; but, on reflection, he burst into tears, saying, ‘I shall live to be a poor peevish old man, and everybody will be tired of me.’ He never commanded haughtily, and always took care to applaud when a person did right. He never indulged parties at his table; but a select few might now and then breakfast with him, dine with him on a Sunday, or sup with him on a Wednesday night. In the last-mentioned indulgence, he was scrupulously exact to break up in time. In the height of a conversation, I have known him abruptly say, ‘But we forget ourselves;’ and, rising from his seat and advancing to the door, would add, ‘Come, gentlemen, it is time for all good folks to be at home.’
“Whether only by himself, or having but a second, his table must be spread elegantly, though it produced but a loaf and a cheese. He was unjustly charged with being given to appetite. His table was never spread with variety. A cow-heel was his favourite dish, and I have known him cheerfully say, ‘How surprised would the world be, if they were to peep upon Dr. Squintum, and see a cow-heel only upon his table.’ He was extremely neat in his person, and in everything about him. Not a paper must be out of place, or be put up irregularly. Each part of the furniture, likewise, must be in its proper position before we retired to rest. He said he did not think he should die easy, if he thought his gloves were not where they ought to be. There was no rest after four in the morning, nor sitting up after ten in the evening.
“He never made a purchase without paying the money immediately. He was truly generous, and seldom denied relief. More was expected from him than was meet. He was tenacious in his friendship. He felt sensibly when he was deserted, and would remark, ‘The world and the church ring changes.’ He dreaded the thought of outliving his usefulness. He often dined among his friends; and usually connected a comprehensive prayer with his thanksgiving when the table was dismissed, in which he noticed particular cases relative to the family. He never protracted hisvisit long after dinner. He often appeared tired of popularity; and said, he almost envied the man who could take his choice of food at an eating-house, and pass unnoticed. He apprehended he should not glorify God in his death by any remarkable testimony; and he desired to die suddenly.”
Cornelius Winter’s critique on Whitefield is unartistic, but it is not, on that account, the less valuable. Facts are not lost among words, as is the case too often, in the philosophic and eloquent eulogies, or censures, written by men who have a greater wish to display their own cleverness than to pourtray the life and character of the person on whom they exercise their skill. In some of his statements, Winter may have been, unconsciously to himself, somewhat swayed by his relationship to Whitefield; but, generally speaking, his description of Whitefield’s preaching, and of his spirit and habits in domestic life, is the most exact that has ever yet been published. The foregoing extracts may be long, but they were written by a man who, during Whitefield’s last two years in England, read prayers in Whitefield’s Tottenham Court Road chapel, assisted in Whitefield’s study, sat at Whitefield’s table, and occupied a bed in the same room as Whitefield did. The man knew his master, and wrote with the utmost frankness concerning him.
It is now time to return to Whitefield’s history. Little is known concerning him during the first three months of 1767. They seem, however, to have been chiefly spent in London, where his “feeble hands were full of work.”[561]
The Orphan House in Georgia still occupied his attention. He was anxious for “Bethesda to put on its college dress.”[562] The warm friendship between him and Wesley yet continued. On Ash-Wednesday, March 4, Wesley wrote, “I dined at a friend’s with Mr. Whitefield, still breathing nothing but love.”[563] On the 20th of the same month, the Countess of Huntingdon, at Brighton, had all her chaplains around her, and Whitefield re-opened her ladyship’s enlarged chapel, in that town, by preaching, to a crowded congregation, from “Grow in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord andSaviour Jesus Christ: to Him be glory both now and for ever. Amen.”[564]
In April, Whitefield set out for Norwich, and visited Rowland Hill and his Society, at Cambridge, on his way.[565] A month later, he was introduced to a young clergyman, who, afterwards, became famous. Richard de Courcy was the descendant of an ancient and respectable family in Ireland, and was distantly related to Lord Kinsale. He had been educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and, at the age of twenty-three, had received deacon’s orders, and become curate of the Rev. Walter Shirley. Being invited to preach in St. Andrew’s Church, Dublin, his fame brought a crowded congregation. Whilst the prayers were being read, and because the young preacher was a reputed Methodist, the pulpit was seized by order of the metropolitan, Dr. Arthur Smythe, and De Courcy was not allowed to enter it. Upon this, he immediately left the church; the congregation followed him; and, mounting a tombstone, he at once commenced preaching in the open air. This was a crime too great to be forgiven. The bishop refused to ordain him priest. Shirley wrote to the Countess of Huntingdon, and, at her request, De Courcy came to England, expecting, by the help of her ladyship, to obtain ordination by an English bishop. On arriving in London, he immediately called on Whitefield at the Tabernacle House. Whitefield being told who he was, took off his cap, and bending towards De Courcy, and, at the same time placing his hand on the deep scar in his head, said, “Sir, this wound I got in your country for preaching Christ.” De Courcy was captivated, and became Whitefield’s guest, Cornelius Winter being charged to take care of him. The next day, which was Sunday, the young Hibernian preached in Tottenham Court Road chapel, and, by his sermon, laid the foundation of his future popularity. Whitefield and he became ardent friends.[566]
About the middle of the month of May, Whitefield set out for the west of England and Wales. His progress willbe best told by extracts from his letters. On arriving at Rodborough, where his old assistant, Thomas Adams, lived and preached, he wrote to Mr. Keen as follows:—
“Rodborough, May 13, 1767. My new horse failed the first night; but, through mercy, we got here last evening. I was regaled with the company of some simple-hearted, first-rate old Methodists, of near thirty years’ standing. God willing, I am to preach to-morrow morning, and to have a general sacrament on Friday evening. Perhaps, I may move after Sunday towards Wales; but, I fear, I shall be obliged to take post-horses. I care not, so that I can ride post to heaven. Hearty love to all who are posting thither, hoping myself to arrive first. This tabernacle often groans under the weight of my feeble labours. O when shall I be unclothed! When, O my God, shall I be clothed upon! But I am a coward, and want to be housed before the storm.”
A week after this, he reached Gloucester, where he spent several days, and wrote as follows:—