He then hurried back to London, where he arrived on September 1. His health was broken, and he was again an invalid. In a letter, dated September 6, he wrote to a sick and suffering friend:—
“Why should not one invalid write to another? What if we should meet in our way to heaven unembodied,—freed from everything that at present weighs down our precious and immortal souls? For these twodays past I have been almost unable to write: to-day, I am, what they call better.”
Immediately after this, he ruptured a blood-vessel; and, on September 12, remarked:—
“I have been in hopes of my departure. Through hard riding, and frequent preaching, I have burst a vein. The flux is, in a great measure, stopped; but rest and quietness are strictly enjoined.”[617]
Rashly enough, Whitefield re-commenced preaching before the month was ended. One of his friends, Mr. Middleton, died a triumphant death, and Whitefield must preach a funeral sermon. His text was, “I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.” The word “chosen” gave him an opportunity to dwell upon the doctrine of election. “I know no other doctrine,” said he, “that can truly humble man; for either God must choose us, or we must choose God.” As usual, his sermon was interspersed with anecdotes, one of which may be given here. “A noble lady,” said Whitefield, “told me herself, that when she was crying on account of one of her children’s death, her little daughter came to her and said, ‘Mamma, is God Almighty dead, you cry so?’ The lady replied, ‘No.’ ‘Mamma, will you lend me your glove?’ said the child. The mother let her take it; and, in due time, asked for it again. ‘Mamma!’ remarked the child, ‘shall I cry because you have taken back your glove? And shall you cry because God has taken back my sister?’”[618] A reference is made to the death and burial of Mr. Middleton in the following extract from a letter:—
“London, September 26, 1768. For some days, the flux of blood has stopped entirely. Praise the Lord, O my soul! Mr. Middleton is now made perfectly whole. He was buried from the Tabernacle last Wednesday evening, and a subscription is opened for his four orphans.”
“Where is Mr. Middleton now?” cried Whitefield in the sermon just mentioned. “Where is my dear fellow-labourer, that honest, that steady man of God? If in the midst of torture, he could answer his daughter and say, ‘Heaven uponearth! heaven upon earth!’ surely now that he sees God, and sees Christ, he must cry, ‘Heaven in heaven!’”
A few weeks after this, Whitefield set out for Bath and Bristol; and began to have a longing to go to his orphans at Bethesda. He writes:—
“Bristol, November 12, 1768. Bethesda lies upon my heart night and day. Something must be determined speedily. As, I trust, my eye is single, God will assuredly direct my goings. Hitherto, He has helped. He will do so to the end. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
By the end of November, he was back to London, and wrote:—