CHAPTER VII.

May to August, 1739.

IN MOORFIELDS; ON COMMONS; AT FAIRS AND RACES.

MR. STONEHOUSE, vicar of Islington, was favourable to Methodism, but his churchwarden was of another mind. To which of the two posterity ought to feel the most grateful it would be hard to say-perhaps to the churchwarden. As soon as Whitefield arrived in London, the vicar gave him the use of his pulpit for a week-day service. The churchwarden would dispute Whitefield's right. In the midst of the prayers he entered the church, demanded Whitefield's licence, and forbade his preaching without one. No licence was forthcoming, nor was the preacher sorry for that, though by being in priest's orders and holding the living of Savannah, which was in the diocese of London, he felt that he had legal standing ground. For peace sake he determined not to preach in the church. When the communion service was over he withdrew to the churchyard, and preached there, feeling assured that his Master now called him out in London, as well as in Bristol. In a letter, written to a friend that day, he said that his Master had, by His providence and Spirit, compelled him to preach in the churchyard at Islington. To-morrow I am to repeat that mad trick, and on Sunday to go out into Moorfields. The word of the Lord runs and is glorified. People's hearts seem quite broken. God strengthens me exceedingly. I preach till I sweat through and through.' He evidently was well satisfied with being driven to adopt

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his country practices, or he would not have announced his intention to preach at Moorfields on the second day after his expulsion, or withdrawal, whichever it may be called, from Islington Church.

The news of his going to Moorfields soon spread through the city; and many, on hearing it, said that if he ventured into that domain of the rabble he would never come out alive. Moorfields, which had been the first brickyard of London, next the exercise ground of the city archers, then the site of Bedlam, and afterwards the City Mall, where fashion took its daily stroll, had fallen into the possession of the roughest part of the population, simply by this part's presenting itself in the presence of fashion, and desiring to share, in its peculiar way, the shade of the trees and the smoothness of the paths. The partnership was quietly declined. To this place and to this people Whitefield felt himself called to take his message of love and peace. On Sunday morning, April 29, an exceeding great multitude' assembled in the 'fields' to hear him; but, to while away the time before his arrival, there was a little preliminary sport in breaking to pieces a table which had been placed for his pulpit. In due time he drove up in a coach, accompanied by some friends, and, with one of them on either side, attempted to force his way to the place where the table ought to have been found. His bodyguard was soon detached from him, and he was left at the mercy of the congregation, which at once parted, and made an open way for him to the middle of the fields,' and thencefor there was no pulpit there-to the wall which divided. the upper and lower fields,' upon which he took his stand. It was a novel sight to the preacher-that mass of London rabble-as his eye ranged over it; it was a more novel sight to the people-that young clergyman in gown, bands, and cassock, as he lifted himself up before them. His tall, graceful figure; his manly and com

manding bearing; his clear blue eyes, that melted with tenderness and kindness; his raised hand, which called for attention-everything about him declared him a man who was capable of ruling them; and they were willing to listen to him. When he spoke, and they heard his strong but sweet voice, exquisitely modulated to express the deepest, strongest passion, or the soberest instruction, or the most indignant remonstrance, they stood charmed and subdued. Then his message was so solemn and so gracious, something in which every one was interested both for time and eternity; and he delivered it as if it were all real to him, as indeed it was; as if he believed it and loved it, and wanted them also to accept it, as indeed he did. No scoffer durst raise his shout, no disturber durst meddle with his neighbour, as the thrilling text flew all around, every one hearing it, ‘Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man cometh;' and as the preacher, with finger pointed upwards, cried, 'There shall be a day wherein these heavens shall be wrapt up like a scrollthe elements melt with fervent heat-this earth and all things therein be burnt up, and every soul of every nation summoned to appear before the dreadful tribunal of the righteous Judge of quick and dead, to receive rewards or punishments according to the deeds done in their bodies. Quietness and attention reigned through all the host while, for perhaps an hour and a half, he spoke of the wise and the foolish virgins, and then-for he had a pleasant egotism, which for a moment turned men's minds to himself only to direct them onward to the Master -entreated them, with a last entreaty, not to reject his message because he was young. 'Oh! do not turn a deaf ear to me,' he begged; do not reject the message on account of the meanness of the messenger! I am a child, a youth of uncircumcised lips, but the Lord has chosen me, that the glory might be all His own. Had He sent

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to invite you by a learned Rabbi, you might have been tempted to think the man had done something. But now God has sent a child that cannot speak, that the excellency of the power may be seen to be not of man, but of God. Let letter-learned Pharisees, then, despise my youth; I care not how vile I appear in the sight of such men, I glory in it; and I am persuaded, if any of you should be set upon your watch by this preaching, you will have no reason to repent that God sent a child to cry, "Behold! the Bridegroom cometh!" O my brethren! the thought of being instrumental in bringing some of you to glory fills me with fresh zeal. Once more, therefore, I entreat you-"Watch, watch and pray;" for the Lord Jesus will receive all that call upon Him faithfully. Let that cry, "Behold! the Bridegroom cometh!" be continually sounding in your ears; and begin now to live as though you were assured this was the night in which you were to be summoned to go forth to Him.'

At five o'clock in the evening of the same day he met, on Kennington Common, an audience computed at twenty thousand, and of a higher class of people than he had addressed in the morning. The wind, which was favourable, carried his words to the farthest hearer; the whole company listened with as much decorum as a congregation in a church, joined in the psalm and the Lord's prayer, and dispersed, evidently touched and moved by what they had heard.

All his time was now devoted to preparation for the voyage to Georgia, and to open-air preaching. All went well between him and the Trustees, who received him with much civility;' agreed to everything he asked; and gave him a grant of five hundred acres of land, to him and his successors for ever, for the use of the orphanhouse. The liberality of the Trustees was rivalled by that of the congregations at Moorfields and Kennington

Common, for in nine days he collected from them almost two hundred pounds. The Common was his church on the Sunday evening and during the week, and at the close of the services he stood on the eminence from which he had preached, to receive the gifts of the people, who crowded to him from below. Moorfields was his church on the Sunday morning, and, after his third service there, he collected fifty-two pounds, nineteen shillings and sixpence, more than twenty pounds of which was in halfpence. He declares that he was nearly weary of receiving their mites, and that one man could not carry the load home. The evident emotion of the people while he preached, their awe, their silence, their tears, and the generosity with which, evening after evening, they responded to his appeals for his orphan-house, showed that he had their faith and sympathy, and that his word was bringing forth fruit. Letters came telling him how useful his preaching had been to the writers; and many persons waited on him to receive further private instruction. He even says that he could mark an alteration for the better in the congregation at Kennington Common, which had from the first been exemplary. No doubt many came from anything but religious motives, as where is the congregation which is without the idle, the curious, the formal, the foolish, who do not come to be made any better, and who would be greatly startled if they were? The second congregation at Moorfields, which was composed of about twenty thousand people, most likely had many sightseers; and so, most likely, had the congregation on the Common, on the evening of the same day—a congregation which was reckoned to consist of between thirty and forty thousand persons on foot, besides many horsemen, and about eighty coaches. The sight that evening was such as surprised even Whitefield, well accustomed as he had become to look down upon vast crowds.

Quick, enterprising men, who perhaps would have had