endeavoured to behave with unaffected devotion, but not suitable enough to the greatness of the office I was to undertake. At the same time, I trust I answered to every question from the bottom of my heart, and heartily prayed that God might say Amen. I hope the good of souls will be my only principle of action. Let come what will, life or death, depth or height, I shall henceforward live like one who this day, in the presence of men and angels, took the holy sacrament, upon the profession of being inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon me that ministration in the church. This I began with reading prayers to the prisoners in the county gaol, Whether I myself shall ever have the honour of styling myself a prisoner of the Lord, I know not; but, indeed, I can call heaven and earth to witness, that when the bishop laid his hand upon me, I gave myself up to be a martyr for Him who hung upon the cross for me.'

Who his fellow-candidates were, he nowhere says; and probably not one of them emerged from the obscurity of their humble parishes. There was not another Methodist among them beside Whitefield, or we should surely have heard of him.

A pleasant picture comes before us in the ordination of the young deacon in his native city on a Midsummer Sunday. No doubt a goodly company of Gloucester folk attended the ceremony, and among them the mother of the candidate; her heart big with joy for the early honour that had come to him-to him from whom she had always expected much comfort; but little dreaming of the greater honour of the future in his world-wide usefulness, and in a loving remembrance of him, cherished among all who shall ever appreciate disinterested religious zeal, or admire genius; and when, at his bishop's command, he read the Gospel, and his manly voice, distinct and clear in every note, swept round the cathe

'THOU SHALT BE DUMB.'

35

dral, it may have come to her mind how he once told her that God had called him to be a minister, and how she had sharply silenced him, because he seemed too graceless for the holy calling. The sweet light of all is the benignant countenance of 'good Bishop Benson,' as it is turned in fatherly kindness upon the kneeling candidates, or lifted up to meet the gaze of the interested congregation. Such a bishop could not but enhance, with great spiritual beauty, an ordinance which can fail to be solemn and tender only when its celebrants are sordid souls, without the love of God or man.

Many of Whitefield's friends pressed him to preach in the afternoon after his ordination, but he could not. He had been in Gloucester a fortnight, partly with the intention of composing some sermons. He wanted a hundred at least,' so that he might not be altogether without ministerial resources, compelled always to go from the study to the pulpit with a newly forged weapon; but, alas! he found, like many other beginners who have attempted the same thing, that sermons cannot easily be made without the helping excitement of expected and appointed work. He had matter enough in his heart, but nothing would flow from his pen. He strove and prayed, but all to no purpose. He mentioned his case to a clergyman; but that gentleman showed his refinement of feeling and his sympathy with a young man's anxiety and fear on the threshold of public life, by telling Whitefield that he was an enthusiast. He wrote to another, and this time the response was kind, assuring him of the writer's prayers, and explaining to him why God might be dealing with him in this manner. At last he thought he found the cause of his inability explained by these words: 'We assayed to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit suffered us not;' and by the words spoken to Ezekiel Thou shalt be dumb; but when I speak unto thee, then shalt thou speak.' This made him quite

easy; he did not doubt but that He who increased a little lad's loaves and fishes for the feeding of a great multitude would, from time to time, supply him with spiritual food for whatever congregation he should be called to.' The morning after his ordination, while he was praying, came these words into his mind-Speak out.' How he used that permission, and how his one sermon grew till he had preached eighteen thousand times, or ten times a week for four-and-thirty years, and fed multitudes beyond computation, it will be our next duty to trace.

On the Sunday after his ordination, that is, on June 27, 1736, Whitefield preached his first sermon. It was delivered in the old familiar church to a large congregation, which had assembled out of curiosity to hear a townsman; its subject was 'The Necessity and Benefit of Religious Society.' A feeling of awe crept over him as he looked upon the crowd of faces, many of which had been familiar to him from his infancy. Former efforts in public speaking, when a boy, and his labours in exhorting the poor, proved of immense service to him, removing what has often overwhelmed bold and capable speakers on their first appearance-the sense of utter strangeness to the work; his soul felt comforted with the presence of the Almighty; and as he proceeded the fire kindled, fear forsook him, and he spoke with 'gospel authority.' A few mocked; but there could be no doubt about the power of the new preacher. A complaint was soon made to the bishop that fifteen persons had been driven mad by his sermon. The bishop only replied, that he hoped the madness might not be forgotten before another Sunday. Nor is that first sermon without another touch of interest. It was not prepared, in the first instance, for St. Mary de Crypt, but for a small Christian society;' a fact which accounts for its being on such an unusual topic for beginners, and for the thoroughly

Methodistical thoughts found at its close. Just as it had been preached to the society was it sent by its author to a neighbouring clergyman, to show him how unfit the author was to preach; he kept it a fortnight, and then sent it back with a guinea for the loan of it, saying that he had divided it into two, and preached it to his people morning and evening.

There is nothing remarkable about it excepting its evident juvenile authorship; its advocacy of religious intercourse more close than was then known, either within or without the pale of the established church, and which still is peculiar to Methodism in its several branches; and its bold attack on those seemingly innocent entertainments and meetings, which the politer part of the world are so very fond of, and spend so much time in, but which, notwithstanding, keep as many persons from a sense of true religion, as doth intemperance, debauchery, or any other crime whatever.' It would have made a suitable sermon for inaugurating class meetings, or for celebrating an anniversary on their behalf. Still, the idea of a class meeting is not to be ascribed to Whitefield; it is Wesley's, through a happy accident.

On Tuesday he preached again, and repeated his attacks upon polite sinners. Before he returned to Oxford on the Wednesday, Bishop Benson added to all his past kindnesses one more, a present of five guineas, which, with a quarter's allowance now due from Sir John Philips, enabled him to pay his ordination expenses, and take his bachelor's degree.

For another week he wore the servitor's habit, and then assumed the gown of a bachelor of arts. The Methodists, who had received him with great joy on his return to Oxford, installed him as their chief, and committed to his charge the religious oversight of their work, and the charity-money which they collected and used for

poor prisoners. A sweet repose rests upon this part of his life. Heart and mind were at peace; studies were pursued with satisfaction; intercourse with religious friends was free and congenial; private Christian duties, prayer, praise, and meditation, charmed him to his room; work was to be done for the defence and spread of truth. One would fain stay with him here, and watch his growth of thought and preparation for coming toil; but there was no pause or break in this life; and we must presently start with him on his first preaching tour, which, unconsciously to himself, really began his circuit of England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and North America, a circuit which he never ceased to travel until death smote him down. Our last glimpse of him in his sweet retirement' sees him poring over Matthew Henry's Commentary; and then writing to a friend down at Gloucester -Herewith I have sent you seven pounds to pay for Mr. Henry's Commentary. Dear Squire Thorold lately made me a present of ten guineas, so that now (for ever blessed be the Divine goodness!) I can send you more than I thought for. In time I hope to pay the apothecary's bill. If I forget your favours, I shall also forget my God. Say nothing of your receiving this money; only give thanks, give hearty thanks to our good and gracious God for his infinite, unmerited mercy to me, the vilest of the sons of men.'

Humble, yet far advanced in the favour of God; obscure, yet within a step of dazzling popularity; poor, yet soon to make many rich;' frail, yet just putting out an unwitting hand to labours rivalling in danger, in suffering, in shame, and in toilsomeness those of St. Paul, he stepped forth from his study before he was twenty-two years old.

A trivial circumstance called him forth. The curate of the Tower chapel, London, who was an intimate friend, having to go into Hampshire to officiate there for a short