The Madisonian

THE PREACHING OF WHITFIELD
BY MRS. CHILD.

There was nothing in the appearance of this extraordinary man which would lead you to suppose that a Felix could tremble before him.

"He was something above the middle stature, well proportioned, and remarkable for a native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, and his dark blue eyes small and lively. In recovering from the measles he had contracted a squint with one of them; but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his countenance more remarkable, than in any degree lessened the effect of its uncommon sweetness.

His voice excelled both in melody and compass; and its fine modulations were happily accompanied by that grace of action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite for an orator." To have seen him when he first commenced, one would have thought him any thing but enthusiastic and glowing; but, as he proceeded, his heart warmed with his subject, and his manner became impetuous and animated, till, forgetful of everything around him, he seemed to kneel at the throne of Jehovah, and to beseech in agony for his fellow beings.

After he had finished his prayer, he knelt for a long time in profound silence; and so powerfully had it affected the most heartless of his audience, that a stillness like that of the tomb pervaded the whole house. Before he commenced his sermon, long darkening columns crowded the bright sunny sky of the morning, and swept their dull shadows over the building, in fearful augury of the storm.

His text was, "Strive to enter in at the strait gate; for many, I say unto you, shall seek to enter in,—and shall not be able." "See that emblem of human life," said he, pointing to a shadow that was flitting across the floor. "It passed for a moment, and concealed the brightness of heaven from our view; but it is gone

And where will ye be, my hearers, when your lives have passed away like that dark cloud?—

Oh, my dear friends, I see thousands sitting attentive, with their eyes fixed on the poor, unworthy preacher. In a few days we shall all meet at the judgment-seat of Christ. We shall form a part of that vast assembly that will gather before the throne; and every eye will behold the Judge. With a voice whose call you must abide and answer, he will inquire whether on earth ye strove to enter in at the strait gate; whether you were supremely devoted to God; whether your hearts were absorbed in him. My blood runs cold when I think how many of you will then seek to enter in, and shall not be able.—

Oh, what plea can you make before the Judge of the whole earth? Can you say it has been your whole endeavor to mortify the flesh, with its affections and lusts? that your life has been one long effort to do the will of God? No! you must answer, I made myself easy in the world, by flattering myself that all would end well but I have deceived my own soul, and am lost.

"You, oh false and hollow Christian! of what avail will it be that you have done many things! that you have read much in the sacred word; that you have made long prayers; that you have attended religious duties, and appeared holy in the eyes of men! What will all this be, if, instead of loving Him supremely, you have been supposing you should exalt yourself in Heaven by acts really polluted and unholy?

"And you, rich man, wherefore do you hoard your silver? Wherefore count the price you have received for him you every day crucify in your love of gain? Why, that, when you are too poor to buy a drop of cold water, your beloved son may be rolled to hell in his chariot, pillowed and cushioned around him."

His eye gradually lighted up as he proceeded till towards the close it seemed to sparkle with celestial fire.

"Oh, sinners!" he exclaimed, "by all your hopes of happiness, I beseech you to repent. Let not the wrath of God be awakened. Let not the fires of eternity be kindled against you. See there," said he, pointing to the lightning which played on the corner of the pulpit. "'Tis a glance from the angry eye of Jehovah. Hark!" continued he, raising his finger in a listening attitude, as the distant thunder grew louder and louder, and broke in one tremendous crash over the building. "It was the voice of the Almighty, as he passed by in his anger!"

As the sound died away, he covered his face with his hands, and knelt beside his pulpit, apparently lost in inward and intense prayer. The storm passed rapidly away, and the sun, bursting forth in his might, threw across the heavens a magnificent arch of peace. Rising, and pointing to the beautiful object, he exclaimed, "Look upon the rainbow, and praise him that made it. Very beautiful it is in the brightness thereof. It compasseth the heavens about with glory, and the hands of the Most High have bended it."

The effect was astonishing. Even Somerville shaded his eyes when he pointed to the lightning, and knelt as he listened to the approaching thunder; while the deep sensibility of Grace, and the thoughtless vivacity of Lucretia, yielded to the powerful excitement in an unrestrained burst of tears. "Who could resist such eloquence?" said Lucretia, as they mingled with the departing throng.