Benjamin Franklin
and George Whitefield were contemporaries, and it is a little known fact that
these two men were casual acquaintances. Franklin heard Whitefield preach both
in the colonies (not the states, at that time) and in England.
Prior to his death,
Franklin composed an autobiography. Within that autobiography, he reminisced
about his experiences and conversations with George Whitefield. The below is an
excerpt from Franklin's autobiography.
In 1739 arrived among us from Ireland the Reverend
Mr. Whitefield, who had made himself remarkable there as an itinerant preacher.
He was at first permitted to preach in some of our churches; but the clergy,
taking a dislike to him, soon refus'd him their pulpits, and he was oblig'd to
preach in the fields. The multitudes of all sects and denominations that
attended his sermons were enormous, and it was matter of speculation to me, who
was one of the number, to observe the extraordinary influence of his oratory on
his hearers, and bow much they admir'd and respected him, notwithstanding his
common abuse of them, by assuring them that they were naturally half beasts and
half devils. It was wonderful to see the change soon made in the manners of our
inhabitants. From being thoughtless or indifferent about religion, it seem'd as
if all the world were growing religious, so that one could not walk thro' the
town in an evening without hearing psalms sung in different families of every
street.
And it being found inconvenient to assemble in the
open air, subject to its inclemencies, the building of a house to meet in was
no sooner propos'd, and persons appointed to receive contributions, but
sufficient sums were soon receiv'd to procure the ground and erect the
building, which was one hundred feet long and seventy broad, about the size of
Westminster Hall; and the work was carried on with such spirit as to be
finished in a much shorter time than could have been expected. Both house and
ground were vested in trustees, expressly for the use of any preacher of any
religious persuasion who might desire to say something to the people at
Philadelphia; the design in building not being to accommodate any particular
sect, but the inhabitants in general; so that even if the Mufti of Constantinople
were to send a missionary to preach Mohammedanism to us, he would find a pulpit
at his service.
Mr. Whitefield, in leaving us, went preaching all
the way thro' the colonies to Georgia. The settlement of that province had
lately been begun, but, instead of being made with hardy, industrious
husbandmen, accustomed to labor, the only people fit for such an enterprise, it
was with families of broken shop-keepers and other insolvent debtors, many of
indolent and idle habits, taken out of the jails, who, being set down in the
woods, unqualified for clearing land, and unable to endure the hardships of a
new settlement, perished in numbers, leaving many helpless children unprovided
for. The sight of their miserable situation inspir'd the benevolent heart of Mr.
Whitefield with the idea of building an Orphan House there, in which they might
be supported and educated. Returning northward, he preach'd up this charity,
and made large collections, for his eloquence had a wonderful power over the
hearts and purses of his hearers, of which I myself was an instance.
I did not disapprove of the design, but, as Georgia
was then destitute of materials and workmen, and it was proposed to send them
from Philadelphia at a great expense, I thought it would have been better to have
built the house here, and brought the children to it. This I advis'd; but he
was resolute in his first project, rejected my counsel, and I therefore refus'd
to contribute. I happened soon after to attend one of his sermons, in the
course of which I perceived he intended to finish with a collection, and I
silently resolved he should get nothing from me, I had in my pocket a handful
of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he
proceeded I began to soften, and concluded to give the coppers. Another stroke
of his oratory made me asham'd of that, and determin'd me to give the silver;
and he finish'd so admirably, that I empty'd my pocket wholly into the
collector's dish, gold and all. At this sermon there was also one of our club,
who, being of my sentiments respecting the building in Georgia, and suspecting
a collection might be intended, had, by precaution, emptied his pockets before
he came from home. Towards the conclusion of the discourse, however, he felt a
strong desire to give, and apply'd to a neighbour, who stood near him, to
borrow some money for the purpose. The application was unfortunately [made]
to perhaps the only man in the company who had the firmness not to be affected
by the preacher. His answer was, “At any other time, Friend Hopkinson, I would
lend to thee freely; but not now, for thee seems to be out of thy right
senses.”
Some of Mr. Whitefield's enemies affected to suppose
that he would apply these collections to his own private emolument; but I who
was intimately acquainted with him (being employed in printing his Sermons and
Journals, etc.), never had the least suspicion of his integrity, but am to this
day decidedly of opinion that he was in all his conduct a perfectly honest man,
and methinks my testimony in his favour ought to have the more weight, as we
had no religious connection. He us'd, indeed, sometimes to pray for my
conversion, but never had the satisfaction of believing that his prayers were
heard. Ours was a mere civil friendship, sincere on both sides, and lasted to
his death.
The following instance will show something of the
terms on which we stood. Upon one of his arrivals from England at Boston, he
wrote to me that he should come soon to Philadelphia, but knew not where he
could lodge when there, as he understood his old friend and host, Mr. Benezet,
was removed to Germantown. My answer was, “You know my house; if you can make
shift with its scanty accommodations, you will be most heartily welcome.” He
reply'd, that if I made that kind offer for Christ's sake, I should not miss of
a reward. And I returned, “Don't let me be mistaken; it was not for Christ's
sake, but for your sake.” One of our common acquaintance jocosely remark'd,
that, knowing it to be the custom of the saints, when they received any favour,
to shift the burden of the obligation from off their own shoulders, and place
it in heaven, I had contriv'd to fix it on earth.
The last time I saw Mr. Whitefield was in London,
when he consulted me about his Orphan House concern, and his purpose of
appropriating it to the establishment of a college.
He had a loud and clear voice, and articulated his
words and sentences so perfectly, that he might be heard and understood at a
great distance, especially as his auditories, however numerous, observ'd the
most exact silence. He preach'd one evening from the top of the Court-house
steps, which are in the middle of Market-street, and on the west side of
Second-street, which crosses it at right angles. Both streets were fill'd with
his hearers to a considerable distance. Being among the hindmost in
Market-street, I had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard, by
retiring backwards down the street towards the river; and I found his voice
distinct till I came near Front-street, when some noise in that street obscur'd
it. Imagining then a semi-circle, of which my distance should be the radius,
and that it were fill'd with auditors, to each of whom I allow'd two square
feet, I computed that he might well be heard by more than thirty thousand. This
reconcil'd me to the newspaper accounts of his having preach'd to twenty-five
thousand people in the fields, and to the antient histories of generals
haranguing whole armies, of which I had sometimes doubted.
By hearing him often, I came to distinguish easily between sermons newly compos'd, and those which he had often preach'd in the course of his travels. His delivery of the latter was so improv'd by frequent repetitions that every accent, every emphasis, every modulation of voice, was so perfectly well turn'd and well plac'd, that, without being interested in the subject, one could not help being pleas'd with the discourse; a pleasure of much the same kind with that receiv'd from an excellent piece of musick. This is an advantage itinerant preachers have over those who are stationary, as the latter can not well improve their delivery of a sermon by so many rehearsals.