thanks" for all she had done for him. Happy the mother of such a son!

Whitefield was married in November, 1741, a few days before his twenty-seventh birthday. He had been considering the matter for nearly two years. His orphanage in Savannah was in need of a trustworthy woman to act as matron, and he thought a wife would meet the situation.

More than a year and a half before he was finally wedded he took definite steps looking in that direction. He selected a young woman who he thought would do, and then he proposed in a very businesslike way. He wrote to the parents, outlining his plans, and asking if they felt their daughter was a proper person for such an undertaking; and in case it met with their approval, they were to pass on to her a letter bearing a definite proposal of marriage. He added: "You need not be afraid of sending me a refusal; for, I bless God, if I know anything of my own heart, I am free from that foolish passion which the world calls love. I write, only because I believe it is the will of God that I should alter my state; but your denial will fully convince me that your daughter is not the person appointed by God for me." In his letter to the girl he plainly told her of the fatigue that would be involved in taking "charge of a family, consisting perhaps of a hundred persons," the "inclemencies of the air," the long periods of separation when her husband would be on his journeys, and then he

asked her if she would accept him. Needless to say that the odd wooings of the young suitor were promptly turned down. The woman whom he did marry was a widow and ten years his senior. It has generally been supposed that the venture turned out unhappily, but this is not true. Mrs. Whitefield was an estimable person, and the soul of loyalty to her companion through the twenty-seven years of their wedded life. Very wisely, the orphanage plan, for the most part, was discarded, but occasionally she accompanied her husband on his travels both in this country and in England. In many ways she was a genuine helpmeet. In his letters he refers to her most tenderly, as when he says, "My wife and I go on like two happy pilgrims, leaning on our Beloved." There is recorded not a single unpleasant word between them. She died two years before her husband, and he preached her funeral sermon in London. He told what a blessing she had been to him; and then described in particular an experience when he was preaching in the field and the crowd was disposed to be riotous: "At first I addressed them firmly; but when a desperate gang drew near, and with the most ferocious and horrid imprecations and menaces, my courage began to fail. My wife was then standing behind me, as I stood on the table. I think I hear her now. She pulled my gown, and looking up, said, 'George, play the man for your God.' My confidence returned. I spoke to the multitude with boldness and

They became still, and many were

affection.
deeply affected."

With scarcely an exception, the biographers of Whitefield have expressed regret that he ever married. Doubtless the experience was not ideal; the utilitarian may have been too prominent; the joy of marriage-fellowship was marred by the frequent and prolonged separations of husband and wife. And yet, we cannot help feeling that the whole life of the man was ennobled and made richer, by entering into a relationship which for him had a sacramental value; by the coming of a little son, "trailing clouds of glory," albeit the tarrying was for only a few short weeks; and by the consciousness, wherever he went, on land and sea, that there was one who was praying for him, and to whom he was knit by holy ties till death them should part. It may be said with absolute confidence that Whitefield's moral character was above reproach. Probably no man of his day met more women of every description and under every circumstance, and yet his bitterest foes knew there was one point where it was useless to assail him; he had a white soul.

CHAPTER XII

WHITEFIELD TRIUMPHANT

I would fain die sword in hand.

O that death may find me either praying or preaching! Sudden death is sudden glory.

Among Christians, death has not only lost its sting, but its name.

The moment I leave the body, and plunge into the world of spirits, the first question I shall ask will be— Where's my Saviour?