Lady Huntingdon and Her Friends

Mrs Helen C. Knight

“I rejoice,” says Whitefield, “in the increase of your ladyship’s spiritual routs. I can guess at the consolation such scenes must give to your soul. No wonder you are distressed from other quarters indeed, my most noble and ever honored patroness, thus it must be. Christ’s witnesses must be purged at home. Inward domestic trials fit for outward public work. Nature recoils when constrained to take the cross, and it may be from a near and dear relation’s hand; but infinite wisdom knows what is best.”

The precise nature of these trials does not appear, unless we may take a hint of them from the Countess of Hereford, who exclaims, “What an affliction is Lord Huntington’s dislike to religion; and what have not my Lords Chesterfield and Bolingbroke to answer for. But he is most tender, respectful, and kind to Lady Huntington. This is some consolation, and may we not hope that in a course of time her example and the excellent instruction which he has received may have their full weight on his character.” She also adds, “He is a most interesting, elegant, and accomplished young nobleman, and very likely to make some figure in the world. He was much affected by the death of Miss Hotham, to whom it was said he was much attached.”

Lady Gertrude Hotham, sister to Lady Chesterfield, has been already mentioned as one of the number who dared to be singular for the Lord’s sake. Both in London and at Bath, she opened her house to the ministrations of Whitefield, and she had the happiness of seeing her eldest daughter born into the spiritual family of her Lord. Miss Hotham adorned her Christian profession both in her life and in her death, which took place in the bloom of a ripe and beautiful womanhood. While ill, many prayers were offered for her recovery at the administration of the Lord’s supper at Lady Huntington’s, Lady Fanny Shirley’s, and in her own home. One day when Whitefield came and knelt at her bedside, she was desired to remain as she was. “I can rise to take physic,” she said; “why not to pray?” Her sick chamber bore the flowers and fruits of a thorough Christian experience. She knew whom she had believed, for the hope which she had in her Saviour was indeed like an anchor to her soul, sure and steadfast; and the peace and joy which she expressed even in the pangs of dying, served in a most affecting and striking manner to confirm, in the minds of her friends and companions of the gay world, the precious truths of that gospel which Whitefield proclaimed by his preaching.

Lady Elizabeth Hastings, Lady Huntington’s eldest daughter, married the Earl of Moira, a branch of the Huntington family, and the connection seems to have given much satisfaction; but “Lady Selina,” says one, “is the greatest comfort to her mother; she is a most pious, amiable, and affectionate character;” so that, if there were shadows on Lady Huntington’s household, there were also sunbeams.

In September, 1757, we behold her suddenly called to Brighton by the illness of her fourth son, Honorable Henry Hastings, who died at the age of eighteen years.

“Oh what strong physics is our heavenly Father obliged to give us,” wrote Whitefield to the bereaved mother. “What pruning-knives do these luxuriant branches require, in order to preserve the fruit and delicacy of the vine. Blessed be God, there is a time coming when those mysterious providences will be explained. May the Lord Jesus raise you up many comforters. Above all, may he come himself.”

The Lord Jesus came himself and so healing was his heavenly presence, that we find the mourner bearing the precious balm to the humble homes in her neighborhood. Behold her at the obscure lodgings of a poor soldier’s wife, carrying her food to eat and raiment to put on, and inviting her to “the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world.” the woman’s room was next to a public bakehouse, where the people who worked at the even overheard the pious conversation of a lady through a crack in the ceiling. When her visits became known, other poor women begged to come in and be taught also, until a little company assembled daily with whom she prayed, read, and explained the Scriptures. One day a blacksmith, notorious for his wickedness, swore he would go to the meetings, and accordingly forced himself in behind the women. When Lady Huntington entered and saw a man in the comer, she was about to ask him to withdraw, but on second thoughts concluded to go on as usual. Her simple, direct, and affectionate exhortations touched the conscience of the bold blasphemer. He who came to scoff went away with the cry, “Lord, what shall I do to be saved?” A radical change took place in his character, and for nearly twenty-nine years he lived to adorn the doctrine of his Lord and Saviour.

One day as Lady Huntington was walking out, a lady suddenly accosted her, “Oh, madam, you are come.” Surprised at so abrupt an address from an entire stranger, she feared the woman was deranged. “What do you know of me?” asked the countess. “Madam, I saw you in a dream three years ago, dressed as you now are,” answered the stranger, and then related other circumstances connected with the dream. Singular as these circumstances were, an acquaintance was formed between them, and Lady Huntington became instrumental in the conversion of her new-found friend, who died a year afterwards in the triumphs of faith.

Thus did this remarkable woman lay out a field for the labors of Whitefield, who visited Brighton in 1759, and preached his first sermon under a spreading tree in the midst of a large meadow.

Brighton, or Brighthelmstone, as it was then commonly called, in the county of Sussex, fifty-two miles south of London, was not at that time the famous watering-place it has since become. Its buildings were comparatively mean and its population poor, presenting a strong contrast to the splendid edifices and spacious accommodations which now make Brighton one of the favorite summer resorts of the English.

A spirit of religious inquiry was kindled among the people. They hungered for the bread of life. Nor when they asked bread, could they be satisfied with a stone, or husks, for they wanted that of which if a man eat he shall never hunger. A small society gathered in an “upper chamber;” they were poor in worldly goods, but rich in faith; despised, but not forsaken. In order to strengthen their hands, Lady Huntington determined to build a small chapel for their use near her own house in North-street, though straightened in means, for her benefactions were already numerous. To resolve, with her, was to accomplish. Wherein could she curtail? There lay her jewels, long since put aside for a pearl of infinitely greater price, and these she determined to offer to her Lord. They were sold for six hundred and ninety eight pounds, and with this she erected a neat house of worship, which was opened in 1760. Here Romaine, Venn, and other godly men labored with apostolic zeal, and though their work was often evil spoken of, the Lord “added to the church daily or such as should be saved.” Brighton henceforth became one of her favorite places of residence. This was the small beginning of one of her greatest enterprises — this was the first of those houses of divine worship known by her name, which in a few years dotted the English soil; and its interests so prospered, that in five years the building needed a considerable enlargement.

On the day previous to its reopening, she set apart several hours for private devotion, like Jacob of old, to wrestle with Jacob’s God for his blessing on this sanctuary reared to his name; and in the evening a meeting was held at her house for the same purpose: so greatly did she honor the mercy-seat, and so firmly did she trust in the power of prayer.

At that time there were many spiritual wastes in the county of Sussex, and Lady Huntington was on the alert to cast in the good seed wherever an opportunity offered, or if possible to make opportunities in a cause so pressing and momentous. While making inquiries for securing a preaching spot at Oathall, ten miles from Brighton, an old gentleman unexpectedly came and offered to lease her for a certain number of years the mansion of Oathall, a house on an estate belonging to one branch of the Shirley family. His terms were promptly and thankfully accepted, and workmen were immediately engaged to fit up a large room for divine worship, and prepare the remainder of the house for the accommodation of herself and her chaplains. Here the gospel was faithfully preached, and with marked effect. During the summer, a regiment of solders was quartered in the vicinity. The captain, a gay officer, went out one day on a sporting frolic, and was forced by a violent shower to seek shelter under a shed with a farmer and his laborers, with whom he soon entered into conversation; the farmer was a Christian man, and the talk took a religious turn. His remarks surprised and interested the officer, and he asked where so much had been learned about divine things.

“In that hall yonder,” answered the farmer, “where there is a famous man, a Mr. Romaine, preaching for Lady Huntington; you would do well to go and hear him for yourself.”
Captain Scott, moved by all the circumstances, determined to do so, and on the following Sabbath bent his steps thitherward. On entering the hall, the devout and serious air of the congregation forcibly impressed his mind; while Mr. Romaine’s remarks from the words of the Saviour, “I am the way,” were as goads and as nails fastened by the Master of assemblies upon his conscience. Though a man of pleasure, there had been times when a profound seriousness came over him, compelling him to pause and ask, “Whither am I tending?” Nor had these seasons escaped the notice and ridicule of his companions. He was now in the presence of one who seemed to him to speak as man never before spoke, and they were truths just suited to his case. He afterwards made the acquaintance of Mr. Romaine in London, whose prayer and instructions confirmed him in his resolutions to seek with all diligence to make his calling and election sure; and as he had proved himself a brave officer on the plains of Minden, so did he become valiant in a better service, even a heavenly.

When Captain Scott was on his way to Shropshire, Romaine gave him a letter for Mr. Powys of Berwick, a gentleman of high connections and large fortune, and very zealous for the cause of God and truth. Venn was at that time paying him a visit. One morning after prayers, as they were looking from the hall window, Captain Scott rode into the lawn mounted on his military charger and dressed in his uniform, bringing the letter entrusted to his care. Mr. Powys recognized him in the distance and exclaimed, “There is Captain Scott. What can he want? How can I avoid seeing him?” For how great an interruption would a gay officer be, with a guest like Venn of Huddersfield! the gentlemen withdrew. Scott rode up to the door, and was received with distant politeness by Mr. Powys. On reading Romaine’s letter, giving an account of the captain’s conversion, Powys became much agitated; he ran to the officer, warmly embraced him, and cried out, “Mr. Venn, Mr. Venn, Mrs. Powys, come quickly. Here is Captain Scott, a convert to Christ; a new creature in Christ Jesus!” How great was their joy over him who had been lost, and was found; dead, and now made alive.

Let us hear of him again. “I went last Monday,” said Fletcher, “to meet Captain Scott, one of the fruits that have grown for the Lord at Oathall — a captain of the truth — a bold soldier of Jesus Christ. God hath thrown down before him the middle wall of bigotry, and he boldly launches into an irregular usefulness. For some months he has exhorted his dragoons daily; for some weeks he has preached publicly at the Methodist meeting-house at Leicester, in his regimentals, to numerous congregations. The stiff ones pursue him with hue and cry, but I believe he quite beyond their reach. God keep him zealous and simple. I believe this red coat will shame many a black one. I am sure he shames me.”

Whitefield invited him to come to London and “bring his artillery to Tabernacle-rampart.”

Captain Scott was an accomplished man, of an ancient and respectable family, with flattering prospects of worldly advancement; but worldly honors now ceased to charm him: he quitted the army for the ministry, and for twenty years was one of the supplies at the Tabernacle, and his new labors were crowned with abundant success.

Another of the first-fruits of Oathall was an old man of a hundred years. He had long been serious, and had often complained that church-preaching was not like church-prayers; and though no friend to “new measures,” old Abraham determined one day to go and hear for himself what kind of stuff they had at the chapel. He listened with the profoundest attention and delight while Mr. Venn discoursed of the love of Christ, and could hardly contain himself for joy. “Ah, neighbor,” he exclaimed, as soon as the services were over, tapping the shoulder of one who sat next; to him, “this is the very truth of God’s word, which I have been for ever seeking, and never found before. Here will I tarry.” And from that morning a new life was beating in the old man’s bosom.

On one occasion when Brighton and Oathall were destitute of a supply, Lady Huntington sent for a distinguished revival preacher to spend a few weeks in these fields. In reply, he says, “I am determined not to quit my charge again in a hurry. Never do I leave my bees, though for a short space only, but on my return I find them either casting or colting, or fighting and robbing each other; not gathering honey from every flower of God’s garden, but filling the air with their buzzings, and darting out the venom of their little hearts in their fiery stings. Nay, so inflamed they often are, and a mighty little thing disturbs them, that three months’ tinkling afterwards with a warming-pan will scarce hive them at last, and make them settle to work again.”

This quaint mixture of wit, sense, and bluntness came from Rev. JOHN BERRIDGE, who is now introduced to our readers. His tall, stalwart figure looks as if it was made to wear; his deliberate and distinct speech seems fit only for weighty words; but beneath the grave, nay, the solemn expression of his face there is lurking a quiet humor, which gives a genial warmth to his affections, and a gladsome play to his spirits, rarely found in the lonely life of a bachelor: yet it were a strange misnomer to call Berridge’s life a lonely one, for it was as stirring as a hundred miles riding, with ten or twelve sermons a week, could make it, and that for a period of nearly five and twenty years at home his table was ever ready for his hearers, many of whom came from a distance — his stables open to their horses; while houses and barns in every direction were rented and taken care of for the lay-preachers employed at his expense on errands of gospel love.

Berridge is settled at Everton, in Bedfordshire, about thirty miles north-west of London in 1757, two years after his removal thither, he began to be in doubt and anxiety concerning his soul; for like many others he had entered upon the work of the ministry a stranger to that love which works by faith and purifies the heart. He beheld his own Vineyard parched and dry, unvisited by those showers of mercy which enriched the labors of a more spiritual husbandry.

“Lord, direct me,” was his importunate cry; ‘‘ show me thy way, and lead me to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus.” the Holy Spirit visited his soul; a clearer light dawned upon his mind, and salvation by Christ became the corner-stone of his own hopes, and the refuge to which he bade all men flee from the wrath to come. The fruits of his new ministry he thus describes:

“Soon after I began to preach the gospel at Everton, the churches in the neighborhood were deserted, and mine so overcrowded, that the squire, ‘who did not like strangers,’ he said, ‘and hated to be incommoded,’ joined with the offended parsons, and lodging a complaint against me. I was summoned before the bishop.

“Well, Berridge,” said the bishop, “did I institute you to Eaton, or Potten? Why do you go preaching out of your parish?’

“‘My lord,’ says I, ‘I make no claim to the living of those parishes; ‘t is true I was once at Baton, and finding a few poor people assembled, I admonished them to repent of their sins, and to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ for the salvation of their souls. At that very moment my lord, there were five or six clergymen out of their own parishes, and enjoying themselves on the Eaton bowling-green.’

“‘ I tell you, retorted his lordship, ‘ that if you continue preaching where you have no right, you will be very likely sent to Huntington jail.’

“‘I have no more regard for a jail than other folks,’ rejoined I,’ but I had rather go there with a good conscience than to be at liberty without one.’

“His lordship looked very hard at me. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said, ‘you are beside yourself, and in a few months you will be either better or worse.’

“‘Then, my lord,’ said I,’ you may make yourself quite happy in this business; for if I should be better, you suppose I shall desist of my own accord, and if worse, you need not send me to Huntington jail, for I shall be better accommodated in Bedlam.’

“His lordship then pathetically entreated me, as one who had been and wished to continue my friend, not to embitter the remaining portion of his days by any squabbles with my brother clergymen, but to go home to my parish; and so long as l kept within it I should be at liberty to do what I liked there. ‘As to your conscience,’ he said, ‘you know that preaching out of your parish is contrary to the canons of the church.’

“‘There is one canon, my lord’ said I, ‘which I dare not disobey, and that says, ‘go preach the gospel to every creature?’”

Although powerful patrons were displeased with Berridge’s career, friends equally powerful were raised up for his defence, so that Everton and the region round about ever continued to enjoy the unstinted benefactions both of his heart and purse.

Berridge was forty in the year from which he dates his “new birth,” 1757 a few months afterwards he met Wesley, and a little later Whitefield, against both of whom he had been strongly prejudiced. He now welcomed them as beloved brethren in the Lord. Lady Huntington soon made his acquaintance; a warm friendship sprung up between the two indeed, the richness and originality of his mind made him an especial favorite; while his sturdy sticking to his own notions of duty never gave offence to those who understood the depth and singleness of his piety.