Next morning, Whitefield first of all waited upon the Rev. Mr. Gibbs, Vicar of St. Mary Redcliffe, and asked the loan of his church, to preach a sermon on behalf of the contemplated Orphan House in Georgia. Mr. Gibbs refused, saying, "he could not lend his church without a special order from the chancellor." Nothing daunted, Whitefield went at once to the chancellor, who declined to issue an order for Mr. Gibbs, but stated that if any clergyman thought proper to lend his church to Whitefield, he (the chancellor) would not prohibit it; nevertheless, he advised Whitefield to go to some other town until the bishop had been consulted. Whitefield was far too ardent and impetuous to wait for the bishop's leave, and, hence, from the chancellor, he proceeded direct to the residence of the dean. Having shewn him his "Georgia Accounts," he asked, "Can there be any just objection against my preaching in churches for the Orphan House?" "I cannot tell," replied the dean, "but I will give you an answer some other time; now I am expecting company." "Will you be pleased to fix a time, sir?" "I will send to you," said the dean; and so ended Whitefield's interview, number three. It cannot be denied, that, in all this, there was a display of more self-confidence than is commendable. Whitefield was a young man, not yet twenty-five; he had neither high rank, nor special scholarship to recommend him to the Church dignitaries of the day; his ecclesiastical standing was extremely insignificant--only incumbent of the distant and small settlement of Savannah. It is true, he had, a year and a half ago, moved both Bristol and the metropolis by his earnest, startling, godly eloquence; but, during the interval, his injudicious friends had published his Journals, written with the utmost artlessness, but containing much never meant for the public eye; and, within the last few days, by the rash proceedings of certain of his admirers, he had been placed in an equivocal position at St. Margaret's, Westminster. Remembering all this, it was doubtless a bold--some would call it a presumptuous--act to ask the loan of the Abbey Church, at Bath, and, next to the Cathedral, of the finest church in Bristol; and further, it is hardly surprising that his well-intentioned applications were refused. Whitefield was baffled, but not discomfited. Churches, for the present, might be closed against him, but there was Bristol prison; there were the rooms of the Religious Societies; and there was Kingswood Hill.