Some of his words seem very odd, although he was a most grave, and serious man. Thus; "Our prayers often resemble the mischievous tricks of town-children, who knock at their neighbours' houses, and then run away; we often knock at Heaven's door, and then run off into the spirit of the world: instead of waiting for entrance, and answer, we act as if we were afraid of having our prayers answered." Again: "There are three devils which injure, and ravage our Churches, and congregations,-the singing devil, the pew-letting devil, and the Church officers' appointment devil: they are of the worst kind of devils, and this kind goeth not out but by prayer, and fasting." "The old ministers," he used to say, "were not much better preachers than we are, and, in many respects, they were inferior to us; but they had a success attendant upon their ministry that can now seldom be seen. They prayed more than we do. It was on his knees that Jacob became a prince; and if we would become princes, we must be more upon our knees. We should be successful as our fathers, could we be brought to the same spirit, and frame of mind."

But Williams is like Elias in this; we have had none of his sermons rendered into English, and, therefore, the descriptions we have are rather tantalizing. Mr. Parry, the Congregational minister of Llandudno, a man well fitted to judge-himself one of the most distinguished living poets in the Welsh language, and who has carried many prizes from the Eisteddfodd-says of him: "I shall never forget his eloquence. It poured forth like a swollen torrent. I cannot help referring to a sermon he preached at an annual a.s.sociation at Llanerchmedd, Anglesea. The meeting was, as usual, held in the open air. The weather was very sultry; the congregation seemed drowsy. His manner, before preaching, showed considerable restlessness, and when he came to the desk, he looked rather wild. It was evident his spirit was on fire, and his mind charged brimful with ideas. He read his text in a quick, bold tone; 'But now they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly.' He poured forth such a flood of eloquent description, that he completely enchanted our feelings, and made us imagine we felt the field move under our feet. He himself thought this occasion one of the most remarkable in his life; for I spoke to him about the sermon years after. I believe it served to raise our Churches throughout the whole land."

He was a more extensive reader than any of his brethren in the ministry; a keen observer, too, in the departments of natural history, and natural philosophy. It was, indeed, much like his own method, and it ill.u.s.trated the reason of his great admiration for Jacob Abbot's "Corner Stone," when he very prettily says, "The blessed Redeemer was very fond of His Father's works." He used to say, "If we understood nature better, it would help us to understand the Bible better. The kingdom of nature, and the kingdom of grace, are very like each other. There is a striking resemblance between the natural principles of the one, and the moral principles of the other." He entered with a kind of joy into the sublime moods of nature; was fond of watching the play of the lightning, and listening to the voice of the thunder. "Jesus," he used to say, "loved to look at the lily, and to listen to the birds; to speak upon the mysteries of the seed, and to draw forth principles from these things.

It was no part of His plan to expound the laws of nature, although He understood them more perfectly than any one else; but He employed nature as a book of reference, to explain the great principles of the plan of salvation."

A clergyman writes of him, that "his appearance when preaching was very remarkable, and singularly beautiful. When standing in a great crowd, every soul seemed agitated to its centre, and cheeks streaming with tears. It is but justice that every one should have his likeness taken when he appears to the greatest advantage; and so Williams. His picture, on such an occasion, would be an honour to the country which reared him, a treasure to the thousands who heard him, and a name to the painter."

The likeness is before us now, and in the firm, composed thoughtfulness, a kind of sad, far outlook in the eyes, and the lips which seem to wait to tremble into emotion-we think we can well realize, from the inanimate engraving, what life must have been in the speech of this extraordinary man. His mind was cast in a sweetly meditative mould. He was fond of retreating by himself among the trees, and walking beneath their shadows, as they formed a canopy over his head. He said of one such place, "I think I must love that spot through all eternity, for I have felt a degree of heaven there."

And thus he died. He had lost his wife some time before. It is very affecting to read the account of himself, and his daughter, dying together in different rooms of the same house. As he said to her, one day, "We appear to be running, with contending footsteps, to be first at the goal." They spent much time in talking together, with unruffled composure, of death, and heaven, and being "absent from the body, and present with the Lord." Every morning, as soon as he was up, found him by the bedside of his daughter.

Once he said to her, "Well, Eliza, how are you this morning?"

"Very weak, father."

"Ah!" said he, "we are both on the racecourse. Which of us do you think will get to the end first?"

"Oh, I shall, father. I think you must have more work to do yet."

"No," he said; "I think my work is nearly over."

"It may be so, father; but, still, I think I shall be the first to go."

"Perhaps," he said, "it is best it should be so, for I am more able to bear the blow. But," he continued, "do you long to see the end of the journey?"

"Oh, from my heart!" she replied.

"But why?"

"Because I shall see so many of my old friends, and my mother; and, above all, I shall see Jesus."

"Ah, well, then," he said, "tell them I am coming! tell them I am coming!"

She died first. Her last words were, "Peace! peace!" He followed her shortly after-on the 17th of March, 1840, in the fifty-ninth year of his age.

Amongst the great preachers of Wales, not one seems to have won more upon the tender love of those who knew him. Dr. Raffles said of him, "What he was as a preacher, I can only gather from the effects he produced on those who understood the language in which he spoke, but I can truly say, that every occasion on which I saw him only served to impress me more with the ardour of his piety, and the kindness of his heart. He was one of the loveliest characters it has been my lot to meet."

High strains of thought, rendered into the sweet variety, melting tenderness, and the grand strength of the language of Wales, seem to have been the characteristics of the preaching of Williams of Wern; tender, and terrible, sweetness alternating with strength. We have already said how much Welsh preaching derived, in its greatest men, from the power of varying accent; the reader may conceive it himself if ever listening to that wonderful chorus in Handel's "Messiah," which Herder, the great German, called truly the Christian Epos; but the chorus to which we refer, is that singular piece of varying pictorial power, "Unto us a Child is born," repeated, again and again, in sweet whispered accents, playing upon the thought; the shepherds having kept watch over their flocks by night in the fields, and having heard the revelation voices of the angels say it-"For unto us a Child is born;" and then rolls in the grand thunder, "And His name shall be called Wonderful;" and then, you return back to the sweet silvery accents, "For unto us a Child is born;"

and the thought is, that the Wise Men are there offering their gifts; and then roll in, again, the grand, overwhelming words, "And His name shall be called Wonderful;" and yet again that for which we waited, the tender, silvery whisperings, "Unto us a Child is born;" until it seems as if flocks, and herds, and fields, shepherds, and wise men, all united with the family of Jesus, beneath the song-singing through the heavens in the clear starry night, "Unto us a Child is born, and His name shall be called Wonderful." Those who have listened to this chorus, may form some idea of the way in which a great Welsh preacher-and Williams of Wern as a special ill.u.s.tration-would run his thought, and its corresponding expression, up and down, through various tones of feeling, and with every one awaken, on some varying accent, a fresh interpretation, and expression. Perhaps, the nearest approach we have heard, in England, to the peculiar gifts of this preacher, has been in the happiest moods of the beloved, and greatly honoured Thomas Jones, once minister of Bedford Chapel, London.

CHAPTER VI.

_CONTEMPORARIES-JOHN ELIAS_.

Fire and Smoke-Elias's Pure Flame-Notes in the Pulpit-Carrying Fire in Paper-Elias's Power in Apostrophe-Anecdote of the Flax-dresser-A Singular First Appearance in the Pulpit-A Rough Time in Wales-The Burning of the Ravens' Nests-A Hideous Custom put down-The Great Fair of Rhuddlan-The Ten Cannon of Sinai-Action in Oratory-The Tremendous Character of his Preaching-Lives in an Atmosphere of Prayer-Singular Dispersion on a Racecourse-A Remarkable Sermon, Shall the Prey be taken from the Mighty?-Anecdote of a n.o.ble Earl-Death and Funeral.

WE have already implied that Welsh preaching has had many varieties, and very various influences too. Even the very excitements produced by these famous men, whose names we are recording, varied considerably; but one characteristic certainly seemed to attend them-the influence was real, and very undoubted. When Rowland Hill was in Wales, and witnessed some of the strong agitations resulting from great sermons, he said, he "liked the fire, but he did not like the smoke." It was, like so many of the sayings of the excellent old humorist, prettily, and wittily said. But it may, also, be remarked, that it is, usually, impossible to have real fire without smoke; and it has further been well said, that the stories of the results of such preaching make us feel that, could we only get the fire, we need not object to a little of the smoke.

We are introducing to our readers, now, in John Elias, one who, certainly, does not seem to have surrounded the clear flames of his eloquence with unnatural excitement. If the effects of his oratory seem to rival all that we have heard of the astonishing power of George Whitefield, the material of his sermons, the severity of their tone of thought, and the fearfulness of their remorseless logic, remind us of Jonathan Edwards. He had read extensively, especially in theology; and, it has been truly said, his mind was a storehouse, large, lofty, and rich. Like his great coadjutors, he prepared for the pulpit with amazing care, and patience, but apparently never verbally-only seeing his ideas clearly, and revolving them over and over until, like fuel in the furnace, they flamed. He tells us how, having done his part, by earnest, and patient study, he trusted to G.o.d to give to his prepared mind its fitting expression, and speech. Of course, like the rest, he disclaimed all paper in the pulpit. An eminent brother minister, Thomas Jones, of Denbigh, was coming to London to preach what was considered the great annual sermon of the London Missionary Society, at Surrey Chapel. In his own country, Mr. Jones preached always extempore; but, being in company with Matthew Wilkes, and John Elias, he inquired of old Matthew whether, for such an occasion, he did not think that he had better write his sermon.

"Well, for _such_ an occasion," said Matthew, "perhaps it would be better to write your discourse; but, at any rate, let us have plenty of fire in it."

"But," said John Elias, "he cannot carry fire in paper!"

"Never mind," said Matthew; "paper will do very well to light the fire with!"

Mr. Wilkes' witty rejoinder seems to give the entire value to notes, and writing in the pulpit; but, no doubt, Elias expressed his conviction, and the conviction of all these men, that you cannot carry fire in paper.

But we have before said that it was by no means wild-fire. One of the great poets of Wales imagined a conversation going on between the soul and the body of Elias, before they both went up together in the pulpit, when the soul said to the body, "Now, you must be a sacrifice for an hour. You must bear all my fire, and endure all my exertion, however intense it may be." And another writer says of him that, while some preachers remind us of Pharaoh's chariots, that drove heavily, Elias reminded us, rather, of that text, "He maketh His angels spirits, and His ministers a flame of fire."

Whatever is to be said of the peculiarities of other great Welsh preachers, it seems to be admitted, on all hands, that John Elias was the Demosthenes of the group. Let no reader smile, however high his regard for the cla.s.sic orator. The stories told of the effects of the preaching of John Elias, greatly resemble those of the great Grecian orator, who, at the close of his tremendous orations, found the people utterly oblivious to all the beauty, and strength of his discourses-utterly indisposed to admire, or criticise, but only conducted to that point of vehement indignation, and pa.s.sionate action, which had been, all along, the purpose of the speaker, exclaiming, "Let us march against Philip!"

If profound pa.s.sionate conviction, persuasion altogether insensible of anything besides its own emotions, be the chief attribute of the gifted orator, John Elias must stand, we will not say matchless, but, from all that we have heard of him, unsurpa.s.sed. We have no means of testing this by any published sermons; sc.r.a.ps and fragments we have, and traditions of the man, and his soul-piercing eloquence, float about over Wales; but we apprehend it was an order of eloquence which would not submit itself to either penmanship, or paper, either to the reporter, or the printing-press.

How extravagant some things seem when quietly read, unaccompanied by the pa.s.sion, and excitement which the preacher has either apprehended, or produced! The reader remembers very well-for who does not?-Whitefield's vehement apostrophe, "Stop, Gabriel!" Who could deliberately write it down to utter it? and what an affectation of emotion it seems to read it!

But that was not the effect produced on David Hume, who heard it; and we may be very sure that man,-the most acute, profound, cold philosopher, and correct writer, had no friendly feelings either to Whitefield, or Gabriel-to the message which the preacher had to give, or the archangel to carry. A quiet, ordinary, domestic state of feeling scarcely knows how to make allowances for an inflamed orator, his whole nature heaving beneath the pa.s.sion produced by some great, and subduing vision, an audience in his hands, as a river of water, prepared to move whithersoever he will. Thus Elias, when he was handling some weighty subject, would suddenly say, "Stop! silence!" (_Disymwth_! _Gosteg_!) "What are they saying in Heaven on the subject?" His hearers testify that, in such moments, he almost brought them within the precincts of the glory. The effect was thrilling. And, dealing with alarming truths, he would exclaim, "Stop! silence! What do they say in h.e.l.l on this subject?"

The man who can do these things must be no hearsay man, or such questionable excursions of speech would be likely to provoke laughter, and contempt, rather than overwhelming awe. The effect of this preacher was unutterable. It is said that upon such occasions, had the people heard these things from the invisible world, as he expatiated on the things most likely to be uttered, either in Heaven or h.e.l.l, upon the subject, they could scarcely have been more alarmed.

His biographer, Mr. Morgan, Vicar of Syston, in Leicestershire, tells how he heard him preaching once to a crowd in the open air, on "the Last Day," representing the wicked as "tares gathered into bundles," and cast into the everlasting burnings. There was a certain flax-dresser, who, in a daring and audacious way, chose to go on with his work in an open room opposite to where Elias was preaching from the platform; but, as the preacher grew more and more earnest, and the flames more flashing, the terrible fire more and more intense in its vehemence, the man was obliged to leave his work, and run into a yard behind his house, to get out of the reach of the cruel flames, and the awful peals of the thunder of the preacher's subduing voice. "But the awful language of that Elias followed me there also," said the panic-stricken sinner.

There was a preacher of Caernarvon, one Richardson, a preacher of peculiar tenderness, and sweetness, who made his hearers weep beneath the lovely message he generally carried. On one occasion, while Elias was pouring forth his vehement, and dreadful words, painting the next world in very living, and fearful colours, his audience all panic-stricken, and carried along as if they were on the confines of the darkness, and the gates opening to receive them, a man, in the agony of his excitement, cried out, "Oh, I wish I could hear Mr. Richardson, of Caernarvon, just for five minutes!" No anecdote could better ill.u.s.trate the peculiar gifts, and powers of both men.

John Elias was a native of Caernarvonshire. His parents were people in very humble circ.u.mstances, but greatly respected. His paternal grandfather lived with them. He was a member of the Church of England.

His influence over the mind of Elias appears to have been especially good; and it is, perhaps, owing to this influence that, although he became a minister, and the eminent pride of the Calvinistic Methodist body, he, throughout his life, retained a strong affection for the services, and even the inst.i.tution, of the Church of England. Through his grandfather, he acquired, what was not usual in that day, the rudiments of education very early, and as a young child, could read very well and impressively. Thus, when quite a child, they went together to hear some well-known Methodist preacher. The time for the service had long pa.s.sed, and the preacher did not arrive. The old gentleman became impatient, and said to his little grandson, "It's a pity the people should be idling like this; go up into the pulpit, John, and read a chapter to them;" and, suiting the action to the word, he pushed the child up into the pulpit, and shut the door after him. With much diffidence, he began to read portions of the Sermon on the Mount, until, venturing to withdraw his eye from the Bible, and look aside, lo! to his great dismay, there was the preacher quietly waiting outside the pulpit door. He gently closed the book, and slipped down the pulpit stairs.

This was his first appearance in the pulpit. Little could any one dream that, in after years, he was to be so eminent a master in it.

But he was only twenty years of age when he began to preach, indeed; and it is said that, from the first, people saw that a prophet of G.o.d had risen amongst them. There was a popular preacher, with a very Welsh name, David Cadwalladr, who went to hear him; and, after the sermon, he said, "G.o.d help that lad to speak the truth, for he'll make the people believe,-he'll make the people believe whatever he says!" From the first, John Elias appears to have been singularly like his two namesakes, John the Baptist, and Elias the prophet. He had in him a very tender nature; but he was a severe man, and he had a very severe theology. He believed that sin held, in itself, very tremendous, and fearful consequences, and he dealt with sin, and sinners, in a very daring, and even dreadful manner.

He appeared in a rough time, when there were, in the neighbourhood, rough, cruel, and revolting customs. Thus, on Whitsunday in each year, a great concourse of people used to a.s.semble together to burn the ravens'

nests. These birds bred in a high and precipitous rock, called _Y gadair_ (that is, "the chair"). The birds were supposed to prey on young poultry, etc., and the people thought it necessary to destroy them; but they always did so on the Sabbath, and it became quite a wild festival occasion; and the manner of their destruction was most savage, and revolting. The nests were beyond their reach; but they suspended a fiery f.a.got by a chain. This was let down to set the nests on fire; and the young birds were roasted alive. At every blaze which was seen below, triumphant shouts rose from the brutal crowd, rending the air. When the savages had put the birds to death, they usually turned on each other; and the day's amus.e.m.e.nt closed in fights, wounds, bruises, and broken bones. One of the first of Elias's achievements was the daring feat of invading this savage a.s.sembly, by proclaiming, in their very midst, the wrath of G.o.d against unrighteousness, and Sabbath-breaking. Perhaps, to us, the idea of preaching in such a scene seems like the attempting to still a storm by the waving of a feather; but we may also feel that here was a scene in which that terrible eloquence, which was a chief power of Elias, was well bestowed. Certainly, it appears chiefly due to Elias that the hideous custom was put down, and put to an end for ever.

It was no recreative play, no rippling out of mild, meditative, innocent young sermons, these first efforts of young Elias. For instance, there was a great fair which was wont to be held at Rhuddlan, in Denbighshire.

It was always held on the Lord's Day. Thither, into the midst of the fair, went the young man. He took his stand on the steps of the New Inn, the noise and business of the fair going on all around him. His friends had earnestly tried to dissuade, and entreated him not to venture into the midst of so wild, and dangerous a scene. Farmers were there, to hire labourers; crowds of rough labourers were there. It was the great market-day for scythes, and reaping-hooks. In the booths all round him were the sounds of harps, and fiddles; it was a wild scene of dissipation. There stood the solemn young man, thoughtful, grave, and compa.s.sionate. Of course, he commenced with a very solemn prayer; praying so that almost every order of person on the ground felt himself arrested, and brought, in a solemn way, before G.o.d. Singular effects, it is said, seemed to follow the prayer itself. Then he took for his text the fourth commandment; but he said he had come to open upon them "the whole ten cannon of Sinai." The effects could hardly have been more tremendous had the congregation really stood at the foot of the mountain that "might not be touched." In any case, Elias was an awful preacher; and we may be sure that upon this occasion he did not keep his terrors in reserve.

One man, who had just purchased a sickle, was so alarmed at the tremendous denunciations against Sabbath-breakers, that he imagined that the arm which held the sickle was paralysed; he let it fall on the ground. He could not take his eye from the preacher; and he feared to stoop to pick it up with the other hand, lest that should be paralysed also. It ought, also, to be said this man became an entirely changed character, and lived, to an advanced age, a consistent Christian. The great crowd was panic-stricken. The fair was never after held on the Lord's Day. Some person said to Elias, afterwards, that the fair was an old custom, and it would recover itself, notwithstanding his extraordinary sermon. Elias, in his dreadful manner, replied, "If any one will give the least encouragement to the revival of that fair, he will be accursed before the Holy Trinity, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" A dreadfully earnest sort of man this. We are not vindicating his speeches, only giving an account of them.

Mr. Jones, the Rector of Nevern, one of the most eminent of the Welsh bards, says, "For one to throw his arms about, is not action; to make this, or that gesture, is not action. Action is seen in the eye, in the curling of the lip, in the frowning of the nose-in every muscle of the speaker." Mentioning these remarks to Dr. Pugh, when speaking of Elias, he said he "never saw an orator that could be compared to him. Every muscle was in action, and every movement that he made was not only graceful, but it spoke. As an orator," said Dr. Pugh, "I considered him fully equal to Demosthenes!"

It was tremendous preaching. It met the state of society-the needs of the times. What is there in a sermon?-what is there in preaching? some have flippantly inquired. We have seen that the preaching of Elias effected social revolutions; it destroyed bad customs, and improved manners. He lived in this work; it consumed him. Those who knew him, applied to him the words of Scripture: "The zeal of Thine house hath eaten me up." In estimating him, and his work, it ought never to be forgotten, that, as has always been the case with such men, he lived in a life of wondrous prayerfulness, and spiritual elevation. He was called to preach a great a.s.sociation sermon at Pwlheli. In the whole neighbourhood the state of religion was very low, and distressingly discouraging to pious minds; and it had been so for many years. Elias felt that his visit must be an occasion with him. It may almost be said of that day, that "Elias prayed, and the heavens gave rain." He went.

He took his text, "Let G.o.d arise, and let His enemies be scattered!" It was an astonishing time. While the preacher drove along with his tremendous power, mult.i.tudes of the people fell to the ground. Calm stood the man, his words rushing from him like flames of fire. There were added to the Churches of that immediate neighbourhood, Mr. Elias's clerical biographer tells us, in consequence of the powerful impetus of that sermon, two thousand five hundred members.

The good man lived in an atmosphere of prayer. The stories which gather about such men, sometimes seem to partake of the nature of exaggerations; but, on the other hand, it ought to be recollected that all anecdotes and popular impressions arise from some well-known characteristic to which they are the correspondents. There was a poor woman, a neighbour's wife.

She was very ill, and her case pressed very much upon the mind of Elias in family prayer. But one morning he said to his wife, "I have somehow missed Elizabeth in my prayer this morning; I think she cannot be alive."

The words had scarcely pa.s.sed from his lips when the husband was at the door, to tell him of his wife's departure.

There is a singular circ.u.mstance mentioned of some horse-races, a great disturbance to the best interests of the neighbourhood; on the day of the great race, Elias's spirit was very much moved, and he prayed most pa.s.sionately and earnestly that the Lord would do something to put a stop to them. His prayer was so remarkable, that someone said, "Ahab must prepare his chariot, and get away." The sky became so dark shortly after, that the gas was lighted in some of the shops of the town. At eleven o'clock the rain began to pour in torrents, and continued until five o'clock in the afternoon of the next day. The mult.i.tudes on the race-ground dispersed in half-an-hour, and did not rea.s.semble that year; and what seemed more remarkable was, that the rainfall was confined to that vicinity. It is our duty to mention these things. An adequate impression could not be conveyed of the place this man held in popular estimation without them. And his eminence as a preacher was astonishing; wherever he went, whatever day of the week, or whatever hour of the day, no matter what the time or the season, business was laid aside, shops were closed, and the crowds gathered to hear him. Sometimes, when it was arranged for him to preach in a chapel, and more convenient that he should do so, a window was taken out, and there he stood, preaching to the crowded place within, and, at the same time, to the mult.i.tudes gathered outside. Mr. Morgan, late vicar of Christ Church, in Bradford, gives an account of one of these sermons. There was a great panorama exhibiting at the same time. Elias took the idea of moving succession-the panorama of all the miracles wrought by Christ. It is easy to see how, from such lips, a succession of wonderful pictures would pa.s.s before the eye, of living miracles of Divine working,-a panorama of wonderful cures. Mr. Morgan says, "I was very ill at the time, but that striking sermon animated me, and I have often stirred the cold English with the account of it."