"How we pity you," these people said to the poor man.

"Bother your pity," the poor man answered; "buy a pie."

Beyond this central argument, affirmation, or ill.u.s.tration, Fiddler Joss did not get far in the course of the thirty-five minutes during which he addressed the congregation. At this period he suddenly stopped, and asked for the sympathy of his friends, explaining that he was subject to attacks of sickness, one of the legacies of the days of sin, when he was "five years drunk and never sober." After a pause he recommenced, and continued for some five minutes longer, when he abruptly wound up, apparently having got through only one half of his discourse.

It is only fair to regard the sermon as an incomplete one, and to believe that the message which "Fiddler Joss" had entered St. Giles's to speak to the poor and suffering lay in the second and undelivered portion.

DEAN STANLEY.

On St. Andrew's Day, 1875, I was present at two memorable services in Westminster Abbey. For many years during Dean Stanley's reign this particular day had been set apart for the holding of special services on behalf of foreign missions. What made this occasion memorable in the annals of the Church was the fact that the evening lecture was delivered by Dr. Moffat, a Nonconformist minister who, in the year after the Battle of Waterloo, began his career as a missionary to South Africa, and finally closed his foreign labours in the year when Sedan was fought. As being the first time a Nonconformist minister had officiated in Westminster Abbey, the event created wide interest, and lost none of its importance by the remarkable sermon preached in the afternoon by Dean Stanley.

The Dean took for his text two verses, one from the Old Testament, the other from the New. The first was from the 45th Psalm, and ran thus: "Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children, whom thou mayest make princes in all the earth." The second was the 16th verse of the 10th chapter of the Gospel of St. John: "And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear My voice; and there shall be one fold and one shepherd." Thus the verse runs in the ordinary translation, but the Dean preferred the word "flock" in place of fold, and used it throughout his discourse.

Referring to an address recently delivered by Mr. W. E. Forster on "Our Colonies," the Dean observed that the right hon. gentleman had set himself the task of considering the question, "What were to be the future relations of the Mother Country to the Colonies?" The Dean proposed to follow the same course, with this difference: that the empire of which he had to speak was a spiritual empire, and the question he would consider was what ought to be the policy of the Church of England towards fellow-Christians separated from it on matters of form.

There were, he said, three courses open to the Church. There was the policy of abstention and isolation; there was the policy of extermination or absorption; and there was a middle course, avoiding abstention and not aiming at absorption, which consisted of holding friendly and constant intercourse with Christians of other Churches, earnestly and lovingly endeavouring to create as many points of contact as were compatible with holding fast the truth. The errors of all religions run into each other, just as their truths do. There was, no doubt, some exaggeration in the statement of the Roman Catholic authority who declared that "there is but one bad religion, and that is the religion of the man who professes what he does not believe." But there was no reason why, because the Church of England had done in times past and was still doing grand work, there should be no place for the Nonconformists. Church people rejoiced, and Nonconformists might rejoice, that the prayers of the Church of England were enshrined in a Liturgy radiant with the traditions of a glorious past. But that was no reason why there should be no room where good work was being done for men who preferred the chances of extemporaneous prayer--a custom of Apostolic origin, and perhaps (very daintily this was put) fittest for the exigencies of special occasions.

If some of the extremer Nonconformists, desirous of wrapping themselves in the mantle once worn by Churchmen, and possessed by a love for uniformity so exaggerated that they would tear down ancient inst.i.tutions and reduce all Churches to the same level, there was no reason why Churchmen should return evil for evil and repay contumely with scorn. There was a n.o.bler mission for Christians than that of seeking to exterminate each other, a higher object than that of endeavouring to sow the seeds of vulgar prejudice either against new discoveries or ancient inst.i.tutions.

DR. MOFFAT.

Dean Stanley preached his sermon within the chancel, and it formed part of the customary afternoon service of the Church of England. Dr. Moffat delivered his lecture in the nave, its simple preface being the singing of the missionary hymn, "From Greenland's icy mountains."

The pioneer of missionary labour in South Africa was at this time close upon his eightieth year, but he seemed to have thriven upon hard work, and showed no signs of physical weakness. His full, rich voice, musical with a northern accent, which long residence in South Africa had not robbed of a note, filled every corner of the long aisle, and no section of the vast congregation was disappointed by reason of not hearing.

Wearing a plain Geneva robe with the purple hood of his academic degree, he stood at the lectern, situated not many paces from the grave where his friend and son-in-law, Dr. Livingstone, lies.

Dean Stanley was one of many clergymen present, and occupied a seat just in front of the lectern.

Dr. Moffat began by protesting that he was very nervous, because, having been accustomed for fifty years or more to speak and teach and preach in a language altogether different from European, he had contracted a habit of thinking in that language, and sometimes found it momentarily difficult to find the exact expression of his thoughts in English.

"If I might," he said, with a touch of dry humour that frequently lighted up his discourse, "speak to you in the Betchuana tongue I could get along with ease. However, I will do what I can."

The lecture resolved itself into a quiet, homely, and exceedingly interesting chat, chiefly about the Betchuanas, with whom Dr. Moffat longest laboured. When he arrived in the country, early in the present century, he found the people sunk in the densest ignorance. Unlike most heathen tribes, they had no idea of a G.o.d, no notion of a hereafter.

There was not an idol to be found in all their province, and one the lecturer's daughter showed to an intelligent leader of the people excited his liveliest astonishment. He was, indeed, so hopelessly removed from a state of civilisation that he ridiculed the notion of any one worshipping a thing made with his own hands.

Dr. Moffat seems to have been, on the whole, kindly received by the natives, though they could not make out what he wanted there. A special stumbling-block to them was, how it came to pa.s.s that when, as sometimes happened, he and Mrs Moffat were disrespectfully treated, they did not retaliate. This was satisfactorily explained to the popular mind by the a.s.sertion of a distinguished member of the community that the foreigners had run away from their country, and were content to bear any treatment rather than return to their own people, who would infallibly kill them.

The great difficulty met by Dr. and Mrs. Moffat on the threshold of their mission was their ignorance of the native language. There were no interpreters, and there was nothing for it but to grub along, patiently picking up words as they went. The Betchuanas were willing to teach them as far as they could, occasionally relieving the monotony of the lesson by a little joke at the pupils' expense. Once, Dr. Moffat told his hearers, a sentence was written down on a piece of paper, and he was instructed to take it to an aged lady, who was to give him something he was in need of. He found the old lady, who was scarcely handsome, and was decidedly wrinkled, and upon presenting the paper "she blushed very much." It turned out that the missionary had been the unconscious bearer of a message asking the old lady to kiss him, "which," Dr. Moffat added, with a seriousness that appeared to indicate a sense of the awkwardness of the position still present in his mind, "I did not want to do at all."

But he mastered the language at last, and then his moral mastery over the strange people amongst whom he had been thrown commenced. He found a firm ally in the Queen, who, first attracted by the flavour of the pills and other delicacies he was accustomed to administer to her in his capacity of physician, became his constant and powerful friend. Under her auspices Christianity flourished, and in Betchuana at the present time, where once a printed book was regarded as the white man's charm, thousands now are able to read and treasure the Bible as formerly they treasured the marks which testified to the number of enemies they had slain in battle. Peace reigns where once blood ran, and over a vast tract of country civilisation is closely following in the footsteps of the missionary.

Dr. Moffat concluded a simple address, followed with intense interest by the congregation, by an earnest plea for help for foreign missions. "If every child of G.o.d in Europe and America," he said, "would give something to this mission, the dark cloud which lies over this neglected and mysterious continent would soon be lighted, and before many years are pa.s.sed we might behold the blessed sight of all Africa stretching forth her hands to G.o.d."

MR. SPURGEON.

In a lane leading from the station at Addlestone is a ma.s.sive oak, which, if the gossips of the neighbourhood be trustworthy, has seen some notable sights. It is said that under its far-reaching branches "Wycliffe has preached and Queen Elizabeth dined."

Here one summer evening I first heard Mr. Spurgeon preach. The occasion was in connection with the building of a new Baptist Chapel, and when I arrived the foundation stone was being utilised as a receptacle for offerings, over which Mr. Spurgeon, sitting on the wall, and shaded from the sun by an umbrella reverently held over his head by a disciple, jovially presided.

After tea a pulpit was extemporised, upon the model of the one at the Tabernacle, by covering an empty provision box with red baize, and fastening before it a wooden railing, also with its decent covering of baize. A pair of steps, constructed with a considerable amount of trouble, were placed in position before the rostrum; but when, a few minutes after seven o'clock, the preacher appeared, he scorned their a.s.sistance, and scrambled on to the box from the level of the field, grasping the rail as soon as he was in a position to face the congregation, as if he recognised in it a familiar friend, whose presence made him feel at home under the novel circ.u.mstances that surrounded him. There might, when Mr. Spurgeon stood up, have been some doubt whether his voice could be heard throughout the vast throng gathered in front of the tree. But the first tones of the speaker's voice dispelled uncertainty, and the congregation settled quietly down, whilst Mr. Spurgeon, with uplifted hands, besought "the Spirit of G.o.d to be with them, even as in their accustomed places of worship." A hymn was sung, a portion of the 55th chapter of Isaiah read, another prayer offered up, and the preacher commenced his Sermon.

He took for his text a portion of the 36th verse of the 9th chapter of Matthew--"He was moved with compa.s.sion." At the outset he sketched, with rapid eloquence, the history of Jesus Christ. The first declaration that might have startled one not accustomed to the preacher's style of oratory was his expression of a preference for people who absolutely hated religion over those who simply regarded it with indifference.

These former were people who showed they did think, and, like Saul of Tarsus, there was hope of their conversion.

"It is," he said, "a great time when the Lord goes into the devil's army, and, looking around him, sees some lieutenant, and says to him, 'Come along; you have served the black master long enough, I have need of you now.' It is astonishing how quietly he comes along, and what a valiant fight he fights on the side of his new master."

Mr. Spurgeon had a protest to make against the practice of refusing to help the poor except through the machinery of the Poor Law. Referring to Christ's having compa.s.sionated the hungry crowd and fed them, he said: "If Jesus Christ were alive now and presumed to feed a crowd of people, He would be had up by some society or other, and prosecuted for encouraging mendicancy. If He were alive in these days He would, I much fear, have occasion to say, 'I was hungry, and ye fed Me not; thirsty, and ye gave Me no drink; dest.i.tute, and you told Me to go on the parish.'"

He thought tracts were very good things in their way, but should not be relied upon solely as a means of bringing poor people to the Lord. "I believe a loaf of bread often contains the very essence of theology, and the Church of G.o.d ought to look to it that there are at her gates no, poor unfed, no sick untended." He was rather hard on "the clergy of all denominations," regretting to say that "as fish always stunk first at the head, so a Church when it goes wrong goes bad first among its ministers." He concluded by an eloquent appeal to his hearers to lose no time in seeking salvation, calling "heaven and earth, and this old tree, under which the Gospel was preached five hundred years ago, to bear witness that I have preached to you the word of G.o.d, in which alone salvation is to be found."

The sermon occupied exactly an hour in the delivery, and was listened to throughout with profound attention. When it was over, Mr. Spurgeon held a sort of levee from the pulpit, the people pressing round to shake his hand, and it was nearly nine o'clock before the last of the congregation had pa.s.sed away, leaving Wycliffe's Tree to its accustomed solitude.

The next time I heard Mr. Spurgeon preach was in his famous church. The Tabernacle will hold six thousand people when full, and on this night it was thronged from door to door, and from floor to ceiling, with a congregation gathered together to "watch" whilst the Old Year died and the New was born. At eleven o'clock when Mr. Spurgeon, gownless and guiltless of white neck-tie, or other clerical insignia, unceremoniously walked on to the platform which serves him for pulpit, there was not a foot of vacant s.p.a.ce in the vast area looked down upon from the galleries, for even the aisles were thronged. The capacious galleries that rise tier over tier to the roof were crowded in like manner, and the preacher stood, faced and surrounded by a congregation, the sight of which might well move to the utterance of words that burn a man who had within him a fount of thoughts that breathe.

There was no other prelude to the service than the simply spoken invitation, "Let us pray," and the six thousand, declaring themselves "creatures of time," bent the knee with one accord to ask the "Lord of Eternity" to bless them in the coming year. After this a hymn was sung, Mr. Spurgeon reading out verse by verse, with occasional commentary, and not unfrequent directions to the congregation as to the manner of their singing.

"Dear friends, the devil sometimes makes you lag half a note behind the leader. Just try if you can't prevail over him to-night, and keep up in proper time."

There is no organ, nor even a tuning-fork, in use at the Tabernacle. But the difficulties, apparently insuperable under these circ.u.mstances, of leading so vast a congregation in the singing of unpractised tunes is almost overcome by the skilful generalship of the gentleman who steps forward to the rails beside the preacher's table, pitches the note, and leads the singing. The hymn brought to a conclusion, Mr. Spurgeon read and commented upon a pa.s.sage of Scripture from the 25th of Matthew.

Then another hymn. "Sing this verse very softly and solemnly," says the pastor; and the congregation in hushed tones, that seem to thrill all through the aisles and up through the crowded galleries, sing:

"Who of us death's awful road In the coming year shall tread, With Thy rod and staff, O G.o.d, Comfort Thou his dying bed."

After another prayer from the pastor, and one from one of the deacons who accompanied him on the platform and sat behind in the crimson velvet arm-chairs, a third hymn was sung, and Mr. Spurgeon began his short address.

He took for text the 42nd verse of the 12th chapter of Exodus: "It is a night to be much observed unto the Lord for bringing them out from the land of Egypt: this is that night of the Lord to be observed of all the children of Israel in their generations." The night referred to in the text was that of the Pa.s.sover--"a night of salvation, decision, emigration, and exultation," said the preacher, "and I pray G.o.d that this night, the last of a memorable year, may be the same for you, my friends. Oh for a grand emigration among you like that of the departure of the people of Israel--an emptying out of old Egypt, a robbing of Pharaoh of his slaves, and the devil of his dupes!"

It was understood that Mr. Spurgeon was labouring under severe indisposition, and probably this fact gave to his brief address a tone comparatively quiet and unimpa.s.sioned. Only once did he rise to the fervent height of oratory to which his congregation are accustomed, and that at the close, when, with uplifted hands and louder voice, he apostrophised the parting year: "Thou art almost gone, and if thou goest now the tidings to the throne of G.o.d will be that such and such a soul is yet unsaved. Oh, stay yet a while, Year, that thou mayest carry with thee glad tidings that the soul is saved! Thy life is measured now by seconds, but all things are possible with G.o.d, and there is still time for the salvation of many souls."

At five minutes to twelve the preacher paused, and bade his hearers "get away to the Throne of Grace, and in silent prayer beseech the Almighty to bless you with a rich and special blessing in the new year He is sending you."

The congregation bent forward and a great silence was upon it, broken only by half-stifled coughing here and there, and once by the wailing of an infant in the gallery. The minutes pa.s.sed slowly and solemnly as the Old Year's "face grew sharp and thin" under the ticking of the clock over the kneeling preacher and his deacons. The minutes dwindled down to seconds, and then--

"Alack, our friend is gone!

Close up his eyes, tie up his chin Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth at the door."

"Now, as we have pa.s.sed into the New Year," said Mr. Spurgeon, advancing to the rails as the last stroke of midnight died away, "I do not think we can do better than join in singing 'Praise G.o.d from whom all blessings flow.'"

No need now of instructions how to sing. The congregation were almost before the leader in raising the familiar strain, with which six thousand voices filled the s.p.a.cious Tabernacle.

Then came the benediction, and a cheery "I wish you all a happy New Year, my friends," from Mr. Spurgeon.

A great shout of "The same to you!" arose in response from bas.e.m.e.nt and galleries, and the congregation pa.s.sed out into a morning so soft, and light, and mild, that it seemed as if the seasons were out of joint, and that the New Year had been born in the springtime.

IN THE RAGGED CHURCH.

The Ragged Church is one of the numerous by-paths through which the managers of the Field Lane Inst.i.tution strive to approach and benefit the poor of London. It is situate in Little Saffron Hill, Farringdon Road, the service being held in a barn-like room, which on weekdays serves for school, and is capable of accommodating a thousand children.

No money has been expended in architectural embellishment, and no question of a controversial character is likely to arise in connection with accessories in the shape of altar, surplice, or candles. The Ragged Church avoids these stumbling-blocks by the simple expedient of doing without candles, surplices, or altar. It does not even boast a pulpit, but draws the line so as to take in a harmonium, indispensable for leading the tunes. At one end of the room is a platform, on which the harmonium stands, and whereon the service is conducted.