Devonport, 1855.
I was at this time invited to preach in a church in Devonport, where it
pleased the Lord to give blessing to His word. With this exception, my
work was, generally speaking confined to individual cases. I will give
an account of a few which present the most instruction and interest.
The first I will mention is that of one of the curates of the church in
which I was asked to preach. At this time he was preparing for
confession, and his self-examination had brought him to see and feel
that he was a sinner. Under this course of preparation, the preaching of
the Gospel had much effect upon him, and he came to tell me of his
state. I was able to show him from the Word of God that he was in a
worse condition than he supposed--that actually, by nature, we are lost
sinners now. Under the operation of the Holy Spirit he was brought to
feel this also, and was very miserable.
One day, while officiating at a funeral, the Lord spoke peace to his
soul; so great was his joy, that, he said, he could scarcely refrain
from shouting aloud in the middle of the service. After it was over he
went about everywhere, telling of his conversion, and the Lord's
dealings with his soul.
The result of this was that his fellow-curate (who was also preparing
for confession) was awakened, and came to me in great distress of mind,
declaring he "could not say he was converted," and that he was very
unhappy. He acknowledged that he should not like to die as he was, and
therefore knew he ought not to be satisfied to live in that state.
However, when I got to close dealing with him about his soul, he said
that though he could not say he was saved, he certainly thought that he
was being saved by continual absolution and the sacrament. Upon this, I
was enabled to show him that he did not go to the means of grace, or
even to the Lord's table, because he was saved, but in order to be
saved; and that he was working for life, and not from life. He gave up
disputing, and was not long before he too found peace in believing.
The time was approaching for these two curates to go, as usual, to
confession. They came together to ask me about it. I counselled them to
go, by all means, to the reverend doctor, who usually received their
confession, and to tell him in their own words how the Lord had
convicted and converted them. I said that Bilney, one of the first
martyrs of the Reformation, when he was converted, went immediately to
make confession to Latimer, and by doing so he became the means of his
conversion. "Go, by all means; you do not know what use the Lord may
make of your testimony."
They went accordingly, but did not meet with the happy success of
Bilney, for they were sent indignantly away one after the other for
saying their sins were pardoned and their souls save, and that by direct
and personal faith in Christ, without the intervention of a priest. The
reverend confessor, unlike the honest Latimer, said these young men had
come to mock him.
Notwithstanding these instances of usefulness and encouragement, I
continued to be very unhappy, for want of more general work, and felt as
if God had cast me off. I can now see that this testing and perplexing
dispensation through which I was passing, was not altogether such a
barren desert as I felt it to be at the time. It was fraught with many
lessons, which have stood by me ever since, though I must confess I
never revert to this period without many unhappy memories.
I will record one more lesson which I was taught in this place, and then
go on to other subjects.
One warm spring day, while I was sitting in my house with the doors and
windows open, a gentleman came running into it in great haste, somewhat
to my surprise, he being a perfect stranger to me, and I to him.
Standing in the passage, and looking into the room where I was seated,
he said, "Sir, are you a clergyman?"
I replied, "Yes, I am."
"For God's sake, come; follow me!"
So saying, he went away. I immediately took up my hat, and ran after him
down the side of the square, and noticing the gate where he turned in, I
walked leisurely to the same place, and found him in the passage of his
house panting for breath. He had run so fast that he could not speak,
but made a sign to me to go upstairs; then pointing to a door, he bade
me go in. On doing so, I saw at once it was a sick-chamber, and found
myself alone in the presence of a lady, who was sitting up in the bed. I
bowed to her, and said, "Can I help you?"
She said, "Oh, no! it is too late!"
"Too late for what?"
"I am dying; I am lost! I am lost! It is too late--too late!"
"But Christ came, and is present, to-save the lost."
"Oh, yes! I know all that. I taught it to others, but I never believed
it myself. And now it is too late: I am lost!"
"Then believe it now! Why not 'now'?"
"Because it is too late!"
"While there is life there is hope! Lose no more time. 'God so loved the
world, that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on
Him should not perish'" (John 3:16).
"That is not for me. I know that text very well, but it will not do for
me. I am lost! I am lost! It is too late!"
While I was speaking I saw her falling over the side of the bed.
Springing forward, I put out my arm, and, with her head resting on it,
and her despairing eyes looking into my face, she expired. I could
scarcely believe it, when I saw that flush on her face fade away unto
the pallor of death. She was gone! I placed her poor head on the pillow,
and rang the bell for assistance. Her mother and sister came in, saying,
"Is it not dreadful?"
I said, "Look at her. She is gone. She said it was too late, and that
she was lost for ever."
"Oh," exclaimed the mother, "it is most dreadful!--most dreadful!" This
poor young lady used to be a Sunday-school teacher and district visitor;
but she was never converted, and she knew it. She had full
head-knowledge, but no heart experience, and thus she died in unforgiven
sins. Lost---for ever lost!
Notwithstanding this, and other solemn lessons which the Lord was
teaching me at this time, I was still restless and unhappy. I felt as if
my life, with its work, was cut off in the very beginning of its
usefulness, and that there was no more for me to do. As the weather
became hot with the advancing summer, I was more and more dejected in
mind and body. I lived now among strangers, and had no settled
occupation, nor could I apply myself to study.
One very hot and dusty afternoon, as I was slowly toiling up a steep
hill, two women overtook me; and as they were passing, I heard one say
to the other, in a very sad and disheartened tone, "I wish I had never
been born;" and the other responded much in the same spirit, though I
could not hear what she said. A fellow-reeling makes us wondrous kind,
and has the effect of drawing out our sympathies. I followed these poor
women, and when we were on the top of the hill, I spoke to them, and
then added, "You seem very weary. Will you come in and take a cup of tea
and rest a little?" They thanked me, and consented. So I took them into
the house, and asked for some tea. While it was being prepared, I said
to them, "I overheard you talking on the road as you passed me. Do you
really wish you had never been born?" The poor woman who had uttered
these words burst into tears; and as soon as she could command her
feelings sufficiently, she told me her sad tale of sorrow and trouble.
She was a soldier's wife, as was also the other, and they were both in
the same distress. "Well," I said, "trouble does not spring out of the
ground; and we may be equally sure that God, who sends, or at least
permits it, does so for our good. One thing is certain, that if we
humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, He can and will lift us
up, for He has promised to do so. He will make all things work together
for our good, if we trust Him." I then asked them if they had given
their hearts to God.
One of them said, "Ah, that is what I ought to have done long ago; I
know a deal better than I do. I was brought up well, no mistake; but I
was giddy, and went after the red-coats, and married an ungodly man, and
now I am suffering for it."
"Dear woman," I said, "you may thank God for hedging up your path. He
might have given you over to prosperity and a false happiness, or left
you altogether. Thank God that it is not worse with you; and give Him
your heart. Do you believe that the Lord Jesus died for you?" She would
not speak. Then I turned to the other, who was also crying, and said,
"Do you believe?"
"I did once," she said, in a dejected tone; "but I have gone back from
everything."
By this time their tea was ready, so I refreshed them with it; and after
that we resumed our conversation and united in prayer. They both gave
their hearts to God. I found that they lived not far off, so I had the
opportunity of seeing them from time to time, and was able to instruct
and cheer them on their way. I can see now how God was speaking to me
through these women; but somehow I did not hear or recognize His voice
then.
About this time, my dear wife became very prostrate in health and
spirits--so much so, that we felt anxious about her. I went to a famous
physician, who was in the neighbourhood, and asked him to come and see
her. He did so, and after careful examination, said that there was
really nothing the matter more than that she was one of those persons
who could not live in that limestone town in the summer. He said, "She
will be perfectly well if you take her away into the country. You must
do this at once, for the longer she remains here, the weaker she will
be." He refused to take any fee, and said he would send a carriage at
two o'clock, and that we must be ready to start by that time. This was
more easily said than done; for where could I take the children, or how
could I leave them at home? However, as the doctor was very peremptory,
we prayed about it, and considered how we were to accomplish the task.
At this critical moment a friend arrived in his carriage, and said he
had driven in from the country to bring some relatives of his to the
train, and did not care to go back alone. "Would one of us, or both,
take pity on him, and give him our company?" As soon as he heard of our
position he greatly rejoiced, and said, "Come, all of you; I have plenty
of room!" He took the invalid, with some of the children. I shut up the
house, and followed with the others and the nurse, in the fly, which
duly arrived at two o'clock. By five o'clock we were all out in the
green fresh country, and our patient was already revived, and walking
about the garden.
There happened to be a farm-house vacant, which we took, and removing
some of the furniture, made it comfortable for the present. This we
called "home" for a little time during my unsettled state.