TEA AND EXPERIENCE.
I was walking the other day in one of the pleasant western suburbs, and
rashly sought a short cut back; when, as is generally the case, I found
that the longer would have been much the nearer way home. Before I knew
it, I was involved in the labyrinths of that region, sacred to
washerwomen and kindred spirits, known as Kensal New Town; and my
further progress was barred by the intervention of the Paddington Canal,
which is spanned at rare intervals in this locality by pay-bridges, to
the great discomfort of the often impecunious natives. There was not
even one of these at hand, or my halfpenny would have been paid under
protest; so I had to wander like a lost sprite among the network of
semi-genteel streets that skirt that most ungenteel thoroughfare, the
Kensal New Town Road, and forthwith I began to find the neighbourhood
papered with placards, announcing a "Tea and Experience Meeting" at a
local hall, under the presidency of the Free Church pastor, for the
following Monday evening. Bakers' shops bristled with the handbills, and
they studded the multitudinous pork butchers' windows in juxtaposition
with cruel-looking black puddings and over-fat loin chops. I determined
I would go, if not to the tea, certainly to the "Experience," for I like
novel experiences of all kinds: and this would certainly be new, whether
edifying or not.
I got at length out of the labyrinth, and on the following Monday
ventured once more within its mazes, though not exactly at six o'clock,
which was the hour appointed for the preliminary experience of tea. I
had experienced that kind of thing once or twice before, and never found
myself in a position of such difficulty as on those occasions. In the
first place I do not care about tea, when it is good; but loathe it when
boiled in a washhouse copper, and poured out from a large tin can, of
which it tastes unpleasantly. But, then again, the quantity as well as
the quality of the viands to be consumed was literally too much for me.
I might have managed one cup of decidedly nasty tea, or what passes
muster for such, but not four or five, which I found to be the minimum.
I could stomach, or secretly dispose of in my pockets, a single slice of
leaden cake or oleaginous bread-and-butter; but I could not do this with
multitudinous slabs of either. I never went to more than one tea-meeting
where I felt at home, and that was at the Soirée Suisse, which takes
place annually in London, where pretty Helvetian damsels brew the most
fragrant coffee and hand round delicious little cakes, arrayed as they
are in their killing national costume and chattering in a dozen
different patois. I had a notion that tea at Kensal New Town would be
very much less eligible, so I stopped away. Perhaps I was prejudiced.
The tea might have been different from what I expected. The experiences
certainly were.
I got there about half-past seven, having allowed an interval of an hour
and a half, which I thought would be sufficient for the most inveterate
tea-drinker, even among the Kensal Town laundresses, should such happen
to be present. I took the precaution, however, of bespeaking a lad of
fifteen to accompany me, in case any of the fragments of the feast
should yet have to be disposed of, since I knew his powers to equal
those of the ostrich in stowing away eatables, especially in the lumpy
cake line. Arrived at the hall, however, I found no symptoms of the tea
save a steamy sort of smell and the rattle of the retreating cups and
saucers. Whether "to my spirit's gain or loss," I had escaped the
banquet and yet got in good time for the subsequent experiences.
A motherly-looking woman stood at the door, and gave me a cheery
invitation to come in. She looked rather askance at my boy, but finding
him properly convoyed by my sober self, she admitted him within the
portal. A good many young gentlemen of a similar age were evidently
excluded, and were regaling themselves with pagan sports outside. The
hall was partially filled with respectable-looking mechanics, their
wives, and families, there being more wives than mechanics, and more
families than either. Children abounded, especially babies in every
stage of infantile development. Many were taking their maternal tea; and
the boys and girls were got up in the most festive attire, the boys
particularly shining with yellow soap. Most of the mammas wore perky
hats, and many had follow-me-lads down the back, but all were
exceedingly well-dressed and well-behaved, though evidently brimful of
hilarity as well as cake and tea.
At the end of the hall was the inevitable platform, with chairs and a
large cushion spread over the front rail for convenience of praying;
since the "experiences" were to be interspersed with sacred song and
prayer. Two gentlemen--I use the term advisedly--mounted the rostrum,
one a long-bearded, middle-aged man, in a frock coat, who was the
pastor, and another an aged minister, superannuated, as I afterwards
discovered, and not altogether happy in his worldly lot. He was very
old, grey-haired, and feeble, with a worn suit of clerical black, and a
voluminous white tie. He sat humbly, almost despondingly, by the side of
his younger brother in the ministry, while the latter delivered a merry
little opening address, hoping all had made a good tea; if not, there
was still about half a can left. Nobody wanted any more; so they had a
hymn from the "Sacred Songster," a copy of which volume I purchased in
the hall for twopence halfpenny. The tune was a martial one, well sung
by a choir of men and women to the accompaniment of a harmonium, and
bravely borne part in, you may depend upon it, by the whole assembly, I
verily believe, except the babies, and one or two of these put in a note
sometimes. The hymn was called, "Oh, we are Volunteers!" and was very
Church-militant indeed, beginning thus:--
Oh, we are volunteers in the army of the Lord,
Forming into line at our Captain's word;
We are under marching orders to take the battle-field,
And we'll ne'er give o'er the fight till the foe shall yield.
Then came the chorus, repeated after every verse:--
Come and join the army, the army of the Lord,
Jesus is our Captain, we rally at His word:
Sharp will be the conflict with the powers of sin,
But with such a leader we are sure to win.
The poor old minister offered up a short prayer. The pastor read the 1st
Corinthians, chapter 13, and explained briefly what charity meant there;
adding that this gathering was very like one of the Agapæ of the early
Christians--a remark I had not expected to hear in that assembly. Then
there was another hymn, "Beautiful Land of Rest," when it did one good
to hear the unction with which the second syllable of the refrain was
given:--
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Beautiful land of rest.
After this the "Experiences" commenced in real earnest. Brothers and
Sisters were exhorted to lay aside shyness and mount the platform. Of
course no one would do so at first; and the poor shaky old minister had
to come to the rescue.
He told us, at rather too great length, the simple story of his
life--how he was a farmer's son, and had several brothers "besides
himself." He had to learn verses of the Bible for his father, which used
to go against the grain, until at last, instead of being "a wicked boy,"
he took up religion on his own account. He began to be afraid that, if
he died, he should go to "a bad place," and therefore started saying his
prayers. His brother George used to push him over when he was praying
half-dressed in the bedroom, or occasionally vary proceedings by
stirring him up with a sweeping brush. At last he found out a quiet
place under a haystack, and there retired to pray. The old man drew a
perfect picture of the first prayer thus offered, and told us he could
remember every little detail of the spot, and the great oak tree
spreading its branches over it. "Here I am," he said, "a poor old
pilgrim on the bright side of seventy now, and yet I can remember it
all. I say the 'bright' side, for I know it is a bright home I am soon
going to." Then he told us how God took his wife from him and all his
worldly goods, and he was quite eloquent about the comfort his religion
was to him now as he went to his little lonely lodging. He drew next too
truthful a picture of the state of things he saw around him in Kensal
New Town--mothers with infants in their arms crowding the tavern doors;
and finished up with a story, of which he did not see the irrelevancy,
about a fine lady going to the "theatre," and saying how much she had
enjoyed the anticipation, then the play itself, and, lastly, the thought
of it afterwards. She was overheard by a faithful pastor, who told her
she had omitted one detail. "No," she said, "I have told you all." "You
have told us how you enjoyed the thoughts of the theatre, and the
performance, and the recollection of it afterwards; but you have not
told us how you will enjoy the thoughts of it on your death-bed." Of
course the "fine lady" was converted on the spot, as they always are in
tracts; and the good old fellow brought his long-winded narrative of
experiences to an end by-and-by, the pastor having omitted to pull his
coat-tails, as he promised to do if any speaker exceeded the allotted
time. "The people were certainly very attentive to hear him," and one
man next my boy expressed his satisfaction by letting off little groans,
like minute guns, at frequent intervals.
Then another hymn was sung, "The Beautiful Land on High," which, by the
way, is a favourite with the spiritualists at their "Face Séances." I
half expected to see a ghostly-looking visage peep out of some corner
cupboard, as I had often done with my spiritual friends--that being
another experience which I cultivate with considerable interest and
curiosity. The hymn being over, a black-bearded, but soft-voiced man, in
a velveteen coat, got upon the platform, and told us how the chief
delight of his life was at one time making dogs fight. When the animals
were not sufficiently pugnacious of themselves, his habit was to
construct an apparatus, consisting of a pin at the end of a stick, and
so urge them to the combat, until it proved fatal to one of them. It
was, he said, dreadful work; and he now considered it the direct
machination of Satan. Another favourite pursuit was interrupting the
proceedings of open-air missionaries. One day after he had done so, he
went home with a companion who had taken a tract from one of the
missionaries. He had a quarrel with his "missis." "Not that missis
sittin' there," he said, alluding to a smart lady in front, "but my
first missis." In order to show his sulks against his missis, he took to
reading the tract, and it soon made him cry. Then he went to chapel and
heard a sermon on Lot's wife being turned into a pillar of salt. He was
a little exercised by this, and saw the minister in the vestry, but soon
fell back into bad habits again, singing canaries for _10s. 6d._ a side.
As he was taking his bird out one Sunday morning, the bottom of the cage
came out, and the canary escaped. This he looked upon as "God's work,"
since it caused him to go to chapel that morning. His conversion soon
followed, and he applied to that circumstance, in a very apposite
manner, the Parable of the Prodigal, concluding with a stanza from the
well-known hymn--
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform.
Another moustached man followed. He was exceedingly well-dressed,
though he told us he was only a common labourer. He had long given up
his "'art" to God, but to little purpose until he came to this chapel.
"But there," he said, "down in that corner under the gas-lamp, I prayed
for the first time. I prayed that God would take away my stony 'art and
give me a 'art of flesh, and renew a right sperrit within me." From that
time he led a new life. His fellow-workmen began to sneer at the change,
and said ironically they should take to going to chapel too. "I wish to
God you would," was his reply. He described the personal influence of
the pastor upon him, which strengthened the good resolutions he had
formed, and enabled him to say, "I will not let Thee go."
I could not help thinking, as I listened to the simple, earnest words of
the speaker, that here was an element the National Church is too apt to
ignore. The Roman Catholic Church would seize hold upon that man, and
put him in a working men's guild or confraternity. The Free Church found
him work to do, and gave him a chief seat in the synagogue, and an
opportunity of airing his "experiences" on a platform. Surely better
either one or the other, than sotting his life at a public-house, or
turning tap-room orator. He ended by crying shame upon himself for
having put off the change until so late in life, and added a wish that
all the labouring classes could see, as he had been brought to see,
where their chief interest as well as happiness lay.
A tall man from the choir followed, and was considerably more
self-possessed than the other two speakers. He told us at the outset
that he had been "a Christian" for fourteen years. It was generally laid
down as a rule, he said, that big men were good-tempered. He was not a
small man; but until he gave his heart to God he was never
good-tempered. He had, for thirty-two years, been brought up in the
Church of England, but had found no conversion there. He had no wish to
speak against the Church, but such was the case. He wandered about a
good deal in those years, from Roman Catholic to Old Methodist chapels;
but the latter settled him. He was attending a class meeting in Kensal
New Town one night, and suddenly a determination came over him that he
would not sleep that night until he had kneeled down and prayed with his
wife, though it would be the first time he had done so for thirty-two
years. When it came to bedtime his courage failed him. He could not get
into bed; and he did not like to tell his wife why. "That," he said,
"was the devil worritin' me." His wife said, "I know what's the matter
with you. You want to pray. We will see what we can do." His wife, he
told us, was "unconverted," but still she "throwed open the door" on
that occasion. He never knew happiness, he said, until he came to Jesus;
and he added, "Oh, I do love my Jesus." He often talked to his
fellow-workmen about the state of their souls, and they asked him how
it was he was so certain of being converted (a question I fancy others
than they would like to have solved), and he answered them, "I feel it.
I was uncomfortable before; and now I am happy. I don't wonder so much
at the old martyrs going boldly up to the stake, because I feel I could
do anything rather than give up my Jesus."
Hereupon the pastor, anticipating the departure of some of the
assembly--for the clock was pointing to ten--announced a Temperance
Meeting for the following Monday, and also said he should like the
congregation to get up these meetings entirely on their own account,
without any "clerical" element at all, and to make the Tea Meeting a
"Free and Easy" in the best sense of the word.
I went--shall I confess it?--to the experience meeting rather inclined
to scoff, and I stopped, if not altogether to pray, at least to think
very seriously of the value of the instrumentality thus brought to
bear on such intractable material as the Kensal New Town population.
The more cumbrous, even if more perfect or polished, machinery of the
Established Church has notoriously failed for a long time to affect
such raw material; and if it is beginning to succeed it is really by
"taking a leaf out of the book" of such pastors as the one whose
Tea-and-Experience Meeting I had attended. "Palmam qui meruit ferat."
Stiggins element, I must, in all justice, say there was none. The pastor
was a simple but a refined and gentlemanly man; so was the poor broken
old minister. There was no symptom of raving or rant; no vulgarity or
bad taste. A gathering at a deanery or an episcopal palace could not
have been more decorous, and I doubt if the hymns would have been sung
as heartily. There was as little clerical starch as there was of the
opposite element. Rubbing off the angles of character was one of the
objects actually proposed by the pastor as the result of these
gatherings; and I really felt as though a corner or two had gone out of
my constitution. If a man is disposed to be priggish, or a lady
exclusive, in religious matters, I would recommend the one or the other
to avail themselves of the next opportunity to attend a
Tea-and-Experience Meeting at Kensal New Town.