Chapter 30: The Services At The Royal Surrey Gardens

Chapter 30.
The Services At The Royal Surrey Gardens

Unique Popularity—The National Review—A Sunday at the Music Hall described—A Hoax—The Daily Press—Remarkable Letter in The Times—Adverse Opinions—Collecting for the Tabernacle.

The Sunday morning services at the Royal Surrey Gardens had now become one of the chief attractions or wonders of London. As we learn from The Nonconformist, Lord Palmerston was prevented by illness alone from being present on one of the Sundays of January:—

"Mr. Spurgeon's popularity does not seem to be at all on the wane. Lord Mayors and Lord Chief Justices jostling journeymen carpenters in the same religious assembly; peers and peasants listening to the Word of Life from the same lips, and joining in the same chorus of praise, to the tune of the glorious Old Hundredth which rises from eight or ten thousand voices, present a novel and instructive spectacle, however the phenomenon may be explained. What may have been the Premier's motives for taking a ticket for the Surrey Gardens Music Hall last Sunday, of which, however, his old enemy the gout prevented him from availing himself, it is not for us to conjecture. It may be hoped that it was something beyond mere curiosity. At all events, the Cabinet is committed, and it is not easy to see how it could now consistently advise the Crown to withhold from the Dissenting divine the sanction of its presence, at least, in a quiet and unostentatious way. Old George the Third, when at Windsor, used now and then to slip in incog. amongst the congregation of that excellent Nonconformist minister, the father of the present Dr. Redford, and in due time, we daresay, amongst the thousands of female head-dresses at the Music Hall, a modest little bonnet will find its way, beneath which will be the evidence of the Royal countenance afforded, in spite it may be of mitred protests, to the uncanonical ministrations which have taken such a hold of the lieges." The number of notices of Mr. Spurgeon in newspapers, magazines, and reviews now abundantly testified to his increasing and unique popularity. Even The National Review for January had something to say on the all-engrossing topic, and while showing no sympathy with the preacher's Calvinism, the reviewer believed that the doctrines preached largely accounted for the success achieved:—

"Mr. Spurgeon's style appears to us quaint and grotesque, with a strong dash of genuine humour. He is obviously to the last degree vivacious and susceptible. There is nothing vulgar, for example, in the following, though it is as grotesque as a gargoyle: 'Oh, may God awaken us all, and stir us up to pray: for when we pray we shall be victorious. I should like to take you this morning, as Samson did the foxes, tie the firebrands of prayer to you, and send you in among the shocks of corn till you burn the whole up.' The following has a sort of rough energy and force of conviction which is not unlike many of the stories told of Luther and his conflicts with the devil: 'A poor tried countryman said the other day, I have been troubled with that old devil lately, and I could not get rid of him for a long while; until at last, after he had been adding up all my sins, and bringing them all before my remembrance, I said to him, "You rascal you, did I not transfer all my business to Jesus Christ long ago, bad debts and all? What business have you to bring them here? I laid them all on Christ; go and tell my Master about them. Don't come troubling me." "Well, I thought that was not so bad. It was pretty rough, but it was gloriously true.' A man who had always considered his sins as so many debts in the strict sense of the word, and whose mind is habitually occupied with small business transactions, shows a very forcible and genuine conviction by this kind of language. In fact, if his language is to be genuine and striking at all, it must be taken from the subjects which are familiar to him. To say 'You rascal, don't trouble me; you must speak to my Master,' is a phrase which has, at any rate, a positive, definite meaning. A man who should say on a similar occasion 'I dwelt on the all-sufficient sacrifice,' or 'I rejoiced in the blessed blood which cleanseth from all sin,' would speak, in our opinion, far less sincerely and far less reverently. The one man believes in a real master, a real legal obligation, a real devil in the likeness of a harsh creditor, and a discharge such as he could plead in the county court; and the other, in a great proportion of cases, only expresses an indefinite feeling in conventional language. The common feelings which form the lasting bonds of human society are generally definite in proportion to their strength. Conjugal and family love, friendship, a sense of duty, a sense of honour, may be described in the very simplest language, and the fact that it is usually considered reverent to speak of God, Christ, heaven, hell, the devil, and the feelings which they excite, in an obscure and indefinite manner has always appeared to us one of the strongest proofs of the prevalence amongst us of an unacknowledged scepticism. To speak of such matters very seldom and very plainly, would seem to be the course pointed out, both by reverence and common sense; but if we must choose between the two, we do not know whether it is not less bad to handle spiritual truths as yon would handle a bullock, than to handle them as you would handle a mist. No Italian friar was ever more perfectly at home in the legends of the saints than Mr. Spurgeon is in what he calls the three R's—Ruin, Redemption, and Regeneration." The writer in The National Review was evidently desirous of dealing fairly with the subject, but he was one of those who caricatured the Calvinistic doctrines through misunderstanding them. It seemed strange, moreover, that while seeking to account for amazing success, nothing was said about the wonderful voice and powerful imagination which were such striking characteristics of the preacher.

Thus the services at the Music Hall created extraordinary and ever-widening interest. Among the many sketches, the brochure of "An Eye-Witness," issued in the spring of 1857, attracted some attention. This writer found that the ticket system was enforced to prevent the entrance of thieves and disreputable characters. His estimate of the building was that it would seat 9,000 and allow of standing-room for 5,000 more. He remarks that "even so early as ten o'clock all the seats on the floor and first gallery were occupied, and one only succeeded in procuring seats on the second gallery, and that on the fifth row from the front." At half-past ten, when the doors were opened to the public without tickets, there was "not one seat in the huge hall unoccupied." Meanwhile, the spectacle from the centre gallery was an extraordinary scene—"We heard a strange noise, it sounded like the rushing of mighty waters; and, on looking down, we saw that it was caused by the rushing in of immense crowds of excited and hurried people. In ten minutes' time every inch of standing-room was occupied." Dr. Livingstone sat on the platform, and the Princess Royal, as well as the Duchess of Sutherland, was said to be present. The hymn, "All hail the power of Jesus' name," was sung with overpowering effect. On coming to the close, Mr. Spurgeon remarked, "Dear friends, whilst you are singing this last verse, elevate your hearts to heaven, and let your innermost prayer be that you may join the angelic throng in hymning your dear Redeemer's name. Fancy that you hear the ten thousand times ten thousand that are, at this moment, swelling the anthem above, and feel as if you were mingling your voices with theirs in chanting His praise." The prayer is described as being of "the most spiritual character... as if Mr. Spurgeon was standing on Pisgah's top, gazing in ecstasies on the promised land." The petitions for persons of all sorts and conditions showed how thoroughly in earnest the preacher was. The way in which he sought strength for himself was also characteristic. "O Lord! help, help thy servant to preach the Gospel to this vast multitude. Fill his soul with heavenly fire. Thou art mighty, but thy servant is weak; make him, O Lord, the honoured instrument in thy hands of converting many here. Thou, in times past, madest the sound of a ram's horn level to the dust the hard, strong, and fortified walls of Jericho; make, I beseech thee, thy servant like a ram's horn on this mighty occasion, so that the hard and strong hearts in thy presence may melt and tumble down at the sound of thy Gospel as proclaimed by him, and that heaven may ring with the hallelujahs of victory." When the people opened their Bibles to find the text, "Let the whole earth be filled with His glory; Amen, and Amen" (Psa 72:19), the rustling resembled the "pattering of a heavy hailstorm on the leaves of trees." During the sermon, everybody could hear perfectly in all parts of the building, even when the voice was allowed to sink low. The preacher, then under twenty-three years of age, is described as being pallid, without whiskers, his hair being long, and parted nearly in the middle. The desire to hear him became stronger, so that the ordinary tickets of admission had been raised to five shillings a month. "An Eye-Witness" is of opinion that the "cavilling and raising frivolous objections to his preaching, simply proves that unrenewed human nature is just what it was eighteen hundred years ago." He adds that Spurgeon "is stirring up all classes, and proving most conclusively that if the Gospel be plainly proclaimed, there will be no lack of hearers." In the early part of May, 1857, someone found pleasure in imposing a silly kind of hoax on Mr. Spurgeon's former friends in the Fen country. The town-crier of Soham, and also the town-crier of Ely, received a parcel of printed bills from the "Society for the Diffusion of the Gospel, 28, Park Street, London," announcing that Mr. Spurgeon would preach on the Horsefen at three o'clock on Sunday, May 10. It was a clumsy invention, for at this time the preacher rarely indeed ventured to leave his own people on Sunday.

Among those attracted to the Music Hall was a correspondent of The Sun, who wrote:—

"If what we heard last Sunday be a specimen of Mr. Spurgeon's usual preaching, there was certainly nothing at all more extravagant than would be heard from most of the Evangelical clergymen and Dissenting preachers in the country. There were no outrageous descriptions of divine anger and future punishment, or any wire-drawn refinements on the theology of repentance. His statements on the latter point were characterised by remarkable common sense; they were forcibly expressed and illustrated, as were his arguments for the necessity of repentance. Indeed, there was little in which preachers of all creeds would not have concurred. His voice is a noble one, filling the whole place with the greatest ease; at the further end of the building we did not miss a syllable. His manner was perfectly unrestrained, but not irreverent. His command of language is very considerable, but does not lead him, for an extempore speaker, into verbosity. His style is unfettered, homely, forcible, and abounds in pointed remarks. There was a total absence of anything humorous or ludicrous, if it has been his habit to indulge in such things. The secret of his popularity, taking last Sunday as a specimen, appeared to us to be something very different. It was impossible not to feel that the preacher was absorbed, not in himself, but in his audience. The formal separation of the pulpit did not separate him from his hearers. He conversed with them—he was one of them. He did not lecture them ex cathedra, or indulge in disquisitions on topics out of their line of thought, but spoke with them as he would have done on a solemn subject in their own houses. Most of our pulpits 'die of dignity,' but, while there was nothing unbecoming on Sunday, the preacher placed himself on a level with all. Of course, a vivid fancy, and considerable powers of expression, aided by a first-rate voice, will account for much, but we think what we have pointed out was the chief reason why, among so many thousands of hearers, we could not, and we looked carefully, detect a single sleeper.

"Our more dignified preachers might study with advantage the phenomenon of this youth's popularity. We can only say that, for our part, his manner disarmed criticism, and we could think only of his probable usefulness to the thousands present, who, we are confident, by their appearance, are not listeners to our customary pulpit prosaics. Lord Chief Justice Campbell, with his son, was present on the platform, and seemed to take the same view with ourselves; he remarked several times to one of the managers after the service in our hearing, and also to Sir Richard Mayne (Commissioner of Police), who was likewise present, 'He is doing great good, sir, great good! London could find room for twenty such preachers; they are just what the populace needs.'" The London daily Press, which had treated Mr. Spurgeon so badly in the matter of the Music Hall catastrophe, now began to make some amends. It was soon seen that in regard to the character of the preacher himself, a mistake had been made; and among the first to make reparation for the wrong done in passing a too harsh and hasty judgment was The Times. In those days that great journal commanded a truly national influence, so that its publication of the famous letter by "Habitans in Sicco," accompanied by a leading article, marked that turn of the tide in the young preacher's favour which was sure to come sooner or later. Extracts from this letter have frequently been given, but few persons of this generation will ever have seen it entire, although it is necessary for such a production to be read as a whole for its true significance to be understood. It was one of the most amusing things of the kind which ever appeared in the leading journal:—

"Sir,—One Sunday morning about a month ago my wife said, 'Let us fend the children to St. Margaret's to hear the Archbishop of——preach on behalf of the Society for Aged Ecclesiastical Cripples, which is to celebrate today its three hundredth anniversary.' So the children went, though the parents, for reasons immaterial to mention, could not go with them. 'Well, children, how did you like the Archbishop of——, and what did he say about "the Aged Ecclesiastical Cripples"?' Here the children—for it was during their dinner—attacked their food with great voracity, but never a word could we get out of their mouths about the spiritual feast of which they had just partaken. No! not even the text could they bring out. The more they were pressed the more they blushed, and hung their heads over their plates, until at last, in a rage, I accused them of having fallen asleep during the service. This charge threw my first-born on his defence, and he sobbed out the truth, for by this time their eyes were full of tears. 'Why, papa! we can't say what the Archbishop of——said, because we could not hear a word he said. He is very old and has got no teeth; and do you know I don't think he has got any tongue either, for though we saw his lips moving, we could not hear a single word.' On this I said no more, but I thought a good deal of 'the Aged Ecclesiastical Cripples' and their venerable advocate, and being something of a philologist, I indulged in dreamy speculations on the possibility of an alphabet composed entirely of labials; and if my wife had not roused me by some mere matter-of-fact question, I almost think I should have given my reflections to the world in the shape of a small pamphlet entitled 'The Language of Labials; or, How to preach Sermons without the Aid of either Tongue or Teeth: published for the benefit of the Society of Aged Ecclesiastical Cripples, and dedicated, of course by permission, to the Archbishop of——.'

"Now listen to another story. A friend of mine, a Scotch Presbyterian, comes up to town and says, 'I want to hear Spurgeon; let us go.' Now, I am supposed to be a High Churchman, so I answered, 'What, go and hear a Calvinist—a Baptist—a man who ought to be ashamed of himself for being so near the Church and yet not within its pale?' 'Never mind, come and hear him.' Well, we went yesterday morning to the Music Hall in the Surrey Gardens. At first I felt a strange sensation of wrong-doing. It was something like going to a morning theatrical performance on Sunday; nor did a terrific gust of wind which sent the 'Arctic Regions,' erected out of laths and pasteboard in a style regardless of expense, flying across the water of the lake, tend to cheer a mind depressed by the novelty of the scene. Fancy a congregation, consisting of 10,000 souls, streaming into the hall, mounting the galleries, mumming, buzzing, and swarming—a mighty hive of bees, eager to secure at first the best places, and at last any place at all. After waiting more than half an hour—for, if you wish to have a seat, you must be there at least that space of time in advance—Mr. Spurgeon ascended the tribune. To the hum and rush and trampling of men succeeded a low, concentrated thrill and murmur of devotion, which seemed to run at once like an electric current through the breath of everyone present, and by this magnetic chain the preacher held us fast bound for about two hours. It is not my purpose to give a summary of his discourse. It is enough to say of his voice that its power and volume are sufficient to reach everyone in that vast assembly; of his language that it is neither high-flown nor homely; of his style, that it is at times familiar, at times declamatory, but always happy and often eloquent; of his doctrine, that neither the Calvinist nor the Baptist appear in the forefront of the battle which is waged by Mr. Spurgeon with relentless animosity, and with Gospel weapons, against irreligion, cant, hypocrisy, pride, and those secret bosom sins which so easily beset a man in daily life; and, to sum up all in a word, it is enough to say of the man himself that he impresses you with a perfect conviction of his sincerity.

"But I have not written so much about my children's want of spiritual food when they listened to the mumbling of the Archbishop of——, and my own banquet at the Surrey Gardens, without a desire to draw a practical conclusion from these two stories, and to point them by a moral. Here is a man not more Calvinistic than many an incumbent of the Established Church, who 'mumbles and mumbles,' as old Latimer says, over his liturgy and text. Here is a man who says the complete immersion, or something of the kind, of adults is necessary to baptism. These are his faults of doctrine, but if I were the examining chaplain of the Archbishop of——, I would say, 'May it please your Grace, here is a man able to preach eloquently, able to fill the largest church in England with his voice; and, what is more to the purpose, with people. And may it please your Grace, here are two churches in this metropolis, St. Paul's and "Westminster Abbey. What does your Grace think of inviting Mr. Spurgeon, this heretical Calvinist and Baptist, who is able to draw 10,000 souls after him, just to try his voice, some Sunday morning, in the nave of either of these churches? At any rate, I will answer for one thing, that if he preaches in Westminster Abbey, we shall not have a repetition of the disgraceful practice now common in that church, of having the sermon before the anthem, in order that those who would quit the church when the arid sermon begins, may be forced to stay it out for the sake of the music which follows it.

"But I am not, I am sorry to say, examining chaplain of the Archbishop of——, so I can only send you this letter from the devotional desert in which I reside, and sign myself, "Broad Phylactery, Westminster.

"Habitans in Sicco." In the course of a leading article, The Times itself found something to say on the subject of the above letter:—

"It is not surprising that the sudden phenomenon of a monster preacher excites some astonishment, and if our correspondent, 'Habitans in Sicco,' regrets that the Church has not the benefit of similar services, it is quite natural to ask why should such demonstrations be confined to Dissent? Why cannot the Church have a monster preacher drawing its crowds?

"Physically speaking, there can be no reason why the Church should not have, at any rate, once or twice in a generation, a natural orator in its clerical ranks endowed with a voice as loud as Mr. Spurgeon's, and, if she has, there can be no cogent reason why she should not use him. A loud voice is a decided gift, an endowment; it may be thrown away, in the prodigality of nature, upon a man who has no purpose to turn it to, no thought to utter from that splendid organ; upon a man, in fact, who is a mere pompous stentor in a pulpit; but give it to one who has a thought and a purpose, and see the effect. How is it, then, that the Church never has a monster preacher?

"The reason is, that a loud voice requires its proper material to exert itself upon. The voice is notoriously the most sympathetic thing in nature. It cannot be loud and soft indiscriminately. Some things are made to be shouted and others to be whispered. Nobody shouts out an axiom in mathematics; nobody balances probabilities in thunder—Nemo consilium cum clam ore dat. There must be a strong sentiment, some bold truth, to make a man shout. In religion there must be something rather extravagant in the shape of doctrine. The doctrine of conversion or of irresistible grace can be shouted, but if a man tried ever so hard to shout in delivering a moderate and sensible doctrine on freewill he would find himself talking quietly in spite of himself. A laud voice, then, must have 'loud' doctrine to develop it. But the Church of England has rather a distaste for 'loud' doctrine; her general standard is opposed to it; her basis is a balanced one, mixing opposite truths, and qualifying what she teaches with judicious protests and disclaimers. She preaches Catholicity with a protest against Rome, and Protestantism with a protest against Geneva.

"This is very sensible and very true, but it is not favourable to popular preaching. Of the two parties into which she is divided one thinks it wrong to shout as being against the principle of reverence. This school specially contrasts itself in this respect with the 'rude world,' which is supposed to be always shouting and doing everything that is noisy and vulgar, and with heretics who are audacious and immodest; and it plumes itself on its refinement and good taste in the delivery of religious truth, which it thinks ought to be done in a sort of veiled and fragmentary way, so as to reach the sensitive ears of the good and pass over those of the profane. All this is very excellent and refined, but it is against popular preaching. So much for one party. The other party might speak loud if it liked; it has no theory against it, and its doctrines admit of it, but it does not like the trouble. And besides, this party, though it professedly holds strong doctrine, practically tempers it considerably, and bends to the moderate standard of the Church.

"Thus, what with the fear of criticism, the deference to a recognised standard, idleness, reverence, and a great many other things; what with some thinking it heretical to shout, and others thinking it impolite to be popular, there is no monster preaching in the English Church. It does certainly admit of a question whether in our general policy we are not over-cautious, and gain greater theoretical correctness at the cost of much practical efficiency. It admits of a question whether a little extravagance and a little onesidedness might not be tolerated for the sake of a good, substantial, natural, telling appeal to the human heart. We should have no objection, for our part, to an Evangelical clergyman, with a strong voice, doing what Mr. Spurgeon does. The doctrines of the two are in reality much the same, and that being the case, why should fear of criticism prevent the Evangelical school from making themselves as effective as they can? But such is the influence of a conventional standard, which, like conscience, 'makes cowards of us all.'" At this time meetings were held now and again in aid of the building fund of the proposed new Tabernacle. What was called the first of a series of such meetings had been convened in the Tabernacle, High Street, Hoxton, on March 10, when Mr. Spurgeon gave a discourse from the words of Psa 102:16, "When the Lord shall build up Zion, He shall appear in His Glory." He also gave an account of his first coming to London, with some reference to the blessing which had attended his ministrations. On Monday, March 23, another meeting came off at New Park Street, and the speech of the chairman, Mr. W. Joynson, of St. Mary Cray, had an excellent effect on account of "its fervour, spirituality, and practical common sense." From a contemporary account we learn that "he repeatedly challenged the meeting to contribute sums equal to those he himself offered conditionally to give; and during the evening his own donations in this form amounted to nearly one hundred and seventy pounds, in addition to a previous donation of twenty-five pounds. Mr. Spurgeon made a fervid and eloquent appeal to his own congregation, such a one as they will never forget." The following is an extract from the "Appeal to the Christian Public" issued at this time:—

"The great and almost unprecedented success which, under the Divine blessing, has accompanied the labours of the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon during his ministry at New Park Street has rendered it imperatively necessary that a new chapel of large dimensions be erected forthwith....

"Shortly after the accession of the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon to the pastorate, in May, 1854, the numbers attending the chapel rapidly increased, until it was deemed absolutely necessary to enlarge the chapel. This object was effected in May, 1855, at a cost of £1,800. No sooner was the chapel reopened than every sitting was engaged, and hundreds of applications were refused for want of room. The church also increased at such a rapid rate that the chapel was found to be inadequate for the reception of the members at the Lord's table, the members being upwards of 860 persons, more than 550 of whom have been added during the period of two years and nine months."

Meanwhile the services at the Music Hall so increased in public favour that large numbers had to be turned away from the doors on every occasion, after the last standing-place was occupied. On Sunday, May 17, more than a thousand persons were thus disappointed. Many lords and ladies, whose titles are mentioned, were present, Lady Franklin, the widow of the ill-fated Arctic explorer, being of the number. Others were present whose experience was of more interest to the ordinary members of the congregation. There was, for example, a man there who had been an active advocate of Secularist opinions at Norwich; but having been converted from the error of his ways at one of Mr. Spurgeon's services, he had not only embraced the Christian faith, but had publicly burned all his infidel publications. Another man had not attended a religious service for thirty years.

Referring to the service of Sunday, August 9, The Morning Advertiser says that the congregation was held "in a state of breathless attention." The subject of the sermon was, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." Mr. James Grant appears to have been present, for it was remarked in his paper, "We never heard a subject handled in a more masterly manner." The discourse was a practical one; and it is added that, "in choosing occasionally such themes for his ministrations, Mr. Spurgeon only follows the example of his Master, whose preaching was remarkable for its preceptive character." The chief defect of the ordinary preaching was that it was either too exclusively doctrinal or too practical. The preacher at the Music Hall happily blended the two; and the suggestion is made that the discourse should be widely circulated. It is added that "there was not one single passage in the sermon to which anyone, be his denominational or theological opinions what they may, could take exception; and yet it was faithful, bold, and searching beyond any pulpit address of the kind to which it ever was our lot to listen. Were the world at large to embody habitually in their lives and conversation the great ethical duties which Mr. Spurgeon enforced with such intense earnestness and transcendent power, we should at once witness the advent of a great social and moral millenium."

While opinions similar to the above were harboured by an increasing number of friends, however, there were still many who professed to see nothing attractive in Mr. Spurgeon apart from a fine voice. His preaching, they held, was vulgar, while his gifts were not above mediocrity. It is even probable that in 1857 no small proportion of the young preacher's brother ministers would have partially agreed with such an estimate as the following:—

"On the pulpit, or rather the platform, Mr. Spurgeon imitates Gough, and walks up and down, and enlivens his sermons with dramatic representations. He is 'hail fellow well met' with his hearers. He has jokes and homely sayings and puns and proverbs for them. Nothing is too sacred for his self-complacent grasp; he is as free and unrestrained in God's presence as in man's. Eternity has unveiled its mysteries to him. In the agonies of the lost, in the joys of the redeemed, there is nothing for him to learn. His 'sweet Saviour,' as he irreverently exclaims, has told him all. Of course at times there is a rude eloquence on his lips, or, rather, a fluent declamation, which the mob around takes for such. The orator always soars with his audience. With excited thousands awaiting his lightest word, he cannot be passionless and unmoved. Words and thoughts are borne to him from them. There is excitement in the hour; there is excitement in the theme; there is excitement in the living mass; and, it may be as the preacher speaks of a physical hell and displays a physical heaven, some sensual nature is aroused, and a change may be effected in a man's career. Little causes may produce great events; one chance word may be the beginning of a new and a better life; but the thoughtful hearer will learn nothing, will be induced to feel nothing, will find that as regards Christian edification he had much better have stayed at home. At the best Mr. Spurgeon will seem to him a preacher of extraordinary volubility. Most probably he will return from one of Mr. Spurgeon's services disgusted with the noisy crowding, reminding him of the Adelphi rather than the house of God; disgusted with the commonplace prayer; disgusted with the questionable style of oratory; disgusted with the narrowness of the preacher's creed, and its pitiful misrepresentations of the glorious gospel of the blessed God; disgusted with the stupidity that can take for a divine afflatus brazen impudence and leathern lungs. Most probably he will come back confessing that Mr. Spurgeon is the youngest and the loudest and the most notorious preacher in London—little more; the idol of people who dare not go to theatres, and yet pant for theatrical excitement.

Mr. Spurgeon's older friends at the Metropolitan Tabernacle are able to call up in memory many things relating to the preaching excursions into the country which were then constantly being undertaken. An intimate friend of the late pastor, and one who was for many years associated with him in Christian work, Mr. George Goldston of Hastings, has supplied the following pleasant countryside reminiscence, which at heart tends to prove that, despite what superfine critics in the Press might say, Spurgeon was pre-eminently the favourite preacher of the common people :—"In the early days of his ministry Mr. Spurgeon was peculiarly happy when surrounded by large gatherings of country people, to listen to the Gospel, as he preached to them in the green fields or country meadows. But of late years he had been compelled to avoid the risk of exposure to the open air; consequently, but few of his addresses so delivered are to be obtained from the printers of his sermons.

"Some of the old members of the church under his charge, however, can call to remembrance the wonderful scenes they witnessed on such occasions. What throngs of country folk, and from what distances they came, the variety of carts, vans, waggons, gigs, and carriages of almost every description!

"It was on such an occasion, in the summer of 1857, that several thousands of people met in a meadow of Mr. Jas. Rawlings, at a little village called Melbourne, a few miles from Cambridge. This lonely village, probably, was never so disturbed before; for more than a week previously busy hands were making preparation. Triumphal arches of evergreen, intermixed with bright flowers, surmounted with mottoes or words of welcome, greeted us from the village green and other open spaces. The shops displayed such bunting as their keepers possessed, while many of the cottages of the poor gave lively signs of the interest felt concerning the visit of the youthful preacher.

"At last the day arrived, and the weather being all that could be desired, the people came in from Cambridge, Royston, Baldock, Hitchin, and many other places round, until the meadow (a very large one) in which the service was to be held was nearly half filled with vehicles of various sorts and sizes, from the humble donkey cart to several superb carriages, drawn by valuable horses. When the preacher saw these carriages as he stood in a waggon from which to address the patient multitude, many of them having been waiting for hours, he said: 'I think our friends would do well to have the horses taken out of the carriages. We cannot edify the horses, but the carriages will be a great comfort to the occupants.' This being done, and it being now three o'clock, the time announced for the service to commence, Mr. Spurgeon, in full and clear voice, prayed; every heart seemed touched, a solemnity came upon the people, and attention to what would follow was evidently secured. Then came a cheerful hymn, sung so heartily that every face amongst that great gathering of people was lighted up with joy.

"And now followed the address, so sweetly simple, so full of tender earnestness—the Gospel put in language that all could understand; the appeals so direct that many felt the words were intended for themselves individually.

"The meadow having been cleared, preparation was made to have tea in the open air; and another address was given in the evening. It was estimated that eleven hundred persons took tea in the meadow that afternoon, a very small proportion being able to sit down.

"In the evening the congregation consisted for the most part of the working people living within a few miles of the place, the carriage folk who had come from a distance having returned. Yet the numbers seemed not less than in the afternoon. And there was the same eagerness to hear: such is the attractive power of the Gospel over the human mind. The service, which lasted until dusk, was most impressive; and many hearts in Melbourne were made glad that day. A selected few accompanied the beloved preacher to the house of a friend where he was entertained; being one of the company, it is with vivid recollection that I think of the family gathering for prayer that night, when a blessing was sought for every helper in the day's work, as well as every hearer." In preaching away from home, Mr. Spurgeon now usually made it a condition that a collection should be taken for the building fund of his new Tabernacle. At first it was thought that a sum of £12,000 would suffice for such a chapel as was needed; but when, in the autumn of 1857, £5,000 had been collected, a total of £20,000 was being asked for; and not until half that amount had been secured would building operations be commenced. The Metropolitan Tabernacle eventually cost nearly £32,000, a sum which would have inspired feelings akin to despair if it had been known from the first that such an amount would be needed.