Chapter 81: Mr. Spurgeon at Home

Chapter 81.
Mr. Spurgeon At Home

Nightingale Lane—The House and the Study—Intruding Callers—Saturday Afternoon Gatherings—The Host—American Exaggeration—Study Work—In the Garden—Genial Wit—Gardeners—A Coachmen's Party—Anecdotes.

Helensburgh House, Nightingale Lane, Clapham Common, was in all respects a charming suburban residence; and its being sufficiently distant from the town not to be a convenient place of call for that cosmopolitan crowd who think that they have legitimate reason for encroaching on the time and patience of a popular minister was an additional advantage. When the pastor of New Park Street Chapel first went to live there in the early part of the second half of this century the nightingales, no doubt, lingered in the neighbourhood, and many even do so still, although the lane would appear to have taken its name from the Nightingale Inn, which stands close to the house Mr. Spurgeon occupied. It is nevertheless quite possible that the hostelry derived its title from the nocturnal songsters which made this quarter their favourite haunt. Be that as it may, Nightingale Lane is about as pleasant a place as its name would seem to indicate, although the erection of villas may have robbed the neighbourhood in general of that charming rural aspect which belonged to it in days when old-fashioned mansions with their extensive walled-in gardens had the parish very much to themselves. How often have I crossed that common on the way to Helensburgh House. The general surroundings were then supposed to be wonderfully like what they had been in the early part of the century. The sites and scenes here and there reminded one of the Wilberforces, the Macaulays, the Thorntons, and others, whose genuine piety and great achievements have caused the Clapham Set to be held in lasting remembrance. The modest establishment was in all respects suitable for such a man as Mr. Spurgeon; for he was a man who loved his home and was happy in it. As a master he was kind and considerate to the servants, finding as much pleasure in allowing them little privileges as they did in receiving them. Then, as all the world knows, the pastor was happy in having a wife whose tastes and aspirations were in sympathy with his own. Ten or twelve years after marriage Mrs. Spurgeon began to be an invalid, however; and at the time that I first became acquainted with the family there would sometimes be two sufferers beneath the same roof. This chastening seemed to have a mellowing influence on the character of the preacher, and superficial observers; who said that he was changing, were little acquainted with the kind of discipline which had helped to bring the change about. In any case the course of true love between husband and wife went on without a jar.

Helensburgh House struck the visitor as being not only an elegant villa, but one which was well planned to suit the requirements of the family. There was a neat garden in front, charming grounds of some extent in the rear. When you entered the house from Nightingale Lane all the domestic arrangements would strike you as being exceedingly comfortable; but there was nothing provided for mere show. At each end the dining-room opened into a conservatory, which was also an aviary, whose feathered inmates maintained a kind of cheerful chorus. There were pictures on the walls of some attraction; but probably the one you would stand still to look at would be the one consisting of photographs of the pastor's twin sons. Once a year, until the two came of age, a new photograph was taken, so that the progress of humanity from babyhood to young manhood was seen at a glance. "Ah," said the great preacher to me when I once showed some interest in this collection, "if one could only grow in grace like that!" To reach the study you ascended some stairs, and the room at once struck you as being all and containing all that an ardent student could require. The apartment was large; it was sufficiently lofty, and was, of course, richly furnished with books, new and old, some being of sufficient rarity to cause a bibliophile's mouth to water. These books, collected with great care and judgment, were not only on the shelves and a sight to see—they were well used; and, notwithstanding the very natural astonishment of a class of good folks who never enter a library without expressing the opinion that the possessor can never have read, nor can ever hope to read, so many books, you would have found some difficulty in reaching down a volume with the contents of which the master was not partially or fully acquainted. In addition to the printed books there were also divers unpublished MSS., some being the productions of seventeenth-century Puritan divines. The fact was, a number of second-hand booksellers had the intimation made to them that whenever a MS. of this kind came into their possession the treasure would find a ready purchaser at Clapham. The wonder was how, with such demands on his time, Mr. Spurgeon contrived to get through so much reading as he did; but the more you conversed with him in that charming room, the more clearly did you perceive that the mind of your companion was the garner of an omnivorous reader. He could not only read at lightning speed, but when he had gone through a book the contents became permanently his own. The house was supposed to be out of the great highway of city life; and when he went there the young pastor, of course, fervently hoped that the place would afford him a retreat from the crowd of callers, including even begging impostors, who seem naturally to be attracted by the popular minister, and whom they regard as their legitimate prey. As popular preachers know to their cost, however, it is impossible to keep the crowd of intruders altogether at bay. Probably Mr. Spurgeon fared better in this respect than many others, who, though prominently before the public, had still not reached the same height of celebrity. In. his case it became necessary to have some hard-and-fast rules, which had to be carried out without any show of compromise being made—at least to outsiders. Saturday had necessarily to be entirely reserved; but, strange as it may appear to such as are only imperfectly acquainted with Mr. Spurgeon's methods, Saturday afternoon was frequently allotted to the reception of friends of the more intimate kind, some of whom might have some business to talk about, while others were specially privileged. How many there are who retain pleasant memories of these reunions, which in winter would come off in the study, and in summer on the garden lawn. It was customary on such occasions to meet many persons who might he called representative. One or more of the preacher's publishers would occasionally join the company. Of course, open house was also accorded to the Tabernacle deacons; and then there were many others engaged in various departments of Christian work who would be equally welcome. Missionaries, preachers, and other leading sympathisers from America and the Colonies would also at times appear on the scenes, and some of these would go home to publish descriptions of what they had seen and heard. Probably those who were most welcome, however, were the persons who in various ways assisted in the many departments of Christian work. Mr. Spurgeon often remarked that no one was ever surrounded by a more noble band of helpers than himself; and having found such assistants after his own heart, nobody ever better understood the art of encouraging them in their several spheres. Good masters make good servants, and that applies to Christian service as well as to service of a more ordinary kind.

Saturday afternoon, then, was a time of unbending and of free intercourse, if such a term as unbending may be applied to a man who never carried about with him any airs of the "great man." Still, at such times, when he was surrounded by friends, he would relate things which he would not have told in public; and such was the interest of his reminiscences and his opinions on men, books, and great public movements, that even his dog Punch seemed to be an interested auditor.

"You know, I am not the reverend gentleman," I once heard him remark; and it was at once realised that he spoke what he felt. He wished all of his visitors to be as much at ease as he was himself. I am not a lukewarm admirer of Boswell's "Life of Johnson;" but I am persuaded that, with all his powers, the literary monarch of the eighteenth century did not surpass Spurgeon as a conversationalist. He took a broadly commanding view of things, and astonished one by the surprising extent of his knowledge, as well as by his wonderful insight into human nature. One might have expected that such a mind as his was too capacious to be capable of being ruffled by the cares of life which trouble more ordinary people. That it was not so, however, was well known to all who were acquainted with his temperament. What are accounted little things were great in his eyes if they affected those for whom he had any regard. It might seem the easiest thing in the world for such a man to preach or to write what he did; but that it was quite otherwise was shown by his dread of crowds, and by the signs of wear which each year now became more visible. How he laid upon himself a burden of work which was not easily borne was well known to all who were closely connected with him; but I am not sure that the public ever properly realised the fact. At Helensburgh House you found yourself in a charming home, where indoors and out were all things to add pleasure or attraction to life; but so fully is the master occupied with the business which seems to fire him with enthusiasm, that all seem to exist for others rather than for him.

Mr. Robert Taylor, of Norwood, says: "Mr. Spurgeon greatly enjoyed his beautiful garden and grounds, and had almost equal pleasure in showing to visitors on his Saturday afternoon receptions his rare flowers and rare books. A few years ago a good minister from America who had visited him gave him some pain by an overdrawn description in the public Press of his residence and its surroundings. Referring to it, he said one does not like an exaggerated picture like that, as if one were a self-indulgent Sybarite lapped in luxury. And then he added, in a tone of chastened seriousness, 'My Master, I am sure, does not grudge me the enjoyment of my garden. I owe it to Him. It is about the only luxury in which I indulge. I am very hard worked. I have no time for social intercourse. I have neither time nor strength to move about and find refreshment in variety and change as others do; but I have my garden with its flowers and its fine prospects, and I praise Him for it.'"

Well, it is past three o'clock—dinner is over—and for one who can claim the privilege this is the time to see the pastor more at ease than on any other day in the week. "Is Mr. Spurgeon at home?" "Yes; and all alone in the study." The greeting is thoroughly cordial; but, at the same time, it would appear that this ever-busy man has been interrupted in his work. There may be a number of newly-written letters before him, the ink on the last being not yet dry. In any case there will be a number of printers' proofs on the table, some already corrected, while others are awaiting the process. In later days more especially the corrections were very numerous, more so than seemed to be absolutely necessary; but it was better to be somewhat fastidious than to show any tendency towards carelessness in such a matter. The preacher does not write his sermons; if questioned on that point he will declare that he would prefer being hanged to going through such an ordeal, and this process of revising is to him, therefore, equivalent to an exercise in composition. In the course of an extended article, a Society journal gave a tolerably correct portrayal of Spurgeon as he was at home. I remember that I happened to mention this effusion to him in the study at Helensburgh House, and he at once turned to his secretary on the other side of the table and remarked, "Blackshaw, it's like life itself." I quote a passage or two:—

"It is difficult to say where Mr. Spurgeon may be considered most at home; for his time is spent in moving quickly to and from the Tabernacle, the Pastors' College, the schools, almshouses, and orphanages, of which he is the guiding spirit. Perhaps the most hardworking man on the Surrey side of the Thames, he finds but little leisure for taking his ease in his house in Nightingale Lane—a quiet nook hard by Wandsworth Common. He passes his life, when not actually preaching or working, in a pony chaise, varied by occasional hansom cabs. Wrapped in a rough blue overcoat, with a species of soft deerstalking hat on his head, a loose black necktie round his massive throat, and a cigar burning merrily in his mouth, he is surely the most unclerical of all preachers of the Gospel.... Bowls—not the noisy American tenpins, but the discreet old Puritan game—is the favourite sport of the great preacher, who plays 'whenever he can find time,' which is not very often. He confesses that in choosing bowls and tobacco as his amusements he is following good old Roundhead traditions, and loves to refer to the Lord Protector's enjoyment of a game of bowls with grave college dons. While savouring with keen gusto his hard-earned amusements, he escapes utterly from the hair-splitting of theologians, the bias of the bowl being the matter to which he bends his faculties. But there are other relaxations for Mr. Spurgeon—amusements in themselves, it is true, but yet indulged in with method." This is a charming passage relating to his love of birds:—

"As the game of bowls continues, we recognise that Nightingale Lane is well named, for the feathered chorus increases in volume. The air is full of birds. There are birds everywhere—on shrub and tree, on bush and lawn. And they take no heed of the bowl-players, and heed the rolling spheres not a jot. For Mr. Spurgeon's house is a species of refectory for the birds of the neighbourhood. Night and morning a repast is spread for them on the lawn—no niggard scattering of crumbs, but a plentiful banquet. When Mrs. Spurgeon began to feed the birds they soon found it out, came again, and brought their friends. Now they come in flocks, little birds and big birds, rooks and thrushes, blackbirds and sparrows. Swallows and martins take up their abiding place. Last spring two couples of them built in the summer-house, which was at once given up to their separate use. Like a true ornithophilist Mr. Spurgeon likes birds, but likes them wild, looking on cage-birds as but poor little creatures, leading at best but artificial lives; but the neighbours who have fruit trees entertain a different opinion. As the evening closes in and the damp air warns Mr. Spurgeon that the rheumatism to which he is subject, and which has had the effect of making him an habitual abstainer from strong drink, is not to be trifled with, we stroll again into his library, where the host tells many pleasant stories of his foreign travels in Italy and the South of France, and especially in that most sociable and enjoyable of places, Menton, where the ornithological pleasures of Nightingale Lane are exchanged for the orange and lemon-groves, the grey olive-trees, and the fleshy cactuses of the south. Here Mr. Spurgeon enjoys himself to the top of his bent."

Well, as it is a fine summer afternoon, one almost feels that a needed service is actually done by interrupting such an incessant worker, and so compelling him, as it were, to get out in the open air. Ask him at what hour in the morning he entered his study, and he will probably tell you it was at six o'clock, and it may even have been two hours earlier than that. Now, however, as he seems all at once to throw care to the winds, and proposes a ramble round the garden, we gladly follow. The master of Helensburgh House is supposed by some to have no eye either for art or architecture; but one soon discovers that he has great taste for gardening. He also loves the birds so much that no gun might be fired off in that garden, which always appeared to thrive under the care of the most accomplished gardeners. For these the pastor has some regard. He will examine their work, and speak of it, or while passing by he will have a word with the men themselves. A friend who once looked in at Helensburgh House in the way I am now describing tells me a good story which shows what interest Mr. Spurgeon took in his garden. While being shown round, this gentleman listened to an explanation of how under certain gardeners things had not prospered so well as they should have done in the greenhouses and elsewhere. Notwithstanding their being professors of Christian "perfection," these worthies appear to have neglected their work, and the vines more especially appeared to have suffered. "You see, these men were so holy that they did not get here till eight in the morning when they should have been here at six; and then I discharged them and took on sinners in their place."

One anecdote will follow another, and some of these will relate to his own experience, probably in early days; and it is easy to see that while the pastor is amusing others he is also entertaining himself. His quick eye seems to take in at once everything worth seeing, while his ready wit was always taking unexpected turns. Thus if anyone he came in contact with happened to have an odd kind of name, it would be almost sure to suggest something, although nothing would be said that would be likely to hurt a sensitive person's feelings. One who had a name corresponding to that of one of the martyrs could never be hurt by being told to "burn away;" nor could Mr. Alfred Barley, of the Paris Mission, feel otherwise than complimented when solemnly assured that he would continue to be all right so long as he was not malted.

Before the afternoon is very far advanced others will make their appearance in the grounds. The Tabernacle deacons are, of course, welcome, and so also are others who are prominent among Mr. Spurgeon's helpers. In any case several sections of the church will most likely be represented; and to one who is thoroughly catholic in his sympathies that will be an advantage. If Mr. Rogers, Principal of the College, should come on the scene, he is a staunch Pædobaptist; while Mr. Alabaster, the printer and publisher, is an ardent Churchman. This is a matter of little consequence to our catholic-minded host, however, and, indeed, seems rather to stimulate his good humour; while he consoles himself with the reflection that if they do not see their error now, such friends will have to confess that they were mistaken after they get to heaven. The fragrant weed is indulged in; and if you are a connoisseur in cigars, perhaps you will be tempted to envy the preacher, who seems to have friends who keep him supplied with boxes of the best brands. The air of the garden seems to become fragrant; and while we have some good talk on the greensward in the cool shade, the birds above appear to be exceptionally merry. Would anyone like to exercise his arms with the bowls? If so, the grass is level, the bowls are in readiness, and the pastor himself will take his turn in the game. Capital exercise it proves to those who follow sedentary occupations; and one cannot help thinking that Mr. Spurgeon would have been all the better in health if from his youth upwards he had enjoyed more of such outdoor exercise. As it is, you will only seldom see him indulge in such a pastime. On the contrary, it seems natural to him to take his seat, and, quite regardless of any risk of taking a chill, he talks on until all gather round him—drawn by irresistible attraction. The Literary Club itself, in Dr. Johnson's best days, was certainly never better regaled than we, the Saturday afternoon visitors, have been on such occasions. Persons who excel in conversation in such a degree as was the case with Spurgeon and Johnson appear to enjoy talking as greatly as their friends enjoy listening to them. Any competent judge whose privilege it has been to make one at the little gatherings such as I now refer to will readily admit that Spurgeon was one of the first conversationalists of his time.

It would naturally be provoking when other talkers of a different calibre appeared on the scene, and who, through a very natural love of hearing their own utterances, rather checked the flow from our chief entertainer. Such were, of course, not sufficiently discerning to see what they lost themselves, or of what they were depriving others. An ordinary company would not often have to complain on this score; but some comical examples would occasionally occur, and even Mr. Spurgeon himself would be not a little amused. The fact was that in the case of Christian people he seemed to regard them as being very much on an equality. He would tell many anecdotes of the "gold-headed cane era," when things were different, when actually to approach a minister was involuntarily to exclaim, "How dreadful is this place!" But to win his respect you were not expected to treat him either as "the great man" or "the reverend gentleman." Thus it happened that, under certain conditions, Christian people of very humble social grade might be seen in the garden or the study. He once told me of two Christian coachmen who, being employed in the neighbourhood of Clapham, had afforded him some entertainment while they had been his guests in the garden. Being comfortably seated in one of the summer-houses, these worthies stayed until ten o'clock in the evening. They had come up from the country, where one had been a deacon of a church, to seek employment in London, where, being, as it were, lost in the crowd, things had all turned out very differently from what they would have liked. Religious privileges might be just as valuable, but the line separating the classes was more apparent; so that satisfaction at being taken notice of by Mr. Spurgeon naturally had the effect of raising their spirits, as well as of loosing their tongues to a degree which led to their having almost all the talk to themselves. At length the flow of words became almost too much for the long-suffering host, though afterwards he seemed to enjoy relating the circumstance. "Did they not allow you to say anything, then?" said I, when he related to me the circumstance. "Well, sometimes they did," he answered.

Any who stayed to tea on Saturday afternoon might also, if they wished, remain to family prayer, which came immediately afterwards. Then, when all had retired, was the time to get the sermons together for the following day. He would compare the Tabernacle congregation to a flock of chickens, and his labours in the study to the work of one who was gathering food for them. We may think of Spurgeon alone in his study; but it must be borne in mind that he was a preacher sui generis, whose methods in work were of quite an unconventional kind. The brief notes of a sermon, as I have seen them, would cover not more than one side of half a sheet of note-paper. He once said to a brother minister, "If I cannot 'break' my text to my use in an hour, it is all over with me."

"Breaking" the text with such a student of the Bible meant looking well at the words in their setting, and then arranging the divisions. We may also safely believe that the matter was likewise well prayed over; for he did not advise his students to do in this respect what he did not do himself. After that, all was easy and straightforward; for the great range of his reading had stored his capacious mind with an ample supply of illustrations, all of which were arranged in order, and were thus available when wanted.