Stambourne Meeting-House
IT was a rare old chapel. I wish it could have remained for ever as
I used to know it: let me see if I can sketch it with my pen.
When I was a boy of twelve;, I made this drawing of the back of
the old meeting-house. I have been welcomed at a farmer’s table
on the promise of making a picture; of his house. I am rather
glad that this pencil memorial was preserved by my dear Aunt
Ann; but I must m,w, forty-live years after, use; the; pen on the; same subject.
BACK VIEW OF THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE, STAMBOL’R.NE.
The pulpit was glorious as “the tower of the flock.’ Over it hung a huge sounding-board: I used to speculate as to what would become of grandfather it it ever dropped clown upon him. I thought of my Jack-in-the-box, and hoped that my dear grandpapa would never be shut down and shut up in such a fashion. back of the pulpit was a peg to hold the minister’s hat: inside, there was room for two, for I have sat there with grandfather when quite a little boy; but I gues two grown-up people would have found it “quite too small enough,” as my Hutch friend puts it.
just below, and in front ot the pulpit, was the table-pew, wherein sat the elders of the congregation, the men ot gracious “light and leading;” There Uncle H addon generally stood, and gave out the hymns and the notice’s; and from that semi-sacred region was raised the block ot wood by which to the singers upst;n’rs the metre; of the hymn was made known, Common, Long, or Short. There were big tomb-stones forming the: bottom ol this large pew, which took its name from containing iJic table, on which we:re spread the: bread and wine on elavs illicit they had the ordinance: I think that was the: correct phrase when our good folks intended “the: communion.” I don’t re-member hearing them stvle infant baptism “the: ordinance/.”; but I suppose they thought H to be one. A few had qualms upon the question, and were baptized quietly at some Haptist Chapel.
The: pews in the middle were mostly square: in form, ami roomy. Those on either side: were aristocratic, and lined with green bai/e, for the most part very faeleel. In some case’s, brass rods carrieel up little curtains, which maele: the: family pew ejiiite private, and shut out all sights but that of the: grave and reverend senior who dispensed to us the ord e)l Lite-. There were flaps inside the: pew so as not to lose: the space: where the: door opened, and Baps for the poor to sit upon in the: aisle: outside: of these: pews; and when the time came: to go home-, there was such a lifting up and letting down of flaps, and flap-seats, within the pew, and without the pew, as one never eloe;s see: in these degenerate days. A little: boy on a hassock on the: lloor of one: of these holy loose-boxes ought to have been gooel; and no eloubt was as <>’ood there as anywhere, especially if he: had a peppermint to suck, and nobody to play with.
I cannot lorget the big clock which had a face outsiele the: chapel as we:ll as one inside:. hen his long body had be-en ne-wly graine-d, he.: se:eme:el a very suitable; piece of lurniture: for a nice;, clean, old-fashioned Puritan me-eting-houst:. If I am rightly informed, the veteran time-keeper was bought by the miller, and is now upon one ot his sheds. To what strange: uses we may come: at last!
The pee)j)le were mainly real Kssex: they talke:d of places down in “the: Shires” as if they were quite fepre:ign parts; ami young fellows who went down into “the Hundreds” were explorers of a respectable order of hardihood. They loved a “‘ood sermon, and wenild say, “Mr. Spurgeon, I heard you well this morning.” I thoii’dn the gexxl man had preacJied well, but their idea was not so much to his creelit; they judged that they had heard him well, and there’s something in the different way of putting it; at any rate, it takes from the preacher all gmund of glorying in what he has done. They were a people who could and would hear the gospe:!, but I don’t think they would have put up with anything else. They were as apt at criticism as here and there one: some of them were very wise, in their remarks, and some were otherwise. Well do I remember an occasion upon which the preacher had treated “the tares” after the manner of the Kast, and was altogether right in so doing; but they said, “He wouldn’t know a tare if he saw one:. It was painful to hear a man talk so ignorant. To say that yeni couldn’t tell whe’at from tareps when they were a-growing was ridiculous.” The rustic critics were wrong for once; but on matters ol doctrine or experience, you would have founel them quite a match for you.
I do not think our folks were anything like, so superstitious ami weak as the’ peasants I came: to know ten years after in Cambridgeshire. Tales of white wi/arels and witches were unknown to my juvenile mind; though I heard enough of them when my age was between sixteen ami twe:nty. Them one: of my best workers told me that a witch had dragged a cat down his naked back by its iail: he did not show me the marks, but he fully believed in the ieline operation. We cannot forget that in the: village of Hedingham, which is not more than five miles from Stambourne, a murder was committed so late as 1805, which grew out of popular belief in witchcraft. The old men I talked with, as a little: child, were, I am sure, far above all such nonsense; and upon many a Biblical, or political, or ecclesiastical, or moral subject, they would have uttered great and weighty thoughts in their own savoury Kssex dialect.
‘I here we’re’, no doubt, in Stambourne a few rough fellows who did not go to any place ot worship; but those who came to the meeting-house were the: great majority, and the plain, practical, common-sense sermons which they heard had lifted them out of that dense superstition which still benumbs the brains of too many of the Kast Anglian peasantry.
Tin-: SIXGIXG AT STAMIJOURNE MEETING-HOUSE.
The prayer-meetings during the week were always kept up; but at certain seasons of the year grandfather and a few old women were all that could be relied upon. It occurred to me:, in riper years, to ask my venerated relative how the singing was maintained. “Vhy, grandfather,” said I, “we always sang, and yet you don’t know any tune-,, and certainly the old ladies didn’t.” “Why, child,” said he, “there’s one Common metre tune which is all, ‘Hum I la, Hum I la,’ and I could manage that very well.” “But how if it happened to be a Long or Short metre hymn?” “Why, then, I either put in more Hum Ha’s, or else I left some out; but we managed to praise the Lord.” Ah, shade of my dear old grandsire! your grandson is by no means more gifted as to crotchets and quavers than you were, and to this day the only solo he has ever ventured to sing is that same universally useful tune! * Even that lie has abandoned; for audiences are growing either more intelligent or less tolerant than they used to be.
My grandfather once ventured upon publishing a volume of hymns. I never heard anyone speak in their favour, or argue; that they ought to have been sung in the congregation. In that volume! he promised a second, if the, first should prove acceptable. We forgive him the; first collection because; he did not inflict another. The meaning was good, but the dear old man paid no attention to the mere; triviality of rhyme. We dare not quote even a verse. It may be. among the joys of Heaven for my venerated grandsire, that he can now compose and sing new songs unto the Lord. When we say we dare not quote, we do not refer to the meaning or the doctrine: in that respect, we could quote every line before the Westminster Assembly, and never fear that a solitary objection would or could be raised.
The Stambourne style of singing led me into trouble; when I returned to my home. The notion had somehow entered my little head that the; last line of the hymn must always be repeated, and grandfather had instilled into me as a sale rule that I must never be afraid to do what I believed to be right; so, when I went to the chape;! where my parents attended, I repeated the, last line whether the congregation diel so or not. It required a great deal of punishment to convince; me that a littleboy must do what his parents think to be right; and though my grandfather made; a mistake in that particular instance, I have always been grateful to him lor teaching me to act according to my belief whatever the consequences might be’.
I recollect, when first I left my grandfather, how grieved I was to part from him; it was the great sorrow of my little life. Grandfather seemed very sorry, too, and we had a crv together; he did not quite know what to say to me, but he; saiel, “Now child, to-night, when the; moon shines at Colchester, and you look at it, don’t forget that it is the, same moon your grandfather will be looking at from Stambourne;” and for years, as a child, I used to love the; moon because I thought that my grandfather’s eyes and my own somehow met there on the moon.
Outside; the; Meeting, near that long side;, which was really the; front, there stood a horsing-block. Ladies went up the; steps, and found themselves on a platform of the same height as their horse’s back. It was a commendable invention: how often have I wished for something of the sort when I have had to climb my Rosinante! To me, this horsing-block was dear for quite another reason. The grand old lime trees shed their leaves in profusion, and when these were swept up, the old chape.lkecper would ram a large quantity of them under the horsing-block. When I had pulled out about as many as fitted my size, I could creep in; and there lie hidden
* Those who heard it sung in the Metropolitan Tabernacle, June 4th, 1889, on the occasion of Mr. Spurgeon’s address on “Old I’ugl Tunes,” are never likely to forget the enthusiasm evoked by the beloved Pastor’s solo, which was rapturously encored.
beyond fear of discovery. My friend, Mr. Manton Smith, has written a book called Stray Leaves, and another which he has entitled More Stray Leaves; I entered into his work before he was born. So good was the hiding-place, that it remained a marvel where “the child” could be. The child would get alone; but where he went to, his guardian angels knew, but none on earth could tell. Only a little while ago, my dear old Aunt Ann said, “But, Charles, where did you get to when you were such a little child? We used to look everywhere for you, but we never found you till you came walking in all by yourself.” The horsing-block was the usual haunt when there were leaves, and an old tomb would serve at other times. No, I did not get into the grave; but it had a sort of altar tomb above it, and one of the side stones would move easily, so that I could get inside, and then by setting the slab of stone back again I was enclosed in a sort of large box where nobody would dream of looking for me. I went to the aforesaid tomb to show my aunt my hiding-place;
111 III
IS ill 10
PRESENT MEETING-HOUSE AND GRAVEYARD, STAMBOURNE.
but the raised altar was gone, and the top of it, with the name of the deceased thereon, was laid ilat on the ground. Some of the side-stones, which formerly held up the ‘memorial, were used to make door-steps when the buildings were put into their present state of repair, and the top stone was made to occupy the same space, only it lay ilat upon the ground, instead of being raised some two feet above it. Still, I remembered well the place, and what the tomb had formerly been.
often have I listened to the good people calling- me by my name! I heard their feet to my den, but I was wicked enough still to be “lost”, though the time for .vas gone. Dreaming of days to come befell me every now and then as a and to be quite alone ,vas my boyish heaven. Yet, there was a seventh heaven above that: let me but hear the foxhounds, and see the red coats of their pursuers, had seen the climax of delight. When the huntsmen did come- down by Stambourne woods, it was a season of delirious excitement to others besides “the At other times, all the women and children were solemnly working at strawplait; but what they did when the fox went by I will not venture’ upon gassing,’ for I don’t remember what I did myself. The- woods at the back of the chapel hlicl a charming mystery about them to my little soul, for who could tell but a fox was As a child, when asked what I would be, I usually said I was going to be’ a A fine profession, truly! Many young men have the same ulea”,f being parsons as I had of being a huntsman,- a mere childish notion that they would like the coat and the horn-blowing; the honour, the respect, the ease, — and they are probably even fools enough to think -the riches of the. ministry. (Ignorant beings be if they look for wealth in connection with the Baptist ministry.) The of the preacher’s office -cry great to weak minds, and hence I earnestly caution all young men not to mistake whim for inspiration, and a childish preference lor a call of the I loly Spirit.
I once learnt a lesson, while, thus fox-hunting, which has been very useful to me
a preacher of the: gospel. Ever since: the day I was sent to shop with a basket,
and purchased a pound of tea, a quarter-of-a-pound of mustard, and three pounds of
, and on my way home saw a pack of hounds, and felt it necessary to follow them
- and ditch (as I always did when I was a boy), and found, when I reached
ome, that all the goods were amalgamated, -tea, mustard, and rice, — into one awful
have understood the necessity of packing up my subjects in good stout
Is, hound round with the thread of my discourse; and this makes me keep to
and thirdly, however unfashionable that method may now be
Voplc will not drink mustardy tea, nor will they enjoy muddled-up sermons in
they cannot tell head from tail, because they have neither, but are like
Air. Bright’s Skye terrier, whose head and tail were both alike.
Somehow, I don’t think our Sunday-school came to so very, very much It was
1 day when every child brought his own mug, and there was real cake, and tea
and water, and an address; but that high festival came: but once a year’
laving been on one occasion pressed into the service when I was still a boy but
was in Stambourne on a visit, I felt myself a failure, and I fancied that some around
Still, in those early times, teaching children to read and to repeat verses of hymns, and to say the Catechism by heart, were a good beoinnin”-. Dr. Watts’s Catechism, which I learned myself, is so simple, so
tp
interesting-, so suggestive, that a better condensation of Scriptural knowledge will never be written; and the marvel is that such a little miracle of instruction should have been laid aside by teachers. While I am writing, one question and answer come to me with special freshness : —
“Who was Isaiah?”
“He was that prophet who spake more of Jesus Christ than all the rest,”
At the distance of fifty-three years, I remember a little book which was read to me about a pious child at Colchester; I recollect Janeway’s Token for Children, and I recall the bad conduct of some juveniles of my own age, who not only kicked up a dust, but literally kicked the teachers. Memory makes a selection as she goes along; and in my case, the choice of things retained is so miscellaneous, that I cannot discover my own character by their guidance.
The week-day school for the very juveniles was kept by old Mrs. Burleigh, and to that fane of useful know-ledge I was sent. The only thing that I remember was that I heard a good deal of her son Gabriel, and therefore asked, as a great favour, that when he came home from the town where he lived, he might come and see me. I had my desire; but after all these years, I have not got over my disappointment. To see Gabriel! I don’t think I had absolutely reckoned upon the largest kind ol wings; but wings certainly, or something otherwise angelic. To see only a young man, a youth in trousers, with no trace of cherubim or seraphim about him, was too much of a come-down. “What’s in a name?” was a question not yet known to me; but no one will ever need to ask me now. Names are mere labels, and by no means proofs that the things are there.
To come back to the old chapel, the best point about it was the blessing which rested on the ministry carried on within. The dew of the Spirit from on high never left the ministry. Wherever my grandfather went, souls were saved under his sermons. My own beloved father, Rev. John Spurgeon, constantly reports to me fresh instances of the old gentleman’s usefulness. When I first of all became a preacher, there were persons who said, “I heard your grandfather, and I would run my shoes off my feet any day to hear a Spurgeon.” This was encouraging. Another told me that, to hear my grandfather once, made his wing-feathers grow a foot. He could mount as eagles, after being fed with such Heavenly food. “He was always so experimental,” was the summing-up of one of the most devout of working-men. “You felt as if he had been inside of a man.” Buildings may perish, and new shrines may succeed them; but no earthly house will accommodate a sounder or more useful ministry than that of my grandfather.