The Book Fund Diary for 1881

HOSE who delight in the sweet flow of softlyrhymed verse above the heavier diction of solid prose will gladly welcome a new version of the allegory of the “Singing Log,” which appeared in the Report for 1879. A friend kindly took the trouble to put the little legend into verse, and my dear husband thought the stanzas so good that they ought to be better. With no small labour and pains he fashioned the poem anew, writing several fresh verses, and in general recasting the whole. The “new version,” as he calls it, was sent home from Mentone, with the title of “Mrs. Spurgeon’s ‘Gem’ reset,” and I am very proud of my husband’s commendation. Since “gems” are rare things with me, I naturally desire to make the most of this solitary specimen, and therefore I have great pleasure in reproducing the allegory under this more attractive form.

Thus polished and sparkling, I hope it % may find even greater grace in the sight of my friends than on its former appearance; but beyond this hope there shines out a better and brighter confidence; for I think I may tell, without the

shadow of a boast, how graciously the Lord has honoured the little parable by making it the messenger of comfort or content to so many of His people, that I have been amazed at His condescension in thus using it, and am encouraged therefrom to believe that its mission of love is not yet fully accomplished.

AT the close of a dark and cloudy day,

As the deeper night grew on,

On my languishing couch I wearily lay,

My joy for the moment gone.

Within my room all was cozy and bright,

Yet a shadow of night had crept

Over my soul, and had hid from my sight
The hand in which mine was kept.

Depressed and saddened, I laboured in vain
To gaze on my loving Lord.

Oh, when will His presence return again,

And light on my spirit be poured!

Whence comes it my Lord so bitterly chides,

And sends me such grievous pain?

The sun, and the moon, and the stars He hides,

And clouds return after the rain.

He heard: and an answer was strangely given,

A still small voice from the throne;

No seraphim brought the message from heaven,

Yet it came from the Lord alone.

A while in my room reigns a silence deep;

The only sounds in mine ear

Arise from the flames which crackle and leap,

And flash forth a flickering cheer.

When we suddenly heard a strange, sweet song,

Like the robin’s tender trill,

A whisper, a sonnet, the flames among;

It caused our hearts to thrill.

“Can a bird be singing this gloomy night?”

In startled surprise, we say.

Whence comes such an anthem of calm delight
As from harps that are far away?”

In silent wonder we listen again,

Till my friend in a whisper said,

*Tis yon old oak log sings that soft, weird strain From amidst its fiery bed.”

’Twas so; and, as once the Lord spoke out
From the bu§h which burned with flame,

So now to our spirits, beyond a doubt,

L[is voice from the oak log came.

From the heart of the oak fire had loosed the bands Of music imprisoned of yore,

When the trees of the field had clapp’d their hands And cried out the Lord before.

When its branches waved ’neath the heaven’s blue ‘Through the livelong summer day,

Full many a bird to their shadow flew
With its carol glad and gay.

The song of the thrush and the hum of the bee,
And the music of evening bells,

All sank in the soul of the old oak-tree;

And now the sweet tale it tells.

. The hardened growth of full many a ring
Fettered fast the imprisoned lays,

Till these flames of fire their freedom bring,

And they dance in the joyous blaze.

The fire which consumes has lent it a tongue,

And the oak log sings as it dies:

It yieldeth its all while its heart is wrung —

’Tis a song and a sacrifice.

And thus was a message most sweetly brought
By the old oak log to me;

It raised me aloft from each gloomy thought,

And from sorrow it set me free.

If trial and pain be as flames to my heart,

To fetch forth its latent praise,

With joy I accept the sufferer’s part,

And would choose it all my days.

EAR FRIENDS, — An accomplished writer once
laid claim to the gratitude of his readers for
having voyaged to fetch a metaphor all the way
to the Guinea Coast and back; but I, whose
lagging pen toils painfully across the white
acres, must entreat your patience rather than
your praise, while I try to tell you of a pretty
parable which presented itself to me not a stoned-throw
from my own doorstep.

Come with me into the garden, and you shall stand, in imagination, where I stood one morning and saw an unusual scene enacted. Here, just at the corner by the holly-tree, I was talking to the gardener, when I suddenly became aware of a sharp, tapping sound, like the stroke of a small hammer on some unyielding substance. Turning my eyes quickly in the direction from whence the noise proceeded, I saw a splendid thrush standing boldly in the centre of the garden-path, and, what do you think he was doing? — he was steadily and vigorously beating a snail on a large stone, and the loud taps I had heard were the blows which destroyed the poor victim’s shelter, and laid his soft, succulent body at the mercy of his foe! Stroke upon stroke he gave, lifting the creature with his beak, and dashing it on the wellselected stone, till only a conveniently mangled mass remained, which he instantly devoured, and thus completed his victory!

I had read of such doings in books, but to see the manoeuvre practised before my eyes, and a dinner procured in so unique a manner, filled me with wonder and delight I am afraid all sympathy for the snail was lost in admiration of the ingenuity of the beautiful spoiler, and I would fain have applauded his clever trick, had I not feared to frighten him from his juicy repast. The saucy bird flew away when his meal was concluded, and left me still gazing at the spot where a very pleasant page in natural history had been unfolded. The incident had a fascination for me, and I pondered over it, thinking there might be a simile there as surely as a snail, if I only knew how to extract it successfully. I went to my husband for help and enlightenment, and after hearing my little story, he laughingly said, “Ah! I have a fellow-feeling with your thrush; for I find texts very difficult to crack sometimes, and many hard knocks I have to give before I get to the marrow of the word!” I found, then, I was to learn a lesson of perseverance in overcoming difficulties, and take the pretty bird’s example as a constant persuasive to energy and earnestness in my work. One would have assumed that hard, round shell to be a very doubtful blessing to a hungry thrush; but former experience and a divinely implanted instinct had taught him to make light of the trouble which would ensure him so choice a delicacy, and, likely enough, in his bird-lore he had learned the secret that all things are the sweeter for costing us some pains.

To the impression which this garden scene made on my mind I owe some comfort and courage in my constant task of writing. I have seemed to hear again those decisive tap-, pings whenever a new entry has been made in my journal; and a vision of the lovely bird — his speckled breast swelling with triumphant satisfaction over his performance — has always lured me to look beyond the labour entailed by this difficult part of my service, to the blessed reward which, by God’s grace and favour, has so many times followed the effort.

Now, am I not indebted to my thrush for furnishing me with a preface as deftly and curiously as he helped himself to a repast, and may I not present my little book to you with the confident assertion that

“Eraser anto Patna Ml ho angtijtujj”?

The New Year opens with bright and cheering prospects for the Book Fund, seeing that Christmas and New Year’s Gifts from kind friends have plentifully enriched its treasury, and placed ample means at my command for the furtherance of the blessed object I have at heart A lady, writing to me Ten Years of my Life

the other day, said she “supposed the ministers were nearly all supplied now”! Never was surmise more unwarranted and incorrect. The work is as urgent and important as ever, and the necessity for it as great and pressing. Did anybody ever hear of a preacher possessing as many books as his heart craved for? I never did; and I think such a state of contentment must be well-nigh impossible; for the more a man studies and enlarges his mind, the more he hungers and thirsts for knowledge, and seeks to add to his stores; and the intense delight he takes in his few precious volumes is a constant incentive to add to their number. I am daily receiving letters from Pastors to whom I made grants three or four years ago, whose mental craving, more stimulated than satisfied by the books previously given, is now urging them to seek further appliances for the development of thought and intellect. These good men might truly say —

“My hunger brings a plenteous store,

My plenty makes me hunger more.”

They tell me with pleasing emphasis of the exceeding value and blessing of my former gifts, and they draw thence a plea for a renewed consideration of their needs. It would be, indeed, a hard heart which would refuse them, and with the coveted treasures at command send them empty away. Help in pulpit preparation, refreshment of spirit in times of deep depression, stimulus to private devotion, assistance in pastoral duties, — all these blessings, and many more, are enfolded in the precious pages bestowed by the Book Fund, which as truly blesses a minister’s soul as it enriches his library. But although so many of God’s poor servants have had reason to thank Him for the help afforded them in this important matter through the agency of the Fund, my ambition is by no means satisfied with the present attainments of my work. There are still hundreds of men in the ministry whose stock of books is totally inadequate to their needs, and who, though painfully conscious of their famishing condition, are unable to procure the aliment which would nourish their souls, and promote their spiritual and mental growth. If the Book Fund only ministered to the necessities of these long-settled Pastors, its work would be useful and important; but there is the fact to be considered, that our colleges of all denominations are constantly sending forth their young recruits to the battle of the Lord; and these are seldom, if ever, “thoroughly furnished” for the warfare which they seek to accomplish. To aid all these needy ones, to supply all these longing souls, would, without doubt, require both more means and more management than this quiet little service and its happy servant can ever hope to command; but with this high aim in view, according as Clod prospers us, so do we deal forth our treasures lovingly and gladly till they be exhausted.

The number and urgency of the applications for books steadily flowing on in almost uninterrupted course from one year’s end to another, is a sufficiently strong proof that a deep and widespread scarcity exists, and the many loving acknowledgments which grace the pages of my Annual Diary are precious and delightful evidences that its supply is hailed with devout thankfulness and joy.

It is pleasant to feel impelled to continue one’s work by a growing conviction of its importance and value; more happy still to be constrained to go on by dear love of the service itself; but, best of all, to be so blessedly certain of the Lord’s will and help in the matter that one dare not give it up! Something of the sweetness of each of these conditions mingles with the emotion with which I write the first daily record of the new year. I therefore recommence my beloved work with renewed and hopeful energy, happily conscious of the blessing it will bring to hundreds of weary hearts, rejoicing beyond measure in my own share of its mercies and privileges, and leaning with absolute and entire dependence for strength, support, and success upon God, and God alone!

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January Sih. — Our “Silver Wedding Day” was to have been the occasion of great rejoicing, and of united praise to the loving Lord who hath led us by a right way, and shown us such abundant goodness all our journey through life. Kind friends had prepared congratulations and festivities, and all were looking forward to a good and pleasant time;

when, lo! a hindering hand is laid upon our schemes of joy, our rehearsal notes of song are hushed, and a “cloudy and dark day” overhangs the house where the dear master lies sorely sick. Yet, blessed be God! it is not all darkness; the eye of faith can see the “silver lining” to the cloud, betokening the brightness beyond, and promising fair weather and future sunshine for those who with prayer and patience wait for them. I look out from the window of the sick-chamber over the broad landscape which is the joy and glory of Beulah’s hill, and I see across rolling fogs and billowy mists, far away on the plain, or upon the side of the distant hills, some favoured spots where the sun is still “lighting his beacon fire,” and where warmth, and light, and beauty, like the angels in Jacob’s vision, are ascending and descending a ladder of sunbeams set from earth to heaven.

From my vantage ground on the hill I see the lights as well as the shadows in this great picture before me; my eye o’erleaps the clouds and darkness, and rests rejoicingly on the distant splendour, and my heart finds comfort in reading the sweet lesson thus set before me.” Take courage, my beloved,’’ I say to the dear sick one, “the sun has not ceased to shine, nor has our God forgotten to be gracious. Though we are enwrapped in gloom, over there some are even now rejoicing in present brightness, and by-and-by the clouds will pass away, and the time of the singing of birds will return again for us.”

“After the storm, a calm;

After the bruise, a balm;

For the ill brings good in the Lord’s own time,

And the sigh becomes a psalm.”

Very consoling also, and precious, have been the many kind words which have reached us by letter as well as by word of mouth to-day; our eyes have filled with happy tears, and our hearts have been comforted by the sweetest of sweet messages from hundreds of loving hearts, who hold the dear Pastor in tenderest remembrance, and who, for his sake, unite my name with his when offering either sympathy or congratulation. One such precious missive, taken without choice from the mass of letters, will show something of the kindly feeling which has cheered us to-day, and seemed to fill the sick-room with “comforting creatures as well as creature comforts.” — “Dear Mrs. Spurgeon,” says this friend, writing the day previous, “to-morrow you will celebrate your ‘ Silver wedding, and we should not like the day to pass without saying how devoutly we thank God that you and your beloved husband are spared to one another, and how earnestly we desire that the future may bring you the choicest blessings that our Father in heaven has in store. Unknown to you personally, yet your name, with that of dear Mr. Spurgeon, is enshrined in our hearts. Next to our blessed Saviour and each other, the love of our souls gathers around you and yours.... You will have a host of letters, so I will not detain you by writing much; but among those who shall utter their fervent congratulations, none will do so more lovingly than “Yours faithfully,

a

This is very sweet and pleasant; but a little note which succeeded it charmed me even more, and I put it on record here with the firm belief that its touching, childish plea for “poor ministers,” and the pretty, unconscious grace with which the little maiden’s precious coin is offered for their comfort, will induce many others who are quite “grown up” to follow her tender example. She writes: “Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, I shall be eleven years old to-morrow, and papa says it will be your ‘Silver wedding day.’ I have not a present worth sending you, but I should like to send you a half-crown towards a book for some poor minister who cannot buy books for himself. My papa is a minister, and I know how pleased he is if we make him a present of a book; but mamma says there are scores of ministers who have no one to make them presents of books except you. I wish I could send you ever so much more. Papa and mamma hope you and Mr. Spurgeon will live to see your golden wedding. I shall be grown up by that time, and perhaps have more money; then I can give you what will send more than one book. Yours affectionately, Nellie.” God bless the dear child, and grant that so fair a bud of promise may unfold under every. happy influence into the fairer flower of consecrated womanhood.

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Each year there has been occasion to record in my little book the quaint, yet tender utterances of some Quaker friend, either with reference to my work in general, or to a desired gift of books. These notes are always cherished with special veneration and pleasure, and though the epistle which follows has little to do with the Book Fund, yet its sweet sympathy with my now suffering husband endears it to my heart, and seems to claim for it a place among many other treasured remembrances. “Dear friend, — May I call thee such, though we are strangers as to the outward? In a time of late severe and protracted illness with my own dear husband, I have felt ofttimes such near sympathy with thee, that I trust the expression of it will not be an intrusion; I think not, because it has seemed something like an intimation of our heavenly Father’s will that I should tell thee so; and also that we, in common with many others of the Lord’s children, do bear you on our heart’s best remembrance before Him. Much should we like our dear unknown, yet well-known friend, C. H. Spurgeon, to hear that ‘morning by morning,’ and ‘evening by evening,’ his portions have not only refreshed and instructed us, but brought him to remembrance, with desires that he may be comforted of God with the comfort wherewith he himself has comforted others. It is in my heart to say much more, but I will only add that I am — Thy sincere friend,.”

February. — There is quite a “run” of applications upon the Book Fund at this present time from clergymen of the Established Church, and I may as well confess that I have a special liking for their courteous letters and their frank appeal for books. I take it that there is commonly a real felt need of sound theological teaching, and a deep love of pure gospel truth, in the hearts of these young divines, when they solicit the gift of the works of the once despised Baptist Pastor from the willing hands of his wife; and next to bestowing books on “our own people,” it pleases me most to place “The Treasury,” the “Lectures,” or the “Sermons” within reach of their hands and hearts. In some cases it may be quite possible that the volumes are sought for the

IS*

scarcely admitted purpose of wholesale appropriation, but what then? notwithstanding every way, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is preached, and we therein do rejoice, yea* and will rejoice. How many a young curate with small ability, but gracious spirit, might serve his Master well, and “feed the flock of God” with more convenient food, were he to cast aside his own “manuscript,” and preach boldly and bodily a sermon from the “Tabernacle Pulpit”! I am told this is very often done, and I can but say, “May God bless the doing of it!” It is no secret that sermons (so called) are bought and sold at so much per dozen, and constantly read in the churches of our land. Would it not be a grand change to substitute for those formal, lifeless essays, the utterances of one whose earnest, living words, the Spirit of the Lord most constantly and signally blesses? Often when I am sending these volumes to clergymen, I feel a delightful anticipation of the blessed harvest that may spring from such seed, and I have the satisfaction of earnestly praying that God may “give the desired increase.” “I am very glad,” wrote a vicar to me lately, “that you have been able to help my fellow-labourer with the gift of sound evangelical books. I cannot but think such a work will have a very important bearing upon the spiritual well-being of many souls, and therefore I hail it with great pleasure.” This is graceful testimony to the value of the Book Fund service; but still more encouraging are the grateful letters which record the thanks of those who have sought and obtained the boon of books they could not buy.

A young curate having been four years in training for missionary work, and waiting his appointment to foreign service, asked me for “The Treasury of David;” “for,” said he, “I am desirous of having this most useful work constantly by me, to use both devotionally and as a help in the preparation of my sermons.” My readers will see in what spirit he received the gift, when in acknowledging its safe arrival he wrote, — “After opening your parcel 1 could not help kneeling down and thanking first Him who is the Giver of every good and perfect gift, and asking Him to bless the books to my soul and future ministry.”

Again, another curate writes, “I received on Saturday

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evening a parcel containing nine volumes of Mr. Spurgeon’s works; a present so munificent and valuable, that I am really at a loss how adequately to express my thanks. They are, indeed, most useful, earnest, and notable works, and have doubtless done, and will still do, an immense amount of good. Many thanks, also, for your kind wishes for my success in the ministerial career: I trust God will bless my poor efforts, and the perusal of the books you so generously sent, to the edification of His people, and to His own great glory.* *

An appropriate termination to to-day’s entry will be the words of a postscript — brief, but full of blessed meaning — to one of this morning’s letters: — “I know many a pulpit that is being better supplied through your gifts of books. The other week a brother minister wept as he told me that many souls would have to bless Mrs. Spurgeon’s Godformed fund for better sermons preached by him.”

Lord, I do praise Thy dear name for this sweet token of thy blessing and favour.

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If any proof be needed of the book hunger from which our poor Pastors suffer, it is here produced in the fact that one of them is willing to sacrifice his dearly-loved pipe in order to procure mental food, and has sent me the money which would otherwise have been spent in tobacco, that I may furnish him with an extra quantity of books. I do not know when I have had a letter which so much pleased me: not that I should ever grudge a good man his comfortable smoke, but that I so heartily admire the self-denial and determination which, after a hard battle, conquered the daily, and, as some might put it, the dirty habit of a lifetime. The good brother writes that he “has been trying to break off the long-acquired use of smoking, so as to devote the amount usually spent in tobacco to the purchase of Mr. Spurgeon’s works;” and he goes on to describe how strong was the desire for the indulgence, and how many failures he experienced before arriving at the steadfast stage of complete indifference to his once absorbing solace. Doubtless the bodily discipline has strengthened his mental energies, and with Paul he has found it wise to “bring under his body, and keep it in subjection, * It may be that the laying aside of this self-indulgence was necessary to his soul’s health, and the untrammelling of his spirit, and that the Lord will give him “much more than this” in the refreshment of his mind and the increased power of his ministry. To do anything for Christ’s sake “makes that and the action fine,” and I gather from his own words that though “the struggle for the first four days was terrible,” he is now rejoicing in his emancipation from a domineering and damaging habit; for he says, “I cannot express to you how thankful I feel that I have been enabled to overcome it.” Five volumes of sermons will be purchased by this abstinence, and to these I shall add four more; and when they are safely lodged on his book-shelves, I know he will feel glad and grateful to see, in so substantial and precious a form, the hard-earned cash which otherwise would have been dissipated in smoke. And although the graceful blue wreaths no longer curl lazily up from beside the study fire* nor the long-accustomed lips any more press the slender, seductive pipe stem, the better incense of prayer and praise will not slacken; for the Lord will command that His servant’s lips be “touched with a live coal from off the altar”; and such an inspiration will more than make up for it alL

March. — Some days since, a great blessing came in the shape of a huge package of gentlemen’s clothing, comprising a very extensive and valuable wardrobe, so large as to be capable of useful division among six or seven poor Pastors, and securing to each one a goodly portion. Herein I see again, as at other times, the goodness and gentleness of the Lord; for He sends these supplies opportunely, and with tender regard to the immediate needs of His servants. The parcel came from an unknown donor, and, at the time I received it, it was not only unexpected, but I had no applications on hand for such things as it contained. Almost immediately afterwards, however, there came letters from six Pastors, disclosing the saddest possible details of Restitution

and poverty, and we could but exclaim, “The Lord must have meant these coats and vests and beautiful under-garments for these special people!” I love to believe it was even so. Is He not at this very time preparing glorious array for the summer lilies, and weaving a tender green dress for the “grass of the field ‘*? Are not the “eyes of the buds even now peeping through the black lattice of the boughs” in expectation of being “clothed upon” by the care of the great Creator, and is He likely to be unmindful of His children’s needs? No, surely not; “for your heavenly Father knoweth that you have need of all these things,” and if He so deck the lily and array the grass, “will He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” So the pleasant task was given into my hands to distribute the raiment which His own love had provided for some of His servants, upon whose lips the doleful cry of “Wherewithal shall we be clothed? *’ was just beginning to tremble. “I had been asking God to send me a pair of new shoes and a pair of trousers,” wrote one poor pastor, “and how to begin to thank Him I do not know. Our hearts were so filled with gratitude on seeing your kind gift that we saved our meal, for all appetite had fled in the excitement, the children skipped and clapped their hands for very glee, my wife got quite fidgety in thinking of her new dress, and the sense of God’s goodness to us all completely overpowered me. The clothes fit me beautifully, and you will know I needed them when I tell you that those I am now wearing are in their fifth year.” This pastor has three services every Lord’s-day, and three week-night services; a wife and five children to maintain, and his income is ^53 per annum! Yet hear what he says of his Master’s service: “I am far from complaining so long as my God uses me, though in a very humble way, for His glory and the good of my fellow-men.”

If God’s birds and lilies seem sometimes to be better cared for than certain of His poor servants, is it not because we, as fellow-servants, are not anxious and eager enough to do the will of our Father in heaven? “If,” says a well-known

writer, “men are in a worse plight than the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, the blame lies at the door, not of divine, but of human providence.” We might with delightful assurance be “labourers together with Him” in this matter of temporal provision for His dependent ones, for He would use us to feed and clothe them, even as He uses the sweet influences of sun and shower to beautify the grass of the field, or charges the willing earth with the commissariat of all the “fowls of the air.** There is a deep and satisfying happiness to be found in ministering to the wants of God’s servants, and every such opportunity missed is a loss of the sweetest and purest joy. Help some poor Pastors yourselves, dear friends, and you will find that the blessings you bestow upon them for the Master’s sake will return to you like richly-freighted ships, bringing you a heavenly cargo of spiritual recompense.

Continuing for a while the subject of the last entry, I will give a few more details from the letters of those ministers who received the gifts of clothing already mentioned. One says, “We are all very pleased with the share we have in the contents of the parcel. There is something for wife, children, and myself, and everything is so suitable and helpful. I scarcely know how I shall feel when I get on the nice warm clothes, and my wife says she will look as she once did, in her new dress. I must say I experience a certain amount of pride in the beautiful things, and the nice underclothes, and the wife says I shall look like a gentleman!” Certainly none could more deserve to wear the outward garb of “one of nature’s noblemen” than this much-tried and much-enduring pastor. He has been battling this long time with no small tempest of adversity and sorrow, — all God’s waves and billows seem to have gone over him, and he has been brought into the deepest of deep waters; but at the very moment of his saddest extremity the Lord wrought abundant deliverance for him, and through those dear friends who make me their happy servant in this matter he has been brought out of all his distresses, and a new song put into his mouth, of praise to our covenant-keeping God. He says, “I feel the load removed which has burdened me so long, I see my precious books saved from dispersion, I see the faces of my wife and children lit up with joy, I seem to hear the

Ten Years cf my Life

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congratulations of those comrades in the conflict who have always stood by me, — what can I say to you, or to the friend who has so generously helped me, but that I thank you with tears and prayers, and bless the name of the Lord.” “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.” If I were to tell all I know of this pastor’s sufferings, his pains, his privations, and his heroic patience, the revelation would bring tears of pity to my readers’ eyes and murmurs of admiration to their lips; but I must forbear, lest my words should seem to intrude too far into the sanctuary of his inner life, and touch with undue familiarity on matters sacred to God and his own spirit But ah! as I turn over the pages of the letters which are so full of gratitude for help received, I note with aching heart the undertone of sadness which mingles with the surface song of praise. Even the present joy cannot quite blot out the dark lines of past anxieties and sorrows. “I have been so very unwell all the winter,” writes one of the bravest little women I know, “that our expenses have been .unusually heavy, and I had put nothing by for the little boy’s advent, so when he came we had no money in the house, and having to take our salary little by little, times being so bad with the people, we hardly ever seem to possess any.” “We never were so straightened as now,” writes a pastor in Essex, “my income fell off last year more than twenty-five per cent., and I assure you we have wanted the common necessaries of life, and I have come to my last pair of trousers. When I put the ‘note’ into my wife’s hand, she burst into tears, embraced me, and said, ‘What a mercy God has raised up friends to be so kind and good to us!”’ So the tears mingle with the smiles, and “the clouds return after the rain,” and these poor, tried servants of God struggle on bravely through difficulties and anxieties which never ought to be allowed to oppress and burden them. “The people to whom we minister in holy things,” wrote a pastor to me a short time since, “have but little conception, in fact, seem to have none % of the straits to which we are sometimes driven in order to pay our way and keep ourselves and our families respectable. I have had many a battle to fight with the devil on this ground, for he tempts one to give up the work which pays so badly; but, thank God, I could not live without preaching the gospel, though at the same time my heart often bleeds that I cannot provide myself with the books which would give me a greater fitness for the discharge of my sacred duties.” I am afraid the charge of wilful ignorance brought by this minister against his people is only too well founded and universal. But what a thousand pities it should be so! Are there not generous hearts in every Christian congregation who will cast aside with shame this growing apathy to their minister’s grave anxieties, and no longer bear the sin and blame of such an evil indifference to his cares and circumstances? There are hundreds of Christian ladies in England who sigh for some quiet, tender little service for their Lord, yet fail to see this, which waits even at their doors, and which would, if taken up heartily by them, not only introduce into their lives a definite, warm-hearted purpose, but would carry brightness and blessing, nay, a very revolution of joy, into ministerial homes all over the land.

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April. — Four crown pieces, labelled “Silver blossoms for the dear lemon tree,” were sent to-day by a beloved friend to cheer my heart and help forward my work. She says, “I have had them a long time lying by; for my dear departed mother used to save them as a little present for me, and I never before could part with them; but when I read how you began your good work, I felt I must devote them to the Lord in the same way, and they come to you with love and prayer.” This is a pleasant and unexpected result of my simple relation of the facts connected with the formation of the Book Fund; I thank God for it, and earnestly hope my friend’s loving example may induce others to follow it, and consecrate their “hallowed things” to the Lord’s service. I can testify that such an investment will well repay them; for the value of my pretty coins, which were a free-will offering to Him, has not only been restored tenfold, but a glorious “usury” of joy and satisfaction has been added, without which I should now deem myself poor and needy indeed.

There have been, also, other kind gifts placed (figuratively) at the foot of my beautiful lemon tree, for which I am very thankful. Let me say to all those tender, responsive hearts who choose this graceful manner of bestowal, that I greatly appreciate their sympathy, and that I earnestly wish for them a fulfilment in their own experience of George Herbert’s quaint prayer: —

“O that I were an orange-tree,

That busy plant 1
Then I should ever laden be,

And never want

Some fruit for him that dresseth me.”

Two letters this week, from dark and distant parts of the earth — one from Calcutta, the other from China, and both containing money for books — have brought good cheer with them, which must be shared with my dear friends. The Book Fund does not profess to do much for foreign missions; but whenever an appeal presents itself it is responded to with loving haste, and many cheery little tokens of blessing have been received and treasured up as unexpected rewards for long-forgotten services.

Most of the staff of the “China Inland Mission” look to the Book Fund for a parting gift when preparing to leave home and friends for work in that land of idols, and it is delightful to know that the books thus given are a comfort to them in their exile, and a constant help in their spiritual life. The following letter from the wife of one of these missionaries will, I hope, lead many to pray for such devoted workers: —

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — My htsband has for some time felt exceedingly desirous to possess the fifth volume of “The Treasury of David,” and we have only been waiting for the Lord’s goodness to enable us to send for it: now He has graciously given us a small sum, part of which we feel at liberty to devote to this purpose; but instead of purchasing it, I write to ask you to give it to my husband, and accept the twenty shillings for your Book Fund. I cannot refrain from proposing this, because I know how greatly he values the gift you made him, when last in England, of the first four volumes. Oh! they have proved to us a “treasure indeed”; we have half an hour daily at morning prayer over them, and never without profit, sometimes obtaining precious morsels as from the Lord’s own hand, upon which our souls feed all the day long. We are here alone y His solitary workers in the midst of thousands of blind idolaters; but He is with us, and the sweet assurance of His presence sustains us in His glad and glorious service! Pray for us.”

Is not this a lovely little letter? Its simple words fairly sparkle in my eyes like the jewels of the Kingdom. Here are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith — and they drop like choice gems from the lips of this “King’s daughter,” while with sweet, unconscious grace she tells of her Lord’s love and faithfulness. Need I say I sent her the fifth volume of “The Treasury,” and other books to accompany it?

The next letter is from a Wesleyan minister at Calcutta, and gives some hopeful tidings from that quarter; it shall speak for itself, and enlist your sympathies, as it did mine: —

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — You were good enough some time ago to present me with a most valuable parcel of books. They have furnished me with many sermons, and much incidental blessing and help* Here in India our work seems unusually laborious and discouraging, but there is one feature of it which is at least promising — I refer to the

work among the Baboos, or educated natives, of this great city

They read greedily everything one gives them, and my purpose in writing you is to beg for a parcel of Mr. Spurgeon’s little books to distribute gratuitously among them. They are the exact thing needed by these young men now, I believe. I hardly know if this comes within the range of your good work, but I hope it may, for it would contribute largely, I am sure, to the success of mine. I suppose my friends here would deem me an enthusiast if I were to say that I believe idolatry is on its last legs. But it is very certain that the great majority of the Hindoos in this neighbourhood do not believe in their religion; they have a profound contempt for their system, and despise themselves for submitting to it. They excuse themselves on the ground that their fathers did it: and in this unchanging East, what has been must be; and so for the present they show an outward respect to Shwa, and Douga, and Kali; but the days of these gods are numbered, and it only needs that the native mind be stirred up to a grand point of courage, and all this part of Bengal will come over to Christianity bodily. This is why I ask your help.

By the kindness of the Wesleyan Missionary Society, I sent out a good parcel of the books asked for by this good brother; and very earnestly do I pray that each little tractate and sermon may bear a blessing in its pages to the poor souls who have so long sat in darkness and the shadow of death.

A friend just recovering from a long and painful illness, sends me ;£ioo to-day for Book Fund and Pastors’ Aid, as a thankoffering to the Great Physician and Healer. My heart is lifted up with joy at this great and good gift, yet at the same time it is overwhelmed with a sense of unworthiness of so much mercy and love. How gracious is the Lord to remember my work thus tenderly, and incline His servant to entrust this consecrated offering to my hands, making me the happy bearer of bounties and blessings to His necessitous ministers! Deep gratitude to my faithful friend, who has long helped me in this loving work, blends happily with sincere pleasure in his release from pain; and this sum of money, devoted and sacred, stands like an altar of gold before us, from whence the sweet incense of united praise and thanksgiving shall rise to the God who hath done such great things for both giver and receiver.

Now, with such a full purse, I shall be expecting fresh and frequent demands upon it; the Lord must have some prisoners languishing for the deliverance He has so mercifully provided, some fainting ones looking out wistfully for the succour now close at hand; and, oh, what a joy to be the messenger of His loving mercy, the distributor of His Kingly largess! I feel impatient to scatter this increase of goodness, and enrich at once all the destitute hearts and homes whose secrets have been revealed to me; but I must deal wisely with my wealth, tutoring my hand to obey the Lord’s signal, and binding my desires to yield perfect obedience to His will. He knows whom to call to the feast His love has provided, and the guests when they come will be both willing and welcome. Often am I charmed by the sweet spirit of cheerful endurance and holy contentment, which is apparent in some of those servants of Christ who are most tried and burdened by earthly needs. Only this morning I had a letter which came to this blessed conclusion — “Many times when God has appeared for my help, I have truly felt I would rather be poor and straitened like this, and know so much of His goodness and faithfulness, than be above temporal care, and miss the sweetness of His timely help.” Surely this is testimony which brings glory to His name; and to carry comfort to such witnesses for God is an enviable honour and privilege.

* * * *

May. — We have open-air concerts day and night now at “Westwood”; for the songs of a multitude of feathered choristers round about the house give us constant and delightful entertainment. During the day, blackbirds, thrushes, and a host of sweet-voiced finches, keep up a succession of chorales and concerted pieces with amazing zest and energy; but as night draws on, and the moon sheds her soft light over the landscape, our listening ears are charmed by the still more delicious music of the nightingales, who sing their lovely solos and duets from the covert of a bosky little coppice at the foot of the hill. What floods of liquid melody they pour forth from their tiny throats! One listens with almost bated breath to the marvellous notes, fearing lest any earthly discord should disturb with unseemly jar such heavenly strains, and wondering with vague solemnity whether the old philosophers were warranted in their assertion that u all sweet sounds moving by the mystic laws of number are an aspiration towards the music of the spheres, a reminiscence of the universal harmonies.” Be this as it may, to hear the nightingale’s love-song is an experience which we who are near dwellers to a great city cannot expect often to enjoy, and the first time I threw open my window to admit the mysterious warblings I was enraptured, and felt quite prepared to endorse all that has ever been said or written in their praise. Then, when night after night the charming serenade grew louder and more fluent, alternately trembling with tenderness, and gushing forth with quick impulsive throbs of joy, I seemed to be listening to some stray notes of the unceasing Ten Years of my Lift

symphony of praise which rises to God’s throne from His glorious creation. My spirit was stirred within me, and I longed to swell the grand chorus, even though it might be but with one feeble note of unison. ‘Tis true my offering of praise is but as a sparrow’s homely chirp; but it may not be restrained; not a glad chirrup of deliverance, not a twitter of grateful thanksgiving must be lacking. The nightingale’s song set my soul singing, and poor as the score is, it must be written down here, lest an occasion be missed of telling of the Lord’s great goodness and mercy.

I look back on the past fourteen or fifteen years of my life, and all that time seem to have been passing through a narrow winding valley, where pain and weakness made the walking rough and difficult, and where sometimes the Shadow of Death fell across my very feet Yet no terror reigned there, for it was a prosperous and fertile place, as valleys often are; the dew of heaven lingered in its depths, nourishing many sweet flowers of faith and patience, which perchance might have dropped in a sunnier spot, while now and again the weary traveller found “quiet resting places,” provided with such abundant compensating delights, that in their enjoyment the toil and trial of the way were well-nigh forgotten. And now even this exceeding goodness is exceeded for by the power and love of the Lord the “valley has been exalted,” the season of constant suffering has given place to a brighter experience, and though health and vigour are very far from being perfect, there are times when so much of life’s purest pleasures can be enjoyed, that one feels every song should be a psalm, and every breath should bear a burden of praise. Verily, God hath been very gracious to me; He hath brought me out into a “large place,” and given me a “goodly heritage,” where I can

“With the sunlight on my forehead
Stand upon the mountain’s brow,”

and, gazing far below, see all the way by which He hath led me, and wonder at and admire the love and wisdom of His guiding hand. Oh, for the power to shout forth His praise 1

“Lord, place me in Thy concert; give one strain To my poor reed.”

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name T And you, ye nightingales, sing your loveliest lays, and make the night-air vocal with your matchless music; bring the tribute of your minstrelsy to Him who gave you such ravishing voices; perchance ye shall lure other hearts, as ye did mine, to join in your celestial melodies; and the Lord will bend His ear to listen to the feeblest note of thanksgiving from the lips of His redeemed ones. So, “till the day break, and the shadows flee away,” and the blessed time come when we shall “praise Him day and night in His temple,” we will sing our “songs of deliverance,” and comfort ourselves with His own assurance, that “whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me.”

A friend wrote the other day: “Are you getting on nicely with your * Book Fund Diary?’ I hope you will not forget to give us a bunch of May flowers in its pages.” “How is

this to be done?” I asked myself, somewhat puzzled by the friendly suggestion. Many days the question followed and perplexed me by its vexatious persistence; but to-day I find it unexpectedly and delightfully answered by reading “between the lines” of a letter received this morning containing only these few words:

jQ 2o for dear Mrs. Spurgeon’s Book Fund.

Altenberg, in Sachsen.

Who this generous donor is remains a mystery, for no clue is given to his or her identity; but I am quite sure the Lord inclined the heart and prompted the hand of the sender, and so I take the gift from Him with humble, thankful love. And these sweet surprises, these beautiful blessings which my gracious Lord so often sends me, shall be preserved in the pages of my little book as one presses a rose-leaf or a frond of fern.

“There is rosemary for remembrance, —

And there’s pansies, — that’s for thoughts.”

And they shall be enshrined as memorials of His goodness to

encourage my soul in after days, or as precious evidences* of His faithfulness, for others to look upon with admiring love.

Worthy of a place among the sweetest flowers of remembrance which these pages have ever preserved is the following letter from a Church clergyman. No perfume of rose or lily can equal the fair fragrance of this grateful and gracious acknowledgment of blessing received; no beauty of leaf or tender tendril can compare with the loveliness of this loving deed, and, though the words in which the tale is told are brief and simple, I lay them up before the Lord with great delight, and thank and bless Him for such a precious tribute to the value and importance of the work He has given me to do. After alluding to a painful bereavement which he had lately sustained, my friend says: — “When making application some time back for books from your Fund, I stated that my income was under ^150 per annum. Since then it has been increased; for by the will of my father I became entitled to a legacy which I never anticipated, and I have now much pleasure in enclosing a cheque for £$ as a contribution to your Fund, and as a grateful acknowledgment of the great benefit I have derived from the perusal of ‘The Treasury of David.’” To receive money in this way is one of the happiest experiences of my life. I do not think I should love the Book Fund half so well if it were supported in any other way than by those “voluntary contributions” which are so manifestly given because “the love of Christ constraineth us.”

* * * *

I have constant testimony to the blessing which God graciously causes to rest upon the pages of the books sent out by the Fund. It is not to “The Treasury” and the “Sermons,” and the larger works merely, that the honour is given of being as waters in a thirsty land, or as food to a hungry soul; but the smaller messengers carry with them an influence and a life-quickening which can come only from the breath of the Spirit of God, which clothes the words with power, and makes them mighty to accomplish His good purpose in the hearts and minds of men. Dr. Fish’s “Handbook of Revivals” has been signally owned of God as a means of rousing drooping energies, or as a timely help in seasons of blessed soul-awakening. “Thank dear Mrs. Spurgeon,” wrote a pastor quite lately to my husband, “for the books she sent me some two or three years ago; amongst them was Dr. Fish’s work, and I have often looked sorrowfully at it, taken it down from the shelf, read some portions, and put it up again with a deep sigh. Should I ever want it? Would God ever visit this town? Now, it is invaluable, and, acting on the hints there thrown out, I am earnestly endeavouring to harvest the fruit, and feed the lambs. * Glory be to God! ’”

A Primitive Methodist minister, to whom I gave this “Handbook,” always carries it with him in his journeys round the circuit, and “finds it a great and blessed help” to him. Watson’s “Body of Divinity,” and the works of various authors which I have from time to time distributed, have all had their share of divine blessing; and my spirit is often refreshed by hearing how useful and precious the grants of the Book Fund have been. “You do not know how much good you have done me and my dear people,” writes a country pastor. “I often feel sorely how needful it is to pour in knowledge if I am to pour it out; and you have given me an inspiration, which I hope will never cease.”

Curiously enough, as I am writing the last words of this paragraph, there is put into my hand a guinea from a minister not rich in this world’s goods, with these words, “Your Book Fund is doing such a good work, and is so .great a blessing, that I wish I could give ten times the amount.”

June. — Taking advantage of my friend’s suggestion to preserve a “bunch of May flowers” in the pages of my “Diary,” I will this month give my readers some “leaves of June roses.” They have fallen, fair and sweet-scented, irom some charming letters just received; and will well repay me for gathering them up, and storing them safely, if their fragrance proves pleasant to the kind and generous helpers of my work.

With God’s blessing, your husband’s “Sermons” have made me what I am as a preacher; I always carry them about with me, and read them to those I visit.

In addition to “The Treasury,** you have generously sent me some other valuable books, all of which are new to me, save by the catalogues sent from time to time by the publishers, which are generally as useful to me as the fabled grapes were to the fox.

You have filled my house with sunshine, and my heart with overflowing joy. The Lord bless you a thousandfold in return, and long spare you to be a comfort and help to His servants.

When I came home, my dear wife had all the books laid out on the study table. Our joy knew no bounds. I had been destitute of books so long, and now so rich a feast was spread before me, that we could only give vent to our feelings by pouring out our grateful thanks to Him for whose glory the gift itself was made.

Words cannot tell you how delighted I am with the books, nor how grateful I feel for them. “The Treasury” I had seen before; but I never expected to own the five beautiful volumes. I cannot hope to repay you either for them or the other books, or the letter you sent with them. I can, however, ask my Father to bless both you and your work, and I shall most earnestly do so.

I hope by-and-by to be able to purchase all Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons,” for I have met with no books where I got so much substantial food to feed on — so much fresh seed wherewith to grow my own poor harvest.

I am now in receipt of your most worthy and excellent gift of books, and acknowledge with heartiest thanks, and every expression of grateful appreciation, my lasting obligation to you and Mr. Spurgeon. His faithful and cheering words have often been wonderfully blest to me, and have filled my whole sky with heavenly light. It would be dishonest on my part not to acknowledge the spiritual benefit I have received, since I entered the ministry, from his precious “Sermons.”

I am very, very pleased with the books, but find it impossible to convey on paper my deep sense of gratitude. It was my joy once before to receive a parcel which helped me exceedingly in my work. The volumes of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” which it contained have been of immense assistance to me, and now this fresh cause for thankfulness almost overwhelms me. May God abundantly bless you in your great work of helping poor Pastors, for thus you very practically help the churches.

I received the books, and shall set apart an hour or two next week for special thanksgiving to God, and prayer for you and dear Mr. Spurgeon.

The “Sermons” are invaluable. An old lady told me lately that she always knows when the clergyman has been reading Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons,” as he preaches so much better afterwards.

I was perfectly astonished when I saw the large pile of precious treasures. In some books one finds a deep draught of thought here and there, but “The Treasury of David” is brimful and running over, and keeps running over like a spring of living, life-giving water. Your present will, through divine grace, prove a great blessing to my hearers as well as to myself.

These testimonies are a choice joy to me. They come daily, like the flowers, to cheer and refresh my spirit, and sometimes I wish my friends had not to wait twelve months for their share of the reward of service; but I try to conserve some of the sweetness for them — as the sugared rose leaves and violets of the sunny south are prepared — and hope I may not be wholly unsuccessful.

* * * *

A lady who manages a Working Meeting connected with one of our suburban churches writes thus: — “There has been a proposal made among a few of the friends who help us, that we should in future work for the poor of our own neighbourhood; but the majority of us are quite determined to do the little we can for those who are working for the Lord as ministers or missionaries. If you still think (as I am sure you will) that there is need for efforts like ours, will you kindly say so when you are writing to me?” The Society superintended by my friend has rendered gracious and important service to many needy ministers of Christ for several years, and I am sincerely thankful that most of the members mean to continue their work in the same direction. Not that I would for a moment ignore the claim of the poor dwellers in the courts and alleys to Christian charity and compassion — let their bitter poverty and their dense darkness plead for help and light with unanswerable pathos — but we must not on this account relax our efforts on behalf of poor ministers; not, at least, till an important change has taken place in their position and circumstances. Their needs are at present more urgent than ever they were; for the sad agricultural depression, which has for the last two years obtained throughout the land, has told heavily on the

slender finances of country village Pastors. Constantly I am hearing of diminished stipends; and knowing, as I do, that at the best of times the salaries of so many of our ministers are pitifully meagre, I marvel at the patient endurance of these good men, and pity with all my heart the wives and children who suffer and share in the penalties of such enforced poverty. “Our income has fallen off by nearly one half,” writes one of these distressed ones lately, “and, as a consequence, I have to get my salary by dribbles, as I best can. My people have never been able to give more than £50 per annum, but even this they cannot now provide. My last quarter’s salary is not much more than half paid, and another quarter will soon be due, so you will see I am sorely tried, and know not what course to take.” I am devoutly thankful to be able, by the Lord’s goodness to help cases of this kind which come under my notice; but there are hundreds more who need timely succour, of whom I may never hear, or for whose wants my small store would be wholly inadequate. If our wealthy and well-to-do churches were to take up as a duty the care of some of the weak and feeble ones, what a lightening of burdens, what a curing of heartaches, would ensue! I bless God when I see signs of awakened attention to this important matter, and am delighted beyond measure when I find He has permitted my little book to stir up some pure minds to remembrance of the wants and woes of poor ministers. I had a letter lately which told a pleasant tale to my willing ears when the writer said, a Your Book Fund Report has led me to take great interest in a new Dorcas Society we have established in connection with our church; we work for needy ministers with large families, and send a box of new clothes about Christmas. I take your book to the meetings and read it aloud, and all are much interested.”

* *

I should be intensely happy if my small service for the Master’s servants were but the beginning of better things for them throughout England and elsewhere. What God graciously enables me to do might be very greatly extended and improved upon by others, and who can calculate the blessing and benefit which would result from united and considerate effort on the behalf of the many poor ministers of Christ who do truly “bear the burden and heat of the day”? Moreover, the work brings good wages. The gratitude of loving hearts is pure gold, and the blessedness of giving is never more graciously realized than in ministering to the necessities of the saints. “This day is one of good tidings,” writes a country pastor, whose distress has been somewhat alleviated by the Pastors* Aid Fund, “if I should hold my peace the very stones would cry out against me. I felt the sweetness of communion with my God this morning, and could rejoice in Him as my portion; but scarcely had I risen from my knees when I received your kind letter, and the very precious gift it contained. My heart leaped for joy. It brought me again upon mp knees to thank my loving Father, and to invoke His richest benediction on you, who have been, and still are, as an angel of mercy, delivering me in the time of need. I had not been long in my study before the valuable parcel of books arrived, and now I find words but poor vehicles in which to convey the feelings of my heart. I tender you my warmest thanks, and join you in fervent prayer that these precious books may better fit me for my work, and help me to glorify my Master.’*

Is not such a letter as this a present and most pleasant recompense for a very small amount of care and trouble?

July. — Two ladies were looking over the list of donations in the Book Fund Report for 1880, when the whispered enquiry passed between them, “Who can 4 My Sea Gull* be?**

The curiosity modestly expressed by these friends may have provoked other minds; and though, as a rule, the names of my contributors are veiled by initials or private designations, I have no objection in this instance to reveal the identity of the owner of so singular a nom de plume. My dearly beloved son, Thomas, is “My Sea Gull,** — a bird of passage, truly; obliged to leave the dear home-nest, and cross the wide ocean with weary wing in search of

health in a sunny land, — as yet finding no settled rest, and perhaps even now pluming his wings for another homeward flight When his first voyage to Australia was decided on, he playfully announced himself as “Mother’s Sea Gull,” and ever since, the name has been a tender memory to me, and a home remembrance to him. Very pleasant to me is my dear son’s love and care for my Book Fund work; in his very last letter came a gift to it, labelled, “A feather from Sea Gull’s breast.” Discerning eyes may note among the donations to its funds, not only his own love tokens, but many a gift from friends “over yonder,” whose affection for him has translated itself in this graceful and delicate fashion. If those kind donors should ever read this little book, I should like it to express to them my tenderest thanks, my deepest gratitude, and say, as sweetly and persuasively as printed words can say, “For all your love and kindness to her son, his mother blesses you; for the help given to the Lord’s work in her hands, may that gracious Lord reward you;” and if, as is probable, my wandering boy should see these pages before he once more gazes on his mother’s face, let him read between these lines something of her gladness of heart for him, her great content in him, and her fervent thankfulness to God on his behalf.

* *

The following is from one of “our own” men, who pleads for a grant of books for a U.M.F.C. minister — with what result I need scarcely say. But a few sentences at the close of his loving epistle touch very tender spots in my heart, and I think friends will know how to make excuse for the little bit of maternal pride, and the larger share of exultation as the “President’s” wife, with which I transcribe the following words: — “It is now nearly twelve months since dear ‘ Tom’ preached in Ballarat. The people talk still about his discourse at the * Academy of Music 9 to two thousand three hundred souls; also of his speech at the usual evening meeting on ‘All for Jesus.’ He stayed with me three or four days, and when he went away the house was quite dull. We keep ourselves posted up in these distant parts about home affairs, and very often on Wednesday evenings I read to my people something about dear Mr. Spurgeon and his work. I gave them, also, your Book Fund Report, which deeply interested them. Distance does not lessen our love for the dear place at Newington, nor for those whom God has so wonderfully honoured. If there is anything that will bring tears to my eyes, tears of love and gratitude, it is * Auld Lang Syne.* There! they are in my eyes now, and I can scarcely see to write. The deepest love of my heart to you both.”

Those good friends who take pleasure in examining the details of my work may have noticed that every year there are some thousands of single “Sermons” sent away for distribution, and they may like to know that this is generally by request of some village pastor, who has at heart the spiritual needs of the people around him, and who seeks thus to reach some who cannot be induced to enter a place of worship. Not unfrequently, also, the request is made by a lonely worker who has to fight single-handed the giant evils of Ritualism and Rationalism, and he finds these “Sermons” like the “smooth stones from the brook,” which in David’s hand dealt death to the enemy, and wrought deliverance for Israel. Circulated as tracts among the people, they do their work silently yet surely, and many a heart receives its first awakening from the perusal of these little messengers, which were perhaps received carelessly, or admitted grudgingly to the home which they are destined, by God’s grace, to brighten and sanctify. It is a pleasant thing to put such a sheaf of swift arrows into the hand of a poor pastor, that his bow may be “drawn at a venture” over and over again: at a “venture,’’ did I say? Nay, rather with the blessed certainty that the Lord will direct these heavenly shafts to the joints of the harness, and cause wounds which He alone can heal. To-day I have a letter acknowledging the arrival of a parcel of these “weapons of war,” which I sent to a small Yorkshire village, and the pastor tells me, with evident delight, of the joy and interest excited in anticipation of the opening campaign against the powers of evil. “We met

together the other evening,” he says, “to put the covers on the ‘Sermons, and do other work in the way of starting our Tract Society. It did my soul real good to see the unanimity and heartiness with which our friends undertook the work. May the good Lord help and bless them in its performance.” I always feel very sanguine as to the result of such an undertaking, when it is done “heartily as unto the Lord”; for He, in His great goodness, seldom fails to command the blessing, even life for evermore, to attend the testimony of His servant by these “Sermons.” I have endeavoured during this year to increase the number thus sent forth on their mission of mercy, and though I may never hear of the good which shall be accomplished by them, they shall surely bring “glory to God and goodwill to men.”

* *

August — A new source of pleasure in my work has opened up to me in the application of many High Church clergymen for gifts of Mr. Spurgeon’s works. I regard this extraordinary circumstance with unlimited satisfaction, and while I attend to the demands of these longing souls, I experience a thankfulness which finds its best expression in a devout doxology. That the “Evangelical” party in the Church of England should desire and appreciate Mr. Spurgeon’s writings is no marvel; for, as one of their chief men remarked in a recent letter to me, “they more accurately represent the theology of the Thirty-nine Articles and the Prayer-book than much of the rubbish which is foisted nowadays as Church of England doctrine upon the unhappy congregations”; but when men of decided Ritualistic views voluntarily seek the aid of the Book Fund in their eagerness to secure the “Sermons” and “Expositions” of the Baptist preacher, our first feeling of astonishment is rapidly merged into one of pleasurable expectation, and we cherish a hopeful, humble confidence that the Lord’s hand is in the matter, and that He has His own purposes of love and mercy to perform by this instrumentality.

In one of the Midland counties the curate of a most “advanced” Ritualistic church wrote pleadingly for my gift of books; and his vicar, who has beforetime indulged in allusions to the Baptists of the town as “abominable dissenters,” actually sent a very courteous letter of recommendation on his behalf. The books were forwarded, with earnest prayer that a blessing might rest on every page. In acknowledging the grant the recipient says, “I cannot thank you sufficiently for the trouble you have so kindly taken for one who is quite unknown to you. Tell Mr. Spurgeon I shall highly value his ‘Treasury’ and ‘ Sermons,* and hope to reap much benefit from his ‘ Lectures to Students.’ I never write (I presume he refers to MS. sermons) without a prayer for God’s guidance and blessing, and I shall study these books, looking for the divine enlightenment. I send you a view of my church — it holds about seven hundred people, and to-morrow I hope to assist in five services, and preach twice.” Note from this experience, dear friends, how urgently the Book Fund needs your constant prayers, since such a responsible trust as this is vouchsafed to it. The volumes which you enable me to distribute are now continually passing into the hands of those who claim to be “priests” and the only authorized spiritual teachers of the people. I pray you, ask earnestly that our gracious God will give entrance and power to the faithful words so unexpectedly sought by them, and that He will show them, through these books, the beauty and purity and heavenly wisdom of a simple and unadorned gospel.

It is pleasant to see the rapid growth of kindly feeling among these gentlemen under the influence of the Book Fund’s gifts. “I shall point to this present,” says another High Church curate, “as an instance of kind Christian sympathy underlying considerable difference of religious opinion.” When making application for a grant, this clergyman had conscientiously informed me that his views were widely divergent from those of Mr. Spurgeon on many important matters, and that, in fact, he was “what is called a Ritualist,” though he did not admit the correctness of the appellation. “I rejoice, however,” he says, “that there is much in common among all who really love our Master and work for Him, and I hope I need not assure you that

your gift will be respected, treasured, and used, by the help of God.”

* * * *

Singularly relevant to the above paragraph is the following letter, which came to hand a day or two after those remarks were penned. It speaks volumes for itself, and I insert it that its unusual statements may stir up our friends to constant use of “effectual fervent prayer” for God’s blessing on the printed “Sermons”; seeing that He has thus wonderfully opened a way for them in unexpected places, and that issues so important and eternal depend upon their teaching. I give the letter almost in its entirety, suppressing only some few sentences which might undesirably lead to recognition of priest, people, or place: —

Madam, — Having heard that you kindly assist poor ministers with books, permit me to state that 1 am an ordained priest of the Church of England; and though prevented by age from holding any permanent curacy, I am engaged at a stipend of ^30 per annum, in two villages, and have to go some distance on Sundays, in different directions, for morning and evening service. On the second Sunday in Lent this year I was needing a text, when suddenly I remembered the “Three Thens” (Isaiah vi. 1 — 8) by the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, and gave it as a morning discourse at... 1 was afterwards asked by a district

visitor what induced me to select so singular a text, and another hearer said she had never listened to anything like it before, while the majority of the people were so pleased, that during the nine Sundays I was there the church was full every afternoon. It seemed something new to them. When the Rector returned, though so many approved of my ministry, some of the better class complained that the sermons were too long, they thought I was never coming out of the pulpit! In country places fifteen minutes is the limit of time a curate is expected to take in reading his sermon. So now I have abridged many of the discourses in The Sword and the Trowel, and they have never failed to be acceptable. I met a carter driving his team the other evening, and he said to me on parting, “Ah, sir, the common people hear you gladly.” Might I respectfully beg the favour of a few of the earlier volumes of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons”? I should deem the gift a great kindness; for they would help me considerably for some time to come, and benefit the souls of many; for those I have already used have greatly instructed and built up in the faith those to whom I have delivered them.

Thus “Christ is preached,” you see, dear friends, in most unlikely places, and, perhaps, sometimes in the very pulpits where, alas! “another gospel” has already obtained entrance.

Verily “God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.” What horror would have taken hold on the

dignitaries assembled in the Church of St on

that memorable morning of their Rector’s absence, had they known that they were listening to the utterances of the Pastor of the Metropolitan Tabernacle! But, doubtless, the Sermon they thought long and wearisome was a “savour of life unto life” to some of God’s hidden ones there, and my heart sings with joy at the opportunity of helping this good man in his notable scheme of using those printed discourses to set forth “Christ, and Him crucified.”

* * * *

September. — The mail from New Zealand this week brings me £41 3s., as the proceeds of collections made for the Book Fund on the occasion of my son’s farewell sermons in Dunedin. The delight with which this grand sum is sent is rapturously expressed in the dear boy’s letter, and the unselfish love which devised and accomplished so successful a surprise might well furnish a pleasant theme for a fond mother’s pen. But although deeply grateful to my darling, and the generous friends at Dunedin, at the risk of most unwillingly damping the fervour of their joy, I have been obliged to confess my intense objection to a public collection for my work, and my regret that, even in this one instance, my ride of looking up to God oitly has been departed from. This is the first time the Book Fund has emerged from the quiet privacy which I covet for it, and it will, I hope, be the last occasion on which its modest services will be presented for the consideration and support of an assembly of people. All these years I have “made my boast in the Lord” that not a penny for its funds has, by my consent, been sought or solicited, but from Him; and I have gloried in the fact that my treasury has ever been entirely dependent upon His generous and bountiful hand. How right royally He has supplied me, let the records of my work tell forth to His honour and glory.

During the course of six years He has entrusted to me over nine thousand pounds for the supply of the mental and bodily needs of His servants, and during all this time there

has been such a wonderful balancing of demand and supply, that I have been amazed at the condescension of the Lord in stooping to such details of careful love. Need I say that I am satisfied with His mercy? or that I prefer the sweet state of reliance on Him to any attempt to enlist earthly interest and favour? Even the very “trial of my faith,” which comes sometimes from a low exchequer or the failure of some favourite spring, is too precious to be exchanged for anything less heavenly in experience than waiting till His voice is heard saying, “I will fill thy treasures.” It is quite possible that many of my friends may fail to sympathize with me in these scruples, but none, I trust, will venture to think that in thus recording them I have forgotten the gratitude due to a very gracious act, or am insensible to the tender love which preferred the enrichment of “mother’s work” above all considerations of self-interest. The entry which occurs on page 1 70, was written before I knew anything of this public subscription, and will so far prove to dear friends in the Antipodes that their loving gifts to my Book Fund are intensely valued by me; but, lest that should not be enough to convince them, I will again repeat in all sincerity that when the Lord inclines their hearts to remember my work for His servants, no offerings are more warmly welcomed or more affectionately appreciated than those which come to me from my son’s loving friends, and bring with them, from the distant land of his exile, some pleasant tokens of his increasing Christian influence and power.

if. * *

It is often a matter of sincere regret to me that I have to confine my work within comparatively narrow boundaries, and limit my grants of books almost exclusively to poor Pastors of churches. There are hosts of local preachers and lay workers to whom the gift of a few books would be an incalculable boon; but, with the solitary exception of “Lectures to my Students,” which I give to all who preach Christ — I am obliged to declare the Fund open only to ministers, to the exclusion of many earnest workers. The sole reason for this is that I have as much work to do as one pair of hands can manage, and any extension of the gratuitous benefits of the scheme to brethren not in “actual charge” would invite applications to which I might be*unable to respond. So I keep plodding along in the old ways, only casting a wistful glance now and then on paths along which my feet would love to travel, were they but as vigorous as they are willing, and if my strength could keep pace with my spirit. Sometimes in a roundabout way, either as gifts from friends, or by small regular payments of their own, the worthy men of whom I speak do get some little help and comfort from my Fund; but there are so few who can either afford the reduced price I charge, or find a generous hand to aid them, that such cases are included in my usual routine of work without much additional labour. Let me relate an instance of the latter class, where Christian love worked her sweet will most winningly. One of “our own” Pastors, himself a very successful preacher, has for a deacon a good man who is a “local,” whom God has greatly blessed in Bible-class work, and in bringing many souls to Christ by the spoken word. His very limited income, and the claims of a large family, prevented his expending money in books, and though he long hungered for “The Treasury of David,” he could not spare the money to procure it. So his good pastor prepared a pleasant surprise for him, sent me the money for the volumes, and asked me to forward them, which I gladly did, adding the “Lectures to my Students” from the Fund. The good man’s joy was great, and will be best told in his own words of acknowledgment. He says

I can but poorly express my thanks for the very generous present which I had the happiness of receiving by my loved pastor’s kindness. To one who has to work for the bread which perisheth for wife, self, and seven little ones all day, and to do his best to perform not a few humble yet timetaking duties in connection with church, schools, and Band of Hope in the evening, such helps and hints as are contained in “The Treasury” and “Lectures” must be invaluable. I feel assured that the reading of these books will stimulate the brain, refresh the heart, and, above all, draw the soul into closer communion and fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ. Already I am anxious for the Sabbath to return, that now, being better equipped for the Master’s service, I may be the instrument of bringing many hearts under the influence of the thoughts and teaching of your dear husband, that so God’s name may be abundantly glorified.

How fervently I wish that many who only pray that God’s kingdom may come, would help those who are steadily working for it! The labourers are strong, and willing for service; but tools and appliances are sadly wanting. Who will come forward t6 supply them, and hasten on the time when men shall not need to say,” Know the Lord”; for all shall know Him, from the least unto the greatest?

* * * *

As the years roll on, I think I realize more thankfully than ever the great mercy and happiness with which God has filled my life, in permitting me to scatter abroad so abundantly the precious words He enables my dear husband to speak. It is a joyful task for a wife to dispense bread to the hungry, treasure to the needy, and cordials to fainting souls from her Lord’s bountiful stores; but here is a better service, one of which an angel might be envious; for by this tender ministry saints are fed with heavenly food, the poor are made rich unto life eternal, sufferers are comforted with the comfort of God, and sinners are ransomed from everlasting death. How can I thank my Lord enough for giving me even a small share in the bestowal of such celestial alms and favours!

The presentation of a useful and suggestive book to the three hundred ministers annually assembling in Conference is now an established institution, and it is only right that the kind friends whose contributions enable me to make the gift should possess some knowledge of its character and quality. My dear husband this year selected one of exceptional excellence, entitled, “In Prospect of Sunday,”* of which the reviewer in The Sword and the Trowel says, “We wish we could present a copy to every poor minister of the gospel in the three kingdoms. It is full of holy thought of a kind which begets thought, and has our warmest commendation.”

Many grateful acknowledgments have been received from the Pastors accepting this book, all testifying to its great helpfulness.

By Rev. G. S. Bowes.

October. — A few days ago, a search among drawers and boxes and little out-of-the-way corners resulted in the production of a miscellaneous collection of old chains, coins, brooches, rings, and trifling trinkets, which, being submitted to the valuation of a kind friend, were generously said to represent £ 6 ios. in cash, and the exchange of vanities for money was duly made to the great gratification of the vendor. With the six sovereigns and a half in one’s hand, a private mental discussion ensued as to the final destination of the amount. “Should it go into the common treasury of the Book Fund, or the special purse of the Pastors’ Aid, or — ugly, selfish thought! — might it not be used to purchase one pretty jewel for personal adornment?” Before the question was decisively answered, a letter was received which quickly settled the matter; for, thank God! the knowledge of His servants’ needs soon dislodged all desire to use the money in any service save theirs. When I calculated how many blankets and yards of flannel my six pounds ten shillings would buy, I felt I could almost kiss the coins which by their potent magic could transform my useless trinkets into so many substantial winter comforts. I pictured to myself the joy and gratitude which would be felt by those to whom I sent such blessings, and tried to imagine the relief to heart and life which the possession of these needed comforts would bring. Yet I doubt whether I have not done a selfish thing after all; for the laying out the money for God’s needy ones is a pleasure so exquisite that I feel sure their happiness in receiving must fall far short of the joy I have already experienced in planning the gifts.

I know there are hundreds of Christians who taste this blessedness more plentifully and constantly than I can ever hope to do; but are there not others, perhaps a large majority, who through thoughtlessness or forgetfulness “care for none of these things”? Surely it must be a reproach to many who profess to be followers of Christ that they stow away as useless in their houses, articles which would go far to increase comfort and brightness in a poor pastor’s barely-furnished home; and that year by year on their wardrobe shelves lie garments which might have

afforded warmth and solace to his shivering children. I know scores of ministers who do not have a new coat for the space of three or four years; yet some of their rich brethren, who claim to serve the same Master, have during that period spent on the superfluity of their dress a sum which would have comfortably clothed a whole family. “Do not think me troublesome, dear Mrs. Spurgeon,” writes a much-tried wife, “but my poor little boys are in want of warm clothing now that the cold weather is coming on, and as we have a family of eight children entirely dependent on us, and our eldest daughter always ill, you will understand what a heavy burden my husband carries, and I am sure you will pity and help us.” I did both, and put gladness into their sorrowful hearts; but this case is only one among so many, that I sometimes think all my efforts are unavailing, and I begin to feel the least bit discouraged. Oh, how thankful should I be to God if some who read these words of mine would straightway resolve to help me, and seeking out a weary, heavy-laden servant of God — I should not wonder if they discovered their own minister in such a condition — give themselves no rest till they had lifted his burden and comforted his heart!

a a e

This year has been a notable one for valuable presents of books for my poor Pastors, and my earnest thanks are hereby given to the kind friends who have supplied me with volumes which I have been proud to distribute among those whose mental hunger has seldom opportunity of being satisfied except through the Book Fund. I am delighted to confess how deeply I am indebted to some of these loving donors, and with no small pleasure I quote the following sentence from the letter which accompanied a very choice addition to my store. “Dear Mrs. Spurgeon,” said my friend, “I have given away a great many books in my day, but none with greater satisfaction than those I now send to you, for I feel that they will be speedily set to work, and go on duty at once.”

Would that my record of” presents” ended with those which call forth my gratitude and admiration. Alas! I have to renew my yearly complaint that people in mistaken kindness will send me the rubbish they know not how else to get rid of. I remember saying in my last Annual Report that I had received almost every sort of inappropriate and unsuitable volume except a “Cookery Book,” and I congratulated myself that such an indignity had not yet befallen my Fund But I have now been brought to that “lowest depth;” for in one of the unwelcome parcels forwarded to me lately there are two musty old tomes which bear the title of

“The Complete Housewife,
and Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion,
being a collection of upwards of seven hundred of
the most approved receipts for Cookery,
and above three hundred receipts of Medicine.

London: 1766.”

After this I thought I might have borne anything; but to-day has brought me a still sharper experience, and I feel constrained to exclaim against the cruel kindness of people who thus so thoughtlessly trouble and burden me. I had received an anonymous note bidding me expect the arrival of a case of books for my “Clerical Library, carriage paid as far as possible.” With much anxiety I awaited the advent of the case, and when it made its appearance, its size was so imposing that I did not grudge the nine shillings I had to pay for its transit, confidently hoping to find many choice treasures in its contents. Judge, then, my annoyance and my indignation on seeing when it was opened that, with the exception of a few well-bound books of third-rate worth, the case was chiefly filled with old hymn-books, works by Unitarians, and books against believer? Baptism! /

Does it not seem cruel to mock my dear work thus, and give me a “stone” for my poor ministers who are asking “bread” at my hands? How to get rid of the rubbish was now the question. “Put the old lumber in the furnace,” said an excited helper in the unpacking. “No,” said another, whose manifest annoyance somewhat solaced me; “no, it would only choke up the flues — it is not fit even for that

use.” The end of the matter was that the books were put out of my sight, and I was consoled by one proficient in the heavenly art of comforting; but even he could not quite charm away the grief of disappointed expectations. I had written to two or three ministers who needed standard Commentaries and other expensive theological works, telling them that doubtless such literature would be plentiful in this huge contribution to a “Clerical Library,” and that they should be supplied therefrom; instead of this, I had the mortification of confessing myself a poor deluded mortal, incapable of fulfilling the hopes I had raised No remonstrance can reach an anonymous donor; but I can again plead very earnestly with all who read this little book, to refrain from sending books to my Fund unless they are standard works on theology, of real use and assistance to a pastor in his preparation for the pulpit.

* * * *

It is not my aim to fill as many shelves as I can in a minister’s study with anything that comes to hand in the shape of a book. This would be an easily-accomplished task; but my work would lose its value, and God’s blessing too, if such flimsy motives actuated me. I must have books well-chosen, .appropriate, suggestive, sound, and spirituallyhelpful, and with these I can carry on a work which, by God’s grace, will have issues extending from time to eternity. What care I for the size or the binding, so long as there is “life” within? Hear what an “old student” says of the little brochure, “Glories of Christ,” which was the Conference present last year. He writes thus — “It is the first book of ‘living skeletons’ I have seen. The Epistle to the Hebrews I have read more than any other part of the Testament; but this charming book has brought out a host of beauties which I had never before observed. I do not often get hold of a book that I can use as I have used this. Many, many thanks to Mrs. Spurgeon for it” This is the sort of thing that makes the Book Fund a blessing, dear friends, and I pray you, either send me the money to procure such books, or such books themselves, or leave me unencumbered by trash which a dealer in second-hand books would refuse to cart away.

Here, perhaps, may be the proper place to speak of the great kindness of all the publishers with whom I deal; for they seem in my case to put the idea of profit into a very secondary place, and to be almost as anxious as I am to help poor ministers. I think I have not met with a single exception to this rule, and I record the fact with much thankfulness.

* * * *

November. — A request came to-day for help of a kind which it is not in my power or province to afford. This does not often happen, and seldom have I the pain of refusing any such request. “But,” said my counsellor, before whom I laid the matter, “you cannot take your funds for the purpose of printing books, however good they may be; and, wifey, you* have quite as much work on hand now as you can get through.” “Yes, indeed, that is true,” I replied, and a moment’s reflection showed me a very bright side of the fact, and drew from us both a grateful ascription of praise to our loving Father. “Do you notice, husband,” I said, “how closely the Lord keeps the work within the bounds of my strength? Year by year, about the same sum of money comes from His hand. If one friend fails me, He raises up another, and, without advertisement, without offer or inducements of any sort, the stream of applications from the right people follows the course of the channel of supply. Six years now have witnessed this constant incoming and outgoing; a quiet, steady work, just fitted and moulded to the weak fingers which joyfully guide its machinery. Is not the Lord’s tender care seen in this?” “Put that in your Report, wifey,” said my “Head.” So, I put it in.

Can I give my readers too much of a good thing? So many fresh testimonies to the value of the “Sermons,” and the constant use of them by ministers of all denominations, have reached me lately, that they seem to claim notice in my journal, and to be very meet and proper matter for its enrichment A Wesleyan minister writes: —

You are doing a good work in this distribution of “Sermons.” The world has never seen anything like the influence* of that single pulpit, and I am one of those who pray for the continuation of its power. Very suggestive are these discourses to me. I do not preach them in whole or in part, but I get my sermons through their inspiration, and from their texts, and as guided by their methods. (The italics are mine, but are very significant). I am not unfamiliar with books, but nothing helps me to hit the centre like Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons.” These “leaves” are for the healing of the nations, as few other printed leaves can boast of being, and I find them an encyclopaedia of evangelical truth and teaching.

Another preacher says: —

The weekly issue of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” has, for many years, been highly prized by me. On Sunday afternoons, between my own services, I always set apart a special time for their earnest and prayerful perusal, and I can assure you I always receive much edification and refreshment from them.

* * * *

The following quotation is from the letter of a returned missionary, who, for the better prosecution of his ministerial work in England, solicited a grant from the Book Fund.

I am very, very thankful for your kindness, he says, the volumes will be a great help and comfort. The “Sermons” have been a treasure to me for the past fifteen years. Many a one have I put through my own little mill, and then given it to the people of the West Indies; and when they have said, “Oh massa, it be one berry good sarmont,” I have thought to myself, “Yes, it ought to be, and I don t wonder you like it!’

Here is another extract to much the same purpose. A Scottish student missionary writes thus: —

Your dear husband’s “Sermons” are always like marrow and fatness to my soul. I never fail to find in them food of the highest order. Not later than last week I read one on prayer, which I shall nof soon forget. How it encouraged my heart! How opportunely it came! How it stimulated me to renewed effort in the work of soul-winning! Time would fail me to tell you a tithe of the blessing I have received from Mr. Spurgeon’s works, and I can assure you that the volumes you have sent will be a life-long treasure to me.

Precious testimonies! I bless God upon every repetition of them.

The following letters from an Independent minister and his wife will tell their own tale with simple eloquence. Some years ago I sent the good man some books, but I had reason to believe that a second grant would be as welcome and as well-used as the first; and with them, knowing his straitened circumstances, I enclosed a little present, which was thus gratefully acknowledged by the lady: —

My dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — When my husband unpacked the dress, and said you had sent it for me, I could scarcely believe him, for the gift was as unexpected as it was acceptable. I need not tell you that a salary of ^90 per annum, with seven in family to provide for, does not leave much wherewith to buy dresses; and though my husband does not smoke, nor drink anything stronger than water, we have great difficulty in making both ends meet. But the Lord is very good, and always sends help in time of need. My very heartfelt thanks are due to you for such a suitable present, and will you also please accept my gratitude for your noble gift to my husband; he prizes the books more than jewels and gold.

This is evident from his own words: —

Dear Madam, — No language I can use can fully express my surprise and joy when I opened the parcel of books to hand this morning. How kind of you to send such a rich supply! Just the very books, too, on which, in many a bookseller’s shop, I have cast a longing eye, and ardently desired their possession. For sometimes, having selected a text, and not seeing quite clearly how it should be treated, I would most thankfully have accepted Mr. Spurgeon’s guidance and advice, and have thought myself happy to have followed in his footsteps; and now, through your generosity, I can consult him on many precious portions of God’s Word. Your thoughtfulness in sending my wife so acceptable a present, and the abundant supply of note paper and envelopes you enclosed, show how truly you gauge a preacher’s needs, and how liberally you supply them. When I first beheld the gifts my heart was full, and I could only say, “Bless the Lord”; but I really think if they had been personally presented, my tongue would have failed of speech from excess of feeling; however, I mean to show my gratitude by using the books constantly and prayerfully in the Master’s service, and then I shall hand them down to my children as mementos of that honoured servant of God, whose “praise is in all the churches.”

The reference in the foregoing letter to a gift of “paper and envelopes” will be understood by those who read last year’s Report, and there learned that I have a munificent friend, who not only keeps me supplied, for Book Fund work and private use, with all kinds of delightful stationery, but extends his liberality to my poor Pastors also; sending huge boxes crammed with packets of writing material, which are duly, and by degrees, distributed by enclosure in the parcels of books. I am under a covenant to apply to him whenever my stores are failing; but so lavishly does he stock my shelves that I have never yet had a chance of fulfilling my promise to “ask.” All through this year his kindness has been constant and unvarying, and all the poorer Pastors applying for grants of books have had the satisfaction when opening their parcels of finding ten quires of good paper, with envelopes to correspond, provided by the thoughtful kindness of this dear friend, who seems never to tire of thinking, planning, and acting for the comfort and well-being of others. May the Lord Himself ever satisfy him with His favour, so that he may bear joyful witness to that faithful saying, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

A young clergyman wishes to bear witness to the benefit received from Mr. Spurgeon’s “Lectures.” I am only too happy to devote a paragraph to his letter. He tells me he has read my little book with interest, and till then had no idea of the hardships which many ministers had to suffer. He adds: —

I can well imagine what an immense assistance your Fund is ta them. May it increase and grow as it deserves to do, and may God spare you many years to administer it in the same catholic, noble spirit! You have received many testimonies to the help afforded to young clergymen by your husband’s “Lectures on Preaching;” let me add mine. Some time ago a friend lent me the book, and I there found myself portrayed in more pictures than one. It was not quite a pleasant discovery, and not at all complimentary to me; but it has enabled me to see myself as others see me; and I hope by God’s help to benefit accordingly.

* * * * Such a frank confession as the foregoing deserves commemoration in these pages; so also does the appreciative and kind note of another clergyman who, labouring in a large parish in the north of England, sought the boon of a gift of the books he longed for, yet could not afford to purchase. He acknowledges their arrival in these courteous terms: —

Dear Madam, — I am really very grateful to you for the liberality which has prompted you to act thus to me, a liberality, moreover, of Christian charity in its higher form; for you were aware that it was to a shepherd of a different flock to your own that you were sending your present. May God grant that the books may De useful in helping me to lead stray sheep, from whatever fold, back to the one great flock of those who love and follow the voice of the great Shepherd. I certainly did not know that I was asking for so very handsome a present as the five volumes of “The Treasury” make, and yet your kindness has added to it! I can, but ask you to believe that my gratitude is real and heartfelt.

it * it

December. — Yesterday, December 9th, deserves to be noted as a dies non; for that good gift of God, of which Solomon says, “Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun,” was blotted out and obscured by an almost Egyptian darkness which fell upon us for long and wearisome hours. At 3.30 p.m. midnight had taken the place of “the perfect day,” and spread her sable wings over the reluctant earth prematurely. From the high tower at “Westwood,” nothing could be seen all around but black, lowering masses of dense darkness, which hung like funeral palls from the sky, and now and again lifted their fearful folds only to reveal a deeper and denser gloom beyond. Here and there the glimmer of a near gaslight could be discerned; but not a ray of Heaven’s sweet beams pierced through the dreadful overshadowing, and a stillness more awesome than that of a real night hushed all familiar sounds. As hour after hour passed by, no enlightenment was vouchsafed us, nor could we tell when true night came to dispossess the rival darkness of the sceptre it had so strangely usurped.

Into all this dismal murkiness came two letters from.

Mentone, telling of a placid sea, warm breezes, and clear bright skies —

“Curtains of azure, and crystal wall,

And dome of sunshine high over all” —

letters so full of joy, and good spirits, and glad delight, that for a moment the unbidden tears would gather, from the sheer longing I had to be in the sunshine too 1 But when the shutters were closed, the curtains drawn, and the dreary scene without excluded, I found I was in the land of Goshen still, and had “light in my dwelling”; for, like a star — better seen from the depths of a well than from higher ground — shone the conspicuous mercy that my beloved was spared this doleful experience. I knew the fearful darkness was not likely to stretch its hideous arms so far as the fair shores of the Riviera, and I blessed God for the comfortable certainty that “over there” the beauty and the splendour of an unclouded heaven were doing their sweet restful work on a tired heart and brain. So my gloom was dispelled by the light of my husband’s happiness; for from the “South land” the sunbeams, imprisoned in his precious letters, travelled a thousand miles to cheer me, and by their gladsome message turned my night into day.

I wonder whether this is a faint picture of the comfort wherewith God sometimes consoles His bereaved children, by enabling them to realize the unspeakable blessedness of those who have “gone before.” Temporary separations by distance are but the foreshadowings of a sterner parting, which, sooner or later, must divide us from those whose love seems to be our very life. Happy they who can look beyond the grim darkness of such a sorrow, to the unsullied light and bliss which the hope of eternal reunion affords.

* * * *

I have a letter to-day from a Baptist minister who has been twenty-one years a pastor, and during all that period his people have been too poor to give him more than jQ6o per annum. His life has been a weary round of privation and bitter need, yet he does not complain, but says, “I have much to encourage me in my work; my Father gives me that which more than compensates for poverty; for we have peace in the church, and He blesses His own word to the edification of believers, and the ingathering of sinners.” The Sword and the Trowel has been sent to him all the year, and he pleads for the continuance of such a “boon,” “having no money to purchase books.” After telling me that the income of his little church is sadly lessened by the death and removal of some of his best friends, he goes on to say “If I look forward, the prospect somewhat resembles this December morning; there are no bright rays from the sun, for the clouds are full of drizzling rain, and gloom prevails all around; but God will send deliverance in His own time and way.”

I think I know how to coax a sunbeam to break through the leaden sky and light up the sad heart of this servant of God with its glory; and long before the Christmas snows clothe the cold earth in regal ermine, he shall sing a cheerful carol of grateful thanksgiving to the loving Father in heaven, whose “tender mercies are over all His works.”

Very soon after making the foregoing entry, I was called upon to help another pastor, of whose adversities and embarrassments I have long been most painfully aware. His is a sorrowful story, and he would not like me to tell it all; but alas! it is only one among so many similar cases, that even if I gave the details, there would be no fear of betraying his special confidence. A small salary — a very large family — a weak and sickly wife — want of proper food — increasing expenses — constant debt and difficulty — consequent anxiety and depression of spirit — these are particulars which will as well apply to scores of Pastors in our land as to the one whose distress I have just had the happiness of relieving in some measure. What are these men to do? They struggle on for years, bearing their crushing burden as best they may, till at last the only resource open to them is an appeal to private Christian liberality. Emigration is out of the question with a tribe of children, and a removal to a larger sphere of labour is equally impossible, since no church cares to accept a pastor so heavily encumbered.

Both heart and head often ache with thinking over the woes of which I know so much; and were it not for the Fund, which is lovingly supplied by the liberality of some very dear friends, I should rarely be able to do aught but il weep with those that weep.” But how often is my mourning turned into joy by the Lord’s goodness, and His people’s generosity! I sent off last week a large packing-case full of winter comforts to the house of a minister where the wolf has long been sitting on the door-step, eager to gain an entrance. Through the fraud of a false friend the little private income which cosily supplemented a modest salary was entirely lost, and troubles trod quickly on each others’ heels, till quite a host of disasters invaded the once comfortable home, and shattered its peace and plenty. The little fife’s pathetic appeal would have melted any heart. “Sickness upon sickness,” she says, after telling me of the loss of the money, “has brought us heavy doctor’s bills; none can know, and few could imagine, how we have suffered through straitening circumstances. I have a very poor supply of blankets and sheets, and our under-garments are all worn very thin, having been mended again and again; my husband also is sadly in want of clothes.” To these deeply tried people the gift of a cheque, a goodly pile of garments, some material for making up, and two pairs of warm blankets, has been an opportune deliverance from evil, and, for a while at least, comfort and content will revisit the home, and songs of thanksgiving will arise from gracious and grateful hearts.

A good friend in Scotland has devised and carried out a novel plan of helping me to suitable books for poor ministers. He sends me thirty volumes of sound, useful, expository works selected with care and discrimination, all of them worthy to hold a place on a studious pastor’s bookshelf.

He shall himself tell how curiously he obtained them. He says: —

Dear Madam, — I have this day despatched to you by goods train a small box containing the books enumerated in the enclosed list, which I trust you will accept for the Pastors whom yon aid by your “Book Fund.” You may be interested to know the history of this little box. I am in the habit of frequently picking up books for my own use at the bookstalls, which are very numerous in this city. My wife suggested that I might, while thus engaged, look out for books likely to be useful to your friends (and ours too, I think I may venture to say), and buy them if m good order and cheap. The volumes now sent are the fruit of this suggestion, and I trust they may prove acceptable.

This is a capital idea, and might be carried out to great advantage by many Christian gentlemen, on behalf of their own ministers, with very great satisfaction to both parties. I should not* be jealous, dear friends, if scores of you were to set up a private “Book Fund for Poor Ministers” on your own account; but I should rejoice with unmixed contentment at such gracious rivalry.

THE PASTORS’ AID FUND.

The “Branch Business,” as some of my friends love to call it, still rejoices in God’s blessing, and prospers financially. I have this year received ^425 6s., and given away ^328 12s. 3d., purposely reserving so large a balance to carry forward to some months of the coming year, as one of my most faithful and generous contributors gave his donation so lately that it belongs rather to 1882 than to 1881. My correspondence with the principal donors to this little private “Sustentation Fund” is so constant throughout the year, that they will not look for the printed expression of my deep and heartfelt gratitude; they know that their goodness in entrusting money to me for this sacred purpose is one of the great mercies of my life, and that I daily bless God for the unusual privilege thus conferred upon me; but to those other friends who send now and again a loving little gift for my poor Pastors, with a tender word of sympathy with them in their sorrows, let me here give a warm and thankful greeting, and say, “The Lord remember your love and kindness to His poor servants — ‘in that day! 9”

From what I have previously said, and the many sad cases referred to in this journal, my readers will know how terribly inadequate is the sum above mentioned to meet the

needs of the mass of poor dissenting Pastors. This cup of cold water cannot refresh the hearts of many thirsty, fainting workers; yet I thank my God with all the fervour of which my soul is capable for what it can do, and that I am permitted to hold it to the lips of some, and watch the returning flush of strength and steadfast purpose light up their weary faces! The harvest of the Lord is great, and these labourers are truly bearing the burden and heat of the day: it is a blessed service to go to and fro in the field to carry to them the solace and relief which the “Master” Himself has put into our hands.

Praise be to God for every doubt of His faithfulness scattered to the wind, every murmur hushed, every fear quieted, every sob beguiled into a song, by the opportune gifts of His love through this Fund; for the year just closing has brought additional trials to many whose lot seemed already heavily weighted with sorrows, and the faith and patience of some have been tried as by fire; but who can tell whether the Lord is not even now rejoicing over the “much fine gold” which has come forth from the furnace to testify to His wondrous working, and to reflect gloriously the honour of His great name!

CONCLUSION.

Dear Friends,

The Diary of Book Fund work for another year will now soon be published, and presented to my readers; and, as usual, I ask for it a gracious and lenient reception. There is nothing new or startling in its pages, it tells the same old story of the needs of God’s servants — how patiently they are borne, and how providentially they are oftentimes supplied. It goes over the same well-trodden ground of simple facts, urges the same pleas for poverty-stricken ministers, and gives thanks to God with at least the same abundant cause for gratitude that other years have gathered round them. The task of recording is always a difficult one to me, and it grows more serious as the years roll on, and the freshness of new and delightful experience tones down into the regularity of uniform, yet dearly loved, service. Still I have hope that, by the Lord’s blessing upon it, this latest chronicle of His faithfulness and love will claim as warm an interest in your hearts as its predecessors. The truth of the proverb, quoted in my preface, that

“$tagct aitto $atns brill ho angtijmg,”

is proved by the very existence of this little book; and though I dare scarcely tell how much I believe I owe to my God in this matter, I may say there could have been no “pains” taken if He had not heard “prayer,” and then turned both prayer and pains into “praise.” He has allowed me to receive testimonies to the usefulness of my Annual Report, of which I never even dreamed, and He has sometimes invested it with so tender an influence over His people’s hearts, that I have trembled at my responsibility when writing for another year. May I give just one quotation from a letter very precious to me, to show how the Lord can work by feeble means, and make them mighty to accomplish His loving purposes? The writer says: —

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — The reading of your Report of the Book Fund has been a means of grace to me. When I received it, I was feeling very ill, was much perplexed about ways and means, and I am afraid I was a little inclined to murmur at my somewhat hard lot. But as I read on, I became ashamed of myself, and I had to put the book down while I poured out my heart in supplication for those of my brethren whose case was so much worse than my own, and, as the Lord turned the captivity of Job when he prayed for his friends, so He gave me a song of gratitude when I pleaded for my brethren. I shall never forget the holy joy of my soul in that hour, and I trust that the peace of God which it left with me may never be recalled, or disturbed by a distrustful spirit, or an unthankful neart.

To have one such reward as this, is compensation most rich and precious for the expenditure of any thought and labour; but my Lord has multiplied these mercies to me and recompensed me with kingly munificence. My fervent prayer is, that a like consecration may rest on this present booklet, though there is nothing in it that can bless without His blessing, nothing that can stir the heart unless His Spirit moves upon the face of the waters. But if its perusal

may encourage faith, stimulate to action, lead to thankful song, or in any way bring an atom of praise to the glorious God who has “made all His goodness pass before me,” I shall again most gratefully subscribe myself His very unworthy child, but

Your faithful servant,

Susie Spurgeon.

“Westwood,” Upper Norwood,
Dec., 1881.

SUMMARY OF WORK.

Books Distributed during the Year l88i: — 7,298 Volumes.

Also 10,517 single Sermons for giving away.. The recipients comprised 241 Baptists, 138 Independents, 243 Methodists, 144 Church of England clergymen, 34 Presbyterians, 87 Evangelists, and 27 Missionaries.