The Book Fund Diary for 1883

He Lord’s great love, and the constant kindness of friends, have enabled me to record another year of prosperity to my beloved work. How much I have been favoured, and how richly others have been blessed through the service which is thus supported, these pages will do their best to tell; but they can never reveal the infinite tenderness of God’s dealings with me, nor recount the thousandth part of the mercy and grace which have made my cup to run over. The surface blessings of His love are visible, like the wavelets on a calm ocean’s bosom; but they disclose nothing of the “depth which coucheth beneath,” and is as unfathomable as eternity.

If it be a joy to comfort those who are cast down, and a happiness to have the power of making others happy, then must I be counted an enviable mortal; for in the Book Fund I possess a talisman of potent force, which works marvels of gladness in hundreds of homes, sets the joy-bells ringing in sad and weary hearts, and lights up many a poor pastor’s dreary study with the golden rays of hope and encouragement.

Sidney Smith once wrote: “Mankind are always happier for having been made happy; so that if you make them happy now, you make them happy twenty years hence by

the memory of it.” If this be true of any sort of goodwill to man, it must be doubly applicable to the kindness which bestows books upon him — books which shall be life-long friends, cheerfully taking up their abode under his roof, and serving him faithfully and ungrudgingly till his death.

Langford, in his “Praise of Books,” says so charmingly what I want to say, but fear to blunder over, that I shall proceed to embellish my little Preface with a few of his choice sentences, hoping thereby to inspire my readers with fresh interest in the treasures of which I have the charge.

Says he: “Books are friends, and what friends they are! Their love is deep and unchanging; their patience inexhaustible; their gentleness perennial; their forbearance unbounded; and their sympathy without selfishness. Strong as man, and tender as woman, they welcome you in every mood, and never turn from you in distress. As companions and acquaintances books are without rivals; and they are companions and acquaintances to be had at all times and under all circumstances. They are never out when you knock at the door; are never ‘not at home’ when you call In the lightest as well as in the deepest moods they may be applied to, and will never be found wanting. The friendship of books never dies; it grows by use, it increases by distribution, and possesses an immortality of perpetual youth. It is the friendship, not of * dead things,* but of ever-living souls; and books are friends who, under no circumstances, are ever applied to in vain. They can be relied on, whoever else or whatever else may fail. Books are also among man’s truest consolers. In the hour of affliction, trouble, or sorrow, he can turn to them with confidence and trust In the good sense of the phrase, they are all things to all men, and are faithful alike to all.”

These encomiums fall sweetly on my ear, and awaken in my heart fresh zeal for my work. I long to introduce such friends to poor ministers by hundreds and thousands, and right sure am I that, when once they enter his door, they will be taken into his heart, and cherished as his most precious possession. It pleased me to go so far afield to seek golden opinions for my precious volumes, and I feel rewarded for the search; but I need only have turned to the letters which lie in fast-accumulating heaps on the Book Fund shelves, to glean from them many a graceful eulogy, many a grateful tribute to the worth of books, and to find that, on all hands, the vital necessity and value of these true helpmeets are most warmly recognized and acknowledged. Come with me, dear reader, and glance through the pages of the months; let us see what blessings the books have wrought, and how graciously the Lord has smiled upon the service and its willing servant

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N this first day of 1883 m Y loving wishes hover round my living friends, and my heart says, with very tender emphasis, “God bless them all l” for, it may be that some who have loved my work dearly, may never see the record of this year’s service, — or, it may be that the “servant” will be called to give an account of her stewardship to her Lord, before all the days in the “Diary” shall have been completed. Since I wrote my farewell to the Old Year, the Angel of Death has been busy on our right hand and on our left, calling dear ones home; and some have fled away to glory whom, with selfish love, we would fain have kept imprisoned here. But “the Master was not willing that they should be so far from Him any longer,” and so they are gone to behold His face in brightness, and .to know the bliss of being “for ever with the Lord.” Very mournfully fell the Christmas greetings on our ears; and all the chimes we heard were muffled; for in the homes of our friends, dark shadows had gathered over hearts left desolate, and with sympathetic grief we could feel the chilling gloom of the fatal messenger’s presence, though he but passed our door.

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We were expecting charming guests for all this festive season. We had invited health and joy, sweet content and

holy merriment to meet around our board, and tarry for a while beneath our roof; the “garments of praise” were being prepared, and all the “daughters of music” were waiting to celebrate the coming festival. But it was not so to be. The Lord sent other visitors to our door; and when the time of rejoicing was fully come, behold, pain and grief, anxiety and dismay, presented themselves for admittance, and, at His bidding, silently took the vacant places of the guests whom we were hoping to entertain with so much joy and gladness. Sitting down with this sad company, we ate the bread of affliction, and drank the waters of Marah; our festal robes were put aside, and heaviness of heart covered us as with a garment; fast falling tears were our only music, and instead of making a joyful noise unto the Lord, there fell upon us the solemn and expectant silence of those who “fear evil tidings.” The beloved of our soul was sick again, notwithstanding all the fair promise of renewed health and vigour which we thought secured by his lovely sojourn at Mentone; and while he thus lay prostrate, Death was taking away fond and faithful friends, dealing blow after blow at our hearts, till we seemed bewildered by calamity, and almost learned to dread the dawning of each day lest its light should reveal some fresh and dismal trial. How was it possible that our faces should wear any brightness in the midst of all this sorrow? How could we be made to realize that our terrible guests came not only as envoys from the King of kings, but were in very deed and truth, “angels unawares”?

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To the “praise of the glory of His grace 99 I now record our deliverance from this Valley of the Shadow of Death, and sing of the light at the end which shined into our hearts, and scattered the darkness with which unbelief and sorrow had well-nigh overwhelmed us. It pleased the Lord most marvellously to avert the long attack of sickness which threatened His servant, and when He had raised him up He comforted him so sweetly under the losses which had befallen him, that he was able to comfort others also with the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted of God. And it came about in this wise: Coming home one night sorrowful and weary, with the burden of bereavement pressing sorely on his heart, he was met with the question, “Do you remember how bravely Bunyan’s * pilgrims * passed the river, and what Greatheart said to Christiana, when she, as the first of his company, was called to come before the King?” “A word to the wise is enough”; very little more than that was said; but the book was taken down and the sweet allegory read with most blessed result; for, the next day, when another solemn visit to the tomb was paid, how sweetly and hopefully could God’s servant speak 1 He had but tasted of the honey at the end of this rod, and lo! his eyes were enlightened, and his soul was no longer bowed down with bitterness. He could bid the mourners look from the grave to the golden gates of glory; he could say, “I hear the music of hope drowning the discord of fear; the songs of a joyous faith rising above the dirges of grief.” He could point his people to the promised blessings of adversity, he could even stir them up to a joyful expectancy, and cry, “These clouds mean rich refreshing showers; these sharp frosts foretell heavy sheaves; blessings are on the way from heaven — their shadows fall upon us even now.” Thus, blessed be God, we have “gladness for sadness,” the night of our weeping is followed by the morning of joy; and though the experience has been a painful one, and has cost us many a tear, we know it has had a salutary effect upon our spirit, and has taught us the truth of the “Preachers” words: “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men: and the living will lay it to his heart.”

If mourning friends, or fearful saints will turn to the last pages of the second part of Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” they will there find solace for their grief, rebuke for their trembling, and stimulus for their courage. Every line glows with celestial light, every word seems to have caught the hues of the jewels in the City’s foundation, every sweet thought comes like a “Shining One” to strengthen and comfort the soul. The wonderful “Dreamer” gives so entrancing a picture of the last days on earth of the King’s chosen ones, that our natural shrinking from death is overcome, and we are ravished with delightful anticipations of

the bliss awaiting us when “the trumpet shall sound for us on the other side.” The glory that streams across the river dispels all mists of sorrow, doubt, and fear from the eyes; we can rejoice over our dear ones who have passed the flood and now stand in the King’s presence; and in view of the time when our own feet shall touch the dark waters, we think we can say with Mr. Standfast, “The thoughts of what I am going to, and of the conduct that waits for me on the other side, do lie as a glowing coal at my heart. Lord, take me, for I come unto Thee!”

“Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly,

Straight to yonder world of joy!

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Whether the sun shines, or the clouds gather, Book Fund work knows no pause or cessation. Its little stream may reflect the changes in the sky above it, but it still flows on and on, carrying, by God’s blessing, gladness and fruitfulness wherever its waters find a channel.

Here is a letter bearing the date” Christmas Morning, 1882,” a date which will ever remain in our memories as one “writ in gloomy lines of sorrow”; but to this needy pastor the Book Fund had sent a loving present, and he sees the calendar letters sparkling with brightness, and rejoices to illuminate his note-paper with them. Let us listen to his grateful words, and comfort our hearts with some of his joy.

Your very generous gift arrived safely, and it proved to be so abundantly liberal that my dear wife and I could scarcely believe in our good fortune. Little did I think when I wrote about “The Treasury” that you would send so much more than I asked for. Our hearts are full, our gratitude is greater than I can express. All day yesterday, whenever I had a moment to spare, I was thinking about my new and precious possessions, and wondering what suitable words I could find with which to thank you; but now I feel that I cannot speak what my heart has to say. The value of the “Sermons” I will not venture to estimate. How often have I received stimulus in my work, and gathered holy suggestions from the volumes already in my possession! But these four, completing the set, have a peculiar interest to me, owing to circumstances of which I will tell you, for I am sure the knowledge will increase the pleasure you have in your loving service. Up to a short time since I had taken in the “Sermons” from 1877, and was keeping them fox the purpose of having them bound; but, thinking that they might be a blessing to the men attending my Sunday Bible Class, I gave them up to be circulated among the members, and they were greatly delighted to have them to read during the week. Many testimonies have reached me of the comfort and help these single copies have afforded to the men and their wives, so that I had the joy of knowing that my sacrifice was not in vain. But now that word “sacrifice” is out of place! The Lord has sent me back all my Sermons — clean, fresh, and bound!... Altogether the parcel is a grand present, and will make this Christmas ever memorable to me.

New Year’s Day also brought a cheering word and gift from a pastor who has always been a faithful friend to the Book Fund. “I am glad,” says he, “that the first time I write the date of the New Year, is in sending to you. May it be a very happy one to you and yours — not least to the dear boy who is far away. I enclose 30s. for the Fund, the result of our offering at the 4 Watchnight Service.’ It is not much, but it represents the first free gifts of some of the Lord’s people to the Lord’s work, and was given at five minutes after midnight.”

Let me mention here, with very grateful joy, that I have lately heard of several instances in which my dear work has been remembered before the Lord in the prayer. meetings connected with various churches. This delightful intelligence has greatly refreshed me; for what blessings may I not expect when God’s people unitedly bring my cause before Him in prayer? To Him alone I look for support, and sustenance, and success in this blessed service; but it is pleasant to think that many of the “King’s Remembrancer’s are constantly enquiring of Him concerning this matter, and lovingly pleading,

“Qfyirik upon ft, Horti, far gaafc”

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February. — What subtle charm works silently in the young, fresh months of the New Year, attracting to the Lord’s treasury, at this season, those special and peculiar gifts which are so pleasant to jot down in my Diary? Have the u sweet influences of the Pleiades” a mystic power to draw forth the hidden treasures of silver and gold

as well as to unlock the prison-house of the spring-flowers, and open the eyes of the buds upon every interlacing bough? I have again received presents of “hoarded coins 99 for the Book Fund, and as these always seem to me to bear unusual witness to the power of Christ’s love in the heart, I hail them with joy, and appropriate them to his work with much thankfulness. A dear faithful friend, seeing the story of the “six golden guineas” in the Report for 1882, rejoices “that the lemon plant which before showed only silver blossoms, has now borne golden fruit,” and she sends an old “spade guinea,” the “gift of a dear one now in heaven,” to increase the riches of the emblem tree. Very prettily she says, “I had forgotten that I possessed it till I read your dear book; but I fetched it at once, and I send it with the loving wish that God may bless it to the comfort and help of some poor pastor. It is only a trifle, but God can do great things with trifles, and I send this golden bit to Him with a grateful heart for letting me know He wanted it” Enclosed with the guinea was a crown piece, which had hitherto been carefully treasured “in memory of dear departed parents.” To-day a u valentine from Annie,” when opened, discloses another crown-piece and some choice- and tender words, proving that the special grace and beauty of consecration to Christ’s service rests fully on this gift also.

I lay these and all similar moneys up before the Lord as very sacred things, and, till the time comes when the need of His servants necessitates their being changed into the ordinary currency, they are as a “memorial” in His sight. How much more satisfactory and delightful it is thus to put these talents out to usury, and glorify the Master and refresh His servants with the heavenly interest they bring in, than to wrap them up and hide them away in selfish and unlovely secrecy where they can give no pleasure to the Lord, nor be of any profit to our fellow-men!

If any of my readers recollect my telling them, two years ago, of a clergyman who, for nine Sundays, preached Mr. Spurgeon’s sermons in a church in the rector’s absence, to the great delight and edification of the congregation,

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they will be interested to know that this same gentleman continues his most praiseworthy efforts in this direction, and constantly delivers the sermons in parish churches and elsewhere — condensed and epitomized, it is true, to suit the shorter service required in the Established Church, but none the less really and truly the gospel of the grace of God as preached by His servant, C. H. Spurgeon.

I have been quite charmed to hear from him again and again, and to find that so far from relinquishing the peculiar form of service to which he had devoted himself, he still holds on his course bravely, and is the means of bringing much blessing to the districts in which he labours. He writes, asking for more books; he wants material to “arrange and abridge,” not being in the least desirous of concealing the fact that the discourses so shortened will be repeated verbatim,, nay, admitting with a simplicity and frankness which almost provoke a smile that, “in fact, Mr. Spurgeon’s sermons are the only ones which can be really understood either by myself or the congregation.” The good man’s naive remark may cause us a moment’s amusement, but does it not contain a very weighty and significant truth? If more sermons were preached from the heart to the heart, so as to be easily “understanded of the people,” would not the Holy Spirit oftener set the seal of his blessing upon them? And do not many ministers lose the crown and glory of their sacred office by undervaluing the power of the simplicity of the gospel — the ’ “foolishness of preaching” — while they insist on delivering erudite essays on abstruse theories, “darkening counsel by words without knowledge”?

Let us hear more of what our friend has to say on the subject “No address,” he writes, “could have been more attentively listened to, or have given greater joy, than the one I delivered on Sunday evening, No. i, in F. S., with very few omissions from the original. I feel that Mr. Spurgeon’s words have a power in them, and leave an impression on the heart of the hearers, which other printed sermons fall short of: people begin to enquire about the state of their souls after I have given them one of his discourses.”

Although these proceedings are, doubtless, somewhat 2$S Ten Years of my Life

irregular in the Church of England, I rejoice to be ah accomplice in them; and I intend to do all in my power to forward a project which can only result in the glory of God and the salvation of immortal souls. I do not think my friend has a settled curacy; but it is a grand thing that he should go about proclaiming “all the words of this life,” telling the “old, old story” in simple fashion, to those who perhaps have all their lives known only the cold, lifeless service of mere formalism; and occasionally, it may be, taking “duty 99 in churches where “another gospel, which is not another,” is preached to unwary men. “Only a few Sundays ago,” he says, “I delivered the sermon on .......

‘{I must not disclose too many of his confidences), when every dye was fixed on the speaker, and hearts were evidently touched, and great delight was expressed by the people on leaving the church. Is it not sometimes true still, that “where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise”? If these decorous parishioners, these loyal sons and daughters of old Mother Church, who, doubtless, would have thought it mortal sin to step across the threshold of a “meeting-house,” had but known that with attentive ears, and moistened eyes, and opening hearts, they had listened to the utterances of an unordained man, a dissenting preacher, it is quite within the bounds of possibility that prejudice might have hardened heir hearts, and robbed them of the blessing which that day had brought to them. But they knew not, “the Lord being merciful unto them”; and so my friend, if he has not the gift of ministry himself, as I presume is the case, cannot, surely, do better than speak to the people the very words which have already been attested and sealed by the Holy Spirit with “power from On high.” One thing is certain, this good man’s heart is set on preaching Christ, and helping his fellow-men to heaven, and for this purpose he “sought to find out acceptable words,” like the “preacher” t)f old, and God has given him his heart’s desire. I should liken him to a wise master-builder, who, having on his own land no suitable or available quarry, goes cheerfully afar to find choice and costly stones, for the building he desires should be to the “praise and glory of God.” I pray that his work may abide, as I believe it will, and that at last the

In the Service of the Book Fund. * 259

“corner-stone” may be brought forth with shoutings of “Grace, grace unto it!” One more quotation from his letter, and then I must soon dismiss this very interesting subject. “For several Sunday evenings,” he writes, “I have, with a friend’s permission, invited to evening prayer a number of villagers, chiefly from —, where the voice of the

incumbent is scarcely audible, and on these occasions I read the greater part of one of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons,” to the great delight of all who hear me. I write the sermon out, and this gives me greater facility in its delivery, making me fully at home with the subject” Then he goes on to tell me of a farmer, possibly the” friend” mentioned above, who flrst suggested the plan to him, and lent him single copies of sermons to practise upon, whispering that he had a large quantity of them in his house, but dared not lend them in the village, as he feared offending the vicar, from whom he held his farm. Perhaps this good farmer remembered that of old it was said, “He that withholdeth corn, the people shall curse him;” and so he cast about in his mind for a plan whereby his precious stores of spiritual food might be freely distributed to the famishing souls around him. But did any one ever hear of a more remarkable and unique method of compassing his desires, and “catchin’ ’em with guile f as “Dan’el Quorm” puts it? I think it must have been with some trembling of heart that he first made his startling proposition to the clergyman; but soon he would rejoice to see that the Lord had beforehand “prepared” the mind of His servant to discharge this singular office; and had, in His all-wise providence, arranged all the circumstances which led to so rare a result! All honour to the God-fearing farmer! May his barns overflow, his flocks and his herds increase, and the blessing of the Lord, “which maketh rich, and addeth no sorrow therewith,” rest ever on his heart and home! Like Obed-edom, he has the Ark of the Lord in his house, and because of it the Lord will “bless all that pertaineth unto him.”

An almost unprecedented stress of work during the last eight weeks has left me scant time or strength to continue

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my talks with my friends in these pages. It is wonderful how they fill up somehow, with a line written now and then, and a great desire to do more and better; but if my excessive weariness is observable and patent to my readers in dull and prosy paragraphs, they must be pitiful and indulgent, for my days have been wholly spent in laborious correspondence, and the evening hours find me too jaded, both in mind and body, to be a genial or chatty chronicler.

There is a fatal break in the electric influence which should flash from head and heart to the hand; no spark of thought, or light of fancy, comes to irradiate the darkness in which my pen gropes painfully.

I have received, during the twenty-eight days of this month of February, six hundred and fifty-seven letters; the figures are easily written, more easily read; but they give faint notion of the amount of labour involved in the correspondence they represent.

The careful consideration of each application, the repeated enquiries rendered necessary by inexplicit writers, the anxious solicitude felt in selecting appropriate books for varying needs, the time and close attention required to keep up the constant, voluminous, and detailed entries which such a service demands: all these constitute the work of the Book Fund, and render it a very grave and pressing business, — one which its manager loves with all her heart, even while her hands can, sometimes, scarcely sustain the burden which it brings. Will you pray for her, dear friends?

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March. — (An Angel in the House.) Out of the terrible tempest of sorrow which lately swept over the homes of some of our friends, and brought death and desolation to their households, there came drifting to our shores a little storm-tossed barque, driven by the contrary winds of this great adversity, to seek shelter in our “haven under the hill.” Such a charming little child I A fair pearl of humanity washed from its bed by the troubled tides of life’s ocean, — a tender white dovelet tossed from its nest by a rude blast of affliction, — a “little soul that stands expectant, listening at the gate of life,” — a sweet wee mitherless bairn, whose needs claim the shelter of warm hearts and the loving service of womanly hands. We give a fond welcome to the sweet stranger, taking him to our hearts to love, and to be loved, and have found a singular joy in renewing in some measure the experiences of days long past, but not forgotten.

It is twenty-seven years since “our own” babies’ dimpled hands stroked our cheek, or their pretty voices made unaccustomed music in the house; but the cry of this little one awakens the long-sleeping echoes, and his tiny fingers stray among our heart-strings, touching again and again one of the old chords of purest and deepest melody. Watching his winsome ways, and noting the daily unfoldings of his exceedingly sweet and gentle disposition, I ask myself, “What shall this darling teach us, now that the Lord Christ hath set him in our midst?” I do not think we have been disputing who amongst us should be greatest in the kingdom of heaven, but the Master’s words imply that humility is not the only grace illustrated in the daily example of His little ones. “Verily, I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall in no wise enter therein.” So I set myself to know what special message to my soul lay hidden in that sunshiny face, or perchance, what well-merited rebuke to my unchildlike spirit might lurk amid the charms of his lovely and confiding nature. And I find that baby has been a “living epistle” of faith before my eyes, an unconscious exponent of the blessedness of simple dependence upon God, so that I think I understand more of its sweetness and power than I ever did before. For there is perfect faith and trust in baby’s heart; absolute reliance upon those who love him; unquestioning confidence in their ability and tenderness. The tottering steps grow steady, and are ventured without fear, when his small hand is closely clasped in mine; he leans all his weight of babyhood on my arms, without the shadow of a suspicion that they could fail him: every promise that I give is echoed in sweet babblings from “lips that know no word of doubting”; and, oh, with what glee and rapture does he throw aside his toys and stretch out his pretty hands when I call him to my side! Thus am I taught not to fear or falter while my hand is held by a li stronger than I”: — thus do I see the happiness of leaning

hard on love which is omnipotent, and the wisdom of unhesitating faith in gracious words Of peace and pardon; — thus too, I think I can perceive, faintly shadowed forth, the joy with which I hope to* obey die ioving call to be “forever with the Lord.” The very caresses I give to baby are often strangely mingled with spiritual longings, and many a loving, play with him ends in a prayer that I may “become like this little child. ,, Is it any marvel, that with this sweet unwitting teacher on my knee, I see earthly things still made after’ heavenly patterns, and rejoice that “out of the mouth of babes and sucklings God hath perfected praise”?

Dear, bright-eyed, glad and trustful baby! Your little mission here has been a sacred one; your presence has brought a blessing with it I Your confidence in us has quick-’ ened our faith in God, and our love to you has given us fresh glimpses of our Father’s infinite tenderness!

Ever through your future life, dear child, may these precious graces of faith and love adorn your soul; ever may* it be true of you, as it is at this moment, that —

“of 0ucfj is Bingham af Pfea&en.”

March 22nd, — The following letter, which I received to-day, is so amusing, as well as enthusiastic in its gratitude,; that though lengthy I must transcribe it almost without cur-, tailment, and certainly without comment, for it tells its own tale admirably: — ..

Dear Madam, — It is Monday evening; I have been away from home, and have just returned. On reaching our station, the first thing I did. was to enquire if a parcel had come for me. The clerk answered, “Yes,. it came this morning, and it weighs about two stone 1” “Praise God for that!” Was my mental response. But I do not think the porter who ’ carried k up the hill felt quite so full of glee about it as I did; his looks ’ as he entered the house rather suggested that he was glad to be rid of; it. But now the parcel is laid open, and the books are examined, and what shall I speak? I have heard Christians say, when extollipg the goodness of God, I can never sufficiently praise Him!” and this is just how I feel, for I see the tender kindness of God to me in this gift * of books from you. As surely as the manna came from God for Israel,: so surely has this mental food been sent to me from Him. I asked Him to guide you in the selection of the books, and I know He hears prayer,, so I believe what you have sent Svfll be right for both head and heart.

Tears came into my eyes when I found your note, and there read: “This gift of books comes to you with many prayers and kindest wishes.” How kind of you to say that! I feel I have a goodly heritage, “My cup runneth over!” I keep repeating the words of the Psalmist, “Thou hast put gladness into my heart, more than in the time that their wine and oil increased.”

“Come along, cold winter,” said a countryman when he got a new top-coat, — so, with regard to future work, so far as human helps are needed, I can almost say, “Come along, any quantity, I’m prepared for you!” What a thrill of pleasure went through me when I opened the parcel! Every volume, big or little, seemed to be laughing all over the face of it, and each one seemed anxious to speak first and tell all the news. ’Twas like a merry band of boys and girls bursting into my room and talking all together, — “We have come to live with you,

Mr., Mrs. Spurgeon has sent us; we have had a long ride,

but we are none the worse for the shaking and the journey, for Mrs. Spurgeon took care to wrap us well up before we set off.” “Well,” I said, as I gazed upon them, “I am right glad to see you, but I did not expect so many of you; however, ‘ the more the merrier,’ and I promise you all, you shall have the best place I can find for you in my house, and you shall be my constant and beloved companions.” Dear Madam, — I feel so glad, that I believe I could write a letter a yard or two long! No child with a new toy was ever half so enraptured as I am with my precious possessions. “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.” Glory to His name! Praise Him for ever! GLORY!

[After enumerating all the smaller books in the parcel, and giving quaint welcomes to each one, which I am obliged to pass over for fear my readers should not be quite so much interested in all the details as I am, our “ready writer” comes to the more important works, and thus concludes his song of praise.]

Last of all, here are six precious volumes of ‘ ‘ The Treasury of David.” I have heard of them by the hearing of the ear, but never did I think that I should possess them as a free gift. O Lord, I thank thee! “Thou hast crowned me with lovingkindness and tender mercies.” A beggar knocks at the door, and receives a slice of dry bread — this is kindness. But “little Johnny,” gets a slice with butter on. Ah! my’ soul, this is UwingVmdness — bread with butter on. Dear Madam, — If you only knew how thankful I feel, you would never be discouraged, but rejoice in your work for evermore. May God’s blessing rest upon you and Mr. Spurgeon! Please, tell. him I have long prayed for him, especially when he is preaching to the people. — Yours gratefully

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Here is a loving little letter from a sweet Quaker friend. I place it in these pages to lie like a feather from a dove’s wing beside the gayer plumage of ordinary epistles: —

. Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — Many thanks for thy report of thy interesting work; in acknowledging it, the opportunity is afforded me of telling thee that my warmest thanks are due to thee for thy deeply touching story concerning thy Saturday Sabbath. Each seventh-day evening since I received it has been brightened, solemnized, and blessed to me, as I have realized the scene passing in the “Westwood” study; and I have asked the Divine Master to supply to His highly-favoured minister the food meet for the strengthening and refreshing of his own soul and thine, while seeking to provide for the spiritual wants of both hearers and readers. I must own that the weekly “Sermons” have been received with extra love and blessing since I have thus held sweet communion with you in spirit on the last day of the week. I send the enclosed gift with my warmest sympathy with thy “labour of love,” and with deep gratitude to the Lord for all the good things He dispenses to the world through His dear servant, thy husband. — I remain, thy friend — — .

April. — Appropriately to the season of the year — in April, the ‘‘dripping month” — here follows a heavy shower of blessings, a perfect downpour of benedictions, a rain of recompenses, which has refreshed the thirsty ground of Book Fund service, and prepared it, I hope, for further fruitfulness: —

Accept my very grateful thanks for the large parcel of books which you have so kindly sent. The liberal gift is according to my Lord’s usual dealings with His servant. I asked Him only for “The Treasury,” but, as heretofore, He has given me “good measure, pressed down and running over.” My heart is full of joy, but I cannot tell you about it, I can only pray, as I always have done since I knew Mr. Spurgeon’s writings, that the Lord will bless and strengthen him more and more. I do envy those who have the privilege of hearing from his own lips the powerful words, which, when merely read, seem to send new life into my soul, and give quickening to all my spiritual forces.

I cannot say how very pleased I am with the volumes you have so kindly sent, nor how thankful I am for them. The sight of them has given me joy before I have read them, and I am expecting to spend many happy and profitable hours over them. That they will help me greatly in the study of God’s word, and be a comfort and solace to my own soul, I have not the slightest doubt; and I thank you from my heart for your munificent gift.

Thank you very, very much, for the valuable parcel of books which I received yesterday. Oh, how the very sight of them rejoiced my heart, for I cannot tell you how long it is since I had a new book 1 A sort of inspiration seems to come with their very presence, and the load that often presses on my soul when seeking fresh material for future sermons is lifted off. I think my church ought to send you a unanimous vote of thanks, for they will reap largely of the benefit you have bestowed upon me. It is such a great pleasure to see one’s sets of books nearing conn pletion. You have made me feel quite a rich man, and perhaps the sweetest part of all is the knowledge that neither wife nor children have been robbed of necessaries to furnish me with these treasures.

I hasten to acknowledge the safe arrival of books. Good old

Matthew Henry” has been long reverenced, coveted, and sometimes consulted, but “Alas! master, for he was borrowed!” Now, here he is, all my own, clothed in leather like the old Puritans, and looking as solid and sober as becomes him. For volumes five and six of “The Treasury of David,” thanks and thanks again. To-night I have a service, and I was trying, when your parcel came, to get at some of the * ‘marrow and fatness” in Psalm cxix. 25, so the precious books were opened, and with a look into “The Treasury,” and another look upward to the great Treasurer, I hope to be enriched and furnished beyond all expectation*

I can assure you, dear Mrs. Spurgeon, that it is a source of great Comfort to those of us who are toiling in these dark and remote country districts to receive the assurance that we are not overlooked or forgotten by our friends. We are such creatures of circumstances, that a little human sympathy seems almost necessary to us, and gives a spur to our diligence even in the service of the Master. This expression of your kindness, in the form of a free gift of precious books, is most highly valued, my hitherto almost empty shelves welcome them warmly, and 1 know not how to tell you of all the gratitude that fills my heart.

You can hardly form an idea as to how these books will help me! Not directly onlyp by the intrinsic worth of their contents, but indirectly also. As I handle the volumes, they remind me that a loving heart has thought of me, labouring under heavy burdens. In seeking to serve Christ I have been called to relinquish home ties, and have cast myself entirely on His care. These books add to the many proofs I already possess that the Lord Jesus has not forgotten me, or the work which He has called me to do. I have been longing for “The Treasury” for more than three years, but it has been out of my reach. You will understand how highly I appreciate the gift when I tell you that I possess no helps on the Psalms whatever! Oh, how refreshed and comforted I shall be by these precious volumes!

Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons” have often comforted my heart, strengthened my faith, enlightened my mind, stirred up my soul, and sent me on my way rejoicing. It is a most happy thought, this of your helping us to books, for we study them for others* benefit as well as our own; and in helping those who are seeking to help others the blessing so increasingly radiates, that who can tell where the good influence of your Book Fund will stop?

The books you have so kindly sent me have just come to hand, and I don’t know what words to use by which I can best express my thanks. I do most heartily thank you for all your kindness; you have no idea bow much you cheer the hearts of the Pastors of the churches. Yesterday

afternoon I met Mr., the Primitive Methodist minister here; his

work is very heavy, and he looked tired and jaded, but he seemed to renew his strength and to look young again, as he told me with spark? ling eye and beaming face, how good you had been to him; I can assure you that I shall preach with more joy and vigour on the morrow because of your kind present It was good, indeed, to send the books at all y it was even better to send them on a Saturday. ’

I feel charmed with the Lord’s love and kindness through you* My heart is full, and cannot express its delight and thankfulness.. I was as impatient as any schoolboy for the arrival of the books; my hopes and expectations were very great, but when the volumes were unpacked and spread out before me, I found the reality surpassed my most; sanguine dreams. On my knees I have blessed the Lord again and again, and now I ask Him to deal very lovingly with you, who have so greatly refreshed and cheered my heart.

Your valuable parcel of books is safely to hand, and here I am, up in my little sanctum, surrounded by the wealth thus kindly bestowed. I feel thankful that the mornings are light now, and not too cold, for I must be up an hour earlier every day to feast upon these choice dainties. Your kindness is very great, and your little note of tender sympathy, cheered our hearts. My dear wife most sincerely joins me in loving, grateful thanks. Suffer me also to express the hope that God may reward you abundantly for this great service you render to so many of His poor servants in supplying them with helpful books. If our churches knew the value of such literature to their Pastors, I am sure they would not allow them to be so destitute as many of them are.

* * * *

Have my dear friends had enough for the present of these down- pouring blessings? I could keep them out in such pleasant showers while turning over many more pages of the “Diary;” but lest they be weary of the “rain which raineth every day,” we will take shelter now, and turn our* attention to other matters of interest connected with the work.

The nineteenth annual Conference of the Pastors 1 College was this year looked forward to by us with much pleasurable anticipation. There had been no foreboding of the disappointment awaiting us, as the dear President had been enjoying fairly good health; but when all the preparations; were complete, and hundreds of eager, joyful brethren were’ in attendance, then, — on the very first day of the gathering. the leader was laid low, and beyond conducting the pre* liminary meeting, took no part in the week’s celebrations. Strange mystery of Providence — thus to fetter the hands which would have ministered to so many; thus to hinder the outpourings of the heart which yearned so tenderly over his “own sons in the faith”; thus to seal the lips which could speak so wisely and winningly of “the things which accompany salvation”! He was laid aside to suffer, instead of holding high the banner of the cross amidst a crowd of loyal soldiers; he was made a “prisoner of the Lord,” instead of going up to the feast; and though his soul was full of zeal for the house of the Lord, and the “holy convocation” therein held, he had no choice but to humbly obey the mandate,” Be still, and know that I am God.” And “patience had her perfect work,” and God graciously gave His poor servant a calm and quiet mind, and carried the heaviest end of the cross for him; and day by day such cheering news Was brought of blessing vouchsafed and sweet fellowship enjoyed, that we learned to thank the Lord as much for what he denies as for what he gives, and to know of a surety that “He doeth all things well.”

Hitherto the Book Fund present on these auspicious occasions has been selected from the works of strangers; this time I decided to give the President’s latest book, “Illustrations and Meditations: or, Flowers from a Puritan’s Garden.” I am now exceedingly glad that I was led to do this, for the gift will be invested with a special interest, and will prove a fitting memorial of the joys and sorrows of the Conference of 1883.

Here is a little pen-and-ink sketch of a poor country pastor’s position and prospects. I can vouch for th£ genuineness of all the details given; but the shadows around the home are even darker than I have drawn them, and there are accessories of privation and suffering which I have forborne to introduce. As it is, the outlines are sad and suggestive enough to excite sincerest pity, and as we gaze on diem we wonder that such a state of things can be permitted in the Christian Church, and tremble at the verdict which

the “Lord of the vineyard” will pronounce against those who have treated His messengers so roughly.

Behold, then, a minister of the gospel, a useful, earnest man, who has won the respect and confidence, not only of his colleagues, but of sundry High-church clergymen who are his near neighbours. He holds various positions of public usefulness in the place where he dwells, has the reputation of being a “clever” man, and is looked up to with esteem and affection by all classes; yet the salary given to him by the church over which he presides is so pitiably meagre, that poverty is a constant inmate of his house, and actual want, both of food and clothing, is no unusual experience in the household. He is pale and weak from recent illness, bowed down by anxious care, yet much domestic drudgery necessarily falls upon him, for he cannot afford to keep a servant, and his poor delicate wife is incapable of hard work, being subject to severe fits, brought about by a shock to the system through a fire. She sits and sews to the utmost of her strength, and when I first heard of her, she had just cut up all her own available clothing for the children. There are four little ones needing care and attention, the eldest aged seven (one child has fits), the baby nine weeks old; and for the wants of all these persons, and the solace of all this suffering, there is the fat portion of ^61 per annum, and a free house! Well might an old writer on this subject exclaim, “God forbid that men should profit so little by their minister as their minister profits by them!” The painful facts of this case are communicated to me by a member of the Church of England, whose heart is stirred with pity for this much-tried man of God. “I feel deeply for him in the trials he has to bear,” writes my correspondent, “but he has such a happy, trustful, thankful spirit, that he never complains, and he is so sweetly reliant on God, that when help comes, and prayer is answered, he seems lost in praise and thanksgiving.”

Blessed be the Lord who strengthens and succours His faithful servant by secret supplies of both spiritual and temporal comforts; feeding him from afar by strange birds who fly on swift and joyful wing to do His bidding; and fulfilling the ancient promise, “Bread shall be given him, his waters shall be sure;” — but does this lessen the grave responsibility of those whose business it is to “provide meat for the King’s household”? — I trow not. “It is most unjust and unreason* able,” says the old author above quoted, “to keep ministers of the gospel poor. Men would have fire kept in the sanctuary, but allow no fuel; they would have the lamp bum, but provide no oil! How badly do they serve Christ and themselves in so serving their ministers! God will remove the candlestick if we love darkness rather than light; and take our faithful ministers away from us if we so ill-treat them, and unworthily reward them.”

In startling contrast to the sad picture just presented, I take from an American paper a glowing little sketch of a young pastor’s experience, wishing, oh, how earnestly! that such tenderness and thoughtful care for God’s servants as are here recorded could be manifested to the poor, struggling, poverty-stricken preachers of our own dear land. Dr. Talmage is said to tell his own story in the following words

A young man, a graduate of New Brunswick theological seminary, was called to a village church. He had not the means to furnish the parsonage. After three or four weeks of preaching, a committee of the officers of the church waited on him, and told him he looked tired, and thought he had better take a vacation of a few days. The young pastor took it as an intimation that his work was done, or was not acceptable. He took the vacation, and at the end of a few days came back, when an old elder said: “Here is the key of the parsonage. We have been cleaning it up. You had better go up and look at it.” So the young pastor took the key, went to the parsonage, opened the door, and lo! the hall was carpeted, and there was the hat-rack all ready for the canes and the umbrellas and the overcoats; and on the left hand of the hall was the parlour, sofaed, chaired, pictured. He passed on to the other side of the hall, and there was the study-table in the centre of the floor, with stationery upon it, book-shelves built, long ranges of new volumes, far beyond the reach of the means of the young pastor, many of these volumes. The young pastor went upstairs, and found all the sleeping apartments furnished; came downstairs and entered the pantry, and there were the spices, and the coffees, and the sugars, and the groceries, for six months. He went down into the cellar, and there was the coal for the coming winter. He went into the dining-hall, and there was the table already set — the glass and the silverware. He went into the kitchen, and there were all the culinary implements and a great stove. The young pastor lifted one lid of the stove, and found the fuel all ready

for ignition. Putting back the cover of the stove, he saw in another part of it a lucifer match, and all that young man had to do in starting to keep house was to strike that match. You tell me that is apocryphal.. Oh, no! that was I. Oh, the kindness! Oh, the enlarged sympathies sometimes clustering around those who enter the gospel ministry!

May. — “Is the day going to be fine?” said I, on awaking early one morning in the sweet month of May. “Well, I believe so,” replied my companion, who was already stirring, “there are plenty of shadows about, and that is a good sign.” Plenty of shadows! How can shadows give the promise of ultimate brightness? I mused a while, wondering at the apparently doubtful inference: then going to the window, I sought to solve the problem for myself and stood gazing at the fair landscape which lay sparkling in the early freshness of sunlight and dew.

There I saw manifest prospect and presage of a glorious day, and sure enough the “shadows” foretold it; for “Westwood,” as its name betokens, looks towards the west, and the sun, rising behind the house, throws the shadow of the structure across the lawn, like the gnomon of a huge sun-dial; while to every tree and bush and outbuilding it gives a “shady side” of very distinct proportions. Yes, there were “plenty of shadows” truly! — they abounded everywhere, — hiding in the deep recesses of the shrubberies, dancing on the surface of the water, creeping stealthily round every corner!

I watched them for some time, enjoying the delightful purity and peacefulness of the scene, reflecting happily on the many analogies between nature and grace, and trying to draw sweet spiritual parallels between the natural shadows and those dark dispensations which seem sometimes to eclipse the sunshine of our lives.

Some of the comfortable thoughts which since then have refreshed my heart in meditation, I would fain set down in these pages, hoping that they may comfort others; for though my words be weak and feeble, they will need but a mandate from the Lord to make them as an angel’s breath, to blow away despair from some troubled spirit, even as the gentlest of summer breezes can lift and disperse the dense veil of mist that hangs lowering upon the mountain side.

‘Clearly then, I think, stands out the consoling fact that there could he no shadows if the sun were not shining. The obscurity is but the effect of the light beyond, the shadows are the promise of the substance which presently shall bring us blessing and brightness. A dark leaden sky — a heavy currentless atmosphere, can never develop these dusky forms: — when the cloud gathers thick in the heavens, and the showers water the earth, the shadows have all betaken themselves to a more congenial sphere, or have folded their dark wings in secret places to await the re-appearance of the glorious king whose faithful servitors they are.

Rutherford says, “Wants are my best riches, because I have them supplied by Christ.” May we not borrow like heavenly rhetoric, and confess that shadows are our brightest blessings, since they are thrown across our path by the rising beams of the “Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning”?

So then, dear child of God, if thou seest shadows lying in the road which thou must take, conclude straightway that the sun of God’s love is shining behind thee, fear not to “enter into the cloud,” for by-and-by thou shalt lift up thine eyes and see “Jesus only,” and shalt bless the grace which guided thee through the gloom to behold His glory. Hast thou not often prayed, with David, “Hide me under the shadow of Thy wings”? And how knowest thou but that thy loving Father is even now interposing His hand to shield thee from impending danger, or covering thee with His wing to soothe and comfort thee! It maybe very dark beneath the feathers of the mother bird, but oh, how safe and warm are the nestling Chickens! One of the grandest promise verses in the Bible has for its very centre of blessedness this assurance of safety and rest: “I have covered thee in the shadow of mine hand.” Take heart, tried soul! If thou be one of Christ’s purchased ones, thou canst trace all thy shadows to the shining of thy blessed Sun, and even while the darkness of some heavy sorrow rests upon thee, thou mayest sing low, trustful notes of praise to Him who

“Behind a frowning providence, still hides a smiling face.”

But for p. moment let us look beyond the darkness and gather some comfort from the fact that the shadows will vanish if we wait and watch patiently

The pretty sight I have spoken of is only visible from our windows before the sun gains his meridian; — in a few hours the noontide splendour has transformed the dusky throngs of shadows which lay in ambush everywhere, and changed them into golden glories; — they are transfigured, — they are “shadows” no longer; they are angels, white and glistering, rejoicing in the effulgence which first created and then glorified them.

Even thus, when our “Sun of righteousness shall arise with healing in His wings” — when, in the blessed noonday of our immortal life we dwell in the “city which hath no need of the sun, for the glory of God doth lighten it” — we shall look again on the dark providences, which in our pilgrimage we thought so mysterious and doleful, and find them, when illuminated by celestial radiance, to have been but Heaven’s choicest blessings in disguise.

Yet another “comfortable thought” is, that the shadows cannot really harm us. How unreasonable are the fears which too often assail us when we are called to pass from the bright sunshine into one of the shady places! Are you afraid of that which has no power to hurt you? Do you tremble because the “great rock in a weary land” casts a shadow dark and deep? Or do you shrink from the cool shade of the thick cloud which comes between you and the sun? Nay, verily: then fear not these misty shapes; for though they may oftentimes look terrible, they are as evanescent and powerless as a vapour “that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.” The “shadow” of a dog cannot bite; the “shadow” of a sword cannot kill; and even when we come to that sorrowful valley which is lying “darkly between, winding down into the night,” it is but the “shadow” of death which we shall have to pass through; the king of terrors himself is conquered, chained, and unable to touch us.

In a recent edition of Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” there is a very striking and suggestive picture which will illustrate my meaning. Christian is represented as having just reached the entrance of a deep ravine or valley through which lies the pathway to the Celestial City. High in the heavens the sun is shining gloriously, but none of his sweet beams fall on the pilgrim’s road; for, hovering in mid-air, crowneci and cruel, but restrained by Almighty power, is the dark form of the “Last Enemy,” eclipsing all the light and brightness which would otherwise comfort and console the lonely traveller. Look closely and you will see that the “shadow” of this grim presence extends the whole length of the valley, and that Christian must walk on in the darkness, till the “shadow” is “passed through,” and then, at the end of the way he will emerge from the gloom, and the welcome rays of the sun will once again surround him with their unobscured splendour.

In this picture we see the end from the beginning, and realize most vividly the pilgrim’s present discouragement and approaching deliverance. We sympathize with him while he “walks in darkness, and sees no light”; but we know that the sun is still shining, and that soon he will again rejoice in its blessed beams. We may shrink for a moment from the awful form with outstretched wings and threatening gesture; but we are persuaded it has no power to approach the traveller, and we can almost hear him singing in the words of one of old: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”

So, again I say, “Courage, faint heart!” the “shadows 99 cannot hurt thee; nay more, they will turn into blessings while you watch them; nay, more still, they prove the existence of the fount of blessing itself, and, depend upon it, you will find very often, as I did, that “Plenty of Shadows 99 betoken the on-coming of a grand and glorious day 1 Lord, in shadow or in sunshine, grant to us, Thy children, the faith “which endures as seeing Him who is invisible.”

* * * *

June. — It is a rare thing for me to discover any matter for merriment in an application to the Book Fund, or to find unintentional pleasantries wrapped up in an earnest petition for mental supplies; but a recent morning’s post brought two letters, the contents of which at once provoked a hearty Ten Years of my Life

laugh, and have ever since served to excite a great deal of loving banter.

Since there is not the slightest chance of my correspondents being recognized, I will tell the little story, and let my readers enjoy the joke, which, all unwittingly, these writers have perpetrated. The first epistle was from a young man who evidently desired to possess Mr. Spurgeon’s “Lectures to my Students;” but being either misinformed on the subject, or having evolved a whimsical conjecture out of his own brain, he asked me, deliberately and emphatically, to give him My Lectures! “The lectures written by you? explained he, underlining the words lest there should be any mistake about such precious productions!

My husband made the richest fun of this blundering request. “Oh,” he said, “they’re not published yet l That is a pity 1 They are first-rate, but they are only orally delivered I let him go on in this style for ever so long, enjoying it to his heart’s content, and then I triumphantly produced the second letter, saying, “Well, now we will hear the other side of the question, for the writer of this note asks me the price of “My Master’s 1 Treasury of David! ’” Here was sweet revenge for me, and I duly exulted in it, “turning the tables” gleefully upon dear “John,” who is very fond of calling me “the Missis”; and having a real merry time over the innocent insinuations, which, by a most curious coincidence, met in the same post. We laughed till we almost cried, and since then have made our friends laugh too; and now I seek to provoke a quiet smile on my reader’s face by the repetition of the droll little story; but it strikes me very forcibly that if there had been any bitter truth in either of the two suggestions, no one would have had the chance of laughing at its disclosure. Ah! but there is, thank God, only love and peace in “Home, sweet home!” Of course “John Ploughman” is the master, as he ought to be, and my master too; — I am proud to confess his dominion and my sweet thraldom; but equally, of course, I am “the Missis,” and if I do sometimes yearn to give a “lecture,” I try so to fashion it that dear “John” shall think he is listening to a u lyric,” and like it immensely.

And he does. But it couldn’t be printed.

When you walk through a gallery of paintings, or, in your own cosy room, take up a charming book of travels, or a volume 1 of “Picturesque Europe,” — or if you should be a delighted listener to the tales of a recent traveller, — do you riot find yourselves drawn with special interest to those views or descriptions which recall personal memories, and of which you can say, “Ah, I, too, have been there! I remember that wonderful landscape, or that grand mountain, or that fine city; tell me more about that, let me gaze longer on the scene which carries my thoughts back to other times, and awakens a host of slumbering recollections!”

Even thus, a letter received to-day from an invalid friend evokes my tenderest sympathy, and claims my earnest attention, because, in some respects, the writer’s experience recalls my own in days gone by, and his touching words are eloquent- to my heart of those happy yet painful years when the dear work of the Book Fund was accomplished in a sick chamber, and all the necessary strength came as directly and daily from heaven as did the manna of old in the wilderness.

You shall hear what my friend says about himself and his service for the lighthouse-keepers; but I must first tell you that he has long been laid aside from active work for the Master, and that he suffers much both in “body and estate”; it may have been that in his own tossings to and fro at night the Lord first whispered in his heart the desire to help the lonely night-watchers on the sea-coasts, — this I do not know; but for a long time past he has found congenial and manageable work in sending forth pure literature to the dwellers in “solitary places.” He is asking now for a repetition of a former grant of Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons”; and, in his own words, you shall hear the details of his labour of love: —

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — You will be interested in knowing where your gift has been bestowed. Believing that the reading would be most appreciated by persons in isolated situations, out of reach of the ordinary means of grace, I have tried to avoid other men’s line of things, and have sought those in the regions beyond. Lighthouses seemed to offer such a field. Those of the United Kingdom give me 600 addresses, ranging from the Shetlands to the Scillys; and from the lightships on the east coast to the coast-lights round Ireland. The dominion of Canada and the United States give 800 more, extending

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from Lake Superior to the Gulf of St. Lawrence; from Newfoundland to the borders of Mexico; and from California to British Columbia. To the keepers of most of these I have posted a small book-packet, containing, with other papers, one of the “Sermons.” In that way Mr. Spurgeon’s discourses have been placed within reach of 1,400 English-speaking families in both hemispheres, whose temporary abodes, — the storm-beaten tower, or the tossing lightship — quite isolate the occupants from the privileges of the sanctuary. In some fewer cases the “Sermons” have also been sent to station employes on the Canadian Pacific Railway; some of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s ports; Canadian Frontier Police, and new settlers in Manitoba.

Results are with God, I am content to leave them with Him who said, “My word shall not return unto Me void;” but I feel greatly privileged in being thus permitted to dispense somewhat and further the rich, gospel-laden discourses of dear Mr. Spurgeon. The work is just enough for my slender strength, and brings sunshine into thissick room all the year round. Through it, continuous blessings come to my own soul, while, best of all, it will be the means of bringing eternal salvation to the souls of others.

I have had the great pleasure of again sending a parcel of “Sermons” and suitable tracts for distribution by this dear afflicted servant of the Lord; and if any friend, on reading this paragraph, should feel his or her heart drawn to aid a work so unique and special, I will gladly take charge of, and forward, their contributions for this purpose. “The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; 99 they shall cause “The inhabitants of the rock to sing,” while many at “the ends of the earth” shall thereby be led to look to Jesus and be saved.

* * * *

“T. H. C.” will, I know, be glad to hear that his beautiful spade-guinea brought mei 6s., and that a very poor pastor was thereby speedily made richer by twenty-six shillings. The money came carrying the following encouraging message: “The enclosed coin is a memorial of a kind friend who died some years since. It has lain uselessly by until the owner read the very interesting Report of the Book Fund for 1882, when he resolved to give it to the Lord, and now sends it to Mrs. Spurgeon as a little help for her Pastors 1 Aid Fund, with earnest prayer for the continued and enlarged success of her loving work.”

Many thanks to “T. H„ C.” I wish all friends who

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possess such relics would “go and do likewise,” consecrating them thus wholly to the Lord.

July. — The kind friend who wrote the Report of my work for 1878, when I was too ill to compile it myself, had in it a paragraph to the following effect: —

“The large proportion of Mr. Spurgeon’s works shown in the list on a subsequent page is not to be attributed to the partiality of the almoner, but to the choice of the applicants, who express their desire to possess them. When we state that neither author nor publishers profit by the transactions, this fact should disarm the suspicion that the Book Fund, while benevolent in its intention, is commercial in its operation.”

Five years ago this was written, but it still remains true; and though the Fund’s business has largely developed since those early days, the desire for my dear husband’s writings keeps pace with the increased number and value of the grants. It is but seldom that I am asked for the works of other authors, and though I distribute a great many of them, they are unsolicited additions to my parcels, and rarely seem to give as much joy and satisfaction as the volumes which bear the name of “C. H. Spurgeon.”

With regard to the last sentence in the passage above quoted, I am glad to be able to bear witness that the honourable fact therein stated is a fact still; and, although I know of no “suspicion to disarm,” I feel delighted to repeat that both author and publishers join so heartily with me in looking upon the Book Fund as a “work of faith and labour of love,” that they joyfully relinquish the profits which are justly their due, thus enabling me to respond the more generously to the appeals of poor bookless ministers. All honour to them, and heartfelt thanks! May the Lord remember them for good!

Looking through some of my letters to-day to see what I could glean of summer fruits for my dear reader’s enjoyment, I thought it might be pleasant to make a “confection” of a few of the innumerable “good things” which are constantly

dropping from amongst the leaves of my very large correspondence. There will be no novelty in this digest — can any new thing come out of a Report? — but it will at least convince any one who will take the trouble to read it, that, “partial” as I may be to my dear “Master’s” books, I am by no means alone in my avowed enthusiasm.

Taking first “The Treasury of David” (it being seemly to give the place of honour to the magnum opus I note the experience of a Congregational minister, who says concerning it: — “It has been most helpful to me in quickening and strengthening my spiritual life; it has enlarged my understanding, and added immeasurably to my store of knowledge. It has provided me with such savoury meat, and I have relished it so much, that now I seek diligently to obtain more. You could not have conceived of a truer or better way of helping a poor minister than by adding to the little stock of books which he fondly calls his library.”

A pastor in the Midland Counties writes: — The cxixth Psalm has been a favourite portion with me for years, but I have found it difficult to commit to memory. Was this because ‘ its expanse was unbroken by a bluff or headland... a great sea of holy teaching .... without an island of special and remarkable statement to break it up’? Be this as it may, henceforth I launch upon it with such a copious and accurate chart to guide me, that I long once more to explore the whole; and already it seems to lie before me like a vast lake, whose every creek, and bay, and island, promises some new scene of delight. It has been my custom for years to keep some work in reading ds a sort of companion to the Bible; and when, on Saturday night, I saw the pains Mr. Spurgeon had taken to unfold the riches in this wonderful Psalm, I resolved at once to put it side by side with my Bible, and to study the whole comment which forms the bulk of the goodly volume. Thank you so much for sending me this Royal Banquet, and please thank Mr. Spurgeon for letting so many of us share in what he tells us has been a means of grace to his own heart

“The Treasury of David” is so serviceable a work to men with small libraries that it is no wonder its appearance is hailed with joy and gladness when sent as a gift by the.

Fund. 44 Many a hearty 4 God bless him! * says a country pastor, 44 escapes from our lips when the goodly volumes are unwrapped, and a glance into the pages reveals the treasures awaiting appropriation.’* “The Treasury” is a continuous stream of blessing, an unfailing storehouse of provision, a rich mine of sacred wealth; and, therefore, the poor Pastors, hungry and thirsty and needy, covet it earnestly as one of the 44 best gifts.” A clergyman of the Church of England, in acknowledging the volumes which I had sent; writes: — 44 There is no work the possession of which could have given me greater pleasure than ‘The Treasury of David.’ A brother-clergyman of extensive reading said to me a short time ago, * Whatever you do, get Mr. Spurgeon’s 4 Treasury of David *; it is by far the most valuable contribution to the literature of the Psalms.* Indeed, a glance at the volumes has convinced me that my friend was right, and that Mr. Spurgeon is a Christian philosopher of the Eclectic School. I only wish it were possible that he could do for the whole Bible what he is doing for this special portion.** As for the 44 Sermons,’* no words of mine can tell the blessing the Lord vouchsafes to them, not only in the con version of sinners, but in quickening, arousing, and refreshing the preachers of the Word; they are prized and used largely as patterns and helps to pulpit preparation, and as constantly serve as. aids to private devotion. A pastor in the far West of America says: — 44 1 read a 4 Sermon * for my own spiritual advancement every morning after the Bible, and this keeps me so full of good things that I am always fresh for my work. I use them as I use the water from my well — to refresh myself and regale my friends, serving them up in my own measure and manner.** Again, a minister in England writes: — “Last week I was making a sermon on Col. iii. 2, 3; and, turning to Mr. Spurgeon’s 4 Sermons * for 1880, I found, on page 193, some thoughts which put my mind just into the right course; and, aided by the Holy Spirit, a difficult subject was made clear, and I was enabled to present it to my people; and this morning I was meditating on th t Beauty of Christ as set forth in the words, 4 Thou art fairer than the children of men,* and again I received much help from the same source. I just refer to these recent instances s8o

to show how great a boon you have conferred on me in putting these volumes on my shelves.”

“I never allow my sitting-room to be without a few of Mr. Spurgeon’s ‘ Sermons,’” says another friend, “so that those who come in may read, or take away a copy with them, and some very dear to me have thereby been greatly blessed.”

May not this suggestion of quiet service for the Lord find a quick response in some timid heart? Those who cannot “speak a word for Jesus” might surely be able to place a few “Sermons” in the way of careless or seeking souls, and let Mr. Spurgeon speak to them, while they pray for the Word to be made fruitful.

“The amount of good I get from reading the ‘ Sermons ’ no tongue can tell,” writes a grateful recipient; “they are full of savour and blessing! It is a marvel how Mr. Spurgeon can continue to pour forth such utterances as these sermons contain, and even to excel all previous efforts, as the last volumes abundantly testify. Of course, I say this looking at the human side of the matter; it is no marvel that the Lord, whom he serves, should thus show His divine power and sustaining grace in His servant”

* *

The first series of “Lectures to my Students” was the “first-born” of the Book Fund — the “beginning of its strength” — and it must not be passed over without loving notice, coupling with it now the two later volumes, of which some one has truly observed, “The very best of Mr. Spurgeon’s work, and the very best things he says, are to be found in these Lectures.” The joy with which I send out these volumes knows no qualification; I am as sure of my harvest with such precious seed as if the golden grain were already gathered within the garner. To young and old alike they bring wholesome instruction and weighty counsel — offered, too, with such genial grace that none can turn away offended. “I am delighted,” “writes a minister of high standing, “with the sanctified common-sense which characterizes the two volumes of 4 Lectures to my Students ’; and though I have been some years in the ministry, I find valuable bints in them, and many echoes in my own answering experience of the need of friendly advice such as they offer.”

“Thank you very much for the ‘ Lectures/” says a young beginner; “from them I have gleaned many a wise suggestion, and in them I have met with many a hard, but not unprofitable blow. God bless Mr. Spurgeon for the loving, earnest, faithful words found in these volumes.” In one case a very practical improvement in demeanour is induced by the perusal of these fervent addresses, and amusingly confessed thus: — “I have carefully read the * lectures, and I believe they have done me good. My wife says I have not so many silly ways as I used to have: I don’t look at my watch so much when speaking, or use my handkerchief so vigorously /” Then, again, comes testimony to higher influence: — “Mr. Spurgeon’s lecture on ‘Attention* benefited my delivery; but when I read the address on ‘Earnestness, my soul was led into the very presence of God; and, after a day spent in holy joy, I preached at night as I had never preached before, and two souls were brought to Jesus!” A learned doctor, who presides over a missionary college in Egypt, shall be the last witness on behalf of these precious books. He says, in a letter to me: — “I used the first volume of ‘ Lectures * last year with my students, reading it off in Arabic while they took notes. Mr. Spurgeon is easily translated even into Arabic — clear, logical, simple, solid. May his shadow never grow shorter!”

Surely all this is blessed encouragement to continue the distribution of books which are so powerful for good!

“For every printed word becomes a seed

That, planted, must spring up —

A flower or weed;

And he who writes — may write
What millions read.”

* *

I think, dear friends, you will know that my desire in transcribing these few testimonies out of the thousands at my command, is not unduly to boast of or triumph in my dear husband’s works — to God be all the glory for all that has been done through them! But I want you to catch the tone

of the bell which is always ringing at my door, and to see the quality of the provision which is being constantly handed out to eager applicants. These letters exhibit my work and its consequences far better than any amount of dry statistical information could do; and therefore I give them to you with a happy and grateful heart, and

99 Ea tfje praise at tfje ffitorg of fis ©race,”

August — There is a poor minister in one of our Midland counties to whom I have at divers times sent help in books, clothes, and money, and whose need of such assistance will not be questioned when I say that he has a wife and five children to keep on £60 per annum. Just lately one of his congregation has written to me concerning him, and her letter gives touching details of his joy in the welcome gifts. “I called to see him,” she says, “the day after your last parcel arrived, and I had not been long in the house before all the books were brought for my inspection. I wish you could have been there / Both husband and wife were overjoyed, and shed tears of gratitude while telling me of all the kindness you have shown to them. The £$ note came at a time of great need, when they were passing through bitter trials, and you may imagine how thankfully they received it, as from the hand of the Lord, and what a comfort .it was to them.” This good man works hard for the scanty pittance above-mentioned; he has some meeting or service every night during the week, preaches three times on the Sunday, and visits much among the sick and the poor, to whom he can at least minister abundantly of the sympathy born of analogous experience, though of “silver and gold he has none” to bestow. “He has to go very, very short sometimes,” writes his friend, “but I am quite sure no one has ever heard him complain, indeed he appears satisfied and grateful for the little his people can do for him. We often wish he had three times as much, for he is worthy of it; but the distress has been so great in the neighbourhood that we can raise no more, and he faithfully shares in the trials of his flock.” I think this is one of the rare cases in which no

In the Servite of the Book Fund blame is to be attached to the people for their minister’s poverty. They are not living in comfort while he struggles with adversity, nor are they carelessly indifferent to his sorrows; but being all alike plunged in a sea of trouble, they gallantly breast the waves together, and he, like a heroic captain, leads them on, and cheers them with the hope of soon gaining calmer water. It has been a great pleasure to help such a man, and to receive the hearty thanks of his tried followers. “I am to express the gratitude of the whole church at — — to you, dear Madam,” observes my correspondent, “for all your kindness to our pastor; he has been wonderfully cheered and encouraged by it, and since receiving the last parcel of books, has preached some noble sermons, which have blessed and benefited us all; he had a miserably small stock of books before you began to contribute so handsomely to it, but now he is quite proud to show his library to his friends. All this we owe to our gracious God through you”

What a sacred joy to be allowed thus to strengthen the heart and the hands of a faithful toiler for Christ! It does me good to transcribe such a testimony as this, for it stirs up and reawakens my interest in my work, and incites me to further and fuller effort. Thanks be to God that the Book Fund has done something for scores of His poor servants; but oh for help to do more, and to do it better!

* * * *

Many and sorrowful have been the glimpses given to my readers in previous Reports of the pinching poverty borne by our dissenting Pastors, and I regret to say that I can chronicle no improvement in their circumstances or condition. Most of those to whom I have already given help, still need further aid, and scores of cases are constantly appearing where assistance of the tenderest and promptest kind is urgently needed. Our Lord’s declaration, “The poor ye have always with yoti,” is in no danger of being disputed while His own servants are kept at starvation point, and, like the Israelites of old, “made to serve with rigour.”

I hear in roundabout ways of some poor ministers who would never tell of their own needs, but whose homes are

miserably bare; they are lacking, not in comforts merely, but in the very necessaries of life, because the pastor’s most earnest devotion to his Master’s work and the church’s welfare fails to secure more than the scantiest imaginable salary. In such homes, consequently, the anxious wife can know no rest from care; she is ceaselessly struggling to make one shilling do the work of ten or twenty; while the poor children have no chance of growing up strong, healthy, and happy, daily breathing, as they do, the depressing and stupefying atmosphere of this crushing and undeserved poverty!

We have all heard of a book which professes to tell us, “How to live on sixpence a day, and earn it,” and very likely we have only smiled at the droll title, not desiring closer acquaintance with its contents; but I have to-day corresponded with a good brother who can bear witness that the task is not an impossible one, and that, undertaken “for Chris fs sake,” it may even prove pleasant and satisfactory. He writes to say that his heart would be full of gratitude if I would send him a parcel of books, for he depends wholly on the ministry, and that brings him in js. 6d. per week 1 1 He adds very naively, but pathetically, “So I am very destitute in every respect.’’ I must confess that at first this tale seemed too terrible to be true, so I wrote to a gentleman of high standing in the locality where the young minister resides, and received from him an assurance that I had not been misinformed — “Truly sad is it,” says this friend, “and yet most sadly true”; and then he proceeds to explain the circumstances under which such a pitiful state of things can be possible: — “The history of many a mining Tillage is just this: when once coal is struck, the miners crowd to the place, and rows of cottages are built, and a humble chapel; a minister is invited to take charge of the little flock, and much good is done. But in ten or twelve years the mine is exhausted, the colliers are paid off, the people are scattered, and in most cases the pastor seeks another field of labour. Not so this good, faithful brother of whom I write! He might have ‘ left his few sheep in the wilderness,’ and bettered himself in all respects full many a time; but so beloved is. he by the * little one’ at - — and so

clearly does he love her, that he will not leave her as long as it is possible for him to exist on the slender allowance which is all they have to offer.”

Is not this devotion as beautiful as it is rare? The poverty, and self-denial, and suffering, are made sublime by the love to God and man which prompts and permits them. There is no grimness in this young man’s penury, it is full of the glory of the grace of God; his scanty meals are daily sacraments, and his lowly lodging must be hard by the very gate of heaven. As he goes in and out amongst his poor flock, sharing their earthly troubles, and ministering to them of heavenly comforts, I can hear him whispering softly the words of the apostle Paul, with all humility making them his own: “But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God!”

* * * *

But to what purpose do I tell these sad stories again and again, and every year find a fresh Miserere which must be played in a minor key? Will my readers be tired of these mournful cadences, and deem me unkindly importunate in bringing constantly to their ears such sorrowful songs? For eight years now I have sought to call attention to the wants and woes of poorly-paid servants of Christ, whose vocation entitles them to expect better treatment at the hands of Christian people; but how can I expect my faint protest to be heard amidst the din and turmoil of a thousand conflicting interests? Yet these poor Pastors so seldom obtrude their wrongs upon public notice, that though my voice can reach but a very little way, I am constrained to take up a lamentation for them; always hoping that, one of these times, it may penetrate to the ears and heart of some one who can speak loudly and forcibly on their behalf, and whose championship shall release them from the grievous bondage of unnecessary privation and suffering.

I fear me, however, that this is one of the wrongs which will need righting till the end of all things; for since the days of the apostle, who could touchingly complain of “lack of service” towards himself, this sin has lain at the church’s door.

September. — A Talk in the Twilight. My pleasant rambles in the Westwood gardens with my dear husband, about which I wrote last year, have this season come to an untimely end, by a severe fall and a fractured rib. The accident, which was very sudden and unexpected, might have had more serious consequences, so I bless the Lord that no worse thing befell me, and bear as patiently as may be the deprivation for a time of one of the chief pleasures of my life. In consequence of this mishap, dear reader, you must come and sit by my sofa, and we will talk in whispered words of the work which is so dear to both of us — dear to me as its founder and servitor, and to you as its benefactor and supporter for the Master’s sake, whose servants are blessed by it. The first question you are sure to ask is, “Does the Book Fund really get on as well as ever?” How happy am I to be able to reply, “Yes, by the sweet grace and goodness of God, its prosperity and success are undiminished”! It has quietly developed into a great power for good, I trust; for the blessing of the Lord makes it rich, and thousands can now testify that its treasures have been poured into their hearts and minds, to their exceeding gain and benefit. There have been no startling episodes, no extraordinary events; all has gone on smoothly and gently, with almost the regularity and precision of clockwork. “Does the money still come in plentifully?” Yes: and it goes out with equal liberality. The business is brisk, the stock inviting, the customers are eager and numerous, and the credit at the Bank of Faith is unlimited. Is not this a state of things to be thankful for? The monetary affairs of the Fund seem to be always under the generous consideration of some dear friends; and the needs of the work are constantly met by a corresponding, or even exceeding, amount in hand. No anxiety on this score has befallen me for a long while; and most devoutly do I thank my great “Director” for so special a mercy as freedom from care in money matters. “But there is always a large balance at the end of the year, and that leads some to withhold their contributions, under the impression that they are not needed” If that be so, I am sorry, but I cannot alter the fact: it recurs every year, and can be easily explained. When the balance-sheet is made up it is the Book Fund’s harvest-time and vintage, therefore the granaries are full, and the presses burst with new wine. Gifts come pouring in so fast about Christmas, that the exchequer rapidly overflows; and the joy is great, because such precious stores are laid up for the relief of famishing minds in months to come. Don’t let a big balance frighten you, dear friend. It does not show negligence or idleness on my part, but points triumphantly to the exceeding riches and loving bounty of my Heavenly Banker and Provider. “There is doubtless a large correspondence needful to keep up this work.” Indeed, you are right; for the business of the Fund is conducted chiefly by the pen; and a vast amount of letter-writing is entailed in its management. Many hours each day are devoted to this duty; and, as I have about ten thousand names on the books, and these are constantly increasing, much time is taken up by the entries in ledgers, &c., some of which are so voluminous that they have to be entrusted to the patient care of a dear and faithful friend. Then all applications have to be much thought over, and suitable volumes mentally selected. Sometimes the cases need investigation, as to their genuineness; references must be made to former grants; questions have to be put concerning matters unexplained; and often a single application will necessitate two or three letters of enquiry before final acceptation. All this is the daily task and

labour; but the daily delight, the daily wages, are found in the receipt of loving, grateful acknowledgments — letters so full of thankful joy and satisfaction, and of enthusiastic testimony to the value and usefulness of my work, that my reward is ever before me, and my cup is filled to the brim with the sweet wine of recompense. Other letters also often gladden me; many swift messengers of comfort, sympathy, and encouragement come and fold their wings at “Westwood;” and to-day, from over the sea, dated “Off Gibraltar,” a missive reached me, which will ever be treasured as a precious souvenir of one whom “the King delighteth to honour.” It is a letter from the hand of good George Muller, a kindly, graceful recognition of my little service for the Lord, and a generous offer of assistance in it. Such a distinction and favour I never expected to receive; but here it is — you may look at

what he says, so lovingly, about “reading my last Report with great interest”! Can you imagine that? I thought at first my eyes must have deceived me, when I read it. And he offers to send me a quantity of his own books, to distribute to my poor Pastors, that he “may have fellowship with me in so good a work.” I am charmed with his condescension and kindness; it is like a new version of the old story of the king and the beggar maid, — this prince of Faith’s mighties stooping to notice such a “little one” among the thousands of Israel; this cedar of Lebanon bowing down to encourage the growth of a grain of mustard seed 1 There is little need to tell you that Mr. Muller’s offer of books was gratefully accepted, or that, when the volumes reach me, I shall find it a real joy to enclose them in my parcels. The fragrance of faith must fill every page of such books; and the sweet incense of prayer surely lingers among all the leaves which bear such precious records of communion with God. Shall I not, therefore, be confident that, when the brethren open them, in the solitude of the study, these “beds of spices” may yield rest, refreshment, and invigoration to their souls? “Have I been troubled lately

by presents of unsuitable books?” Ah! I see you smile as you remember my previous experiences in this direction, my disappointment and annoyance when worthless books come to hand, my difficulty (but for the garden furnace!) in ridding myself of the rubbish sent to quicken poor Pastors’ brains, and inspire high and holy contemplations 1 But this year you may congratulate me on having received a splendid collection of gift-books, which have greatly enriched and enlarged the parcels it has been my joy to send out. When the noble list is printed, you will see what cause I have for sincere thankfulness to the wise and kind donors; for by these presents a greater variety of reading and information is placed at the disposal of those who are hungering after knowledge. “You think the Book Fund has created a wide interest in the welfare of poor Pastors?” Yes, it is wonderful to note the gracious manner in which the Lord inclines the hearts of friends to help me in my work in all sorts of ways, and I do bless Him for it! An instance, fresh in my mind, because it occurred to-day, will show you how tenderly all the details of the service are cared for. I wrote to a firm of merchants in London asking if they would take charge of a parcel of books for a poor lonely pastor in Australia, and forward it to him carriage free. “Not a small favour to ask,” you say. No; but as the Book Fund could not pay the freight, upon their response to my request depended the minister’s chances of having his bare book-shelf furnished; and the said shelf was one of the very barest that could be imagined! This morning’s post brought the reply. “Yes, they would always willingly forward parcels to poor ministers in the colony without any charge, ’’and this particular package should be conveyed direct to the remote inland station, where its advent would undoubtedly bring a store of gladness and blessing to the heart of the isolated minister. And — oh, most delightful climax of kindness! — a cheque for ^10 was enclosed, with a graceful request that by its aid the intended gift might be made more excellent and valuable. When these tender providences touch me with such divine directness, my soul is filled with adoring gratitude and wonder, and my work ceases for a time to be an earthly business — it becomes a sacred channel of joy in the Lord, and of commerce with “things in heavenly places.” “Do I have all pleasure and no pain in my work?” Well, I can almost answer “Yes” to that question, though occasionally a thorn is found among the roses. I am grieved when some trespassers overstep the limits of the Fund, and unlawfully take possession of its benefits; I feel disappointed when previous grants are ignored, and a second or third application is made as if it were the first while my ledgers reveal a different story. But the sorrows are so few and small, and the joys so constant and great, that on the whole I may say I “rejoice evermore” in it, and have a most abundant reward for all the time and labour the dear service costs me.” “There are many more questions you would like to put to me, but you think 1 must be tired now” Well, dear friend, though I am somewhat weary in body, this little talk with you has refreshed my spirit, and the reiteration of all my mercies has awakened fervent desire to sing new songs of praise to the dear Lord from whom all blessings flow. You have been a patient listener to this rambling and imperfect 2Q0

account of my work, but I shall hope to anticipate your wishes for fuller details in the summing-up of the Report, and then give you all the information you desire to receive; so, for the present, good-bye, dear friend, and thank you for this little visit of sympathy. Be sure you remember my work in your prayers, beseeching a blessing on every book sent out, and asking for me grace that I may be found faithful in the “few things” over which the Lord hath set me.

* *

October, — A very touching letter has lately reached me from Auckland, New Zealand, the scene of my son’s labours. The writer expresses so much loving sympathy with the work of the Book Fund, that I deem the letter entitled to insertion in these pages. Moreover, such tender little glimpses are therein given of “Son Tom” in his work as pastor and preacher, that I want those dear friends, who take an interest in his career, to rejoice with me in this sweet and simple testimony to the “grace which is given him of God.”

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — It may be you will wonder that a stranger should address you, but you do not seem like a stranger to me; my heart goes out m warm love to you, for your dear son’s sake, for your work’s sake, but most of all for Jesus’ sake. I have long wished to thank you for your precious little book. No words of mine can tell the good it has done me. Sick and lonely as I am, my heart truly sorrowed when I read of the sufferings of God’s dear servants, for I think they should be the most tenderly cared for and loved of all people on earth; but the thought that they had to bear poverty, and sickness, and trial, drove away all rebellious murmurings concerning my own case, and now I am resting in quiet confidence in the Heavenly Father’s hands. I cannot do much for Jesus, because of my weak, suffering body; but with a little self-denial I can help one of His poor servants, and I know it will be accepted.

And now I will tell you how the little book came to me. I had not been able to go out for many weeks, and I had often wished that Mr. Spurgeon would visit me; so one day I found courage to write to him, and he came at once — there was no need for fear — came the very day I wrote, and brought “Mother’s book.” “You will like to read it/* he said, “it’s my mother’s book.” I loved him for that! Adi! he does love his mother, and only the Lord knows what it costs him to be so far away from his dear home. But his heart is in his work, and I often wish you could hear his earnest pleading with sinners, and see the eage: faces lifted to his while he speaks on his Master’s behalf! We constantly bless the Lord for sending him here. He is doing a great and good work among us; he is so kind and sympathizing to all his people, and the sweet savour of his prayers will never be forgotten. I cannot repay him, I can only pray for him. It would grieve us very much to lose him; but still I should like him to come and see you, I think it would do him good, and I am sure it would rejoice your heart 5 but his work seems to require him here, and God knows best, does he not? Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, forgive my writing to you, but you have lightened so many heavy burdens, and brought joy to so many sorrowful hearts by the blessed work of your Book Fund, that I felt I must thank you, and tell you I pray for you very often.

This same darling “Son Tom” of mine, who loves ■“Mother’s work” very heartily, has sent me some extremely lively rhymes on the “Lemon Tree”; but most of the verses are so full of atrocious puns that I dare not admit them to the grave company of these records. I have, however, selected from among the merry host a few of the more sober-looking lines, and those old friends who like to remember the early connection of the little plant with the Book Fund, will understand the allusions made, and be glad to learn that the “tree” is still flourishing and beautiful.

I may add, that I never look upon its sturdy growth without a thrill of grateful memory and thankfulness for all the goodness and mercy which have followed my work since the time when the lemon-pip pushed its first wee green leaf through the black earth, under the shelter of a medicine glass 1

“Linked closely with the Book Fund, since
The Fund a fact became,

Our lemon tree appeared in print
As emblem of the same.

“No better crest the Fund could have
Than this same lemon tree;

Twin plants they may, indeed, be termed
With common history.

“From what a very tiny seed

The glorious Book Fund grew;

To what proportions it would reach
Not e’en its planter knew.

“Some mocked the Fund, in fun, of course,

‘ The money won’t be found ’;

To her each lemon-leaf bespoke
Another hundred pound.

“And now the Fund-tree firmly stands
With shade, and sap, and scent;

A tree of knowledge; — all its leaves
For Pastors’ blessing meant.

“Live on, grow on, dear lemon tree.

Be never moribund;

Fit emblem from the very first
Of Mrs. Spurgeon’s Fund! ’*

I have always been exceedingly glad that the Lord put if into my heart to make the gifts of the Book Fund quite unsectarian. The work would have been crippled, and have had but a miserable existence if its sympathies had been confined within the narrow limits of a denomination. But now how widespread are its blessings! How grateful are the helped ones! How happy are the helpers! It delights me to think that if the Book Fund had a voice, it would be constantly whispering to onlookers, “See how these Christians love one another!” The parcels of books, as they go forth from my book-room to the studies of ministers of every section of the Church of Christ, are so many weighty evidences that Christian love and brotherly kindness are still believed in and cherished by those who stand fast by the “Old-fashioned Gospel,” though by this steadfastness we dare to differ from many of our wiser brethren; ay, and would even dare to die for that difference!

I will let you see this dear service of mine from a clergyman’s point of view. “We thoroughly enjoyed,” he says, “your little book, giving an account of your work. In these days of cold and shallow scepticism, of marked superstition, of controversies, often bigoted and bitter, within the pale of the Church of God; of godless living in many of its professed members, — such a book, recording, as it does, a real work, undertaken and carried out irrespective of party considerations, is a testimony to the world outside, that Christ and the members of His mystical body are really one. though the latter often affect an appearance of disunion. I am quite sure that nothing could more effectually break down our party-walls than work such as you have undertaken. Your little book is calculated to evoke the deepest sympathy from the hearts of God’s people, and to incite them to a like desire, at least, for a large-heartedness to the cause of Christ, which is one,, and to breathe a prayer that they, too, may know the joy which you feel in making others “happy, and in giving to the ‘Stars in the right hand of Christ’ the power to become ‘burning’ as well as ‘ shining’ lights.”

A Congregational minister also writes thus encouragingly: — “Not a twentieth of the good your Book Fund is doing will you know until the day when the Master will .give out to each his own reward. While very much of what is seen, in these days of business, will be burned up, surely some of the work done in cheering the hearts of the Lord’s own servants will stand the fire, and remain as gold and silver and precious stones. I pray that more and more blessing may ever rest upon your most noble work.”

* * * *

November. — A country minister, to whom I had some months ago sent a parcel of single “Sermons” for distribution, writes to say that they have been circulated amongst the people in six villages, have been read and re-read, and now he is longing for a fresh supply. But he felt he could not ask for more without trying to show that the poor people appreciated the spiritual food thus presented to them; so, “as a thank-offering and a token of true gratitude from some poor souls who have fed on the sincere milk of the word, and the strong meat contained in the ‘ Sermons,’” he sends fifteen shillings for the Book Fund! I think such thankfulness is lovely! But there is something equally cheering further on. He tells me of a young man, a hurdle-maker, who for some months has greatly enjoyed Mr. Spurgeon’s “Sermons,” and is so much in love with his writings that he always carries a “Spurgeon” book in his pocket, and now has begun to long intensely to call “The Treasury of David” his own. “You will think it a strange thing,” says the

minister, “that a man who works in the woods should desire to possess * The Treasury, but he has set his heart upon it; and, as he is very steady and saving, I think he cannot do better than spend that money on books which so many of our young men are wasting in strong drink and other evils.”

I was delighted to offer “The Treasury” at a reduced price, and it was bought and paid for, a volume of a Sermons” being enclosed as a gift, with earnest prayer for a blessing; for “who knoweth whereunto this thing may grow?”’ A young man who fills his head with knowledge and his heart with grace, while others stand smoking at the streetcomers, or drinking in the ale-house, is worthy of all help and encouragement; and one may expect that he will make so brave a use of the books procured by his own industry and self-denial, that some day we may joyfully hear of his good and faithful service in the cause of Jesus Christ.

* * * *

A somewhat similar and equally gratifying case deserves to be placed on the same record. It was thus presented in a letter: —

Dear Mrs. Spurgeon, — Your little book tells of a minister who gave uphis pipe in order to obtain your husband’s books. I cannot do this, for I am only an apprentice to the shoemaking, and such luxuries are quite out of my reach; but I have begun to preach a little for Jesus, and I have long been hungering for some of the same precious volumes; so, to satisfy my appetite, I have sold a book which I possessed, and, with some extra help from a few friends, I have realized £1, which I now send to you, begging that you will lay it out for me to the best advantage; and if I could have part of “The Treasury of David” — oh, how thankful I should be! I crave eagerly for knowledge, and, by God’shelp, I shall obtain it; I am trying what prayer ana perseverance and holy living will do to gain my end. Thank you very much for the mottoin your book — “Prayer and Pains can do Anything”; it has. been a great help to me.”

I exacted great things of that golden coin! I laid a heavy burden on each separate shilling! I expected them to do wonders, and they did not disappoint me! I made them bear the cost of books which would have gladdened any heart; but when that indefatigable young man heard what he might expect, his rapture made him still more ravenous, and he could not be content without Matthew Henry’s “Commentary”! So, again seeking the aid of a friend, he sent up the money for a second-hand copy, and almost went into a delirium of delight when the wonderful parcel reached him. “My treasures,” he says, “my treasures have come, and I am lost in wonder, love, and praise! My greatest expectations are exceeded, and I don’t know how to thank you! I joyfully recognize the hand of the Lord in the matter, and can only say, * Bless the Lord, O my soul! 9 I could not feel happier if I had received a large fortune. To God be the praise! 99

Not the least touching point in this little story is the fact that the friend from whom the money-help mainly came is himself a poor man, and that he trusts this eager young seeker after knowledge to repay him in due time the money thus advanced. What a debt of love and honour! May it be quickly paid, and bear the compound interest of gratitude and tender requital!

* * * *

The chief item of interest in this month’s record is the commencement of another Branch Business, upon which I expect the dew of the Lord’s blessing to fall — silently, copiously, constantly. I shall ask earnest prayer from my dear friends that my expectation may be realized; and if their hearts are drawn lovingly towards the new scheme by fervent prayer on its behalf, I know they will send me the means to carry it on to a successful issue.

I have undertaken to send out monthly four copies of Mr. Spurgeon’s latest “Sermons” to all foreign missionaries who will gladly receive and use them, and the first consignment of 104 packets has been already despatched. The beginning is small, but the work has elements of mighty power in it; it will grow, and the Lord will give it increase.

Readers of The Sword and the Trowel will be familiar with the project; for long before this little book- sees the light, they will have read of the formation of the new Fund, have perused with pleasure the letter of the “worker who longs for others to be helped as he has been,” and will have seen, I hope, some delightful assurances of success and prosperity. But as my “Diary” is privileged sometimes to tell of what

goes on “behind the scenes,” I will now give it permission just to suggest the way in which I was “managed,” and led to be the “manager” of this new business.

My readers are to imagine my morning-room, and the work of letter-writing going briskly forward, as usual, when —

Enter the dear Pastor — my “Tirshatha.” *

“Look here, wifey; here’s a capital proposition!”

His face is so beaming, and his smile so joyous, that I know there is some “glory to God and good-will to man” in the news he is bringing.

“Well, what is it?”

“A gentleman in Russia wants me to send out the * Sermons ’ regularly to missionaries in foreign countries.”

“Oh, that will be splendid! but how is it to be done?”

“He encloses ^5 as the first instalment of a Fund for the purpose, and I can find another to put to it, to begin with.”

I say how pleased I am with the proposal, and we talk the matter over, calling to mind the abundant favour which the Lord always vouchsafes to his servant’s earnest utterances. I know that the comfort and refreshment of such a monthly packet to lonely workers in strange lands would be incalculable, and I at once make up my mind that the pleasant little service shall be mine, for I see very plainly that this is the desire of my husband’s heart; but I “bide a wee” before I make the offer.

“The money will be easily found,” I say suggestively; “friends are sure to help a scheme so manifestly useful; but who will you get to do the work?”

“That’s just what I want to talk to you about. Do you think Mrs. would undertake it, or Miss?”

Then follows a long consultation, in which we are agreed that certain ladies could well and easily do the secretarial part of the work, but that they could scarcely be expected to furnish or obtain the needful funds.

“I can be treasurer,” says the dear Pastor; and he looks at me with such a winning, meaning smile, that I can conceal my determination no longer.

For explanation of this title, see the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah.

“And I can combine it with the Book Fund!” I cry
enthusiastically.

“Will you really? There! that’s just what I wanted you to say, only I was afraid it might be too much for you; but if you can do it — why, it would be the very thing!”

I gravely assure him that the extra work demanded by this scheme will be cheerfully undertaken by willing hands in the household, and this assertion is subsequently verified by the glad and unanimous consent of all parties.

So, dear reader, with much joy and hopefulness, we made and sealed the compact, anticipating the blessing which, by the Lord’s grace, shall accompany the monthly messengers to his servants at the far ends of the earth.

This new effort is to be strictly and entirely incorporated with the Book Fund, as a new graft on the old stock, and thus, though it will bear another kind of fruit, it will be nourished by the same sap, tended by the same loving hand, blessed with the same heavenly dew; and, if spared to write another Report, I hope to have some very pleasant news to tell concerning its growth, prosperity, and usefulness. Meanwhile, I earnestly beg all my friends to remember the work in their petitions before God, pleading for a blessing on the “Sermons” and the translations which will be given; for, “Thus saith the Lord, I will yet for this be inquired of by the house of Israel, to do it for them.”

* *

THE PASTORS’ AID FUND.

It gives me great pleasure to record the prosperity of this Fund, and to thank — with words that can never give expression enough to my gratitude — the dear friends whose princely generosity keeps this treasury always furnished with “enough and to spare.” There are “three mighty men” whose hearts God has touched, who are the chief support of this “Branch Business”; but from many other contributors to the Book Fund I receive substantial help for the sorrowful needs of poverty-stricken Pastors. Quite a goodly sum came the other day from Russia for this purpose. Scotch friends also take a warm interest in it; and throughout the year the Fund has been like an up-springing well, from which I have constantly taken “cups of cold water” to revive and refresh weary travellers across the arid desert of privation and distress. My private ledger shows that ^340 8s. 3d. has been given to necessitous Pastors during the last twelve months; this is about the usual average of the distribution by the Fund, and I can truly say that no worthy applicant has been denied. Blessed be the name of the Lord for entrusting so tender a charge to my care, and increasing my happiness by making me the bearer of so much comfort and relief to His servants: —

“©, ifHagntfg tfje 3£orh fcritfj me, anh let us
Exalt Its Name together!”

* * * *

I am thankful also to say that more friends are personally interesting themselves in this urgent work, to my great delight and gratification, and are earnestly endeavouring to mitigate the sorrows of poor Pastors by quiet and generous assistance. I have in a previous page told how the wife of one of “our own” old students set herself and the ladies of the church to work to provide for the necessities of a neighbouring minister, whose long struggle with poverty had moved her heart to deepest sympathy. She has not grown weary of her loving mission; but, with only slender means at her disposal, she has secured to the family very many comforts which they must otherwise have lacked. She has constantly supplied their most pressing needs, and been, from that time till now, a “ministering angel’* to them. Similarly, a lady in a distant county — herself a late pastor’s daughter — has most warmly taken up the cause of ill-paid ministers. She interests all her friends in the matter, solicits gifts of clothing and household stores, lays the needs of His servants before the Lord in prayer, and rejoices in abundant success and blessing. She has already helped some half-dozen poor families, and now writes for ■” more names.”

These are only two examples of the many glimpses I get of up-springing seed, of ripening fields, of fruitful vineyards; further on there will cOme a plenteous in-gathering of good things for poor Pastors, when the “shout of a King” shall be in their midst, and they shall “joy before Him according to the joy of harvest” I can sing even now, in anticipation of that blessed time —

“©, fHagmfg tye fcritfj me, anh let uz
Sialt Name together!”

* * * *

Passing now in review the chief points of interest in Book Fund work, a few words on each must bring my little Report to a conclusion. The number of

Books Distributed

is, I find, far larger this year than ever before. Friends will rejoice with me in this fact, and see in it a twofold significance; for, while it proves that serious need of mental provision still exists among ministers, it also shows that, by the blessing of the Lord, much has been done to supply their wants. Yes, a very busy day is every alternate Thursday at “Westwood,” when the outgoing books crowd the vestibule, and the dear friend who packs them has need of all her strength and patience to accomplish the heavy task, even with the help of other willing workers, who are entrusted with minor details; and at night, when the “Master” comes home from his labours, he has to pass by a perfect wall of stacked-up parcels on his way to his study, and I know he breathes a prayer that the Lord will own and bless this little service done to His poor servants, and make every book a channel of grace to the recipient The monthly distribution of

“The Sword and the Trowel” Magazine

is still attempted, but only in a small way; for its price is so trifling that I think it should be accepted as a gift by none but the very poorest of the Lord’s servants. To them I am more than willing to forward it, and any pastor who cannot afford the threepence monthly has only to write to

me to secure it. I have this week had some grateful letters from those who have received the gift during 1883. An aged minister says that a late article by Mr. Spurgeon, entitled “We shall get Home, we shall get Home,” was exceedingly sweet and precious to his soul, and that he always reads the magazine with pleasure and profit.” It is quite a boon every month,” writes another, M and cheers the heart of a poor village pastor more than you can imagine”; while a third thus pleads: “Might I dare to ask that you will continue to me the monthly gift of The Sword and the Trowel? I do greatly appreciate it, but cannot afford to buy it.”

The generous and faithful friend to whom I owe so many thanks for all sorts of kindnesses has again throughout the year kept me fully supplied with writing material for myself apd for enclosure in the parcels. These

Gifts of Stationery

are very acceptable to poor pastors, and supply a want often overlooked, but none the less real and vexatious. They think I am very thoughtful for them, and they give me loving thanks; but the true care-taker is my considerate friend, who thinks no trouble too great to take to ensure the comfort of others, and finds his best reward in the joy of thus serving his Master. A few quotations from grateful recipients will illustrate their feeling on the subject better than any words from my pen. A country minister writes: “If you only knew how ill able we have sometimes been to spare the money for paper and envelopes, it would have given you even greater pleasure than it has done to send this wonderful supply.” “I am very glad,” writes another, “to receive a packet of stationery. The friend making this provision for poor ministers has been guided wisely, for very few know how much correspondence our work in country districts calls for. Many times have I wished that some one would be thoughtful enough to anticipate our wants in this respect, yet never before have I had such a present. It came, too, on my birthday.” “The note-paper and envelopes,” says a third pastor, a are as acceptable as they were unexpected. If I have been remiss in my correspondence hitherto, with such resources I shall be encouraged to mend my ways.” There is no need to multiply examples of the grateful welcome accorded to this considerate addition to my gifts; it “goes without saying” that such kindness is valued by the poor Pastors; but it remains for me to express my sincere and affectionate thanks to the generous donor for this and many other proofs of his interest in my work; and this I do with all my heart.

There has been this year a notable and increased demand for copies of

Single Sermons for Distribution,

and of little tracts and books, and extracts from the “Sermons.” I have been constantly entreated to make grants of these to all kinds of Christian workers, whose experience has shown them the excellence of these spiritual tools, and the blessing which the Lord vouchsafes to their prayerful use. It was scarcely within the province of the Book Fund to comply with these requests, but I felt constrained to overstep the boundaries in such a matter; it would not have been wise to let slip such splendid opportunities of scattering the seed of life broadcast over the waiting furrows! Soldiers, sailors, railway porters, dockyard men, have all been supplied through their several missionaries, and I could tell of some very happy cases of impression and subsequent conversion through the reading of the “Sermons” and tracts by these toilers. As for the country Pastors and Evangelists, they can never have enough of the precious messengers; they use them in district and house-to-house visitation, and in loan societies; and they come to me so often for supplies, that I must break down the barriers altogether, and make up my mind to consider this sermondistribution as another permanent and important “branch” of my main “business.”

There remains now but to notice and assign its proper place to the new effort, lately inaugurated, of forwarding every month, per post, the

Sermons to Missionaries in Foreign Lands.

Elsewhere I have explained the origin and purpose of this Fund; and, being yet in its extreme infancy, there is not

much to be said for it, except that it bids fair to be a very robust and charming child. Two despatches of “Sermons” will have been made before Christmas, and I have already received answers from workers in Italy, Brittany, Germany, and Spain: these are all delighted with the prospect before them, rejoicing greatly in the refreshment and help to be obtained from the monthly feast. Sufficient time has not yet elapsed to bring replies from the distant heathen lands to which I have sent the little ambassadors of peace, but these will come in due course. As I expected and hoped, friends have warmly espoused the new cause, and my lists of contributions show that, so far, all the expenses of the scheme are most liberally met. Thank you a thousand times, dear friends, for all the generous love and kindness which, under the blessing of God, crown every effort of the Book Fund with continued and triumphant success.

Again I am constrained to say —

fHagm’fg tije 3Lorh imtf) me, attfc let ms
<8x alt Pftss Name together!”

* *.

At the manufactory of the “Gobelins Tapestries” in Paris, the weavers sit concealed behind the beautiful fabrics on which they are engaged, working from a pattern designed by some great artist, and perhaps only taking occasional peeps at the fair exterior and the marvellous effects which their patient labours are producing. Passing along the room in front of the brilliant pictures, the visitor’s attention is concentrated on their loveliness. He knows that they are in process of manufacture by men whose persons are partially or wholly hidden behind the massive drapery; he may even see the work growing, thread by thread, under the weavers’ busy fingers; but he gives scarce a thought to the workman, so ravished is he with the beauty of design, the richness of colouring, and the unique texture of these renowned productions. I have been thinking that, in a very humble fashion,

I am like one of these weavers; for day by day I sit, care-, fully adding a few touches to my work, weaving in the bright threads of the Book Fund records, till a fair tapestry of its history for the past twelve months is completed, and then, in my “Diary,” unveiling my work for my readers’ inspection; displaying it, not as a triumph of my skill, but as a tiny part of a trophy of the Lord’s great design of lovingkindness and tender mercy to His chosen ones. For truly the work is all His — in direction, in design, and in development. Its foundation lines were laid in His love and compassion, its pattern is traced in the golden threads of His faithfulness and favour, its embroidery is clustered with the precious stones of His mercies, and its beauty is great because of the “blessing of the Lord” upon it Behind all this grandeur of grace the worker may well be concealed: it is enough that she should marvel at the condescension which placed her there, and taught her fingers to fashion this goodly work for the King and His servants. It is so great an honour to be allowed to put even one stitch into the tapestry of the wonderful providences which are being wrought all around us, that we might well crave to be employed upon the selvedges, or be happy only to ravel out the fringes of the great Master’s designs, rather than bear no part in that solemn labour which promotes us to be “workers together with God.”

I cannot tell why I have recalled a scene which must have lain long buried in the dark places of my memory; perhaps it is intended to comfort or reassure some timid, troubled worker who can see no beauty or utility in the service which yet he feels constrained to render, because of the love he bears his Lord and King. Courage, dear friend! You are to stand behind your work, whatever it may be. You are to labour diligently and faithfully at the wrong and knotty side of it, content to be unknown and unrewarded if the Lord so wills it; but restfully certain that, if you are doing what He tells you, the result may be safely left with Him. He will bring out all the harmony and beauty and glory of His own designs; and when they are perfected, and you are allowed to look upon the right side of the Lord’s “marvellous work,” you will wonder, not only at its splendour as a whole, but at the brilliance of the stitches which were woven in by you with so many sighs and tears, and you will never cease to sing to the praise of Him who “doeth all things well.”

Dear friends, at this moment I gather up the last thread of my twelvemonth’s task, and tie the finishing knot 1 Help me to thank the Lord for the happy completion of my little piece of broidered work! This is the eighth record of the Lord’s love and faithfulness to me in the Book Fund; help me to pray that it may be approved and accepted by Him, and allowed to tell the story of His grace and goodness with irresistible power. If it may but show forth His honour and glory, I will thank Him for ever!

I lay the offering at His feet, asking Him to accept it for Jesus* sake; and then I turn to you — with empty hands, but a full and happy heart — and I say, once more —

“©, ifHajpfmfg tfje 3Lorfc fcritfj the, anh let u»

3Exalt i&atne together!”

SUMMARY OF WORK.

Books Distributed during the Year 1883: — 11,351 Volumes.

The above books were apportioned to 332 Baptists, 216 Independents,. 310 Methodists, 163 Church of England clergymen, 37 Presbyterians* 34 Missionaries, 61 Evangelists, and 2 Moravians. — Total, 1,155.