Preaches Before the Duke of Sussex; Review of His Course

My dear Children, — While musing with what I should fill this sheet, it struck me that I would notice the disadvantages arising from my original state in life, and see what there has been in any degree to counterbalance them. I have nothing to lament on account of it physically; yea, I was more likely to inherit a purer blood, and a sounder constitution, by being born of healthful, robust, and active peasants, than if I had descended from the enervating and disease-breeding habitudes and indulgences of higher life. But my early condition painfully affected my ease and confidence in company. I, therefore, rarely ever felt myself at home, or in my element, unless in some very special instances. This, however, was overruled for good, by keeping me much out of society, and giving me more time for reading and study, which I both wanted and desired. Hence, also, in a measure, arose my backwardness to speak at public meetings. Por the sacredness of the temple I had been accustomed privately to prepare, and the presence of God seemed to reduce creatures to their proper level.

Thus when I had to preach before the Duke of Sussex, at the opening of Hanover Chapel, instead of dining with His Royal Highness and a large company previously to the service, I passed the time in retirement; and when I left it, to enter the pulpit, I felt no more than if I had been going to preach Christ in a poor-house. One of the papers of the day abused me, for the freedom of my address; but as I had never been accustomed to speak evil of dignities, so I was not likely to insult greatness to its face. The case was, retirement had awakened conscience, and conscience accompanied me in the pulpit, and bade me speak, ‘not as pleasing men, but God who searches the heart,” and with whom “there is no respect of persons.” I never consider myself as chargeable with personal reflection, when I am conscious I should deliver the same things, from the same words, in any other place or to any other audience. But I could never (so modelled and governed are we by habit and circumstances,) realize this frame in a town-hall or an assembly-room. There, notwithstanding the object pf the meeting, it seemed to be a kind of civil proceeding; and I felt as only among men, whose presence and manner ’ confounded me. The expectation of being called upon to propose or second some motion has crucified me in the prospect, for the whole preceding night; and it sometimes induced me to abstain from places, and assemblies, which I should otherwise have delighted to attend. I have felt also impressed with an invincible apprehension that I did not succeed when I made the attempt. After my first speech on occasion of the first meeting of the Bible Society in Bath, I was desired by a rude member of the committee to furnish for publication in the provincial papers, “as much of what I had delivered as had any relation to the business of the day.” This so completely chilled me, that I spoke but once after, and without any of that freedom which would give it grace or effect. Then I came to a determination, that to prevent importunity I would refuse all future applications. I the more readily adopted this resolution, as I had a plenitude of other pressing claims. I was also afterwai’ds confirmed in the propriety of it by Dr. Chalmers, who, when I was at his house in Glasgow, remarked,” The pulpit is the

preacher’s appropriate station, and he can there be most influential and useful, by touching a number of springs which will set all in motion.’^ Observation also has kept me from repenting of my resolution. I have seen that ministers, who, as platform orators, have figured much at these meetings, have been sadly drawn off from keeping their own vineyards. Nor in general, are preachers on these occasions the best or the most acceptable speakers. They are too professional — too sermonic. Laymen, who speak more briefly, more simply, and apparently more from the heart, are commonly more effective, and are heard to more advantage. My esteemed friend Mr. Hughes, one of the secretaries of the Bible Society, also confirmed this; and he had the best opportunities to judge.

‘^ Every man in his own order:” we have all our particular dispensations under which we should be content to labour, and getting above which, we soon appear to be out of our place. Genteel life lays restraints on the expression of feeling, and gives a softness to the manners, and a courtesy to the speech, especially in differences of opinion. Here, I fear, I also have sometimes, if not frequently, erred, having been hasty of spirit in conversational disputes, if not rudely decisive. But the great disadvantage arising from my original condition was the want of an early and good education. As this was not placed within my reach, I have no feeling of shame or of blame on account of wanting it; but I am persuaded I should, had the opportunity been afforded me, have seized it with avidity; and have made that progress which depends on some degree of talent, accompanied with much application and diligence. I say nothing, therefore, in depreciation of schools and learning, but it becomes me to dwell on any consideration that tends to reconcile me to the will of God in denying me, what I shall ever deem a privilege; and viewing things in their bearing on my ministry, I was, perhaps, by my previous circumstances, more acquainted with the lower ranks in the community, and could better accommodate myself to their modes of thinking and feeling. And may not this be one reason why God takes so many of his labourers from common life? And how was it with the great Teacher sent from God? We are aware of a grand speciality in his case. He had knowledge by intuition — but he communicated it naturally. His teaching was unlike that of the doctors of the schools, — “he spake as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” He did not soar above vulgar apprehension. He did not abound in learned allusions. His images were all taken from familiar scenes. Other teachers were very fine — he was very simple. They were mechanism — he was nature. “The poor,” therefore, had “the gospel preached unto them/^ and “the common people heard him gladly.” Was this recorded of him who “spake as never man spake” in a way of commendation? Why then do we not seek to resemble him?

Cromwell always ordered his soldiers to fire low; and what execution would they have done had they fired high? Such are the effects of their preaching who shoot over their hearers’ heads. Have we never seen an audience gaping with admiration at what they did not understand, and perhaps their wonderful and astonishing orator either? It is easy to give a discourse the appearance of depth, or originality, by certain terms and unusualnesses of expression, or turning prose into a kind of blank verse. But this strikes only the injudicious, — not” the wise in heart. ^’ They easily see, under the garish ornaments, only the mere common-place which they would not despise, but for its silly affectation of finery.

I have been asked whether my happiness was increased and improved by the change and elevation in life which I have experienced? It may not be amiss to offer a few reflections suited to this inquiry. — “The Lord,” says the church, “shall choose our inheritance for us.” When Saul’s courtiers re-LET. XII.] EARLY DISADVANTAGES. 115

proached David as a restless, ambitious young man, who, dissatisfied with a private station, was endeavouring to climb into eminence and publicity, he was able to make this appeal, “Lord, my heart is not haughty nor mine eyes lofty, neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.^^ He well knew that the first notice he excited, and which led to everything else, was, as to himself, purely accidental. He was sent by his father to carry provision to his brethren in the camp, and to learn how they did. He had then no expectation of seeing or engaging Goliath; but it was so; and the Lord brought it to pass; for there was nothing in the event casual as to him. If lesser things may be compared with greater, I am equally sure, that the revolution in my circumstances was by the providence of God j not a thought of the change — much less a design, was, or could have been, rationally entertained by myself or my friends, till the door was suddenly opened, in an entirely new direction, and I was led by a way I knew not, and in paths which I had not known. In such a case, the will of God is to be supremely regarded; and the dispensation is not to be judged of by what we suffer or enjoy. He has an absolute propriety in us; and may dispose of us as seemeth good in his sight. His work is perfect — his ways are judgment. His purpose also is often comprehensive and extensive, involving references far beyond our present views and circumstances. Men are naturally far from being content with such things as they have; and as to the future, a rising in life seems always to appear very enviable. It would be very ungrateful in me, not to acknowledge the goodness, as well as the agency of God, and especially, considering the results, not to exclaim with David,” What am I, and what is my father’s house, that thou hast brought me hitherto?’’ But I am not disposed from experience to make men dissatisfied with their own allotment, and to seek great things to themselves by representing all the advantages as to enjoyment, on the ascending side. It was not the shepherd of Bethlehem, but the hero of the age, and the monarch of Israel, that cried, “Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then would I flee away and he at rest! If the robe be lengthened, it is not the less likely to be soiled, or torn, or trampled on. Possessions gender fears and cares; talents increase responsibilities — where much is given, much will be required. And who can be satisfied with his own improvements? Many new sources of usefulness may be opened, and this will weigh with a pious mind. But the Lord looketh to the heart; and “where there is first a willing mind, it is accepted according to what a man hath, and not according to what he hath not.’^ The Saviour could not have extolled an apostle, or an angel, more than he did Mary, when he said, “She hath done what she could.”

“Who does the best his circumstance allows
Does well — acts nobly — angels could no more.”

Many new sources of pleasure also may be opened; but every comfort has its cross; sensibility also may be quickened; but strong feeling may increase anguish as well as enjoyment. A man if destitute of the necessaries of life, must be wretched; but if he has a sufficiency with regard to food, clothing, and habitation, suited to his state, he may be called poor; but he is only comparatively so. Crabbe often takes his aim too low — his poor are the abject poor — the inmates of a parish workhouse, or the contents of the back streets of a borough, and commonly immoral and vicious. But take a peasant or a mechanic in a village, sober, moral, religious; his wishes bounded by the simplicity of rural life — his sleep sweet — his meals, though plain, sauced by appetite — his hands sufficient for him — his labour limited and free from distracting cares — his little garden yielding him the useful vegetable — and the Sunday flower, the Sabbath a day of pleasing change, and rest, and refreshment of spirits — the going

to the house of God in company — and the Bible, now more amply read, though not forgotten during the week — take such an one, and his condition as to enjoyment will not shrink from a comparison with the state of thousands, who never look down upon him but with contempt, or pity, or indifference.

There are those who are not theorists here — they “speak that they do know, and testify that they have seen.^^ It is said of Burns, by Dugald Stewart, that as they were walking together one morning, in the direction of the Braid Hills, where they commanded a prospect of the adjacent country, the poet remarked, that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his mind, which he did not believe any one could understand, that did not know as he did, how much of real worth and happiness such humble habitations might contain. My testimony,. perhaps, may be supposed to be too favourable, and to require some deduction, on two accounts: — First. That I left village life early, and before I was grown up, so as to be ftJly initiated into its good or evil, There is some little force in this, though I was old enough to observe, and feel, and judge. Secondly. That in my boyhood, village life was superior to what it now is. This deserves notice; and there have been, I fear, many changes for the worse. I need not describe what it is at present. But when I left the neighbourhood of my native place, abject penury, and extreme destitution, and sordid suffering, were rarely ever to be seen. Most even of the cottagers had a swine-sty, and baked their own bread; many of them also brewed their own beer, or made cider, and if not for constant use, had a little beverage for festivals and particular occasions. Those who, during mowing and reaping seasons, went forth to labour carried their bottle afield with them, and were generally supplied at meals with cold or warm meat and vegetables. Now, bread and water, with few exceptions, is all the provision, all the support, all the comfort, thousands of men, women, and children have amidst the burning sunshine and exhausting labour of a summer’s day. I was lately walking in time of harvest with an intelligent and humane farmer, among a number of hard-working peasants, who said to me, “You see these thin meagre figures, with patched and ragged clothing; — they have been toiling here from early dawn, to this scorching noon, and have had, perhaps, little more than a can of water and a crust of bread; and will toil on till evening calls them to a similar repast at home, and sleep, to their only rest. Oh, sir,” said he,” nothing surprises me so much, as the honesty, and quiet submission, and unresistingness of these sufferers; and we cannot reach and change their state.’^

“Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.”

I am, &c.