and apparently much religious zeal. In public prayer he designated himself 'a child,' and was very free with the Almighty; which some listeners considered fervency and wrestling with God, others irreverence. He blended the jocular with the solemn; indulged in the coarsely dramatic; vituperated the Christian church in general, and ministers in particular; he offended the devout, and scandalized the reverent, but he attracted crowds, increased the congregation, and so preached, that many who had lived without God in the world became changed characters, and rejoiced at finding themselves disciples of Christ. The 'child' said pithy things. The 'boy-preacher' talked about the things of Christ, and the depths of Christian experience, 'like an old divine. A believer in metempsychosis might have thought that the soul of one of the old Puritans, one of their 'painful preachers,' had become re-embodied in the person of a chubby, coarse, fluent youth of the nineteenth century, when as yet the prophecy is not fulfilled, that for brass there shall be gold. His fame spread wider and wider. The newspapers took knowledge of him. 'Respectable' people went to hear him, and were divided in opinion. Some went again and again, and blessed God that they had gone. Others affirmed once to be enough. Mr. Spurgeon's last' became part of the small change of talk, and useful, like the weather, for filling up the interstices of conversation. 'Ministers' contrived to hear him, and differed like the laity, though not with such equal distribution of numbers; for while some saidSpurgeon's is the style,' and still more invited him to preach collection-sermons, because he could fill not only the chapel but the plates,' a larger number shook their heads, if not in utter disapprobation, yet in grave doubt, that was also tinged with sadness. Mr. Spurgeon repaid their hesitation to endorse him and swell the popular applause by fresh attacks. They did not preach the gospel; they did not launch out into the deep; they were dumb dogs, or they were learned, or eloquent, or philosophic; they were scholars, or intellectual men, or gentlemen;-not like HIM! They could only attract hundreds, may be only scores, while he, the 'child' Behold! Where were their converts? while his-look around! It was Jehu in the pulpit; or David, not content with the songs of the women of Israel, himself leading the procession, singing, or rather shouting his own praises, and tauntingly contrasting the thousands of Saul with his own ten thousands. 'Let another praise thee, and not thine own lips,' might be the wisdom of Solomon, but it was not the wisdom of Parkstreet. Still, good was done. A change that angels might rejoice over was wrought in the lives of many; and Christians, not a few, who did not altogether believe in the man, were glad to believe in the good, although they might believe also that the alloy was great.

Time went on, and, contrary to the expectation of many, the fame of the preacher increased. Carriage-people' crowded to hear him. Men of rank and women of title canvassed the merits of the young Baptist preacher. Was he a prophet? Was he a buffoon? The phenomenon, taken as a whole, was perplexing. Was it genius? or was it impudence? Granting the inspiration, was it from heaven? or

of the earth-earthy? The aristocracy, to be sure, would not be better judges of the true in doctrine, or the desirable in preaching, than the middle classes. Duchesses have not necessarily more discernment than dress-makers. Still, there was the fact and a very interesting one, too-that the same preacher who could interest the vulgar could attract the titled. And Mr. Spurgeon's friends took care that none of even the crumbs of fame should fall to the ground. Every member of the fashionable world that could be detected in the congregation was duly chronicled. Dissent began to feel flattered in the person of this modern Baptist, who certainly was not preaching in any wilderness, nor his meat altogether locusts and wild honey. Reviews took up the questio vexata. But, alas for those who would fain be helped in their judgment, even doctors differ. It is the fluency, the effrontery, the buffoonery, the novelty of the mode in which a cheap and easy gospel is hashed up to suit diseased palates, and a luscious spiritualism served out alike to those who are weary of the coarse work of low life, and of the superfine vanity of high. Something is wanted on Sundays that shall interest in a religious way, as on other days do Dickens and 'Punch,' and the Italian Opera. No, it is the unmistakable plainness with which the gospel is earnestly and freshly presented by one whose whole heart is set on glorifying the Redeemer, and saving the precious souls that are perishing on every hand. It is because he is troubled with no doubts, and laughs difficulties to scorn. Because he says the same things that apostles said, without caring for the objections of the understanding, or even of the moral sense. Because strong in his 'Thus saith the Lord,' therefore none of the uncouthnesses and offences against taste, and even graver faults, are allowed to interfere with the success of that divine mission to which every preacher is called, indeed, but which in these degenerate days he only has comprehended.

And thus issue is joined. The Calvinistic portion of the religious press authenticates him as a man of God, with certain eccentricities, indeed, which, though somewhat regretable, are perfectly compatible with sincerest piety, and with his own claim to be regarded as a special instrument in the hand of God, raised up to initiate the great religious movement of the present age; while writers who stand outside the religious world, or only on its borders, seek his prototype in French comedy, and deem they have said all that is needed when, thanks to Molière, they have pronounced the word-Tartuffe!

We had heard so much, and of so conflicting a character, that we determined to judge for ourselves. A large chapel was crowded with eager auditors. The singing over, during which Mr. Spurgeon seemed impatient, he announced a chapter of the New Testament, and proceeded to offer some expository remarks, which, however, had nothing to do with the verses, which merely afforded the occasion. The Scriptures were made, to use a vulgar but apt expression, a mere nose of wax; we heard, not evangelist, or apostle, or Christ, but only— Spurgeon. His second sentence was a sneer at the shallowness of ministers. Let us pray. All Christians can unite in prayer.

The saints in prayer appear as one,
In word, and deed, and mind;
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.'

We bowed our heads before the Infinite Majesty in whose presence the Seraphim veil not only their faces, but even their feet. But we started as though suddenly stung by a serpent. Mr. Spurgeon summoned Him whom Israel almost feared to name, not merely with undue boldnessnot merely as some boisterous sportsman might hail a sturdy companion, but as some upstart, with all the confidence of money in his purse, might summon 'Boots!' or 'Ostler!' at an inn. No gentleman could call his valet as Mr. Spurgeon called God, and bade him come 'nearer'-' nearer still.' A footman so addressed would feel that his master was very offensively peremptory. We still remember the shudder that ran through our frame. So deep and painful a sense of shocking irreverence had never been produced on us. We gazed on the speaker, who had thrown himself back in the pulpit, and was standing in a theatrical attitude, with outstretched arm, and asked ourselves, Where are we? Can this be prayer? Has this young man ever truly knelt before Him the mere symbols of whose presence made prophets tremble and fall prostrate? Is this in very deed a younger brother of Moses, of Daniel, of Ezekiel, of Habakkuk? Could Paul or John have addressed God thus? Nay, could even the beloved Son himself ever speak to the Father so? He went on, however, certainly not dazzled by the light in which God dwelleth, which no man hath approached unto,

'Beyond the sapphire blaze Where angels tremble while they gaze;'

We

and demanded many things of God in the same manner. Among them more labourers; but at the same time distinctly specified to the Blessed and only Potentate what was not wanted (as, for example, 'that we do not want talent'), and ordered 'more Whitefields.' would fain substitute another word for this painful and offensive one ordered,' but in sober and sad truth no other would so exactly convey the true idea. With us prayer was out of the question. Grieved and astonished we sat and watched the speaker, relieved when the 'Amen' came. The text was out of Solomon's Song. The sermon was common-place, with sundry grotesque illustrations, and bold, ill-judged statements, meant to be effective, and which probably were so.

Among other things he announced that between one tick of the clock,' to which he pointed, and the next,' a man might secure his salvation for ever. A momentary act, a look, and all was done; and, such was the nature of the blessed gospel, he should never after come into condemnation.

We had heard of his Calvinism, and now found it was a sort of Calvinism made easy. Any man who had ever felt in such and such a manner, or who, under the influence of a strangely exciting sermon,

had ever, by this momentary act, performed between the two ticks of a chapel clock, 'cast himself upon Christ,' might deem himself one of the elect.

'A regular Cheap-Jack!' said a voice behind us. We turned, and saw a shrewd-looking man half-amusedly and half-contemptuously observing the preacher.

'What a beautiful sermon!' said a soft voice on one side of us. We turned again, and saw a young lady who seemed mentally devouring the minister.

In this sermon there was none of the genius we had heard ascribed to him. It had, however, the great merit of unmistakable plainness. There was no mere sentence-making. All was level to the capacity of the rudest. No time was wasted in needless discussion. There was a directness, a straightforwardness, and a sort of yeoman heartiness, bluffness we should perhaps say, or easy off-handedness, that told upon the dense mass of people, already excited by the prayer, and led by the speaker himself to regard him as a second Whitefield. There was also, no doubt, great earnestness, at least of manner. But there was with it something which made us wonder whether it were indwelling and abiding, and the profession of extraordinary concern for souls sustained by equal extraordinariness in the non-public life; for though we would as strongly as any condemn the unduly inquisitive, yet in this case comparison was challenged, and since the preacher would have us believe we had another Whitefield, we remembered how that holy man often passed half the night in agonizing, but, as he thought, secret prayer; nor could we banish from our mind the Christ-like tenderness of his spirit. To state our impression truly, it was thisthat, without at all questioning his possession of an average amount of sincerity, there was an abundance of that kind of earnestness which prompted you to seek a qualifying epithet for it, and at the same time suggested that it might perhaps be designated pulpit-earnestness.

Having heard him we could understand his popularity. We could understand also the success, of one kind, which was affirmed to crown his labours, and in which we would unfeignedly rejoice. There was one thing, however, we had no clearer understanding of, namely, how it was that some enlightened and discerning men could speak of him as we were assured they did. We read, therefore, such of his printed sermons as came in our way, but whether we were unfortunate in our chance reading we cannot tell, yet so it was, that we laid down one after another without much change of the impression that his preaching had produced, except that if we had not heard and observed him we might have taken his intense utterances more simply on trust. We read on, however, and gradually found that we must have room upon our canvass for some features over and above those that had already daguerreotyped themselves, while these also came out larger and more deeply marked.

A new and happy thought indeed, one of Bacon's 'seed thoughts,' which lodging in the mind grows there to a beautiful plant, or it may be stately tree having seed in itself, we do not find; nor fresh light

cast upon any portion of Scripture; nor any of the difficult questions which sometimes painfully exercise devout minds that have sought to dig deep, as Solomon advises, for hidden treasure, touched with the finger of a wiser friend. Nor will his readers, if they catch his spirit, become more reverent, or more candid, or broader in their sympathies, or more modest, or more genial. Neither will they have any higher views of God and his government, nor find themselves on any happier ground for adjusting all the obvious claims of this life, so as to take an honest and hearty interest in all that belongs to humanity and time. A Calvinistic pulpit is the centre of all legitimate thought. We never get out of the meeting-house. The music of the universe must adjust itself to a chapel metre. No minors. If the sea roar and the fulness thereof, let it be to the tune of the Old Hundredth. Wisdom may build her house and hew out the pillars thereof-not seven, as Solomon said, for that would be two too many; in these days five is the sacred number, and the universe is founded on five points. Truth is not a circle, full orbed, but a pentagon.

All this, and more that we shall have to glance at, soon becomes evident enough to the reader of Mr. Spurgeon's sermons; who will also in time get quite accustomed to thunder and lightning, rams' horns from Jericho, a big drum, feathered cherubs, for the most part 'flapping their wings in the unnavigated ether,' green and flowery mounts for a portion of God's 'offspring,' and for the rest the Inferno and Purgatorio filched from Rome in the dark ages and rolled together with a will to make the 'hell' of the Christian preacher. Sometimes the reader will think himself in God's own temple, and then will have the rude doubt forced on him whether it be not the shambles. At one moment he fancies he hears the very thunder of heaven, he listens breathlessly, but it subsides into the rumbling of a cart. Now he gives himself up willingly to the holy influence of a devout and earnest Christian minister, and then finds him suddenly transformed into a butcher's boy. Then he sees an angel flying towards him, summoned by the preacher perhaps by name; but when his heart beats because Gabriel is near, the celestial turns out to be some Baptist brother, probably a deacon from Park-street, angel draped and winged, according to approved fashion. All his angels are theological angels, and they all talk Calvinism. Indeed, he tells us 'the angels are no Arminians.'

The reader will recognise that no one or two adjectives will fully characterise Mr. Spurgeon. In his sermons will be found sometimes nothing but common-place. Sometimes the sermon is a piece of extravagance from beginning to end. Sometimes it is a very happy pulpit effort throughout,-sensible, calmly earnest, ingenious in construction, perhaps striking, and pervaded by a spirit of true and joyous piety. Oftener it is a compound of the ordinary matter preached in ordinary pulpits, save that High Calvinism is the warp and woof of it, and forcible appeals, with no end of scraps of hymns, aptly quoted, numerous illustrations, abundant metaphor, anecdotes, sometimes telling, not unfrequently of the Joe Miller class bold

VOL VIII.