Chapter 22

A Stranger from London, 1853.

A lady in London, reading in the Cornish newspapers about our revivals, became much interested, and having a strong desire to witness such a movement personally, proposed a visit to her uncle in Truro, who had sent her those papers. Being accepted, she came down a long way in those days, when railway communication was not so complete as it is now.

This same lady was present at my church on Sunday morning; and expressing a wish to attend the afternoon service, we gladly welcomed her to the parsonage. In course of conversation, she spoke of churches in London where the Gospel was preached in its fullness; and I naturally asked her whether they had "after-meetings." She said, she did not know what I meant. "Prayer meetings, for conversion work, I mean."

"What is that?" she inquired. "Is not conversion God's work?"

"Yes," I answered, "indeed it is; but so is the harvest yonder in the corn-fields: it is all God's work, but men have to plough the ground and sow the seed."

"Oh, is that what you call revival work? I have read of it; and, to tell the truth, I have come all the way from London to see it."

She evidently had an idea that revivals were something like thunder-storms, which come of themselves, no one knows how or why; or something that is vented, like an occasional eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

I said, "Revivals--that is, the refreshening of believers and the awakening of sinners--ought to take place wherever the Gospel is preached in faith and power."

She could not understand it, and said, "It is not so in churches, is it?"

"Yes," I replied, "in churches as well as in cottages, halls and chapels too."

"I am sure Mr. ---- in London preaches a full Gospel, but I have never heard of a revival there; indeed, I feel convinced they would not allow it."

"Is he converted?" I asked.

She smiled at the question, and said, "I suppose he is."

"I mean, does he preach about the forgiveness of sins? and, more than this, does he expect people to have forgiveness?"

She said she could not understand my Cornish way of talking--"They do not speak like that in London."

"Your sins are pardoned," I said, by way of explanation, in order to get her to comprehend my meaning from her own experience. "Your sins are pardoned." She got very confused. "You know," I continued, "that it is a happy day when Jesus takes our sins away." This only made matters worse. She became greatly embarrassed. While we spoke of London and Gospel preaching she was free enough; but the moment I made a personal application of the subject, she was altogether bewildered.

At last, with a kind of forced effort, she said, "I have been a child of God for eleven years."

"Thank God!" I said, much relieved; "that is what I mean. You have been converted and pardoned for eleven years. It is all right, then. I did not intend to perplex you, and am sorry I did not convey ray meaning in a better manner."

But I could not smooth down her ruffled feathers so easily, and was glad when the five minutes' bell began ringing to summon us to church. We got ready, and went. It happened to be a children's service, and our subject that afternoon was Joseph's reconciliation with his brethren. Three questions, among others, were asked and dwelt upon.

First, "Was Joseph reconciled with his brethren while they were self-convicted before him, and condemned themselves as verily guilty concerning their brother?"--"No."

Second, "Was he reconciled when he feasted with them, and made merry?"--"No."

Third, "When, then, was he reconciled?"--"When they surrendered themselves, and all the eleven were prostrate at his feet, like the eleven sheaves which bowed to Joseph's sheaf in the harvest field; then he made himself known to them, and forgave them. It is not when a soul is under condemnation, nor yet when it is happy, that it is saved; but when it is actually, once for all, surrendered to Christ for salvation, then it is He makes himself known to them, even as Joseph did to his brethren."

The lady went away. I did not ascertain who she was, nor where she came from; I was not much taken with her, nor was she with me. Hers was evidently a kind of religion which I had not met with before, and did not care to meet with again.

The next day I went for a few hours' rest and change to the sea-side at Perran, but there was a burden of prayer on my soul. I could not thank God for that unknown lady, but I could pray for mercy for her. The impression on my mind was very clear: I felt that she was not saved. The day following the burden was heavier still, and I was on my knees praying for her for several hours in the day. In the evening I was quite in distress. The next day I was most anxious for her, and could do nothing but pray, even with tears. This lasted till the following day (Thursday), when I happened to go into the drawing-room for something, and there I observed a strange Bible lying on the table. I remembered that I had seen that same book in the lady's hand on Sunday. I took it up, and saw a name, and on making inquiry of the servants I found out that she came in Mr. --'s carriage on Sunday.

This was enough. I wrote a note immediately, and sent the Bible, saying that I was greatly burdened for her soul, and should much like to see her. She sent me a kind letter in reply, appointing the following Monday for my visit.

On that day I called, and found her very kind, and seemingly thankful for the interest I expressed in her welfare. I said that she had nothing really to thank me for, for I could not help myself; the burden had been laid upon me. Then I asked her if she would tell me how she became a child of God.

She did so readily, and told me that once she was in the world, and as fond of dancing and pleasure as others with whom she associated; that in the midst of her gaiety she was called to the death-bed of a cousin, who was just such a lover of pleasure as herself. Her cousin said, "Oh, Mary, give up the world for my sake. I am lost! Oh, Mary, give it up!" Soon she died, poor girl, just awakened enough to see and feel herself hopelessly lost--a dying worldling. No one was near to point her to the Saviour, so she departed as she had liked to live, without salvation. Mary wept at the remembrance of that solemn scene, and said she could never forget it. "Well," I said, "and what did you do then?"

She answered firmly, "I knelt down then and there, by the side of the bed where my poor cousin had just died, and I called God to witness that I would give up the world. I did so; and have never had any inclination to go back into its gaieties and pleasures since. I began from that time to pray, and read my Bible, and go to church; and I love these things now better than I did the things of the world before."

At the time of this change, she was led to a church where Evangelical truth was preached simply and plainly; and thus became distinctly enlightened as to the way of salvation. She fully assented and consented to what she heard, and therefore became a very earnest disciple, enthusiastic about the sovereignty of God and the doctrines of grace, and all such matters. She understood the meaning of the Levitical types and offerings; could speak of dispensational truth and prophecy; was very zealous about missions to the heathen, and was also earnestly devoted to many charitable works at home.

There was, however, one little suspicious thing in the midst of all this manifest goodness. She had not much patience with elementary Gospel sermons, or much interest in, or sympathy with, efforts made to bring in perishing souls; she loved rather to be fed with high doctrines, and the mysteries of grace with its deeper teachings. There are some men who love to preach exclusively about these things, even before mixed congregations, addressing them as if they were all real Christians.

It is surprising how many people there are just like Mary, who seem to care more for doctrines than for Cod Himself--more for favourite truths than for souls. A simple, elementary Gospel address, with some clear illustrations, was just the very thing Mary wanted for her own soul's good, more than anything; but, unfortunately, this was the thing against which she was prejudiced, for she abhorred "anecdotal sermons."

After hearing her story, I said, "It is very interesting; but there is one great deficiency in it. You have not told me anything' about Christ; have you nothing to say about the blood of Jesus, and about your sins? Have you had no real transaction with 'God about them?"

She said she "did not know what I meant."

"Did you never come as a sinner, and obtain the forgiveness of your sins?"

"No," she replied; "that is what I do not understand about your teaching."

I showed her, as plainly as I could, that she had not told me about conversion, but reformation. "You have only turned over a new leaf, and kept your resolutions prayerfully and well for eleven years; but this is not turning back the old leaves of your past life, and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. 'He that covers his sins' in this way, 'can never prosper.' If a man owes a debt for which he is very sorry, and determines that in future he will pay for everything he gets--this will not pay his past debts."

She went on to justify herself, and said, "that she knew a great many good Christian people, and that none of them had ever suspected her as I did."

I endeavoured to assure her that I was dreadfully alarmed about her condition, and was certain that if she died like that, there would be no more hope for her salvation than for her cousin's. This seemed to rouse her hostility, and I saw that I had lost influence. However, I could not blame myself, for I had only said what I felt to be true. I returned home and prayed for more wisdom. All that night I could not sleep, and most of it was spent in pleading with God. I felt as if a restless bird was flying about the room, and something was saying, "She will be lost forever." I urged my petition again and again.

The next day I called, and found this lady quite broken down, and ready to pray and listen to my teaching. I was most thankful, and greatly relieved after the night's restlessness. I had much happiness in pointing out the way of salvation as an experimental thing. She knew, before I did, the doctrine of the A tenement, but she had had no experience of its real efficacy. Now that her eyes were opened, she was in right earnest to know the reality of sins forgiven. Soon she found this, though not yet the joy of deliverance; she knew the peace and shelter of the sprinkled blood (Exod. 12:13), but not yet the joy and liberty of being on the rock on the other side of the Red Sea (Exod. 15: 2). I was sure that it would all come in due time, and therefore was able to take comfort, and also to comfort her.

I saw a good deal of her at that time, and one day she told me that a relation of hers, a clergyman, was coming to have it out with me for saying that she was not converted before.

"Certainly," I replied, "I shall be happy to meet him, and hope you will be in the room."

When the dreaded man arrived, we were introduced to one another.

"Well," he said, "you are a very different-looking than to what I imagined. I have heard a deal about you. So you are a Puseyite turned Evangelical, eh? I have often heard of people going the other way, but I must say I have never met a man who had come in this direction." He then asked about the results of my industry.

I told him what was the effect in my church and parish, and that the same signs followed the preaching of the Gospel wherever I went. "I wish," he said, "you would come and preach in my parish. You know a great friend of mine at Veryam and have preached in his pulpit. Will you do the same for me?"

"Oh, yes," I said, "certainly, with pleasure."

"Now, look at me, for I am a man of business: when will you come? Name your day."

I looked at my pocket-book, and fixed upon a certain Monday.

Then he arranged that we should have a kind of missionary meeting, "In the course of which," he said, "you can preach as much Gospel as you like. If it goes well, we will have a lecture the next evening on 'Heart Conversion,' and another the evening following, on something else." He was "quite sure noone would come to hear a sermon only. It must be a missionary meeting, or something of the kind, to bring the people out."

On the day appointed, the barn where we were assembled was well filled, and seeing that the people were interested, the vicar gave out, "Mr Haslam will lecture tomorrow evening on Heart Conversion."

The next evening, when we arrived, we found the barn quite full, and numbers standing outside; besides, there were many more whom we passed on the road. So it was determined that we should go into the church and have a short service. The edifice was soon lighted, and filled, and after a few collects and hymns (for they had a hymn-book in that church), I went up into the pulpit, and preached upon the absolute necessity of conversion--no salvation without it. As to "heart conversion," what is conversion at all if the heart is not touched? Then I treated my subject from another point of view. "Every converted person here knows what heart conversion is; and if any one does not, it is clear he is not converted. If he dies in that state, he wilt be lost for ever!" I concluded the sermon with prayer; and while I was praying in the pulpit, one after another of the people in the pews began to cry aloud for mercy. My friend Mary likened it to a battle-field, and me to a surgeon going from one wounded one to another to help them. At eleven o'clock we closed the service, promising to hold another the next day.

On Wednesday morning Mary awoke from her sleep with a voice saying to her, "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world."

"Then all my sins are gone. He has borne them. He 'Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree.'"

She was filled with joy unspeakable, and came to breakfast rejoicing. The lady of the house was in tears, the servants were troubled, and the vicar alternately glad and sorry, for he was not sure whether it was excitement or the work of God, and did not know what to make of it. However, in the evening he broke down in his reading-desk in the middle of the sermon, and burst out, "Lord, save me!" In an instant the whole congregation was up, and the people everywhere either crying for mercy, or rejoicing. The power of the Lord was present to heal them, and many souls were saved that night; and besides these, there were others who were troubled.

Amongst this number was the young squire of the parish. He was afterwards decidedly converted to God, and took great interest in the work. When twitted on the bench by his brother magistrates about the revival, he stood his ground manfully, and gave good testimony. He continues to this day a bold champion for the truth as it is in Jesus.