The Religious Life of London

among the presbyterians

At Colebrook Row

Innovations are the order of the day. New times and altered circumstances require them. In Christian work they are imperatively required. While the Church has folded its arms and slept, while people have been lulled to ease and carelessness by the respectability of Church life and the wealth of professors, while pastors and ecclesiastical authorities have found satisfaction in the observance of ancient order and in the routine of established work, all at once there comes to them a cry that the heathen are outside of them, blaspheming the name they love, ignorant of the Gospel tidings, perishing in their sin and crime and misery at their very doors. John Wesley wrote how, in the latter end of the year 1739, eight or ten persons came to him in London, who appeared to be deeply convinced of sin, and earnestly groaning for redemption. They desired that he would spend some time with them in prayer, and advise them how to flee from the wrath to come. In our time the curtain has been lifted up, and the devout and earnest Christianity of the day has stood face to face with the unbelief which, by ignoring the existence of a heavenly Father, and robbing humanity of its loftiest hopes and deepest consolations, left the masses in our crowded cities to live and die like brutes. The revelation has raised up in many quarters a feeling that something more has to be done than has yet been done, that the Church, to discharge its mission aright, needs a more earnest consecration of the heart, a less formal modus operandi, a freer utterance, a less stiff and starch and time-worn manifestation of Christian life.

In accordance with this feeling, one Sunday evening there was a novel service in the Presbyterian church, Colebrook Row, of which the Rev. J. Thain Davidson is pastor. The night itself was one of the most unfortunate that could have been selected for that or for any other experiment. London people have a great, and, let me add, a natural objection to wet weather. If it rains hard it offers them a good excuse for stopping at home. They do not like to spoil their Sunday clothes, and they have a great aversion to bronchial affections. In this respect the Scotchman contrasts favourably with the Englishman. In such places as Edinburgh or Glasgow the churches are as well attended in bad weather as in fine. If it were so in London how many a pastor’s heart would rejoice! At Colebrook Row they are Presbyterians, and in England we naturally presume Presbyterians to be Scotchmen – at any rate, this must be the case as regards the attendance at Colebrook Row. On Sunday evening the place was crammed. I did not see a seat anywhere to spare, nor did I see a hearer who did not seem to take the deepest interest in what was going on.

Well, and what was going on? – a thing I should think never seen in a Presbyterian place of worship before. It appears that the services in the Agricultural Hall just by have led to an increased demand for religious agency in that district. Hundreds who attend no place of worship have now been induced to do so. Hundreds who were careless about religion have now become concerned. Hundreds who a short while ago would have refused the gift of a tract, and would have shut their doors in the face of a Christian visitor, are now ready to receive the one and to listen to the viva voce instruction of the other. Naturally, the appeal is made to Mr. Davidson, but his own duties in connexion with his church and congregation leave him no time to spare. A fund raised partly by Mr. Davidson’s own people, and partly by the liberality of a private individual, has enabled the London City Mission to send an agent to labour in connexion with the services at the Agricultural Hall. But, after all, one man in such a multitude can do but little, and on Sunday evening Mr. Davidson, instead of preaching a sermon, organized, as it were, a public meeting, – yet not exactly a public meeting, for there was no chairman, there was no rhetorical fireworks, no murmurs of applause – the aim of which was to elicit Christian co-operation in evangelistic work in that particular locality. Belonging to their congregation there are some two hundred young men. How much can they do if they have but the willing heart!

The service commenced in the usual manner by the singing of a hymn. Mr. Davidson, who was in his pulpit and wore his gown, then offered up prayer, leading up to what was to be the peculiarity of that evening’s service. He then delivered a short address explanatory of the circumstances in which that meeting had been originated, and which had led to the visit of the deputation who were to address them that night. It had seemed to their evangelistic committee that an opportunity had arisen in consequence of the services at the Agricultural Hall which required the utmost efforts of Christian workers. The object of that meeting was to excite to further effort. They were all too much inclined to be supine, to be content with mere religious routine. There was a need to break through spiritual monotony. They must endeavour to breathe new life and energy and freshness. There was a fine field before them, for London truly was, as it was often termed, the finest missionary field in the world; even amidst the lowest of the low there was an encouraging feeling existing. The masses felt that on the whole the Christians were their best friends – those most ready to do them good temporally as well as spiritually. Especially was it so in that particular district. The Church was much to blame in that it had not been more ready to take advantage of this feeling and to turn it to proper account. People had often been driven away from places of worship. As an illustration, Mr. Davidson said that in one of the churches in that locality a young man entered and took his seat one Sunday evening. Presently the lady to whom the pew belonged came in: she said to the young man, harshly, “This is my pew, you have no business here.” The young man took up his hat and walked out, resolving never to enter a place of worship again. In a week after, he was dead.

“In their various societies,” continued Mr. Davidson, “there was ample room for all; some were more fitted for one kind of work than another, but they wanted workers of all kinds. There was a large amount of Christian talents amongst them lying waste, and they were losers, no one could say to how great an extent, through all eternity, in consequence. When there was a cry of anguish from earth, Christ came; and now can we refuse to utter the response, when there is a cry to the Church, ‘Lord, here am I; send me?’ Help is needed, nor can the work be done without human help.” The reverend gentleman then called on Mr. Mathieson, the banker of Lombard Street, who stood up in the table pew, and, after a short prayer, proceeded to read a few verses from Matthew’s Gospel, describing how the multitude were fed in the wilderness with seven loaves and a few small fishes. “In our time,” said the speaker, “there was just such a multitude exclaiming, ‘Who will show us any good?’ and in the Scriptures we find rules for our guidance. We find our means of usefulness in the inexhaustible love of our Saviour. No man could do any good who did not feel that. Christ said, ‘I have compassion on the multitude.’ What was compassion? Fellowship in suffering. And this is required from us. It was in this the greater part of Christ’s suffering consisted. We may be ready to come to Christ, to have fellowship with Him at this table; but the question is, Are we equally anxious to have fellowship with Him in His suffering? It was the wonder-working power of love by which Christ fed the multitude. The practical question, How many loaves have ye? was one to be put to us. If our answer is, We have scarce enough for ourselves; we have very little over, we must use that. The manna that was not eaten at once became corrupt. We must realize the fact that when we took God’s vows upon us we became as much consecrated to His service as any priest. Find out your gifts, learn not to be impatient of results, and make the most of the opportunity God has given you in so remarkable a manner to work in His service.” Such was the substance of Mr. Mathieson’s address. Another hymn was sung, and then Dr. A. P. Stuart, a medical man well known at the West-end, spoke briefly yet energetically on the living Christ, and the constraining power of His death and resurrection as the most powerful and only stimulus to Christian zeal. The discourse was constructed on two passages in Paul’s Epistles to the Corinthians, in which he shows how the love of Christ was the motive power, and how necessity was laid on Him in consequence to preach the Gospel. “It was not alone,” said the Doctor, “the living Christ, but it was the fact that He died for sin, that supplied the foundation of Christian effort. All we can do is far too little to show forth His praise. What is wanted is life in the soul – a dead soul can do nothing.” The speaker then showed what a revival of religion had been produced by personal conversation after sermons, and concluded with an urgent appeal – an address of unusual earnestness. Then Mr. Davidson closed the service in the usual way. The experiment was a bold one, but none present could have regretted it. Why should not qualified laymen give addresses in our chapels and churches on special occasions – on a Sunday night? Is there a valid reason why they should not, or why ministers should not thankfully accept their aid?

PARK CHURCH, HIGHBURY

At the back of substantial and well-to-do Highbury Place, bounded by the New River and the North London Railway, has sprung up of late years a flourishing settlement of villas, single and semi-detached, known as Highbury New Park. At one end of it there has been erected, at a cost of somewhere about eleven thousand pounds, a very handsome place of worship of white brick, ornamented with a very handsome spire. From an inscription in front of it I learn that it is a United Presbyterian Church, and that the pastor is the Rev. John Edmond, D.D. The Doctor came from the north to London some few years ago to preach to a congregation of Scotch men and women, meeting in Myddelton Hall, Islington, whence they had to move, as the church increased in success and influence and Christian zeal and power. Boswell, when introduced for the first time to old Sam Johnson, admitted that he was a Scotchman, but added, humbly and by way of apology, that indeed he could not help it. “Sir,” replied the Doctor, “that’s what many of your countrymen cannot help;” and, the writer would add, a good thing too, when we see what Dr. Edmond is, and how he and his church labour to spread Christian truth around.

Inside you are struck with the comfort and cheerful appearance of the building. In form it is almost a square, and is remarkably light and airy. The pews are all open and well cushioned. The pulpit is a handsome platform. Underneath is the choir. The chapel is computed to seat comfortably 1200, but that estimate is rather under than over the mark. Underneath the chapel are rooms fitted up with every convenience for week-evening lectures, for meetings of young men’s mutual improvement societies, for ladies’ working parties, and the other organizations of an active and flourishing church. I find here about 2000l. is annually raised for religious purposes. The pastor has a salary of 700l. a year. Attached to the place is a Young Men’s Literary Institute, a Young Men’s Christian Fellowship Association, a Missionary Association, a Psalmody Association, a Ladies’ Working Association. In Highbury New Park there are no poor people, and, consequently, there is no missionary agency or Sunday-school in connexion with that district; but the church, consisting of between four and five hundred members, is not idle nor neglectful of its special privilege and duty. In the neighbouring Hoxton there are many poor untaught, and for their souls the church in Highbury cares. There a City missionary is employed, whose labours are not in vain. They have organized a Mothers’ Meeting, a Bible Class, Penny Weekly Readings and Musical Entertainments, a Singing Class, and a Band of Hope. Last year their missionary conducted 156 in-door and 21 out-of-door meetings, 2100 district visitations for Scripture reading, &c., 500 district visitations to the sick and dying, besides the distribution of a large number of religious tracts. In Harvey Street, Hoxton, the church maintains a Sunday-school with an average attendance of 160, a day-school not so numerous, a Sick Relief Society, and in Albert Square another Sunday-school and a domestic servant class. Dr. Edmond himself preaches twice on the Sunday, and once on a week-night. He has a special service for servants on Sunday afternoons; on Fridays and Saturdays he also holds Bible classes. On Sundays the service itself is conducted very simply, much as it was in old-fashioned Dissenting chapels before the introduction of chants and anthems. To the stranger the principal novelty is the vast preponderance of young men in the congregation, and the use of that somewhat inelegant version of the Psalms compared with which, in Scotch – not English ears,

“Italian thrills are tame.”

And now what further shall the writer say of Dr. Edmond? Personally he does not come up to the English idea of a successor of one of the old grand Presbyterians who died gladly for God and His covenant in troubled times, and to whom, humanly speaking, as Mr. Froude has well shown, England owes the civil and religious liberty she enjoys. Even with his gown on he does not strike you as being a big man. His features are small, and when he is reading or looking down his very dark eyebrows completely shadow and eclipse his eyes. For his age he is very bald, but his face is apparently that of a man of hardy constitution and active out-door life. His voice is excellent, and every syllable he says can be distinctly heard. He preaches apparently from notes, and as he goes on his way rejoicing the fire burns; he leaves his desk, now retreating behind, now walking a few steps on one side, and a smile lights up his face as he talks of what the Gospel has done, and of the brighter triumphs it has yet to achieve. At other times he comes forward, reaching his right arm as far as he can over the desk, as if anxious to individualize his appeal, and to force it home to every heart. As a preacher he hammers at his text with true Scotch pertinacity, and will not give it up till in the way of spiritual truth he has wrung from it all it can be made to yield. There can be no question about his orthodoxy, or his knowledge of Scripture, or of the firm foundations of his faith, or of the ample preparation he makes for his Sunday services. No hearer need go empty away from Park Church. It must be his own fault exclusively if he does. The preacher understands his vocation, and to it conscientiously devotes his every power.

The English have never taken kindly to Presbyterianism; the simplicity of its worship, the sternness of its Calvinistic creed – that of the Westminster Assembly of Divines – have repelled our English sympathies. Of late it has put forth, and is still putting forth, growing strength. There are about twenty Presbyterian churches in London, only two of them – Dr. Cumming’s being the principal – being connected with the State Church of Scotland.

The Presbyterians are moving with the stream; they are beginning to substitute “human hymns,” as they are called, for the Psalms of David. In one London chapel, at least, the organ has been introduced. In some quarters doubts have been entertained as to the divine right of Presbytery. There is amongst them a growing feeling of the impossibility of spending the whole time of the Sabbath in “the public and private exercises of God’s worship, except so much as is taken up in works of necessity and mercy.” It is to be questioned whether the Catechism definition of the duties of the State in relation to the Church is maintained by London Presbyterians. “The civil magistrate hath authority, and it is his duty, to take order that unity and peace be preserved in the Church; that the truth of God be kept pure and entire; that all blasphemies and heresies be suppressed, all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline prevented or reformed, and all the ordinances of God duly settled, administered, and observed. For the better effecting whereof he hath power to call synods, to be present at them, and to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God.” The Calvinism of the moderns is not the Calvinism of the Westminster Assembly, and yet every clergyman at his ordination declares that “he sincerely owns and believes the whole doctrine contained in the Confession of Faith to be founded upon the Word of God; acknowledges it as the Confession of his Faith; that he will firmly and constantly adhere to it; and that he disowns all doctrines, tenets, and opinions whatsoever contrary to and inconsistent with the Confession.” Holy Willie’s prayer —

“O Thou wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best thysel’,
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,
A’ for Thy glory,
And no for onie guid or ill
They’ve done afore Thee” —

whatever it was in Burns’s time, is a caricature of Presbyterianism as it exists in London in our day.

CHAPTER VIII.

congregationalists and baptists

Early in our religious history two theories as to Church and State were developed. If the Presbyterians had gained the day in that time of religious ferment – which had so melancholy a termination in the restoration of Charles II., with his puppy-dogs and mistresses – we should have seen the Church established independent of the State: the latter acting as its servant, exercising the sword at its bidding and on its behalf. The Churchmen of that day adopted a lower theory, as appears by their favourite formulas – “the power of the magistrate in ecclesiastical matters,” and “passive obedience without limitations.” In his zeal in this direction, Archbishop Sancroft actually went so far as to alter the rubric. If Bishop Cosin may be believed (the story is told by Calamy), where it was said nothing was to be read in the churches but by the Bishop’s order, Sancroft took on himself to add, “or the King’s order.” In short, the theory was then what Sir J. D. Coleridge only the other day stated it, that “the Church was a political institution.” Against this theory, as dishonouring to God and degrading to religion, the Puritans sternly protested, and at the peril of their lives. Naturally they fell back upon such texts as, “My kingdom is not of this world,” “Render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” More and more it became clear to them that the Church was simply an assembly of believers; that Christ’s kingdom was exclusively a spiritual one; that the greatest service the State could do to religion was to leave it alone. They argued, and not without some show of plausibility, that the faith enunciated by the carpenter’s son, disseminated through the world by tent-makers and fishermen; the faith which had found its way into the hearts of the stubborn Jews; which had been more than a match for the pride of Rome or philosophy of Greece – for which the multitude, the grey-haired sire, the high-spirited lad with life with its golden prospects opening all round him, the tender and delicate maiden, had gone smilingly to die – the faith immortal with the immortality of truth, required not the vulgar patronage of worldly men, or that the State should attempt bribery on its behalf. Of course they were wrong; for only last session of Parliament the present Archbishop of Canterbury, in his place in the House of Lords, on the night of an important debate, denominated a religion thus supported as a spurious one; and it was only within the memory of living men that Nonconformists were permitted to be parish constables or town councillors. Nevertheless, half the worshippers of England and Wales are Dissenters – that is to say, are of this spurious religion, and pay their own ministers, and build their own chapels, without asking a farthing from the State. Their leading denominations are the Baptists and Congregationalists; and it shows how terribly Dissent undervalues the historical element when I state that the Independents now prefer to call themselves Congregationalists. There is an historical halo around Independency. Mr. Brodie remarks that “the grand principle by which the Independents surpassed all other sects was, universal toleration to all denominations of Christians whose religion was not conceived to be hostile to the peace of the State – a principle to which they were faithful in the height of power as well as under persecution.” Nor should it be forgotten that Locke, the first of our philosophers to argue on behalf of toleration, gained, as his biographers confess, his enlightened views from the Independent Divines.

Speaking relatively, Dissent is a thing of yesterday. It was born of the Puritanism which filled the gaols and fed the fires of Smithfield, when there were men and women ready to die for Christ and his Cross. Wycliffe was one of our earliest Dissenters. What he taught was the study of the Bible as the source of religious faith and the rule of a religious life. At college he was known as the Gospel doctor.

Queen Elizabeth ever believed in the invocation of saints; the worship of the Virgin Mary; thought it sinful for priests to marry, and had a couple of lighted candlesticks on her altar; but the country was full of learned divines, who had come from Geneva or Frankfort with a contempt for such papistical ideas, and with a more keen appreciation of the spiritual character of true religion. About twenty years after her accession, the principles of Independency were openly taught by Robert Brown, a relative of Cecil, the Lord Treasurer. When Black Bartholomew came, Puritans and Presbyterians were alike driven out of the Church. Owen, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, Baxter and Calamy, might have been Bishops, but they held that they could not assent to the teaching and ritualism of the Church, and be false to conscience and to God. For this they had to endure hardships, poverty, imprisonment, of all kinds – when Charles II., who obtained the Crown of England under false pretences, though he did, as Pepys tells us, take the Sacrament on his knees, received from his pliant Bishops his title of most religious King. Calamy, when a lad, wondered why the old ministers who led peaceable lives, and always prayed for the King, were persecuted, and in our day the feeling of wonder still exists.

There have been times when the religious life of England has been utterly divorced from the Church. Such were the times when George II. said all the Bishops were infidels; such were the times when the clergy read to their congregations the Book of Sports, enforcing on their hearers dancing, jumping, archery, Whitsun ales, May-poles, and Morrice dances on a Sunday; such were the times when the Methodists were expelled Oxford, and when old John Newton wrote, that besides himself, there were only two pious clergymen in London. It is impossible to overrate the obligations of this country to Dissent. It saved England from Popery. It laid the foundation of the mightiest republic the world has yet seen. It crushed the despotism of the Stuarts, while the Church was indecently declaring that a royal proclamation had the force of law. It gave us civil and religious liberty; the wonderful change for the better which within the last thirty years has come over the Church life of this country is due to the fact that, rivalling the Establishment in zeal and good works, has been an ever-growing, intelligent, and educated Dissent.

What are the doctrines of orthodox Dissenters? I reply, as regards Baptists and Congregationalists, they are very much the same. The real question at issue, whether adults or infants are the proper subjects of baptism, and whether the rite should be administered by baptism or immersion, really being but of little more importance than that of the Big Endians and the Little Endians of Gulliver. The Congregational Union issue a statement called “The Principles of Religion,” which they publish, not as a bond of union or as a series of articles to be subscribed to, but as a summary of what is commonly believed amongst them. In this document they state they believe the Scriptures of the Old Testament as received by the Jews, and the books of the New Testament as received by the Primitive Christians from the Evangelists and Apostles, to be divinely inspired and of divine authority; they believe in one God as revealed in the Scriptures as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; in the fall of man; in the existence in man of “a fatal inclination to moral evil utterly incurable by human means;” in God, before the foundation of the world, designing the manifestation of his Son in the flesh for our salvation, to attain eternal salvation for us. They believe that the Holy Spirit is given to quicken and renew the soul of man; that all who will be saved were the objects of God’s electing and eternal love; in the perseverance of the Saints; in the perpetual obligation of baptism and the Lord’s Supper; in the coming of Christ to judge all flesh; that the righteous will receive life everlasting, and that the portion of the wicked will be everlasting punishment. As I have stated, such is a rough outline of the common belief in Congregational and Baptist Chapels. It is to be questioned, however, whether it would receive the unanimous assent and consent of Baptist and Congregational ministers.

As regards Church order and discipline, I may attempt the following summary, which I believe is as true of Baptist as of Congregational Churches.

A Church, according to them, is a society of believers meeting voluntarily together to observe religious ordinances; to promote mutual edification and holiness; to perpetuate and promulgate the Gospel in the world; and to advance the glory and worship of God through Jesus Christ. The New Testament exclusively is their authority for Church customs, and Christ is their only head; they elect their own officers, whether bishops or pastors, and deacons. They believe that no person should be received as members of Christian Churches but such as make a credible profession of Christianity; are living according to its precepts, and attest a willingness to be subject to its discipline. They believe that the power of a Christian is purely spiritual, and should in no way be corrupted by union with temporal or spiritual power.

In London there are 22 °Congregational churches and 210 Baptist; some of the latter being very small, and the ministers illiterate and narrow-minded more than is usually the case. The Congregationalists are chiefly incorporated in a body known as the Congregational Union, which meets twice a year to deliberate; once in London, and once in such provincial city or town as shall previously have been resolved on.

In London the Congregationalists have two or three Colleges for educating young men for the work of the Ministry – the principal one being the New College, St. John’s Wood. This College is in connexion with the London University, where some of the students graduate. The Baptists also have a fine College in the Regent’s Park, the students of which also occasionally are in the class lists of the London University. But the real fact is that in all the Dissenting Colleges the men who take university honours are the exception, not the rule; the reason is the course extends over but four or five years – and so much of that time is devoted to theological study and pulpit preparation that there is not the time to attain to the high standard prescribed by the London University. The student has often had but an average middle-class education. He feels an impulse, or, as it is technically termed, “a call” to the Ministry. He has been found acceptable as a Sunday School teacher, or in other ways has demonstrated his ability and religious character and zeal. With the sanction of his Minister and the Church with which he is connected, he is sent to College, where he remains till his professional education is complete. Occasionally young men seek to enter the Ministry with very humble views. Recently I heard of such a one. His pastor having indicated his doubt as to the possession of the requisite ability, the reply was: “Oh, sir, I know I never could be a learned man like you, but I thought I might make a hignorant Minister like Mr. – ,” naming a well-known and popular Minister of another denomination.

The Baptists have also their Baptist Union sitting in London, and occasionally in the Provinces. The first General (Arminian) Baptist Church is said to have been formed in London in 1607. The first Particular (Calvinistic) Church in 1616. I fancy that in some of the Baptist Bethels and Cave Adullams, an Antinomian, or, at any rate, a more decided Calvinism exists than prevails in the Independent Churches. As regards Church government, their ideas are the same. One necessity of this state of things is that their ministers must have some preaching ability, a thing which is quite an accident in the Church of England; another advantage is, that there are few pecuniary attractions to tempt men to undertake duties for which they are unqualified.

The leading bodies connected with Church work in London are as follows: – 1. The Congregational Chapel Building Society, of which the twentieth anniversary was held last year. We gather from the facts laid before the meeting that during the 21 years (including 1869) of the Society’s existence it has materially assisted in the erection or purchase of 87 chapels – representing a contribution from it in grants and free loans of 110,000l. towards an aggregate outlay of 360,000l., and providing (exclusive of intended galleries) nearly 80,000 sittings for adults. Dividing the 21 years of the Society’s history into three periods of seven years each, in the first period its list comprises 17 chapels, in the second 26, and in the third 44. The Society is at present engaged, with Mr. S. Morley, M.P., in the erection of 24 chapels, to each of which Mr. Morley contributes 500l., and the Society 500l., half of the last being free loans. The success of the Society is largely owing to its loan fund, now amounting to 11,006l. 19s., from which loans are made free of interest to committees engaged in the erection of chapels. This fund remains intact, and will be carefully preserved for the object. The grant fund is, however, just now nearly exhausted, while the liabilities of the Society on this account reach 2000l. Among other particulars, it may be stated that the Society has been instrumental in saving from extinction the two metropolitan chapels of George Whitefield – Tottenham Court Road Chapel, and the Tabernacle, Moorfields. Indeed, with the exception of Spa Fields Chapel, the Countess of Huntingdon’s followers may be said to be absorbed in the Congregational body.

The London Congregational Association has four District Missions. It has aided in planting and sustaining eight Churches and Missions in four districts. They ask 1000l. a year, with which, aided by local support, they undertake to plant ten new district Missions in spiritually destitute localities, and sustain them until they are enabled to support themselves. As an illustration of what may be done in this way I give the following account of the District Mission established by the Church and Congregation under the care of the Rev. Dr. Raleigh, of Hare Court Chapel, Canonbury, as drawn up by the Rev. J. H. Wilson, of the Home Missionary Society.

The parent Church selected necessitous districts, in which they have opened schools and mission-rooms; in these a number of the congregation begin to labour as teachers, visitors, evangelists, &c. The result is the early formation of a branch Church, where the poor people secure all the privileges of Christian fellowship, and the fine feeling of a Church-home, a place which they call “our Chapel,” and where they look up to some one whom they call “our pastor,” and soon those so gathered together become co-workers with the parent Church in extending its influence in the locality – rising out of these movements, the Church at Hare Court Chapel have now five branch Churches. From the last report (1868) it appears that there are now three rooms for religious service for the young, and several others for meetings with the poor and ignorant; three day schools, and five Sunday or ragged schools; two large week evening schools, and several smaller ones; seven mothers’ meetings; a district nursery for children and infants, whose mothers require to leave them during the day; coal clubs; home for little boys, where thirty are fed and clothed; three paid ministers; six lay evangelists or pastors; two Bible-women; six paid teachers, and seven paid monitors for day schools; and to aid them, there are from 300 to 400 members of the Church and congregation earnestly engaged as evangelists, pastors, teachers, helps, visitors, Scripture readers, &c. During the year about 120 had joined the Church. The Sunday and ragged schools are attended by 1300 children; the day schools by 900, and the evening schools by upwards of 400. Besides, there are temperance societies and Bands of Hope, and in the summer months out-door services.

Another society worked by the Congregationalists is the Christian Instruction Society, founded in the year 1825, to aid in evangelizing London. House-to-house visitation was from the beginning and still is its main characteristic. Its other agencies are lay-preaching in and out of doors; the Sunday afternoon opening of places of worship; lectures on prevailing immorality and vice, and united quarterly prayer meetings. This society, however, is by no means sectarian. At its united quarterly prayer meetings ministers of the Baptist, Presbyterian, and Independent denominations join.

THE SEVENTH-DAY BAPTISTS

As you go down Leman Street, Whitechapel, on your left, nearly at the bottom, stand two public-houses – one the Shamrock, the other, if I mistake not, the Brown Bear. Between them is a narrow little passage; on the right is a Gospel Hall, facing you is a plain brick-built Meeting-house, with a door which at certain times opens in vain, and with a window which is covered with wire of a very suggestive character. Above the window is an inscription, stating that it was rebuilt in 1790, but that it was founded more than a century before that. A side door leads you into a grass-grown and quiet enclosure. There are a few gravestones there, recording, in illegible characters, the piety and virtues of those who have gone before. At the back of the Meeting-house is the minister’s residence. In the same square resides the pew-opener, with her little family, who seem fresher and livelier than you would expect in such a place. Outside rush along the Fenchurch Street trains to and fro, sometimes with a scream which, as you will by-and-by find, will drown the preacher’s voice. Outside there are factories and warehouses darkening the air; outside there are heathens – baptized I daresay, but nevertheless heathens – as complete and entire as any discovered by Captain Cook; outside go up and down all day the sailors of every country under heaven, at all times when on shore a disorderly lot, with a strong tendency to get drunk and quarrel; outside are the lodging-house keepers, and Jew slop-sellers, and foul women and crimps, who lie in wait for poor Jack; outside, nightly and daily, on Sundays and week-days, once a week and all the year round, is the ever-deafening and ever-growing roar of London life.

On Saturdays this little old-fashioned meeting-house is opened twice a day. Of sects, as we all know, there are many Lilliputian varieties. One of the smallest of these is that of the Seventh-day Baptists. In this country there are two congregations of them; one in Mill Yard, and one far away in Gloucestershire, where, according to the common proverb, “God is.” At one time they were a sect, as they are I believe at this time in America. Here, in England, they have dwindled down to two skeleton congregations, an endowment, and a Chancery suit. As there is money a form of worship is kept up, though for all practical purposes the cause is dead. There may be four grown-up persons besides the pew-opener to form the morning service: there are just as many in the afternoon. There is no week-evening service. At one time, many, many years ago, there was a Sunday-school, but the scholars have grown up and moved away, and none have come to take their vacant places. Inside the door you are informed there are no pew-rents, no collections. Nevertheless, the people keep away. In the pulpit is a learned man of an old-fashioned and almost extinct type, and no one regards him; and yet I must confess there was to me a fascination in the place. It was the ghost of what I knew in youth. Long, long ago, there were just such old-fashioned meetings, with just such sounding-boards over the pulpit, just such plain and high pews, just such learned divines, just as deficient in all practical appeal. Up in the window before me buzzed the very same bluebottle fly, only a little more elderly and less active in consequence, which, in younger and happier days, distracted the writer’s attention, and interfered sadly with what would have been otherwise a profitable opportunity. There are no meeting-houses now. If you want to see one as they were, in all their original nakedness and want of grace, go to Mill Yard, Whitechapel. We, of course, have wonderfully improved, and yet I have a tenderness for the old meeting-house. How learned were their ministers, how awful and orthodox their deacons! With what fear did I eye the man who gave out the hymn, and with what greater fear the watchful individual who poked up with his long stick inattentive or sleepy boys!

But I return to Mill Yard. The Christian Church in our day has pretty well agreed to get rid of or, at any rate, ignore what is read in the Bible about the seventh day being “the Sabbath of the Lord your God.” At one time this was not so. Now the tide has receded and left the Seventh-day Baptists stranded on the mud. In doing so, the Church, of course, has increased the difficulty some feel about the Divine origin and perpetual obligation of the Christian Sabbath. Archbishop Whately, for instance, could reason with the Christian who had exchanged, in spite of the literal command of God, the Christian for the Jewish Sabbath, but his arguments would fail to touch the Seventh-day Baptist, who would contend that he was doing that which God had commanded. But the fear of this has not led Christians to abandon what, in the opinion of most of them, is the apostolic plan of meeting on the first day of the week. It is to be hoped the fund left for the benefit of the Seventh-day Baptists is not a large one. The mouldy appearance of Mill Yard Meeting-house indicates that it is not. But it is enough to retain at his post a gentleman who, perhaps, would be more profitably engaged elsewhere. Certainly it does seem like a waste of power to have a chapel and a service lasting nearly a couple of hours for one grown-up adult male and three adult females, excluding the chapel pew-opener. I must say, with the exception of a young gentleman in knickerbockers, who was so astonished at the apparition of a real stranger that he kept staring at me all the time of singing, all seemed to do their duty. The singing – and there was plenty of it – was really and truly Congregational. Five or six parts of the Bible were read, and the congregation followed with open Bibles. The preacher laboured at his discourse, and quoted Hebrew and Latin as if we had all been learned divinity students. Nor could he have prayed with more fulness and power had the benches been filled with living souls waiting to draw near to the Father of spirits and live. One could not but respect the preacher, however useless seemed his learning and misdirected his research. Yet I would be sorry to stand in his shoes. He had hearers once – Where are they? Dead, or moved away, is the reply. He says in 1840 he began “to officiate as afternoon preacher in the ancient Sabbath-keeping congregation in Mill Yard.” He talks of “nearly sixty years of close critical, philological, and exegetical study of the sacred Scriptures;” of “more than thirty years of constant and laborious exposition of them;” of his having fully, freely, fearlessly, and repeatedly discoursed upon every part of natural and revealed religion. In spite of his age, physically he is not unequal to his work. He has a good voice, yet practically he beats the air. There are few to listen to his words and respond to his appeal. I wonder – as in his quiet study he reads the ancient versions of the Bible and laboriously constructs his argument: – whether it ever occurs to him that there is something better and grander than seventh-day baptism, or systematic theology, and that is everyday Christianity. I wonder, too, while looking on the dead graves and the long grass, whether it occurs to him that in that region of all unclean and deadly sin it especially behoves the preacher, in preference to ingenious speculation or antiquarian research, to impress on the heart and consciences of men the yearning, living love of God. It is not in the calm retreat, the silent shade, that vice and irreligion can be confronted and changed into purity and piety. One would fancy at Mill Yard the contrary opinion was held, as the preacher goes on, expounding the Proverbs or the Book of Job to empty benches, while close by the harlot plies her unhallowed calling, the publican retails his vitriol gin, and mothers, with eyes artificially black, knock about their little ones or cover them with kisses, as they themselves are alcoholically stimulated into maudlin tenderness or demoniac rage! If you want to see what an endowment can do for religion, go to Mill Yard. No doubt those who left money for the place thought they were doing God service. In reality, an endowment can but preserve a corpse which had better be put away. We bury our dead out of our sight. As it is in the material world so it is in the spiritual world. We love to look on life; we shrink with abhorrence from the sight of death, when Time’s decaying fingers have dimmed the lustre of eyes once bright as stars, and plucked from beauty’s cheek the blushing rose.

A more curious spot in all London is not than Mill Yard Meeting-house. The day I was there, after a service of nearly two hours, it was established by the learned minister, who is an F.S.A., and calls himself elder of the congregation (he must often stand a good chance of being junior as well), that the title of the Book of Proverbs was only to be applied to the first part, that it consisted of divers distinct sections, and that generally the book was found in the Bible after the Psalms. Evidently the preacher is a learned, painstaking student of the Dryasdust school – full of crotchets; but the biggest crotchet of all is that he should go on preaching year after year in Mill Yard.

Mr. Spurgeon’s works and essays are so constantly before the public that the briefest notice of them is all that is necessary here. In his great Tabernacle near the Elephant and Castle, which is one of the sights of London, he has a church alone consisting of 4700 members, and such is the orderly arrangement that, as he said, if one of his members were to get tipsy he should know of it before the week was out – a statement perhaps true in reality if not literally. Enormous as his place of worship is, it is always filled; but it represents, not so much a Christian Church as a Christian community on a gigantic scale. In his Orphanage at Stockwell some 135 boys are boarded, clothed, and taught. Then at Newington he has established an Orphanage and School, and under his great Tabernacle is a Pastors’ College, which in a couple of years takes the raw student from the shop or the counting-house and sends him forth into the world a ready-made divine, occasionally not a little to the dismay of those who consider a good training and a careful preparation great helps to ministerial usefulness. The students are lodged in families around, and on the Sunday are principally employed in preaching in various districts near London. Some of the Baptist places are very small indeed, and very badly attended. It were better, one would think, that they were shut up and merged with other churches or denominations. There is something inexpressibly melancholy in the long lists of Zions, and Bethels, and Mount Sions, where the pastor and the people scarcely live. Amongst some of the Baptists there are some of Antinomian tendencies, and the preachers of such doctrines have very large congregations. They are the elect of God, and can never sin. As to their doctrine and its results, one illustration will suffice. A member of one of the largest of these Antinomian places unfortunately got tipsy, fell out of the cart in which he was riding, and broke his leg. “Ah!” said his sympathizing pastor when he heard of it, “what a blessed thing he can’t fall out of the covenant.” The Antinomian believes that Christ paid, with his death, the price of the pardon of a certain number. These are in the covenant, and out of that covenant they cannot fall. There are in the Church of England those who preach this doctrine, but their number is rare. Up in Notting Hill is a Tabernacle built up and carried on by Mr. Varley, an humble imitator of Mr. Spurgeon. Originally Mr. Varley was a butcher, but he took to preaching; and finding that people came to hear him, and that he did them good, he now devotes himself entirely to ministerial work. At his Tabernacle, in St. James’s Square, there is accommodation for 1200 hearers, and for the education of more than 500 children. This history of these Tabernacles shows what may be done when suitable agency is employed. Mr. Spurgeon’s subscriptions are really wonderful. Twenty thousand pounds were given him by one lady for the purpose of founding his orphanage. More than once 2000l. have been dropped into his letter-box, as he told the writer of an article in the Daily Telegraph, where, ludicrously enough, he appeared under the head of “Unorthodox London.” “When recently attacked by illness, he began to despair; but that same evening a lady left 100l. at his door, and 1000l. came in immediately afterwards.”

CHRISTMAS MORNING WITH THE YOUNGSTERS

Amongst the most unpleasant recollections of an otherwise not unpleasant childhood are those connected with attendance at chapel on the evenings of Christmas Days. On such occasions there were circumstances, needless to explain, and in which the reader would take no interest were they explained, which compelled the writer to leave the pleasant fire and the games and mirth of the season, and, putting on his coat, trudge manfully in the dark and through the snow to shiver for an hour and a half at least at meeting. Other people the writer well knew were enjoying themselves. Father Christmas was not the rage then that he is now; Christmas-trees were a later invention, and so were Christmas tales; but still even in those far-away and benighted times there were cakes and ale, and homely Christmas carols and a little fun on a Christmas night, when blind-man’s-buff was in fashion, and snapdragon was to the little ones a wonder and a joy. The writer felt, as he sat in the comfortless square box of green baize and deal, and surveyed the scattered congregation, how much more agreeable it would have been had the old meeting been shut up on such a night, had the old minister saved his sermon, had the old ladies and gentlemen who formed the congregation dozed comfortably in their old arm-chairs at home. He arrived at the conclusion then which he has ever since retained – a conclusion the correctness of which no subsequent consideration has induced him to modify – that services at church or chapel on Christmas nights are an immense mistake. Christmas morning special services, however, are quite a different thing, and especially where children are concerned. They at any rate realize Christmas more fully than their elders, and assuredly it is by them the religious aspect of the day may be most vividly felt.

This is not a question for argument. More than forty years ago the late Dr. Fletcher, of Finsbury Chapel, instituted a special morning service at his own place of worship for Sunday-school children from the Sunday-schools of the district. The avowed object of that service was the benefit of the young. In time past it has been found to have had a salutary effect. It has been continued by Dr. Fletcher’s successor, the Rev. A. M‘Auslane, a minister whose manner, and personal appearance, and mode of speaking qualify him especially for so delicate and difficult a task. Mr. M‘Auslane hails from the land where Christmas is unknown. He was a student under Dr. Wardlaw at Glasgow. He commenced his pastoral duties in Dunfermline, but he has travelled south, and at Newport, in Wales, where he stayed a short while, and latterly at Finsbury Chapel, where he has now been eight years, he has caught something of the English regard for Christmas Day, and preaches accordingly. I scarce think London has a prettier sight to show than that of Finsbury Chapel on a Christmas morning. It is full in every part. On the ground floor and the first gallery are ranged the children and their teachers, and up above there is another gallery full of adult spectators. As they sing some of the finest of our hymns, such as —

“Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,”

the swell of their young voices is beautiful to hear. Their faces, full of joy, were equally beautiful to see. To be preached to by a learned man in a gown in a big chapel is something indeed for a little ragged urchin to think of. Then what pains must have been taken to master the tunes and sing them so well. Nor is this all by which the event of the year – as it must be for some of them – is characterized. At some of the schools the children, I believe, have a breakfast given them by the teachers previous to starting. At all of them there is a distribution of something satisfactory in the shape of buns. The muster is considerable. The schools represented at the service I attended, in addition to that belonging to the place, were Mile End, King Edward Street, Wood Street, Spitalfields, Willow Walk, Ark Street, Paradise Street, the Weigh House, the New Tabernacle, Bell Alley; Red Lion Street, Clerkenwell; Andrew Street Ragged-schools, Union Walk, Jewin Street, James Street, City Road, Ropemakers Street. The service commenced with singing —

“Another year has passed away,
Time swiftly glides along,
We come again to praise and pray,
And sing our festive song;
We come with song to greet you,
We come with song again.”

The Rev. W. Tyler then read a part of the fifth chapter of Matthew, and offered up an appropriate prayer, in which a special reference was made to the evangelistic work carried on in the City. Another hymn was sung, and then came the sermon, the subject of which was Christ blessing children, and the text of which was in Mark x. 14 and 16. Mr. M‘Auslane described how a painter had portrayed the scene; not having the picture there to show them, he would attempt a description of it in words. Some might have thought Jesus too busy or children too insignificant. In reality it was not so, and he believed that if Jesus came in this year into London, He would act now as He did then. Sometimes people forget – the butler forgot Joseph. Jesus Christ never changes. The preacher endeavoured to bring out what the text teaches about Jesus and children: – 1. It taught that Jesus is attractive to children. Some men and women children don’t like at all; others they go to cheerfully and willingly. Jesus Christ draws them to Him just as the sun the flowers. He is spoken of as the Sun of Righteousness. Why is a child not afraid to walk through the valley of the shadow of death? It is because he sees Jesus, and when he has passed through on the other side there is Jesus, the most attractive in all that land. 2. The text taught that Christ takes a deep interest in children. It was clear the Apostles did not, or they would not have tried to prevent them from coming forward. He takes the same interest now. It was to Him children had to be grateful for bodies and souls, for kind friends, and the comforts of life. All power is given to Him in heaven and on earth. Salvation is the gift of Christ, and that is another proof of the interest He takes in children. If any boy there had no father or mother, sister or brother, or friend, if he stood in this cold world alone, let him take this thought with him – in the morning as he rose from his humble cot, in the evening as he retired to rest – Jesus cares for me. Here the preacher paused while the children refreshed themselves by singing “The Pilgrims,” the boys asking, the girls replying, and all joining in the chorus, the last verse of which is —