Juvenile Days—Apprenticeship—Marriage—Engagements—Call to the Ministry—Baptism—Checquered Scenes—Sore Trials—Removals—Trial—Building—Prosperity—Fresh Troubles—Imprisonment—Enlargements—Mercies. LETTER I. “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, she may forget, yet will not I forget thee, saith the Lord.”
To — Your Christian affection and maternal concern for me, so many years, entitle you to this acknowledgment. The holy apostle, in his directions to his son Timothy, advises to entreat the elder brethren in the church as fathers; the younger men as brethren; the elder women as mothers, and the younger women as sisters, with all purity.—1st Epist. Tim. 1, 2. I am most sensibly alive to every feeling of gratitude, for your long and unwearied kindness—your many prayers for my present and my eternal good—your tears on account of my troubles, and your best wishes for the sanctification of them, that I may be delivered from sin, the worst of evils, from error, as derogatory to the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ, and from all the traps, snares, and temptations which may be laid for my feet, and which might bring me into bondage; the Lord reward thy kindness, and may a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou hast been enabled to trust. It has been the desire of many to be acquainted with the earlier part of my life, my birth, parentage, education, and how the Lord has manifested his good hand to me in a way of providence, and his Spirit’s operations in away of grace. With respect to my birth and parentage, I know nothing; nor did I ever hear of any one that ever did. I never could gain the least information of my parents, from any quarter, nor ever hear of a relative of any description. I never knew a mother’s care, nor a father’s fostering hand. Many times, when a boy of only eight years of age, have I reflected my case was hard. I have sat under the trees at the Foundling Hospital, and wept that I had no mother; and when the nurses from the country came to see other boys, and given them little presents, there was none for me; and when the kiss went round, there was no kiss for me. I said nothing; but tears might have told what I felt, and what they meant. Sometimes I heard that some boys had found their mothers, but that was never my lot. No kind mother owned me. This would make me weep again. Often have I observed, when in the chapel of the hospital, some persons would sit and look at the children in the gallery with seeming anxiety; as if they were their own, though they dared not acknowledge them, and singling out one and another, they used to send them presents. Perhaps, thought I, my dear mother may be among them, but dare not own me. But who can tell her feelings? I used often to repeat the 10th verse of the 27th Psalm, though I knew not its real excellencies: “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” This was true in my case, in more senses than one. I have often reflected, and do to this day, how it is possible for a mother to forsake her child. Divine truth has declared it possible. Yea, she may forget the son of her womb, a sucking child. One would think it almost impossible; but, mothers, yes, even mothers, may monsters prove. I refer you, my dear friend, to a remark of good Mr. Hervey, on the text, Isaiah, xlix. 15, in his Contemplations on the Starry Heavens, towards the close of the chapter. Let me beg you to read it. I must observe to you, it has been questioned, whether a person, who is left an orphan, can ever glance a thought, or feel any attachment to his unknown parents? Perhaps not, in general; but mankind differ as widely in their feelings as in their gestures. It was not my case, but the contrary; as many reasons might be assigned for my situation in the Foundling. Perhaps I had an affectionate mother, but the cruel hand of death deprived me of her maternal care; and interest being made for me, I was admitted into that kind asylum—or, for some unknown cause, she might have been driven to a foreign clime, no more to return—or, I might have been stolen away from her by some proud being to hide a mother’s disgrace, after falling a victim to the accursed seducer, I might have been forced from her by some relentless hand, to obtain property, and placed where she was never to see me more—or, perhaps, her affectionate husband might have been called to fight the battles of his country, on sea or land, in the year 1780, in which I was born. An affectionate wife, left pregnant, the news of the death of a husband might have hurried me into the world, and taken her out. So that, amidst the many calamities to which the female sex are liable, it is hard to judge the cause why I was forsaken. This is true, that I have two particular marks, with which I was found; marks evidently given with some intention of finding me by, another day—one on my back, and another apparently made by a red hot wire on the back of my hand, which is still visible. This method of marking has frequently been the case. Thus I was an orphan— Left on the world’s bleak waste, forlorn,
In sin conceiv’d, to sorrow born;
No guide, the dreary maze to tread,
Above, no friendly shelter spread. Alone, amidst surrounding strife,
And naked to the storms of life;
Despair look’d round with aching eyes,
And sinking nature groans and sighs. I must conclude this, by reminding you of that very precious expression of Jude, the apostle, in his address to the whole church of God, sanctified by God the Father, and presented in Christ Jesus, and called the whole election of grace—were chosen in Christ Jesus, by an act of eternal love; and it is in Him they are preserved, as a jewel in a rock, till called by grace to the knowledge of God in Christ: and who can possibly conceive what they are preserved from, till that period arrives? The dangers, perils, risks, and exposures to death, many are in, yet, O wonderful Almighty power, that keeps them till the Lord takes possession of the heart! Surely, if there should be any recollection of these things in heaven, we shall be filled with wonder, praise and joy. Yours, J. C. Thy Providence my life sustain’d
And all my wants redrest;
When in the silent womb I lay,
Or hung upon the breast. LETTER II. “For in thee the fatherless findeth mercy.”
TO THE SAME. With pleasure I renew the pleasing task of calling my infantine days to your notice. I have already observed, I can know but very little of that subject, and can only go by mere conjecture. I mean the cause of being left an orphan. I know it not, but I must confess, I really believe it was contrary to the wish of my parent, that I should be separated from her. I sometimes think she never knew where I was, or what became of me. It has been reported that I was found in a church, perhaps St. John’s, Clerkenwell, or some other church of the name, which is the reason of my being thus named; as it has often occurred that orphans have been named from the place where they were found. While an infant, thus exposed, it is very evident that I was admitted into that best of institutions, the Foundling Hospital; from thence I was sent to a village called Hadlow, near Tunbridge, in Kent: here I was carefully nursed, by a very kind woman; where I continued till I was five or six years of age. I do not recollect any person coming to see me at that period, to shew me any particular favours. I was again brought back to the Foundling, though not without many tears, which the nurse shed at parting with me; she would fain have kept me as her own, but she was obliged, though with much reluctance, to give me up. I continued at the hospital till I was ten years and a half old, but was never visited by any one. Yet, notwithstanding this seeming neglect, I could not divest mind of the idea that my mother was then alive, and often experienced an aching heart, and the most anxious solicitude for me. Perhaps this was not the case; but I still think that she did intend, at some future period, to search for, and own me. This I gather, only from the trivial circumstance of the marks found on me, which perhaps she put, when she was apprehensive I should be taken from her. I cannot pass by one little circumstance, which I must relate: we well know that the relation of it will be turned into mere ridicule; I have no objection to that, nor do I wish to impose upon the weak and credulous. I will only relate a matter of fact, which occurred to me some years ago. I had been to a late lecture, one Monday night, in the month of February, 1807. After supper, Mrs. C. being very busy at the time, and not being tired, I sat down to write to a most intimate friend, who is now in glory. Mrs. C. ever anxious for my comfort, reminded me I had to rise early in the morning, and advised me to go to rest; I was very cheerful, and we were both lively and chatty. I mention this that you might not suppose I was dreaming. I obeyed her, and sat at the side of the bed, and began to undress myself. She had occasion to go to the cupboard for medicine for one of the children, which was indisposed. She suddenly turned round, and exclaimed to me, “my dear, look! who is that?” I turned to the wall to which she pointed, and, to my astonishment, saw the figure of a woman against the wall; but not being so much alarmed as you might suppose, and though chilled at the sight, I was willing to prevent Mrs. C. from being too much alarmed, and endeavoured to persuade her it was only the shadow of something which lay on the table, by the looking glass, which, if removed, it would disappear. We removed them, but the figure remained. We also carried the candle from one end of the room to the other. All shadows occasioned by the candle, would of course remove also, but this appearance still continued. Mrs. C. felt extremely agitated, but I bore it with uncommon fortitude, though I have no native courage. We both sat down to see the issue. I proposed to speak to it, but Mrs. C. begged I would not; I sat with my head upon my hand, and, in that position, smiling at it. In a minute or two after we had sat down, to watch it, it began to disappear: I observed to Mrs. C. it is going away, it is gone: as soon as I said this it appeared as visible as ever, just like a candle sinking in the socket, apparently out, when it blazes up again, till it expires; it then gradually died away: this was about half-past eleven at night. The appearance was the shadow of a woman, about the common height, longish vissage, and apparently genteel, though in a night dress. This was not worked up by conversation about visions; our converse was very different, nor was it the effect of disordered nerves, as we were both uncommonly cheerful. I did not hear of the death of any acquaintance after this, as I expected I should; so that I was led to conjecture (and it was but conjecture) that perhaps my dear mother, at that period, breathed her last, and the Lord might have indulged her with a sight of her long lost son. Permit me just to observe, this sight of the appearance was not a passing shadow, but actually continued for nearly ten minutes. Judge my feelings afterwards, if you can. [17] Here I close my remarks on my mother.—Who she was, and why we were separated, the day will declare it—when every dark and mysterious providence will be unfolded, and mortality swallowed up of life. With respect to my treatment at the Foundling Hospital—I speak it to the honour of the Governors of that excellent place,—the treatment of the children is admirable, the food is good, the master, mistresses, and nurses, are kind—and were I dying, and leaving orphan children behind me, with the promise they should be nursed there, I should die happy on that subject. I will give you a particular account of the place in as few words as I can comprise it in the compass of my next letter. Many mothers are indeed the objects of pity. Perhaps allured by promises of marriage, till the villain, her seducer, has effected his purpose, when she is left an object of sorrow, contempt and woe. The seducer is a robber and a murderer; he robs parents of their daughters, he murders the daughter’s reputation, and perhaps becomes accessary to the murder of the fruit of his villainy; and when he has triumphed over the fond maid to whom he has sworn eternal love, and a speedy marriage. He leaves the aged father to exclaim, in the words of the Beggars’s Petition:— “My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur’d by a villain from her native home;
Is cast, abandon’d on the world’s wide stage,
And doom’d in scanty poverty to roam.”
Perhaps there is not a greater display of villainy than seduction. Nothing more common in this country, nor any thing so vile in the sight of a Holy God. Next to the contempt of the gospel, many indeed have been raised up from that fall by the kind hand of God, and have become excellent characters: and not a few have been called by divine grace to the knowledge of Christ. And as a proof the Lord Jesus does not disdain any one poor sinner, who is by the Spirit turned from the error of his ways, the Lord has particularly marked down his special love. This is evident in the history of Tamar, the daughter of Judah; Rahab, the harlot; Mary Magdalen; nor can I forget the poor woman taken in adultery. (John, viii.) It is very remarkable, there was not one word said of the man who was guilty of the act, (perhaps one of the doctors themselves) who brought the trembling woman to Christ. All the sin and shame is thrown upon the poor woman, while the seducer and more relentless is passed by; and, perhaps, to the shame of our nature, applauded. But not so in the eyes of a sin-avenging God. Many fallen women have been restored by grace, while many seducers are plunged into the howlings of the damned. Wishing my Dear Friend the triumph of grace, I remain, yours, J. C. Though friends or kindred near and dear,
Leave me to want or die;
My God has made my life his care,
And all my needs supply. LETTER III. “When thou wast under the fig tree I saw thee.”
To — My Dear Friend.—What does this motto remind you of? I dare say you will never forget the happy moment in which you enjoyed the love of God to your soul; while I, the most unworthy, was discoursing on this text; it is very blessed to look back, at times, at such Bethel visits; thine ears shall hear a voice behind thee; this voice of past experience must be attended to; thou shalt remember all the way the Lord thy God has led thee; and, permit me to assure you, every such gracious visit as you experienced at that time, is nothing less than a manifestation of electing, redeeming, and pardoning love; the assurance, yes, the very full assurance of God’s eternal choice of you in Christ, and the full forgiveness of all sins; may you be thus often favored, while travelling through the wilderness; but, how deep have you drunk of the cup of affliction, since that period? the eating the little book is truly sweet to the mouth; but there is often bitterness of soul felt after. I have been forcibly struck with the above motto, as it related to the truly excellent apostle of our blessed Lord, Saint Bartholomew, who is called Nathaniel, in the 1st of John; it is supposed his mother hid him under a tree, when the sanguinary Herod issued out his bloody edict, to murder all the babes in Bethlehem, in order to massacre the ever-blessed Redeemer; under this tree the Lord saw him, and in due time brought him to an intimate acquaintance with himself; no doubt much more is intended by his being under the fig tree, which I pretend not to treat of now; but only to remind you, my dear friend, of that gracious hand, that constantly preserves the objects of his love, through the various dangers and perils in infancy, and the giddy scenes of youth, till called to the knowledge of Christ. This leads me to the continuation of the subject, I have already begun to our mutual friend, Mrs. R. who, you know, is ever solicitous for my good. I promised, in my last, to give her some account of that, which I have the highest respect for; and never see but with sacred pleasure—I mean the Foundling Hospital. I cannot, however, proceed, till I have quoted a very important text, which is adapted, in some measure, to my case. “Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab; be thou a covert to him from the spoiler:” they are outcasts, but divine Law claims them as his own: this is the privilege of God’s own people. This place has been, perhaps, the asylum of many a chosen vessel: and I can testify, it is a far better situation than many a boarding school; for which, parents may pay a considerable sum of money for the care of their children. This Hospital was built by Captain Thomas Coram, who devoted his fortune to the purposes of benevolence: a fortune dearly earned, by many fatigues, and hazardous adventures, at sea: this will be to his eternal honor, with those who assisted in this laudable work. I can scarcely ever think of this amiable man, but the words of an hymn, we used to sing at the Foundling Hospital, occur to my mind. “For those, whose goodness founded this,
A better house prepare,
Receive them to thy heavenly bliss,
And nay we meet them there.”
This gentleman spent seventeen years, in endeavouring to obtain a charter, for building and establishing the Hospital, which was, at last, granted, in the year 1762; and in the first fourteen years, 14,400 helpless infants were received: in the year 1756, Parliament voted the sum of £10,000 for the support of the Charity: the next year £30,000 more was granted to it; this was encreased to £50,000, in two years more. On its first establishment, it admitted all children, without any restrictions; but this bad plan gave much scope to the vices of the age; seductions became more prevalent; and numberless infants were torn from the affectionate embrace of their mothers, by the cruel hand of unnatural fathers: thus tender mothers were left, like Rachael, “weeping for her children, and refused to be comforted because they were not.” Fathers became the sacrificers of their children. Worse characters, in a certain sense, than Herod:—it is an awful thing to charge a father with such heinous intents; but it is the prevailing opinion, that if there were no Foundling Hospital in the country, or any similar institution, for the purpose of receiving the unfortunate offspring of seduction, many wicked parents would contrive some means or other of getting rid of them. Doubtless many mothers are culpable; but it is more easy to prove, that the father is the greater murderer, who first seduced perhaps a lovely woman, and afterwards most basely, cruelly, and inhumanly deserted both mother and child. I think the father will be found the most culpable in the last great day. This excellent institution, speaking after the manner of men, has saved its thousands of lives, and must be reckoned amongst the rest of those excellent charities, which are the glory of British humanity, notwithstanding all the depravities of our fallen nature. The children are under the care of the Hospital, until 21 years of age; better treatment the children cannot have; though I have sometimes thought it rather hard, that the rules of the Charily forbid, that any mother should have a personal knowledge of her child; but the governors will, at any time, inform her respecting its life and health, while under their guardianship. Every child, I believe, is re-christened, when taken in, and consequently has a different name to that of the parents. All hopes of seeing them again, on the mother’s part, is effectually prevented; they can never expect it, nor can it be attained, but by the knowledge and consent of the governors, unless they have it in their power to provide comfortably for them; on this condition, I have been informed, they may have them back; or they are bound apprentices. I am sorry to say, some mothers have brutality enough scarcely ever to drop a tear over the little deserted stranger; and but few, I believe, ever make enquiry after it; but the God of mercy protects and supplies the helpless and lost, “When parents, deaf to nature’s voice,
Their helpless charge forsakes,
Then nature’s God, who heard our cries,
Compassion on us takes.”
Much as I have wished, at times, to have known a mother, strange to tell, I seldom felt that desire to know my father. Should both or either be now alive, I should be glad to have it in my power to relieve or comfort them, in their declining years, if they need it: but may we meet above; when I shall be fully satisfied with all the Lord’s dealings with me, from infancy to death. I wish it had in my power to send you a longer and more interesting account of this place; but you may read much more of it in a little work, entitled, “An Historical Sketch of the Foundling Hospital; by a Foundling.” Printed by M. Allen, 15, Paternoster Row. My simple history may remind my dear friend of the gracious care of God over his servant, Moses, after the bloody decree of Pharoah, to destroy all the male of the Israelites. Who can tell the feelings of his affectionate mother, when she laid him in the flags? and, above all, who can describe her gratitude, when the Lord directed the servant of Pharoah’s daughter to her, as the appointed nurse? The apostle declares, his parents hid him by faith, for three months, because they saw that he was a proper child, and they were not afraid of the king’s commandment. Many others of God’s family have been as singularly preserved: some of whom Scripture gives an account, and others it will be fully known by the general assembly of God’s saints, when Jesus shall appear in his glory, to make up his jewels. I would, above all things, be ever in mind of that Almighty power, which preserved the human nature of the Lord Jesus in his infancy, when his parents were warned of God, to flee into Egypt, till the death of that blood-hound, Herod. May you be often enabled to look back on that kind hand, which has thus far led you on, and has engaged never to forsake you. To him I commit you, and remain, Yours, J. C. P.S. It would swell this letter to a volume, to relate some singular circumstances of my brother foundlings, which might very much amuse you; but that would hinder this humble attempt to record the gracious dealings of God with myself. One circumstance, I must relate in my next, which may serve to shew something of maternal affection. “Unnumber’d comforts to my soul,
Thy tender care bestow’d
Before my infant heart conceived,
From whom those comforts flow’d.”
LETTER IV. “When my father and my mother foresaketh me, the Lord taketh me up.”
TO THE SAME. My Dear Friend,—I know not what were your sentiments, in reading my simple tale; which, by the bye, you have only to thank yourself for your trouble, as it is by your’s, and the desires of many, that I thus make public my origin, as far as I can trace it. Your care for me, and anxiety, long manifested for my best interest, I hope I shall never lose sight of: although I am a stranger to the affection of a mother, I know not what affection she had for me. I have heard of some, who have sought after, and dealt motherly with some of my deserted little fellows; I knew one of them, who is now living, who had been taken from his mother for reasons unknown to me; but, I have been informed, she kept her eye upon him, while an infant at nurse, and during his abode at the hospital; and when he was apprenticed, she frequently came of errands to the shop, and dealt with him for years, but did not make herself known to him. (I judge how you would have acted; I do not think you would have kept that secret so long.) His time was expired, and he was to seek a lodging: strange to tell, he sought, and found one at the very house his mother lived in. After some time she invited a few friends, by the consent of her husband, to sup with her, and she, of course, invited her son. After the supper was over, she related a very affecting story to the company, concerning her former husband, and the reasons why she was obliged to part with her child; when, to the astonishment of the young man, she made herself known to him; and, no doubt she exclaimed to him, calling him by his name, “I am your mother.” Judge the feelings of all present. This is the story, as related to me. I remember the young man, when a boy with me. This is a privilege I never had; but, blessed be God, my heavenly father has owned me, and the Church of God has also received me: she is called the mother, for, “who so doeth the will of my father, the same is my mother, my sister, and my brother.” Nothing, of any importance, occurred to me, while in the Foundling; I was free from care, and a stranger to sorrow. A good table provided daily; a kind master, who was a God-fearing man, and studied the welfare of the children; the schoolmistresses and nurses were all as affectionate as mothers, and the worthy governors took every care of the comfort of the Establishment. Many poor children have their worst times in infancy, and their juvenile days; but mine were the best: I was particularly marked, by all, as a favorite, and allowed little privileges, which others had not; and when the master bought playthings for the boys, he generally gave me a book, knowing that my heart was set upon that alone; but this little Paradise must be exchanged for a wilderness of sorrow, sin, and woe. It was customary, in those days, that any respectable person might chose an apprentice out of the hospital, at any age, as no premium was given with them. Formerly, I believe, there was a premium, till the days of the execrable and infamous Mrs. Brownrigge, who was executed for her cruelty to some poor girls, she had out of this place, and from the parish. I suppose the hospital being crowded, the governors were the more willing to let children go out at a very early period, to persons who engaged to take care of them. I was chose out of the rest, as we stood in a row; the master recommended me for temper and conduct, believing the person who came to choose an apprentice was very respectable, and in about three weeks after, my new master came tor me. I was but ten years and a half old; of course, I was bound an apprentice for nearly eleven years; this was a long time to look for. All that knew me in the hospital, were sorry at my departure. I trudged through the streets, and chattered with my new master, till I arrived at his house, in Great Portland Street, Mary-le-bone. I know not how to express what a singular sensation came over me when I entered his house; a dizzines, or rather a darkness overwhelmed me, that all appeared dark about me; no doubt, this was but the native weakness of the nerves; or, if it was, as I am at times induced to think, a supernatural sensation surely it was an indication of the dark days I should now begin to feel. Never shall I forget the grief that overcame me, the few first nights I wept aloud, I had left all that was dear to me; I was among strangers; I felt, indeed, like a deserted, a banished child: but the hand of time wiped away my grief, and a variety of new scenes began to open to my view. I am sure, my dear friend will smile, when she can picture to herself how strange the streets appeared to me, the shops, pictures, books, and names of persons over the doors; these I used to gaze at, and rehearse when I came home, which afforded much mirth to the family. There was one great evil attended my early departure from the Foundling; I had not attained to the use of my pen; I could read well, for being only taught my letters, and a little spelling, I was so extravagantly fond of a book, that I seized every bit of paper with any printing on it, to read it, that many were astonished to hear me read, at a very early period, with such propriety. But, alas! just as I was put to writing, I was chose an apprentice; the person to whom I was bound, promised faithfully to put me forward in writing and arithmetic; but he broke his word, and rather objected to my reading at all, than attempted to improve, or give an opportunity for it; this has been a great grief to me, and an incalculable loss. The business of my master, as a carver and gilder, increased so much that it was impossible for me to be spared to attend an evening academy; but I still loved reading, and generally had a book of some kind in my pocket.—After I had been apprenticed for some time, I went to see my old friends, at the Foundling, who were all rejoiced to see me; particularly the master, who bore the same respect for me till his death, which was recent; but was often sensibly touched at my train of afflictions. There was a branch of the business in which I soon became very useful to my master, though it proved of very little use to me, at the end of my apprenticeship; and finding this, I was not taught any other branch of the trade: this was violating his agreement. I was also the perfect slave in the house; set to every part of the vilest drudgery, and debarred that knowledge of the trade, to which I was bound an apprentice. I believe my master had formerly been a professor; but, as his money increased, he neither professed, nor followed the religion of the Son of God; but he joined himself to a sect called the Swedenbourgians, who talked much of wisdom and charity, as a divine influence; but, this I know, my master had but little charity for me, his slave. I often think of an expression I am told Mr. Whitfield sometimes used—“golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and iron masters; but he that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved.” The Lord led me on from stage to stage, nor ever left me, till he had given me some blessed acquaintance with himself. Hence the promise, “I will give them an heart to know me.” The Lord bless you. Yours, J. C. To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,
Before my feeble thoughts had learn’d
To form themselves in prayer. LETTER V. “Who hath remembered me in my low days, for his mercy endureth for ever.”
To — As you had some knowledge of me, during a part of my juvenile days, and have been many years an eye and an ear witness of the Lord’s dealings with me, since that period; I conceive it my duty to give you some little information of the earlier part of my life, till that time, in which we became acquainted. Our most blessed Lord never loses sight of his dear children, although they are hid in the sand of sin, the world, or obscurity; nor should I ever have attempted to make this information public, had not my enemies invented so many awful falsehoods concerning me, and my friends entreat for my memoirs, for their own information, that they might glorify God, on my behalf, who remembered me in my low estate. I cannot relate any thing marvelous in my case, as many can, who have been exposed to imminent peril, by sea or land. I recollect once being out with a family, on a Sunday party, and having a glass coach for the day; I was appointed to ride behind it; this was a treat for me, though conscience, even in my state of ignorance, convinced me it was wrong, thus to violate the Lord’s day. I am astonished at the parties of pleasure that are formed on that sacred day, in this professing country; nor do the awful judgments that have, and do constantly befal hundreds, deter from this shameful practice. I recollect once, hearing a solemn expression from the pulpit, “O could you listen to the shrieks of the damned in hell, you would hear their exclaim ‘Sunday visiting, and Sunday pleasure taking, are my damnation.’”—But to return to the event of our coming home in the evening, I let go my hold of the coach strings, and fell backwards on the ground; here I lay for a time, almost insensible, and had it been dark, and many carriages passing at the time, I must inevitably have lost my life. Speaking after the manner of men. Another time, I met with an accident, in ascending a ladder, which broke under me; but, through mercy, I was thrown, I am sure, by an invisible hand, to a wall, which I was enabled to lay hold of, and was saved from broken limbs, and perhaps death. Being employed in melting brimstone, of which our moulds, in my trade were made, I believe, through carelessness, I let it boil over, and in endeavouring to save the rest, and prevent the house from being burnt down, my hands were covered with the burning brimstone, and no further accident happened. I might mention a variety of similar occurrences which plainly shew, to the honor of Almighty grace, that I was preserved by his hand, through the instrumentality of his holy angels, till called: “for he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” What belongs to the covenant head, is most blessedly fulfilled in the covenant body. During my apprenticeship, I waded through many toils, hardships, and much ill usage, the effects of which, I still feel in my constitution. Such ill treatment, perhaps, I might not have received, had I been blest with the fostering hand of a parent. Confined, at all times, at home, except when sent on errands, or to church—debarred from the society of every one, either male or female—kept to hard labour, seldom allowed a penny, often hungry and badly clothed—a slave, a drudge, and, worst of all, denied the knowledge of that business to which I was bound; these things often made me fret, and shed thousands of tears. What will some masters have to answer for, in the day of God? The latter part of my time, I endeavoured to form an intimacy with some females; which is very natural; but it being discovered, I was forbid to speak to them. One of whom I promised marriage if providence should permit. But long before my apprenticeship expired, she was married to another. She is still alive, and she has visited me within these two years. After I had lost her, another came to live in the house; but we were forbid all intimacy: and an old woman, a relation of the master, was appointed to watch us; so that we could not speak to each other, only when the family was gone to bed; this was running a risk: and this old plague of a woman (I suppose, having been in the oven herself) knew where, when, and how to look after us. One trifling circumstance proved this—I am sure you will smile at the relation, and if it gives offence, I would ask pardon of my reader for the story. The family having retired, myself and fellow-apprentice supposed to be in bed, I slipped down stairs to converse with my darling; but, alas! I was soon detected, as I heard a footstep on the stairs, when I was obliged to hide myself in the cupboard. As soon as the person was gone, I came out of my secrecy, and we renewed our converse—but we were presently disturbed by the old woman, who was roving about the house on pretence of looking for something: hearing this, my companion shut me up in the coal cellar, but in her haste she unfortunately had not shut the door close, though she had turned the key, and taken it with her, intending to return in a few minutes—here the old woman came and found me, like Guy Fawkes, in a corner of the cellar. This was the occasion of a sad uproar. The young woman left her situation, and was soon afterwards married; and I was threatened with being sent to sea; the horrid thoughts of which almost broke my heart. [33] But amidst all the hardships I endured, I never lost my bookish fit, although I had scarcely a moment’s time to read. Every penny I got, I saved till it amounted to sixpence or a shilling, when I soon hied to the bookseller. Many books were given me by the men who worked for my master; and when I arrived at the age of eighteen, I had a tolerable library. It excited the jealousy of my master, to see that I was the favorite of some people, by whose means I had gained such a collection of books, and he determined to take them from me, under the pretence that I had not got them honestly:—he therefore sent for my old master at the Foundling, who advised him, if he had any complaints against me, to make them known to the Committee, at the Hospital; he did so—and I appeared before the gentlemen, to answer for myself. This agitated me very much the night previous, but I was enabled at that time to pour out my soul in prayer, that God would be with me when I should be brought before the Governors, knowing my natural timidity. A person also advised me to set down in writing, as far as I could remember, who gave me money at various times for the different errands I had gone upon. The day arrived, I appeared, and the Lord opened my mouth boldly to answer all the charges. The principal were, that I had changed my religion, and that I was in possession of a great many books which he could not account for. To the first I fully demonstrated that I was most firmly attached to the articles, doctrines, and prayers of the Church of England, and that I went to that church where those truths were preached, the nearest of which was St. Giles in the Fields, on Sunday afternoons, where the pious and faithful Rev. Mr. Shephard preached. This admission gave universal satisfaction; and as to my books, I presented to the Committee a sort of diary, in which I had minuted the particular persons who had given me a few pence, how I had saved them, and what books I had bought with them. They were all perfectly satisfied with my conduct, and requested my master to restore them to me, which he did. The following remark was of course made by all who knew it, that many had been brought before the Committee for being too bad, but never till now was any one brought for being too good. My master lost the day, as he could lay nothing to my charge; for, indeed, it was well known I was strictly moral; I scarcely ever took the name of God in vain, and hated to hear an oath; I detested drink, excepting the weakest beverage, such as water, milk, or tea. I never saw a play, neither in my youth, nor since: though some persons have had the impudence to assert, they have seen me at them. I was guilty of no external enormity whatever, nor did I ever play at games, as boys do; and, sinful as I feel to this day I bless God for his keeping me by his power in youth—I do consider it a mercy to know the Lord and serve him in the days of our youth, before the heart gets hardened in folly, or wrapt up in pharisaic pride: yet I had sin enough within me, as all others have, to damn a world—which I trust has been pardoned through the ever-blessed Saviour. May he be ever dear to your soul. Yours, truly, J. C. Oh, how shall words with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare,
That glows within my grateful heart,
But thou can’st read it there. LETTER VI. “Let mine outcast dwell with thee, Moab, be thou a covert to him, from the face of the spoiler.”
TO THE SAME. My dear Friend,—Having raised your curiosity, if no more than that, you no doubt feel anxious for the continuance of my tale; which, though not half so interesting as many, yet, the truth being known, will give you some satisfaction. After the affair of the trial I had, and gaining the day, it was not to be supposed my master was very kind, but took every opportunity of mortifying and grieving me. But I bore it with patience till God delivered me from him. In the year 1799 I was led to Tottenham-court Chapel, to hear the Rev. Mr. L. His preaching seemed to strike me so forcibly, that I thought I could have followed him until death—but, oh, I have since seen it is one thing to have the passions moved, and another to experience the power of the Holy Ghost. Having heard him a few times, as soon as he left London, I begged the Lord would grant me the pleasure to hear him often the year following, when he should return to London. God granted this, though by terrible things. At last the news was brought me, this gentleman would preach on such a Lord’s Day on his return to London. I could not keep secret what I had been praying for, and it being whispered in the family, the night previous to my hearing him, the master issued out a decree, that I was not to go out of the house all day on Sunday, except in the afternoon. Although I knew there was nothing to keep me at home, I fretted about this sadly; and when eleven o’clock came on Sunday morning, the house could no longer hold me; and, contrary to all orders, I fled like a lapwing to Tottenham-court Chapel, when with joy I beheld my favorite preacher, and with raptures heard him preach on his favorite theme, Phil. iii. 8. I returned to dinner. The old woman, of whom I have spoken before, observed, she had orders to go out that morning, and I was to stay at home—to which I replied, it was nothing but a plan to mortify me, as she made no preparation for going out, although it was past church-time. She gave me a hint I should be well horse-whipped for it; this made me desperate—and in the afternoon I went out again. In the evening I went to the Tabernacle, Moorfields, and heard a most glorious discourse on the first epistle of Jude, by my favorite preacher. My rapturous joys were so great, I did not care what I suffered. I thought it my duty to go where I did; although forbidden by man, it was better to obey God than man. These were my thoughts at that time; and, as to my joys, I believe they were scarcely any but the raptures of a way-side hearer. However, the Lord had a hand in this affair. Nothing was said to me that evening, and getting a little more native courage than I had before, the foreman of the shop, by my wish, let me practise a little in the business to which I was bound. This gave a fresh offence to my master, who, having got some drink, sought for a quarrel with me. From these two circumstances, I always made it a point to be civil to all, and especially to my superiors; but I had been too easy for many years; I was nearly 20 years of age, had served above nine years of my apprenticeship, and had never been permitted to learn the business to which I was bound, and by which alone I could get my bread. I was for the first time enabled to tell my master these things, in a very polite and becoming way, but he was so much exasperated at the moment, that he took up some heavy wood and beat me in the most cruel manner imaginable, and afterwards threw a large pan at my head, which hurt me, and of which I felt the effects for some time. I was now roused to open my mind freely, and I assured him, that as he had made me his slave for nine years, I should make my complaint to the Committee of the Foundling Hospital, and know why I was not allowed to learn the business to which I was bound. I accordingly left him, but could not have any immediate access to them for a fortnight; during which time the master made application to the sitting magistrate at Bow-street for a hearing; when the magistrate considered it was high time I was taken from such slavery: my indentures were of course given up, and my master and I parted for ever. I was now, once more, cast on the wide world, without a home, without a trade, without a relation, without a friend, and but three bad halfpence in the world. What to do I knew not. Where to go, or how to act, I could not tell—but that Almighty angel who directed Hagar in the wilderness to a well of water, when ready to expire with want, put me in mind of a young man who was in very comfortable circumstances: to him I went, and requested him to take care of my books; for, strange to tell, I really thought more of my books than of a living at that time. The above person not only promised to take care of them, but of me also, till I could get something to do. I gladly accepted this offer, and had an opportunity of hearing my favorite preacher the same evening, and continued hearing him till I was fully engaged in public work myself. But my continuance in this situation was very short, as the person who had been a flaming professor, and just going into the ministry, had taken a singular turn, and joined himself to the petty players at a little theatre. He was constantly rehearsing speeches in plays, nor could I persuade him to attend the gospel any more. He squandered away vast sums of money, and soon became bankrupt. His parents had been pious people, and had lived very near, to save a fortune for this son, who presently sent it to the four winds, which is frequently the case. How foolish and mad are parents to labour; toil, grudge, and half starve themselves, and all about them, to hoard up money for some extravagant son to squander. “He heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them.” I wish some parents could read, under the influence of the Spirit of God, the book at Ecclesiastes. I was soon obliged to leave this place; but the hand of the Lord soon appeared again, and raised me up a most invaluable friend, who is now in glory; nor less friendly were her family, who are persons of good repute in the world, and above all, in the church, worthily so. One of them is pastor over a respectable congregation near London. This family, well knowing what usage I had experienced, and being lovers of those who were seeking the Lord, gave me great encouragement, kindly supplied many wants, and at last took me into their business, having had some acquaintance with it, during my apprenticeship. Here I continued, with low wages, a weak body, and hard work, but a contented mind, and an opportunity of hearing my favorite preacher, who was at this time in London, 1799. It was at this period I first had the pleasure of getting acquainted with the daughter of our good old friend, Mr. Elliott, who brought me to visit you; and how strange the dealings of God with you since; but hitherto hath the Lord helped you. My intimacy with this pious young woman was increased, and continued till she became my wife. Her father had been a most respectable opulent man, in Hampshire but, through family afflictions, became reduced; he was a most pious, God-fearing man, called to the knowledge of the truth under the ministry of that apostle of the British empire, George Whitfield, whose memory was so dear to the old gentleman, that nothing could please him better than relating how God had blest his preaching; and, as he lived an humble seeker, so he died in the triumph of precious faith, having been brought into the full liberty of the gospel only a little before his dissolution; and leaving behind him two affectionate daughters, who, with many tears, deposited his remains in the burial-ground of Bunhill Fields, in the full confidence of a joyful immortality and eternal life. You knew him well, and highly esteemed him. About a year after this, his dear daughter and myself were married—I am sure in much love, and in nothing but poverty in prospect; but we always found the Lord a God at hand when we most needed him. This you have been an eye and ear witness of many times; so that I can testify, that he is a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering God. To him he glory. Yours, truly, J. C. LETTER VII. “He that hath mercy on them shall lead them.”
To — My dear Friend.—Many years have elapsed since you first knew me in the Borough; and it was no doubt the hand of God which brought me there. In my last letter to Mrs. W. I intimated I worked for a very worthy family in Tottenham-court Road, but my frame of body was too weak to endure it. I sought out another situation on the Surrey side of the bridge. Myself and fellow apprentice had lived together amicably for some years, and endured many conflicts daring our captivity. I heard he was in business, and made application to him; he treated me with every mark of civility, and took me into the business with him. This was a great pleasure to me, as it gave me an opportunity of acquiring a greater knowledge of that branch of the business I ought to have learnt before; but, although I had an easier situation, and every kindness which circumstances would admit of, I had another unpleasantly to cope with. I was daily exposed to temptation, had frequent pressing invitations to places of amusement—and, although I resisted them all, through grace, yet I feared daily I should be overcome and led back into the world again. One day I accidentally (as we call it) met with an old acquaintance who had been brought up in the Hospital with me, who recited to me the various changes he had experienced in his different situations; amongst the rest he had lived with Mr. C. a most respectable tallow chandler, in the Borough. He told me he was a most pious man, and a good master, but he had given him some offence, and was justly dismissed. He believed that he was then in want of a person in the shop, and to act as a porter. On this situation I set my mind, and immediately made application for it; in fact, I begged of the Lord to let me have it. I remember one evening I attempted to go and speak to him (Mr. C.) about it, but I was struck almost speechless in the attempt. This I took to be an omen that God did not approve of the place for me. I felt rebellious, and being naturally self-willed, I was determined to persevere. My mind frequently said in prayer, “Lord, if it be thy will.” But my heart wickedly thought and said too, “whether it is or not, I will have it.” O, the hypocrisy of the human heart! How often is the Almighty mocked by thousands who use this expression in prayer, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” and at the same time are daily acting against the revealed will of God. How great is the forbearance of God with guilty man. I was however indulged with this situation, though I was no more fit for it than a child; it was to carry heavy loads chiefly, yet my master was kind and patient with me, he saw my weakness and accommodated me as well as circumstances would admit. It was in this situation you first knew me, 20 years ago. My master, Mr. C. was an excellent one, a godly, conscientious man, and happy should I have been, had I been capacitated to have made myself useful to him. I was much dejected and troubled in mind, low and thoughtful; and, in my business, though all saw I was willing to do what I could, yet I was much confused. Being a pious man, he kept up family prayer in his house, and on several occasions he asked me to go to prayer, perceiving the Lord had blest me with some gifts, and he hoped grace also, and that I acted in all things unblamably. He once mentioned something to me respecting a public ministry. He also employed a fellow-servant, who is a God-fearing man, and who belonged to a prayer-meeting, to know my mind upon the subject. I believe I gave him some distant hint, that my mind led a little that way, but I did not consider that I had any suitable talent, nor had I any connection that could introduce me to any means, nor could I possibly see any opening in Providence; of course I could not see I was called to such a work; for I did not believe any one was called to the public ministry of the gospel, without the Lord had given him talents suited to the work for which he intended him. I am now speaking of his external call: the work of God on his soul, I intend to speak of elsewhere. My master, however, recommended me to the manager of the London Itinerant Society, who, after some conversation with me, requested me to accompany a young man into one of the villages near London, to teach children in a Sunday-school. Not knowing the nature of that work till I had embarked in it, I went for some time to Norwood, and several other places, but I was soon tired of this work. The long journies and weak body, hard labour all the week, and an empty pocket, deprived of seeing my lover for weeks together; these externals soon made me relinquish that work: and above all the loss of that ministry I so much esteemed, and those ordinances I so much enjoyed, made my chariot-wheels drag heavily on a Sunday, so many miles to hear some dull country children say their alphabet. Though this loss and trouble was sometimes made up by the godly converse of the teachers between the several services, and on the road home at night: this was a little reviving in my bondage. After continuing some months with Mr. C. in the Borough, I had still an inclination to return to my own business. Accordingly, I communicated to my invaluable master, that I had a house to work at. We parted, by mutual agreement; he gave me an excellent character, and has ever spoken most respectfully of me, amidst all the clamour, bitterness, lies, malice, and evil-speaking I have met with; and, I believe, would have done me much good in restoring me to repute, and warding off the blow of calumny, had it been possible. However, he spoke of me as he found me, and it would be well if every one did the same. I now returned to my old business of gilding, at a house in the Strand where, after I had been a little while, I was married, at the New Church in the Strand, the 22d of March, 1801, two years after I left my apprenticeship. I had now an opportunity of hearing the Word again, of going into villages when I was able, and of meeting the Itinerant Society, who met on Thursday evenings in Shoe Lane, for mutual improvement, the exercise of gifts, and the arrangements for the Lord’s Day. I did not continue long in the Strand. The worthy family I have spoken of before in Tottenham-court Road, had been misinformed that I was out of a situation; they kindly sent for me, and gave me as good wages as the nature of their business would admit, though they were but low. I went on very comfortably for some years, and as I improved in my business, so I was advanced in wages. My wife also took in work, and did all she could to render me happy; and what was very remarkable, every child which we had, the Lord graciously added some little advance to my wages. This often stopped the mouth of unbelief, and made me contented. Never did, perhaps, a happier pair exist for some years, than we were, till popularity and calumny spoiled all. During my continuance with the above worthy family of the Jacksons, I had three children born. We often had opportunities of watching the hand of God, in his kind providence; we were frequently deeply affected in reading good Mr. H’s. Bank of Faith, and we daily grew acquainted with the Lord’s goodness, which He caused to pass before us. I look back on this time as the happiest of my days; though I had but 16 shillings a week for a time, yet this grew to 25 shillings; and, through industry and regularity, we lived—without much care of the world—much happier than those who are daily burdened with riches, or the toil of great business. But the Lord saw fit to call me out to greater scenes; and, having but little natural wisdom or prudence, depth or foresight, in proportion to my growing popularity, I was made the dupe of intrigue, artifice, hypocrisy, cruelty, and sorrow. Yet the Lord never withheld his mercy and his grace, nor gave me up fully to the wishes of my enemies, but by every thing he has instructed me. For all thy people shall be taught of God. Yours, in Him, J. C. What thanks I owe thee, and what love;
A boundless endless store
Shall echo through the world above,
Till time shall be no more. LETTER VIII. “What man is he that feareth the Lord? Him shall he teach in the way that he shall choose.”
To — My dear Friend,—You well remember me, when an attendant on the society in Tottenham-court Chapel. The Lord has called you out at times to be a public witness to his truth in several schools and villages, in the Itinerant Societies. This is an arduous but most delightful work; and if it was the will of God, I would devote myself entirely to that sacred employment—for though you return on Sunday evening with a tired body, yet your mind is happy: not encumbered with the cares of a church, the tempers, whims, and vexations of your hearers, nor the envy of your brethren, which abounds, if you prosper—but every minister will see it needful to abide in that work in which the Lord has called him; and, like the stars, some are fixed, and some constantly moving round the sun—so it is with us; but this pleasing thought cheers us—they that turn many to righteousness, shall shine as the sun and the stars for ever and ever.—Dan. xii. 9. What an honor conferred on such as us, to be instrumental in turning any to the righteousness of Christ, and to walk in his righteous ways! But to return to my tale. I had not the pleasure of going out for the London Itinerant Society many months, or for the Baptist Society—through weakness of body, the journies were too long for me—and being returned to the family of the worthies, for so I must ever denominate the Jacksons, by whom you know I was recommended to the prayer-meeting, and Expounding Society at Tottenham-court Chapel, I attended the early prayer-meeting on Sundays and Fridays. During this time I only travelled occasionally for the Itinerant Society; but being approved of among them, and engaging in prayer with them, I was appointed to expound the Scriptures amongst them, one Thursday evening. As I had never attempted to speak in public before, only in prayer, and some sort of addresses to children in the school, this appointment laid very heavy on my mind; a sense of unfitness, the fears of presumption, the dread of rushing into the work uncalled, and the horrors of falling into sin, and publicly exposing the cause, drove me at times to my wits ends. Yet, a love for souls, a love of truth, and a most inveterate hatred of error; the starving state of many pious souls of villages where I had been, and the shyness of the preachers declaring the great truths of God. These things weighed deeply on my mind, and impelled me to go forward; in the mean time, I was enabled to be looking constantly to the Lord for his approbation, his direction and blessing. The night arrived, the society met; my name was called: I went with trembling knees, and once more offering up a petition to the Lord for help, I opened the Bible, and expounded the 1st chapter of the Revelations. The Lord opened my mouth, and filled my lips with important matter: those who were present were astonished, though some thought the doctrine was too high. This was the first time I ever attempted to speak from the Holy Scriptures: I was requested to speak again and again, but I only expounded the Word, as I felt my mind most at liberty upon that subject. During this time it was also proposed that I should speak from the Word of God, at Tottenham Chapel Society, which I did several times; but there were a few of the leaders of that society who disapproved of it, urging, the manner and spirit of my exhortations were too much like Huntington’s. I accordingly declined speaking, but was requested to continue among them in the prayer-meeting, which I did till I was called elsewhere. I now began to fear I had presumed, in attempting to take an office upon me so high and so holy; begged the Lord to pardon me, and promised to offend no more. I gave up the work for a season. During this time of silence, my mind ran much upon the education of ignorant children; and I well remember, that, on one May-day, I had occasion to call on a friend in Brook-street, New Road: I saw a great crowd of children, of both sexes, around the dancing sweeps; it then occurred to my mind how useful would be a Sunday-school in this neighbourhood: I enquired if such an institution had ever been in that place, or thereabouts, and, to my astonishment, I found none; and even many old professors at Tottenham Chapel did not know what I meant. The first thing necessary was a room, which I soon obtained, at the low rent of 1s. 6d. per week; but, how I was to get even that, and some needful books, I knew not; and, another obstacle was, whether the parents in the low neighbourhood about there, would be willing to let their children attend. I communicated my plan to one or two others, young men who had travelled for the Itinerant Society; some of whom went abroad, and became, I hope, useful missionaries, whom I have heard, are since dead; two brothers, the Gordons, and Mr. Loveless, whose names often occurred in the Evangelical Magazine: these assisted in the work, and one young man, Mr. Dowling, who was the most active of all, and who made it his study, day and night, to be useful to the rising generation—he is now one of the most choice preachers of the age, settled at C. in Essex. We opened the school one Sunday morning, and about seventeen children attended; in the afternoon there came double that number; the following Sunday came many more, so that we were soon obliged to seek a larger place, which was obtained in Tottenham-Court Road, near the chapel: this was also desirable, as it gave the children an opportunity of attending the Word, and making the school known. This last place was also too small. A large building was taken in Cleveland-street, and no school I ever heard of, sprung up so quick, was attended so well, or became so useful; this, by the blessing of God, was owing to the wise plan, and great exertions of Mr. D. It still continues, I hear, in a very flourishing state, and though the name of its founder is buried in oblivion, yet many have cause to be thankful for the hint given me by the Lord, on a May-day. It is now, I believe, called the Fitzroy Sabbath School. [51] The Lord would not, however, let me be hid, and although I ceased expounding Scripture for some time, yet the Lord called me out again elsewhere. I became a subject of some conversation, and began to be known. There was a little society, held at a Mr. Foxwell’s, in the parish of St. Ann’s, Soho, denominated The Westminster Itinerant Society; this was but new, and so little known, that they could scarcely send to but one village. I went one evening, in company with a friend, to this society, and found them much more lively, spiritual, and loving-hearted than any other I had ever been in. Some one in the room hinted to the manager, that I had been used to go out teaching in villages, and he requested I would go out for them, if they were needy, to which I consented, but had no immediate appointment at that time. This was on a Tuesday; on the following Friday, two striking portions of Scripture came into my mind very forcibly, and was opened in their meaning and connexion; nor did I lose them all the day, though I could not tell why they were thus sent. Late at night, before I went to rest, a person (a preacher) called on me, and begged I would go, on the following Sunday, into a village called the Hyde, near Edgeware, to preach, afternoon and evening; this struck me so powerfully, I knew not how to answer him; and before I could begin my long string of objections; these words came with power: “As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.” I did not like to give my consent, in the presence of my wife and her sister, as she was a conscientious, woman, and dreaded my rushing into the ministry, without a Divine call, as much as I did; but, after much conversation, I consented to go. When I arose on (Saturday morning) the words, which came with power, still abode with me, and the two texts, which had dwelt on my mind, still opened to me. On the Lord’s day I went, lifting up my heart to God, that He would be with me. I ascended the desk, and, after reading and prayer, I took one of the two texts, which had been on my mind the two days previous—one of which was, “For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ, in God;” and the other was 1 Peter, i. 3, 7, which I preached on in the evening. I told no one, till the close of the evening service, that it was the first time I ever attempted to preach; and they, with me, gave God the glory, that I had found him true to his word, in giving me light, comfort, utterance and consistency, just as I needed it. It was at this time I became acquainted with our mutual friend, good Mr. Roth and family. This was the beginning of my public ministry. Oh, that I had adorned it better, and brought forth more fruit to the glory of Christ. Yours truly, in Him, J. C. Thus far the Lord has led me on,
Thus far his power prolong’d my days,
And every grand display of love
Adds fresh memorials of his grace. LETTER IX. “A City, set on a hill, which cannot be hid.”
TO THE SAME. Dear Brother,—Having begun the solemn, arduous, and important work of proclaiming the name and fame of the dear God-man, I found the truth was blessed to several, and the Lord led me on. I was presently invited to speak before the Westminster Society very often, and to preach at good Mr. Burnham’s, the Baptist Meeting, in Grafton-street, at seven o’clock in the morning; from thence to Edward-street, Soho; and, it was at this time I was providentially brought to Mrs. Bar’s, in Orange street. I had been in the ministry a considerable time before I went there; and the occasion of my going there was simply this: a Mr. Weston, whom I had heard with pleasure, at the Adelphi Chapel, was engaged to preach at Mrs. Bar’s: I ran from my work, with my apron on, to the house, and when I came there, I found Mrs. B. had heard I was coming to hear the Word, and was asking all who came in, if their names were Church, “for” she said, “if he comes, he must speak to night, as Mr. Weston is not able to come.” She, of course, intreated me to give an exhortation; this I did, as the people were destitute that night. I spoke on my favorite subject, the love of Christ, John xi. 36. The congregation being satisfied, I was invited to visit them every fortnight, which I did, being disengaged on Monday evenings. Here I often found it good to be, and the Lord gave frequent testimonies to the Word of his Grace. I preached several times at Dudley-court, for a Mr. Garniss; and soon after I was invited to Paddington, where I preached in a small room, till it was so crowded they thought it necessary to build a meeting, which was soon accomplished, in Bell-street, Edgeware Road, where I continued my labours as often as possible. When I first went to Paddington, there was no gospel preached there, except by the worthy and useful philanthropic Rev. Basil Wood, whose full value will never be known in this lower world. While thus fully employed, I was called, in providence, to Barrett’s-court, to preach in a house, where an elderly gentleman, Mr. Dunhall, had preached for some years. I generally preached on Fridays and Sunday evenings, till the concourse of people became so great, I was sometimes alarmed for the safety of the house; it was at this place good Mr. Baker, the long and invariable friend of Mr. Huntington, heard me, as he said, with sacred pleasure, and informed Mr. H. of it. Shortly after this, the lease being out, the preaching was given up, which I much regretted; as I had enjoyed many blessed seasons there. I continued at my daily employment, thought over my subjects at my shop bench, and preached wherever I was invited; occasionally for the Itinerants, at Ealing, Mill Hill, Hendon, and other places, but particularly at the Hyde. Thus my head, my heart, my tongue, feet, and hands, were perpetually employed; and I think they were the happiest moments of my life, when, like the apostle, I went forth among the Gentiles, “taking nothing of them, for his name sake.”—3 John, 7. Having lost my favorite spot, another door opened to me. (But more of this presently.) I often regretted I could not hear my favorite, Mr. L. at all, as all my time was taken up, as I have just related; and having been in the ministry about two years, I was speaking one morning, at Mr. Burnham’s Meeting, upon Song iii. 4, “Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?” When I had concluded, Mr. Jesson, who is now in heaven, came to me, and observed, I had been speaking much of the love of Christ, but the question was, had I ever kept his commandments; I told him I hoped I had, at least some of them; to which he replied, that there was one he feared I had not kept, and that was the ordinance of Baptism. I told him I was, in a measure, convinced that adult baptism was right, but I wanted a better understanding of it, that I might see it my duty and privilege to attend to it. This ordinance was that day to be administered, and a sermon to be preached previous to it. I attended, and Mr. B. spoke from this text, “We use great plainness of speech.” This was a plain sermon, on some very plain truths, and which plainly proved the doctrine was from heaven: and what was I, that I could resist the truth? I had, before this period, seen the ordinance of believers baptism was scriptural; but I was now fully persuaded it was of Divine appointment—a sacred institution, and ought to be obeyed as a Divine command. I had heard good Mr. Keeble, in Blandford-street, with pleasure and profit. I knew several of the members, who were pious, discreet persons. It was but shortly after I had heard Mr. B. as above, I proposed myself to Mr. K. as a candidate for baptism: I gave in my experience at the church-meeting, and was received without a dissenting voice, but there was a condition to be performed, to which I hastily gave my consent, which was, to decline preaching entirely, as it was not agreeable to the order of the particular Baptists, to baptize any preacher, as a preacher, without first resigning that office, submitting to baptism, and, after a period, to have his gifts tried at the church-meetings, and then, either going forward, or keeping back, as that church directed. At first, this appeared to be right, and to this I agreed, as soon as I had taken leave of my many little congregations, I would then agree to such orders, and to this I most solemnly agreed before the deacons. I went to all my little places, and bid them farewell, and my mind seemed a little at ease. As I had many doubts rising in my mind, about my call to the work, I thought, in the multitude of counsellors, there would be safety if I ever was called out again; but, after a few weeks rolled away, I was deeply convinced the Lord had called me to the work of the ministry. I constantly kept looking up to God for direction, and it came to me with great power: that as the Lord had blessed my labours to many, and as he had called me himself, qualified me, and opened doors for me, I did not think I was acting right to give it up. Besides, the many pressing invitations on every hand, I concluded that my public work was of much greater importance than my act of baptism. I still considered it of importance to be baptized, that it was a Divine command, and ought to be obeyed; but, why one ordinance was to jostle out another, I could not tell. One Sunday morning, my mind was much distressed about it, and this was attended with prayer, and many tears; my wife seeing my uneasiness, reasoned with me, and told me, as God had called me to the ministry, I ought to go on; and if I saw baptism right, I could submit to that also; and, being thus fully persuaded in my own mind, that both were right, I waited on Mr. K. and opened my mind fully to him; but the good man could not alter the plan, and therefore, I gave up every idea of uniting myself to that body of Christians, and went on preaching the gospel, agreeable to the apostle’s advice, “Let every man abide in the place to which God has called him.” I must confess I do not see the exact propriety of this method, adopted by particular Baptists. I beg pardon if I err; but I will suppose a case: that the Lord should call forth a man to preach his word, and that man have scriptural reasons, with the testimony of God in his soul, and proof of his success, but, through some prejudice, the church disapproves of him—is that man to decline the work, because the voice of the church is not unanimous to the call? I leave this subject for wiser heads to determine. The apostle Paul was first converted, then he was baptized, and then he preached the gospel; and, after these things, he assayed to join himself to the church; but, this is no more rule for believers now than the manner of his conversion was for ours. Some are gently led along, others are deeply exercised with the bondage of the law; some have had a drop of the wrath of God, on the spirit, as David, Job, Heman, and, perhaps, Paul; but, others, only have a slight apprehension of it, yet enough to shew them their need of Christ, as a surety, righteousness, atonement, and complete Saviour. This was my case.—Grace be with you. I remain yours, J. C. How harsh soe’er the way,
Dear Saviour, still lead on,
Nor leave us till we say,
Father, thy will be done.
Finish, dear Lord, what is begun;
Choose thou the way, and still lead on. LETTER X. “And the Lord shall go before thee.”
To — How dear are the saints to their Lord; and they are dear to us. The memory of some of them is precious, especially those who have been useful to our souls. The remembrance of our late pastor, Mr. Burnham, will ever be dear to our hearts; it was under his ministry we first met, and with him we hope to spend a blessed eternity, through the grace of our dear Lord. The reasons for my first joining the church, under that good man’s ministry, were this; Mr. Keeble refused baptism to me, because it was disorderly to baptize a preacher without first becoming a member of that church, and being called out by that church; and having occasionally heard Mr. B. I waited on him, and related the whole business, as in my last letter. Mr. B. was as zealous for strict order as Mr. K. but with this difference, that although I might still exercise in the sacred work constantly, yet, till I had passed the regular orders, I should not have the sanction and approbation of the church. This sanction I doubtless considered important; and as I was privileged still to go on in the ministry, my mind was at ease on that subject. After conversation and prayer with Mr. B. I was proposed as member to the church. I attended, gave an account of the Lord’s dealings with me, was strictly examined by Mr. B. as to soul matters, my motives and views in joining the church, and going on in the ministry; and being satisfied himself, and the church likewise, the day was appointed for the ordinance of Baptism to be administered, I spoke, as usual, on the same Lord’s-day morning, and previous to the Baptism, chose that fine passage, 90th Psalm, “And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.” In the forenoon Mr. B. preached on, “For by one spirit are we all baptized into one body.” It was an excellent sermon. When I came to the water, I was permitted to address the audience, in which I gave my views of the ordinance, and my motives for thus obeying the command. You remember the time, the place, and the circumstances. I was just 28 years of age, and had been above three years in the public ministry. The Lord, I hope, was with us. On the following Lord’s Day, I was admitted to the Lord’s Supper with the brethren who were baptized with me—and shortly after this, I had the painful task to signify to the church my wish to have my talents tried before them, previous to their sanctioning my going out as a preacher. I knew I had the Lord’s approbation; at least, when in a good frame of mind I both saw it and felt it; but if I had the church’s likewise, I should of course be well pleased. Every Tuesday evening was appointed for that purpose. The church met, and the first time I was to choose my own subject, which was John, xvi. 14. This met with general approbation. The next Tuesday the minister was to appoint the text, which he did, Rom. viii. 16. This was not so much to his mind, though he approved of the truths I uttered. The last time was by the church’s request, Rom. viii. 29, 30. These were all approved of, but none like the first. It was then proposed to the church, whether they considered me as called and qualified for the ministry; which was carried without a dissenting voice. Our pastor then gave me a most solemn charge on the subject, and I believe he acted as became a Christian, a gospel minister, and a circumspect man. I felt some sacred pleasure in this approbation, and went forth teaching and preaching. The Lord was with me most sensibly, and many souls were edified, comforted, and built up on their most holy faith. The Scriptures were opened to them, and God gave them light, life, love and liberty. This I have frequently been informed of, from various quarters. I was exceedingly partial to village preaching, and have many times regretted ever leaving it, to be settled over any people; but the Lord had ordained it otherwise before I had an existence: for He worketh all things after the counsel of his own will, and you and I know He is too wise to be mistaken. God bless and shine upon you; and remember, they that turn many to Christ, shall shine as the stars in the firmament of heaven for ever. Yours, J. C. LETTER XI. “And I will direct their work in truth.”
To — I think the first time the Lord led you under my poor feeble ministry, was at Lant-street, Borough. I think it necessary to inform you of the leadings of Divine Providence in that business. While a member of the church at Grafton-street, under the ministry of Mr. B. yet continually preaching, I became acquainted with a good man, a minister of the gospel, who had received an invitation to preach at Lant-street, but being engaged elsewhere, he requested I would go in his stead, to which I consented, without asking my pastor’s opinion, or the opinion of any other discreet man: here began my popularity, and here, alas! began my misery also. I went, and soon strutted into the pulpit with long robes, in which, at first, I felt very awkward, but it exactly met the native vanity of my heart: the chapel had been sadly deserted before, but I being a stranger, the place was crowded. After I had preached a few times here, I continued morning and evening for some time. No one in the Borough knew me, and it was so much the better in one sense, though not in another; for, preaching the early lecture at Mr. B’s. then coming into the Borough, preaching again, destitute of a shilling, and acquainted with no one in the neighbourhood, I was obliged to walk, perhaps in the afternoon, to Redcross-street, in the City, and back to Lant-street, to preach my fourth sermon for the day; yet, no one invited me to partake a dinner with them for some weeks; this made me faint and weary, till my circumstances were better known, and then I found the people in the Borough, and St. George’s Fields, the most generous and friendly I ever met with in my travels; but I must make you smile. A good man, who is an excellent preacher now, and who has long known me, one day, about this time of my preaching at Lant-street, said to me, “C. I think you play the hypocrite the best I ever knew one in my life.” This startled me at first, till he explained himself thus: “I was hearing you at Lant-street, last Sunday, and saw you dressed in your full robes, and yet I knew you had not a shoe to your feet, and in the most indigent circumstances.” I only replied, that I thought being poor, and seeming so, was of no use to me. Mr. G. returned from his travels, so that my services were then wanted no more there. Mr. G. did not know me at that time. I knew him, having heard him once only, some years before I was in the ministry; but, hearing much of me, he sent for me, to preach, one Lord’s-day evening. The gentleman alluded to in the beginning of this letter, was asked for some one to go into Oxfordshire; his mind ran directly to me, and he advised me to go there; and, as usual, I soon gave my consent, and went down to the place, the day before Christmas Day: the journey was long, but I arrived safe, was cordially received, and preached there on the Christmas Day; I was well received, and abode a month; the people and the managers treated me with every mark of affection, and I returned to London, loaded with their kindness. Never having experienced such treatment before, and meeting with some experimental Christians, and many who loved the truth, the people became very dear to me; it was shortly proposed to me to settle with them, and I gave my consent. Here I acted just as self willed as I had done before, and advised with no godly minister, or experienced people upon the subject. It is the wisdom of the wise to understand his way, but, alas! I did not; which I see the folly of now it is too late to mend, but the Lord has borne long with my manners in the wilderness. Yours, truly, J. C. And while upon the earth I live,
I want the Saviour’s love in view,
And say, my God, my sins forgive,
And pardon all my virtues too. LETTER XII. “Behold, the day is come,” saith the Lord, “that the ploughman shall overtake the reaper.”
To — It was the sin of Rehoboam, that he regarded the counsel of the young men, and forsook the advice of the aged; and had I listened to you, I might have escaped a thousand trials. I am speaking after the manner of men. If we have no native prudence it must be learnt by heavy stripes. An imprudent man is sure to make crooked paths for his own feet; this, alas, has been my case. You, perhaps, will remember the time when you acted as a mother to me and mine, and gave us advice respecting our removal to Banbury. My intentions, I hope, were pure: there was a large congregation in the town, and many who loved the truth; they were a destitute people: there were about twenty villages around, where the truth was wanted. I longed for an opportunity to give myself to study, and to be wholly devoted to the ministry: these were certainly important considerations. The people chose me without a negative, and promised to make me comfortable. The income was small, and having just began to be popular in London, I had, of course, many little sacrifices to make, to quit my own business, which, though the profits were small, yet, the employment was constant; my wife had to give up her’s also, which helped sometimes to render us comfortable: but money was no idol of mine, had it been, I should have looked better to my ways, and escaped a few of the many troubles I have so deeply experienced. We were obliged to part from the little furniture we had, and to borrow twenty pounds, in order to procure what we needed, with some useful books, which I wanted, as I fully intended to devote myself to intense reading; but, I found the way of man is not in himself; it is not in man that walketh, to direct his steps. Myself and family, five of us, arrived, through mercy, safe, and I commenced my ministerial career; was well attend at the chapel, and invited to many villages around, which I constantly visited. I had been almost four months before I received one quarter’s salary, so that we were obliged to go in debt for every article of life; this was most distressing to us, especially as we did not receive our due, only by piece-meal; besides, several gentlemen had ordered furniture into the house, whom I, of course, concluded intended to pay for it, but we were sadly mistaken. I laboured in many villages, travelled many tedious miles, and scarcely any one offered me a shilling, or sent me any necessary article, although their houses were loaded with bacon, their gardens with vegetables, and their trees with fruits: the only apology I can make for them is, that they did not know I wanted it, or else, I think they would have acted more kindly. Having continued a while, and never administered the ordinance of baptism, although many were Baptists in heart, yet they did not like to take up the cross; and I, being so self-conceited, supposed, before I came among them, I should soon have the pleasure of seeing them all Baptists, and form a Baptist church in that place; but, in this I was mistaken, for God resisteth the proud; and, although many confessed it was right, there was but two who wished to obey the command. Being, however, successful in some other way, in regard to truth, it was proposed I should be ordained among them; this was a hasty act of mine, as I was extremely uncomfortable in my situation, on account of my circumstances, but hoping the next quarter would be better, the ordination was appointed, the ministers invited; half of whom were Baptists, and half Independents: the gentlemen who officiated acted very kindly to me, gave me good private advice, and conducted the business of the day with good order and solemnity. I never so sensibly felt the importance of my call as I did on that day, in the month of July, 1807; the ministers were the following: Mr. Reid, of Warwick, Mr. Franklin, of Coventry, Baptists; Mr. Scraggs, of Buckingham, and Mr. Taylor, of Witney, Independents. I gave no account of my principles, and desired to say something about the Lord’s dealings with me, and my motives for going into the ministry; but, this was objected to on this occasion. I think I shall never forget the solemnity of the day, the account of which was published in the Evangelical Magazine. Nothing particular transpired, from the ordination in July to the following March; only that I found I should never accomplish my wish in settling the church, so that I was obligated to administer the Lord’s Supper to Independents, and the very few Baptists that were among them; my circumstances I found, got rather worse than better; this gave me much secret distress, and I often begged the Lord to let me return to London, to my old business, and friends. I found also, that although I had an opportunity of close reading, the heart was not given me, and my active busy mind was always upon the wing, unstable and unsettled. Constant exercise in preaching took me from home, and buried reflections. I remember a piece of advice that was given me by a good man, whose name I have already mentioned—“Preach less, and read more.” A number of villages welcomed me, and I was kept in perpetual exercise. The Lord blessed the word, but I was puffed up with vanity and pride, which would, no doubt, have been my ruin; but that bladder was soon pricked with reproach, and some disgrace. I had some scandal while at Banbury, but this was chiefly on account of my principles; except in one case, a poor spiteful Socinian asserted, that I came from the pulpit to the Lord’s table, and took the cup, and drank a health to the lovely Jesus. This report spread far and wide, and many were much hurt about it; but, that was soon suppressed. If it had been true, there was no such great crime in the act, as the ordinance of the Lord’s supper is designed to commemorate that spiritual and eternal health which the Saviour brought to us; and believers, drinking the same cup together, is drinking spiritual health to each other, and prosperity to the Redeemer’s kingdom. The dear Saviour, having put away sin, and brought health and cure to his people, came to his disciples, when they were assembled, and the first kind word he said, was—“All hail!”—that is, all health. Thus, this holy Dove appeared, with the olive branch of peace in his mouth, after the awful flood of vindictive wrath was over; and every believer, either in a greater or lesser degree, has this testimony in his own soul—that, after a season of much bondage, hardness, distress of mind, sense of divine displeasure, fears of death, and an humbling sense of guilt, vileness and distance from God, the Saviour has graciously appeared, in some way or other to them, and brought power, health, peace, and joy. Although this seldom lasts long, yet such visits are the dealings of the spirit, demonstrating our interest in his love. May the dear Redeemer pay you many such visits. Yours, truly, J. C. Oh, teach my sinful soul, to soar,
Confess the Saviour, and his steps adore;
Devoted let me live, submissive die,
And hope a glorious Paradise on high. LETTER XIII. “Thence will I command the serpent, and he shall bite them.”
TO THE SAME. I have intimated my partiality to village preaching; I had my heart’s desire in this instance, but I got leanness in my soul; my home was too much deserted, and the souls of my new flock neglected; my study forsaken; my vanity fed; and though poor as a church mouse, I was as proud as the devil: this did not appear in my general deportment, but wise men saw it. A very elegant suit of canonical robes were made a present to me, and in these, I had the vanity to strut through the town on Sunday, three times a day, to the chapel, admired by those who were as vain as myself. Oh! what folly and vanity I see in these things now; but, I wanted to look as much like the church as I could; and what for, but merely to escape persecution, and that the offence of the cross might cease. Flying from persecution, I met with ten thousand times worse disgrace, and my case was a little like those persons of whom the Prophet speaks; Amos, iii. 19—“I fled from a lion and a bear met me, I went into the house, and leaned on the wall, and a serpent bit me.” About the month of March, 1808, I thought of the kindness of an old and mutual friend, Mr. Alexander, who was a deacon of Mr. G’s.; I sent him a letter, and begged to hear from him; the consequence of this was, a letter came from Mr. G. in friendly terms, to which I gave as friendly an answer. A proposition was soon sent down, to exchange pulpits with Mr. G. for a month; and, as I longed to get to town, I was glad of the opportunity. Some of the friends at B— had seen a book of Mr. G’s.; and they, being much pleased with it, consented to my going to town. I came, and preached on Good Friday, and the following Sunday the chapel was thronged. I became much known and beloved. I had many pressing invitations to stay in town, and have since regretted I did not accept them; but, my heart felt for the flock left behind me; many letters passed to and fro between myself and friends, especially those who had advised me not to have any thing to do with Mr. G. nor to preach for him in town; I did not know who were his friends or his enemies, till they came about me like bees, and laid many things to his change. When I found this, I felt more anxious to return, and wrote to these very professed friends accordingly, stating that I was sorry I had not taken their advice. These friends, during my absence, had been in company with Mr. G. and had altered their minds; of course, made Mr. G. acquainted with the contents of my letters. Mr. G. let no opportunity slip of speaking disrespectfully of me. I however returned, and found, to my surprise, some of the most respectable of the congregation would not speak to me; this hurt my feelings not a little, but the poor of the flock still cleaved to me. My visit in London did me much good, and the hand of the Lord was in it. I felt, however, determined to abide in this place; till the Lord turned me out; for, I having so little native wisdom, prudence, or foresight, I knew not what to wish or do for the best. I once more visited my villages, Bodicott, Kingham, Hook, Nortan, Middleton, Cheny, Chalcomb, Sulgrave, and many other places. In the month of June, I received a pressing invitation to Birmingham, Warwick, Bedworth, and Coventry, which I could not accept till my wife, who was near her time, was delivered; as that was a time I perpetually dreaded, so I could not, would not leave home. But, on the 8th of July, 1808, it being our lecture night, my wife was taken bad, and safely delivered of a daughter: my mind had been uneasy all the day, nor could I find a text in the whole Bible, to preach on in the evening; I was obligated to go to chapel without one, and after prayer could find no other text than this one word—“Farewell.” On this I preached for some time. Many thought, after my departure, that I never intended to return, from the singularity of my text; but, I fully intended it, nor had I the least idea of leaving them, only for a fortnight, to visit the places to which I had been invited: I proposed returning, but the Lord did not intend I should. The next evening I preached at a village, on “These are they that came through much tribulation.” I conversed freely, on divine subjects, with my friends, and was particularly happy in soul, as, in fact, I had been from the time I left town; yet I never dreamed of the storm at hand; but this I have known, often before a storm I have found an universal stillness; and, at times, great spirituality, nearness to God, and a brightening up of every evidence. I mention this to the honour of God’s grace, which has been so often experienced by me. The next morning I took leave of my family, to go my journey, and just as I was going out, a letter was brought to me, from a person, containing some very distressing charges. I had not time to stay to clear that matter up, as I had no means of sending to the places to which I was going, to contradict, or rather postpone my visit. I left it in the hands of a person I supposed my friend, till I returned to the town; but to that town I never did return. I went on my journey with a heavy heart, and the most dreadful and inconceivable anguish of spirit. The Lord enabled me to preach that evening at Kineton, and, the next day I walked ten miles further—arrived at Warwick, and preached there on Friday evening. Ah! little did the crowded congregation think what I felt. The next day I went further, and preached at Bedworth on Sunday three times; one of which was a charity sermon for a school. On Monday I arrived at Coventry; on Tuesday I travelled on to Birmingham, where I was kindly received; I preached there on the Tuesday, Thursday, and the following Sunday. While in the pulpit I was in some measure happy; but, when in company, I was wretched: solitude suited my distressed heart. I was invited to Wolverhampton, Bilston, and Briarley-hill, and so on. All these places I visited, and the word was well received; but, oh, my sorrows! I cannot paint them. I continued at Birmingham a month, or nearly so; the amiable, kind, and spiritual people I was with, saw my distress, and being invited far into the country, I felt resolved to go. But just as I made up my mind for the journey, I received a pressing invitation to London; a chapel having been provided for me, if I would come; with which I complied immediately. During the time I was at Birmingham many letters passed between myself and the managers at B—. The deacons intreated my return upon certain conditions, to which I consented; but the trustees objected to it: it was amidst this pro and con that I received this letter to come to London. My most invaluable friend in Birmingham, at whose house I was, appointed a place to meet my accusers, in company with a godly minister, and some others. We met at a place called Chapel-house, near Chipping Norton, in Oxfordshire, and in some measure gained a satisfaction. I returned to Birmingham, preached that night, and on the Sunday following; took my leave on Tuesday, and proceeded to London on Wednesday. The meeting in the Borough was opened for me, and crowds soon attended. My family came to town, and all my debts were paid in B— shortly after. I was much grieved for the cause in B—, as there are many pious persons there, who love the truth. Peace be with them all. Mr. G. now received an invitation to the place, but his time was but a few weeks there. The Lord often deals in a way of retaliation, even with his own people; but, I forbear. I was no sooner settled at Chapel-court, but I had frequent invitations to other places: the congregation was unsettled at Grub-street: here I preached several times, for each party. If persons fall out it is nothing to me; I have but one subject, Christ; and if that will not unite parties, nothing will. The people behaved very kind to me; and if I could have given them satisfaction, on a certain point, no doubt I should have settled among them: but I shrunk from investigation, because I was conscious of having acted imprudently—and, as I knew: I could not be comfortable among them, nor be much credit to them, I silently evaded them all, and left my case with the great Head of the Church, who had pardoned my soul, but told me—from henceforth thou shalt have wars.—While I thus preached for them, they all acted very kind to me, especially a Mrs. Mc. I shall meet some of them in glory, although prejudice will not let them even speak to me on earth. This reflection as pleasant and painful, but I justify them in it. No man upon earth so prone as I am to idolize the creature, or to lean on his puny arm; this, this is the cause of the long contention, and all my disgrace, grief, and woe. No one could look upon my trials, but most ask—is there not a cause? I continued at Chapel-court for some months, and preached at other places; also Bunhill-row, Glass-house Yard, and you can well remember the Lord’s-day at Waltham Abbey. I preached at Westminster, and near Leicester-square. My enemies were busy, but all of no avail: the Lord still led me on, though not without some trials. In this year I was called to endure a new affliction, the loss of a darling daughter, about five or six years of age: these were feelings the most painful, but can never be described. Having no relations in the world, I knew not what it was to lose them by death, and having so little fortitude, I was almost inconsolable. My feelings, when seeing her depart, were such as I had been a stranger to before then. I had seen saint and sinner depart, and had long wept with those that wept, but now it was personal. I had preached at a friend’s house, at Camberwell, occasionally; and the evening before her death, my mind was forcibly struck with, and I preached from, Psalm cxxvi. last verse. When I concluded, and on my road home, it appeared to me as if the text was like leaven working in my mind; it was applied to me. The Lord knew what I should feel that night, and the next day I found my dear girl worse. The nurse called me about half-past three; it was not quite light, the eastern sky became enlightened; a solemn stillness pervaded all nature; I stood by her bed-side, and saw her breathe her last. I trust the morning of her better, her eternal day begun. Happy Mary, that thy Lord called thee home so soon! and never, whilst memory holds her seat, shall I forget thy little voice, the day of thy departure—“Mary will die, and go to see the Lord.” But this is my hope; I close these remarks on my dear girl.— This lovely bud, so young and fair,
Call’d hence by early doom;
Just came to shew how sweet a flower
In Paradise would bloom. That same evening I was obliged to preach; and no other text could I get but this—“He has done all things well.” May I not say so now? Another calamity came soon after: a young woman, who had lived with us at B—, as a companion to my wife, and who was exceedingly kind to her in my troubles there, had a desire to see London, and spend some time with us. We sent for her, and she continued for about two months. She seemed to be pious, and to understand the gospel. She was suddenly taken ill; the faculty did not exactly understand the nature of her complaint, and although she was poorly, she expressed a desire to hear me as long as she could, and to go to the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper. She came, but was so ill she could not attend to any thing. She grew worse, and her head was dreadfully affected. She at times became raving mad; but at one time she was very sensible; and while she slept, as we all thought, my wife, myself, and some other friends, were talking about the things of God, she spoke very sensibly and slowly, and suddenly uttered, “O what a mercy to be beloved of Jesus!” I was just going to enter into conversation with her; but she grew worse, and shortly after slept in Jesus. Glad would her dear parents have been, had they attended her; but they were near 100 miles off. Yet we got her, perhaps, much better attendance than she could have had at home. On account of the distance from the family, with much regret we deposited her remains in the burial-ground of Tottenham-Court Road, but in hopes of a blissful resurrection; and this blessing is sure to all who are quickened by the gracious in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit. As it is written, Rom. viii. “But if the Spirit of Him who raised up Jesus from the dead, dwell in you, He that raised up Christ from the dead, shall also quicken your mortal bodies, by His Spirit, that dwelleth in you.”—Grace and peace be with you. I remain, yours, J. C. For love like; this, ye saints arise
Superior to all earthly ties;
Proclaim the Saviour’s precious blood,
And magnify a Tri-une God! LETTER XIV. “Yet thou, O Lord, art in the midst of us.”
To — I have often admired the gracious conduct of Divine Providence in bringing me acquainted with your family: I have found you faithful in gospel bonds, faithful in reproving, admonishing, instructing, and praying for me. You was well acquainted with the cause of my leaving Chapel-court Meeting, as I could not get it as my own. I prayed to have a place of my own, if it was an old barn; but, no doubt, this is another proof of my pride. I have seen the sorrows of real good men, who have been turned out of their situations, and reduced to abject poverty, merely to please some bashaw deacon, or conceited trustee; and as I did not like to wear a muzzle, I chose to get a humble place of my own. Your friendship in exerting yourself for my good, and the accommodation of the people, well succeeded, and our wishes were accomplished. A place was to let, near the obelisk, which would contain 800 people: but, alas! we had no seats, or pulpit. I opened it, just as it was, with a temporary stage, on which I stood. The place was crowded; I was enabled to preach in the afternoon on “He brought me to his banqueting house, and his banner over me was love:” and in the evening, “I beseech thee shew me thy glory.” I continued at Chapel-court some parts of the week, and Sundays, till the Obelisk Chapel was quite ready; when I gave up the former entirely, and occupied the latter. Many a blessed season we experienced there, and the Lord confirmed the Word with signs following. With pleasure you saw this, and fondly hoped to have seen a regular church formed, upon the Baptist order; but, perhaps, I have been culpably negligent upon that subject. However, your desire was in a great measure fulfilled: the presence of the Lord filled the place, the Word ran, and Christ and free-grace was glorified. Many remember the spot with pleasure, and others have gone from thence to glory. I need not apologise for reminding you of your remarkable dream on Ezra, vii. 27, 28, “Blessed be the Lord God of our fathers, which hath put such a thing into the king’s heart, to beautify the house of the Lord, which is at Jerusalem.” And I was strengthened, as the hand of the Lord was upon me. The Lord be with you, while I remain, Yours, in Him, J. C. He never said to Jacob’s seed,
Seek ye my face in vain;
No; he delights our souls to feed,
That we with him may reign. LETTER XV. “Son of Man, shew the house to the house of Israel.”
To — After I had been with the present congregation for some time, I thought it expedient to endeavour to bring the church into some form, and gospel order, upon the Baptist plan; but this I found a very difficult task. The majority of hearers, were averse to the ordinances of believer’s baptism, not one of the managers did see into the nature and design of the ordinance; yet I was enabled to preach frequently on the subject, and many were soon after convinced it was their duty and privilege to submit to baptism, as well as attend the Lord’s Supper. Some, who saw more clearly into it, waited till they were baptized, before they sat down to the Supper, knowing this was the most scriptural plan: others, who had been baptized previous to their hearing with us, desired to unite with us, but did not choose to do that till the church was more regularly formed. And now, having a convenient place for that purpose, many came forward to be baptized; the day was appointed, and eighteen came, who I had good reason to believe were called by grace. I preached my sermon at Horselydown, from this question of our dear Lord—“The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of men?” I found liberty and freedom in a scriptural statement of the nature and design of believers’ baptism. I had nothing new to advance, but what many men of God had observed on that subject, and endeavoured to back every argument with scripture proof. The evening arrived, and the candidates met; I conversed once more with them all, separately, in the vestry. A good man preached the sermon, and fully confirmed what I had previously advanced. At the close of the sermon, I gave a short address at the water. After prayer and singing, I descended into the baptistry, for the first time, with trembling steps, yet dependent on the faithfulness of the Great Head of the Church, to his own promise—“Lo! I am with you always.” I then led each into the water, myself, and spoke something suited to the case of every one, as we went into the water together. I considered it most scriptural to go down with the candidates, which had a very pleasing effect upon the spectators, gave great encouragement to the candidate, and diversified the solemn scene. This was the plan of the Rev. Mr. Burnham, which I always adopted. In two month’s time, about thirty-five more came forward; and for the first four or five succeeding years, I had the honour to baptise upwards of fifty persons. At one time I had forty-eight, which was very fatiguing to me. After I had left Horselydown, we went to baptise at Worship-street. This only occurred once, and there were near forty persons at that time. Soon after the Lord raised me up a place of my own, and we built an excellent baptistry there, in which many have been baptised, some of whom are now in glory, many are growing in grace, and continue amongst us, while others are gone to other places, that other ministers might fill up their cup of consolation. I have heard but of very few that have gone back into the world, and they are not out of the reach of mercy, unless any of them have sinned “the sin unto death.” But, notwithstanding so many were baptised, I had not power to form the church after the particular Baptist plan, but was obligated to admit those of God’s dear children, who could not yet see it right to be baptized. As these persons gave every evidence that they belonged to God, I saw no impropriety in sitting down with such at the Lord’s table. I am well aware that it was not so in the apostolic age; then, the church was of one heart, and one soul, but it is not so now, in external matters; and as the Saviour admits them to communion with himself, I see no reason why we should exclude them, because they do not see exactly with us into this ordinance: I wish all the church throughout the world did see it exactly as the scriptures have laid it down; but that they will not do, till the Holy Spirit is again poured out in the latter-day glory, of which happy time the apostolic age was a prelude. There was a period when I did not see the order of the church to be of that importance I now do. My whole attention, out of the pulpit, was to manage that business as well as I could, assisted by men of faith, prayer, and wisdom. We have since formed the church, the articles of which are printed in the first volume of the “Voice of Faith.” The Lord keeps us walking in his own appointed way, adorning the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. Yours, J. C. Make me obsequious to thy will,
While journeying hence to Zion’s hill;
Within thine arms, O let me be,
For ever folded near to thee. LETTER XVI. “Arise and thresh, O daughter of Zion.”
To — As through grace you have been an eye and ear witness to the Lord’s dealings with me, and to the testimony which he has borne to the word of his grace (however weak the instrument) in town, so you have heard of some success I have had in the country. Various have been my journies, and scarcely have I ever heard of one in vain. Soon alter the death of my dear girl, I was invited to take a journey to Sheerness. When I arrived, some who had heard me preach in town, and others who had beard of me, came to solicit me to preach in that place. The minister was requested the use of his pulpit, but he denied it at first, which threw a general damp upon them all. However, I was impressed that the Lord had intended me to preach there, and when I got alone, I begged of the Lord to shew me his mind, which he did in his Word, by this text, which I opened upon—“I will give thee the opening of the mouth unto them.” When my friends assembled around me again, each giving their various opinions, I told them I should surely preach to them. The next day I wrote a polite note to the minister myself, and in the evening he as politely came to invite me. The Lord opened my mouth, and the dew descended on the barn floor. This was an enlivening and a quickening time. Many, and especially the Baptists, were stirred up, and shortly built a small place for themselves, in which I shortly after preached. I believe a church is since formed in the place, and godly Baptist ministers supply it. The Lord also opened the meeting at Strood, and enabled me to proclaim the unsearchable riches of Christ to the joy of some good old-established Christians, who had long sat under the truth, and were blessed with that charity that rejoiceth not in error, but rejoiceth in the truth. Many remember those visits, and although I shall never see them more in this world, yet I trust that truth that has made us free will bring us home to the enjoyment of the God of truth. In the year 1811, I opened a Monday-evening lecture at Horselydown, and another at the Welsh meeting at Lambeth, where I continued some years, till Providence altered the circumstances of these places; also at Little Providence Chapel, in Holborn, where the Lord met many precious souls, and highly honoured me, to bring in some of his people: as it is written, Isaiah lxvi. “And they shall bring in your brethren for an offering unto the Lord, out of all nations, upon horses and in chariots, and in litters, and upon mules, and upon swift beasts, to my holy mountain, saith the Lord.” Yours, J. C. P.S. I was very partial to travelling from place to place, but the Lord has cured me of that roving fit, and I have scarcely a desire left me of ever leaving my own place: for, sometimes it is found true what Solomon says—“As a bird that leaveth his nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.” May God the Spirit free impart
Fresh life and vigour to the heart;
And with a living coal inflame,
To speak the honours of his name. LETTER XVII. “The Lord is my helper and my deliverer.”
To — There are some few periods in our lives when we may be said to sit still and be at ease; but there are other times we could particularly mention, when trouble abounds—as Job expresses it, “Thou breakest me with breach upon breach;” or, as David says, “Deep calleth unto deep, but the Lord will command his loving kindness in the day-time.” This was my experience from the 1st of January, 1813, to the 12th of July. No sooner had the year commenced, but having occasion to pass through Blackfriars-road, I saw in the shop-window of a printer and bookseller, an infamous and daringly-printed paper, including the fac-simile of a letter said to have been written by me to an awful character; in which I had included a guinea, to assist him. This piece of effrontery hurt my mind, but I was enabled to bear it, and preached a sermon the same evening, on “They shall call his name Emanuel, God with us.” The above letters were bought by hundreds, friends and foes: I took no notice of it, and presently came out many editions, with great additions. Soon after this every corner of the streets and every lamp-post had a placard posted, with these elegant words, in capital letters, “JOHN CHURCH, INCARNATE DEVIL,” and these were interlined with many awful scriptures, against uncleanness of every description; [86] but this failing of its intended plan, to rouse public indignation, another method was resorted to. Some pretendedly pious young men were employed to read these papers, with an audible voice, at the Obelisk, on Sunday mornings, as the Congregation were coming to chapel; this was going out into the highways, indeed, and gathering as they could, some good and some bad—the effect was, many disputes amongst them. The public-houses were filled; and, for several Lord’s-days a vast mob assembled around the door, but peaceably, and all was peace within. I continued my labours’ six times a week; yet not without much inward grief. Some warm but indiscreet friends were determined to apprehend the first that made any disturbance, and no one seemed very forward to do that, except one young man, who was observed to frequent the mob: he was taken to the watch-house by order of the managers of the chapel, who charged him with a breach of the peace, but when he was brought before a magistrate, who was no friend of mine, he complained of my conduct to his brother, twelve years before that period. I was of course sent for, and went without any warrant being issued out against me. I made my appearance, and a very worthy magistrate bound it over for trial, at the Middlesex sessions, alledging it would give greater public satisfaction. All things were now peaceable till July 12. The time came on, and the trial took place, at which I was honourably acquitted. The chairman who tried the cause declared he never witnessed so malignant a prosecution before. We had peace once more in our borders, and prosperity in our palaces. I then explained the former case mentioned in this letter, concerning the infamous person to whom I had acted as a benefactor. The case was this: in the month of September, 1812, a person called on me. Mrs. C. who was blessed with a astonishing gift of discernment of character, came to my study, and said a person below wanted to see me—“but,” she added, “I don’t much admire his looks.” However, I came down, and she listened at the nearest window, anxious to know his business. He accosted me with “Sir, you don’t know me, but I have been unfortunately in prison a long time. I was formerly in the public line, and wish to go in it again. Many have helped me, and I hope you will take it into consideration also.” I told him if he would leave his address, I would certainly pay some attention to it, but could not stay then. In a few days time I went to the house he had directed me, and found, as far as I could see, every thing respectable; and an old gentleman assured me that the case was a very distressing one, and that the poor man was then in the spunging-house, put in that day by his brewer. This had all the appearance of truth; I felt for his situation; and the next day wrote the letter which was afterwards handled against me. But I believe it was nothing else but envy on the part of my opponent, who had borne a name so many years for his alms-giving, as though nobody could give an alms but himself. Not all the world can persuade me that the opposition made to me was from any other motive. Although zeal for the moral law was the plea, yet, that very person always acted contrary to the law, in every such act of opposition. But to return, the above ungrateful wretch had no sooner received my donation, than he sent a woman, purporting to be his wife, to solicit more money. Mrs. C. gave her an answer, assuring her that I had contributed generously to his wants, and could do no more for him, or for any one else, yet:—but the woman, not contented with that answer, replied, in an insulting manner, “Well, if Mr. C. does not choose to do it, he shall repent it as long as he lives; for I’ll go to Mr. D— directly, and tell him what I know will please him, against Mr. C.” The Doctor not being returned to town, the woman waited till he did, and then visited him, well knowing the above gentleman would jump for joy, if he could find out any thing amiss in my conduct, so as to fix the name of Antinomian in reality. Report says, he visited this infamous character in prison, and gave him two guineas for the letter. Many others of the holy contenders for the moral law, paid him a visit, and gave him money likewise, so that he made his boast he had but one guinea from me, but he got near forty guineas out of the Doctor and his people. The letter was soon engraved, at the Doctor’s expense, and thousands of them printed and sent into the world. And what harm did this do me? but send crowds to hear me preach, who filled the chapel so much, that we were obliged to look out for a much larger place. The infamy of this notorious character being so fully known, his palpable falsehoods respecting my visiting his infamous house, were discredited by any reasonable being; and as his testimony would not be taken in a court of justice, there was no reason why it should be taken in the courts of the Lord’s house. I relieved him from the purest motives of benevolence, as I have many hundreds beside, who are living witnesses of it. I acknowledge I have not been so discriminating in my acts of beneficence as I ought to have been: but I could never bear to send away empty from my door the petitioner for relief, whether good or bad, if I could relieve them, remembering, the advice and example of our Divine Lord, Acts xx. 35. And as to impositions, those who are kind to the poor must always expect it, both in the church and in the world. And if the most knowing of the benevolent are so often duped, you cannot wonder at my meeting with such characters; for it is a well-known truth, that if there is a flat in the world, a sharper will find him out: and, supposing my holy enemies to have acted from the very best motives, it their searching out my supposed faults, in doing so have they acted agreeable to the holy law of God, or to any of the precepts of the New Testament? I believe not. If it was criminal in my relieving a bad character with one guinea, [90] was it not more criminal in my persecutors to relieve him with forty guineas; or to put themselves to the vast expense of supplying whole columns of trash, pregnant with falsehoods, for the “Weekly Dispatch.” But you know this sort of conduct is pretended zeal for that very law that curses them for their hypocrisy.—Farewell. From Christ my mercies flow,
In pearly drops they fall;
Lord give a thankful bosom to
The sweetest pearl of all. LETTER XVIII. “He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.”
To — It would fill no small volume to relate the particulars of the bustle which took place in the above affair. The zeal, vigilance, activity and expense which so many put themselves to was really laughable. The above Doctor and his understrappers were all upon the alert, all the filth, lies, and rubbish that could be collected together, were brought him; these he put in order, fled to the printer with, and which were soon exposed for sale, no doubt for the benefit of the poor (to add to charity’s fame). This being calculated to disturb the peace, the printer was bound to keep the peace, by one of the magistrates, which put an end to the sale of this rubbish. But the Doctor had recourse to another expedient; he crossed the water to an awful enemy to all spiritual religion, and furnished him with plenty of the same rubbish for a Sunday Newspaper. I saw him enter the above shop myself, and I then told many persons we should have another budget of lies out next Sunday. Nor was I mistaken. This holy advocate for the suppression of vice, and keeping the Sabbath holy, now gave plenty of matter for the encouragement of vice, and the profanation of that day. Public-houses were again well stored, [91] to read about the infamous J. C.—Jews and Infidels, professed Christians, and profound Deists. There were “Parthians, Medes and Elamites, dwellers in Messopotamia, Egyptians and strangers,” all in a bustle. Some running one way, some another; one post ran to meet another, as if the city had been taken at both ends. Every one who had a little hope of interest picked up a stone, wrote a letter to his Holiness, or ran with some account of some bad action, some love letter I had written, some bad house I had visited—though as false as God was true. Yet this was credited, and swallowed down wholesale. Vast crowds assembled round the chapel on Sunday nights, so that the congregation had to pass through them as the Israelites through the Red Sea; but not a dog moved his tongue at them. Printing scurrillity was kept on weekly, till the public got tired of the old story over and over again. Nor were some of my well-wishers idle; some, in warmth, retaliated; others, more prudently, wrote mildly, and remonstrated in a scriptural manner with the Doctor, by word and writing. Some exercised their pens in satire and poetical effusions. Some of the copies of these I have still by me, and would present them to you, but they would take up too much room. And what good did all this do? None, but hurt the rising generation, and exposed the cause of God to ridicule. On the part of those adversaries who are zealous for the moral law, as their rule of life, surely they acted contrary to every law, to the ten commandments, the Judaical law of Moses, the gospel in every doctrine, and in every precept; the laws of wisdom, love, and kindness, and the excellent laws of our country. But I forgive them; and the only apology I can make for them is, that they did it with a good intent, and out of love to my soul; this was equally as loving to me, as the Hibernian woman to her husband, who being condemned to be hung clung round her dearest dear, reminded him how much she loved him, and said, as a proof of it, she came that morning to hang him herself, as she might as well have the money for it as any body else.—This was love indeed.—Farewell. Yours, J. C. When men of spite against me join,
They are the sword, the hand is thine. P.S. Many wondered that I did not punish the weekly scribblers, but no; I am forbid I Corinth, vi. 1. And if I had a mind for it, they kept out of the way, either by the rules of the Fleet or the Bench—and what is the use of pursuing a flea? as David said to Saul—1 Sam. xxiv. 14. LETTER XIX. “We know that all things work together for good, to those that love God.”
To — As the congregation was so much increased, from the late rumours, and conclusion of the trial, the place where we had long worshipped, was deemed unsafe to contain so large a body of people; it was therefore proposed to build a more convenient place, near the old spot: but the chief part of the neighbourhood being City ground, we could not obtain any other place than the vacant spot on which the chapel now stands: this was taken of the City, and on Monday the 13th of July, the day twelvemonth the trial was terminated in my favour, I laid the foundation-stone of the new chapel, in presence of many spectators. When I had concluded the service, we assembled the same evening at the old chapel, where I preached on Gen. xxviii. “And this stone which I have set shall be God’s house.” That evening, small as the congregation was, compared with others, we collected fifty pounds. The building was begun, and in ten weeks it was finished; but during that time my faith was continually upon the watch tower. And the hand of God was most evidently in the business; timber was scarcely ever known to be at such a price, yet the Lord sent me money with which to pay the men their wages, and to find many materials beside—this was at the rate of twenty-five pounds a week. Where the money came from I know not, but, to my surprise, it came. The Lord called me to his throne, and in gracious answers the money was sent. On the first Sunday in October, 1813, I took my leave of the old place, where I spent many happy hours; and if David remembered Hermon, and the little hill Mizar, the old Obelisk chapel will be dear to many a soul while life and being last. I preached in the morning on the language of Moses to Jethro—“We are journeying to the place of which the Lord said, I will give it thee, come thou with us, we will surely do thee good.” In the afternoon I endeavoured to remind my hearers of that suitable promise in every case of the Lord’s people—“And behold I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest; and I will not leave thee until I have done all the good which I promised unto thee.” In the evening I again addressed the congregation, from the language of Moses—“Let thy presence go with us.” After the evening sermon, we had the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper. The evening was solemn, and we concluded with thanksgiving for the many happy hours we had spent in the place, and intreated the Lord to go with us the next day, and abide with us all our days. We left the old spot with some reluctance, and the next morning I opened the new meeting. I preached from Exodus xxv. 8—“And let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them:” this sermon is now in print. And in the evening to a very crowded congregation, from John xvii—“And I have declared thy name, and will declare it, that the love wherewith thou hast loved me, may be in them, and thou in them.” The bustle of the day had impaired my mind, but I was helped through it, and the collection amounted to upwards of fifty pounds for that day, which I considered to be very great. Some very excellent singers volunteered their kind services, and at the close of the service favoured us with some very beautiful anthems from Handel. The place was always well attended, but the building of the chapel involved me in several heavy debts, many of which I paid out of the produce of the chapel, and others I borrowed money to pay them with, so that I paid all the tradesmen comfortably to my own mind; but the borrowed money laid as a dead weight on my spirits, and created me many anxieties. This gave fresh exercise to prayer and faith, and an opportunity of watching the hand of God. Soon after the building was completed, my subscriptions stopped, and of course all the heavy debt laid on me. As I was determined no one should be hurt by me, I became responsible for every thing; and having collected by subscription, about seven hundred pounds, I found I was nearly ten hundred pounds in debt—three hundred I paid in about eighteen months, and the rest I paid interest for the use of, till the whole was cleared off. And as I had the money given me, I built the place and paid for it, of course it is my own property; but I have since seen it necessary to choose trustees, by way of executors to my will, that the place should be always appropriated to the preaching of the gospel: this was to secure it from any who should claim it, and in future time convert it into any thing else: as I had known some preachers who had chapels of their own, after they had made a fortune in them, sell them to brokers, and other persons, laying an injunction on them never to let them again have the gospel preached in them. This is most base, and cruel, beyond all expression; and what an awful state must their consciences be in, to act in so base a manner. The Lord was with me, in this place also, till another calamity befel me: but this I know, every occurrence is divinely appointed, by infinite wisdom, and will terminate in the glory of God, and the prosperity of the soul—For he worketh all things after the counsel of his own will. Yours truly, J. C. LETTER XX. “So I spake unto the people in the morning, and at even my wife died.”—Ezek. xxiv. 18.
To — Death is solemn at all times, to thinking minds; and though sin has made him an enemy to our natures, grace has made him a friend to our souls: but he has no acquaintances, nor has he respect for any; he comes in without apologies, and cuts down all alike, the man of years, the innocent babe, the crowned head, the mitred prelate, the humble scavenger, and the poorest beggar: nor does he spare the dearest relative, or the most affectionate friend—yet, it is the consolation of the Lord’s people, that though all must bow to his stroke, they are dear to the Saviour, they are precious to him; hence he calls them the precious sons of Zion, and since thou hast been precious in my sight, I have loved thee. God has declared their blood, that it their lives, is precious in his sight.—Psalm lxxii. And in another Psalm (cxvi.) declares their very death is precious. God has declared, he has no pleasure in the death of the wicked, no more than he has in their persons or their lives; yet grace has made a difference between those who love God, and those who do not; and as the Lord Jesus Christ has been to precious to them, in a time state, as an evidence they are precious to him, he has graciously designed death to be only their removal from sin and sorrow, to heaven, happiness, and God. Death is therefore a gift, freely bestowed on the Lord’s people, and in general a welcome friend, whose mission is only to usher the elect, redeemed, regenerated soul into glory; and though many such have been all their life-time in bondage, through the fear of death, yet, that same Almighty power that made them willing to be saved in God’s own way, makes them willing to leave all behind, and to enter into a world of spirits, to be for ever with the Lord; and not only willing, but sometimes longing, to be gone to that rest the Lord has provided for his covenant people. The faith that God has given them is sometimes indulged with sweet views of their inheritance, and they cast many a wishful eye to that land of delights. Thus faith doth take a pleasing view,
Hope waits, love sits and sings;
Desire, she flutters to be gone,
But patience clips her wings. What a chequered scene is the present state of God’s dear people, of adversity and prosperity, risings and fallings, darkness and light, losses and gains, crosses and mercies, bondage and liberty, sorrow and joy, life and death. No sooner had the good hand of God provided us a chapel, and every thing seemed to prosper, but a sad calamity befel me, the worst I ever had, and the most distressing to my feelings—the death of a kind, loving, affectionate, and tender wife. In the sixth Letter of this little work I have given an account of our acquaintance and marriage; it was her mercy she had been taught of God before this period. Like most others, while young, she was cheerful and loved the world, and the things of it, and in the enmity of heart she despised the things of God, even to persecution; but she was the child, doubtless, of many prayers, compelled by an afflicted mother to read the Scriptures to her, which was no small burthen to her more gay and cheerful mind; she came to a very important portion of God’s Word, (Jer. iii.) a thought struck her that she would read that chapter again, when she was alone. She seized the opportunity, and when she came to the 4th verse, the passage was applied with peculiar power to her soul—“Wilt thou not, from this time, cry unto me, My Father, thou art the guide of my youth.” Conviction of her lost state came on, and she soon went to work at the law, attended legal preaching, and strove, in vain, to recommend herself to God, by the work of her hands, her watchings, vows, and resolutions, till the Lord led her under the ministry of more evangelical men, especially the ministry of our mutual favorite preacher, Mr. L. then supplying at Tottenham and Tabernacle: the Lord, having begun his good work, brought her soul into the sweet liberty of the gospel, and in the love and fear of God, she walked many years, living upon his grace, and depending upon his providence. Her faith and hope, though often tried and assaulted, were genuine, and her love to truth was firm; she was a woman of the finest feeling, and quick discernment of characters, many of whom she frequently cautioned me against, and many a sorrow I should have escaped, had I (as most men should) have listened to a wife. We had experienced many changes, and lived very comfortably together about eight years, when, alas! a sore trouble befel her, above which she never soared. A short time after her delivery of her fourth child, she being very weak and low, some incautious person suddenly surprized her with some alarming intelligence, which was found the next day to be false: this chilled her blood; medical aid was afforded, and she gained a little strength, but she felt the direful effects of it till her death, which was not till seven years afterwards. During this period she had but one child more, who grew up to his twelfth year, and then died in the Lord, a little account of which has since, been published in his funeral sermon, entitled “The Glory of Grace.” Increasing weakness, attended with fits, and her mode of living, reduced her system; she was confined to her bed but a short time, the last fortnight she was very composed; sometimes feared the hour of her departure, but the nearer she drew to death the less she feared. I took an affectionate leave of her the night previous to her death: her speech was gone twelve hours before her departure; I, however, endeavored to preach that morning on, “They that trust in the Lord shall be as the mount Zion, which cannot be moved.” This was expressive of her state, experience, and security. As that Lord’s-day closed, so she closed her eyes in death, sleeping in Jesus. I had many sweet portions of scripture, suited, indeed, to her case, brought with power to my soul; and having known her experience with the testimony of God’s truth, I am happy in the full persuasion of her eternal felicity. I preached on the following subject the Sunday after—“Ought not this woman, being a daughter of Abraham, whom satan has bound these eighteen years, to be loosed on the Sabbath-day?” Her warfare is accomplished. “What shall separate us from the love of Christ; shall things present?” I had many times advanced the doctrine of the final perseverance of believers; but it was truly precious then. As Mr. Huntington sings— “The world may oppose, and fiends may engage,
And dangers and threat’nings dismay;
But still they pursue, in defiance of rage,
For the righteous shall hold on his way.”
Farewell.—Yours, truly, J. C. “So I prophesied, as he commanded me, and the breath came into them.” To — I had heard and read much about the spread of the gospel in towns and villages, as well as in foreign climes, and magazines abounding with this information; but, in my travels, I cannot say I found it true. It may be the case, where I have not been. It is true, indeed, I found preaching and professing; but duty, faith, moral harangues, and Baxterian sentiments, were the greatest part of the preaching I could find. Both wise and foolish virgins all appeared to me to be asleep, except now and then a missionary meeting, when there did appear a little shaking amongst the dry bones; and dry enough they are; simple-hearted souls, resting on the piety and goodness of their preachers, though their souls were starving for food; and others resting on their lees, never having been emptied from vessel to vessel; a wonderful outcry against Antinomianism, although one professor in thirty thousand can not tell what this frightful thing can be. This sad state of professors not a little affected my heart, and feeling the importance of truth, I desired to go forth to this host of Midian, and the army of the Moabites, as the Lord spake by the prophet, 2 Kings, iii. “And ye shall smite every fenced city, and every choice city, and shall fell every good tree, and stop all wells of water, and mar every good piece of land with stones, and so they did, only in her Kir-haraseth left they the stones thereof, but the slingers went about it, and smote it.” An alarm should be sounded in the streets of Zion. We are at present in the Sardian state of the church. When thousands have a name to live, but they are dead, and many of the Lord’s spiritual people are sunk in a deep sleep, surely it is high time to awake out of sleep, to arise from such deadly preaching; and professing. It is time to seek the Lord, until he come and rain righteousness upon you. I bless God for many visits in the country, notwithstanding all opposition, and the plans satan laid in every direction for my overthrow. A few years ago I was invited to a small village called Horsell, near Woking: here I preached several times, in a small hovel, which was the only place they had; and soon afterwards they built a chapel and founded a church, and are blest with the pure gospel. At the same time I visited Woking and Chertsey, and found some blessed souls who were truly spiritual; and some who were the fruits Mr. Huntington’s ministry, and had been well brought up under the pastoral care of the truly excellent Mr. Merrit. Shortly afterwards, I was taken by a gentleman into Essex, and preached at C—. After the morning service I was invited to preach in the afternoon, it being a charity sermon for the school in that place. This a little affected me, when the children stood upon the forms, remembering when I was in like circumstances, while I pleaded their cause. Being intreated, I preached again in the evening; although I found, afterwards, it was a little out of order: this I did not know at the time, as the minister had to preach elsewhere—but it gave offence to him, which I was very sorry for; as the managers had unanimously invited me, I concluded it was mutual, and acted accordingly. I continued to preach, every evening, in the same place, except one, and the Word was blest to many; but much trouble arose in consequence of it, and many disputes about myself and my doctrine: but the Lord gave testimony to the Word of his grace, and those who were spiritual rejoiced for the consolation. I was again invited, but when I went down I was of course denied the use of the chapel. Guards were set to protect the place, lest the vast body of hearers should resolutely determine to enter; and had they been of that mind, they might easily have done it, as I was then informed that the holy men who employed them, made them all * * * * *, but I had no notion of hostility. A gentleman opened his house for me, which was soon crowded. I advised them to obtain a barn, or any large place, rather than act in an unchristian-like manner, which was done immediately. I opened it on the Lord’s-day, and preached in it three times to a very large assembly. I continued there that week, and shortly after visited it again; the last day of which I laid the foundation of a new chapel, on St. John’s-green, and preached in the evening on Gen. xxviii. 22—“And this stone, which I have now set, shall be God’s house; and of all that I receive I will give the tenth unto thee.” The people were exceedingly zealous and liberal. The place went up rapidly; but before its completion some disputes occurred amongst those who were engaged in it, which arose from spite on the part of some; and, to vex the other party, an objection was made to my coming down to open the chapel. A great deal of unpleasantry ensued, as a consequence, which was produced by an artful character, and attended with much grief. Both in town and country the plot took well, and another went to open it, who was less credit to them, in the issue, than I was. I had a most anxious desire to see the chapel, and to preach in it once, which was accomplished. A lady who had invited my daughter to spend a few weeks at her house in the town, requested I would come to see her; and, upon my arrival, many friends came to visit me. I exhorted in the parlour, and the next day was pressed by the friends to preach in the chapel. I accordingly solicited the use of the pulpit, for the evening, which was granted. The passage I was enabled to speak from, was—“He careth for you.” I felt extremely affected with a variety of ideas which crowded on my mind; the happy seasons I had experienced among them, the troubles they had been called to meet with on my account, and the thoughts, the solemn thoughts, that I should never see them more in this lower world, deeply impressed my heart. The next day I left the town, and earnestly prayed for them. My poor petitions were granted; the Lord has raised up a very faithful and deeply-taught preacher among them; a church is formed on the mixed Baptist plan, and God is with them. Many are very dear to my heart, and their kindness will never be forgotten by me,—nor the Lord neither, particularly the Messrs. A. H. L. and many more. Some time after this I went to Lincoln, and to several places in Lincolnshire, where the Word was received; and I have heard from many what God had done by the preaching of the Word, through my feeble means. Many other places in the country the Lord has sent me to; also to Deptford, Greenwich, and some places near London. The Lord will bless his own truth to his own people, by his own servants, and giving testimony to the word of his grace by the man, is a proof the man is a sent servant of God; as, on the contrary, the Lord says of some—“They ran, but I sent them not: therefore, they shall not profit this people at all”—where the Word is blest to precious souls it is an evidence of their being truly sent of God. “By their fruits ye shall know them; fruits of their ministry. Do men gather grapes off thorns, or figs off thistles?”—Even so every tree is known by its fruit; and this is a sure evidence to the people. So saith the Scripture, Ezek. xxiv.—“That he that escapeth in that day shall come unto thee, and cause thee to hear it with thine ears, and thou shalt be a sign unto them, and they shall know that I am the Lord.” Yours, J. C. “Each cherub of Jesus who preaches the Word,
Shews the path-way that leadeth to life;
The sixty that handle the spiritual sword,
Attends both the Lamb and his wife.” [106]
LETTER XXII. “And the rains descended, and the floods came, and beat upon that house, and it fell not.”
To — From the building of the chapel, for the first two years, all went on smoothly, all was prosperous and peaceable; we had set sail in the ship Adramytum, and the South wind blew softly; and having obtained this, we sailed too close by Crete. This soft wind and easy sailing is not very advantageous to spiritual mariners. Ease, popularity, and prosperity, will never do long for the believer or the Christian minister. Prayer, meditation, and temptation, or trouble, makes a good preacher; and where the former is neglected, or but slightly attended to, the Lord has always trouble in store to arouse him again. The pilgrim’s seldom long at ease;
When on fright’s gone another doth him seize. Hence the following declaration—“If thou shalt not watch, I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know in what hour I will come upon thee.” This is an address to the angel, the minister, and the church of Sardis. And I really think the description of that church exactly answered to our situation, as a church: I am sorry to odd, like most of the churches in the present day. This is too plain to be denied. Our summer’s day was soon clouded, an awful storm was foreboded by many, which at last fell upon us all: for, not long after, sailing by Crete, there arose a mighty wind, called Euroclydon; and when the ship was caught, and could not bear up to the wind, we let her drive, and running under a certain island which is called Clauda, we had much work to come by the boat, and being exceedingly tossed with a tempest, and neither sun nor moon, nor stars, appeared for many days, and no small tempest lay out us, all hope of deliverance being taken away, we cast fair anchor out of the stern, and wished for the day; but falling into a place where two seas met, they ran the ship aground, a part which was broken with the violence of the waves, but some other parts remained immoveable; yet, in God’s time we escaped to land; for, in the midst of the storm, some of as, in the confidence of faith, said, “We shall yet praise Him;” and though deep called unto deep, yet we knew the Lord would command his loving kindness in the day time: and even in that night his song was at times with us, and our prayer, unto the God of our lives; yet the sea wrought, and was tempestuous, till the Lord High Admiral of the Seas awoke and rebuked the winds and waves, and then there was a calm, for which we can never be too thankful. O for a heart to praise him who reigns over all his and our foes! In the year 1816 I began a course of lectures on Paul’s voyage, which required a great deal of attention, and a little more ingenuity than I ever possessed. Soon after this, alas! we were brought experimentally to understand the subject; and though we all rejoiced in the explanation and mystical sense, as it was explained, yet, neither myself nor the congregation much liked the experimental part. It is very easy to preach and hear of storms, but when we really feel them, we are ready to exclaim, “I pray thee have me excused.” Nature ever did, and ever will, rebel against the cross. Although faith sees it needful, for a season, to be under temptations, no trial can come by chance, nor does affliction spring from the ground, but man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upwards; afflictions are of Divine appointment, not to make an atonement for sin, nor to eradicate sin from the body, but they are as useful as medicines to the body, and though painful, yet afterwards they yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness to them which are exercised thereby, no matter who the instruments are, nor what they are called, nor what end they have in view. What God aims at is to teach us wisdom; to try our faith, and that we may try him and find him faithful; to wean us from this present evil world; to let us know what is in our hearts; to display his power, love, wisdom, and faithfulness; and, at last, to break down this earthly tabernacle, and bring the souls of his redeemed to their eternal inheritance. And this is well. Surely every Christian must say I know in all that has befel,
My Jesus has done all things well. I am sometimes grieved that the Lord’s tried people are so much prone to look at second causes, and rebel against or resent the instruments which afflict them; it is a mercy to be enabled to forgive, freely, fully, and sincerely, those who, from bad motives, attempt to injure us; for this conduct we have the very best of examples. O for grace to imitate them. I do believe that neither priest nor Levite, neither professor or profane, had any other motives in opposing me for so many years, but what have arisen from ignorance, envy, and hatred to truth. I speak now of those who have been so long endeavouring to injure me in the estimation of the public. [110] I speak not of the excellent laws of the country. God forbid. I have always, in public and in private, spoken well of them; and if I transgressed any one law, I have as much right to suffer the penalty of that law as any other man, and more so—but I am now speaking of those gentlemen of the cloth who have endeavoured to degrade me, both in doctrine and conduct: blessed be God they have failed. “Behold, they shall surely gather together, but not by me, saith the Lord.” I consider all that these have done has been spite, and I prove it thus. How many erroneous preachers, and abominable in their conduct, have appeared since I came first into the same neighbourhood? Why not oppose them also? Why not watch their conduct—belabour them in the pulpit—make them the subject matter of preaching (for want of better matter)—search out their real or supposed faults—call committees on the subject—expend large sums of money—publish, print, circulate—run from county to county—employ the vilest vassals to carry on their nefarious conspiracies—I say, why not others become the subjects of their spleen? And even some amongst themselves, great advocates for what they choose to call practical godliness, who have been drenched in sensuality, some of whom have been exposed to the public—why not use them as they have me? I only appeal to every thinking mind, whether their cruelty could arise from any thing but spite. It cannot arise from my doctrine itself, but their wilful ignorance of it, perversion of it, or hatred to it. What is my doctrine, but— That every believer being delivered from the law, as a covenant of works, and having the love of God shed abroad in his heart, loves every law of God, with all his renewed heart, his mind, and strength. If this is the doctrine I preach, and I preach no other, can it be justly condemned as being against the law? Surely not. And as I have stated this as a solemn truth, that I preach no other doctrine, I only ask the reader, once more, must not my religious enemies be most awful liars, who have borne such false witness against me, upon this subject? As to the general term used—the moral law a rule of life—I do not choose to use the term, and why? Because no man in this world can make common sense of it; it is a common hacknied phrase in the mouth of every pharisaic professor, but the words will not bear an investigation. I only ask an explanation of the term. Why should I make use of words I do not understand? From my enemies I demand an explanation of it. I have read volumes of the controversy on both sides, but no one has, for no one can, explain the term. I know a certain Baptist preacher, who compels all his newly-received members to declare, they believe the moral law is a rule of life for believers; and, poor things, they are obligated in their weakness, to acknowledge this, which neither themselves nor preacher can understand. How can it be a rule for a Baptist? Do the ten commandments say any thing about Baptism; about the Lord’s Supper; about singing of psalms, hymns, or spiritual songs; or godly conversation, or forgiveness of others; or any of their church rules? Not a word. How, then, can it be a rule for a Baptist, who is bound to attend to the rules of his own society, or even of my principal adversary; does it command him to read or chaunt prayers? Has it prescribed gowns or bands, or singers, or organs? Does the moral law teach him to belie, ridicule, and use his utmost to injure his neighbour, or run to consult counsellors, to know how he can get rid of Mordecai sitting at the king’s gate; or once to be zealous for truth, and now to wink at error? I think not. I leave this to his conscience. I demand, if the moral law is a rule of life, why transgress the fourth commandment, by labour and rest on the first day of the week, instead of the seventh? If a rule, why do they not keep it? I am only objecting to the term; but, beloved, abide then in Christ and his Word; and as many as walk according to this rule, peace be on them. LETTER XXIII. “And set up false witnesses, which said, this man ceaseth not to speak blasphemous words against this holy place and the law.”
In my last to you I have only objected to the mere obsolete and unmeaning phrase—the moral law a believer’s rule of life. I beg you to bear in mind, I do not say it is not a rule, but I maintain it is an insufficient rule of conduct for a believer under the gospel dispensation. If it had been a sufficient rule, why all the laws of Christ given as set forth in the preceptive parts of the New Testament? The doctrine of the gospel are the rules of our faith, and the precepts delivered to the churches, the rules of our conduct: this is a truth which cannot be overthrown—for asserting the above, it is surprising the enmity of the advocates of the law of Moses, as they call themselves, manifest against those who differ from them; yea, they would persecute them to bonds and to death. This is evident in the life of the late truly experimental, devout, and faithful Mr. W. Huntington, a man truly devoted to God; nor could his vigilant enemies find a single fault in his moral deportment, although they tried for it all his days; those serpents were disappointed of their food in this particular; God blessed and kept him—owned his message to thousands; and, while the Lord has a church upon earth, most of his writings will be of signal service to God’s own family; yet he was made the butt of spite and malice, ridicule, and contempt; nor could the rage of an empty professor be ever so excited, than to hear of persons attending his ministry; workmen and servants discharged from their situations by great professors; wives, husbands, neighbours, and relations, persecuting each other on this account; pastors cutting off members without mercy, when they had been starved under their ministry, and went in search of food under the ministry of that man of God. Preachers, when sadly off for a subject, had only to introduce the frightful Antinomian, and this filled up the time. A very rev. gentleman loaded him with every ill-natured and low-life name he could; like Esau of old, whose conduct is strongly reprobated in the book of Obadiah, to which I must refer you. This elder brother fled from town to town, place to place, and house to house, to oppose, traduce, misrepresent, and vilify the Lord’s servant; but, as Mr. H. was a brother in Christ, in the faith of the gospel, and the love of the Spirit, sad must be the state of that man who manifests such hatred? See the epistles of John, then draw an inference. What a mercy for us, who are dubbed Antinomians, that the civil sword is not in the hands of these Balaams; [114] you may partly judge how they would serve such asses as we are. It is a good remark I have met with—the name Antinomian, we view as a kind of scare-bird, which the devil hangs up in the pulpits of hypocrites, on purpose to keep the Lord’s doves from flying to their windows; and it has happened to this figure, as it often does to an image set up in a cherry-tree, it will frighten the birds for a while, but when the little creatures come to discover the cheat, you will see them sit upon the head of it. But why all this opposition? Take it in Mr. H.’s own words, in his “Essay on Divine Law,” p. 275. “The good man who has distinguished himself as my godfather, and who has palmed the name of Antinomian upon me, and upon all that are in connection with me, and who has, without intermission, slandered and loaded we with reproach for five and twenty years, is an evangelist of the first magnitude; though I never spoke to him but once in my life. He is most exceeding zealous for the law of Moses, and of its being the only rule of life for believers. My not holding this assertion has filled him with all this holy indignation against me; that, although he often forgets his text, and sometimes loses himself, even in the pulpit, yet he never forgets nor loses sight of the filthy Antinomian; and he is so violent for his own holiness and sanctification, that he would be glad to send me to the devil, in defence of it. And I doubt not but the Lord has set him at this work to ripen him, as was the case when he bid Shimei curse David, that God might curse him. And I am as fully persuaded as David was, ‘That the Lord will requite me good for his cursing.’ 2 Sam. xvi. 12. He has called me a spiritual monkey, a spiritual blackguard; confessing that, if he was to see the devil flying away with me, he could not find in his heart to cry, ‘stop thief!’ believing the devil had only got his own property. And he has publicly confessed there are three creatures in this world that his pious soul hates; namely, the devil, Dr. Priestley, and Huntington; but that he hates Huntington the worst of the three. Part of this is true, and part false. It is true that he hates Huntington; but the other two have received no damage by him in any thing. And I may say of my godfather as the prophet says of Jacob’s brother, that, ‘He did pursue his brother with the sword, and did cast off all pity, and his anger did tear perpetually, and he kept his wrath for ever.’—Amos, i. 2. My reader may believe me when I say, that I esteem his indignation and his reproach a greater treasure to me than either his affections or his prayers; for we are to be hated of all men, and especially of all such men, for Christ’s name sake.—Matt. x. 22. And this is so far from offending me, that I am pleased with it, and make myself merry at the reports of his zeal, which hath almost eaten him up; and he may go on, for his whole warfare is in defence of his own honour; and the more the Lord enlarges me, the more he is enlarged also.”
Again, p. 296— “I wish these gentlemen would lay by the old thread-bare text, which is of their own forging, and give us a few practical discourses upon the law, shewing us how to love God, and love to the neighbours fulfils it; for, ‘On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’—Matt. xxii. 40. And again; ‘Therefore all things, whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do you even so to them; for this is the law and the prophets.’ This last text would try my pious godfather to the quick; for, although he is so very fond of calling others blackguards, yet he cannot bear it himself. If others were to pursue him for twenty-five years, as he has chased me, and work him out of every pulpit, loading him with charges of error, loose living, deceiving sinners, &c. &c. all of which, and in a language equal to that of Billingsgate, his pious soul has thought fit to heap upon me; I say, were others to treat him so, he would weep like a child, fawn like a cat, and run to every counsellor in London to plead his cause, and appeal to the world in behalf of his innocency and the respectability of his family. Preachers that have nothing to stand upon but the testimony of hypocrites, and the applause of fools, can bear but little of this sort of scandal; for their sandy foundation soon gives way, and, not being able to face either God or conscience in the closet, they are sure to go down; and, ‘Woe to him that is alone when he falleth.’ However, if these laws of retaliation are not put into practice by my pious godfather aforesaid, I have no doubt but the Law giver will put them in full force himself, according to his own promise; ‘For with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye meet it shall be measured to you again.’—Matt. vii. 2. He has not only loaded me with reproach and scandal himself; but being a man noted for wisdom, experience, and soundness of doctrine, he is much looked up to, and therefore others have been emboldened to join him in the same work.”
All this opposition to that late man of God was undeserved; nor should I have introduced the subject, but only to shew how far the rage of man may go in his false zeal for the law [117] in these professing times. As it respects myself, I would to God I had been like Mr. H. in almost every branch of my conduct; it would have saved me many a painful and distressing hour. However, it is evident the hand of God brought me into this neighbourhood, and has kept me many years amidst so many storms; my enemies themselves being judges. Our music and dancing has indeed offended our elder brethren, Luke xv. who boast they never transgressed the commandment at any time; yet their pride of heart is not a little mortified in beholding the hand of God towards me. God declared to the pharisaic Jews—“By a foolish nation will I anger you.” This is the case now; what I have erred in at any time is matter of the deepest grief to my heart, and I will most readily confess it before God, and if there were any necessity for it, I would to the church of God, in this little work; but there is no occasion for that, as every believer feels the sin of his own heart to be a plague and a sore—yet prudence dictates to him not to acknowledge it. Nevertheless I have no authority to confess or acknowledge what I never did—what I never was guilty of. Reader, would you? With all the faults with which the believer is guilty, as a sinner in Adam, he never does, he never can sin, that grace may abound. He cannot sin as a believer; when he sins at all, it is not upon the free-grace principles of the gospel. God forbid; these teach him to deny all ungodliness, but to his grief he carries about with him a body of sin; and the scriptures declare there is not a just man upon the earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not. In many things, said the holy James, we all offend, and the venerable, aged, and holy John, says the same—“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” If the saints of old were free from sin and sinning, what can all their confessions, groans, tears, and sighs mean? And if my opponents, who have represented me so bad so many years, are themselves quite innocent, quite holy, or pure—how can they daily read the church service, in her general confession, litany, collects, communion service, and, indeed, throughout the whole. I say not this to encourage sin—to charge me with this, is to charge the whole Word of God with it. Foolish worldlings, who can be no judges of what either constitutes or characterises a Christian, vainly suppose that to be a Christian is in every respect to be a spotless person: and surely this is the wish of a Christian; this is the desire of his heart—but who upon earth ever attained it—none but the Divine Saviour. The Lord grant us increasing conformity to his own image. Amen. I have sometimes reflected upon the various enemies I have had, and am surrounded with now, who are every day waiting, watching, and longing for my halting, as in Jeremiah, xx. 10th verse.—“For I heard the defaming of many, fear on every side.—Report, say they, and we shall report it; all my enemies watched for my halting, saying, peradventure, he will be enticed, and we will prevail against him.” But who are they? Perhaps some pious, mistaken, good-meaning people, to whom I have been misrepresented—some envious, pharisaic preachers and professors, who in heart hate the truth, as it is in Jesus, and long for an opportunity to degrade it, by the bad conduct of some who profess it. Some, hypocrites, who are secretly living in diabolical sins; these are anxious to catch hold of some fault, on purpose to harden their own hearts in sin, and ripen themselves for hell.—Some, worldlings, either to furnish themselves with matter for ridicule against religion—or to gain something by it, as many have gained many pounds by coming forth to curse Israel. But enough of this. A little more than four years rolled away, while the enemy took breath. We were so quiet, that my name did not, for a long time, occur in the daily papers; yea, they had forgotten me in the “Sunday News.” I was as a dead man, almost out of mind: but this did not last long. As God had new mercies in store for me, so he had also new trials and new deliverances. Yours, J. C. Of his deliverance I will boast,
Till all who are distrest,
From my example comfort take,
And charm their griefs to rest. LETTER XXIV. “He calleth to me out of Seir, Watchman, what of the night? The morning cometh, and also the night.”
To — I think there are very few serious troubles befal us, but God is pleased to give us some intimation of their approach; so I have frequently found it, either by uncommon joys or remarkable impressions, and very often by dreams, and these repeatedly. I know this last idea will expose me again to the contempt of heedless characters; but it is written—“God speaketh once, yea twice, though man perceiveth it not.” However, many have found it too true. God spoke so to Joseph, to the butler, and baker, in prison; to Pharaoh, and to many others of old, and I am fully persuaded he speaks to us. Not that dreams have any thing to do with salvation business; although I am fully persuaded that the Lord has often first imprest many of his people with awful dreams, which have led them to a serious concern about their souls; and no doubt given them warning of approaching troubles: so I found it. I dreamed, one night, that a vast number of young scorpions, or small serpents, were crawling about the floor of the chapel; this at first alarmed me, but by my feet I crushed all but two, which fled to the very seat which was occupied by ******* and another. These I could not destroy, which left a painful sensation on my mind. When I awoke, I knew, at least I judged, some calamity was approaching; nor was I deceived. A gentlewoman soon after called upon me—she appeared very dejected; I enquired the cause, when she informed me she was sure some direful trial would shortly befal me. I asked why she thought so? Only from the repetition of her dream—which was, that she saw a cat, while I was in the pulpit, clasp me round the neck, and salute me; but, as she departed, she tore my neck and throat in so awful a manner that all were frightened who saw it. I told her it was but a dream; but she said she was sure it was of God, as the sad event proved. Shortly after this, I was invited to sleep at a friend’s house, which I did; but the second night, being indisposed, and having to meet the committee after service, the hour being late, I was advised and pressed not to go there; yet I knew I was expected, and being entreated, I complied. On my road a most unaccountable sensation seized me, and, as though a hand touched me, a voice, at the same time, seemed to say, “Do not go to-night.” I made an apology to the party I was with, by saying I would see them to the door, and then return home; but nothing would avail. O that I had followed the impressions. Shortly after this night, I heard a strange rumour, which produced a great deal of uneasiness. Evil reports were circulating; but, as if some strange infatuation had seized me, I took little notice of it, yet I thought it strange. These words came to me: “Agree with thine adversary quickly, while thou art in the way with him, lest at any time he deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison.” Yet I was conscious I had done nothing worthy of death or of bonds, so that I was still inflexible. Many gossips, through the rumour, continually plagued the party, which did me infinite injury. Several gentlemen from the chapel waited on him, to whom he read a deposition, which contained nothing criminal in my conduct; and, having gained this satisfaction, the matter rested where it was for nine or ten weeks. The gloomy month of November arrived, which brought my old adversary to town; and soon after a friend called on me, and gave me the painful information that he had seen the above party, with my accuser, at the Public Hall, and being informed it was concerning me, he thought it right to apprize me of it. This was the severest blow I ever felt in my life. I immediately procured counsel; and, without being seat for, appeared. The statement was made, an assault was declared, bail was put in, and it was bound over to quarter sessions. This was soon spread. Now a shower of papers, placards, and pamphlets came pouring over me; the congregation thrown into trouble; my family in the deepest distress of mind, and my feelings racked beyond description—while thousands rejoiced in the day of our calamity. But it is written—“He that is glad at calamity shall smart for it.” Mark this. I must remind you also of the lamentation of the church.—1 Lament. 21: “They have heard that I sigh, all mine enemies have heard of my trouble, they are glad that thou hast done it; thou wilt bring the day that thou hast called, and they shall be like unto me.” How did the Phillistines now rejoice, supposing that the ark was taken, but the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment. Great troubles were in the church, and “for the division of Reuben there were great searchings of heart,” but those who were at ease in Zion were not grieved for the afflictions of Joseph.”—Amos, vii. Many paltry scribblers issued forth their rubbish like insects from the mud of Nile; and I was the song of the drunkards. But I cannot here forget the goodness of God, who helped me in the day of trouble. I constantly preached and administered the ordinances. The Lord kept all peaceable without and within; thousands looked on and wondered, as they do to this day. To add to my calamity, I entrusted my affairs to a very injudicious old lawyer, who, to answer his sordid purposes, advised me to carry this cause to a higher court: this was only adding affliction to my bonds. I knew but little about courts of law, so that I was led, hoodwinked, into this business. One year and three months rolled away in this trouble. During this time I wrote a letter to a friend, who carried it to my opposers, and although couched in the most friendly terms respecting themselves, yet they had the cruelty to bring forth that letter to my hurt, another day. This was devilish, indeed: the learned judge mistaking the religious sense of the letter, supposed that I meant it as a contempt of the just laws of the country—God forbid. No, no; it was a private letter to a friend, in which I meant, that any injury done to a child of God, maliciously, [124] would one day be resented. But this was not treating the laws of the country with contempt. I ever maintained, that if the holiest Christian upon earth has violated the laws of his land, he has a just right to endure the penalty.—Never, surely, did a poor creature suffer so much in mind, with any outward calamity, as I did. And what for? Some cried one thing, some another. About this time I changed my situation: many advised me to leave the country; and, as I was placed in circumstances, I could have paid my bail, and lived comfortably in another land. But why should I flee? In this circumstance I asked advice of the Lord, who graciously answered me—“Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.” On God’s Word I relied, and found him faithful. Yours, J. C. LETTER XXV. “Their adversaries said, we offend not, because they have sinned against the Lord.”—Jer. l. 7.
To — No doubt the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he worketh all things after the counsel of his own will. If so, we hardly know how to blame the apostle Paul in his conduct, as recorded in Acts, xxv.—When brought before Festus, he appealed to a higher court—“I appeal unto CÆsar;” then said Festus, “Hast thou appealed unto CÆsar? to CÆsar thou shalt go.” Here the apostle had two years’ imprisonment, and at last suffered martyrdom; although, in the lower court, he might have been set at liberty.It is the privilege of Englishmen that they may carry their causes to higher courts; although it was not attend with much good to me, it was granted and the best of counsel retained. While this was pending many and great were the anxieties of thousands respecting my future destiny; nor could I be happy. This procrastination of the trial, and sentence of decision, was in much mercy, as the mind was borne down with trouble, company was a burden, and I longed to retire from observation and all society. This prepared my mind, gradually, for the event; but it was a suitable season for observation. I watched the motions of many, and while upon the watch-tower, these words came into my mind—“That the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed:” and so it was. While many of the Lord’s people were deeply affected, every sensible and pious character felt exceedingly for the afflicted church, and daily prayed for us, especially some ministers of respectability: while the meaner sort of preachers not only rejoiced, but used their exertions to injure me, some of whom I formerly had it in my power to punish, but I never did; I fully, freely forgave them. From March to July I resided a little way from town, and passed as pleasant a time as circumstances would permit; only my old plague of a lawyer was continually hunting me for money, under some pretence or another. I beg leave here to advise all persons labouring under any sore calamity, to employ a respectable attorney at once, it will be less expence at the end; and generally the most safe way.Every thing was against me, the floods lifted up their voice, the floods lifted up their waves; and, if the Lord had not supported my mind, at times, I must have been quite overwhelmed. Assize time came, and now all was bustle; had an emperor been going to be tried for his life, surely there could not have been much more confusion, disputes, meetings, opinions, hopes, fears, and griefs, sincerity and hypocrisy; but I, partly knowing the mind of God, was prepared for the event. The committee who had met and consulted so many times before against me, and whose names, or rather characters, were old Uzzah, Hananiah, Coriah, Jannes, and Jambres, Phygelles, Hermogenes, Hymenius, and Alexander the coppersmith; Demetrius the silversmith; Sceva, Sanballat, and Tobiah, Geshem, and Doeg the Edomite; Shethar, Boznai, Rabshakeh, Nergal, Shrezar, Samgar, Nebo, Rab Saris, and Rab Mag, [127] and Haman; a noble company truly! assembled in a certain street, at the Dung Gate, Nehemiah, iii. 14; or rather the religious manufactory. These rulers of Babylon, being men of power, might, and influence, now exerted themselves, and although some are so miserable as to grudge themselves and families the common necessaries of life, yet they freely parted from their money on this very important occasion. I have heard, and believe, they used their personal influence with *****, and others, others the most respectable amongst them, wrote to the learned Artaxerxes, as in days of old—see Ezra, iv. 6 to 16; mark—the persons who wrote the letter, thy servants on this side the river Thames—verse 11. On Friday I delivered my address to the people, from Psalm cxxx. 1. Saturday, during the trial, I shut up myself from all society, and gave myself up to the will of God; and, by prayer and supplication, sought his supporting hand. The trial ended as was generally supposed it would. How could it be otherwise? The lie that was told—the mistake of the design of the letter—the country at large could not avoid prejudice, as the nation was inundated with a strong tide of pamphlets and newspapers, for weeks together; my witnesses were nothing—one had forgot, and the other could not remember; [128] my old lawyer had not prepared half the defence to offer to counsel, although he had been so well paid for it; the trial closed, and I lost the day: and, how great was the joy of thousands that I had never injured; but they all had an end to answer. The grief of my best wishers was great, and surely we all felt the blow most keenly. This gave full scope for opposition,—now, once more, the tide of scribbling rose, the sound of horns rushing through every street, Sunday-morning papers were eagerly embraced, posts running to and fro, hundreds running to stages with papers for country friends; but, amidst all, I felt the supporting presence of God, which, I am confident, my triumphant foes did not, nor his approbation neither. My public labours were now nearly laid aside. I met the congregation in private, and delivered many addresses to them. I resided at this time a little way from town, and here the few that knew me treated me with civility: but, one evening, we were thrown into confusion by a vast mob assembling before the house, with rough music, an infamous placard, and a frightful figure, intended as an effigy of me; a large fire was soon kindled, and it was burnt before the door. After a few shouts were raised, they departed. Application was made to a magistrate for redress, but in vain. Some, for less crimes, would have taken away the licence of the house they met at; but I say no more. This was attended with some good to me. It opened another door in providence, in which I was enabled to see my friends. The above circumstance hurt my mind a little; but, in answer to prayer, these words came into my mind—“Fear not, no man shall set on thee to hurt thee, for I am with thee.” As to burning my effigy, I found they had done that to some good men, whose shoe latchets I am not worthy to loose. Mr. Huntington relates, in his “Naked Bow of God,” page 280—“However, our adversaries meeting with more encouragement than us, we were attended home by them, with their hats adorned with ribbons; and, on their arrival, the whole parish appeared in triumph: the bells were immediately rung, and my little cottage was beset on all sides. My effigy then was made and burnt, a blasphemous harangue delivered, as a funeral sermon, over this figure of straw and rags, and abominable impudence was sung in imitation of a funeral anthem. Upon this one and all cried out, they were for the High Church; and, indeed, none could properly doubt of that, who saw the height of their wickedness; for, had they been Turks, or Pagans, they would have been ashamed of such conduct.” I acknowledge this treatment was for preaching the gospel; and I beg leave also to remark, that had I not preached the gospel, there would never have been so much opposition to me. But some of my holy adversaries in the religious world justify such unscriptural means; and, in order to put a gloss on their cruelty, will tell you it is done for the lord’s honor. The excellent laws of the country have a just right to punish offenders; but it is our mercy the sword is not in the hands of certain reverends, or else woe be to those whom their reverences choose to denominate Antinomians. Such priests and levites not only pass by a poor man that has fallen amongst thieves, but they cruelly cast heavy stones at him, and employ others to do the same. I beg leave here to present you with an account of the same persecuting spirit that actuated a mob at Richmond, in the year 1774. Take the circumstance as related in the “Gospel Magazine,” page 214, vol. I.— “Monday evening last, a most numerous mob assembled, each with a bludgeon in his hand, and Mr. B— at their head, to the no small terror of our friends, some of whom B— abused very much, and even declared he would shortly hang their very persons up before their own doors. They went in procession through the town, with one C—, in heavy fetters, whom they named rev. R. H. They proceeded to a mock trial of him for defrauding a linen-draper of £200. After they had condemned him to be hanged on the Wednesday following, they ordered him to be chained down, &c. They went to several houses, where they had beer and money given them. I believe they did not go to the honorable magistrate’s house, nor will I dare to say that his clerk gave them any money, yet he has been very busy in those affairs at times. On Wednesday evening they assembled again, with the culprit in the cart, in the exact posture of an actual criminal going to be hanged; a book in his left hand, his eyes lifted up to heaven, and saying a blasphemous prayer as he went along. They proceeded to the meeting-house, opposite to which a gallows was erected in the morning, where, after singing a hymn, and offering up a blasphemous prayer, the culprit was turned off, with the rope about his arms, though some will have it that the effigy only was hung up, yet I think I can believe my eyes beyond what they say. They swore that if any of the Methodists came there they would have their blood. We hope that some effectual methods will be taken against them; for I do assure you, Sir, till something be done, we are not safe in our beds; our houses are often attacked in the night, and we are not safe as we go to business, in open day, by reason of large stones being thrown at us, as we walk the streets. I believe, if we were rebels, or had betrayed our country we should be more valued here than we are now; and that only because we would meet to worship our God, honour our king, pray for him and his, and wish peace and prosperity to our country, &c.”
But God meant that unto good; for, a little while after, in the same magazine, we read, page 311— “Sunday last, the young man who was desperately wounded, in protecting some of the audience from the insults of the rabble, at Richmond, publicly renounced the errors of the Church of Rome, at the Methodist meeting-house in that town, and embraced the Protestant Faith, as held by the Established Church of England.”
What a mercy to be protected in our civil and religious privileges! God be praised for a Protestant king and parliament, and for the excellent laws of our land. Amen and amen, Yours, J. C. LETTER XXVI. “And thou shalt go even to Babylon, and there shalt thou be delivered.”—Micah, iii. 9 to close.
To — The painful business was now to be brought to a final issue. I judged, before-hand, how it would terminate—as these words followed me wherever I went—“And Paul dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came to him.” The decision was appointed for the 6th of November; but, in consequence of the death of the much-lamented Princess Charlotte, it was postponed. A more gloomy month, I think, I never knew, especially the 18th when the solemn church bells minutely tolled for that amiable character’s funeral. On Sunday morning, the 23rd, I preached my farewell sermon, on Micah, vii.—“Rejoice not against me, Oh, mine enemy; though I fall, I shall rise; though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light unto me.” I bade an affectionate farewell to my friends, nor did I prove a false prophet, as thousands have witnessed. Samson’s locks have grown again, and John the Baptist has risen from the dead. The next day, in God’s strength, I went to Westminster-hall, and received my sentence. I had provided many things to address the court with, and could have put in fifteen affidavits, but I was advised by counsel not to speak a word, but quietly submit to the sentence, which I did; and, as soon as it was passed, my heart was at liberty, which it had not experienced for one year and three months before.—Newspapers and scribblers have asserted, it was pronounced to the great joy of the court, and gave great satisfaction;—but, if a rude rabble can be called a court, I am mistaken. And, alas! what is noisy breath! the applause of such mortals! when only about three weeks after, the same rabble had the daring impudence to hiss the very judge, on the same spot, in the matter of Hone! As in days of old, when the public cried “Hosanna!” one day, and in four days more, “Crucify him, crucify him!” So much for public applause or resentment. In some cases we may truly say— Careless, myself, a dying man,
Of dying man’s esteem;
Happy, O God, if thou approve,
Though all the world condemn. I arrived safe at Achor Vale, and glad enough I was to rest from the long strife. I was delivered from the noise of the archers, the sounding of the mountains, and the horns of rams blown by goats, the braying of asses, and the grumbling of bears. A variety of select portions of scripture, which had been applied to me some time before, came seasonably into my mind, and I found the Lord faithful to his word. The idea of a prison had often struck me with horror; but I have always found, through many changes, we want a mind to our situation—as we shall never get a situation fully to our minds till we get to heaven. When I arrived, every fear respecting my treatment was banished; gloomy as it had appeared, all was to the contrary. I was received with the greatest civility by the unhappy company I met with there. A young man who had been an officer’s servant, proffered his services to wait on me, and rendered me very comfortable. The kind governor gave me one of the best rooms, and permitted me to have every convenience for sleeping I could desire, and all the books I chose to send for.—This alleviated my mind; and, altogether, at times I was nearly distracted with grief, the Lord held me up, kept me in my senses, and blest me in my soul. I cannot help here remarking, that, many months previous to this, I had dreamed of the very room I was put into, with the kind attention of my wife, who had not long been dead at the time I had the dream, and which was, I believe, two years before the trouble took place. But this was allotted to another, who was very kind and attentive on that painful occasion. A variety of most distressing thoughts, at times, overwhelmed me. A separation from the house of God, the perplexities of the church, the hypocrisy of some of the preachers, the grief of my family, the loss of liberty, the company around me, the joy of my foes, and fearing the truth should suffer by my supposed and reported faults, with the length of time appointed me—these things, it was natural to suppose, must have created the most poignant distress. The many months before me seemed so many years; but this led me to reflect on an eternity of joy or woe, the final doom of the righteous and the wicked. Eternity! Eternity!—a pleasing and dreadful thought. This brought to my mind the solemn description of eternity, us written by the excellent Ralph Erskine, in his “Description of the Misery of the Wicked.” “Gospel Sonnets,” p. 62.— “Ah I must I live in torturing despair,
As many years as atoms in the air;
When these are spent, as many thousands more,
As grains of sand which crowd the ebbing shore;
When these are done, as many yet behind,
As leaves of forest, shaken with the wind;
When these are done, as many to ensue,
As stems of grass on hills and dales that grew;
When these run out, as many on the march,
As starry lamps that gild the spangled arch;
When these expire, as many millions more,
As moments in the million, past before;
When all these doleful years are spent in pain,
And multiplied by myriads again?—
’Tis numbers drown the thought. Could I suppose,
That then my wretched years were at a close,
This would afford some ease; but, ah! I shiver,
To think upon the dreadful sound—for ever.”
But, as interested in the love of God, pardoned by the great atonement, and justified by the meritorious obedience of the adorable God-man Mediator; called out of darkness, and divinely influenced and kept by the power of God, the holy making Spirit, we shall enjoy a long, a blest eternity of joy, at the right hand of God. The thought is delightful. What will the joy be?—Hold out faith and patience. Yours, truly, J. C. LETTER XXVII. “Like these good figs, will I acknowledge them that are carried away captive of Judah, whom I have sent out of this place into the land of the Chaldeans, for their good.”
To — The eventful history of the church of Israel is very striking and important. Loved, chosen in Egypt, delivered, brought into a desert wilderness; yet maintained miraculously, screened, preserved, brought through the Jordan of trouble into the promised land; enemies falling before them; privileged with the symbols of the Divine presence, and kept by Divine power. How very important is the language of Moses on this subject. He found him in a desert land, and in a waste howling wilderness; he led him about; he instructed him; he kept him as the apple of his eye; but, alas! what a rebellious, unbelieving, perverse, fretful, and ungrateful people, prone to idolatry, negligent, and disobedient: such, alas! am I. Reader, what say you of your own heart? Is it not too much your case? After all that God hath done for you, have you not cause, as well as me, to take shame and confusion of face to yourself? On this account God resented the idolatry of that people. Invaded by the Assyrians, and at last led away captive to Babylon. This last was an awful blow to them: yet they were commanded to submit to the stroke; and those who did not, were to perish in some awful way, which they did, as related in the prophecy of Jeremiah. But those that escaped the sword were ordered to go and submit to God’s sentence, by bowing to the king of Babylon’s yoke. The Lord promised to be a little sanctuary to them, even in their captivity; and hence, although they suffered such privations, the Lord was with them; supported, kept, preserved, and blest them there. Surely I discover the analogy; I have been dealt with in a similar way. I mention it to my own shame and the glory of Divine goodness, which I have experienced all my days; and especially in my captivity. Although my troubles were small, considering my situation, yet my mind was very frequently racked with my affairs without. Some only came to visit me out of mere curiosity; others to mortify my feelings; quite forgetting the Divine prohibition—“Oppress not the poor, nor the afflicted in the gate.” Some of the preachers who occupied the pulpit were very treacherous; and one poor creature had the daring impudence to declare the Lord had often told him, that I should never return to preach in that pulpit again—but it is evident he was a lying prophet, as I have preached in that pulpit and place above 1200 times in less than four years since. We had many such prophets and prophetesses, but, as they ran without being sent, they soon ran themselves out of breath. Fearing I should die, I set my house in the best order I could. To those of whom I was obliged to borrow money in trouble, I sent or willed an equivalent, which eased my mind, and gave them satisfaction. My family was also disposed of; my eldest daughter was with her mother-in-law, assisting her, and receiving education and domestic improvement. My youngest was in the care of the very dear and kind friends, who had brought her up free of expence to me; which is friendship indeed—the most pure and disinterested, perhaps, to be found in this lower world. My eldest son was at boarding-school, comfortably maintained; and my dear afflicted boy, well known to you, and beloved by all that knew him was principally in the care of our old and faithful servant, at home. I remember reading of good Mr. Bunyan, while in prison; how his poor mind was at times troubled about his family, especially his dear blind daughter; but the Lord supported them all, till his deliverance. Thus the Lord dealt kindly with me, in this instance, although I shed thousands of tears about them. Some severe trials came on me shortly after my incarceration in this valley of Achor. The recognizances had not been withdrawn from the court; and, as I was paying the debt of the law, no acquaintance of mine knew any thing about such an affair—and as my solicitor, I should suppose, must have known the rules of the Court of King’s Bench, I was grieved he did not attend to this essential point, as I gave him ten pounds, only two days before my confinement, to settle all matters in the court, which he neglected to do; the consequence was, the gentlemen who were bail for me, were troubled for the money: this really hurt my feelings worse than all the troubles I had met with—but an able attorney made application to the court, and settled it with very little expence. I judge it expedient that I should mention this, to give information to any that may fall into like circumstances; for I really knew no more of law than the servant of the prophet knew of botany, when he gathered his lap full of wild gourds, and had nearly poisoned the whole school. 2 Kings, iv. 39. Soon after this, another trouble arose amongst the congregation, about the place of worship; and here were many contentions. My sincere friends, fearing some persons were laying plans to get it out of my hands, and, for want of understanding each other, a great deal of warmth was manifested on both sides. These things being daily brought to me, exceedingly troubled my spirit; but, after praying, these words came with power to my soul—“They shall not build, and another inhabit.” And, as the subject was much on my mind in the day, it was not to be wondered at that it should affect me in the night; as I one night dreamed of a chariot, which I had often dreamt of before—as it passed by me, I saw, on the back of it, in very large letters, “Immanuel! God with us!” When I awoke, I felt a holy confidence all would be well upon that business, and so if proved the night before, but I knew it not till next day at noon. What a mercy to be enabled to call on the Lord in every time of trouble, and to watch his good hand. But I was no sooner released from this anxiety, than a fresh trouble arose. A gentleman who had been, till this time, almost a stranger to myself and the church, was raised up of God, in this hour of need, to look after my outward affairs, and this he did freely and kindly; he was truly assiduous, nor did he spare any pains, time, trouble, or money to do me good; and, though God had been pleased to remove others, on whom I depended, he mercifully raised up one to act as a friend, whom I hardly knew. Like Nicodemus, who could not, or dare not, scarcely own the Saviour in his life, yet paid him honours at his death. “A friend in need is a friend indeed.” This old, but just adage, reminds me of what school-boys are taught— “Tell me, ye knowing and discerning few,
Where I may find the friend that’s firm and true;
Who dare stand by me, when in deep distress,
And then his love and friendship most express.”
This friend, in the height of his praise-worthy conduct, was very shamefully imposed upon by an artful villain, who professed to have great influence with the higher powers—and by this means he, at different times, obtained a large sum of money of him, under the specious pretext of obtaining my liberation. This was carried on for some months, till Mr. D. began to suspect there was some villainy in it; and, upon enquiry at the Secretary of State’s Office, found it as he feared. The base character was apprehended, and justly imprisoned for it. This was another severe blow to me, taking all the circumstances into the account; yet the pleasing hopes of liberty wore away many tedious months, till patience received strength. I was, at times, amazed at the health of body the Lord favoured me with; but the winter came on, at first, very severe, though it did not last long.—This was to me very dreadful; it was the gloomy month of November. Another trial came. A person, in real kindness, at my request, brought me a very small portion of liquor, on one of those days in which we may truly say we have pleasure—foggy, cold, damp, and miserable. I knew, indeed, it was contrary to the laws of the place, but urgent necessity compelled me to send for it. This being discovered, my poor friend was brought into trouble, and a heavy fine was levied. You may be sure this made a fresh stir in the public papers, with many additions, though not one true statement of the fact was made; but that passed away like a cloud. That which most distressed me was the solemn and awful times of execution; but those, however, were very few, two of which I have given an account of in the 1st volume of “The Voice of Faith.” Yours, J. C. LETTER XXVIII. “And the king said unto Zadok, carry back the ark of God into the city. If I shall find favour in the eyes of the Lord, he will bring me again, and shew we both it and his habitation.”
To — It is a truth, easily proved, that every believer has more mercies to be thankful for, than he has either sins to regret, or troubles to bear: it is of the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed. This I call to mind, therefore I have hope. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness. That same faithful God which preserved Israel in Egypt, Moses in Midian, David in Gath, the three worthies in the furnace, Daniel in the den, the disciples in Jerusalem, and the church in Babylon, preserved me in this place. I cannot look back upon my many mercies but with gratitude. But where will the growing numbers end? This subject would fill a vast volume; but, in brief, I mention only a few:—the attention and kindness of the governor and officers; and, although every returning Sabbath afflicted my mind severely, the very sound of the church-going bells, brought a thousand pangs to my heart: yet I was relieved by hearing the real gospel preached nearly every Sunday, once a day, by the excellent chaplain, the rev. Mr. Mann. Oh, that every college was as much blessed with such preaching. This was no small mercy. All within the walls were submissive and attentive to me. I had an opportunity of conversing with many on the best of subjects, and was well furnished with ability to alleviate many a distressed mind, and to relieve some hundreds in their temporal calamities; for it is to little purpose talking about religion to worldlings, without acts of benevolence. Numerous friends daily visited me, and never failed me, during the long period of seven hundred and thirty days. My health was re-established, and I had much time for reading, prayer, self-examination, and study. Here I received many tokens of love from the Lord, bearing witness, with my spirit, that I was interested in his love. Here I wrote a vast many letters to the church and to my friends. I wrote also my “Farewell Sermon;” “Antinomianism Refuted;” “The Voice of Faith,” 2 vols.; “A Treatise on part of the Book of Proverbs,” the greatest part of my own Memoirs, and other subjects, which I hope, one day, to publish. The dear friends who came to see me, I constantly bore in mind, and thanked them in a few gingling rhymes, as I am destitute of a talent for writing poetry: I hope they will forgive me inserting their names; nor need they fear persecution on this account, because so many individuals are to be found bearing the same name. I employed as much time as circumstances would admit, in reading to the prisoners the Scriptures, which I at times endeavoured to explain, particularly on Sundays. I read part of the church service, and other good books, especially some tracts by Mr. Smith, of Penzance—his “Bob and James,”—there being many sailors present. In this act I copied the example of Dr. Primrose, in the Vicar of Wakefield, although I had a little better place, company, behaviour, and attention. I must insert a quotation from it. The old gentleman says, after some conversation with his family— “I left them, and descended to the common prison, where I found the prisoners very merry, expecting my arrival; and each prepared with some gaol trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was going to begin, one turned my wig awry, as if by accident, and then asked my pardon. A second, who stood at a distance, had a knack of spitting through his teeth, which fell in showers upon my book; a third would cry ‘amen,’ in such an affected tone, as gave the others great delight. A fourth had slily picked my pocket of my spectacles: but there was one whose tricks gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; for, observing the manner in which I had disposed my books on the table before me, he very dexterously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the place. However, I took no notice of all that this mischievous group of little beings could do, but went on, perfectly sensible that what was ridiculous in my attempt would excite mirth only the first or second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeeded; and, in less than six days, some were penitent, and all attentive.”
Thus my time rolled away, and appeared, as our lives do in the retrospect, but as a tale that is told every moment, and every circumstance being told out in eternity for us. The period arrived for me to quit my solitary mansion, and make my appearance again in public. This was dreaded by me, on some accounts, but, by others, much desired. Every thing was well arranged, and the morning came; a part of my family and a few friends came to meet me; every thing around appeared at first very strange. When I arrived at my house, I bent my knees in thanksgiving to that gracious God who had restored me. In the evening I preached to nearly one thousand hearers, who were very quiet, attentive, and gratified. All united, with one heart and voice, in singing I preached on, “But God meant it unto good.” The sermon was afterwards printed. I commenced my regular labours the Sunday following, where without cessation, I have continued them six times a week. Curiosity has, doubtless, drawn forth the attention of thousands, since then, to hear and see the strange being: many have heard to profit, and are satisfied. Some said, he is a good man; others, he is a devil. I say he is both, and I can prove it. Some say, he is a guilty man; others, that he is innocent—but I say he is both, and the reader will say the same, if he knows his own heart, and his acceptance in Christ. Beloved, if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our hearts, and knoweth all things; but, if our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence towards God. Yours, J. C. “For better is a neighbour that is near, than a brother that is far off.” To — It is a good remark I have somewhere met with—that friendship is a plant of too delicate a nature to grow with any great degree of luxuriancy and fruitfulness in the soil of the human heart; but I ever wish to prize its buds, its blossoms, its fruit, its very leaves; but, above all, its divine root. We may find many profess much kindness in the warmth of prosperity; but these summer insects, like butterflies, disappear when the cold blasts of adversity and reproach strike off a few of our outward comforts. But while this is to be lamented, yet God has often raised up those who have been sincere in their professions of attachment to his people, in all ages, and who have firmly stood by them, and gave them all the assistance they were able, in the depth of their afflictions; nor have they been unrewarded, at least, many of them, even in this world—nor shall they be forgotten of the Lord in the last day.—Matt. xxv. and close. Abraham had three faithful friends, Aner, Eschol, and Mamre. The Lord raised up a friend for Joseph in trouble, and for David in his deep affliction, and for the great apostle for whom he prays—that he, Onesiphorus, may find mercy in that day, for he hath oft refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain. Such friends are the gift of the Friend of Sinners, and such friendship is a part of conformity to his image; praying for one another in secret; reproving with meekness, but fidelity, when permitted to err; speaking well of each other, when absent, and helping each other in trouble, are the genuine fruits of divine love in the heart; and such I have found many: and, although opposed for their candour, affection, and liberality; yet, considering they had a just right to form an opinion of their own, so they had as much right to maintain the same. Narrow minds who form opinions by bare report, are easily biassed, and generally bigotted; of course, such mean souls must persecute all who differ from them. This is the case in the professing world, at present; and it is much to be lamented. However, I have made free to inform you of some of those who have acted in a Christ-like manner to me in trouble, and have too much good sense to view me either as a perfect angel, or an incarnate devil; and to you I send these gingling rhymes:— REAL FRIENDSHIP.
From Achor Vale.—1818. On the subject of friendship I beg leave to write,
’Tis the joy of my heart, and my daily delight;
Though but little is found, that is true and sincere,
I think, in my case, an exception is clear.
The God of all grace, on whom I depend,
Has blessed his servant, with many a friend,
Who have not been afraid, or ever asham’d,
To esteem and to own him in sorrow and pain.
One half of the faithful and firm I’ve forgot,
And many besides, whose names I know not;
Yet those who occur this moment to mind,
My God will reward in their being so kind;
And more so they’d be, if it laid in their pow’r,
To soften my woes in this trying hour.
May the love of the Lord, which he bears to his saints,
Encourage their hearts, when ready to faint
With the cares, and the burdens, and griefs of the way,
And acknowledge them all in the last trying day.
See this promise so sweetly and clearly reveal’d
By the Head of the Church, in the great gospel field;
Particularly in Matthew, the Saviour rehearses
In 25th chapter, and some excellent verses.
I must tell you of Hairbys, and Elbro’s and Park,
With a Knawler, a Duke, a Smith, and a Clarke;
A Fossett, a Grumuat, and a kind-hearted Trail,
Whose care and concern, like the Lord’s, never fail.
Nor can I forget my friend, Mr. Denny,
Who stood up for my good as undaunted as any.
Our worthy clerk, Shelton, has oft stood the fire,
When many in envy and rage did conspire.
I feel much indebted to dear brother Gray,
And all those beside, who preach and who pray;
And fill up my place, that there might be no lack
Of the gospel of grace, till God brings me back.
With all those dear friends, who supply all my needs,
Kind Miller, her mother, and two worthy Meads;
An Osborne, a Davis, a Harris and Gower,
Who on me and on mine their gifts often pour;
A Harbro, a Sweetland, and Allen, and King,
Who sometimes send favours, and sometimes they bring;
And many also, who have well stood the brunt,
A Pattison, Puddicombe, Hutchins, and Hunt;
Nor do I forget our friend Hutchinson,
As well as kind Kings, some old and some young;
And Westbrook, and Knapp, who have oft took my part,
And Williams, a Farley, and London, and Smart;
A Boro, a Blake, and dear father Bevan,
With their partners in life, who are going to heaven;
And Goodmans, and Roberts, some Hills, and a Bell,
And Thornton, and Mansion, and Edwards, and Dale.
I remember, likewise, a Houghton, and Field,
With a firm friend of their’s, who never would yield
To the fabulous stuff, and ridiculous story,
But remained as firm as the faithful M. Morey.
The names of a Jones, and a Chadsby are dear,
And Salter, and Lewis, and Frimbley sincere;
A Brook, and a Bradley, a Buhle, and a Wise,
A much-esteem’d Farmer, who ne’er has despis’d;
A Hedgecock, and Lamb, who are both very kind,
As such permanent friendship we seldom can find;
And dear father Elstub, and Shires, and Booth,
Who often endeavour my sorrows to soothe.
I must mention some more, as they are so good,
A Ward, and a Whitear, who undaunted have stood;
A Paynter, a Waters, and Carpenter too,
With his Brother, and Fuller, and Jennison true;
More Watkins, and Smiths, who have well stood the fires,
And old daddy Foyer, and two good Marias;
A Parnicutt, and Archer, who have stood many rubbings,
And Barrett, and Steggall, and Shephard, and Stubbings
An Atkins, a Pollet, and Farrers, and Thorn,
And as faithful a Watts as ever was born;
A Bayles, a Dennage a Bates, and a Brown,
Who are grieved to see my sad casting down;
A Paton, a Chambers, a Juden, and Pytches,
An Orchard, and Hunter, who are seeking true riches;
A Joseph, a Jolliffe, a Druce, and a Manger,
A very kind Mackie, and Perrins, and Granger;
And Wilkins, and Eaton, and Faro, and North,
Who are lov’d by the Lord, and redeemed from wrath;
With Millingtons, Boltons, and dear Mrs. Round,
And the much belov’d Hans, whose care still abounds;
The exercis’d Robinson, Ward, Nelson, and Ford,
And Marshal and Lucas, who’re trusting the Lord;
With poor Jenny Powell, and Martin, and Fishers,
And Darby, and Wilson, my very good wishers;
And Foster, and Court, and Davies, and Dee,
And Mary, her friend, and kind Barbary;
And Chapman, and Calow, and Davies, and Reeds,
And some very good Lawsons, who supply many needs;
A dear friendly Groom, and Napier, and Swindle,
A Tomlins, and Marshal, whose care does not dwindle;
A much-esteem’d Walton, and neice, so sincere,
And many besides, to my mind who are dear;
A Wright, and a Pearson, and Hepworth, and Mott,
Thus you see, my dear friends, I am not quite forgot;
And Leonard, and Wallace, and Masland, and Pain,
Who are praying, and waiting to hear me again;
With Freeman, and Wilkins, and Cornish, and Sherman,
Who love much to hear a real gospel sermon;
And Dibley, and Dudley, and Tungate, and Fleet,
And Candler, and Knox, whom I long much to meet;
The very dear friends, whose names are call’d Cross,
Whom God has sustained in every loss;
And Williams, and Eves, whose hearts are kept single,
And Upstill, and Miles, a Cook, and an Ingle;
With a March, and a Beat, and exercis’d Green,
Who often in sorrow and grief have me seen;
And good Mrs. Butcher, and Baker, beside.
Who have firmly stood for me, whatever betide;
And Fairfleet, and Tye, and Woodhouse, and Long,
And Goodly, his brother, and kind Esther Young;
And Claytons, and Jackson, and Lewis, and Rose,
And Thornton, and Miland, a Burnham, and Hose;
And Drewet, and Mars, and Reardon, and Aikin,
Who have seen me cast down, but never forsaken;
And Woodward, and Youngs, and Venning, and Horner,
Another friend Brown, and the tried Mrs. Warner;
A Winch, and a Hone, a Turner, and Pool,
The tried Underdown, who is in the same school;
The sincere Mrs. Grant, and Missen, and Leigman,
The Paddington Friends, and old mammy Bridgman;
Good old Mrs. Clark, and Thompson, and Cowen,
A very kind Johnson, and Whitehead, and Owen;
The kind Mr. Wilson, and firm Mrs. Baily,
And Poulter, and Barns, who esteem’d me sincerely;
But ’tis time I conclude this gingling writing,
Not forgetting dad Round, and the sweet-temper’d Whiting;
With a hundred besides, whose names I’ve forgot,
But in the last day will stand in their lot. Do not you think, in a few years time, I shall be as apt a poet, as good old Bunyan? Please to regularly regulate these irregular irregularities. I cannot conclude this letter without reminding you of the apostolic exhortation—“As we have opportunity, let us do good unto all men, but especially to the household of faith;” and if to this household we sow sparingly, we shall reap sparingly; and if we sow bountifully, we shall reap bountifully; and on this subject of kindness to God’s children, as such, our dear Lord declares—“He that receiveth a prophet, in the name of a prophet, shall receive a prophet’s reward; and he that receiveth a righteous man, in the name of a righteous man, shall receive a righteous man’s reward; and whosoever shall give unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall, in no wise, lose his reward.”—Matthew, x. 41, 42. And, very frequently, such are rewarded in this world, in temporal mercies, for the kindness they have shewn to the members of Christ. The widow of Sarepta, nourished the Prophet Elijah in her house, during the whole time of famine; and how did the Lord abundantly recompence her, by daily increasing her oil and meal, whereby her family was preserved; by restoring her son to life again, after his soul was departed; and by causing the prophet to continue with her many months, to feed her soul with spiritual, as she had his body with temporal food? How abundantly did the Lord recompence the Shunamite’s kindness to Elisha, by the gift of a child, after long barrenness; by restoring her son to life again; by forewarning her of approaching famine; and by restoring all she had lost by her long absence—her house and lands? God had blest Job with a merciful heart; and he relates what the Lord had enabled him to do—chap. xxix. and xxxi. And, although afterwards he was stripped of all he possessed, to answer the wise and gracious ends of God towards him; yet, we read, chap. xlii. that the Lord turned the captivity of Job, and gave him twice as much as he had before, and blessed his latter end more than his beginning. In the history of the apostle, Paul, we read of one Publius, Acts, xxviii. the chief man of the island of Malta, (where the apostle and many others were cast by shipwreck;) this kind man received Paul and his companions, and lodged them courteously. We read, soon afterwards, how the father of Publius, laying desperately sick of a fever and bloody flux, was recovered by St. Paul, and restored to his former health. So, likewise, the kindness which the barbarous people of that island shewed unto Paul and his fellow travellers, was recompensed with the cure of many of their sick bodies. A thousand other instances might be produced, of ancient and of modern date. And, supposing no reward is experienced in this world, the God of truth has declared—“Thou shalt be recompensed in the resurrection of the just.” This is evident in the close of Matthew, xxv.—“Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye did it unto me.”—No doubt the cruel tongue of fallen man may criticise and censure such conduct, but, acting from a motive of Bible love, such persons will meet with their reward: envy, detraction and cruelty is in the heart and conduct of thousands, but woe unto him by whom the offence, the slander, cometh—it had been better for him if he had never been born. But what are those whose tongues are worlds of iniquity, and whose teeth are swords and spears? As saith the Poet— —“No, ’tis slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.”
But the Redeemer saith—“And blessed is he that is not offended in me.” Yours, J. C. LETTER XXX. “And thou shalt remember all the way the Lord thy God hath led thee in the wilderness, these forty years, to prove thee and to humble thee.”
To — Having complied with your request, in stating the brief account of myself, in infancy, youth, and manhood, a few of the ups and downs, ins and outs, turnings and windings, in a way of providence.—I can but look back with gratitude to that Divine hand that has led me, and kept, supported, upheld, and blest me. Having obtained needed but undeserved help, I continue to this day. For all my errors in life I take shame and confusion of face; and for all the mercies I have experienced, which I am sensible of, and the unnumbered mercies which I never apprehended; I bow my knees to the God of all grace, and say, “Not unto me, not unto me, but to thy name be all the glory.” And what can I say more? It well becometh the just to be thankful. Gratitude, blessing, and praise is the sacrifice of the heart and lips, which is due to God. The Lord be pleased to maintain this spirit in our minds. Gratitude is sometimes excited and led out by the retrospect we take of the Lord’s dealings with us, and discerning his love and wisdom in all his dispensations, however gloomy for the time; yet we can see it was right, uniform, though various. The blessed design towards us is to humble, try, and prove us, that we may know what is in our hearts; both to lament and to be thankful for, and that we may know the love of God’s heart towards us. I have stated but a few of the many great things the Lord hath done for me; and no doubt many friends wish I had omitted some things which I have related, and had been a little more explicit on others. I may also see these improprieties myself, and correct them in my next edition.I now proceed to give a short account of my spiritual experience, which I trust, will be a little more edifying than the former part of this little work. May the great Head of the Church make it so to his own children; and, if they reap the least benefit by reading, God shall have the praise. While I remain, Yours, J. C. END OF PART I.
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