There are two classes of people of whom a wise man should be wary. He who comes to you in a jolly, confidential sort of way, and tells you that you know that he never pretended to be much of a saint, and he whose saintship is so sublimated that he finds all denominations in grievous error, and must form a new sect for himself. It is to be feared that such men are in a very bad way, and have most erroneous conceptions of God and His dealings. It is certainly remarkable that they are chiefly to be met with in the most ignorant sections of professors—amongst the

“Petulant capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts.”

Any liberal culture seems fatal to them. As soon as they manage to pronounce their h’s and to talk grammatically, they can worship with other Christians, can rejoice in the magnificent inheritance which has come down to the Church of our day from the sanctified intellect of former times—can derive edification from an educated ministry—possibly may sing the songs of a Keble, and may be able occasionally to join in a form of prayer which was found adequate for the expression of the spirituality of a Martyn or a Wilberforce.

THE PECULIAR PEOPLE.

In London, if we are to believe what we hear in some quarters, the real seat of true and undefiled religion is to be found amongst the small body who meet in an obscure street leading out of the Walworth Road. The neighbourhood is not a very attractive one, and is inhabited chiefly by retail tradesmen, who must find it in these hard times a struggle to make both ends meet. You must look sharp to find the place of which you are in search. In a row of shops opposite Lion Street you will see one in the day-time with the shutters up. On the shutters you will see one or two little bills headed Christian Meeting House, containing an invitation, as follows:—“Dear friend, you are affectionately invited to the following meetings.” Then you have a list of the times of meeting, an announcement that all seats are free, and the text, “For both He that sanctifieth and they who are sanctified are all one, for which cause He is not ashamed to call them brethren.” If you enter, you see a few benches in what is meant for a shop, and a few more in the room behind. Where the window is there is a desk, at which the chairman or conductor of the meeting sits. By the door is a little box into which the offerings of the faithful are poured. As a rule the place, which cannot hold more than forty or fifty adults comfortably, is well filled by very poor people. It is the only place of meeting of the sect in London. They are numerous, so they say, in Essex, Sussex, and Surrey, but in the Walworth Road they are few and not popular with their neighbours, who possibly know no better. Now and then up comes a street-boy and makes a hideous noise through the keyhole; but the Peculiar People have got used to that. I should fancy with the keen-witted artisans of London they make but little way. The reader may remember that a little while ago some of these people figured in a police-court. They had refused all proper medical aid for a child, and it died in consequence. They have great faith, these poor people. They have great scorn also for people more benighted than themselves. They speak contemptuously of the time when they knew no better, when they trusted in forms, and attended on a one-man ministry, and were humbled and dejected on account of sin, and called themselves miserable sinners, and confessed that they had done the things they ought not to have done, and left undone those things which they should have done. All that sort of feeling and talk is all wicked in their opinion; for theirs is the glorious liberty of the sons of God and joint heirs of heaven. Religion has no difficulties for them, no mysteries; nothing beyond the reach of man, heights to which he cannot ascend, depths which he cannot fathom. To come together and declare their unspeakable joy is all that they have to do. For this the beginner is as competent as the grey-headed believer, the sister as well as the brother, the ignorant man as well as he who has had a college education. Triumphantly they ask—

“When the Lord would speak,
Think ye he needs the Latin or the Greek?”

Of course not. And thus in turn they all preach and pray with a zeal which literally is not according to knowledge. If a man cannot say he lives without sin, they set him down as no Christian. At one time they held that as the Spirit of God only teaches one thing, that if true so-called Christians disagreed in Church matters, one of them was a child of the devil; and as they were not at all backward in applying this doctrine, they were split up as fast as they gathered together. They have a great deal of the Methodist leaven amongst them, and at prayer, or while speaking is going on, express their feelings in a way which, to a stranger, may be considered unnecessarily noisy. Their leaders seem to be a small tradesman in the Southwark Road, and a little, pale, wizened female, whose utterances and prayers are of the most extraordinary character—a sort of sing-song, now rising and then dropping, in a way which in a secular personage and on secular subjects would be ludicrous in the extreme. But they profess to have no leaders. They have elders, who are simply elders. They become such by lapse of time alone.

As to their organization, I much question if they have any. One brother assured me there were rules, but as the price was fourpence, and as trade was slack, he had been unable to procure a copy of them. In answer to our appeal, an elder said there were such, but they were under lock and key, and he could not find them for us; whereupon another brother reached out a New Testament, with the assurance that there, and there alone, were their rules. What information we could get we had to fish out by questions. As to Church membership, they have no preliminaries. All who come are of the Church; those whom the Lord calls will join them, and if the Lord has not called them they will soon drop away. They consider that every service is the sacrament, and they have no special form. In the same way they have no baptism—infant or adult, creeds, confessions of faith, forms of prayer, ministers set apart and trained to preach;—all these things they have done away with. By communion as brother with brother, and sister with sister, they can cherish the true Christian life. If one of them lack anything, let him or her ask of God. How familiarly and at times irreverently they pray, the reader can well imagine. It is difficult to say common things with propriety, says the old Latin proverb. It is more difficult to introduce them into prayer, to inform the Lord that Brother Jones would have been present had he not been unable to come, and to explain the peculiarly distressing circumstances of Sister Smith. For acting on the world outside, they have great faith in out-of-door preaching, an exercise in which they take great delight, and for which they consider themselves peculiarly qualified. They forget, as one has wittily remarked, that if the Lord does not need man’s learning, still less does He need man’s ignorance. As to the financial question, they get over that without much difficulty. Their expenses are next to nothing, and each brother or sister is ever ready to contribute his mite. They have nothing to pay for pew-rents; they have no minister’s salary to collect; they have no educational institutions to support; the rent of a room in a back street is no serious item; and as to church furniture, that is easily supplied—a door-mat, a dirty desk, half a dozen old forms, a second-hand Bible or so, a greasy hymn-book that has done duty many times, and they have all that they require. It is not for me to judge my brother. To show him how fatal is his fluency of tongue, how presumptuous his hope, how unfounded his joy, is a thankless task. All I would suggest is, that he should exercise a little of that charity of which he stands in need himself, and not fancy that to him has been revealed what men of greater piety and higher intellect have been unable to discover. Another objection may also be taken. In an ancient town, with a fine old castle, many, many years ago, there was an attempt to form a volunteer regiment. Unfortunately all wanted to be officers; the consequence was, the regiment came to grief. The Peculiar People have too many officers. Where every one has an equal right to teach, the number of the taught will be small indeed.

THE SANDEMANIANS.

In this our day one of the expiring sects of Christendom is that of the Sandemanians. At no time have they been a very powerful denomination either from their numbers, their influence, or their wealth. They have never yet made their mark upon the world, nor are they likely to do so now. The late Professor Faraday was one of their elders, and for a time conferred on them a little of his world-wide reputation; but one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one great man confer greatness on a church. The eccentricity of men of genius is proverbial. Sharp, the engraver, believed in the lunatic Brothers and the impostor Joanna Southcote; Irving in the gift of tongues and the power of working miracles; Swedenborg in his faculty of piercing the veil which envelopes all sublunary affairs and realizing what we are taught to consider will only be revealed to us when the heavens and earth shall pass away as a scroll, and time shall be no more. Even our great emancipator Luther, the Moses who led forth—to borrow a figure from Cowley—our modern Israel from its house of bondage, and brought them into the promised land, testified to a visible appearance of the Prince of Darkness, to get rid of whom he had to dash his ink-bottle, a type, as it always seems to me, of the victory yet to be achieved by means of print over the devil and all his works. But Faraday is gone. No longer can the Sandemanians boast the possession of one of England’s greatest philosophers; and they have now little power of influencing or predominating in society. They seem to me a very plain and humble folk, aiming at keeping up in their own hearts Christian love, and in their own circle primitive practices, rather than in aggressive movements, without which no church or denomination can expect in this busy age long to live.

There is one Sandemanian church in London, up in Barnsbury, at the corner of one of the streets running out of the Roman Road. The original church was founded in the year 1760, in the Barbican. City improvements necessitated its removal to this site, where it has now been erected four or five years. It was in the old chapel that Professor Faraday used to take his turn in preaching. In the new chapel his widow is still one of the worshippers. As you pass the place you would not see anything very extraordinary. It is a neat, simple structure, of white brick, with no architectural pretensions of any kind. It only differs from other places of worship in having no board up announcing to what denomination it belongs, nor the name of the preacher, nor the hours of assembly, nor where applications for sittings are to be made, nor to whom subscriptions are to be paid. Indeed, the only reference at all to an outside world seems to consist in the putting up a caution intimating that the building is under the guardianship of the police, and persons evilly disposed had better mind what they are about. Thus, and thus only, is the recognition of an outer world lying in darkness and needing the true light of the Gospel in any way acknowledged. They have service twice on Sunday, in the morning and afternoon, and a week-day meeting on Wednesday evening. They have no Sunday or day-school, no tract distribution, no district visiting, no minister, and no other means of acting on the world or forming religious opinion. Indeed, I fancy they are averse to anything of the kind. “We are utterly,” I read in one of their publications, “against aiming to promote the cause we contend for either by creeping into private homes or by causing our voice to be heard in the streets, or by officiously obtruding our opinions upon others.” Even if you enter their place of worship there is no pew-opener to show you to a seat. They claim simply to obey the commands of the Bible implicitly, to be a church founded for mutual edification and love—nothing more. The stranger who for the first time attends will be struck with the absence of the pulpit, instead of which he will find two large desks, one above the other, in which are seated three or four elderly persons; the attention which is paid to the reading of the Bible; the illiterate way in which those who preach and pray do so; and the length and dulness of the service. The morning service, for instance, begins at eleven, and is never over till half-past one. No wonder the Sandemanians are not a vigorous sect. I believe they have but one place of worship in England, three or four in Scotland, and more, how many I know not, in America. The chapel in Barnsbury will seat, I imagine, from three to four hundred people, and it is always nearly full, and attended by people in respectable appearance. Of the really poor they seem to have none at all.

The Sandemanians originated in Scotland, in 1728, as a kind of reaction against Presbyterianism and Calvinism. Mr. John Glass, a minister of the Kirk, was deposed by the Presbyterian Church Courts because he taught that the Church could be subject to no league or covenant—that faith was simple belief—and that Christianity never was, nor ever could be the established religion of any nation without becoming the reverse of what it was when first instituted. Mr. Robert Sandeman, one of his elders, however, by his numerous writings, left on the new organization the impress of his name. In these days, when metaphysical speculation has little encouragement amongst Christians, the Sandemanians tell us they have no formal creed or confession of faith—that they simply follow Scripture practice, and that is all. For this purpose they meet together on the first day of the week, not only to read and hear the Word, but particularly to break bread or communicate together in the Lord’s Supper; to pray, which is done by several in turns; to listen to an exhortation from one of the elders. They are a Christian republic. At the conclusion of every prayer—whether pronounced by the elders or the brethren—the whole church say Amen, according to what is intimated in 1 Cor. xiv. 16. In the interval between the morning and the afternoon service they have their love-feast, of which every member partakes, when they salute each other with a holy kiss. The children are all baptized, on the plea that if one of the parents believes the children are not unclean but holy, and because it is written in Acts, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved and thy house.” They deem it unlawful to eat flesh with its blood; they wash each other’s feet; they hold all things in common so far as the claims of the poor and the Church are concerned; they forbid no amusements but those connected with the lot, such as cards or dice; their elders are chosen from amongst them on account of their piety and character, and are ordained by prayer and fasting, and laying on of hands. A deacon is elected in the same way, minus the fasting. Any one who appears to understand and believe the truth may be admitted into their fellowship. When a person is excommunicated the act takes place in the presence of the whole church. Two elders must be present at every act of discipline. It may be further stated that in every church transaction, whether it be receiving, censuring, or expelling members, or choosing officers, or in performing any other business, unanimity is deemed indispensable. If there is a dissenting brother, after the reasons of the dissent have been stated, and judged unscriptural by the church, he is expelled. The Sandemanians allow neither government by a majority nor a representation of minorities.

As an outsider I should say nothing was ever more uninteresting, nothing ever more calculated to alienate from religion intelligent young people, than the services conducted by the Sandemanians. The elders and deacons, excellent men undoubtedly, are singularly deficient in oratorical ability. I think the worst sermon I ever heard in my life was preached by one of them. They cannot even read the Bible in an impressive and edifying manner, nor is their psalmody much better. They have a literal version of the Psalms, and they sing them through, a couple of verses or so at a time. I give one specimen I heard, not the last time I attended there:—

“Moab I will My Wash-pot make,
O’er Edom cast my shoe;
Do thou, O land of Palestine,
Triumph, because of Me.”

The modern hymnology, of which all sections of the Church are justly proud, exists in vain for them. Their church seems utterly destitute of intellectual vigour; and when, as in these days, brains are beginning to rule, the piety that rejects or ignores them is in danger. There is a relation between the Bible and modern thought of which the good people who preach dull sermons and make dull prayers up in Barnsbury have no idea.

THE SOUTHCOTTIANS.

Incredible as it may seem, there are, in these days of penny newspapers and universal enlightenment, Southcottians in London. They may be met with in the neighbourhood of Kennington Common, and in one of the forlornest spots in Islington, Elder Walk, Essex Road. Thence they issue documents worthy of Bedlam. I have now before me their “Midnight Cry, Behold the Bridegroom cometh.” And this august warning and bruising and inviting announcement is “to and for whomsoever it may concern of Mammon-crushed Israel.” One extract I fancy will suffice—one at any rate I must give, otherwise such religious lunacy will be held incredible.

“Oh, dutifully observe now, O all Israel, (namely) O Judah and Ephraim, that this Universal Marriage overture unto you, together with these Proxy Marriage lines and record, are made and offered you entirely because ‘I am’ and Jesus Christ is Life, Love, and Light everlasting, and because of His power and right to give, and the Son of Man’s to receive, and the worthy Woman to bring Him forth, and Israel’s to inherit,—viz., the promises unto Adam, Eve, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, and all their seed, who were originally the void waters and dark-faced deep until God said, Let there be Light and there was Light. And from henceforth there shall be Light, and both Light and Love abundantly in Heaven, here below as in Heaven above, for in the beginning God created Heaven and Earth, and did, and is, and will finish on the sixth day the same and all the host of them.”

The main instrument in the above precious compilation is Whatmore, one of Joanna Southcott’s chosen apostles. The paper referred to is issued from No. 9, Elder Walk, Essex Road, Islington, London, of Britannia Zion. It states, as far as I can gather, that in August last year something of importance was to take place. “A month since and the gauntlet has been successfully run; therefore, Whatmore, now has Thy lowly instrument Watmore Whatmore, John, to submit of and by Thy worthiness, O Lord God. Oh, shall I submit a Song of Solomon, or a Lamentation of Thy Prophet Jeremiah, or a sermon of Thy immortalizing mount, unto Thy flock, O, O, O! Submit, love,” &c., &c. I gather that the mystery of God is to be finished speedily by unveiling His Bible word, and His codicil thereto by His spouse, “the wonderful Queen of prophets, Joanna Southcott, that thus sons and daughters by her womanhood may greatly replenish the earth, and that the poor now suffering from the murdering love of money in consequence of unjust stewardship may fare better in time to come.” This seems to be the only idea I can extract from the Southcottians. All mammon laws are to be abolished, money currency is to be destroyed, there is to be no more selling, martyring, and bartering of humanity and their requirements, “thus saith the Lord Jehovah, by J. Watmore Whatmore, and J. G. Grant, of Zion.”

As these prophets speak of the spouse of God, Eve the second, called Joanna Southcott, Queen of the prophets, who in 1802 opened her commission, and declared herself to be the woman spoken of in Revelation—“the Bride, the Lamb’s wife, and clothed with the sun”—let me briefly tell her story:—

Joanna was born at Gettisham, in Devonshire. Her parents were in the farming line, and members of the Established Church. She herself was in service or in industrious employment, “without,” writes her biographer, “any other symptom of a disordered intellect than that she was attached to the Methodists.” Nevertheless, it was Mr. Pomeroy, the clergyman whose church she attended at Exeter, who appears to have encouraged her to print her prophecies and to assume spiritual gifts. The books which she sent into the world were written partly in rhyme, all the verse and the greater part of the prose being delivered in the character of the Almighty. Her discourses were nothing else than a mere rhapsody of texts—vulgar dreams and vulgar interpretations. Her fame spread, and seven wise men from different parts of the country, the seven stars, came to believe in her. Among the early believers were three clergymen, one of them a man of fashion, fortune, and noble family. As her followers supplied her with money and treated her with great reverence, the more extravagant were her assertions and the loftier her claims. The scheme of redemption was completed in her. If the tree of knowledge was violated by Eve, the tree of life was reserved for Joanna. Her greatest triumph was a conflict with the devil, which lasted a week. According to her own account the devil had the worst of it. She gave him ten words for one, and allowed him no time to speak. Very ungallantly, at the termination of the dispute he remarked no man could tame a woman’s tongue; he said the sands of an hour-glass did not run faster. It was better to dispute with a thousand men than one woman. After this dispute Joanna is said—and her followers believed it—to have fasted forty days.

Shortly after commencing her mission, she published the following declaration:—

“I, Joanna Southcott, am clearly convinced that my calling is of God, and my writings are indited by His Spirit, as it is impossible that any spirit but an all-wise God that is wondrous in working, wondrous in wisdom, wondrous in power, wondrous in truth, could have brought round such mysteries so full of truth as in my writings; so I am clear in whom I believed, that all my writings came from the Spirit of the Most High God.

“Joanna Southcott.”

One of her means of making money and increasing her influence was the sealing of such as signed their names to a declaration intimating a desire for Christ’s kingdom to be established upon earth, and the destruction of that of the devil. Whoever signed his or her name received a sealed letter containing these words:—“The sealed of the Lord the elect. Precious man’s redemption to inherit the tree of life, to be made heirs of God and joint-heirs with Jesus Christ.” To this document Joanna’s name was appended. In December, 1813, she declared her pregnancy, and prophesied that she should have a son that year by the power of the Most High. Her followers now increased rapidly, and chapels were opened for promulgating her doctrines. As the time drew nigh presents of all descriptions, it was said, came in unasked. There was a magnificent cot for the expected Messiah, manufactured by Seddons. All the articles used on such occasions—as laced caps, bibs, robes, papboats, caudle cups, &c.,—were lavishly supplied; and when it appeared that the poor woman had died, asking pardon for her late blasphemous doctrines and past sins, the delusion was still kept up, and her followers believed that she would reappear. It was only after a post-mortem examination that the fiction of a miraculous conception was dispelled. Joanna was sixty years old at the time of her death, and was buried privately in Marylebone Upper Burying-ground, near Kilburn.

The present leader is John Whatmore, formerly a smith, but who has been led in a marvellous way, according to his own confession, to believe in Joanna. He is an open-air preacher, and may be met with in London Fields, Somers Town, and elsewhere pursuing his calling, which apparently is not very lucrative. He has two boards joined together, on which some unintelligible jargon is printed, which he calls his two sticks. These he holds up to view, at the same time calling out, “Britannia! Ephraim! Judah!” Then he commences his oration, a strange medley of Scripture and nonsense. According to him the world is in the worst possible way; and the devil has a fine time of it. The present commercial system of society by no means meets with Whatmore’s approval. The poor are rotting off, and woe to them to whom such a catastrophe is due. There are many disciples, he tells us; but fear of this world and a false sense of shame prevent them from declaring themselves. There must be some, otherwise the man could not get a living. His library seems to consist chiefly, if not exclusively, of the New Testament and his own absurd hand-bills, which a printer supplies him with on the chance of his selling them. In answer to my inquiry as to where he attended when not preaching himself, his reply was that he sometimes went to the Agricultural Hall; but they were not advanced enough for him, and so he falls back on himself, and goes about to do what he thinks is—or at any rate what he says he thinks is—the Lord’s work. There is no bounce about him. He is apparently a muddle-headed, well-meaning mystic; about as mad or sane as others of his way of thinking. That he is wretchedly poor, that he is ignorant, that his language to ordinary folks seems simply unintelligible, perhaps in certain quarters may be accepted as signs of his Divine commission. At any rate, he is a representative man. If he is ignorant and talks nonsense, what must be the ignorance and the nonsense existing in those who listen to him? How dense must be the ignorance, how crass the nonsense cherished in his hearers! It may be asked, and this is a question I put to the religious public, is not the manifestation of such religious folly a reproach to our age? If the Church had done its duty, would such a folly have been possible?

THE SPIRITUALISTS.

Somehow or other the Spiritualists are under a cloud in this country, and their leader—Mr. Home—has been compelled, in consequence of the decision of a highly-prejudiced and extremely ignorant jury, to hand over to Mrs. Lyon a very handsome sum of money which she had conveyed to him in consequence of representations made by him to her that such was the desire of her deceased lord and master. Up to that time Spiritualism was making great way, and Mr. Home, as its high priest and apostle, was in request with the nobility, and was the friend of kings and emperors. He had married a Russian Countess; he wore a diamond ring on one hand, given by the Czar, and on the other hand another, the present of the Emperor of France. His speaking eye and melodramatic manner made him in society a really charming man; literary ladies were enthusiastic in his favour. A spiritual AthenÆum was opened in Sloane Street, Chelsea, at which a very eminent man gave the inaugural discourse, and at which there were spirit drawings displayed, and spirit poems read—all suggestive of the fact that the spirits were very ordinary people, after all. But it was not so much there as at the houses of his friends that Mr. Home tried best to display his powers. At such times there was a wonderful parade of religion. Previous to his attending a sÉance, a friend of the author was asked whether he believed in the doctrine of the Trinity; “because,” said the fair questioner, “we find that the spirits do not like to appear before sceptics;” and the Bible was read, and prayer offered up in apparently the most reverent, and earnest, and occasionally the most tiresome manner. Then came a few childish tricks, such as a handkerchief conveyed by spirits under the table, the accordion played by spirits under the table, and other intimations of what was said to be spiritual agency, but all equally out of sight. A few marvellous things were said by Home—secrets occasionally—which the hearer thought no one knew but himself, but secrets of the most uninteresting and unimportant character. And then the unbeliever passed out, scarcely knowing whether to laugh or weep; whether he had assisted at a religious meeting or a farce; whether he had been in the company of a mortal fitted for a solemn mission to an idle and adulterous generation seeking after a sign, or whether all he had seen and heard was but the clever manoeuvring of a clever professor of legerhave to take his stand with the Brothers Davenport and other doubtful mediums who have had their day.

The Spiritualists in this country set great store by Home. They have never been able in our cold climate to raise mediums worth talking about. The latter have been chiefly American importations. Mr. Harris came as a preacher of Spiritualism, and, after a few Sundays at Store Street, vanished like a spirit, and was heard of no more. A Spiritual Magazine was started. Mrs. Marshall and her niece, of 22, Red Lion Street, Holborn, were declared by that—we presume official authority—to be “Media.” Then came the solid testimony of a learned American judge, declaring “the first thing demonstrated to us is that we can commune with the spirits of the departed; that such communication is through the instrumentality of persons yet living; that the fact of mediumship is the result of physical organization; that the kind of communion is effected by moral causes; and that the power, like our other faculties, is possessed in different degrees, and is capable of improvement by cultivation.” But the sect did not prosper. Then came grotesque indications of spiritual presence. Not content with table-rapping, the spirits had recourse to all kinds of antics, and the subject of Spiritualism became more and more distasteful to the intelligent, and more and more popular with that large class of idle wealthy men and women who have no healthy occupation, and are always in search of excitement. The climax was reached when the Cornhill told how Mr. Home floated in the air, how heavy tables would leap from one end of the room to the other, how music was produced on accordions, “grand at times, at others pathetical, at others distant and long-drawn,” when those accordions were held by no mortal hands. “I can state,” wrote Dr. Gulley, of Malvern, “that the record made in the article ‘Stranger than Fiction’ is in every particular correct; that the phenomena therein related actually took place, and moreover that no trick-machinery, sleight of hand, or other artistic contrivance, produced what we heard and beheld. I am quite as convinced of this last as I am of the facts themselves.” Well might the Spiritualists crow; had not Robert Owen and Lord Lyndhurst also believed? Was it not uncharitable to say that they were in their dotage? The testimony of such men settled everything.

In America, Spiritualism is more prosperous than in England. In the “Plain Guide to Spiritualism” Mr. Clarke tells us there are in that country 500 public mediums who receive visitors; more than 50,000 private ones; 500 books and pamphlets on the subject have been published, and many of them immensely circulated; there are 500 public speakers and lecturers on it, and more than 1000 occasional ones. There are nearly 2000 places for public circles, conferences, or lectures, and in many places flourishing public schools. The decided believers are 2,000,000, the nominal ones nearly 5,000,000; on the globe itself it is calculated there are 20,000,000 supposed to recognise the fact of spiritual intercourse. In Paris and the different parts of France the manifestations have been almost of every kind, and of the most decisive and distinguished character. “Great numbers of persons have been cured by therapeutic mediums,” writes William Howitt, “of diseases and injuries incurable by all ordinary means. Some of these persons are well known to me, and are every day bearing their testimony in aristocratic society.” Writing thus, Mr. Howitt defines Spiritualism “as the great theologic and philosophic reformer of the age; the great requickener of religious life; the great consoler and establisher of hearts; the great herald to the wanderers of earth starved upon the husks of mere college dogmas.” “I believe,” says Mr. C. Hall, “that as it now exists, Spiritualism has mainly but one purpose—to confute and destroy Materialism, by supplying sure, and certain, and palpable evidence that to every human being God gives a soul, which He ordains shall not perish when the body dies.” This, as good old Isaak Walton says, in narrating Dr. Donne’s Vision, “this is a relation that will beget some wonder; and it well may, for most of our world are at present possessed with an opinion that miracles and visions are ceased.”

What is Spiritualism? Ask its opponents. They regard it as necromancy, a practice not only forbidden under the Old Testament, but which even in the New we find classed by St. Paul under the general denomination of witchcraft, with such works of the flesh as idolatry, murder, adultery, and drunkenness, concerning all of which the Apostle Paul adds the solemn declaration (Gal. v. 19–21), “That they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.” Such undoubtedly is the feeling entertained with regard to Spiritualism by the great majority of orthodox Christians, who are quite satisfied by Scripture testimony, who accept what they think God has revealed to them in His Book, and who seek or require nothing more. In a weak but well-meaning work just put into my hands (“Spiritualism and other Signs”) I read: “The whole system is essentially opposed to faith in, and walking with, Jesus Christ, and the Spiritualist knows it.” The writer quotes the well-known text: “Now the Spirit speaketh expressly that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils, speaking lies in hypocrisy, having their conscience seared with a hot iron.” At the same time there are many in the Christian Church of undoubted piety and intelligence who are believers in Spiritualism. After all, however, they are the exception rather than the rule. Amongst all sects there is a condemnation of Spiritualism of a very sweeping character. In this one thing Wesleyans, Low Churchmen, and Congregationalists are agreed. The outer world, the Secularists and the Positivists, of course regard Spiritualism with the same scorn and unbelief with which they regard all religion, whether true or false, whether old as the hills or but yesterday’s creation.

“It is wonderful that five thousand years have now elapsed since the Creation of the world, and still it is undecided whether or not there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it, but all belief is for it.” Such is a sentence I borrow from Dr. Johnson. It is as applicable to the present time as to that in which he lived.

In conclusion, let me add, as a distinct organization, hitherto Spiritualism has failed in this country. I hear nothing of the Spiritual AthenÆum now, nothing of Mr. Harris, either as preacher or poet, very little even of Mr. Home. Strange that a man who could not write an ordinary note decently should have been a favourite medium of the spirits. I am aware, however, the Spiritualists will extract an argument out of that last remark of mine in favour of Spiritualism. A young Jewish convert it is said would go to Rome. His teacher, a priest, feared, knowing Rome too well. On his return he questioned his pupil as to what he saw in Rome. “Ah!” said he, “I am persuaded now your religion is of God, otherwise it would have perished of the wickedness of its professors.”

In America of late years there has been an enormous increase of what are called the Campbellites. They now number in that country 500,000, have fifteen colleges, and a large university with 800 students; they have 2000 churches, and 1000 regular ministers. They are also well represented as regards literature. They have one quarterly, six or seven weeklies, two ladies’ magazines, and several Sunday-school papers. In London they are not a numerous class. They have places of worship in the Milton Hall, Camden Town, and in College Street, Chelsea. The truth is, as regards chapels and churches, public worship is as much a social as a religious institution. Fashion has a great deal to do with the attendance. It is the fashion to go to church. It is not the fashion to run after new sects or preachers of new doctrines. In a flourishing church there are societies which bring people into contact with one another—these promote in their turn, like the far-famed ale of Trinity, “brotherly neighbourhood.” The old ladies get a habit of gossiping—Jones, Brown, and Robinson take tea together—and then young people form alliances in consequence often of a serious and matrimonial character. It is uphill work, then, in London for a little isolated cause. The odds against its permanent success are infinite. Still the Campbellites are making way. They have a fine base of operations in America, and they are spreading over England,—if they are not doing much in the Metropolis. They are good, pious people, and earnest in the conviction that they alone understand and maintain apostolical charity; and deeply deploring the present divided and unhappy state of the Christian Church, and with a view to unity, they increase the number of divisions by withdrawing from all other religious bodies, and forming a fresh one of their own.

Who are the Campbellites? I will endeavour to answer the question. Their creed, as they tell us, is simply the Messiahship. According to them, the Christian creed thus presents for individual and immediate acceptance the one living, personal, loving, Divine, all-wise and omnipotent Saviour from ignorance, sin, and rebellion. Humanly devised and written creeds demand faith in abstract metaphysical, theological, ecclesiastical, and political propositions, and have so effectually supplanted the good confession, that though admitted as a doctrine, few churches or professors of the present day would consider themselves safe in depending solely on its saving faith or belief in God’s testimony as contained in His Word, as delivered by apostles and prophets, and as corroborated by signs and wonders, and divers miracles and gifts of the Holy Spirit. Campbellism distinguishes the Gospel not only from the words of men, but from Scripture generally—that Jesus is its subject. It apprehends him not only as Jesus of Nazareth, but as God manifest in the flesh—the Son and Christ of the Father consecrated to the high offices of Prophet, Priest, and King. It recognises the applicability and reference of the Saviour’s mission and work to the individual himself as clearly as if he were the only sinner for whom Christ has died; nor is it a mere intellectual assent, but a willing, heartfelt reception of the truth and surrender of the whole man, body, soul, and spirit. Now, as I imagine most orthodox Christians would say as much, and would state their belief in similar terms, with the exception of the Presbyterians and Episcopalians, who have the advantage or disadvantage, whatever it may be, of having to repeat a creed of more scholastic character, the question still remains, why cannot the Campbellites worship with other Christians? I must frankly confess there is in their services nothing more fitted to make an impression upon the world than there is in the services of other denominations; neither at Chelsea nor in Camden Town do you get from their preachers an idea that they are men of greater power, higher spiritual life, deeper experience, or more usefulness than are others. Clearly this definition of Christian belief is no warrant for another schism, even though the aim be Christian unity, and the putting a stop to the endless differences which are the grief of the Christian and the laugh of the worldling. Their form of worship is eminently simple and dissenting—a revival, it may be, of that of apostolic times—that I cannot say as, according to some, there are remains of a liturgy in the Pauline epistles. It is not clear how the ancients worshipped, but it is clear the Campbellites simply sing and pray, and read the Scriptures and deliver an address. They are Baptists, and they believe that Baptism is essential to salvation. Baptist churches are numerous in London. No Baptist need hire room, or chapel, or barn, or hall, and meet there to edify himself and his friends apart from the great and active community who feel as he does in that matter. The Campbellites maintain that many things are wrong which are done in other churches. They assume that there was a greater purity in apostolic times than now, and they aim to revive it. For this purpose they exalt the power of the Church, and depreciate that of the ministry. I don’t learn that they have all things in common, though that was certainly one of the most prominent features in apostolic times; but they draw a sharp line between the Church and the world, and in their Sunday services almost ignore the latter. They have little of that charity which hopeth all things, which thinketh no evil, which is long-suffering. If they are building a chapel they would not take the money of an unconverted man. If they were collecting subscriptions for the sending out Evangelists, for the printing of religious books and tracts, for the support of a Christian ministry, they would refuse those of worldly men. More logical or more consistent in small matters, they make no provision in their books of praise for the unconverted man. I find in their hymn-book no one verse in the whole volume is designed to be sung simply by the unconverted. Their hymns are for those who, having the spirit of adoption, cry, Abba Father! It is proper, says the writer of the preface to the volume to which I refer, it is proper for convicted sinners, who do not know the way, to seek salvation, but they are not called to sing their sorrow, much less are Christians called to unite with them. Again, he tells us the unconverted have no need to sing prayers for pardon. What then, I may ask, are they to do? The answer is that, they may stand and listen and be sung at, as well as preached at. Mr. King, the writer already quoted, says, “Though there are not hymns for the unconverted to sing, there are appeals to the unconverted to be sung by the church.” Practically, however, the arrangement differs little from that of other churches. A book is put into your hands, and the chances are, people who are in the habit of singing sing. As only immersed adults are Christians, it is not clear what the young people who attend their service are; that they sing I can, however, testify. It is to be feared that the Campbellites are not exempt from the faults of all religious worship, as manifested in strength of expression. If men and women believed what they say or sing in all our churches and chapels, little would remain for us but the Millennium.

The Campbellites do seek to guard against this danger. It is the Church that sings. It is the Church that worships. All Christian worship is in Scripture confined to Christians, and necessarily so, for worship offered by any one else is not Christian. Thus it is only on the faithful in Christ Jesus that the various items of Christian worship are enjoined: they are profaned and prostituted when applied to any others. In the morning of the Sabbath the Church meets by itself to break bread and sing and pray; on such occasions the members exhort and edify one another. In the evening the service is of a more general character; appeals are made to the unconverted, and they are invited to attend.

“All you that are weary and sad come,
And you that are cheerful and glad come,
In robes of humility clad come,
Away from the waters of strife.
Let youth in the freshness of bloom come,
Let man in the pride of his noon come,
Let age on the verge of the tomb come,
Let none in their pride stay away.”

As a matter of fact, the unconverted do not avail themselves of the offer. It is a small place of meeting, the Milton Hall, but it is quite large enough, and more than large enough for the church and congregation. One brother prays and reads the Scriptures and gives out a hymn, another brother delivers an address, another brother concludes with prayer, and then there is a prayer-meeting after. The advantage of the Campbellites seems to me that they are only a little duller than their neighbours. The little ones around me, when I attended, found it hard to keep awake, and yet the service is short. It commences at seven and closes a little after eight. As they have no paid ministry, as their elders and deacons take the chief parts in the service, even after supporting an evangelist their expenses are not heavy, and in this they find a plausible plea. If, say they, half a dozen churches are built where one would be enough, and half a dozen ministers are kept where only one is required, clearly in consequence of these divisions amongst brethren, there is a lamentable waste of money and power and spiritual influence. Unfortunately, as regards London there is no force in the plea, and will not be till the time comes when the various sections of the Christian Church shall have made all necessary provision for the spiritual wants of the metropolis.

THE MORMONS.

Thirty years ago, writes Hepworth Dixon, in that glowing account of Mormonism which, next to “Spiritual Wives,” he seems to consider as the crowning glory of his life,—“thirty years ago there were six Mormons in America, none in England, none in the rest of Europe, and to-day (1866) they have twenty thousand saints in Salt Lake City; four thousand each in Ogden, Prono, and Logan; in the whole of their stations in these valleys (one hundred and six settlements properly organized by them and ruled by bishops and elders) a hundred and fifty thousand souls; in other parts of the United States about eight or ten thousand; in England and its dependencies about fifteen thousand; in the rest of Europe ten thousand; in Asia and the South Sea Islands about twenty thousand; in all not less, perhaps, than two hundred thousand followers of the gospel preached by Joseph Smith. All these converts have been gathered into the temple in thirty years.”

The other day the Mormons of the London district met at the Music Hall, Store Street, and held a conference. Mr. Franklin Richards, the President, delivered an address. From his speech it appeared that in the metropolis there were nine branches, one hundred and seven elders of conference, fifty-three priests, twenty-four teachers, thirty deacons. During the six months preceding 132 persons had been baptized, sixteen cut off or had died; the total number in the London district, including officers, was 1172. I imagine the Mormonites flourish better in districts less enlightened. Around Birmingham they are very sanguine, and I have seen the miners in Merthyr Tydfil by thousands listening to the gospel according to Joe Smith and Brigham Young.

The principal place of worship of the Mormons or Latter-day Saints is in the Commercial Road, but there are others; one of them is in George Street, Gower Street. In that locality there is a very shabby dancing saloon, from which the graces seem long since to have departed. At three o’clock every Sunday afternoon the Mormons assemble there. On a raised platform may be seen seated some seven or eight men, apparently decent workmen. Below them is a table, around which are a few lads, who set the tunes and take round the sacrament, which is administered every Sunday to all, including any strangers and children who may feel disposed to partake of it. Benches fill up the rest of the room, which are occupied chiefly by females with their families—including, of course, the baby, the inevitable feature in all gatherings of the lower orders. All seem enthusiastic and very friendly, and wretchedly poor. Their idea of Mormonism seems to be chiefly that of a successful emigration scheme, only mixed up with a little of the religious phraseology, which is most fluently uttered unfortunately by the unthinking masses to whom words do not represent ideas. You might fancy as you enter that you had made a mistake, and got amongst the Primitive Methodists. The hymns are very much the same, and so is frequently the style of prayer. Sermon there is none, but instead you have addresses, the burden of which is generally of one kind. The speaker is thankful that at last he has known the Lord, and wishes he had done more for Him, and hopes, if health and strength be spared, to do more. There is also generally an address of a wider character. The Lord is calling them out of this country, where the Gentiles have the rule over them, and they are to hasten, old and young, to the City of the Saints. They are to pay their debts, mend their old clothes, save all they can, and then those that cannot pay for their voyage will be helped to join the settlement in Utah. Apart from the prayers and hymns, these meetings seem secular rather than spiritual,—to have reference more to this world, than the next. If, as it seems to me, the Mormonites in this country have had a Methodist training, they have managed to eliminate pretty completely the Methodist theology; but, perhaps, they treat it as they do the Bible. The Mormons profess to believe in it, at the same time they omit its spiritual teaching altogether. Their theology may be best explained in one of their own hymns:—

“The God that others worship is not the God for me,
He has neither part nor body, and cannot hear and see;
But I’ve a God that lives above,
A God of power and love,
A God of Revelation,—Oh, that’s the God for me!
Oh! that’s the God for me; oh! that’s the God for me.

“A church without apostles is not the church for me,
It’s like a ship dismasted, afloat upon the sea,
But I’ve a church that’s always led
By the twelve stars around its head,
A church with good foundations—oh! that’s the church for me!
Oh! that’s the church for me! oh! that’s the church for me!

* * * * *

“The heaven of sectarians is not the heaven for me,
So doubtful its location, neither on land nor sea,
But I’ve a heaven on the earth,
The land that gave me birth,
A heaven of light and knowledge—oh! that’s the heaven for me!
Oh! that’s the heaven for me! oh! that’s the heaven for me!”

Such are the songs sung, with a fervour unknown in better attended and genteeler places of worship.

The Mormons speak of us as Gentiles, yet in reality they take our creed and add to it polygamy and communism. Their belief as regards Father, Son, and Holy Ghost is almost orthodox, and if they claim to be divinely ruled and to have the power of working miracles, do not other sects the same? Like the Quakers, they can dispense with religious forms. Like the ancient Israelites, they are a peculiar people, but what is peculiar to them, and that which constitutes the secret of their success, is this—that they preach to the poor, and wretched, and starving, that the kingdom of God has been founded upon earth, that it belongs to the saints, and that they are the saints. Man, they say, is part of the substance of God, and he will become God. He was not created by God, but existed from all eternity. He was not born in sin, and is only accountable for his own misdeeds. Angels, it seems, from what Young told Hepworth Dixon, “are the souls of bachelors and monogamists, being incapable of issue, unblessed with female companions, unfitted to reign and rule in the celestial spheres. They have failed,” said Young, “in not living the patriarchal life—in not marrying many wives. An unmarried Mormon fills but a low scale in the order of things.” Man being of the race of God becomes eligible for a celestial throne: his household of wives and children being his kingdom, not on earth only, but in heaven, polygamy is thus his highest duty, and most glorious privilege. In the East, polygamy does not answer. The races with one wife there breed faster than the Turks. In the city of the Mormons, under polygamy, births are very numerous. The actual wives of Young are twelve! the twelve apostles own from three to four each. Young has forty-eight children, and all have their quivers full. The women, according to Mr. Dixon, dislike polygamy nevertheless.

In this country and among the Mormons the doctrine of polygamy is not that on which much stress is laid. Here the Mormon preaches temperance, sobriety, honesty, industry, the need of saving up money, and the advantages of emigration to Utah. In the Millennial Star, the organ of the community, one brother writes from Wales:—

“The Word of Wisdom is quite a text with us of late, and is producing very good effects. We see its fruits manifested among the Saints, several of the brethren leaving off tobacco and other things that are injurious to the constitution. The tea is a matter that bothers the sisters considerably, but in the face of this difficulty many are leaving it off, and pronouncing it of no beneficial effect in any way whatever. I think that much will be done by abstaining from those things towards clothing those children that are very thinly clad.”

It is in this way that Mormonism has spread. It has come to the poorest of the poor, and used their own language. Its phraseology is that dear to the natural heart. We are all too prone to throw our responsibility on others: It is the Lord who saves me. It is the devil who makes me bad; and it is a great help to the ignorant and uneducated, not merely to have spiritual states shadowed forth in earthly language, but to feel that, after all, heaven is here in the shape of comfortable dwellings, wives and children, raiment to wear, and a bellyfull. “This is great encouragement to the saints in their pilgrimages here in old Babylon, and stimulates them to more diligence in building up the kingdom of God, and delivering themselves from the yoke of tyranny and oppression, to enjoy the liberty of the people of God in the valleys of the mountains.” Thus writes one of the elders with reference to certain manifestations of the gift of tongues; but I quote the passage here as applicable in an eminent degree, and as illustrating the religious phraseology, affected no doubt for certain ends by the Mormons. The kingdom of God, for instance, of the theologians may be difficult of apprehension to the illiterate and the rude; but if it means to me a good house and good living in Utah, it at once assumes an attractive form. If to live in England is to live in Babylon, of course it is my duty to emigrate; and if Brigham Young is the Lord’s deputy on earth, then to disobey his call is an act of sin. So degraded are many of our brethren and sisters in this Christian land, where we have one parson at the least in every parish, that they are utterly unable to contemplate anything apart from its accidental forms. Their God is a God of parts and passions; their religion is one of sensation; their heaven a loss of physical pains and the presence of physical delights; they become at once an easy prey to the Mormonite preacher when for ten pounds he offers them the realization of their hopes, not at the end of life, but now, and tells them that in the Land of the Saints they shall hunger no more, nor thirst any more.