THERE seem to be a few men in every age and country in whom there is centred all that is purest, noblest, and best in the moral, religious, and intellectual life of their people. And, if it be true, as Pope says, that “The proper study of mankind is man,” then it is a desirable thing to be thrown with these men who are religiously pure, morally good, and intellectually great. “As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.” What can be more inspiring than to come in contact with men “on whom God has set his seal,” and of each of whom it may be said, as of Brutus,

“His life is gentle, and the elements
So mixed in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world: ‘This is a man.’”

I shall not now speak of England’s law-makers and political magnates, neither of her authors and literary lights; of these I shall have something to say hereafter. But in this chapter I shall confine myself to three religious leaders, who are well worthy of our careful study.

Joseph Parker, Canon Farrar, and Charles Spurgeon are three preachers in whom, I think, are centred all the “gifts and graces” of the English pulpit. I listen to these men with great interest, and, I hope, not without some profit. I study them closely. I try, as best I can, to discover the secret of their power and marvellous success. No one can reasonably question their power, or deny their success. For eighteen or twenty years, Doctor Parker has been preaching three times a week in the great City Temple of London. The house holds 2,500 or 3,000 people. It is always crowded on Sunday, at morning and night. On Thursday at noon he has 1,200 to 1,800 persons to listen to him. Hundreds of the best business men in the city leave their places of employment, and go to hear him one hour each week.

Frederick W. Farrar is Canon of Westminster Abbey, and Chaplain to the Queen. The Abbey is one of the most splendid temples on earth. As the preacher stands in the pulpit, he is surrounded by the busts and statues, by the tombs and monuments, of historians and statesmen, of poets and artists. His audience is composed chiefly of the aristocracy of England. Here is where the dukes and earls and lords, the kings and queens and princes, of the nation most do congregate. To minister in holy things, from year to year, to an audience like this, one must, of necessity, be possessed of splendid powers.

Of Mr. Spurgeon, what shall I say? When we remember that there is an utter absence of what is known as sensationalism about Mr. Spurgeon, and yet that his audience has for the last thirty years averaged more than five thousand people; when we remember that his Tabernacle holds about 6,500 hearers, and yet that hundreds and hundreds are frequently turned away from the doors; when we remember that his name has become a household word throughout Europe and America, and many of the remotest Isles of the seas; when we remember that he is one and the same to-day, yesterday, and thirty years ago, a living embodiment of faith in God and His blessed Word, a perfect personification of buoyant hope and simple, childlike trust,—I say, when we remember all these things, we are lost in wonder and astonishment. In writing of such a man, words lose their power.

I try as nearly as possible to view Parker, Farrar, and Spurgeon through the same glasses. I endeavor to listen to them without fear or favor, without preference or prejudice. All of them say striking things, and I give here a characteristic expression of each of the three preachers.

Parker: “Do children grow up as they should grow, without the proper care and nurture? Thistles do, flowers do not; goats do, horses do not—and there is more of man in a horse than horse in a man.”

Farrar, in speaking to the young men before him: “I earnestly conjure you now, at the beginning of your life’s career, to hang about your necks the jeweled amulet of self-respect.”

Spurgeon: “The Lord loves all of His people, but somehow methinks the meek are His Josephs; upon them He puts His coat of many colors—of joy and peace, of long-suffering and patience.”

These gems of thought are, I think, illustrative of the real difference between Joseph Parker, Canon Farrar, and Charles Spurgeon. The first impresses me as a moral philosopher, the second as a Christian rhetorician, the third as a gospel minister. The first studies philosophy, the second aesthetics, the third the Bible. The first is a lecturer, the second a writer, and the third a preacher. The first shows himself, the second his culture, the third his Lord. All three of them are great men, and it is possible that I would change my mind as to their respective merits, if I could hear them oftener; but I am honestly of the opinion that, as a gospel preacher, Mr. Spurgeon possesses the virtues of the other two, without the faults of either. Like Saul, he towers head and shoulders above his brethren. Like the stars, the other two shine when the sun is behind the hills, but when he arises their glory is eclipsed.