I have read of an old painter, who lived in that district of London which was called Harp Alley. He had been so accustomed to paint red lions on sign-boards for inns that, when he was once requested by the landlord of a public-house to paint an angel as an advertisement for his establishment, he asked, “Wouldn’t a red lion do as well?” “No,” replied the publican; “there are three of your red lions near here already, and I don’t want another; I must have an angel, I have fixed on that as my sign.” “Well,” said the painter, “I will do the best I can, and you shall have an angel if you like, but it will be marvellously like a lion after all.” Now, dear friends, I have been so long preaching sermons here that I feel, when I come to the Surrey Music Hall, that I cannot do anything else but preach; and even though I may essay to deliver a lecture, or a speech, it will have to be wonderfully like a sermon after all.—C. H. S., in introduction to lecture on “A Christian’s Pleasures.”
The first lecture given by Mr. Spurgeon, of which a full report has been preserved, although it has not yet been published, was the one delivered at the Surrey Gardens Music Hall, on Tuesday evening, December 29, 1857, under the title, “A Christian’s Pleasures.” It was a bright, lively talk specially suited to the festive season, and contained much earnest warning and solid instruction. After speaking upon the so-called pleasures which are absolutely forbidden to a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, and of others which, though innocent, are utterly absurd and insipid, the lecturer thus referred to certain amusements concerning which there is a great dispute whether Christians ought to indulge in them:—
“Some persons ask, ‘What do you think about dancing?’ Well, I never hear the subject mentioned without having an uncomfortable feeling in my throat, for I remember that the first Baptist minister had his head danced off! I am sure I should have to be off my head before I should indulge in that pastime. The usual associations of the ball-room and dancing parties are of such a character that it is marvellous to me how Christians can ever be found taking pleasure in them. A safe rule to apply to all occupations is,—’Can I take the Lord Jesus Christ with me if I go there? If not, it is no place for me as one of His followers.’
“Then I may be asked, ‘What do you think of games of chance?’ Well, I always draw a distinction between games that require the exercise of skill and those that largely depend upon chance, as in the shuffling of cards and the throw of the dice. Some games are to be heartily recommended because they tend to sharpen the mental faculties; I do not think the most precise Christian ought to object to draughts or chess,—if not played for money,—for they help to develop and improve our powers of thought, and calculation, and judgment. Sometimes, when I am weary with my work, I take down my Euclid, and go over a few propositions; or I work out some of Bland’s equations, * just by way of amusement. That kind of exercise is as much a recreation to me as running out in the fields would be to a boy at school.
“In my opinion, games of skill are not objectionable; but every Christian should object to games of chance. Generally, they are played for gain, and hence they excite covetous desires, and so break the tenth commandment. With regard to the great proportion of games of chance, we hardly need discuss the question. The time has now arrived when all England ought to be heartily sick of every form of gaming. It used to be a comparatively harmless thing for ladies and gentlemen to spend all the evening over a pack of cards, or a box of dice, without any money being at stake; but we have had such practical proof that the worst crimes have sprung from this apparently inoffensive practice, that every Christian mind must revolt from it. Besides, I have always felt that the rattle of the dice in the box would remind me of that game which was played by the soldiers at the foot of Christ’s cross, when they cast lots for His vesture, and parted His garments among them. He who sees His Saviour’s blood splashed on the dice will never wish to meddle with them.
“The mere fact that there is any question about a certain course ought to be sufficient to make us avoid it. Have you never noticed that, when people come to ask you whether a thing is right or not, they usually mean to do it themselves? Frequently, a person comes to me with some scruple of conscience; but the questioner has generally made up his mind what he is going to do before he receives my answer. More than one young person has said to me, ‘Mr. Spurgeon, I want to ask your advice about a very important matter. You are my minister, and I want you to tell me whether you think I ought to marry So-and-so;’ but, whatever counsel I may give in such cases, I am quite certain they have usually determined what they are going to do, so often I give no advice at all. Possibly you remember the case of the minister who, on one occasion, was asked by a woman whether she should marry a certain man. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘the best thing you can do is to go out, and listen to the bells as you walk home.’ As she listened to their tuneful melody, they seemed to say to her,—
“‘Make haste and get married,
Make haste and get married;’—
so she did, and her husband horsewhipped her three weeks afterwards! Then she went again to her minister, and told him that he had given her very bad advice. ‘Why!’ said he, ‘I never told you to get married; I told you to listen to the bells!’ ‘So I did,’ replied the woman. ‘But,’ said the minister, ‘perhaps you did not hear their message aright; go and listen again.’ So she went out, and hearkened once more to the bells;—remember, this was after the horsewhipping;—and this is what they seemed to say then,—
“‘Never get married,
Never get married.'”
It is just the same with people who come to ask you about debatable amusements. Whatever you tell them, you may be sure that they have made up their minds beforehand. I would leave all such questions to a Christian’s own judgment; but let him always remember that, although a thing may be right to other people, it may be wrong to him; and it is wrong to him if he has any doubts about it. The apostle Paul said, ‘Whatsoever is not of faith is sin;’ that is, whatever a man cannot do, believing it to be right, is sin to him. If I have any doubt about anything, it is sin to me; though it may not be sinful in itself. Conscience must be the great judge on those points that do not involve morality or immorality; and we thank our God that He has given to each of us who know His Name that inward Monitor, the Holy Spirit, who is infinitely superior to our own conscience, and if we go on our knees, and ask Him for direction, we shall not be misled as to our amusements or anything else. Our Puritanical forefathers may have been a little too strict; but many, nowadays, have become a great deal too loose. If we became more holy by being more Puritanic and precise, both the Church of Christ and the world at large would have good reason to rejoice.”
The remainder of the lecture was devoted to a consideration of the pleasures which true godliness gives, to make up for those it takes away, and an earnest exhortation to all Christians to endeavour to be happy, and so to attract others to the religion which had brought to them so much gladness and joy.
Mr. Spurgeon appears to have regarded this address upon “A Christian’s Pleasures” as an informal talk among his own friends rather than a lecture, for when, on January 4, 1859, he took his place at Exeter Hall as one of the lecturers to the Young Men’s Christian Association, to speak upon the subject announced,— De Propaganda Fide, —he began by saying, “I do not feel in my place here to-night. This is the very first occasion in my life upon which I have ever presented myself before the public as a lecturer,—at least, before any audience worthy of being called a multitude. I have long been in the habit of preaching, and one cannot break through a habit that has been acquired by years of constant practice; and I feel positively certain that, do whatever I may, I shall have to preach a sermon to-night. I cannot lecture. I told your secretary so; and I tell you also the same, so that, when you retire from the hall, you may say, ‘Well, I am disappointed, but it is just as he said it would be.’
“With regard to the title of my lecture, it is a very strange one, and some people have said, ‘How could Mr. Spurgeon have selected a Latin title for his lecture? What does he know about Latin? He knows a little about Saxon, but he certainly does not understand Latin.’ I will just tell you the secret of it: I think there is wisdom in that title. Mr. Shipton asked me, a long time ago, what my subject would be. I said, ‘I am sure I cannot tell you.’ I very seldom know, twenty-four hours beforehand, the subject of any sermon I am going to preach. I have never been able to acquire the habit of elaborate preparation. I usually begin my sermonizing for the Sabbath-day on Saturday evening. I cannot think long upon any one subject; and I always feel that, if I do not see through it quickly, I shall not be likely to see through it at all, so I give it up, and try another. What my theme for this evening was to be, I did not know, so I thought I would have a Latin title; and then, supposing I did not keep to the subject, people would say I did not understand the Latin, and had made a mistake. I felt sure that, with the title I have chosen, I should have a wide field, because I could either translate it literally, and keep close to the exact words, or else I might use a very free translation, and select almost any topic I pleased.”
Dealing with the subject first negatively, Mr. Spurgeon showed that, by the propagation of the faith, he did not mean the nominal Christianization of nations, nor the bringing of large numbers to make a profession of love to Christ, nor the conversion of persons from one sect to another. Then, turning to the positive side of the subject, the lecturer continued:—
“What, then, is the propagation of the faith? I suggest another question. What is the faith? Here, a hundred isms rise up, and I put them all aside; they may be phases of the faith, but they are not the faith. What, then, is the faith? Strange to say, the faith of Christians is a Person. You may ask all other religions wherein their faith lieth, and they cannot answer on this wise. Our faith is a Person; the gospel that we have to preach is a Person; and go wherever we may, we have something solid and tangible to preach. If you had asked the twelve apostles, in their day, ‘What do you believe in?’ they would not have needed to go round about with a long reply, but they would have pointed to their Master, and they would have said, ‘We believe Him.’ ‘But what are your doctrines?’ ‘There they stand incarnate.’ ‘But what is your practice?’ ‘There stands our practice. He is our example.’ ‘What, then, do you believe?’ Hear ye the glorious answer of the apostle Paul, ‘We preach Christ crucified.’ Our creed, our body of divinity, our whole theology is summed up in the person of Christ Jesus. The apostle preached doctrine; but the doctrine was Christ. He preached practice; but the practice was all in Christ. There is no summary of the faith of a Christian that can compass all he believes, except that word Christ; and that is the Alpha and the Omega of our creed, that is the first and the last rule of our practice,—Christ, and Him crucified. To spread the faith, then, is to spread the knowledge of Christ crucified. It is, in fact, to bring men, through the agency of God’s Spirit, to feel their need of Christ, to seek Christ, to believe in Christ, to love Christ, and then to live for Christ.”
After mentioning some of the encouraging signs of the times, and certain dangers against which he felt it needful to warn his hearers, Mr. Spurgeon continued:—”We must confess that, just now, we have not the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that we could wish. Many are being converted; I hope that few of us are labouring unsuccessfully; but we are none of us labouring as our hearts could desire. Oh, that I could have the Spirit of God in me, till I was filled with it to the brim, that I might always feel as Baxter did when he said,—
“‘I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.'”
“I pant for that inward agony of spirit which has made men preach the gospel as though they knew they would be wrapped in their winding-sheets when they descended from the pulpit, and that they should stand at the bar of God as soon as they had finished their sermons. And I feel that, as we want an agonizing spirit in the pulpit, our hearers need it, too. Oh, if the Spirit of God should come upon those assembled to-night, and upon all the assemblies of the saints, what an effect would be produced! We seek not for extraordinary excitements, those spurious attendants of genuine revivals, but we do seek for the pouring out of the Spirit of God. There is a secret operation which we do not understand; it is like the wind, we know not whence it cometh nor whither it goeth; yet, though we understand it not, we can and do perceive its Divine effect. It is this breath of Heaven which we want. The Spirit is blowing upon our churches now with His genial breath, but it is as a soft evening gale. Oh, that there would come a rushing mighty wind, that should carry everything before it, so that even the dry bones of the Valley of Vision might be filled with life, and be made to stand up before the Lord, an exceeding great army! This is the lack of the times, the great want of our country. May this come as a blessing from the Most High!”
Towards the close of the lecture, there was the following striking passage concerning war and its influence upon heathen nations:—”There is one thing I must say,—I often hear Christian men blessing God for that which I cannot but reckon as a curse. They will say, if there is war with China, ‘The bars of iron will be cut in sunder, and the gates of brass shall be opened to the gospel.’ Whenever England goes to war, many shout, ‘It will open a way for the gospel.’ I cannot understand how the devil is to make a way for Christ; and what is war but an incarnate fiend, the impersonation of all that is hellish in fallen humanity? How, then, shall we rouse the devilry of man’s nature,—
“‘Cry, Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war,’—
and then declare it is to make straight in the desert a highway for our God,— A HIGHWAY KNEE-DEEP IN GORE? Do you believe it? You cannot. God does overrule evil for good; but I have never seen yet—though I look with the cautious eye of one who has no party to serve,—I have never seen the rare fruit which is said to grow upon this vine of Gomorrah. Let any other nation go to war, and it is all well and good for the English to send missionaries to the poor inhabitants of the ravaged countries. In such a case, our people did not make the war, they did not create the devastation, so they may go there to preach; but for English cannon to make a way in Canton for an English missionary, is a lie too glaring for me to believe for a moment. I cannot comprehend the Christianity which talks thus of murder and robbery. If other nations thus choose to fight, and if God lets them open the door for the gospel, I will bless Him; but I must still weep for the slain, and exclaim against the murderers. I blush for my country when I see it committing such terrible crimes in China, for what is the opium traffic but an enormous crime? War arises out of it, and then men say that the gospel is furthered by it: can you see how that result is produced? Then your eye must be singularly fashioned. For my part, I am in the habit of looking straight at a thing,—I endeavour to judge it by the Word of God,—and in this case it requires but little deliberation in order to arrive at a verdict. It seems to me that, if I were a Chinaman, and I saw an Englishman preaching in the street in China, I should say to him, ‘What have you got there?’ ‘I am sent to preach the gospel to you.’ ‘The gospel! what is that? Is it anything like opium? Does it intoxicate, and blast, and curse, and kill?’ ‘Oh, no!’ he would say,—but I do not know how he would continue his discourse; he would be staggered and confounded, he could say nothing. There is a very good story told of the Chinese that is quite to the point. A missionary lately went to them with some tracts containing the ten commandments; a Mandarin read them, and then sent back a very polite message to the effect that those tracts were very good indeed, he had never read any laws so good as those, but there was not so much need of them in China as among the English and the French; would the missionary have the goodness to distribute them where they were most wanted?”
Mr. Spurgeon concluded by earnestly appealing to the unconverted at once to believe in Jesus, and by exhorting Christians to put into practice what they had heard about propagating the faith. His closing words were:—”I wanted to make this lecture practical. If there is but a little practical result from it, I shall rejoice far more in that than in all this great assembly and in your many plaudits. If you will remember the world’s dire necessities,—if you will ponder the tremendous value of a soul,—if you will think about the dread, immeasurable eternity, to which men are hastening,—if you will recollect that the Name of Christ is every day blasphemed,—if you will bethink you that false gods usurp the place of the God of the whole earth,—and if, with these thoughts in your mind, you will go forth into daily life to propagate the faith as it is in Jesus Christ,—if, with prayer, with holy living, with a godly example, and with earnest walking, you shall all of you be missionaries for Christ, then I will be well content, and unto God shall be the honour and glory for ever. Amen.”
One of the most notable of Mr. Spurgeon’s early lectures was delivered at the Camberwell Institute upon “Seraphic Zeal, as exhibited in the life of George Whitefield.” Numbers 25:13, “he was zealous for his God,” was the lecturer’s motto; and he spoke, first, upon the nature of Whitefield’s zeal; secondly, upon the effects of his zeal; and then gave anecdotes and general particulars of the great evangelist’s life. He presented the manuscript notes of the lecture to his son Thomas, by whose kind permission the following extract is inserted here:—”Years on years, Whitefield continued his arduous labours, never resting. In the intervals of preaching, he was riding, or walking, and composing sermons. He wrote letters, conversed with enquirers, visited gaols and sick-beds,—attended to the Orphan House, published various works, preached during his voyages,—and at all times, even till the hour of death, was earnest and fervent. He was, as he said, tired in the work, but not tired of it; and he desired to preach once more, and then to die. He had his wish, for he preached from ‘Examine yourselves, &c.,’ and then died at six, the next morning, of asthma, at fifty-six years of age. It is wrong to say, ‘Preaching killed him,’ for fifty-six is as good an age as the average of men may expect to live to; * and if he had never preached, he might have died quite as soon.”
On December 26, 1860,—three months before the Metropolitan Tabernacle was completed,—Mr. Spurgeon delivered in the lecture-hall a lecture upon “Southwark.” It is published by Messrs. Passmore and Alabaster, and therefore need not be described in detail; but the following extracts appear worthy of a place in this volume:—
“In 1163, a certain excellent man, named Peter of Colechurch, erected a bridge of elm across the River Thames, and he, in 1176, commenced that edifice which stood for six and a-quarter centuries, and was considered to be the wonder of its time,—Old London Bridge,—a bridge which some of you have seen, though I did not; the houses were taken away long before our time. Old Peter of Colechurch seems to have dedicated his life to building that bridge; and then, with a sort of poetic inspiration on his mind, he desired that he might be buried in the church or chapel in the middle arch of the bridge,—the right place for a good man to be buried, in the very centre of his work. I have often said,—Let me die while I am labouring for Christ; and I should not desire a better place for my burial than hard by the spot where I have worked for my God, and been the means of doing good to the souls of men.”
“The tower on the Southwark side of the bridge had most singular garnishings upon the roof. The regular school-book historians will tell you that, on the tower, the heads of traitors were exposed. Now, it so happens, that men who are traitors one day become heroes by-and-by; and some men, who were execrated, and put to death for attempts which were only blamed because they were not successful, need yet to have their true histories written. Let none of us be desirous of fame while we live. If fame be worth having at all, it is the fame of an Oliver Cromwell, who comes out glorious a hundred years after his death. That thing which is called fame gets all the better for keeping; and, in due time, people respect a man all the more for the calumny through which he has passed.
“Southwark is the borough of Baptists. In Walter Wilson’s History of Dissenting Churches, I find mention of eighteen distinct communities of Baptists, and there is scarcely one of the other churches which was not ‘infested’ by these troublesome persons, as some people considered them. In 1642, there was a famous disputation in Southwark between Dr. Featley and four Baptists. The Doctor published his own version of the case, with the title of ‘The Dippers Dipt; or, the Anabaptists ducked and plunged over head and ears at a disputation at Southwark.’ There was a lane called Dipping Alley, Fair Street, Horsleydown, because there was erected there a baptistery, which was used by several congregations… John Bunyan preached in the old chapel in Zoar Street; with a day’s notice, he could get 1,200 people early in the morning, or 3,000, with proper intimation to the public. Mr. Wesley preached in a chapel in Snow’s Fields, which had been built for a Unitarian Baptist; but there was a great secession, and the cause does not seem to have ever prospered. The members of the church in Snow’s Fields excluded Wesley from their Society, and became perfectionists; he was succeeded by Thomas Charlton, who became a Baptist… Near here, tolled the curfew-bell. Here martyrs for baptism were burned. This is the stronghold of religious liberty, and the very centre of our denomination. There are ten Baptist churches within the liberties of our borough, while we now stand upon its margin.”
The week before the Tabernacle was opened, Mr. Spurgeon paid a visit to Aberdeen, in connection with the Young Men’s Christian Association. On Tuesday afternoon and evening, March 12, 1861, he preached twice in the Music Hall to crowded congregations, and the following morning he met between 150 and 160 gentlemen at a breakfast, at which the Earl of Kintore presided.
The subject of Mr. Spurgeon’s address was, “Success in Life;” and he spoke upon it, first, as it concerned secular matters, and, then, as it related to religious affairs. There were several autobiographical passages, such as the following:—”We must be careful as to the line of life we select, our pursuit must be in keeping with our constitutional tendencies. A man born to be a mechanic would never succeed as a poet; and the man with the poetical afflatus would not be successful as a financier. Each man has powers that adapt him to certain work; and he ought to look out for that occupation which will be most congenial with his own disposition. I know that, if I had been bred a collier or a ploughman, I would still have been a preacher, for I must speak. I feel something like Elihu, when he said, ‘I will speak, that I may be refreshed.’ I do not regard preaching or speaking as a task or a labour; it is more like a cure for dulness. I feel that there is something I want to get rid of, so I unburden myself by telling it to others.
“When you have chosen your pursuit in life, stick to it. Having had a great many young men under training, I have met with some who are—
“‘Everything by turns, and nothing long.'”
Some men in business are just the same; but I would rather be a cobbler, and stick to my last, than change my calling often, and so be noted for nothing in particular. If a tree is transplanted seven times, it will be a miraculous tree if it brings forth fruit. The man who is first this thing, and then that, is like a dog hunting six hares at one time, he is certain to catch none. David was a man of great influence, and we must trace all his spiritual power to the Spirit of God; but, with respect to what he accomplished, we may learn a lesson from his own words, ‘One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after.’ That concentration was the source of much of his power. Now, if your energies are allowed to run out in many channels, they will be dissipated, and we shall see no result in the stream of your life; but if you have only one channel for all your powers, it will be deep if not broad, and there may go the galley with many oars, and from it shall proudly float the banner of success.
“We have in England some cart-rut ministers. They have got into grooves, and there they remain; they think the ruts should never be filled up, and that the wheels of the waggon should always keep in them. I do believe, if the management of our roads had been left to some of these good men, in place of railways, we should not even have got the length of the four-horse coach yet. These brethren are exceedingly wise; and when they see one take an independent course, they say, ‘This is a very rash and a very hazardous thing.’ Well, I have been very rash in my time, and I mean to be so again. I find that the best method, in such cases, is to act as David did when his brother said to him, ‘I know thy pride, and the naughtiness of thine heart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle.’ David went forth to meet Goliath, taking his sling and his five smooth stones from the brook, and when the youthful shepherd came back, bearing in his hand the giant’s head dripping with gore, that was the best answer to his brother’s accusation. If you have work to do, do not stay to vindicate yourself; the work itself will be your vindication. Remember how it was with Peter and John; when they were brought before the high priest and the rulers, and their accusers saw the man who was healed standing with them, ‘they could say nothing against it;’ and I find that our brethren, when they see that God’s blessing is resting upon us, and that God is with us, are usually willing to be with us, too.
“It was my lot to go through two or three years of the most virulent abuse, and I thank God for it. I felt it very hard to bear, but I fell upon my knees before God, and told Him that, when I gave Him everything else, I gave Him my character, too. If I had known that, by faithfully serving Christ, I must ruin my reputation, I think I should not have paused for a single moment. I felt quite sure that, if my reputation should be lost here among men, it would be safe with my Lord; for, at the day of judgment, there will be a resurrection of reputations as well as of bodies. Yet it is very hard to bear up under constant slanders; only one good thing comes of it, you can find out your weak points, for your enemies will discover your faults if your friends do not. But if I have God with me, I do not care who may be against me. I remember that once, in London, a man took off his hat, bowed to me, and said, ‘The Rev. Mr. Spurgeon,—a great humbug!’ I took off my hat, too, and said, ‘I am much obliged to you, sir, for the compliment; I am glad to hear that I am a great anything.’ We parted very amicably, and I have not had the pleasure of meeting him since…
“Do not think of waiting until you can do some great thing for God; do little things, and then the Master will bid you go up higher. Eleven years ago, I was addressing Sunday-school children, and these alone. Ten,—nine years ago, I was preaching in little insignificant rooms here and there, generally going out and coming back on foot, and occasionally getting a lift in a cart. It has often happened that, when I have been going out to certain villages, the brooks would be so swollen that they could not be crossed in the usual way, so I would pull off my shoes and stockings, wade through up to my knees, then try to make myself tidy again as I best could, and go on to the little chapel to preach, and return home in the same way. Now, I am perfectly sure that, if I had not been willing to preach to those small gatherings of people in obscure country places, I should never have had the privilege of preaching to thousands of men and women in large buildings all over the land. If one wishes to be a steward in God’s house, he must first be prepared to serve as a scullion in the kitchen, and be content to wash out the pots and clean the boots. Remember our Lord’s rule, ‘Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'”
An interesting reminiscence of this visit to Aberdeen is preserved in Dr. W. G. Blaikie’s Memoir of Dr. David Brown (Hodder & Stoughton, 1898). Dr. Brown found Mr. Spurgeon in an anteroom, surrounded by a number of people who were full of high expectation of the treat they were about to enjoy. One of the Pastor’s London friends, who had accompanied him, told Dr. Brown that, if he could not have a few minutes’ quiet meditation, his address would be a failure. Accordingly, the room was cleared; but the great preacher seemed in sore distress of mind, as though he could not get along with his subject. Even in the hall, he was manifestly out of sorts, and groaning in spirit. Dr. Brown told him that he would hold up his hands in prayer. “Thank you for that,” was the prompt and cordial answer; and twice he repeated the words, “Thank you for that; thank you for that.” The address proved to be a brilliant one; and when, at the close, friends came to express their admiration and gratitude, Mr. Spurgeon, turning to Dr. Brown, remarked, “You owe it all to him.”
Mr. Spurgeon has himself recorded, and used as an illustration in inviting sinners to the Saviour, an incident of quite a different character, which occurred on one occasion when he was going to deliver a lecture at the City Hall, Glasgow:—”I went, at the hour appointed, to keep my engagement, and the Provost of Glasgow went to the hall with me; but the policeman said that he could not let us in, for we had no tickets, and his orders were to admit none without them. That was a pretty state of things. So the Lord Provost said, ‘But you must let us in.’ The policeman replied that he could not, no matter who we were. I said, ‘This is the Lord Provost;’ but the policeman said he did not know that, neither did he care who he was; he should not let us pass against rules. He had his directions from the inspector to let nobody in, and he was sure no Lord Provost would wish him to disobey orders. Then the Lord Provost said, ‘But this is Mr. Spurgeon; and he has to deliver the lecture.’ But the man answered, ‘I cannot help that. I have my orders, and he shall not come in without a ticket.’ What do you think we did? Did we take ‘No’ for an answer? Not so; we meant to get in, so we talked and parleyed and reasoned; but he, like a good policeman, did his duty, and would take no pleas from us which were contrary to his instructions. At last, he was condescending enough to let us send our cards in to the inspector, and straightway we were admitted. Now, if we had taken ‘No’ for an answer, and had gone away, I should have had to this day the repute of having gathered the people together to disappoint them. I knew I had a right to go in, and I meant to get in; and you must do the same. Even though your sin should proscribe you, and the law should denounce you, and the officer of justice should refuse you, and say, ‘You cannot come in, no sinner comes this way,’ yet insist upon it that you are a creature and a sinner, that the gospel is sent to every creature, and specially invites sinners, and therefore you mean to go in to the feast of grace, whoever may oppose. Stand to it that you will enter; and, as surely as God is true, if there be this resolve and perseverance in you, you shall enter in to the banquet of love, you shall inherit eternal life, and rejoice for evermore.”
* Algebraical Problems, Producing Simple and Quadratic Equations, with their Solutions. By Miles Bland, D.D. On the fly-leaf of Mr. Spurgeon’s copy of this work he had written, “C. H. Spurgeon, 1848.” The volume bears manifest marks of having been well used, page after page being ticked off as “done.” In one case,—”wrong?”— is written against the answer given in the book. ↩
* Mr. Spurgeon was himself “called home” at the age of fifty-seven. ↩