Earnest Christianity

James Caughey

Huddersfield, December 2, 1844, Monday morning. Preached in Buxton-road Chapel yesterday morning and night. Had some power. The chapel is a hard place to speak in; it is large, but the difficulty is a vast compartment behind the pulpit, for the accommodation of hundreds of Sabbath-school children and teachers. All is vacancy behind the preacher, and if his head be somewhat vacant of ideas, woe be to him. But though his head be full as the rich farmer’s barns of old, it avails him little so long as that void in the rear quite divides his voice, — nothing to react and send forward, so “divided it falls” into feebleness, unless he puts on a strength that will quite exhaust him before he has half finished. Such a construction is a great error; but the preacher is the sufferer.

English Wesleyan chapels, usually, are the easiest edifices in the world to speak in. Their pulpits project out into the congregation. The orchestra and organ (for they are nearly all furnished with organs) are behind the pulpit, with a front sufficiently high to serve as a “sounding board,” not, indeed, over the head of the preacher, but close behind, upon which his voice reacts, and sounds forth with great power, and little effort comparatively. I have found it easier to make three thousand people hear in such chapels than seven or eight hundred in some of our American churches, with pulpit close to brick or stone wall. Buxton-road Chapel is a sad exception, for the reason already given. * (for some remarks on the structure of Churches, see Appendix.) A few souls were saved yesterday.

Tuesday, Dec. 3. — Prayer-meeting last night; a cold, hard time, surely; people cold, — looked as if they had been praying but little in secret, but expecting to light their torch at somebody’s else fire, — perhaps mine; but for some reason or other mine burned so low, there was little for anybody except self, and not enough at that, for I was very uncomfortable. Had the Bridegroom come, there would have been trouble in the camp, I fear. Matt. 25. — “give us of your oil, for our lamps have gone out. Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves. “ Nor did there seem to be much disposition for that, either, — with one exception, a poor backslider, whose lamp had long gone out; he got oil from above, and fire to kindle It, and shined among us like a Pharos over a sea of gloom.

There is much green wood in Huddersfield, or I am much mistaken, — not easily kindled into a flame, indisposed to catch Gospel-fire, — as much so as the drenched wood on the memorable altar on Mount Carmel. However, Huddersfield wood is on the altar of our God. But the devil, instead of Elijah, has thrown a dozen barrels of the water of luke-warmness upon it. Hush, my soul! When the fire of the Lord comes down it will burn the wood, and lick up all the water. May it be so, until all the people shall cry, as of old on Carmel, “The Lord, he is the God! The Lord, he is the God!” — I Kings 18. It is thus, my Lord, that thou dost prove the heavenly origin of revivals! Amen!

Wednesday, Dec. 4. — A gloomy time last night. No freedom. The people, too, were some where else. Satan is going to usurp upon me here. His legions are in “the hill country;” — veteran fiends, who curse the throne of God, and scorn these poor sinners, though they know it not; ay, my weak soul, that would snatch them from a gaping hell. In the eyes of devils I am one of “the weak things of this world; “ but my soul knows their scorn; but devils know, and I know, that God often uses such “weak things, ‘ and things which are not, and things which are despised, to bring to naught the things which are, that no flesh, yes, and no devils, may glory in his presence. — I Cor. 1: 27.

We shall see with the psalmist, my eyes are unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. Infernal opposition comes over these Huddersfield hills, — doubt it not my soul! If angels front heaven were my confidences I should fear for the result; for one devil withstood an angel sent on a divine mission twenty-one days, — a great angel, too, — Dan. 10: 6, — his body like the beryl, his face like the lighting, his eyes like lamps of fire, his arms and feet in color like to polished brass, and the voice of his words like the voice of a multitude: and yet one devil coped with him in a conflict of twenty-one days, and how much longer nobody can tell, had not Michael, the archangel, rushed down from heaven to his assistance, — poor Daniel praying all the time. If one devil is so strong, what shall we say of the combined force of all those legions, of whom it is said,

“They throng the air, and darken heaven”?

Great as are the angels in power and strength, l would despair if left altogether to their aid. But with him in the Bible my soul cries out, “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. “It was not an angel whom Jesus promised to the church, to indemnify her for the loss of his visible presence, and by which to convince the world of sin, righteousness and judgment; no, but the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the Spirit of truth, the third person of the Godhead. He might well tell his disciples to tarry at Jerusalem until they were endued with power from on high, promising them a baptism of the Holy Ghost not many days hence; otherwise they would have been helpless as withered leaves before “the Prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience,” and with amazing energy. For this Holy Spirit I wait, no victory over opposing powers without his aid.

Thursday, Dec. 5. — Knocked hard and loud at the door of closed hearts last night; but the trio of voices within — Ignorance, Prejudice and Unbelief — was louder and more influential than my poor voice. My heart groans within me, my Spirit is stirred. Thought best to open all the doors and windows, so to speak, of my soul, for a thorough airing, this morning nor are the breezes of grace denied, diffusing a heavenly sweetness through all within. Walked out for a while. How sweet the reflection that by prayer one reaches out the hand of the soul to God! Nor is it ever refused when offered sincerely in faith and love. Want of success is apt to be the death of joy, or to make it very languid. At such times one is more inclined to groan ever more than to “rejoice evermore” especially when Satan and his fiends, and sinful men, like Sanballat and Tobiath, and the Arabians, who said of Nehemiah and his keepers on the ruined walls of Jerusalem, when they were almost buried in rubbish, what do these feeble Jews? Will they fortify themselves? Will they sacrifice? Will they make an end in a day? Will they revive the stones out of the heaps of the rubbish which are burnt? Even that which they build, if a fox go up he shall even break down their stone wall’ — Neh. 4. But if one cannot “rejoice evermore” just now, the spirit may retain a gracious aptitude for it, like a bird on the branch, ready for the first blink of sunshine, to hoist out into a song of joy. Till then, one may watch and ‘‘pray without ceasing,” — ejaculatory prayer, Paul means, I suppose, — broken fragments of desire and prayer, projected upward continually to God, arrows of thought in soul wishes, darting heavenward as arrows from a bow, — the bow of confidence in God, — feathered with faith and hope, and love. May my quiver be fall of them, these days!

Past 1 o’clock, p. m. – Sadness is a dyer; it discolors everything, and drapes the soul in sable. How charmless and dreary all appears under its influence! How it drives the soul back upon itself, and shuts one up within oneself! “Faith without joy is like a ship without sails,” said a Swiss divine. Just so. And what strength to wrestle with the waves has a sail-less ship? — unless a steamer, with the propelling power in her own bosom, her motions and motive power from within, acting against wind, and waves, and tides, from the individuality of her own character. There is little of the steamer about me, these days; rather like the “Sail-ship,” depending too much upon outward” circumstances; a feeling that must be overcome before the changes that are desirable can come.

The air in ones lungs and the blood in one’s veins are two main’ sources of strength. Deprive the most robust of either, weak is not the word — DEATH! And what can a dead man do? Faith is a source of strength, but it should have joy for a companion, — as the blood to the air in the lungs. Paul speaks of “the joy of faith.” — Phil. 1: 25. “The joy of the Lord is your strength,” says Nehemiah. My “life-blood” runs low; joy seems like the life-blood of ones’ religion, so to speak.

Well, if I have not gladness, may my soul be full of goodness! If success be wanting, honesty of purpose need not. A decrease in usefulness may be attended by an increase of holiness. If the Lord intend this, through his grace, he shall not be disappointed. If there be no showers from above, let me have the distillings of the heavenly dew: ‘The dew may fall, though the honey-comb may not drop” as one remarked. “I will be as the dew unto Israel,” saith the Lord by Hosea. What the effect? “He shall grow as the lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon; his branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon; they that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the com, and grow as the vine; the scent there of shall be as the wine of Lebanon.” — Hosea 14. What a cluster of figures are here! All of God’s own selection, pleasant in the outward letter, spiritually sweet in the inward sense. I must preach upon that text. In the mean time be a dew unto my soul, O Lord! Dew is Nature’s ally against drought. It is a God-send; as one may say, in the absence of rain.

There is a temperature at which dew begins to form, called the dew-point; and there must be deep tranquillity in the atmosphere, besides. The soul has her dew-point, also, — that precise state when God becomes as dew unto it. I have often realized it, and shall again, through Divine mercy. This, however, is the time when faith must most predominate. It seems God’s order, — I must believe, and go forward; the old joy- surprises will not be wanting The Lord reigneth, and my heart shall rejoice.

I observed, the other night, that whitish belt which encompasses the sky, — the galaxy, or milky-way, — a puzzle to those not familiar with the revelations of the telescope, which is only the commingling glory of a vast assemblage of stars, in a higher planetary arrangement in other firmaments. I thought of another galaxy, which is like another belt of glory, but drawn across the Scriptures, shining resplendently in Hebrews 11; an assemblage of stars, brilliant characters, eminently attractive in their spheres. They were all signalized in their times for some great quality or other. Noah, for his ship architecture, sacrifices and courage; his ark and his voyage over a shoreless ocean; a mountain-top for a harbor, and monarch of the whole world at last. Abraham, for his wealth, Joseph as a dream — interpreter, and for his political honors. Moses, for his learning. Samson, for his strength. Joshua, for his courage Jephthah, for his fidelity to his vow. Gideon, for his victory, — three hundred against an army which “lay along the valley like grasshoppers for multitude, — and their camels without number, as the said by the sea-side for multitude. “David, for his military achievements, regal honors, statesman-like abilities, and for his poetical and musical celebrity. Samuel, for his integrity. Sarah, a joyful mother of a son and heir when ninety years old. Rahab, for her hospitality to the spies. Besides an untold number of lesser and nameless stars, all distinguished, doubtless, in their times, by some particular traits of character, at which the world might gaze with admiration. But mark! No credit is given to Abraham, Noah, &c. &c. Their faith is the honored gem in their character; all other accomplishments are eclipsed by its brilliance, “By faith” they did so and so. Lord Jesus, increase my faith! Surely much faith is needed at this crisis in my ministry; an overcoming faith; ay, and love, — what Mr. Wesley calls “humble, gentle, patient, Christ — like love. “ But not that diluted, “milk and water, wishy-washy” sort of an affection, — a good-for-nothing against sin, the devil and carnality, without vitality and strength, smiling upon everything feebly as a wintry moonbeam on ice and snow, which neither thaws, nor disputes nor alters the form of anything. But a love that burns or melts, moves, disputes and changes the aspect of affairs; that knows to frown as well as smile, when to oppose and when to yield; a sparkling fountain at the heart’s doer, feel from the living Fountain above, which will find a way or make it. A love burning in the soul, and beaming out on the tearful cheeks, like that ever-to-be-remembered burst of sunshine on the wild dark waters of the Atlantic; in the hour of storm and conflict. O, give me such a love, without which I am but as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal! Separate from which, faith, though mountain-moving, would profit me nothing.

An old writer says, “Faith and love are the two poles upon which all true religion turns,” — ay, and the two poles upon which every true revival turns. They are, besides, two of the mightiest weapons in battling for God and souls. By these Jesus has often enabled me to turn the tide of battle when nothing stared us in the face but disorder and defeat.

Past 4 o’clock. — Have been walking out and pondering over matters. Small congregations all the week. Cannot get the ears of the people, although a fine audience on the Sabbath; their ears are not towards me in the week services. The sabbatical year has come. It has no charms. Spiritual freedom is not desired. They prefer the servitude of sin. And so Satan has bored their ears to his door-posts, by the end of temptation, to serve him forever. — Exodus 21: 6. God being my helper, their ears shall be troubled or torn therefrom.

There were good indications at first, and sixty-one saved. After that came death. The meetings dwindled, — empty pews in abundance. Buxton Road is the place of trial. “Retreat?” — No! When Greece pledged her self to be invincible, she sent Leonidas, with his three hundred Spartans, to Thermopylae. Let me make a Thermopylae of it, though as many devils oppose as Persians against Leonidas, five millions of them. This is “speaking big,” my soul! But, if l be God-sent and God-placed, it is right to be strong in purpose and in hope. If not, woe be to me!

My stand is taken. There is nothing for it but a stand up fight for the rights of Christ The cause is good, whatever becomes of James Caughey. Christ is on our side, and angels are around us. This is my cross. Though it turn into a serpent, I must not run away from it. But more grace is needed to seize the serpent by the tail, like Moses.

It may turn into the rod of God in my hand, and shake the throne of the, infernal Pharaohs. Amen.

There may be honey at the end of the rod, as at the end oft Jonathan’s stick, — I Sam. 14: 27, — which I may eat and not die. The cross is heavy and joyless now, as if made of hard wood, yet it is a pledge of joy and of victory, as of old. I would think with that good man in prison for Jesus, but now with him in glory. I know no man has a velvet cross, but the cross is made of what God will have it.

Yet I dare not say, O that I had liberty to sell the cross! Lest — therewith also, I should sell joy, comfort, sense of love, and the kind visits of the Bridegroom. Amen. If truth falls like seed by the way-side in Huddersfield, I must wait and see. ‘Lord, help me! I am but as a feather in the wind, unless thou dost give me solidity by a weightier baptism of thy love.

This is the fact, — the Sabbath sermons created no Spiritual appetite for more; a bad sign in me or in them. The preacher was in fault, or the souls of the people are out of health. Jesus gives his blessing to those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, everybody knows, but who cares? Who believes him? Christ and the world never do agree in their reckoning, — in nothing more than in this matter of Spiritual hunger and thirst. The world little knows, and cares as little, that these restless and often painful appetites are but a means to an end. They are God’s methods of calling us to the Gospel feast. They stand in the same relation to the soul, as their namesakes to the body. Why are such blessed? Because of what they indicate. Life, for instance. A dead man neither hungers nor thirsts. Returning health. — When an Invalid’s appetite returns, physicians and friends have hope of him. Established health. — The Greek of our Saviour’s words for hunger and thirst is, in my old Greek testament, in the present participle thus, “Blessed are they which are hungering and thirsting after righteousness, for they shall be filled,” — not by fits and starts, then as some individuals, or like my last Sabbath congregations, having a voracious appetite for a sermon or two, and pray all the week after. It is a bad sign in a patient; he wants medicine more than food, and medicine he does not like, poor man! But when the appetite is good for one meal, and better for the next, and so on, then is health returning like a tide. It is not medicine he wants then, but good, wholesome food, and plenty of it.

Next comes usefulness, — a good appetite and strength for business go together. But the contrary holds good, — a disordered stomach, loss of appetite, debility and unfitness for work, are companions. All this is “easy of Spiritualization. “I really feel as if I could preach from this text. But not till the Huddersfield folks get a better appetite. No use to expatiate on the goodness of viands, when there is nobody to dine. Everything is beautiful in its season. I suppose. Besides, people are not fond of hearing they are really out of health, until they are made to feel it with sorrow and alarm. We shall see, by and by, O my soul!

Jesus says, “For they small be filled;” one reason why he pronounces the blessing upon them, they shall not hunger in vain; “they shall be filled,” with as much as they expected, and with as good as they expected. The world does not usually fill after that fashion! And with an ability to enjoy it, — there the world fails again! And with no charge upon the purse, — this would bankrupt the world to fill without charge. All Christ seems to ask at his table is, that his guests bring a good appetite “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money: come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” — Isaiah. What! “Buy without money and without price?” Yes, those are the terms of the Gospel market, as well as at Christ’s table. It is fact! And yet Huddersfield sinners will not accept, though on the point of Spiritual starvation. But it is thus Christ fills, nevertheless; and thus Satan fills not. Poor sinners pay dear for his filling. His slaves neither get as good as they expected, nor as much, nor capacity to enjoy, — “negative happiness.” or positive misery. An empty heart, a lean soul, secret discontent, warring and dissatisfied passions, prevent the enjoyment of some; a chastising or a disappointing Providence, others; while some, like one of old, have their “loins filled with a loathsome disease; “while” the backslider in heart is filled with his own ways,” as the Bible threatens. Water in the bucket is the same as water in the well; the stream resembles the fountain from whence it proceeds; fire in the grate, the same as that which fills Vesuvius; the filling which the wicked receive upon earth differs more in quantity, perhaps, than in quality, from the filling received by the damned in hell, I must sound these things aloud in the ears of these sinners; may be they will cease to feed at the devil’s tables, — costs have restrained many an epicure. Burns thought of this:

“O, would they stay to calculate
The eternal consequences;
Or your more dreaded hell to state.
Damnation of expenses!”

The cost of the devil’s filling here is pretty heavy, on health, purse and peace; on character, liberty and life. The devil service is expensive. His pay is dearly earned. His pleasures are high in market. “Thou hast done evil as thou couldst,” is the Lord’s retort upon some of the ungodly, — according to thy time, or purse, or station, or opportunity. sinners are called “dogs” in Scripture; perhaps from the fact that so many of them feed on crumbs beneath their master’s table. The great ones of the earth are not the majority in the devil’s family, but they sit around his tables, and they are well furnished; the dogs catch at the sinful numbs which fall through the fingers of those above them, or are turned off with their leavings, — too bad, seeing they are all to share the same hell! Devils grin and angels mourn. poor creatures! They try to be content, and will hardly believe that Jesus has anything better at his tables, or a richer reward for his service. I must try to create discontent and muting in Satan’s family. I shall try. The “dogs” will bark before long, as their namesakes do when they hear or see anything extraordinary. Let them! Satan will miss them from under his tables before long, I verily believe. Amen!

Jesus has no aristocracy in his family; the poorest saint of his is feel at the same table and upon the same dainties as the richest. Of the two, the poor who are rich in faith have the preference to best and highest seats, being heirs peculiar to a kingdom, as St. James hints — James 2: 5. If there be anything like an aristocracy, it is in holiness, but that degree is open to the poor as well as the rich, — more of the poor in it, in fact, than the rich! It is open for all who are ambitious to be like Jesus, — for the lowly and the light-pursed, as well as for the wealthy.

His yoke is easy, and his burden is light “how rich his entertainments are,” and how free! “They shall be filled. “ Blessed promise. How often have I realized its truth! He fills the hungry with good things, free of charge, without impoverishing himself. When Jesus was upon the earth he feel five thousand people at once. No collection to defray expenses. Instead of sending his disciples around to collect pay, he ordered them to gather up the fragments. And such were the profits, I question whether Judas himself complained. They had but five barley loaves and two small fishes to begin with, and these a lad carried probably in a couple of baskets. But when they gathered up the fragments they filled twelve baskets full! — John 6. O, there is enough for all the multitudes of shiners around these hills of Huddersfield!

My solitary soul lingers around the promise, “Blessed are they that do hunger,” &c. But is there not a reverse to this blessing? An implied curse? A terrible malediction? As much as if he had said, “Cursed are they who do not hunger and thirst after righteousness”? Are they not cursed already with a sickly soul, as a loss of appetite is with a sickly body? Are they not cursed with dismal prospects, as he whose appetite is destroyed by disease? The one forebodes the grave; the other, hell. Are they not cursed with fearful retributions? Those who do not hunger and thirst after righteousness will do so after something else. Are these Spiritual appetites of the soul ever inactive? But those who hunger and thirst after something else despise the grace of God; they do so perversely, — that is, contrary to God’s order. Then trouble comes, in the soul or body, business or family. The Lord treats them perversely, contrary to their order. Are they not cursed with a terrific doom on the death-bed? They may wish to have grace then, when, alas they may not have the grace of repentance, — which is often the case, and are quite void of saving faith and right motive; hungering and thirsting after righteousness is a sort of necessary passport for heaven. Not for the love of heaven, or any congeniality with its employments, but because it suits them better than to sink to hell, — as I desired a passport to France once, and sought it earnestly, not because I loved France or its religion, or desired to but because it suited my convenience to visit that country. poor souls! They would feel themselves as much out of their element in heaven, as I did in France. But, then, think of the terrible doom of hell! Dives thirsted in vain for a drop of water to cool his tongue O, how much better had it been for that rich man, in his lifetime, to have said, with the psalmist, “As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God! My soul thirsteth for God, even for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?” — Ps. 42: I, 2. This hell-thirst is the alternative, without parable or hyperbole. Huddersfield sinners must hear of these things. There are weapons in this armory. The Holy Spirit alone can set them on, however. My dependence must be in Him, and not in the weapons themselves. Well, I did not think of writing so much. This is enough for one day. It served to relieve my solitary heart. It is easier to write than to fight or reason with the devil and unbelief! I see the fullness there is in Christ for sinful man, — I feel for poor deluded sinners, and am resolved to attempt their rescue from the devil, and to bring them to Christ

Dec. 6th — The loadstone will not draw. An old writer says it failed in his day, because of the depth of rust on the iron! There must be much rust here, or the Gospel would draw more people to it; for I am sure Jesus the heavenly magnet is in my sermons. “And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me,” He who knows the power of free agency, and the rust of depravity, will not suspect the veracity or sincerity of my Lord. No, my soul! The Sabbath sermons left no softness for the week; there was a shower, too. But it is with mind as with the fields, I suppose, after a long drought. A shower falls, and runs off quickly, without penetrating the ground, — it is too hard to receive it, and though made a little soft, it is as hard as ever in a few hours. It is not till after a succession of showers, the earth is fit to absorb it. There is sound philosophy in these continuous meetings, whatever some may say to the contrary. But they include a great trial of one’s faith and patience! It is not easy working against the grain of depraved nature. It is easy sailing with the tide; all the easier when wind and tide are favorable. Revival efforts have not this advantage. I know it to my sorrow, and have in many a campaign. What then? The finger of God is the more evident in victory. “It is not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts,” A steamer asks no favors from wind and tide. The sail-ship is liable to be carried by winds and currents whither the captain and crew would not She is a creature of circumstances. Not so the steamer; the propelling power is within, and bids defiance to outward opposition. Be it so with my breast, O Lord! And so with all my helpers. These words of Haggai, the prophet, thrill one’s soul, — “So my Spirit remaineth among you: fear ye not. “ Amen to what my Lord doth say! I can say with the old poet:

“As for me, I’ll ride secure
At thy mercy’s sacred anchor,
And undaunted will endure
Fiercest storms of wrong and rancor;
These black clouds will over blow,
Sunshine shall have his returning,
And my grief — wring heart I know
Into mirth shall change its mourning.”

Friday noon. — Difficulties must be looked in the face. The mill of trade drowns my voice as yet. Each night some new feature of discouragement. Late attendance, vacant countenances, sad tell — tales to a preacher. The needle in the compass points in the direction of the influence that draws it, the heart is with the business it left behind, — the countenance indicates it. Duty done or not done there, is of more consequence than what should be done here. Vacant looks are poor pledges for heart attention; as if those hearts are talking with the world, while the preacher is talking to them: “away from duty while on duty,” as one observes. Ay, that is it, — minds playing with feathers, in the hearing of solid truths.

Satan takes great advantage of these things, as Shimer of David’s troubles. 2 Sam. 16: 9, 10 — Curses and jeers at my ministry. O how mysterious is this diabolical agency, and one’s impression of it. But I have an high Priest, one who can be touched with the feeling of my infirmities. What changes in his own history, “from the grandeur of heaven, to the wants and sorrows of earth”! His ear, once familiar with heaven’s acclamations or songs of adoration,

“That undisturbed song of pure consent,
Aye sing around thy sapphire-colored throne,
To Him who sat thereon!”

On earth he was saluted with the jibes, jeers and reproaches, of those he came to redeem. That name to which every knee in heaven bowed became a term of reproach. That face at which the flame of angelical love was kindled was covered with spittle from blaspheming mouths “Let all the angels of God worship him,” in one place, — “Crucify him! Crucify him! Away with him! Away with him!” in another. Here, sought to be worshipped and adored by wise men and shepherds; and yonder, a little after, sought to be butchered!

“O Lamb of God, was ever pain,
Was ever grief, like thine!”

No contrasts in human history can equal thine! A glorious throne in one part of his dominions, — a black cross, red with his own blood, in another!

“Can we thy houseless nights forget,
The cold dew on thy temples lying, —
The taunts, the spear, the bloody sweat,
The last, long agony of dying?
Thy present gifts, so large and free,
The transports of eternity?”

Personally, what are my little annoyances and humiliations? What honest man desires to be above the par of his real world? He that is nothing, and knows it, can well bear to be nothing. This only is to be thought of, — souls are at stake, Jesus is not glorified in their salvation. If Christ falls in human estimation, I desire to fall with him. Weak as I am, and small, his interests and glory are mine. If Jesus is little thought of, it distresses me more than any personal humiliation. O, but if mortified. Self-love! — did I believe it lay concealed under this guise, how I would hate myself! Lord, search me, and know my real thoughts! If there be any of this in me, cast it out forever and destroy it! But it is sweet to identify ourself with the interests of my Lord I know it to be so. How can a servant feel honoured, if his master be dishonored?

It is well, however, to look unto Jesus, as St. Paul advises. “Consider him who endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds. Ye have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin.” — Heb. 12: 3, 4. No, my Lord, no! St. Paul was called Mercurius, — the god of eloquence, — in Lystra, and oxen and garlands were brought forward to do him and Barnabas divine honor. A few days after, those same Lystraians applied a shower of hard stones to Paul’s head, instead of garlands, till, prostrate and senseless, be was dragged out of the city as dead; but, recovering in the presence of a few disciples who had gathered around his body, he set off for Derbe the next day. Onward, through honor and dishoner, until he gained the crown of martyrdom.

Mr. Wesley visited this town nearly four-score years ago. In his Journal he says:

“Monday, May 9, 1757. — I rode over the mountains to Huddersfield. A wilder people I never saw in England. The men, women and children, filled the street as we rode along, and appeared just ready to devour us. They were, however, tolerably quiet while I preached; only a few pieces of dirt were thrown, and the bell-man came in the middle of the sermon, but was stopped by a gentleman of the town. I had almost done when he began to ring the bells, so that it did us small disservice. How intolerable thing is the Gospel of Christ to them who are resolved to serve the devil!”

What a change in H. since then! No mobs now. Methodism is honorable now. Many of its families stand high in reputation, respectability and wealth. It is not persecution, but indifference, we have to contend with now. But, really, the hate; is almost as bad. Perhaps, if Satan gets wounded, he may roar again. Amen! But, O my Lord! Do not suffer my ministry to become fruitless, nor my seals to it to fail!

* * * * * *

My sorrow is, want of liberty in preaching; words light as snow-flakes, and as cold; impressive as a “snow-fall;” in yonder mill-pond, — gone, lost instantly. Hard to fix upon text, going from one to another, as a bird from spray to spray. O, for

“The Spirit of for vent days of old,
When words were things that came to pass, and thought
Flashed o’er the future, bidding men behold!”

O, for weightier metal! For lightnings of eternal truth! For louder artillery, with “words like things which fall in thunder,” to wake these dreaming thousands around me! O that my soul were “an electric rod, a lure for lightning feelings”! Rather, O for the power of the Holy Ghost, without which all this would be little better than lightning to the blind or thunder to the deaf! Without whose aid

“To raise the devil were an infant’s task
To that of raising man.”

Lightnings of eternal truth! “As lightning to the deadening sea,” unless accompanied by the Spirit of God from heaven. The poet meant it not for theology when he spoke of “as lief to coax a star from its orbit to perch upon his finger, or the winds to follow him like dogs, or wring the lightnings from the grasp of God,” as do so and so, — ay, as to coax a sinner out of his depraved orbit to follow Christ to Calvary as a penitent, or to wring his soul from the grasp of Satan without the instant and continued aid of the Holy Ghost.

He spoke the sentiment of my weary heart who finally concluded that we may stand and knock at man’s heart till our own ache, but no opening can be made till the Spirit come. It is he alone can fit a key to all the cross-wards of the will within, and, with some sweet efficacy, open it without force or violence. O, I do believe this! Like Peter in chains, my ministry must wait the coming of the angel of the covenant. Like the disciples, rowing in vain among the waves I must toil on till my Master’s voice booms over them: “Be not afraid; it is I.” That voice I have heard when his power was manifest amid the waves of the people in other sanctuaries.

The cross is still heavy and joyless. Were it lighter I might be colder. Those who carry a heavy burden are sure to be warm. Faith would soon reach the freezing point without a cross. If it be hard and heavy, what then? It is the Gospel fashion; velvet linings to the cross has not yet become the Heaven-approved fashion. People like to be in the fashion — would almost rather be out of the world than out of the fashion. An old Christian once said, “Let my Lord weave my piece of time with white and black, with weal and woe; let the rose be neighbor with the them. Sorrow and the saint are not married together, or, suppose it were so, Heaven shall make a divorce. Life is short, therefore crosses cannot be long” They are the very sentiments of my soul, regarding the fashion of the cross my Lord may lay upon my shoulder to bear after him!

The cross is ever a pledge of joy, as on ancient banners it was the pledge of victory. It has been and shall be both to me!

There is a crown as well as a cross. The crown is in perpetuity. The cross is temporary, and vanishes away with life The crown for the head; the cross for the shoulder. The head is not to be crowned till the burden shall have been forever removed from the shoulder. — unlike the coronations of earth, — for with the crown comes the burden and responsibilities of government.

Well, it still does me good to write a little. Have often found relief to my private feelings with the pen — pouring out my soul to God in prayer; next to self, on paper! Electricity comes by friction; courage and energy, by collision with difficulties — in private first, then in public. So have I found it frequently in prayer and meditation, — tongue and pen alone with God, then play the man among men and devils. Amen!
Dec. 10th — Some power on Sabbath, and some success. Small congregations. Last night almost an empty house. But the Lord took our part, and saved fifteen souls. Praise the Lord! Still the signs of the times are greatly forbidding. How are people to be awakened, if they come not within hearing of the word? We must have timber to how down or the axe is useless. We want a great revival, but then we must have the people. “Faith cometh by hearing,” says Paul.

My soul is in a waiting position. Divine guidance is much needed. Persecution, rather than indifference, is the cry of my soul — for then the Gospel has fair play. It has nothing to fear from persecution; everything from indifference. The devil knows it, although, if wounded, like another dog, he will howl. He seldom barks till his kingdom begins to be shaken. The Gospel is in its glory when Satan is in his fury. It has always been so; that is, when its preachers have been true to it, and unflinching. It is by collision with the devil, and sin, and error, and opposition, that Gospel weapons are sharpened. Flints will kindle fires, if hard struck. O for a conflagration by the strokes of persecution, hard or soft, light or heavy — from men or devils! Amen!

Afternoon. — There is a noble few in Huddersfield, who are truly alive to God; — choice families — the Mallinsons, Webbs, Butterworths, Dysons, Booths, Brookes, Shaws, and others with whom I have not yet become familiar, — the cream of Methodism. The leaders are men of God, burning for the conflict, but, like myself and the pastors, Revs Messrs. Greeves, Ryan and Brice, feel the discouraging aspect of things. What are officers without soldiers? And what are both without an enemy? The devil, like the Russian general in Napoleon’s disastrous campaign, refuses fight and retreats, who knows where? And would starve us to death midst the snows of indifference. with such officers and men as we have here, could we bring the enemy into the field, victory would not long be doubtful. But we are jaded and weary in looking for his whereabouts.

Thursday afternoon. — A cold heart and vacant look; — how chilling when general in a congregation — A death symptom to a physician — so to a preacher — would freeze or frighten eloquence out of its proprieties, poor thing, were it ‘‘on hand” these times.
Green wood will burn, if one has enough of dry wood to mix with it. Dry wood soon burns itself out unless mixed with green wood. Dead coals will soon blaze amid live ones; but the live ones grow din unless there are dead ones to kindle upon. There is much of this apparent in revival effort. And “there is the rub” here in Huddersfield. When here last May we had dry wood and wet wood live coals and dead ones, in abundance; enough to set all the latter in a blaze, with a few good blasts. That was the time for Huddersfield; the power of God was present in every meeting. But I had to leave for Sheffield. The Pentecost of my ministry occurred in Sheffield, where, in about four months, three thousand three hundred and fifty-two souls were JUSTIFIED, and eleven hundred and forty-eight souls were sanctified! What was gain for that town was loss to this. No matter; it is all Immanuel’s land, — his cause there as here. True, but it makes it harder here now. I engaged to come back here on my return to England from the continent. That gave Satan time to get ready. He sprinkled the dry wood with vain trust in an arm of flesh, and made the green wood greener still; threw cold water on the live coals, and removed the dead ones to a safe distance, and so had all in readiness after his fashion. Ah! Who can believe such things, but those who have had the trial in soul-saving effort! — a work Satan can never be indifferent to, while he owns a single soul upon earth.

However, the fire may be only smoldering. I went into a blacksmiths shop, the other day. What splashes of dark, dirty water he dashed on the fire! — enough, I thought, to put it out. But when the bellows got a going, a few blasts, and it blazed out again with increased flame and intensity of heat. The smith expected this, whether he knew the philosophy of it or not. It may be so with the Lord’s forge — the church. An excellent man remarked, some years ago, that a great deal of spiritual good comes to the Christian by the malice of his enemies; that the raging and rallying enemies of God’s people serve as scullions to scour the Lord’s vessels of honor; as shepherd’s dogs to hunt Christ’s sheep into order and to greener pastures — Ps 27: 11. A scullion is a kitchen menial — a scourer of pots and kettles and other dirty work. So he thought the wicked serve as scullion for the benefit of the church. The devil loves dirty work himself! Perhaps the Lord allows him to act the smith, to dash dirty water on the church’s fires, which makes them burn with more intensity after a few blasts of the Gospel. Satan is a poor philosopher, after all. His malice, I think, and precipitation, often get the better of his wisdom. God only is infinitely wise. all beneath him are finite, — that is, limited or bounded in their capabilities. Satan, of all the fallen, stands at the top of the finite, — an angel once, perhaps an archangel, — one of the greatest intellects in the hierarchy of heaven, — yet a finite being, therefore circumscribed; and, since his fall, partaking largely of a finite’s infirmities.

He is called, in Scripture, “That old serpent.” — Rev. 12: 9. The wisdom of the serpent is spoken of also; but it is finite and changeable and often degenerates into cunning; and cunning folks are not always wise, especially when out of temper. A revival conflict teaches one much of the character of the devil; more, perhaps, than any other department of the work of God. It is on the battlefield opposing generals study each other’s talents. He is often the best general who best understands the tactics of the enemy. Lord, help me! I am but a child. I shalt know more about this matter hereafter. O for a larger increase of that faith, and hope, and love, of which Satan is an eternal bankrupt, and with which he has no power successfully to cope! Amen!

Thursday, four o’clock, p.m. — Difficulties are to be met and overcome. The end does not appear in the beginning, but to God only. There is often a vast disproportion between a first and single effort and the magnitude of intended results. A nicety of comparison is apt to produce depression to a nicety. It is a weakness to overlook these facts, and to set that down as a useless cipher which is necessary to the main sum. For a cipher, though it be nothing by itself, yet makes ten with a unit to the left of it, and by its aid half a dozen such ciphers will make a million. Let Jesus place himself beside my ciphers, and I shall soon be a million strong. Paul was but a cipher in Rome, till Jesus stood by him. “The Lord stood with me,” he tells us, when all forsook him; and he was delivered out of the mouth of the lion. — 2 Tim. 4: 16, 17.

Courage is needed, and industry, and perseverance The pyramids and the railways had small beginnings; and so had the grotto of Porsilippo. But the pyramids were built; the railways stretch over the land like ribbons, and the grotto of Porsilippo gave a glimpse of sky through a mountain, and a highway for travelers to the Elysian Fields. It may be so with this revival effort! This view of things encourages me.

There is a way of salvation among these hills. I love to believe the Bible: “Salvation is of the Lord. “ It is written, also, “The Lord is at hand,” to help. But my soul is humbled; it seems as if I am ploughing upon a rock, or hewing adamants with straws; and if anything in my preaching has sounded to me like sharp metal, O, what shall I say? It has been like cutting flints with razors. I say little about these things in public; it would not be good policy. A cheerful front and a deeply humbled heart; — neither is it hypocrisy; for the Lord makes me bold as a lion before the people, and strong; but in private, with Himself timid and weak.

But have I not been making matters worse than they are? Rocks have been thrown down by the Lord, and broken and melted by the hammer and fire of his word. God, who has said, “I will make a worm thresh a mountain, and beat the hills to chaff” has made my straws thresh rocks, and shiver them, and my razors to cut flints; and the fragments, by divine miracle, have been converted into sparkling diamonds, — such as one day may grace the royal diadem of my Lord Jesus Christ

Behold, my soul! That goodly cluster of new converts, — the seals to thy ministry. They share, indeed, somewhat in the gloomy aspect of things; but they are happy — new creatures clad in divine armor, panting for battle and for victory. Do they read despondency in my pale face? What are their thoughts? That they are as nothing in the estimation of their Spiritual father? O, this must not be! The success already vouchsafed would cheer most ministers in ordinary times. Why should this large-heartedness in calculation produce week-heartedness in operati

* * * * * *

Yes, my Lord! I see my difficulties! Like the man in a storm, who saw nothing but sea and heaven, and cried out, “If yonder heaven does not save me, this sea will down me!” The hand that reached Peter, and the voice, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” are near me also.

* * * * * *
Ay! Jacob hid gods and the earrings under the oak which was by Shechem. — Gen. 35: 4. There are oaks of Shechem and oaks of Bashan here, and other gods than our God concealed under them. They must be over-thrown from their rootings: unmanageable oaks and hard knots. I must examine my wedges; soft ones are good for nothing here. Sermons fit for one place may be unfit for another.

The Lord has said, ‘The Amorite was strong as the oaks; yet I destroyed his fruit from above, and his roots from beneath” — Amos: 9. Yes! The work is Thine, O Lord my God but thou dost work by instruments. Am I fit? Am I acceptable? The prophet felt deeply when he cried, “howl, ye oaks of Bashan.” — Zech. 11: 2. The oaks reply to the winds among the branches, and roar to the power of the tornado that brings them to the ground. A tornado is wanting, or thunderbolts of truth. The Lord may not be wanting in sending them.

* * * * * *

Remember the emblem on the seal, O my soul! A hand with a pickaxe, digging through a rock, with this motto: “Either I will find a way or make it.”

* * * * * *

God’s word is compared to arrows, in the Bible; hard hearts call for hard-pointed arrows, — ay, and a bow with a back of steel! The Lord has promised to strengthen the arm of his messengers; an indication that the bow they are to bend is not a limber one.

* * * * * *

There is great deal said in the Scriptures about the heart; such as blindness of heart, hardness of heart, brokeness of heart; an evil heart of unbelief, a stony heart; a proud heart, a slow heart, and a heart of flesh; a double heart, a froward heart, a clean heart, a pure heart, a liberal heart, an understanding heart, a good and honest heart, without heart, etc. etc. What a Proteus-like thing is the heart! It takes so many shapes and states as to remind one of the devil himself. The heart of man travels to and fro in the Bible, as Satan over the earth. The evidences of its evil presence and evil doings meet one almost on every page of the Bible; it is mentioned, in one form and connection or another, one thousand times! The Bible, like history, is a record of the human heart, and proves that, like its father the devil, it has been wicked throughout all its generations. Every effort for a revival of religion is but an illustration of the great truth. The evil heart meets one like an infernal presence; and proves that if the devil were dead and buried, it is a devil sufficient of itself to try all the faith, and patience, and strength, of the militant host of God.

Alas, this is a gloomy theme! Some writer says, the heart is the worst part of man before his conversion, and the best afterwards. I believe that, too; and, wicked as it is, Christ greatly desires to have it, as we see in various Scriptures. No wonder, if he died for man, and desires to save him. — The heart is the helm; whatever hand grasps the helm steers the ship. It is a mint, and is to the currency of the thoughts, desires and actions, what a national mint is to the currency of the nation. If the mint be base, so will be the currency which proceeds from it. Must lay clown the pen. Ah! Who can properly estimate the difficulties which he in the way of a successful ministry?

Six o’clock, p.m. — Returned from a solitary walk. The sky is seen to greater advantage from the bottom of some lone, deep pit, than when one stands above ground. It is something so with one in the depths of humiliations, — when earth fails, and all our plans are futile, and help is expected from heaven only. But night is the time to see the stars, — ay, and the promises, too. Thinking, also, that every true Christian is an anointed one. — I John 2: 20, 27. How important to receive such an “unction,” and the “anointing” which abideth! But my heart is weak, my feeble knees need to be confirmed, and the sinking hands to be strengthened. — Isa. 35: 3.

I am entertained at the house of Joseph Webb, Esq. What a comfort to have such a sweet and pheasant home! Poor Jonah, outside the walls of Nineveh, had but a fragile gourd to shelter his head; but a worm killed it at the root, and it withered away. Then the vehement east wind had beat upon the head of the forlorn prophet, till he lost his temper, perhaps his soul, — for we hear nothing more of him after that angry fit. What; am I, O Lord my God, to have such a home as this, with such a lovely family? It is mercy, all. “He tempers the winds to the shorn lamb;” “stayeth the rough wind in the day of the east wind. “ — Isa. 27: 3. Both the human and divine proveth are fulfilled for me in this retired sweet spot,

“Where fireside comforts sit
In wildest weather!”

Past eleven o’clock. — My soul is low, heart heavy, great vacancy within; little of God; could enter into deep agony. Matters are worse and worse. The audience smaller than ever tonight, and very heartless. The chapel cheerless as a sepulchre, and badly lighted withal, and full of sullen Spiritual death. Felt as if I had no heart to preach, and did not. I prayed and dismissed the people, telling them I feared I had missed my way in coming to Huddersfield at all; that to leave at once might be the best way to redeem my error. O my soul, where art thou? What ails thee? Why art thou cast down within me? Has thy Lord, for the first time, failed thee? Whether this act be weakness, or folly, or wisdom, or of the Lord, it was entirely unpremeditated, — but from an impulse, right or wrong. God knoweth. Behold, here I am, O Lord, to repent, or to trust and wait upon thee in the cloud, Things sometimes mend at the worst; break of day is near the darkest hour; man’s extremity is often God’s opportunity. Be strong, then, my soul,

“ — as the rock of the ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore.”