Methodism in EarnestJames Caughey |
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| 10. The Denouement |
| THERE is something exquisitely touching in the simple and natural narration,
which Mr. Caughey has given below, of his mental exercises on arriving at
Liverpool. Guided by an impression, which worldly men and formal professors
would treat with positive contempt, and which even truly spiritual minds
would regard with a degree of suspicion, he had left his quiet pastorate
in Vermont, buffeted the violence of the ocean’s storms, and arrived
in the land which was divinely designated as the theatre of his future successes.
But, who would believe in his mission? Who would put faith in an impression,
which, however potent and authoritative to his own mind, could have little
weight with others, especially with strangers. Indeed, to confess the cause
of his coming would certainly render him obnoxious to the charge of enthusiasm.
Knowing all this, is it wonderful that a spirit of sadness took possession
of his heart? Can we feel surprised to read that a sense of loneliness,
a feeling of perplexity, an apprehension of evil disturbed his spirit? Nay!
All this was perfectly in accordance with human nature; while, the degree
of serenity he did retain, the patience with which he waited for God to
open an effectual door, and, above all, the tenacity with which his heart
clung to the reality of his call, and the certainty of his final success,
exhibit him in an aspect of true moral sublimity; of holy heroism; of a
man whose convictions of duty are intelligent, sincere, enduring and any
thing but the offspring of fanaticism. But we must let him relate his own
interesting story of his emotions, as he walked the streets of Liverpool
and followed the guiding hand of God. He says: -
All are strangers, and every thing is strange. I have walked from street
to street, and from place to place, unknowing and unknown. Although I
have prayed without ceasing, it is no easy matter to keep my heart from
sinking into despondency; but, as I have experienced this state of mind
so frequently before some remarkable success in my ministry, it does not
much discourage me, although it is painful. I have not, as yet, formed
a single acquaintance in Liverpool, if I except my good landlord of the
Saracen’ s Head Hotel; who, by the way, is an excellent man, and
keeps a very good house, as good as any Christian traveller could require.
I have found his family prayer very profitable to my soul. I enjoyed sweet
communion with God during the voyage, with a very deep sense of my entire
nothingness. Often did I think when walking the deck, If God did not intend
to make the weak things of the world confound the things which are mighty;
and base things, and things which are despised, and things which are not,
to bring to nought things that are; he never would have chosen and called
me, nor have sent me forth on this solemn and important tour. The English Conference is now sitting in Manchester; I am undecided whether to visit it or not. The preachers, no doubt, will be all engaged; and, as I have no particular business there, I should be as much alone as here. I must close this letter in a state of entire uncertainty respecting my providential path. My soul is sitting at God’s footstool, having no will, but referring all to him, saying, “ Lord, God, if thou hast sent me forth, direct my goings.” These statements open his heart to our inspection at a most interesting period of his movements. And this is one of Mr. C.’s peculiarities. Not only in his writings, but also in social life and in the pulpit, he is remarkable for the transparency of his character. He seems to have nothing to conceal, and is willing you should look into the secret workings of his soul. How delightful, too, is the place and position of his soul at this trying period, “Sitting at God’s footstool, having no will.” He did not have to sit thus a great while. A faint light guided him to Manchester. He describes his visit thither in the following language: - On the afternoon, after much prayer, I started for Manchester by railroad, arrived there about dark, and put up at the Star Hotel. Next day, Sabbath, I heard the Rev. Dr. Bunting. High as were my expectations, I was not disappointed. His sermon was a clear and beautiful exposition of that striking text, Hebrews ii. 10. It was just such a discourse as only a master in Israel could preach. The Doctor appeared in excellent health, and was listened to with breathless attention. In the evening, at another chapel, I heard the Rev. John M’Lean, on Romans x. 4, and was highly delighted. I was exceedingly pleased with the man, his manner, and his language. There was a gracious unction in every part of the sermon. I am sure much good was done, and could he have stayed at the prayer-meeting, which followed the sermon, and assisted the brethren by his presence and influence “to draw the net ashore,” I am persuaded a multitude would have been entangled within its ample sweep. As it was, a few came forward to be prayed for, but none appeared to have the influence of Mr. M’Lean. The people gradually left the house, and, I think, none were converted to God. I mourned about it, still I believe it did not return unto the Lord void; but the frequent failures of such powerful discourses, as it regards the immediate gathering in of awakened sinners, have made me suspicious. I formerly cast out the net in this way and retired, without taking the trouble to see whether any soul had got entangled therein; and for months together I was not aware of a single seal to my ministry. The brethren would often say, “We are on the eve of a powerful revival,” but when next Sabbath came, sinners were as far from God as ever, and were once more ready to play around and inside my harmless net. At last I came to the determination that I would stand by my net with tears and many prayers, and that I would not leave the fishing-place till I had seen what success. Then it was I began to see, more abundantly, the positive fruit of my labours. Sometimes, indeed, we have “ toiled all night,” and have “ caught nothing;” but then we had this satisfaction, The net has been drawn ashore, and we have done the best we could; the fish have escaped this time, but next Sabbath, by the help of the Holy Ghost, I will endeavour to have my net ready to let down “on the right side of the ship,” so constructed, and of such materials, that sinners will find it difficult to run through it or get disentangled from it. There is much meaning in that invitation and promise which Jesus gave to Simon, and Andrew his brother, as they were casting their net into the sea of Galilee, “ Come ye after me, and I will make you to be fishers of men.” Is there not also an important lesson in that singular illustration used by our Lord, in the thirteenth of Matthew: “The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind, which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away?” When a minister’s health will allow him, and suitable persons are willing to assist, a lively prayer meeting after the evening sermon greatly promotes the design of the Christian ministry. On Monday I heard the Rev. Robert Newton preach what is called the “Conference sermon,” text, 1 Cor. i. 23. The chapel was literally crammed. He carried us along on the majestic stream of his eloquence during an hour, and closed amidst hearty expressions of satisfaction and joy, especially from his admiring brethren in the ministry. Mr. Newton looked quite as well as when I saw him in New York, in 1839. In the evening, the candidates for ordination related their conversion and call to the work of the ministry, before a very crowded audience. Next day I sent my ordination parchments into Conference, with the recommendatory letter of my Conference, when a ticket of admittance was sent me, signed by the President, the Rev James Dixon. Here I became acquainted with several of the preachers. The Rev. William Lord, of Hull, showed me great kindness, and gave me a pressing invitation to visit that town. I was introduced to the Rev. Thomas Waugh, and the Rev. William Stewart, representatives from the Irish Conference. Mr. Waugh received me with all that full-toned ardour which is so peculiarly Irish. His heart was open to me in a moment; and learning that I intended to visit Ireland, he took his pen, and wrote me a letter of introduction to all the Wesleyan Methodist ministers in Ireland. Mr. Stewart is the most agreeable and entertaining companion I have ever met. It would be impossible for you to be in his company five minutes without thinking of Proverbs iii. 17. After the pleasure of dining with several members of Conference, among whom was Dr. Hannah, once, you will remember, the representative to the American general Conference, I stepped into a railway carriage, and arrived once more in Liverpool. It was then strongly impressed upon my mind to sail for Dublin, although I did not know a human being there. After much prayer I felt fully persuaded that this was the path of Providence. When walking towards the docks, I noticed that two steamers were to sail that evening; and as the charge for a cabin passage in one was only half as much as the other, I chose the cheapest, and for once in my life I paid dearly for my economy. We encountered a very heavy gale during the night; some of the passengers were much alarmed, but I slept most profoundly till morning. A gentleman came down into the cabin before I arose, and said, “We have a heavy gale, and it is right in our teeth. The wind says to our steamer, No, and the engine says, Yes, faintly. We are making about two miles an hour.” On going upon deck, to my surprise, we were only creeping along the coast of Wales; our progress had been very slow during the night, as we were only a few miles from Liverpool. Now I found out my mistake; instead of taking the mail steamer I had gone aboard a heavy freight-boat. During the gale I resorted to my old method of deck walking, but a few steps convinced me this must be abandoned. Well, if I could not use my feet, I held on with my hands, and gave employment to my eyes, in scanning the mountainous scenery of Wales. We had terrible tossings along the coast of the Isle of Anglesea. After gaining Holyhead we steered with a straight course for Dublin, at which place we landed about midnight. I put up at the hotel of the Northumberland Buildings. Next morning I arose in good health, but with great mournfulness of spirit. Throughout the day my mind was sorely depressed. I thought of what the Lord said to the Israelites: “Ye know the heart of a stranger, seeing ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.” The day was wet, the streets extremely dirty, and wherever I went I was surrounded with swarms of the most importunate beggars. Their pleadings for help against hunger and distress were the most doleful you could imagine. After some difficulty, I found the preacher’s house in Whitefriar’s street. On presenting Mr. Waugh’s letter of introduction, I was received with great kindness by the Rev. Robinson Scott. A few moments in his company convinced me, this man is entirely devoted to God; and an acquaintance of several weeks has confirmed and deepened the impression. After a short conversation, which greatly cheered my mind, he conducted me to Lower Abbey Street, and introduced me to the junior preacher, the Rev. George Vance. With him my heart was united in a few moments. Thus, in the same day, I formed an acquaintance with two servants of God, which every day’s intercourse endears, and for which, I believe, I shall praise God throughout eternity. A few days after, I had the pleasure of being introduced to their excellent colleague, the Rev. Henry Price. On Saturday night, after I had retired to rest, Mr. Vance called at the hotel, and requested me to preach the next day at the Henderick street chapel, to which I agreed. Next morning my soul was sorely buffeted by Satan. “Your adversary the devil,” says St. Peter, “as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” He roared against my soul. The forty-second Psalm, and the following lines, express what I then felt:- “As pants the wearied hart for cooling springs, On briny tears my famished soul hath fed, Why throb, my heart? Why sink, my saddened soul? I know this experience will not surprise you, for our blessed Lord said to his disciples, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” I had no doubt of the favour of God, nor that the blood of Christ had cleansed me from all sin, but my soul was like the grapes in the wine-press. Have you ever read those beautiful lines of Rev. Charles Wesley, descriptive of the mental conflicts of Thomas Walsh, who died in this city many years ago? “Impatient to be truly great, He asked, alas! But knew not then, The Lord allowed his bold request, Who drank in his sad days of flesh? A taste of that mysterious cup, The above is perhaps too strong for my experience at this time, but my soul was amazed and sorely tried. After taking breakfast with a few pious persons, at Mr. Vance’s lodgings in Abbey street, a young brother conducted me to Henderick street. The congregation was small. To them, for the first time in Europe, I opened my commission, from John xvii. 1: “Father! The hour is come.” The Lord touched the hearts of several, and a gracious influence rested on the whole congregation. At the conclusion of the service I quietly retired through a door under the pulpit, and regained the street, little imagining the stir, which had been excited among the dear people in the chapel. Some were saying, “Who is he?” others, “What is his name?” One little party were inquiring, “Who sent him here?” and another, were fully of opinion that “this stranger should be invited to preach again at night.” In the mean time I and my guide were hastening back again to Abbey street chapel, to receive the sacrament. Two brethren, William Fielding and Richard Craig, who have since been very valuable friends to me, were dispatched after us, and when they overtook us they presented the wish of the people. I consented on condition it should be agreeable to the preachers. They soon obtained permission, and that night I preached to a large congregation with a good degree of liberty. An influence from heaven rested upon the leaders; and, after a consultation with their ministers, it was resolved to hold “special services” during the week, “to promote a revival of the work of God.” I agreed to preach four nights, but with the secret determination to leave the following week. I left the hotel on receiving a pressing invitation from Mr. Fielding to make his house my home. Towards the latter part of the week we found ourselves surrounded with weeping penitents. The glory of the Lord filled the house, and sinners were daily converted to God. We continued these services in this chapel during four weeks. A select meeting was then appointed for the young converts, and one hundred and thirty persons came forward to testify that God, for Christ’s sake, had pardoned all their sins. All the young converts were very clear as to the distinct manner in which they had been awakened, as well as in the time and place of their conversion. This will be of no small assistance to them in their future conflicts, if they prove faithful. A Christian has great advantage over the enemy of his soul, when he can confidently refer to the precise place and exact time of his adoption into the family of God. My soul was much comforted in beholding such an affecting scene. The language of my heart was,- “Who, I ask, in amaze, It would be impossible, my dear friend, to tell you how severe were my mental trials during the four weeks I spent in this chapel. Sometimes it did appear as though the devil would have torn me to pieces. Fiery darts were cast at me as thick as hail. My soul was almost continually pressed down by a weight that was scarcely supportable; and yet the adversary could not touch either my justification or sanctification. His evident design was to drive me out of the city. He constantly insisted, “You shall not be permitted to enjoy any comfort in Dublin, so you had better be off.” The Lord, I believe, on the other hand, showed me, if I would leave before he gave me liberty, I should be no better off in any other place. I therefore determined to fight it out, and bear patiently the grievous curses of this infernal Shimei, 2 Samuel xvi; and curse me he did, by day and night, from street to street, in the pulpit and out of it; but I continued, with all my might, to win sinners to Christ. He never insinuated that he would have me in hell, nor that I was a hypocrite, nor any thing of the kind; but, that if I would injure his kingdom, he would injure me; that, if I should keep up hostilities, he would do the same; and, at least, deprive me of all comfort. Allow me, however, my dear friend, to say, that I was often compelled to acknowledge:- “Calm amidst tremendous motion, At a particular time, I opened on Ezekiel xlvii. 3-5 which gave me great encouragement. The first real check the devil received from God was when I was walking in the Phoenix Park, near the city. God then came down upon my soul in mighty power. The enemy was silenced, and I rejoiced “with joy unspeakable and full of glory.” Satan returned again with more caution and less confidence. God then put a hook in his jaws, and said, “ Thus far thou shalt go, but no farther.” There were other particular seasons of divine visitations to my soul, in which God “half revealed his face.” The consciousness of the immediate presence of God to my soul was deep and unutterable. You will remember that I related to you some gracious revealings of a spiritual nature, before I left America, in which I thought God condescended to converse with my spirit, and gave me many special directions for the guidance both of my present and future movements. It was in the same manner, though far clearer, and with greater power and unction, an invisible agent seemed to hold conversation with my soul; in which promises, directions, and encouragements, were given in quick succession. My spirit was often as still as the midnight hour, and the communings of an active agent were as perceptible as any conversation I ever had with a visible friend. More I cannot venture to say at present. Of this I am persuaded, I shall see some striking displays of the power of God in the conversion of sinners. The following came with uncommon force: “I will be with thee whithersoever thou shalt go, to deliver thee.” Also the passage, John xiv. 21-23. The state of my soul during these divine visitations was that of deep self-abasement. A solemn and an oppressive awe rested upon my whole nature; yet, strange as it may appear, my soul was weaker than a bruised reed. The more firmly I believed and rested upon the divine promises and counsels, the more I gained strength; and when such manifestations in a great measure ceased, I received in their place a larger measure of the perfect love of God. But you are ready to inquire, “Had you no doubts whether such communications came from God?” No, I cannot say I had, they came in such a way, and with such an holy unction, as to leave no room for doubts. I may also add there was nothing in them to excite my suspicion, nothing contrary to the written word of God; if so, I should have rejected them with horror; nothing that did not lead to purity and entire devotedness to God. When the Rev. Thomas Waugh, the Superintendent of this Circuit, returned from England, he was made acquainted with the amazing work of God going on. He immediately sanctioned my movements, placed the fullest confidence in me, and told me to go on in my own way. From then till now he has been ever ready to open any door of usefulness to me within his power; I thank God for such a friend. This long communication, which I know will rejoice your heart, as well as many of my other dear friends in America, I must now close. The revival is going on in another chapel with great power. Between two and three hundred sinners have been converted to God. Glory, eternal glory, be to that God, who “Moves in a mysterious way, and who, adored be his name! Can, My friends may make themselves perfectly easy respecting my temporal circumstances; I have all and abound. The Dublin people are proverbial for their hospitality to strangers; but I can say of them, as the queen of Sheba said of the wisdom of Solomon, “Behold, the half was not told me.” Yesterday was a gracious day to my soul in the Abbey street chapel. The interior is spacious and elegant, has a fine organ, and the congregation is second to none I have ever seen, either in respectability or intelligence. My morning text was Deut. viii. 2. Many acknowledged, with streaming eyes, the mercies of God, and the designs of his providence. In the afternoon fifty persons, who had been converted lately in this chapel, came forward to give public thanks to God for his pardoning love. At night, to a congregation of not less than two thousand, I cried, “How long halt ye between two opinions?” &c. 1 Kings xviii. 21. It was an awful time; seventy persons came forward as penitents, and many found mercy. In the midst of these successful labours Mr. Caughey’s mind was subjected to an unusually severe temptation from Satan. He viewed this assault as a part of the tactics of the Great Enemy of all-good to hinder the revival in Dublin. He therefore met the adversary with boldness; he endured hardness like a good soldier until he won a victory. To the editor, these spiritual traits are among the most interesting portions of his letters. They illustrate so encouragingly the sameness of ministerial experience, and furnish a fine example of fidelity and endurance. Who can behold Mr. Caughey, amidst these Satanic floods, rising as they did in furious waves, standing firmly on the “Rock of ages,” steadily keeping his great work in view, and labouring with a zeal which increased with the magnitude of the storm, without being stimulated to a corresponding boldness? But let us listen to his own descriptions of his mental state under this trial. He says of it: - God has in a great measure silenced the enemy. Satan found it of no use;
out of Dublin I would not go while God was converting souls. He pressed
me very sore, but this goaded me to greater ardour in the cause of God.
The more he harassed me with temptations, the more I was enabled to prevail
against his kingdom. His file was very rough, but by it my soul became
the brighter, and obtained a keener edge and livelier sensibilities. His
fire was very intense, trying and searching the inmost of the soul. What
one said of the old blacksmith, my poor soul could say of the adversary,
“Every morning he rises fresh to his hammer and his anvil;”
but this only nerved me for “my turn,” and made me more resolute
in attempting to overthrow his strongholds. Oh, help me to praise the
Lord! For he could say to angels, and men, and devils, when pointing to
Dublin, “Is not my word like as a fire, and like a hammer that breaketh
the rock in pieces?” Jer. xxiii. 29. “Give quiet pass Glory be to God! We have got possession of the pass. God has fought for us, and the slain of the Lord are many. The revival is going on with power, but I cannot tell you the exact number converted to God since the date of my last letter to you; but I think not less than one hundred and fifty. I am sorry to inform you that the work of entire sanctification advances very slowly. Many seem to be earnestly seeking purity of heart, but I do not remember that any person has, as yet, distinctly professed its attainment during the revival. I greatly fear there must be something grievously deficient in my method of preaching it, else God would surely raise up his witnesses for this doctrine as well as for that of justification. The one is as much a New Testament privilege as the other. Yesterday, (Sabbath,) after taking breakfast with the “Strangers’ Friend Society,” I walked over to the Henderick street chapel to preach. On my arrival, every countenance wore the hues of sorrow. One of their old leaders, Mr. William Haughton, had just departed for heaven, and their hearts were oppressed with grief. I could not well chide them, as his gain was indeed a loss to them, which, in the first shock of the news, they knew not how to sustain. All seemed to feel that his place could never be supplied. During thirty years he had been a father to that society. The excitement was increased by the presence of the members of his six classes, mingling their tears and sighs together, as children for the death of a most beloved parent. Instead of taking the subject I had intended, I chose Rev. vi. 13-17; and never, never have I seen such a weeping congregation. Their tears and sobs would have softened a heart of stone. Suddenly, like a burst of sunshine on a summer’s afternoon, when the rains have ceased, an influence, evidently from God, came down upon the people. The Lord seemed to open heaven to the view of his saints; at least, the veil became so transparent that hundreds felt, during thirty or forty minutes, as if they were surrounded with the glories of the celestial world. The church militant and the church triumphant appeared to unite in a manner it is not possible to describe; I cannot, I dare not attempt it, not even the language given me in that hour. Oh, what views of God and heaven filled my amazed soul! It was what one has elsewhere called, “A vision of glory;” such as, perhaps, none of us ever had before, nor may ever have again, till “mortality is swallowed up of life.” The service was closed, and every countenance wore a calm, heavenly expression,
as if each was saying in his or her heart, - The last Sabbath night this holy man spent upon earth was in Abbey street chapel. The crowd was great, and he stood with his eyes fixed upon me during the whole sermon. At the close of the prayer meeting he stood upon a bench, and gave the people his last exhortation, and sung that verse, which I believe was his favourite,- “When Jesus makes my heart his home, Next Sabbath night, about that time, he was in the “house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” I visited him a day or two before he died. On approaching his bed, such an influence came upon me as melted me into tears in a moment. I felt God was there, and that a warrior of our Israel had entered upon his last battle with the enemy. He reached out his hand and said, “Tell the congregation the following is my experience:- “He breaks the power of cancelled sin, One day, when sitting together in his little parlour, a few weeks before he was taken with his last sickness, he said to me, “I have often stood upon yonder bridge, and looked at the figure of Hope, on the dome of the Custom House, leaning upon her anchor, with her face turned towards the troubled sea, as if in anxious but confident expectation of the lingering ship; soon after, I have seen the weather-beaten vessel entering the harbour, badly shattered by the storm, rigging disordered, and sails riven into shreds; and it is thus, if have thought, that hope cheers the soul on the stormy ocean of life, and calmly encourages the billow-tossed Christian to hasten into the harbour of glory; When, lo! The weather-beaten servant of God, shattered by time and storms, dashes into the port, where hope had so long had her anchor cast within the vail.” He little thought he was just then sailing so near the coast of heaven, nor that he should so suddenly dart into the harbour of eternal rest. Mr. Haughton also informed me, that in the little parlour alluded to; Mr. Wesley had often taken breakfast with the Dublin preachers; and that, when a boy, in the same place, he had often swung upon the knees of that venerable saint. It will be interesting to my American friends to know that this is the famous little room where the Rev. John Summerfield was converted to God. The spot where he obtained remission of sins, and the hearth-stone upon which he stood, when giving his first exhortation, were pointed out to me by Mrs. Haughton, who was one of the praying company to whom the address was delivered. Ah! I thought, in this humble room arose that “burning’ and shining light,” who became the wonder of America, the glory of Christ, and one of the brightest ornaments of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Hundreds of thousands were enraptured by his eloquence; and many, very many, were the seals of his ministry. I had an awful time the other night in one of the chapels, on this text, Rev. xiv. 9-11, and, just as we were singing that verse,- “Ye virgin souls arise, all the lights went out except two candles on the side of the pulpit. This unexpected extinguishments of twelve brilliant gas lights was a very curious coincidence, and the effect was really awful, as the minds of sinners were predisposed to strong sensations by the text, sermon, and hymn. Many trembled, but there was no confusion. Afterwards nine or ten sinners were converted to God in the prayer meeting. A very remarkable conversion, in answer to prayer, has lately taken place, which I know will interest you. A young lady, a few weeks since, arrived in this city from England, on a visit to her friends. Shortly after she was induced to attend the services; the word reached her heart, and, after a severe and deep repentance, God spoke peace to her soul. In the simplicity of her heart she wrote an account of her conversion to her Mother, in Liverpool, and desired liberty to unite herself with the Methodist church, little suspecting the natural enmity of the un-renewed heart. Her mother, a high-spirited, unconverted woman, felt an instant indignation against her daughter; wrote to her immediately, ridiculed the revival, forbade her joining the Methodists, reproached her for her weakness of mind, and ordered her home. The young lady, alarmed at the tone of the letter, sent a note to the pulpit, stating the case in a delicate way, and requesting my prayers, and those of the congregation, for the conversion of her mother. We fell down before God; faithful and united prayer was offered, in which, I believe, every pious soul joined. A few days after, a letter arrived from Liverpool, giving an account of the mother’s conversion. On the night “the prayer of faith” was offered to God, she was awakened to see herself a sinner on the brink of hell. “During the night,” said she, “I felt as if I was in a furnace of fire.” The next morning God converted her soul. In that letter she humbly asked forgiveness of her daughter, and the same from me, although she had never seen me; but it was on account of what she had said against the revival; and concluded by giving her liberty to join the Methodists as soon as she pleased, as she intended to do the same herself. On the 17th of last month, (November, 1841,) I visited, with a few friends, the castle of Dublin. It happened to be the day of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland’s levee. It was held at the Castle. We had to make our way through two companies of sentinels; and, after much difficulty, were permitted to stand in the hall of the grand entrance, where we had a fine view of the visitors. About thirteen hundred of the aristocracy of Ireland paid their respects to his lordship. They were all arrayed in rich court dresses, distinctive of their rank and station; whether officers of state, bishops, archbishops, or inferior clergy; private gentlemen, officers of the army, members of the city university, or of other institutions of the country. The scene was very animated and imposing. The band of the Royal Hussars was stationed in the Upper Castle Yard, and “Discoursed sweet music.” A party of the 45th regiment lined the hall, and a variety of inferior officers were stationed at the different entrances. We waited, with some interest, to see the newly-elected Lord Mayor of Dublin, the celebrated Daniel O’Connell. His carriage drove up, tastefully ornamented with green and yellow. He ascended the grand stairway, followed by the new members of the Corporation, dressed in scarlet cloaks. We had a good view of O’Connell, as he stood upon one of the landings, waiting his turn to be presented. He was dressed in his civic robe; in his hand the wand of office, and on his left stood the bearer of the mace. Health, happiness, good humour, and independence, appeared as if holding a levee upon what a poet calls “the temper of his face.” He seemed well pleased with himself, and perfectly so with every body and every thing around him. After leaving the hall we got entangled in a net, which cost us much trouble before we were liberated. No sooner had we passed the castle gate than we were enclosed in the midst of thousands; many of them the lowest of human society. Nothing was heard but the cheering and shouting of the multitude, cracking of whips, prancing of horses, bawling of coachmen, and jumbling and crashing of carriages; some of them two or three deep, struggling which should first enter the gate. The scene was frightful. It was often doubtful whether we should be crushed by a coach and horses, or trampled down by the mob. To retreat, was impossible; to go forward, equally so. At last a providential way opened and we escaped. When walking home we found the line of coaches yet to enter, a mile in length. The Wesleyan Methodists, have three very respectable chapels in Dublin, and several smaller ones in the vicinity; but, as there is nothing particularly interesting in their architecture, I shall forbear description. The Methodists in this country seem more anxious to provide accommodations for the greatest possible number of hearers, than to expend their money on costly decorations, which sometimes leave the multitude un-provided for. The chapel in Whitefriar Street should not, however, pass unnoticed. It was erected by Mr. Wesley, ten or twelve years after the first Methodist society was formed, and a venerable building it is; quite in the old style, very plain, and without any communion place. The lobby overhead is furnished on either side with a suite of convenient rooms, in one of which died that eminent minister of Jesus Christ, Thomas Walsh. After a long and severe conflict with the powers of darkness, while a few of his brethren were praying for him in an adjoining room, he burst into a transport of joy, exclaiming, “He is come! He is come! My Beloved is mine, and I am his, his for ever!” and sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. Last night I assisted Mr. Waugh in holding what I think he called the ninetieth watch-night meeting held in this chapel. My sensations were peculiarly humbling, when reflecting, “I am now standing in a pulpit, once so effectually occupied by the Wesley’s, and the seraphic Fletcher.” The Lord has lately honoured this consecrated place by the conversion of many sinners. On the night of Thursday, the 6th of January 1842, I preached my last sermon in Abbey street chapel. That large house was crowded in every part. I had taken my farewell two of the other chapels, and affecting seasons at they were, but the scene at Abbey street surpassed any thing of the kind I had ever beheld. After sermon, about thirteen hundred persons remained to bid me farewell, and they intimated most significantly, that out of the house they would not go until they had shaken hands with me. I bore up under the excitement till I thus parted with two hundred of them, chiefly young converts; but their tears and cries so affected me, that I could not bear it, and excused myself from proceeding, saying, I would imitate the converted Indian chief, “Shake hands with them in my heart,” by singing, “Amen, Amen, my soul replies, When this was over, matters became worse and worse; I was hemmed in on every side. At last two or three brethren in mercy undertook to set me free, and they had a task. With much trouble they opened a small path, and through a forest of hands, I gained the street; when, lo! It was lined to my home, at Mr. M’Comas’s. The door was surrounded with people, but some friends succeeded in pulling me into the house; but, even here, there was little relief, as many were inside. The sorrowful hearts of the people at my departure, and a deep sense of my own unworthiness and utter insignificancy, crushed my spirit to the very dust. Never, in all my travels, have I met with a people equal to those of Dublin. Their affection knew no bounds: I cannot tell you all, my dear sister; but their many acts of kindness and generous friendship are too deeply engraven upon the heart of your unworthy brother ever to be obliterated. I preached one hundred and twenty-nine sermons in Dublin, and about seven hunched persons professed to have received pardoning mercy. Many of these were members of society who had never before obtained salvation. Some were backsliders. Several from other churches, but a large proportion were from the world. To give the reader a just conception of the genuineness of these numerous conversions, we insert a letter written by Richard Craig, Esq., of Dublin, in March, 1847. This letter will show how sacred and how lasting was the influence communicated from God through Mr. Caughey’s labours in that city: it also presents his labours there in a deeply interesting point of view :- “DUBLIN, MARCH 9th, 1847. “So much for his first sermon. His last in Dublin was preached in Abby Street Chapel on a week evening. I had frequently gone there to hear other great men preach occasional sermons on the Sabbath, but never before did I see that large chapel, the most spacious we had in the city, so densely crowded: such a mass of human beings in such a space I had never before seen. Although many of his hearers, from the immense pressure, must have been exceedingly uncomfortable, his sermon was heard with the deepest attention. Sorrow “that they should see his face no more,” scorned to be depicted on almost every countenance. At the conclusion, he earnestly requested all present, but especially the young converts, to be attentive to the means of grace, more especially those for Christian communion; and urged upon them the necessity of exercising liberality in the cause of God. He then spoke of the kindly bearing of the preachers towards him, and of their brotherly love; and with a delicacy of feeling which did him honour, he expressed his fears that, from the way he had been labouring amongst them, they might expect too much from their ministers. To guard against this he informed them, that if he was stationed among them, as his brethren around him were, it would be utterly impossible for him to fulfil the duties of the circuit, and at the same time carry on the meetings, evening after evening, as he had done. He then bade those near him farewell, and with great difficulty got home. I think that the number brought to God during his ministry in Dublin was about 700, nearly half of whom were from the world. During the five years prior to his visit, the average number of members in the Dublin Society was 1267; and the average annual number of emigrations, during the same period, was 39. During the five years which have elapsed since Mr. Caughey’s visit, the average number of members has been 1592, and of emigrations, 52 annually for four years, no return of emigrations having been made for the year 1846. This shows a clear average increase of 325, besides making up the deficiencies caused by emigration. Formerly the society was only able to pay three preachers; within a few years of Mr. Caughey’s visit, by much exertion, the expense of four was met; but in consequence of the blessing of the Most High on his labours, we are now able, from having such an increase of members, to support six. Thus, even in a financial point of view, his services in Dublin were invaluable, and, as it appears, produced lasting good. The amount of money subscribed to some of the most important funds of the Society has also increased considerably, as the following statement shows :- Average of five years Prior to Mr Caughey’s visit Average of five
years subsequent to Mr Caughey’s visit So that to these four funds there has been a gross average annual increase of about £63. “Here, then, we have from the Minutes of Conference, a demonstrative proof, whether reference be made to the eternal or temporal interests of the society, that the work which was wrought through Mr. Caughey’s instrumentality, was indeed of God, and not the effect of mere animal excitement or fanaticism; and the results have been such as I am able to prove are unequalled in the entire history of Methodism in Dublin. “The secret of Mr. Caughey’s success in Dublin was, that he always acknowledged the necessity of the Spirit’s influence to make his ministrations profitable to the people. Hence he spent many hours of each day on his knees, with his Bible spread open before him, asking wisdom from on high, and beseeching a blessing from God on the preaching of his word. This, while at Mr. Fielding’s, (and I believe Mr. Mc Comas’s,) was his almost constant employment between breakfast and dinner. Whenever he suffered himself to be prevailed upon to spend an evening out, he usually retired an hour before the commencement of the evening’s service, in order again to cry to God for a blessing on the people. I have, on more than one occasion, accompanied him from my own or from a friend’s house to the house of God, and during the whole of our walk he scarcely ever exchanged a word with me, - seemingly lost in contemplation of the importance of the work in which he was about to be engaged. What a contrast to the bearing of some ministers in similar circumstances. He showed that he felt it to be his one business to be made instrumental in the salvation of sinners. “At a tea-meeting in Henderick street Chapel, which took place
a few days before he left Dublin, Mr, Waugh, the Superintendent, in the
presence of the preachers and leaders, and on behalf of the Society, returned
him thanks for his labour amongst us; and promised that, as far as in
him lay, every facility should be afforded Mr. Caughey for his visits
to the different Societies in this land. Such a statement, from such an
order-loving man as Mr. Waugh, speaks trumpet-tongued as to the high opinion
he then entertained of his piety, usefulness, and obedience. I have no
reason to think that his opinion has undergone the slightest change. |
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