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Chapter2Inthelastchapterltookmyreadersbacktomychildhood,andgavethemglimpseofthedarkershadowswhichcrossedmypath.Inthemahintwasbroadlygiventhat

“Thechildisfatheroftheman.”Sosurelyas

"TrailingcloudsofglorydowecomeFromGod,whoisourhome,”

sosurelyisthematuredfruitofmanhoodtheripenedmake-upofhumanenvironmentsactingforbetterorworseontheoriginallybestowedpowerswithineachhumanspirit.Whenenvironmentsaredegrading,onlyDivinegracecanrecoverandperfect,inthetruemoralsense,anypartofthesoul’snativegenius.Whennaturealonemouldsthelife,greatgiftsofthaveanativecastofugliness.Religionalwaysaddsacharmwhichhumancultureeverlacks.TheloveofChristcanripentheveryharshnessoflife’searlieryearsintothemostgracioustenderness.Hewhosufferscansympathise.God'sowncasketmustbebrokenatCalvarybeforetheinfinitefragrancecouldfilltheworld.TheCrossistheonlyplacewherelife’salabasterboxescanbeopened.MayIasktheindulgenceofthereaderwhileIlingermusinglyforafewmomentsonthesethings,toconstructawicketgateofthoughtthroughwhichIwillendeavourtoleadhimintoapersonalworldofillustrationbeyond?Illustrations,notoutofbooks,butoutofmyownlife,andwhichhaveleftanindeliblemarkonmysoul,andhavehadmoretodowiththeshapingofmyministrythananythingexceptingthegraceofJesusChristandtheHolySpirit.Tome,then,inspiteofearlysorrows,life,humanlife,isagrandlybeautifulandsolemnthing.Tragedythereisplentyand,forthatmatter,comedytoo.Amanwhosenatureishealthywillfindreasonformorelaughsthanonewhilepassingthroughtheworld.Butlifeisneitheralllaughternoralltears.Thefollyofthefoolwasnevermoreplainlywritthanin“Poets’Corner,”abovethetombofGay.

“Lifeisajest,Allthingsshowit;Ithoughtsoonce,NowIknowit.”

Notmanyfeetawayisthebustofagrandersinger,whosewordsarenoblerfar,andtrueralso."Lifeisreal!lifeisearnest!Andthegraveisnotitsgoal;

‘Dustthouart,todustreturnest,’Wasnotspokenofthesoul.”

Tome,astoShakespeare,behindallhumanphenomenathereisaDivineprocedure.Theastronomerstudiesthestarstofindthesymbolsandsignsofdivinity.Thestarstomeattimesaretoofaraway,soIanalysethedust.Thestatuaryformofanangelalwaysstandsformebehindtheunwashedfaceofagutterchild.Infinityplaysabouteverything.Thereisnoactionorthoughtbutwhatisshapingourowndestiny,orthatofothers.Worldsofmeaningandwonderliehiddeninthemeanestlife.Thatwhichisseenisleastimportant.Actionissimplythoughtinmotion,andthebattleofthetwentiethcenturywillnotbebetween“pom-poms,”butbetweenideas.Life’smostawfulconflictsareintheInvisible,withnoaudiencesaveselfandGod.Hewhowouldhandlethepaper

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lightly,orreadsuperficiallythisstrangestoryofmine,shouldrememberthatthebestlife,exceptingOne,isamixtureofgoodnessandbadness,joyandsorrow,pleasureandpain,victoryanddefeat.ThetwoextremesofhumannatureareonlydiscoverabletothemindofGod.Whereisthemindthatcanputintospeechtheworstsideofhumanlife?Thedarkestshadesofmortalexistencelieathwartthemouthofhell;andsurelyonlytheCreatorwouldfaithfullyportrayalltheheroicgoodnessoftherace.Letthepoet'ssuppositionbetrue,andtheworldatthismomentbeturnedasbymagicintostone,whatanawfulpetrifactionofDivinityanddevilryitwouldbe.Yetwemustnotforgetthatthesublimestactsoftheuniversehavebeenplayedouthere.ThisworldwasthechosenplatformfortheGodheadtogivetheloftiestmanifestationofInfinitelove.“Jesus,"asholyRobertM’Cheynesaid,“camebythemouthofhelltoearth."Badashumannatureisitisgrandevenamiditsruins.Manyamidthecommonwalksoflifereveal,attimes,thedivinestprinciples.AllarenotIsraelwhoarecountedsuch.TheBookofLifecontainsmorenamesthantherolloftheChurch.Divinityoftwalksourcrowdedstreetsunnoticedandunknown.Thereareheroesoftheslum,thecourt,thegarret,aswellasthebattle-fieldandSenate.Thebiographersofmillionsaretheangels.Themanwhoeatsthedrybuthonestcrustinthesedays,isnotfarshortofahero.ThegoldofmanyathrivingmanwhoseheadishighintheChurchiswrungfromthebloodandbonesofthesufferingpoor.ThepinchedfacesandbleedingfingersofthepooraremoregloriousinthesightofGodthanthemedalsonmanyasoldier’sbreast.Ishallneverforgetaremarkmadebyapoorly-cladwomaninacrowdedmeetinginafamouscitywhereIwasconductingaspecialmission.Thelargemeetinghadbeenconvenedonbehalfofareligiousinstitution.TheMayorofthecitypresided,andwroughtthevastaudienceuptoagreatpitchofenthusiasmwhenheannouncedalargesumashisdonation.Forseveralminutesthedeafeningcheersresoundedthroughthebuilding.Inthemomentarylullthatfollowed,thepoorcreaturereferredto,mutteredastoherself,butloudenoughtobeheardbyafewwhosatnear:“IwishtoGodhewouldgivemeafarthingextraformakingshirts.”Yes,inthousandsofcasesitistruethattheonlytwofriendsthepoorhavearethemselvesandGod.Inthebackstreet,thesmokycourt,ortheworkhouseward,theyblossomlikeaflowerunseenbeneaththetutorshipofGod.ThereareknightsofthegutteraswellasknightsoftheGarter.God’saristocracyareoftenfoundinrags.Thereismanyakingwhoseouterrobesofroyaltyarethetatteredemblemsoftheoldclo’shop,andmanyaknavewhoserascalityishiddenbeneaththeflashofjewels.IfCarlyle’sestimateofcharacterweremoreuniversallybelievedinweshouldsoonhaveabetterworld;forhesaidthatunlessitrepresentedrealmoralandintellectualworth,“thestarofalordwasnomoretohimthanthebroadbuttonofBirminghamspelterinaclown’ssmock,eachwasanimplementofitskind,atagforhookingtogether.”NeitherBrusselscarpet,nortitledname,norwealthofestatealone,canmakeagentleman;norskilly,norscorn,unmakeone.Thereisaroyaltyofspiritaswellasaroyaltyofbirth;therearecoinsoftheheart,aswellascoinsoftherealm.ThatmanisrichwhosecharacterisGod-approved.Rich,thoughhisfeethavenocarpetbutthesnow;nohomebutthepauper’s;noattendantsbuttheangels,andnofriendbutHimonthe“otherside.”Pardonmylongdigression,dearreader,andletmeendmymusingsbyaquotationfromDeanAlford’spoem,“TheSchooloftheHeart.”

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“Haveyounotmarked

Howclosetogetherlinked,Gloryandsadnesswalk?

Thinknotthatalltheanguish-criesOfthisgreatworld

FindnotinHeavenfitgreeting.Therearethosewhostandandminister

Outsidethegoldengate,Topurifythesorrowandthejoywhichenterthere.

Andofttimes,paleweepingsoulsDazzlethemastheypass

TomeettheirLord,Inglitteringfrostrobesofthepurestspar,

Circledwithmanycrowns.Andofttimesonewhointhisworldshonelikeastar,

Comesdroopinginamist,Andfaltersatthesteepandnarrowstair;Norenters,tillwithbloodofsprinklingTheshadowoftheearthlypassaway.”

Andnowthroughthegatetothefieldsofexperiencebeyond.

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“InpassingthroughthisworldIlighteduponacertainplace,”soBunyanbeginshisimmortalallegory.Well,soithappenedtome.Inpassingthroughthisworld,whileIwasyetaboy,myfather“lighteduponacertainplace.”ThatplacewasBurnley,atowninLancashire-aplaceofmuchhistoricinterest,andaplaceofspecialinteresttoreadersoftheAldersgateMagazine,affording,asitdid,theground-planforthefamousstorywhichappearedinthesepages,“ThePurpleRobe,”bytheRev.JosephHocking.ItwasclosetoBurnley,ataspotwellknowninthedistrict,throughthepublic-housesignwhichgivesitsnametothescatteredhousesaround,namely,“TheBullandButcher,”thatintheworkshopcloseby,myfatherfoundemployment,andintheroomonthesecondfloorIcommencedtoearnmydailybread.Myagewasnineyears,mywagewastwo-and-sixpenceperweek.

Itwaswhilestandingnotfarawayfromhereonebeautifulmorningnotlongago,thatDr.Parker,incompanywithaminister,afriendofmine,entrancedbythesplendourofthesurroundingscenery,baredhishead,andwhilethecoolbreezefannedhisbrow,said:“letuspray.”Beautifullyshortandsimplewastheprayer.“Lord,wethankTheeforthisbeautifulworldandthisrefreshingwind,Amen."Openinghiseyes,hesaid,“Brother,preachtheGospel.ThereisnoGospelworthpreachingsavethatwhichhasthebloodmarkuponit."Asweetandsimpleincidentofagreatandgoodman.Tomethatspotismemorableforseveralthings.ItwaswhilewalkingdowntheoldlanewhichledtoourcottageonenightincompanywithmyfatherthatIwasimpressedwiththeideaofapersonal

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Godsovividlythatnofutureprodigalitywasabletoeraseitfrommymind.OnthenightreferredtoIhadlingered,aswasmycustom,formyfathertofinishhistoilthatImightgoincompanywithhimdownthelonelyroadtoourhome.Onthebrowofthehill,atthefootofwhichwasourcottage,therewasontherightsideoftheroad,alargeblackthorntree.Ihadbeentoldbytheboysthatthistreewashaunted,andthateverynightafterdarka“blackboggart”stoodbehindthetrunkandshookitfromtoptobottom.ThiswasthereasonIwaitedformyfather,andneverwentdownthatlanealoneifIcouldhelpit.DuringtheBurnleyConference(1896)Iaroseearlyonemorning,andsangtheDoxologyunderit-fortheoldtreeistherestill–andprayedmythankstoGodat4.30am.Myfather,takingmyhand,proceededtowardshome.Thenightwasbeautifullyclear.Theheavenswereablazewithstars.Suddenlymyfatherstopped,hiseyesswepttheskyfromendtoend.Thesoulwithinhimseemedstirred.“Myboy,”hesaid,“seethere!”pointingwithhisfingertothestar-gemmeddomeaboveus,“that’sanarchwhichnomancouldturn.”Hiseyesfell,thewalkwasresumed,andwereachedthecottagedoorinsilence.Itwasbutapassingword,awordfromaman’slipswhohadnopracticalreligion,norreverenceforholythings,butitrevealedthenobilitywhichslumberedbeneathhisapparentcallousnessofsoul,anditsorootedtheideaofGod'sPersonality,andthegrandeurofHiscreativeworksinmymindthatithasremainedwithmeevenuntilnow.Itwaswhilemyparentsresidedherethattheysentme,forthebriefperiodbeforeIcommencedtoearnmydailybread,totheNationalSundayandDaySchool.Myjacketmusthavebeenverythreadbare,forthekindladywhotaughtusontheSabbath,thevicar‘swife,noticedmymeanappearanceandgavemeasecond-handcoat.Irememberthatitwasverylong,andnearlytouchedmyboots.ThatwasaConvenience,foritcoveredalltheshabbinessbehindtheraggedvestandthethreadbaretrousers.WhenIreadthatonthenightJ.B.GoughgavehisfirstTemperanceaddress,hewassimilarlycladinorderthat,buttoneduptothechin,hemighthidetheotherwisedemoralisingfactthathehadnoshirt,IfeelthatIamclassedwithdistinguishedcompany.IshallneverforgetthecomfortofthatCoat.WiththegiftofthatcoatGodhadputmeintoanewworld.IcanrememberhoweagerlyIranthroughthelanestothehouse-doortoshowmymothertheprize.Icouldnotunderstandhowitwasthatwhilemyheartwassogladthetearsstoodinherowneyes.Icanunderstandnow.Thatcoathasmultipliedlargelysincethen.ThousandsofpoorchildreninLondonslumsandotherplaceshavereapedthefruitofthatgifttome.Ablurred,broken,ill-spelledletterliesbeforemewhileIwrite.Itisthetear-blotchedexpressionofthanksfromthemotherofapoor,helpless,crippledchild,whowascarriedtothedinnerforCrippledChildrenatSt.George’sHallonChristmasDay.Thereadingofthosebrokenwordsmademyeyesdim,andevennowwhileIwrite,thetearswillcome.Well,letthemcome,theheartwillhaveitswaysometimes.Buteverysyllableofthatnoteseemedlikethesobofagratefulheart.Itbroughtbackthetimewhentheshiverofmyownlimbswasstoppedbythegiftoflove.Oh,whatblessedcompensationsareourswhenweministertothebrokenandthebruised!NopeoplelienearermyheartthanthepeopleofthatLancashiretown,andnohumanmemoriesaremorebeautifulandsweetthanthoseassociatedwithmyexperiencesthere.Thememoriesofthe

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holiestfriendshipclusterthere.TheclearestsealsofGodwereputuponmyministrythere.FromtherecamesomeofthehappiestandmostfruitfulsuggestionsforraisingfundsforSt.George’sHall.ThekindnessofBurnley’scitizenstoapoor,half-clad,ill-fedladfortyyearsago,intheProvidenceofGod,hasbeenrestoredtothemahundred-foldinspiritualblessings.Amongthebravestofthebravehavebeensomeoftheconvertswhoweresavedduringmymissionsthere.WoundedanddyingsoldiersonSouthAfricanbattle-fieldswillhavereasontopraiseGodforeternityforthetruthbroughttothemthroughthemissionsheldthere.DuringthesittingsofthelastConference,ontheSabbathmorning,IwalkeduptheManchesterRoadtoRobert’sRowincompanywithPrincipalWatsonandtheRev.JohnAtkinson.StandingintheroadIpointedouttothemthehousewhere,oftasIpassedthedoor,hungryandtired,akind-heartedwomanusedtocallmeinandgivemetit-bitsoffood.Iinquired,butnooneknewher.Yetherdeedlives,andlikethefishandbreadinthehandsofJesus,herbreadhasmultipliedexceedingly.Thatwomanpaidmetherichestcomplimentofmylifeuptothen,andIliveduponitsnutritivequalitiesforalongtime.Shesaid,“Ihadthemostbeautifulmouthforatartshehaileverseen.”HowmanytimeshaveIcreptdownthatlong,darkroadonwinternightscoldandhungry,lookingatthebeautifulresidences,neverdreamingthatinafterdaysbehindthosetreesandmansionwalls,Ishouldfindahospitalformytiredspirit,andoneofthedearestfriendsandhelpersmyworkhaseverhad.

(Tobecontinued.)_________________________________________________________________________________ReferencesPrimitive Methodist Magazine 1901/134