Modern Skepticism: A Journey Through the Land of Doubt and Back Again Part 12

For several months I went through my arduous and ceaseless labors, and my varied and exhausting trials, without apparent injury to my health.

At length, however, continual excitement, intense thought, ceaseless anxiety, the foul air of close and crowded rooms, perpetual travelling, loss of sleep, lack of domestic comforts, unhealthy food, and trials of other kinds without end, so exhausted me, that I found it difficult to rise from my chair, or to steady myself on my feet. To walk was quite a task,--a really painful one. I had a difficulty in putting one foot before the other. It was a labor to drag myself along. A walk of two or three miles quite wearied me. And when I got to my journey's end, my lungs lacked power to utter words; my brain lacked energy to supply thoughts; and lecturing and preaching became a weariness. When I sat down to write, my pen seemed reluctant to touch the paper. My mind shrank back from its task. In my ignorance of the laws of life, I charged myself with idleness, and tried to spur myself on to renewed activity. The attempt was vain. One afternoon I ventured to lie down and treat myself to an after-dinner nap. I slept three hours. I had no engagement that night, and feeling still unaccountably sleepy, I slipped off to bed about eight o'clock. I slept till nearly nine next morning. I slept an hour or two more after dinner. At night I slept about ten hours more. Next day I felt as if my strength was running over. I could do anything. My pen seemed to point to the paper of itself, as if anxious to be writing. Walking was a pleasure. I could preach or lecture without effort. Words, thoughts, and feelings were all at hand to do my bidding. What I had charged on myself as idleness, was strengthlessness, the result of sheer exhaustion.

I had suffered so much from the intolerance of my old colleagues, that I now resolved to be subject to no authority whatever but G.o.d and my own conscience. And I kept my resolution. I would neither rule nor be ruled.

The extreme of priestly tyranny, from which I had suffered so grievously, had begotten in me the extreme of religious license. I have seen since, that a man may have too much liberty, as well as too little; too little restraint as well as too much; and that a church without authority and discipline must inevitably lose itself in confusion and ruin. We are none of us fit for unlimited liberty: we all need the supervision, and counsels, and admonitions, of our Christian brethren.

After my separation from the Methodist New Connexion I became the pastor of a church in Newcastle, which had left the Connexion on account of my expulsion. The trustees had legal and rightful possession of the large and nice new chapel there, and they and the other officials of the church were both dissatisfied with the doings of Conference, and desirous to secure me as their minister. They were aware of my admiration of the Quakers, and of my leaning towards some of their peculiar views and customs. They were also acquainted with my way of preaching, for I had travelled in that Circuit some years before, and I had preached for them frequently while stationed at Gateshead. They knew my character too, and were acquainted with all my conflicts with the ruling party in the Connexion from which I had been expelled. And though they did not think exactly as I thought on every point, they saw nothing in my views but what they could freely tolerate. They were satisfied that I was conscientious; and they considered my general deportment to be highly exemplary. And they knew I was a hard-working and successful minister. One of the leading members was a printer, and had been consulted by the Annual Committee of the New Connexion in reference to my communications to them about the publication of cheap books by the Book-room. They thought my statements were extravagant; he told them they were very near the truth, if not the truth itself. This gentleman was one of the most eager now to arrange for my settlement as a minister in Newcastle. The officers and members of the church generally were disposed to consult my feelings and meet my views. They did not require me to be a hired or salaried minister. They knew the wants of my family, and they would provide for them. They would appoint a person to baptize children. They were not particular about theological niceties. They had read my writings; they were acquainted with the controversies that had taken place between me and my opponents; and they were satisfied that I was right on every point of importance; and that was enough. And they liked my simple, earnest, practical style of preaching. So everything was comfortably arranged.

We united on the principle laid down in my article on "_Toleration, Human Creeds_," &c. The Bible was our creed: the Bible was our law-book; though we were still, on the whole, methodistical, both in doctrine and discipline. Numbers of other churches were organized on the same principle, in various parts of the country; and several young preachers left the body to which I had belonged, or were expelled on account of their attachment to me, and became their ministers. And the churches prospered. Numbers of people joined them, both from the world and from other religious communities.

For nearly two years things went on very happily at Newcastle, and the church was very prosperous. I labored to the utmost extent of my powers.

I preached twice every Sunday to my own congregation, and once to another congregation at Gateshead, or in the country. I visited the churches also in every part of the land, preaching and lecturing continually.

All this time my old opponents continued their abuse. Though I relinquished no Christian doctrine, and added to the truth no dreams or speculations of my own, but employed myself continually in preaching the great practical principles of the Gospel, and in urging my hearers to love and good works, they a.s.sailed me with the bitterest hatred. And the more the churches with which I was connected prospered, the more furiously my enemies raged.

And when people left other denominations to unite with my friends, ministers and members of those denominations joined my opponents in their evil work. They preached abusive sermons and published abusive pamphlets. There was eager, angry controversy on every hand. Hard words were used on both sides. The feelings of both parties were heated to a high pitch. And as is usual in such cases, both parties, under the influence of their pa.s.sions, came to the conclusion that their opponents were neither sound in doctrine, nor good in character.

Towards the close of the second year I got into trouble at Newcastle. A religious reformer of the name of George Bird came to the town. His father was a clergyman in the Church of England, and he himself was rector of c.u.mberworth. He was recommended to me by some of my friends who lived near c.u.mberworth, and as he was wishful to spend some time in Newcastle and the neighborhood, I took him into my house, and gave him a home. He had published a book on the Reform of the Church of England, urging the abolition of a number of abuses, and recommending the restoration of what he considered true Christian discipline. His idea was, that Christians should meet for religious _wors.h.i.+p apart_ from people of the world,--that though preachers might _preach_ to mixed audiences, they should reserve their singing and praying, and all that was strictly wors.h.i.+p, for a.s.semblies of Christians alone. He recommended that the members of the church should meet first, in a place apart, or in a part of the chapel marked off for themselves, and go through their devotions all alone, and that the sermon, addressed both to believers and unbelievers, should be quite a separate service. He had pa.s.sages of Scripture, and church tradition, and considerations of fitness and propriety, by which he recommended his doctrine, and to some they proved convincing. I began myself, after thinking the matter over for awhile, to have a leaning towards his views. My friends could so far tolerate the new views, that they allowed Mr. Bird to preach in their chapels, letting some one else conduct the singing and praying parts of the service. But when they found that their own minister began to look with favor on the new plan, they became alarmed. They could tolerate peculiarities in others, but they were not disposed to appear before the world as reformers and innovators themselves. Nor would they allow their minister to go any farther in the way of reform than he had gone before they had accepted him as their pastor. They had reconciled themselves to the changes of which he had been the subject previous to his special connection with them, but they would have no new ones. He might go back a little if he pleased, but not forwards.

Both my friends and I were placed in a trying position. I was bent on compliance with whatever seemed to be the requirements of the Gospel, and my friends, who had no misgivings on the subject of public wors.h.i.+p, were resolved not to tolerate a change. I kept the usual course as long as I could do so without self-condemnation, but at length was constrained to change. One Sunday night I preached from the concluding words of the Sermon on the Mount,--"Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of Mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock: and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it." I reviewed the sayings of Christ referred to in the text. I dwelt at some length on the pa.s.sage about praying in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets. The congregation was very large, and the sermon was unusually impressive. Some said they had never heard me preach with so much power. As I drew towards a close, I referred again to the words on public prayer, and gave what appeared to me to be their meaning. I remarked, that I felt bound to comply with what I believed to be the command of the Saviour, and that I must therefore decline to conclude the service in the usual way, by a public prayer, and request the disciples of Christ to retire to their homes and secret places to pray.

The result was exceedingly painful. The confusion was dreadful. Some, who had never thought on the subject before, and who had probably listened to me that evening without comprehending properly my meaning, were horrified. The officers of the church, who had accepted me as their minister in the belief that I should never try them by anything new in my views or proceedings, were grieved beyond measure. One of them said to me at a meeting the following evening: "You have committed a crime, compared with which the sin of him who betrayed his Lord for silver, was honor and piety!" This, of course, was madness, if not blasphemy. But it helps to show the fearful difficulties that lie in the way of the man who feels himself called to be a religious reformer. And it tends to show the tempest of excitement in which, for so long a period, it was my lot to live.

The result of this last step in my reforming career was, that almost all the richer and more influential members of the church deserted me, and some even of the less influential followed their example. This however did not change my determination to do what I believed to be the will of G.o.d. Nor did it dispose me to hesitate longer before making changes when they seemed to be called for by the teachings of Christ. On the contrary, it led me to resolve, that I would hold myself more at liberty to follow the revelations of truth and duty than ever. I blamed myself for having accepted the situation of a regular minister, blamed myself for having allowed myself to be influenced so much by a regard to the judgments and feelings of others. I felt a kind of pleasure at length, when I found the leading friends who had held me so much in check, were gone. I attributed their departure to my fidelity to Christ, and to my growing conformity to His likeness; and I resolved to labor more than ever to come to the perfection of Christian manhood, "to the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." I comforted myself with the thought that Jesus had been deserted, betrayed, and persecuted, before me; and felt happy in the a.s.surance, that if I "suffered with Him, I should also be glorified with Him."

I now resolved to speak and write and act more freely than ever. I would no longer keep my thoughts to myself till I was thoroughly convinced of their truth, but submit them to the consideration of my friends as soon as they a.s.sumed the appearance of probability. I would think aloud. I would search to the bottom of all things, and make known the result without reserve. I would favor a free and fearless discussion of every subject. And I would reduce to practice everything inculcated by Christ and His Apostles, however much at variance it might be with the customs of the Church. I would rid myself of prejudice. I would take nothing on trust. Old things should now, at last, pa.s.s away, unless they were found to form part of the doctrine of Christ; and all things should become new. And what I purposed, I did, to the best of my ability. I arranged for meetings of the church, at which we sang and prayed, and endeavored to instruct and comfort one another, and provoke each other to love and good works. When this church meeting was over, I ascended the pulpit, and addressed the public congregation. We changed the manner of conducting cla.s.s-meetings, encouraging the members to read hymns, or portions of Scripture, or extracts from any instructive book, or to speak to each other for comfort or improvement. I would be no longer _the_ teacher of the church, but only _one_ of its teachers.

That I might be able to support my family without the aid of the church, and so feel myself thoroughly free and independent, I resolved to commence business as a printer. I bought a press, and type, and all the other requisites of a printing-office, and set to work. Elizabeth Pease, a good kind Quakeress of Darlington, gave me thirty pounds to help me in my undertaking, and others, nearer at hand, a.s.sisted me according to their ability. I engaged a man to work for me, and teach me how to work myself, for I was quite a stranger to the business. I soon was able both to set up type and work the press, though the pressure of other work prevented me from excelling in either of those lines. Before long I had two men at work. But my workmen were not so faithful as they should have been, and it cost me more to print my works myself, than it had done to get them printed by others. I got a foreman, but he used my office to carry on a business of his own, instead of doing what he could for mine, and I was obliged to turn him off, and pay him a considerable sum to keep him from troubling me with a law-suit. A short time after, a very unpromising-looking young man came and asked me for a place in my printing establishment. He was hardly a young man, in fact, but just a half-taught random-looking kind of boy. I asked what he could do. To my unspeakable astonishment he told me that the place he wanted was that of foreman. I smiled, and looked on the poor creature as a simpleton. But though he seemed a little disconcerted, he was not to be abashed. He told me, that if I would give him a trial, he would let me see whether he could manage the office or not. "But how can you manage the men?"

said I. Nothing however would satisfy the poor boy but a trial, and I, under some kind of influence, agreed to give him one. What the men thought when he took his place, I don't know; but they seemed to act on the principle, that as I had made him foreman, they must obey his orders; and obey him they did, and to my agreeable surprise, everything went on in a satisfactory manner. The youthful foreman, who turned out to be a sensible, modest, hard-working, honest young man, did well from the first, and improved every year, and remained with me, giving satisfaction both to me and to my men, so long as I continued in business.

I had many fearful trials to pa.s.s through after I offended the leading members of my congregation by giving up singing and prayer at public meetings, and a heavy loss entailed on me by the dishonesty of one of those leading members was not the least.

Ever since the time when I first became an author, I had acted as my own publisher and bookseller, sending out parcels to my friends, keeping accounts, and doing the whole work of a Book-room. When I engaged to be minister of the church in Newcastle, and became servant of the newly-formed churches all over the country, Mr. Blackwell, the printer referred to on page 175, advised me to put the book-selling business into the hands of Mr. Townsend, another leading official of the church.

"You have work enough," said he, "and too much, in preaching, lecturing, writing, and travelling, and Mr. Townsend can do the book-selling better than you. He is a business man; he understands book-keeping; and he will conduct the business in an orderly and efficient manner." It had always been a principle with me never to go into debt, and I said to Mr.

Blackwell, who was then my printer, "If you will give me a guarantee that no debt shall be incurred,--that you will never print anything till Mr. Townsend has paid you for all work previously printed, I will agree to your proposal." He gave me his word that he would do exactly as I requested. Mr. Townsend was accordingly made wholesale agent for my new periodical, and for all my other publications, and all my stock of books was placed in his hands. For fifteen or eighteen months I gave myself no concern about matters of business, trusting to Mr. Blackwell to keep things right, according to his pledge.

Mr. Townsend had another business besides my book concern, the china and earthenware business, and about eighteen months after my business was placed in his hands, he went into Scotland to dispose of a quant.i.ty of his surplus stock. He had only been gone a few days before word came that he was dead. It then came out that Mr. Blackwell had allowed him to run up a debt of nearly seven hundred pounds for printing. It also came out that Mr. Townsend was insolvent. He had been in difficulties for years, and he had used the money he had received for my books to prevent his creditors from making him a bankrupt. His journey to Scotland was his last s.h.i.+ft, and failing in that, he had taken opiates, it was said, to such an extent, as to cause death. The dreadful revelations that were laid before me shocked and troubled me beyond measure, and I knew not what to do. Mr. Blackwell, through whose neglect or unfaithfulness the debt had been incurred, exhorted me not to be alarmed, a.s.suring me that he should never trouble me for the money. So I set to work to gather up the fragments of my property, and re-organize the business. I got in what money I could from the agents, and gave it, along with all I could earn, to Mr. Blackwell, to reduce the debt, though it was not in reality a debt of mine. I gave him also a sum belonging to my wife, which she had just received as a legacy. I gave him all that came into my hands, except a trifle that I spent in procuring food for my family; and in eight months I had reduced the debt to two hundred and thirty pounds.

It was while I was exerting myself to pay off this debt that I offended the leaders of my congregation by giving up public wors.h.i.+p. The person who said that in doing so, "I had been guilty of a crime, compared with which that of Judas in selling his Master, was honor and piety," was this same Mr. Blackwell. When I began to print for myself, he demanded the instant payment of the remaining two hundred and thirty pounds, and followed the demand by legal proceedings. A friend, Mr. John Hindhaugh, who had heard how I was situated, and who had also heard that Mr.

Blackwell had said that he would soon put a stop to my printing, went and paid the amount demanded, and brought me the receipt, and said, that if ever I found myself able, I might repay him the amount, but that I must by no means put myself to any inconvenience. In course of time I repaid my friend, and was once more out of debt.

It was just while tried by this sad affair, that I formed the resolution to throw off all restraints of prevailing creeds and customs, and enter on a career of wholesale and untrammelled investigation and discussion.

I was not in the fittest state of mind to do justice to the forms of Christianity in favor with the churches. On the contrary, the influences to which I had been long subjected, and the peculiar state of excitement in which I was still living, could hardly fail to carry me into extremes. No matter, I set to work. I printed thousands upon thousands of hand-bills, announcing a three months' convention and free discussion in my chapel, and had them posted and distributed all round the country.

Free admission and freedom of speech were promised to all comers. Among the subjects announced for discussion were, the Trinity, the G.o.dhead of Christ, the Atonement, Natural Depravity, Hereditary Guilt, Eternal Torments, Everlasting Destruction, Justification by Faith alone, the Nature of Saving Faith, What is a Christian? Trust in the Merits of Christ, Instantaneous Regeneration, Christian Perfection, the direct Witness of the Spirit, the Sabbath Question, Non-resistance, Peace, War, and Human Governments, Law-Suits, the Credit System, Toleration and Human Creeds, the Church, the Hired Ministry, Public Prayer, Public Wors.h.i.+p generally, Preaching, Sunday Schools, Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Conscience, Cla.s.s-Meetings, and the Duty of the Church to its Poor Members.

The chapel was kept open every day, and every day, when not called out of town, I delivered one or two lectures on one of those subjects, stating my own views on the point, and my reasons for holding them, and then calling on any one that might differ from me, to state his views in reply. The chapel was generally crowded, and the discussions were often very animated. Persons of various denominations took part in them, and people came from almost every part of the country to witness the proceedings. My princ.i.p.al opponent, for a portion of the time, was George Bird, the rector of c.u.mberworth, who had inoculated me with his views on public wors.h.i.+p. He was very orthodox on many points, while I, on some points, was leaning towards Lat.i.tudinarianism. We had, at times, very exciting contests. Mr. Bird was exceedingly anxious to gain a victory, both for himself and for his views. And he was not particular as to the means he employed to accomplish his object. He was very unfair. He could not, or he would not, refrain from personal abuse, nor from misrepresentations of my views and statements. I was severe enough in my criticisms, but I never was knowingly, and I do not think I was often even unintentionally, unjust to an opponent. I never charged people with saying what they did not say, and I never forced a meaning on their words which they were not intended to express. And if at any time an opponent charged me with misquoting his words, or with misrepresenting his meaning, I always accepted his corrections or explanations. Nor did I indulge in personal abuse. Nor did I lose my temper. I did my utmost to be just to all, and when I could not exhibit much esteem or love for an opponent, I tried to be respectful.

The records of those long-continued and strange debates are, I am sorry to say, lost. But while they were proceeding I drifted further away, on some points, from the views maintained by orthodox communities. I am not aware however that I went much further than Wesley went during the latter years of his life. I found, not only in Scripture, but in the sermons of Wesley, and in the writings of Baxter, who was a favorite with Wesley, what seemed to me fully to justify all that I had taught on the great doctrines of Christianity up to this period.

I gave up the _Christian Investigator_ at the end of two years, and as two of my friends were anxious to publish a periodical, I refrained for a time from commencing another, to give them a better chance of success.

I also helped them by writing for them, at their request, a number of articles for the earlier numbers of their work. Their attempt however proved a failure. The work contained a heap of Antinomian and Millenarian nonsense, and my readers had no taste for such stuff; and the work was given up, and the Editors shortly after left me and my friends, and joined the Plymouth Brethren, repaying me for my kindness by treachery and abuse. One of them published a tract when he took himself away, exhorting my friends to be on their guard lest they should be led by me into anti-christian error. Their conduct towards me altogether, as I thought, was unjust and dishonorable, and though they are now both dead, I can think of no good excuse for the way in which they acted. But G.o.d is judge.

I now laid aside the name of _Methodist_ and adopted that of _Christian_, and I commenced a new periodical, bearing the same t.i.tle. I made it, as I had made my other periodicals, the organ of my own mind, the vehicle of my own thoughts on every subject of importance that engaged my attention. My writing was simply free and friendly talk with my readers on matters in which we were all greatly interested. And the work contains the history of the changes which took place in my views during the period of its publication.

While publis.h.i.+ng _The Christian_, I published a mult.i.tude of pamphlets.

In answer to a pamphlet by the Rev. W. Cooke, in which I was roughly and unjustly handled, I published seven letters ent.i.tled _Truth and Reform against the World_, signing myself _A Christian_. In these letters I spoke with the greatest freedom both of myself and of my opponents, as well as on a great variety of other subjects. I exposed a number of what seemed extravagant or unguarded statements made by my a.s.sailant with regard to the Scriptures. I also published a work on _The Hired Ministry_. My tracts on _Saving Faith_ and _The Atonement_ came out about the same time. My aim in these latter publications was to free the subject of Saving Faith and the doctrine of the Atonement from needless mystery, by separating from the teachings of Christ and the Apostles on those points, the bewildering and mischievous additions of ignorant theologians. I did not deny the doctrine of salvation by faith in Christ, but only showed that the faith in Christ spoken of in the New Testament was simply a belief in Him as the Messiah, leading us to receive and obey His teachings, and to trust in Him for salvation. Nor did I deny the doctrine of redemption or atonement; but simply endeavored to put what the New Testament said on these subjects in its true light. In most of those works, if not in all of them, there are evidences of undue excitement, and in many of them there are pa.s.sages which, in one's calmer and more candid mood, one is obliged to condemn.

I extended my investigations to all religious subjects, endeavoring to bring my views and proceedings on every point into perfect harmony with the teachings of Christ and His Apostles. I also did my best, in connection with my friends, to carry into practice in our church at Newcastle what we regarded as the New Testament principles of discipline and church government. The following were among our regulations:--We would have no fixed payments. All must be given freely. There must be no charge for admission to the church feasts. We would support our poor members. We would deal with offenders according to the instructions of Christ: first, tell them of their faults between them and us alone, &c., &c.

We encountered many difficulties in our attempts to carry out some of our principles. Some, that were able to contribute, were too selfish to do so, and left the expenses of the church to be met by the generous few. They would eat like gluttons at the church feasts, but give nothing towards paying for the provisions. Some seemed to enter the church to get supported in idleness out of its funds. This seemed to be the case especially with a blind beggar. He spared no pains in making known his connection with the church, and its generosity in supporting him, to the public. This brought in a number of others who were wishful to be supported. But many of these people, after joining the church, refused to work. It was plain that we must either give up the attempt to carry out our generous principles, or else adopt some method of testing people before admitting them as members, and some wise system of discipline and government with regard to those already admitted. But we had said so much about unlimited liberty, that we could do neither the one nor the other without breaking up the church and building it up anew; and it seemed too late to do that. So we dragged along as well as we could.

Some lost patience, and went to other churches. Some came to the conclusion that Christianity as laid down in the New Testament was impracticable, and so became skeptical. Some kept aloof from all the churches, but still retained their faith in Christianity, and their attachment to the principles to which we had given prominence.

At one period I lectured frequently on Peace. The Quakers aided me in obtaining rooms for my lectures, and supplied me with money to pay my travelling expenses; and the Backhouses and Peases of Darlington, and the Richardsons and others of Newcastle, contributed to the support of my family. I met with some of the best and most agreeable people I ever knew, among the Quakers. Many of them were remarkably liberal and enlightened in their views, not only on religion, but on many other subjects. I was astonished at the extent of their reading, and at the amount of knowledge they possessed. And they had a wonderful amount of charity towards other religious denominations. They believed the churches were doing much good, and rejoiced in their usefulness, though they could not always join them in their labors. I also found that in their dealings with each other, they were exceedingly conscientious. One Friend had recommended another, a lady, to invest her money in some mining speculation, which he believed was likely to prove profitable.

She did so, and lost her money, or received no interest from it. The Friend who had counselled the investment, took the shares, and returned the lady her money. This, I believe, was not a thing by itself, but a sample of Quaker dealings with each other. I learned some useful lessons from the Quakers, and I received from them many favors. I retain many pleasant recollections of my intercourse with them, and expect to think of them with pleasure to my dying day.

After I ceased to receive a salary for preaching, I and my family were often in straits, and at times we seemed on the very verge of starvation. My printing business did not pay its own expenses at first, and for several years after it began to yield a profit, the profit was required for new presses, new type, or had to lie dead in the shape of increased stock of publications. And I had no income from property. Yet in every case when we seemed to be reduced to extremities, supplies came from some quarter or other. Sometimes I knew the hand by which a.s.sistance was sent, but at other times my benefactors remained unknown.

There was one good Christian, John Donaldson, who was always ready with his help. He not only aided me by many gifts, but busied himself to induce his friends to send mo aid. He gave the first subscription towards a steam press; and when the press was bought, he sent a sum to purchase the first load of coals to get up the steam, to put the press in motion.

On one occasion, while I was lecturing in the South, nearly two hundred miles away from home, I failed to receive the supplies I expected from the agents for my publications, and my family seemed likely to be out of provisions before I could send them help. My wife and children had begun to feel uneasy and afraid. That day a man came up to the door with a cart-load of provisions. "Does Mr. Barker live here?" said the man to my eldest son, who had answered the knock at the door. "Yes," answered my son. "I have brought you some things," said the man, "some flour, and potatoes, and things." "They are not for us," said the poor little fellow, "my father is away." "But this is Mr. Barker's, is it not?" said the man. "Yes," said my son, "Then it is all right," said the man, "I was told to leave them here," and he began to unload. Both children and mother were afraid there was some mistake, but the man went on unloading, and stocked the house with food for weeks to come.

A day or two before, my wife and children had been talking to each other, and expressing their apprehensions, as I had not been able to send them any money, that they would soon be without anything to eat.

One of the children said, 'Let us pray, mother: perhaps G.o.d will send us something.' They all knelt down, and both mother and children prayed: and when they saw the abundant supplies with which the cart had stocked the house, they believed that G.o.d had sent them in answer to their prayers.

I refused to buy paper, or type, or anything, on credit, and I was often at a loss, when my stock of paper was almost out, to know where the money was to come from to get a fresh supply. And I had not so much faith as G. Muller of Bristol; at any rate, my faith did not give me the same pleasant a.s.surances that I should receive what I desired, that Muller's faith gave him. I am inclined however to think that I had not so much trust in Providence, as I ought to have had. I certainly had not so much as I have now. But then, I am better off now than I was then.

But I was lacking, to some extent, in Christian trust in G.o.d, as well as in resignation to His will, and hence my uneasiness. Many a time when I laid myself down on my bed at night, instead of going to sleep, I spent long hours in thought about my business, looking in every direction for a prospect of supplies to enable me to pay the wages of my men, and purchase paper. The first thing was to think of all the men that owed me money,--to consider which of all the number would be likely to send me remittances in time, and to reckon up the sums, to see if they would enable me to meet the demands upon me. The next thing was to do the same thing over again; and the next, to do it over again a third time. All this was accompanied with long and deep-drawn sighs, which were listened to by a fond and wakeful bedfellow, who silently sympathized with me in all my trials, and who was as restless and anxious as myself. Sometimes I moaned, and sometimes I prayed; and when I was wearied out with my fruitless labors, I fell asleep. It would have been better, if I could have done it, to have "given to the winds my fears," and lost myself in peaceful and refres.h.i.+ng slumbers; for generally, on the following morning, the needful supplies arrived. They seldom came from the parties from whom I expected them, but they came notwithstanding.

One day, towards the close of the year, my stock of paper was very low, and I had nothing with which to purchase a fresh supply. Next morning a letter came, enclosing thirty-five pounds, a Christmas gift from friends in Ireland.

On one occasion, when I was unwell, a gentleman whom I had never seen, and whom I have not seen yet in fact, sent me forty pounds, to enable me to spend a month at some hydropathic establishment. He had read a number of my publications, and had been pleased with them, and having learned in some way that I was not well, had sent this proof of his kind regard.

There was one man in Newcastle, a wealthy man, who said to me, "Come to me whenever you are in difficulty, and you shall have whatever you need." I was often in difficulties, but hesitated to ask his help. One day, however, after having waited for supplies from other quarters as long as I durst, I went to him, and stated my case. He kept me waiting an hour or more, and then said, "No." I turned away ashamed and sad. A friend whom I encountered on my way home, said, "What is the matter with you? Are you ill? You look bad." I was obliged to tell him my story. "Is that all?" said he. "We can soon put that right." And he gave me, unasked, as much as I needed.

While we were struggling with our other difficulties, my wife was taken ill. The house in which we lived was badly drained, or rather, the drains being out of order, the offensive materials from other houses lodged under the floor of our cellar kitchen, and sent forth, through the floor, deadly effluvia. In this cellar kitchen we were obliged to live. I was so much from home, and when at home was so much in the open air, travelling to my appointments, and even when in the house, I spent so much of my time in an upper room writing, that I took no harm. It was otherwise with my poor wife. She had to be in this room almost all day long, and often till late at night. The result was a deadly attack of fever. She had felt unwell for some days, but had still gone on with her work, and sought no medical advice or help. At length, as she was going to bed one night, she fainted on the stairs. The stairs were very steep, and the point at which she lost her consciousness was a most dangerous one, and it seemed a miracle that she had not fallen back to the bottom and been killed. But somehow she fell only a step or two. My eldest son heard there was something the matter, and ran to see what it was. There he found his poor, darling mother apparently dead, in the middle of the steep and winding staircase. How he did it, I do not know, nor does he, but though he was only a child of about thirteen years of age, he took his mother, and by some mysterious means, carried her up the remainder of the stairs, placed her on her bed, and then stood sorrowing and trembling till she came to herself. She was ill thirteen weeks. For two or three weeks she seemed on the point of death. On my return, late one night, from one of my engagements, ten miles away in the country, I found her strangely changed for the worse. She looked at me with a look I can never forget. She thought she was dying. I thought so too. Her eye said, Death; her whole expression said, Death. I burst into tears, and gave what I thought was my last fond embrace. She had power to utter just one sentence: it was an expression of tenderness and kindness, more kind and tender than I deserved; and then fell back on her pillow, as if giving up the ghost. But she lived through the night, and she lived through the following day, helpless and speechless, yet still breathing.

She recovered, and remained with us to comfort and guide and bless us for nearly thirty years, and then, alas, all too soon apparently, for those who loved and all but adored her, she pa.s.sed in peace to the worlds of light.

I believed myself all this time engaged in the service of my Maker, and I regarded the arrival of seasonable help from time to time, as a proof that I was an object of His tender care, and that my labors had His smile and blessing. Why did I not trust Him more fully?

By the time I had carried on my printing business for four or five years, the outlay for type, and presses, and other kinds of printing apparatus, became much less, while my income from the sale of books became much greater, and I found myself able, at length, to purchase whatever I needed as soon as I wanted it. By-and-bye I had money always on hand. The relief I felt, when I found myself fairly above want and difficulty, was delightful beyond measure.

CHAPTER XIII.

CONTACT WITH UNITARIANS, AND DOWNWARD TENDENCY TO DEISM.

I had now for some time been gradually approaching the views of the more moderate cla.s.s of Unitarians. Some of my friends, when they saw this, became alarmed, and returned to their old a.s.sociates in the orthodox communities; others got out of patience with me for moving so slowly, and ran headlong into unbelief; while the great majority still chose to follow my guidance.