'Richard Weaver's £ife Story ii A lit? i.■■- ! h*^ fe 1" i ,. . . | CAVLORD PniNTEDlNU.S.A. The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://archive.org/details/cu31924012524553 RICHARD WEAVER'S LIFE STORY JucA*^e Jy2* jUvW^-?~ RICHARD WEAVER'S LIFE STORY EDITED BY Rev. JAMES PATERSON, MA., B.D. "HE GAVE . . . EVANGELISTS" (Epk. iv. //) JOHN RITCHIE, LTD. Publishers of Christian Literature, KILMARNOCK, SCOTLAND. % Q PREFACE. ,HEN I looked through the materials en- trusted to me, I was greatly delighted at >}^f* the discovery that it would be possible for <5[0 r* me t° allow Weaver himself, in his own way, to tell the larger part of his life-story. I noticed, however, that if I adopted that plan, it would take me over the same ground that Mr. E. C. Morgan, of The Christian, has travelled over in his " Life of Richard Weaver." But I must either do that, or issue a Life that was rather a supplement to Mr. Morgan's than an attempt at a complete Life. I resolved to aim at completeness ; and I therefore proceeded as if there were no account of Weaver's wonderful life already in the field. I have done this with Mr. Morgan's consent and approval. When dealing with Weaver's account, I have kept to his words and style as rigidly as possible. Sometimes I have altered the form of the expression, but I have iv preface. never allowed myself to make any alteration of the thing expressed. The division into chapters and the headings are my own. I am largely indebted to the proprietors of The Christian for permission to use the notices of Weaver's missions, that are strewn in such abundance throughout the pages of their God-fearing journal ; also for many valuable suggestions regarding the use of the material entrusted to me. I must also express my great indebtedness to the family of the late evangelist, for furnishing me so liberally with the material necessary for an accurate account of their honoured relative's life, and also for aiding me in every way possible in the enquiries that I had to make. I am heartily at one with Mr. Weaver's widow in the desire expressed in one of her letters regarding this work : — " I am anxious for the account of my dear husband's life-work to be a means of great and eternal blessing to many souls." That God will make it such is my earnest prayer. JAMES PATERSON. INTRODUCTION. ANY of God's people remember the great Revival in the United States, in 1856, when a financial panic was the means of bringing thousands to prayer, and through prayer to faith in Christ. This wave of spiritual life reached Ireland and England in 1859. The years which followed were marked by a spiritual power the like of which multitudes of Christians are longing again to see. But even earlier than 1856 a work of the same kind was in pro- gress in the Midland Counties, of which Richard Weaver, though not the originator, was the most prominent of the working-men preachers. He did not come to London until 1860. I very soon made his acquaintance ; and, from that time until God called him from service on earth to rest in heaven, we were fast friends, without a break ; and, when I came to know his wife, I perceived that God had given him a helpmeet for him, to whose quiet and prayerful influence much of the blessing which attended him was due. Richard was a man of a childlike spirit. Few could so readily or so deeply touch the springs of sympathy in other souls. He Knew the sorrows of the poor ; the temptations and trials peculiar to the working classes ; the troubles as well as the delights of little children : and his audiences responded to his touch with tears of penitence, and smiles, and songs of joy. His perceptive faculties were very keen. Nothing escaped his notice, and his discourses were illustrated by everything he saw. He had no secrets, and the utmost confidence and sympathy were established between him and his hearers before he had got through his introductory remarks. vi Utttrofcucttott. We know, on the Highest Authority, that a prophet is not with- out honour, save in his own country, and yet there may be exceptions even to this rule. Alike in his unconverted days, when his mates surnamed him " Undaunted Dick " ; in the early days of his conversion, while still in the coal-pit ; when called thence to he a preacher to thousands out of doors and in ; and when sorely smitten by the archers and for a while "dropped," as he has said, by some who had surrounded him in his days of sunshine, he was subsequently, as well as previously to this, always respected and beloved at home. He might truly have said, " I dwell among mine own people." They knew him best, and whenever he preached they thronged to hear him. He was a man of like passions with Elijah and ourselves, but he was true to God and true to his Gospel ; and few men, if any, more simply expounded the Word as the truth is in Jesus. I have loved few men as I loved Richard Weaver, and I hope soon to sing with him in the glory-land of which he often spoke— the hymn which, when I first heard him sing it, thrilled me as no other has done before or since : My heart is fixed, Eternal God, Fixed on Thee ; And rny immortal choice is made — Christ for me I He is my Prophet, Priest, and King, Who did for me salvation bring, And while I've breath I mean to sing Christ for me ! He never attempted to fathom the mysteries of God. His gift was that of an evangelist, and most faithfully he ministered the gift imparted to him. Sin and its consequences here and its penalties hereafter ; justification by grace, by blood, by faith, by works ; Christ the end of the law for righteousness to every one that beiieveth — in a word, Jesus Christ and Him crucified : this He preached with luminous clearness, and thousands were brought into the Kingdom of God. There are probably no places where he preached where some of them may not still be found. B. 0. Morgan. CONTENTS. Paoi I. Personal Reminiscences 9 IX. Early Years 29 III. Conversion and Restoration 45 IV. A Christian Working-Man 62 V. A Christian's Sword Exercise 75 VI. Incidents in the Warfare 99 VII. The London Campaigns .. .. .. .. 116 VIII. In Scotland 129 IX. In Ireland, Walks, and Dreamland . . . . 145 X. Holding the Fort at Hollinwood , , , , 155 XL A True Comrade 173 XII. Re-visiting former Battle-fields . . . . 187 XIII. Stones from Weaver's Sling . . . . . . 197 XIV. From the Soldibr'b Letter-Bag . . . . 214 XV, Honourable Discharge 224 XVI. Wreaths for the Warrior's Coffin . . . . 231 RICHARD WEAVER'S LIFE STORY. I. ftoaonal fUmtttiamtaa. jlCHARD WEAVER was nearly "made" before I knew him. At the time of my introduction to him he was sixty and five years of age. Forty years had passed since the day on which he discovered that the attempt to be a self-made man was sure to end in his becoming a self-ruvned man. In order that he might become a 6od-made man, he put himself into the hands of the Maker of Israel ; and for those forty years the Heavenly Potter had been working at that vessel. A few more touches, and the vessel would be finished. It was while those finishing touches were being given that I was accorded the privilege of intimate friendship with the veteran evangelist. Knowing him only thus, I was delivered from the temptation warned against in the proverb: "Fools and bairns should never see things half made." It was far beyond that stage with Richard Weaver before Providence allowed me to make his acquaintance. The vision that I have of him is to ftetsoital UsmitrisretitES. therefore more likely to be correct than it would have been had I received my first impressions of him while he was at a stage in which he could be looked upon as only half-made. My introduction to him was brought about in the following way. In the course of visitation as minister of the English Presbyterian Church in Belgravia, London, I called one evening on a friend, who pressed me hard to go and hear Eichard Weaver preach the Gospel in Pimlico Kooms. I imagined I could not spare the time. In addition, although I had no personal knowledge of the evangelist, I had somewhat of a pre- judice against him. But my friend would not be put off, and at last, for the sake of peace, I consented to go. In attending that meeting I had no other motive than that of pleasing an earthly friend. I came away from that meeting wishing I were a better man and a more faithful minister. On that evening I had irrefragable proof that God was with the aged evangelist. Without any pressing I returned on the following evening. My impression that God was co-working with the evan- gelist was confirmed. What I felt, heard, and saw, reminded me of the record of those who preached the Lord Jesus in Antioch : " The hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number believed and turned to the Lord." I sought an introduction to the honoured worker. I begged him to come and preach to us in Belgrave. He consented. After he had preached, our Session appealed to him to conduct an evangelistic mission in our church. He was able to give us ten days. The more I saw of him, the higher became my esteem, and the stronger Jin ©rator of tije first Hater. " became my affection for him. In mental grit he was far above the average. He was also an orator of the first water. Indeed, he was what is called " a born genius." But though the attraction of his natural gifts was great, he had a far greater. He was of the race of whom the Prophet was speaking when he said : "Nations that knew not thee shall run unto thee, because of the Lord thy God, and for the Holy One of Israel ; for He hath glorified thee." The managers of the mission in Pimlico Eooms told me that Weaver had left the matter of remuneration entirely in their own hands. It was so in his dealings with us also. For many years he had been in such an enfeebled state of health that he was quite unable to work for more than two or three months out of the twelve. His income was, therefore, exceedingly un- certain. From the time that he left his work in the coal-pit he looked on (rod as his Paymaster. In the coal-pit he was able to count on a steady £3 per week. It was not so as an evangelist. Like Paul, he was allowed to know what it was to abound ; he also knew what it was to suffer want. He, too, had his wilderness temptation of hunger. On one occasion, while being used of the Holy Spirit to sway men God-ward, as few have swayed them, his food for four days was a turnip, begged from the farmer in the field. That did not sorely vex him ; but when weeping children pleaded with him to give them breakfast first and read the Bible afterwards, and there was no breakfast to give them, then was his heart torn. Still, he retained his integrity. He looked on the suggestion to conduct no mission, save when there was n personal Huntttiacestrea. a formal bargain about remuneration, as a temptation of Satan. God gave him grace to resist it to the end. He trusted God. He trusted man. Thus, his preaching of the glorious Gospel was not marred by unseemly hagglings, behind the scenes, over money. In this respect we found him a delightful man to deal with. In another respect, also, he stood the testing well. He was a delightful man to live with. During those ten days when he preached to us in London, he was unable, on account of the distance, in bis enfeebled state of health, to stay in our home. He, therefore, accepted the hospitality of a friend who lived near the church. That friend was never weary of telling me what a treasure Richard Weaver was in the home. It was with the evan- gelist's presence as it was with the presence of the Ark of God in the house of Obed-edom. So my friend testified. To his testimony on that point I am now able to add my owd. Since coming to Glasgow we have twice had Richard Weaver's help — on each occasion for a fortnight. He stayed on these occasions in our home. It was then I was taken behind the scenes, and had revealed to me the secret of the evangelist's gracious life. He was a great sufferer. For this discovery I was scarcely prepared. His face seemed aglow with health. He had a bright and cheery manner. In the pulpit there was such an exhibition of physical vigour, that no one who had not lived with him was prepared for the night-long sleepless suffering and the day-long prostra- tion that combined to make his life a living martyrdom. With an energy almost superhuman, while in the pul- pit, he hurled himself against the pillars of the temple of Nineteenth Century Indifference. So long as there 3V. Carlg ^tars. When but a youth of fifteen I had a dog that was famous for running and hunting. Becoming acquainted with two brothers who were great poachers, I used to go out with them, taking my dog with me, at night. After they had set their snares and nets, I used to let the dog go to drive the game into the nets. One night when I was out with them a gamekeeper accosted us. One of the brothers carried the barrel of a gun in one of his pockets and the stock in another. Putting barrel and stock together, he pointed the gun at the game- keeper and put his finger on the trigger. The other brother knocked the barrel up, and the shot went over the gamekeeper's head. The poor man pleaded for his life, and on his promising not to inform on us, he was allowed to go. Thus my course of life was adding sorrow to sorrow to my praying mother, and provocation to provocation to my long-suffering God. One night, when I was between seventeen and eighteen, as I was drinking with some of my mates, a man, who stood nearly six feet in height, began challenging any one in the room to fight with him. No one accepted the challenge. At last the pride of my heart arose, and I said to him, " I'll fight thee." They said he would kill me. I replied that I could die but once. When we stripped, some one cried out : " David and Goliath." In the fight he knocked me down thirty-two times. My brother Thomas kept carrying water in his boot and throwing it over me to keep the swelling down. At last I crushed one of my opponent's eyes. Of course, after that, the fight was in my own hands, and he gave in and acknow- ledged that he was beaten. I thought I was a great " Btn&ttutttei) gkk." 37 man when they thereupon christened me, " Undaunted Dick " ; but I still carry the marks of that battle, and feel the effects of it, and shall feel them to my dying day. When I was at Dr. Barnardo's Homes I met a doctor whom I told about the pain I suffer. He asked me if ever I had had serious blows on the head. He said he could account for the pain in no other way. I told him of that fight. He at once told me that the pain I suffer is the outcome of that evening of sin. So true is it, that, " Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap." And yet God has granted to me a gracious forgive- ness of that hour of sin. Years after that fight I was preaching in a little Primitive chapel ; the place was crowded. A tall man, with grey head, and blind of one eye, sat on the pulpit steps. I saw the tears running down his cheeks. When I came down from the pulpit, he took me by the hand, and pointing to his sightless eye, said : " Do you see that ? Do you know me ? " I had forgotten him ; but he went on to say : " You did that ; but, praise God, I can now see Jesus as my Saviour, and I am on the way to heaven with thee, Eichard I " We praised God together. At another time, my poor old mother got me a new suit of clothes. When she saw me with them on, one Sunday morning, I suppose she thought rue the finest looking young man in the village. Off I went with my godfather and others of my companions for a " spree." We went to an old village inn, called " The Eed Lion." By-and-by the lion began to roar. One of the men 38 Sarlj f tara. drinking there wanted to fight some one. I must needs take up the challenge. Tables and benches were removed ; the room cleared, and the door locked. No one could come in or go out. We stripped, and I pulled off my shoes to avoid slipping. We fought for upwards of an hour. I again was proclaimed the victor, but I was fearfully disfigured. I was carried the two miles that lay between the scene of the fight and my home. When we arrived we found that my father and mother had gone to rest. We knocked ; a voice at once replied : " I am coming, my child ! " When the door was opened, what a sight met my mother's gaze I My face was covered with blood ; one eye was closed, and the other nearly so ; my hands were swollen, my trousers in tatters and stained with blood. Oh, the tears of that mother as she washed the wounded body of her son 1 Then happened what I can never forgive myself for. She prayed to God to save her lad. While she prayed I cursed and swore that I would murder her if she did not leave off, I went to bed : my mother knelt by my bedside and continued to pray. In a rage I sprang out of bed, and grasping her grey hair, shook her while she was still on her knees. She took hold of my hand, and said : " Ah, Lord, this is hard work ; but bless my boy, and save him I " Her faith was sorely tried ; but God has heard that prayer. Having begun to walk in the counsel of the ungodly, I went on adding sin to sin. I began to frequent 3ttreii of Home. 39 ball-rooms and dancing saloons, and often spent a whole week (sometimes even a fortnight) in drunken revelry. When my poor mother came to the public-house seeking for her lad, the publican would hide me, and say I was not there. I could sing and dance and keep the company alive, and that sort of thiDg is what the landlords like. Men that were husbands and fathers led me on. At last, matters came to such a pass that my master met me one day and said : " Dick, my gamekeeper says he thinks he saw you with some men that threatened to shoot him : now, if I find you are amongst poachers, and if you are caught, I will send you where you will not get away from for a week or two." It helped to make me tired of home. I was tired of my mother's prayers and conversation. Yet many times the Spirit of God strove with me, and caused me to go on my knees and pray for mercy. Like the morning cloud and early dew, these seasons passed away. I had not seen myself as I was, nor realized my lost and ruined condition. I loved sin and wickedness, and was not willing to give up all for Christ. All love for my mother left me. One night I struck her to the ground. Young men and women, . let me entreat you, yea, let me beseech you to be kind to your parents ; and if you have praying parents, prize them. Never mind the scoffs and sneers that such an attitude to your parents may draw on you. Take advice from one who has shed many and bitter tears when he has thought on his unkindneS3 to his mother. At this time I was in the Oddfellows' Club, and I made it up with another member of that club to leave 4« (Eswlg |leara. home. Our parents gave us money to pay the sub- scription to the club ; but instead of doing so we each put on two shirts, and set off. My three brothers were at that time living at a place called Bradley Green, in Staffordshire, and we started for that place. A man who worked with us accompanied us for four miles, trying to persuade us to return. Then he left us, in tears. We walked on until it was far into the night. At last we reached the town of Tunstall, and put up at " The Hanging Gate." Footsore and weary we again went on, until we arrived at the colliery where my brothers were working. We stayed in the cabin on the pit bank till they came up the shaft. They gave me a good scolding for leaving my home and my parents ; but my brother John allowed me to live with him. Having thus got away from home and free from all restraint, I soon began to be the boon companion of drunkards and gamblers. I took the keenest pleasure in fighting ; it was my greatest joy to batter and deface the image of God. I was now one of the most active servants of the devil. The following incident will show the depths of wickedness into which I had descended. One day, when I was drinking with some of my companions, a poor fallen woman did something that vexed me. I took hold of a rope and, twisting it round her neck, flung the other end over a hook in the beam, and pulled her up. She struggled for life. One of my companions took out his knife and cut her down. Is it not a mercy I'm out of hell ? Praise be to God for his sovereign grace ! " O'er ruin's brink I almost fell ; " but my mother Wi* ffiotbtfs fetter. 41 kept on pleading for me at the throne of grace. She also used to write letters, which were always left for me at one of the inns in Congleton. I was not able to read them, but I used to get one of my companions to read them to me. My mother generally closed her letters with the words, "I will never give thee up." One day the reader of the letter asked me what she meant by that. " Why, that she will never give up praying for me," was my reply. " Burn it, Tom," I said. " Nay," he said, " it will never do to burn thy praying mother's letter." And the tears rolled down his cheeks as he added : " I wish I had a praying mother. I wish my mother were alive, Dick. Her last words to me when she was dying were : ' Thomas, my son, will you meet me in heaven?' And by God's help I will. Give me thy mother's letter." There and then he bade me good-night, and left me. I never saw him again; but after I was brought to Christ I received a letter from his brother-in-law, enclosing my mother's letter, and also stating that it was the turning point in his life, and that he had died in peace and joy in the Holy Ghost. Come with me now, while I picture to you a young man with bloodshot eyes, and burning brow, and bloated cheeks; with dry and parched lips; with troubled heart and downcast look, just risen from his bed after fright- ful dreams of the infernal pit, and devils sayiDg to him: " Thou art too bad to live ; thy home deserted ; 4* dearly fears. thy character blasted ; thy constitution broken ; and every one frowning on thee : put an end to thy life ! " Such are my recollections of myself at the age of twenty-four. Driven and tossed by the waves of these fierce temptations; smarting under the sting of an accusing conscience ; ashamed of being seen in the streets with my drunkard's heavy head; with pockets empty — I resolved to take my own life. Follow me upstairs and see me there, on my knees but not to pray. Look at the young man : untying his necker- chief ; taking a razor from his box ; he cannot write, bu^ with chalk he makes strokes on the floor that he hopes will be understood by his landlady ; he kneels over a basin : — yea ! over the mouth of the pit itself ! Ah ! my soul shudders at the remembrance of that awful moment. But I also thank God for his saving grace ; for as I knelt I heard a voice, saying : " Kemember that old woman in Shropshire that cried in her prayers, ' Lord, save my lad.' " I paused. I shook. I trembled. I wept, and I cried : " What will she say when she hears that I have sent my soul into eternity before its time ? " No one can imagine the struggle of my mind ; but I believe the Lord was there. He had my mother's prayers before Him, and it was with me as with Job of old: the Lord would not let Satan take my life. Casting the razor away, I ran downstairs and said to my landlady : " I have been tempted to cut my throat. You will find the razor on the floor upstairs." She threw up her hands in fear, and cried : "Anything but that! The Lord have mercy on thee, fighting teas bis |j slight. 43 Dick ! " I began to wring my hands, and curse the day that I was bom ; but she said : " The Lord bless thee, lad ! Thank God, thee'st yet alive ! There's hope for thee yet." How can I describe the horrors that I went through at the time ! I think sometimes that hell itself cannot be worse than the torments I suffered. But the interposition of God's restraining mercy had made no lasting impression on me. On I went as before. Satan had not a more active servant in all his ranks than Eichard Weaver. I went, as the saying is, " The whole hog for hell." About this time I heard that my brother George was converted. He bad been a rough character; but my mother had been praying for him also, and the Lord had answered her prayers for him. My eldest brothel had years before been brought to a knowledge of Christ, so that two of my brothers were now on the Lord's side ; but that had no effect on me. Fighting was my delight, and I can assure you I was never short of a job. Many a night I lay in bed so badly punished as not to be able to turn over. " The way of transgressors is hard." The Devil pays poor wages. Walking out one day, shortly after George's con- version, I met a man who worked at the same colliery with him, and asked how my brother was. The man told me he was well. He also told me that a man had greatly insulted him by spitting in his face. My brother had to measure the work and book time, and it was over something in connection with these things that the dispute had arisen. I asked my friend what my brother did when the other spat in his face. 44 €arlj flears. " What Christ did," was the answer. " George only said : ' Father, forgive him, for he knows not what he does.' " I said : " Tell my brother he can forgive him ; but tell that man I will come and pay him." A week or two after this, I went over to Biddulph, during the " wakes," to pay the man that spat in my brother's face. I entered a public-house, and was made heartily welcome by my old companions in drink, " Undaunted," says one, " drink with me." " Undaunted," says another, " I'm glad to see thee." I soon spied the man I wanted to pay. I got up and said I would fight the best man there. He jumped up and said : " I suppose you mean me." " Yes," I said, " you are just the man I have come to see." We went outside and fought on the hard road. The master of the colliery and his brother (who was a constable) came up with a pair of handcuffs. " Come, Harry," said he, " let us put them on him." " Stand back, master," I said, " I have already beaten four men, and now I will beat you." I made for him. He ran off, calling out, " Come away ; he has gone mad." Yes, I was mad — mad with drink and sin. In after years I went to preach at that place. That master sent for me to call and see him. He opened the door himself. He put out his hand. His eyes filled with tears as he said, " What hath God wrought 1" III. donberaton an£> fUsioraitott. Jf |§-N the year 1852 I again went to live with my brother George. He was now a preacher on the Primitive Methodist plan. My mother was still pleading with the Lord for her prodigal son, Eichard. But I was still the same. I was under an engagement to fight a man on Saturday, May 21st. On the Wednesday night preceding the Saturday on which the fight was to come off, I lay on my bed planning and scheming how to beat my opponent. It is easy to win in your imagination ; and I had planned it all out in such a way in my own mind that I already felt certain of victory. But there was to be another fight before mine should take place. The lion of the tribe of Judah and the roaring lion of hell were already in the ring. My brother had been to a cottage meeting that Wednesday night ; and as I lay there thinking, I heard him come in and go into the kitchen His wife asked : " What was the text, George ? " He made answer, " What then shall I do ?" She said, " Be off with thee ; that's no text." " I tell thee it is," said he. " And who was the preacher ? " asked his wife. " Thomas Booth." " Yes," said she, " it's like old Tommy." 4§ faanbetsion an& ttestoraiion. Now as I lay there hearing their talk I thought to myself, What a funny text I I could not read at that time ; but I pondered the matter over in my own mind in this way. " What then shall I do ? " — there must be something more than that. Then I thought, What shall I do when God rises up in judgment against me ? I turned over in my bed and heaved a deep sigh. Ah ! I thought, I shall be damned. The Spirit of God carried that text into my heart, and fixed it there like a nail in a sure place. Oh, that night ! Shall I ever forget it ? I could not sleep ; I could not pray. A conflict was raging between the powers of heaven and the powers of hell, and my heart was at once the battle- ground and the prize. The devil kept reminding me of the coming fight, and kept saying, " If you get con- verted now, they will think you are afraid of fighting that man." There he had me. I think sometimes that no one ever went through such a conflict as I did. I felt as if I already realized what it is to be damned. That night passed away, and morning came. When it was time to get up and go to work, my brother called me. I said I was not going. He asked me what was the matter. I said I had a pain in my back. How readily that lie was given me I I had no pain whatever in my back ; the pain was in my heart. I was afraid to go to the coal-pit, lest I should be killed, and go straight to hell. I was under the awful brow of Mount Sinai ; the thunders crashing, and the lightnings of God's wrath flashing around me. All that day I was wretched. I could not eat. I could do nothing. When my brother came home at night, his wife said to him ; JEitfcer CDonbictinn of j$tn. 47 " I am sure our Dick is ill. He has not touched food to-day." My brother came to me, and asked if he should fetch the doctor. " No," I said ; " I don't want him." I wanted forgiveness of sin, and I knew the Lord alone could give me that. But there was that if in my way — " If you get saved they will say you were afraid to fight." Again I lay on my bed on the Thursday night, groaning and tossing. I durst not offer to look to God, nor pray. Again the battle was being waged, and it seemed as if all heaven and hell were watching to see which side would gain the victory. On Friday morning I said to myself, " I'll go to Congleton and get drunk, and drive the thought away." Away I went those four miles to Congleton, and spent seven shillings in rum. I had a sparring match with a noted pugilist as well. When I left to go home along the lonely lane, in the dark, what a state I was in ! No one but the Lord knows what I went through during that four miles' walk. Every step I took the earth seemed opening to swallow me up. I fell on my knees, and asked God to spare me till the morning; promising if He did spare me to go and pray in the field I was to fight in. Before I reached home I was as sober as I am now. About two o'clock on Saturday morning I went into the field, as I had promised, and there, in a sand-hole, I fell on my knees. My mother's prayers were Hearing their answer. I did not know what to say. No eye but God's saw me. There was a struggle between life and death. There I knelt, trembling from head to foot. 48 ©ottiimion an& Hestoration. At last I said, " Now, Lord Jesus, I am on my knees ; and I will shut my eyes, and will not open them again till Thou, for thine own Name's sake, hast pardoned my sins." My poor old mother was nearly a hundred miles away. The devil whispered, " You don't know whether you are elected or not." Still I remained on my knees, and as I, with closed eyes, waited on the Lord, I thought I heard my mother's voice, saying : " My dear boy, ' God so loved the world that He gave his only- begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' " Ah I I thought, if He loved the world, He loved me — poor me; and, as a proof of his love, He gave his only-begotten Son as a gift to me. Now, I did not understand what " faith " or "believing" meant ; but I had heard that it was taking God at his word, I took God at his word. I accepted his gift. I believed God's love, and found that that "whosoever" included me also. There and then joy and peace came into my heart. Soon as my all I ventured On the atoning blood, The Holy Spirit entered, And I was born of God. Over that sand-hole there was rejoicing in heaven. The Shepherd had found his lost sheep, and had laid it on his shoulders rejoicing, and the return journey to the home-fold was begun. That was the turning point in my life. I went to that sand-hole, condemned, guilty : I returned to the house justified by faith. A moment before, a brand for the burning ; now a tree of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified- fjis Motlitt's $ragm Jlttatomft. 49 The happiness I then enjoyed I cannot describe. My peace flowed as a river. With what joy did I tell the good news ! Like the woman of Samaria, I said : " Come, see the Christ ! " but wasn't I astonished at the reception given to my testimony ! I went straight to my sister-in-law, and told her that Christ had saved me. She said : " I don't believe it ; I must see how you live before I believe it." When my brother came home, I told him what great things God had done for my soul. He looked rather doubtful, and said : " I hope it's true ; we shall see in time." You see, I got but Uttle encouragement from my earthly friends ; but my joy was in the Lord, and my boast was in the God of my salvation. Oh, the happiness of my soul I I thought even the trees looked different ; and the birds — these warbling songsters — seemed to be helping me to praise our God. With what delight did I get a Christian man to write my mother and tell her that her prayers were answered. She believed the good news. I found out afterwards that when she received the letter she took it from house to house telling the neighbours what the Lord had done for her prodigal son ; she could not sleep at night for weeping, and praising God for answering her prayers. She kept saying: "I will never doubt the Lord again." Now I began to think what I had to face. I counted the cost, and went to the Lord for strength to take my stand and confess Christ. On the Sabbath immediately following the Saturday so ©ottberstott attir Hcatoratiott. of my conversion, my brother George was " planned * to preach and hold a love-feast at a chapel in the neighbourhood. I thought I would go with him, and tell them there what the Lord had done for my soul. When I arrived I found myself unable to say a word. I came back to Bradley Green, and felt I must speak there. I went round and invited some of my old companions to go to chapel with me. Seven of them went. When the minister invited any who wished to be saved to come forward, I said to one who sat by me: " Go up and be saved." He said : " I will go if thou wilt." I spoke to another, and got the same answer. I said : " Well, come along." They all followed me, and nil professed to find the Saviour. That was a grand night. I remember I made my chamber ring with praise to God, till my brother and his wife begged me to go to sleep and let them get a little rest. When morning came, I went to my work at the pit, and found that it had spread far and wide that " Un- daunted Dick " had got saved. Very few believed it. Others mocked and said : " We shall see at the Club-Feast." Others said they would give me three weeks. As I went towards the cabin that morning, I breathed the prayer, " Lord, help me to confess Thee." When I got inside, I noticed they were looking at each other and at me. There were the wink and the nod which said : " Now we've got him." " Well, Undaunted," asked one, "is it true thee s st got converted ? " " (Settinjj i&e $taxt of tire gebtl." 51 " Oi," said I. (I had not learned to say " yes " then.) " Is it a fact ? " asked another. " Oi," I said again. A large number of them asked similar questions, and I gave to all the same answer. I looked at them ; there were thirty-two of them. "Now, chaps," I said, "the Lord has pardoned my sins, and I am on my way to heaven; what can you make of it ? " There was silence for a time, and then one said : " I wish I was saved." Another said : " I wish the Lord had pardoned my sins." They were all of one mind ; and in after years the most of them were led to Christ. I like to see young converts, as soon as they are brought to Christ, telling their friends and companions what the Lord has done for their souls. It is one way of getting the start of the devil. That period of my first love was an ex- ceedingly joyous time. No tongue can tell the happiness of those days and nights I spent with the Lord. I used to work a bit, and then pull off my cap and pray a bit. One night, when I was praying in the pit, a fellow- workman heard me. He thought I had met with an accident. He came to me, but I was so absorbed in my prayer that I did not notice his approach. I happened to be praying for this very man. When he found this out, he too dropped on his knees and cried, "Lord, save me ! " "When I turned towards him the tears were streaming down his cheeks, making white furrows on their way through the grime with which his face $a ©anirershitt anti Stjatoration. was covered. The Lord heard his prayer. He pro- fessed to be saved. At the time of my conversion I owed pounds for strong drink. I determined, if God gave me strength, not to rest till I had paid the last farthing. I rejoice to say I was enabled to do so. The last I paid was to the landlord of the Irish Tavern in Congleton. We used to call that place " The hole in the wall." When I went to pay the landlord, he asked me what I would have to drink. I told him I had given up drinking and taken to praying ; and that he must put that money to good interest, for he would never get any more from me. That public-house has been pulled down, and a new Town Hall built on the place where it stood. I have had the joy of preaching Christ to perishing sinners, and of praying for them on the same ground on which I used to drink and fight. But "let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." Take Christ's warning to heart : " Watch and pray." After enjoying the blessings of true religion for some six months, I began to think of a companion for life. Even in my unconverted state I had always said I would never marry an unconverted woman. That was due to my mother's exemplary life. One day I thought to myself : " Now, if I could only get a young woman like my mother for my wife, she would be my companion, and would be the means of saving me from mixing up with my old pals." So I prayed about it. I felt impressed to go and ask my class- leader's advice. I went and knocked at the door Mis wife opened it, and said : peeking a Wife. S3 " Come in, Richard, my husband is inside." " Well," I said, " you will think it strange for me to call to-night ; but I have a little business on hand, and as you are my class-leader, I want your advice." " Quite right, lad," said he ; " go on." " Do you not think that if I could meet with a godly young woman, it would be better for me to get married ? — she would be a helpmate on my way to heaven," " Yes," said he ; "a good thought, lad." " Well, do you know of any such young woman ? " " Well, that is a question, lad," he said. " Is it not, Hannah ? " " Yes," his wife replied, " that is a question." After thinking awhile, he said, " Well, there's . If thee could'st get her, she would make a good wife. What dost thou think, Hannah ? " " Yes, I am sure she would," said his wife. " Then," I said, " I'll go and see her at once ; so good night." Away I went to her father's house, which stood in a field about fifty yards distant from the road. I knocked at the door. It was opened by the mother. " Good evening, Mrs. ." " Good evening, Richard ; walk in." I went in, and there sat the young woman's father, smoking his pipe. The daughter was ironing. What it was she was ironing I cannot say ; but I will say to young men who are looking out for wives — take note of such as can wash and iron, and mend and bake. Look to that also; but above all see that she is a lover of Christ. M Good evening," says I to the father. 54 fltrrtiijersion atttr Jteatnrattoil. " Sit thee down, Richard ; glad to see thee, lad." "Well, I have a little business on to-night. You know what sort of character I've been ? " " Yes, lad ; but I'm glad to see thou'rt changed." " And you know what sort of workman lam?" " Yes, lad." " Well, I am thinking of taking to myself a wife, if I can meet with a godly young woman ; and I've been to my class-leader, and he tells me that your daughter here would make me a good wife, if I could get her consent and yours." At that the daughter dropped her iron and ran out of the house ; so I had the old people all to myself. The father said : " I have nothing against it, lad." " Nor I," said the mother ; " but thou must see what she says herself." I followed her out into the garden, and put the question. She said, " Yes ; but why didn't you come a.nd ask me first ? " So we made it up, and I made her my banker, and we kept company with each other. Well, one night we had been to chapel, and were standing at the gate talking as two engaged people will talk before we separated. Three men came up, and I saw that they meant mischief. When they came near, they laid hands on the girl and dragged her about. When they went the length of assault on her honour, and she cried out : " Richard, protect me ! " I could no longer refrain. I off with my coat and hat, and let fly right and left. Thus I, who had been praying only a few minutes before, was betrayed into 21 8ai> Jfall. 55 behaving like a madman. I had two of them on the ground, and had hold of the ringleader by the hair of the head, and was striking him in such rage that I believe I would have killed him had not some one stayed my hand. I looked on what I had done as a fall from grace. I rushed without coat or hat into the public-house and called for a pint of ale. The landlady said : " No, something is the matter. Thee shalt have no ale by my drawing." But my old cronies sat round the table, and they offered me their glasses, saying : " Drink, Dick." The landlady said again : " I'm sure there's some- thing up." The father of my girl companion jumped up from his seat in the corner, and left the house. In a short time he returned with my hat and coat, and told how his daughter had been insulted, and how I had inter- posed to defend her honour. I never saw men nearer using lynch law. Morning came, and I could not go to my work, for I was ashamed. My master and other friends came to sympathize with me and to tell me I had done nothing wrong. But the fact of having gone into the public- house weighed on my mind. I felt I had fallen, and I also felt that my fall had been great. I had lost my peace with God. I had been greatly persecuted by the scoffers, and especially by the man I was to have fought with on the day of my conversion ; and now that I had fallen I determined to settle accounts with him. I went to him and said : "I have backslidden. You know how you have 56 dmtberstntt attb l&t&tot&litnx. taunted and insulted me. Now we must meet and settle that fight once for all." We met about a week after. Some hundreds of people stood around us. In the first round I broke his jaw, and was pronounced the victor. Some years afterwards I was preaching in a Primitive Methodist Chapel. The power of God filled the place. I invited any one who desired to turn to the Lord to go into the vestry. A man and woman jumped up and led the way, and some fifty others followed. In the after meeting in the chapel, I was standing on a form when the man who had been the first to go into the vestry came to me and asked permission to speak. I said, " Yes, brother." He turned to the people and said : " You all know me?" " Yes, lad." " Well, the last time I saw Eichard he broke my jaw; but to-night, God, by Eichard's preaching, has broken my heart. I bless God I came in here to-night. I came in unsaved; I go home washed in the blood of the Lamb." After my grievous fall I felt unable to remain longer at Biddulph. So I went to live at Openshaw, and worked at Clayton collieries. In my backsliding I went from bad to worse. Oh that some one had spoken to me ! I became the associate of some of the worst characters in Manchester. Many a time od my bed I had fearful dreams. Here is one of those terrifying visions of the night. I dreamt that I was dead, and that my soul was lost. I thought I was carried, with my hands and feet tied, by two black creatures to the 31 terrible Sftsiott. S7 place of torment. At the mouth of the bottomless pit was a door with a great hanging lock. By that door stood One clothed in white ; round his waist was a girdle at which a large key was hanging. As He spoke, I trembled from head to foot. He said : " Put him down," and they laid me on my back. He uncovered my breast, and asked, " Where is the robe I gave thee ? " I said : " I've lost it." Then he took a red-hot stamp, and put it on my breast, and in letters of fire was branded the word " Backslider." I prayed Him to forgive me. He thundered the awful words, " It is too late now. Pepart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire." He opened the door of hell, and I was thrown in. As I dropped among the flames, there was such a yell as I never had heard before ; and all the devils, with their eyes of fire, and every damned soul — some biting me, others kicking me, all crying out, " What made you cottip A o_ torment us?" chased me through the caverns of th«4o^t. Oh, how I offered, if the Lord would deliver me from that awful prison, to do what in me lay to save others from it. But no, " Too late !" rang in my ears again and again; and a host of the infernals chased me through the blue flames, and caught me with their blazing hands. Then I thought they cut my breast open, and began to pour a burning fluid on my heart. Still I cried, " Lord, save me 1 " I awoke. The bed-clothes were wet with my sweat. I thanked God it was only a dream. But it required something more powerful than visions of hell to save me from my life of sin. Weeks after that dreadful dream I was still a slave to Satan — led captive by the devil at his will. One night I was sparring with a black man in a boxing saloon. We S§ ©ottijerBimt att& fteBforaiurtt. stood up foot to foot, and I let drive. The blow went home, and the blood ran down his black face. As I stood there looking at his blood, the Spirit of God brought that word to my mind, " The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin " ; and that other word, " The same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him " ; and that other word, " For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." " Here, Charlie," I said, " pull off these ; never again shall a pair of boxing gloves be put on my hands." I left that saloon and went home to my lodgings ; and there in my bedroom I poured out my soul to the Lord and asked Him to heal my backsliding. For answer He sent me that word, " I, even I, am He that blotteth out thy transgressions for my own sake, and will not remember thy sins." So He put a ring on my hand again, and also shoes on my feet. Next day I went to the Openshaw Wesleyan Chapel, and joined the society. As time went on, my. thoughts again began to turn towards a helpmate. The Lord had called to Himself the girl I had been engaged to in Staffordshire. At the time when my thoughts once more turned towards marriage I was sinking a shaft. We had a three- weekly shift. One week I went in at six in the morning and came out at two in the afternoon ; next week I went in at two in the afternoon and came out at ten at night ; and on the third week I went in at ten at night and came out at six in the morning. My class-leader lived in the same terrace. A young woman named Mary Jones lodged in his house. % Remarkable gream. 59 One day when I was in the class-leader's house he and Mary Jones were telling dreams. As a rule I have not much faith in dreams ; but I thought I would tell them one I had had a short time previously. I said to Mary Jones : " I dreamed I was out walking with you and a young man, and the young man had auburn hair." Said the class-leader, " That's the colour of his hair." I went on to say that I thought in my dream I was walking with Mary Jones' young woman friend, whose name I did not know. Mary Jones said it was Sarah Bradshaw. " Well," I went on, " we were going to Oldham Street Chapel ; but on our way we came to a little chapel, and went in there instead. A woman was preaching, and she gave out as her text, ' Awake, sword, against my Shepherd.' " Mary Jones said, " Perhaps 'you will be walking with us!" When Mary Jones got to the factory she told Sarah Bradshaw my dream. I on my part began to think about that young woman, and the more I thought, the more I felt impressed to write. By this time I had learned to write for myself; so I sent a letter to Sarah Bradshaw, asking her to meet me and take a walk with me. We all met ; Mary Jones, the young man with the auburn hair, Sarah Bradshaw, and myself. We had a walk together, and arranged to meet again on Easter Sunday, and walk to Oldham Street Chapel. We met as agreed on ; and as we passed along Fairfield Street we came to the little chapel that I had seen in my dream ; I said : 60 Coitberston anil fJesfctatiom " Let us go and see who is preaching ! " We crossed the street, and I asked the door-keeper : " Who is the preacher here this evening ? " " Miss Buck, from Leicester," was the reply. After that we could not but go in. I said to Sarah Bradshaw : " If she takes the text of my dream, you will be my wife ! " Miss Buck went into the pulpit. A hymn was sung ; she prayed and read ; then they sang again. With no little interest I awaited the giving out of the text. It was the text of my dream! I sought the consent of the parents of Sarah Bradshaw to an engagement with their daughter. They were willing, and we were betrothed to each other. A week or two after our engagement, I got my hand badly broken in a lorry wheel, and had to be taken to Manchester Infirmary. Inflammation set in, and the doctors said I must have my hand taken off. I said in my heart, " If I have my hand taken off, I shall be a cripple for life " ; and I refused to allow them to cut it off. They spoke of the risk of death. I said : " I do not fear death." « Don't you ? " " No : Christ has taken all that away from me." They gave me up. A young student hearing of this, offered to take my case in hand, and do what he could for me. I allowed him, and he ultimately saved my \and. In my short Christian experience I had learnt that there is comfort and support in prayer ; and it was well % fraying IStife, 61 for me that I had. I was in no club ; I was away from home and friends. I was suffering greatly : in such circumstances I was right thankful that I had God to go to. I had heard the voice of Jesus, saying, " Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain thee " ; so I laid my case before the Lord, and left it in his hands. I also began to discover what a good thing it was that I had become engaged to a young woman who was walking with the Lord. In my affliction she proved herself a ministering angel. She sat with me in the evenings, and read the Word of God for my comfort. She prayed with me, One evening she told me that her friends in the factory had been trying to persuade her to give me up, on the ground that I should probably be a cripple for life. " And what did you say, Sarah ? I know that I am disabled for life." She looked at me with tears of affection, and said, "What did I say, Richard ? I said, 'I believe it was through the Lord that we became engaged ; and I will marry him, even though I have to work to keep him.' " Some men seek helpmates who have money ; but a young woman who has Christ Jesus as her dowry has a portion that money cannot buy. We were married in the month of January, 1853. As time went on, I found that the Lord had given me not only a praying mother ; He had also given me a praying wife. All that knew her could see that she walked with God. IV. 3t (Eljriattan Harking-matt. Nff?ll SHOET time after our marriage we left Open- o! k Sflaw an< i went to live at New Mills, in r^Js^, Derbyshire. My brother George and a Mr. Edwards had entered into partnership, and had taken a small colliery, and I went to work for them. It was whilst living at New Mills I began to speak for Jesus in public. My first text in a pulpit was : " I am the Way." I cannot remember what I said ; but one thing I do remember, I heartily wished myself out of that pulpit. I thought, " If only I get safe out of this, they will not catch me in a pulpit again." The colliery proved a failure. My brother and his partner lost all their money, and had to give up the undertaking. I worked three weeks and received no wages. My wife and I were reduced to great straits. One Saturday night we sat in our little home wonder- ing where the next meal was to come from. I thought of the good home from which I had brought my wife ; I thought of our empty cupboard ; and I burst out weeping. She jumped up, threw her arms around my neck, and kissing me, said : " The Lord has promised that our bread shall be " ®be f orb bill frobtfie." 63 given, and our water shall be sure ; let us kneel down and pray." We knelt down, but I was too much overcome to pray. She prayed. It was as though she was talking to some friend in the house. And there was such a Friend. Has He not said : " Where two are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst " ? We rose from our knees and were about to retire to rest. A knock was heard at the door. I opened it. In walked our class-leader's wife with something bulky in her apron. She said : " Mrs. Weaver, are you in need of anything ? " My wife sat down unable to speak, and burst into tears. I spoke for her : " Yes, we have not a bit of food in the house, nor money to buy any." " Well, here is a loaf and some butter and sugar and tea ; and our George has sent you a shilling, and you are to come to our house to dinner to-morrow. We were at prayer, and the master felt impressed that you needed help." The kind sister left. My wife said : " Now, Eichard, you see that God will answer prayer : let us have faith in Him." After thanksgiving we were again retiring. Another knock at the door. " Who is there ? " " Open the door," was the reply. I opened it. A hand was put in, and a man's voice said : " Take this from the Lord — He will provide ; " and five shillings were placed in my hand. To this day I E 64 & ffihristian tStorkhtg-man. know not the bearer of those five shillings ; but I know the Lord was the sender. As the work had failed we were obliged to remove. My brother and I went to Hyde, near Manchester, and there we obtained employment. One of our fellow- workmen, who was a Primitive Methodist, invited us to go with him to their meeting room. It had been a stable, with a loft above it for hay. This loft was now used as a Sabbath-school for girls. The boys were taught where the meeting was held, in the place where the horses had been. The trap-doors which led to the loft were over the pulpit, and had to be drawn up every time the pulpit was occupied. It was not much of a meeting place ; but in that lowly hall many a poor sinner found his way to the foot of the cross. We threw in our lot with the congregation that gathered there. At one of the Society meetings it was resolved to have a Band-meeting every Saturday evening. On the first Saturday I went along. No one else came. I resolved to hold the meeting, even though no earthly friend was near. I sang and prayed, and sang again, and meditated a little, and sang once more, and pro- nounced the benediction. When I got home, my wife asked how many had been to the meeting. I said, " Five." " Who were they ? " she asked. " The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the devil, and myself." At one of our teachers' meetings it was proposed to expel a young woman from the school because of her sinful behaviour outside, and her unruly conduct $£feolars Urging far $Ltzt%. 65 when in the school. I thought of the woman whose story is told in the beginning of the eighth chapter of John, and I opposed the motion for expulsion. Some one said : " Will you take the class and teach it ? " I said, " Yes." I went home and told my wife what I had done. She said : " That's right. I will help you to teach, and we must pray for that girl." She proposed to invite the class to tea at our house. There were twenty-six of them. They came on a Saturday evening, and we had a grand meeting. The poor girl who had been threatened with expulsion was there among the rest. As the story of the proposal to expel her was well known, I thought it better to sound the class on the matter ; so I asked if they wished her expelled. They all said, " No." So the next Sabbath morning came, and I shall never forget it. We were reading about the wise and foolish virgins, and I was talking to them as well as I could, warning them against the danger of delay, when the young woman who had been threatened with expulsion began to cry for mercy. Then another began, and another, and another, until twenty-four of them were seeking Jesus in earnest. Before school closed that morning the twenty-four were rejoicing in the Lord. As long as I stayed in that district they kept on walking with God, and to all appearance the poor girl who had once been the worst had become the best of the lot. So was that word fulfilled, " The last shall be fast." 66 3V Christian Utorhtng-tnan. But my fellow-workmen vexed me greatly. It ia strange that while men live in sin and serve Satan they will be patted on the back and allowed to go their way without molestation : when a man is drinking and gambling and fighting, he will be hailed as a jolly good fellow ; but when the Lord speaks to him and he obeys, and tries to tell his comrades how God has been gracious to him, then they turn against him and begin a course of persecution. Because I would not pay for something to drink, my fellow-workmen got me down on the ground on my back, and put a crowbar across my breast ; and two men sat on it, one at one end, the other at the otber, to compel me to pay. They might have sat until now as far as getting me to yield to that kind of compulsion was concerned. They also think they may do anything to a child of God, and he must just grin and bear it. On one occasion, when working in my drift, the boy who " waggoned " for us called out : " Richard, come here." I went down the drift to them, and found the boy crying because a fellow-workman was trying to take the waggon from him by force. I said to h'im : " Tom, you mustn't take that waggon." He swore at me, and called me a Methodist devil, and said he wanted it and he would have it. I told him that God did not tell me to let him rob me. He cursed again, and said he would push the waggon over me. " Nay," I said, " the Lord will not allow thee." He was in a great rage, and said he would have it. "% at -fiTtberpod Hares. 89 named Duckers, who pleaded with him to flee from the wrath to come. The gentleman resented the pleadings of brother Duckers. As he seemed likely to strike him, I slipped in between them, and began to talk to the stranger as lovingly as I could about Jesus his Saviour. He asked whether Jesus did not say, " If a man strike thee on the one cheek, turn to him the other also." I said, " Yes ; and if it will do you any good you can strike me." He struck out from the shoulder, and I received a blow on my face that made me stagger ; but I was enabled to turn the other cheek, and say : " Strike again." " Nay," be said, " I will not strike again." I said, " Now it's my turn ; " and I knelt down and prayed for his salvation. When I had done praying, and rose from my knees, he pressed two half-crowns on my acceptance, and stood by me and protected me from many who would have insulted me. Some years later, when walking down Lime Street, a stranger accosted me, and asked me if I knew him. I had to confess that I did not. He asked if I remembered a man striking me at Liverpool Eaces. I said I did. He said : " I am that man. That prayer of yours for me has been heard. I can now, with you, praise God as the God of my salvation." Not long after the Eaces, as my wife was unwell, I took her to my native country to see my parents. When we got to within two miles of my old home my mother met us at a stile, and threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed : " Oh, my son, my son I " 9© & ©Irristtan'* iStoorfc (Bsmise, I thought her tears were tears of joy over the return of one who had once been a heart-breaking prodigal ; but I found they were tears of sorrow. My brother Thomas had been killed at work in the coal-pit at Marple, where he worked with my brother George. Such was the sad news awaiting me on my home-going. You know how it is in a country village. Everybody knows every other body. Not only that, everybody knows every other body's business. Thus, when we got to the cottage at Asterley, it was soon filled with neighbours and friends who had come in to welcome me home. Now, my mother had not thought her cottage good enough for my wife, so she had taken a room for us at the Plough Inn. It was a great trial to me to pray in the old home; but at last God gave me strength to face the trial, and so before we left the cottage for our room at the inn, 1 said : " Mother, you have often prayed here for me ; and now I must pray for you and father." I took up the well-worn, well-used old Bible. It was so marked and written upon that there were some pages I could hardly read. I turned to the fourteenth chapter of John. My voice trembled as I read it. When I came to the words, " If ye shall ask the Father anything in my name, I will do it," I said : " Mother, I'm going to ask God to save my father." I knelt on the hearthstone on which I had often knelt in childhood while my mother with her hands on my head had pleaded with God to bless her boy ; and I thanked God for all his goodness to me, and pleaded with Him to save my father. As I was praying, my father, looking to my mother, cried out : $1 raging in tlje §ar It aam. 95 «i 1 Mary, what must I do to be saved ? It is high time to seek the Lord's pardon for my sins, when our youngest boy is praying for me." My mother pointed him to Jesus, and before we left for the inn, my father was rejoicing in a sin-pardoning God. When we got to the Plough Inn the house was full of men drinking and smoking. The landlord and his wife and the company there made us heartily welcome. They offered me their cups of beer to drink with them. I said : " Nay, I am a pump-man now." " What I don't you drink ale ?" I said, " No, I drink water." And I began to tell them it would be better for them if they would do likewise ; and I went on to tell them how the Lord had opened my eyes and brought me to Himself. I saw tears stealing down the cheeks of not a few, and they got up to leave. I said : " Before you go we'll have a word of prayer." I knelt down ; some of them sat ; others of them knelt with me. When we arose from our knees they shook hands with me, bade me good-night, and went to their homes. The landlord and landlady and my wife and I sat in silence. I was saying to myself, " What will the landlord and his wife think of their house being cleared in this manner ? " The landlady was the first to break the silence. Looking to me she said, " Do you think I can serve God and keep a public- house ? " I said, « No." §s H flEbrhsttan's £hmrtr Sportsman. 115 His wife jumped up and asked him what was the matter. " Oh," he said, " I thought Death on the pale horse was after me." He lay down again ; but scarcely had he fallen asleep when the same dreadful vision returned. Once more he cried to God to save him. Again he fell asleep, and a third time the dream came. He cried out : " If I don't begin to pray, I shall be in hell before day." In the darkness of the night the two of them knelt in prayer, and the poor, death-hunted sportsman, by betaking himself to the Kiver of Life, was enabled to baffle the hell-hounds that were crying out for his soul. VII. Wjt Uonbon dampaigns. With the Chimney Sweeps. fJffts-N the beginning of 1860 I received an invitation jjsp I*. to speak at a meeting of chimney sweeps in London. I thought it a great thing to be in- vited to speak in London, and supposed that I would have to put on my best manners. I was in such fear and trembling, that all the way up I kept praying to the Lord to give me the needed help and guidance. The meeting was held in a little hall in Euston Eoad. We entered it by a narrow, dark stair- case. The congregation was in keeping with the room and its surroundings. I had seen rough meetings in my day, but I was face to face with a much rougher lot than ever I had seen before. Ladies and gentlemen were there to try and make them happy. Lord Congleton was chairman After the sweeps had been served with tea, they swore at and quarrelled with each other so fiercely, that I began to think there would be a general fight. The chairman got up and cried : "Order, gentlemen." They paid not the slightest attention to his appeal. Other gentlemen got up and attempted to calm the storm. It seemed as easy to quiet hyenas. It came into my mind to sing to them ; so I said to one of the gentlemen : 3U ^Uproarious (Battering. 117 u I think I conld get them to be quiet." He Baid: "You don't know what a meeting of London sweeps is." The efforts to restore order continued. It was in vain. At last one of the gentlemen turned to me and said : " If you think you can quiet them, you are at liberty to try." I rose and shouted at the top of my voice : " Order, boys, and I'll sing you a song." They cried : " Hear, hear." I said : " Now, Jim, thee keep Jack quiet " ; and they fell to work to keep each other quiet ; and I sang the hymn : Glory be to God on high I Jesus Christ is passing by, God is reconciled. They took up the chorus and sang it with might and main. "When the hymn was finished, I said : " Men, these gentlemen want to speak to you now." One of the gentlemen began to speak ; but the uproar also began again. They would not listen. So I sang the hymn : On the other side of Jordan ; and again appealed to them to hear the speakers. Another gentleman began to speak ; but they would not give him a hearing. A third tirne I got up to sing, and 1 sang the hymn : Come sing to me of heaven When I'm about to die. While I was singing that third hymn, I noticed tears running down the cheeks of some of them ; so when the hymn was finished, I began to speak to them- The "8 Clre fontron fltampaigns. power of God came down on the meeting. I got down among them, and went from seat to seat, putting my hand on the head of such as were weeping, and speaking a word of comfort to them. The place was very hot. The sweat was running down my face. I put up the hand that had been on the sweeps' heads to whisk off some of the perspira- tion. My hand left my face covered with soot I The friends on the platform laughed at me. That did not trouble me in the least, as souls were being saved. When the meeting was over, the soot was easily washed away. Using the Enemy's Gun. Mr. "William Carter, a devoted servant of Christ, thought he might make some little use of my past life in the way of exciting interest in the meetings ; so on hand-bills and posters he issued the following notice : To Prize Fighters, Dog-Fanciers, and Sporting men of all sorts : COMB AND HEAR RICHARD WEAVER, KNOWN AS "UNDAUNTED DICK," the converted prize-fighter, from the mines of Lanca- shire. He will sing and preach in Cumberland Market, Regent's Park, on Sunday morning, June 3rd, at eleven o'clock : and in the evening at six o'clock. He will narrate his wonderful conversion, and other striking circumstances of his life. He will also sing and preach in the same place every evening the following week. 3U ^icottttt of tlje iJteettttg. 119 The Unleavened Bread of Sincerity and Truth. Into Mr. Weaver's own narrative we interject an account of those meetings from the pages of The Revival. We have listened to him (Richard Weaver) with unbounded pleasure. The salvation which is in Jesus is to him a river to swim in (Ezek. xlvii. 5). Somewhat startling indeed is the originality both of his wordt and deeds ; but wait it out, and you'll say, It has been good to be here. " Salvation," he cries aloud, " isn't in sacraments. Many go from the communion-rai' to helL It isn't In having the Bishop's hand laid on your head. It isn't in going under the water. It isn't in groans, and tears, and prayers. It's in the blood of Christ. Look to Him ! I'll get out of sight," and he hides himself beneath the extemporized pulpit. " Soul-saving blood ; sin-cleansing blood ; peace-speaking blood ; devil-confounding blood." What our gracious Lord loves is sincerity of purpose and singleness of eye ; and Richard Weaver keeps the feast with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. He longs and with all his heart labours for the salvation of souls. " My friends tell me I'm killing myself. I have come to London because I love you working men : and now I'll preach to you, if you carry me from this waggon to the grave. " A kind brother said he would pay my fare to London, if I could trust the Lord to keep me when I got there ; and, bless the Lord, I can trust Him. Hold up your hands all who are on ihe Lord's side. Now all who are anxious, hold up your hands. Who'll volunteer ? Don't be ashamed. One hand is up. Bless the Lord. Another hand — another. Come up here, you dear souls, and we'll pray with you, and talk to you. Now all kneel down. If you would get to heaven, you must kneel. They get on best that kneel most." Let it not be supposed that levity accompanies all this. Indeed no. We have attended no meetings more solemn nor more rich in results. One evening his text was : " They shall return to Zion with sonjrs." He declared he had always been fond of singing; but, " the songs I used to sing are not the songs I love now. I used to sing ' We won't go home till morning,' The landlady likes to hear that song. I've sung that five nights together and spent £14 on 120 %\)z f!nn&on dtampaigna. one spree, and got turned out at the end ; she wouldn't trust me for a quart. But I've learned better songs. I'll tell you some of them. Here's one : Oh, happy day, that fixed my choice ; and here's another : There is a fountain filled with blood. " The speaker quoted with marvellous rapidity, but without the semblance of irreverence, at least a dozen hymns or portions of hymns, some of which he sang, the meeting taking up the chorus. Then with wonderful tenderness and pathos of voice and manner he related the following anecdote : I knew a collier in Staffordshire who had one dear little girl, the last of four or five. The child was the light of his eyes, and as he came from the pit at night, she used to meet him at the door of his cot to welcome him home. One day when he came home to dinner he missed his little darling ; and going into the house with his heavy coal-pit clogs his wife called him upstairs. The stillness of the place and her quiet voice made his heart sick ; and a foreboding of evil came upon him. His wife told him they were going to lose their little lamb ; she had had an apoplectic fit, and the doctor said she couldn't live. The tears made white furrows down his black face as he leaned over his dying darling ; but she said, " Daddy, sing Here is no rest — is no rest." " No, my child, I can't sing. I'm choking ; I can't sing," " Oh, do, daddy, sing ' Here is no rest.' " The poor fellow tried to sing (preacher sings) — Here on the earth as a stranger I roam, Here is no rest — is no rest. But hia voice couldn't make way against his trouble. Then he tried again, for he wanted to please his little girl (preacher sinys) — Here are afflictions and trials severe, Here is no rest — is no rest ; Here must I part with the friends I hold dear, Yet I am blest — I am blest. Again his voice was choked with weeping ; but the little one whispered J " tBRfrat botst t&on bere V iat " Come, daddy, sing ' Sweet is tlie promise ' ; " and the poor father went on again : Sweet is the promise I read in thy Word, Blessed are they who have died in the Lord ; They have been called to receive their reward, There, there is rest — there is rest ! " That's it, daddy," cried the child ; " that's it " ; and with her arms round her father's neck, she died happy in the Lord. We resume Mr. Weaver's own narrative. What Doest Thou Here? While preaching in London I had a visit from an uncle of my wife. He had been living for 6ome years in America, and had come to England on a visit to his relatives. Having come up with a Manchester gentle- man to London, and put up at the Robin Hood Hotel, he sent me an invitation to call on him there. When I called, nothing would please them save my spending the day with them. I agreed to go with them. The first place they took me into was a large room brilliantly lighted up with gas, although it was a bright summer day. There was a stage, with a row of footlights along it, and a great concourse of people sitting in the body of the hall, waiting for the performance to begin. Pre- sently the gas was turned down, and a man dressed in a smock frock, and straw hat and knee breeches, and carrying a long whip over his shoulders, came on the stage, and began to sing one of the devil's songs. I sat between my wife's uncle and the other gentleman ; but the words, " What doest thou here ? " found me out. I shouted at the top of my voice, " The Lord save you all ; but this is no place for a child of God, so I'll go." The man immediately left the stage, and I groped my out into the sunshine^ i2a ®he foniion (EanrjratjrnB. The Sceptical Doctor. At the close of the preaching one night, a gentleman put his card into my hand. On the back of the card I found written an invitation to his house in Cavendish Square. At supper that evening I handed the card to my host, and asked him if he knew the gentleman. " Yes," he said ; " he is a well-known doctor, a sceptic, and one of the greatest upholders of the theatre in London." I was sorely troubled. I thought the sceptical doctor wanted me to go and argue with him, that he might have an opportunity of upsetting my belief. I was comforted by the assurance given in that word : " If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God " ; and I went to God for the promised wisdom. When I got down to breakfast in the morning, 1 found a letter from the doctor, telling me to meet him if possible at eleven, and to take a cab at his expense. I did as desired ; and when I got to the house was shown into a room the like of which I had never seen before : it was so beautiful. I was afraid to move, lest I should damage the carpet. By-and-by three young ladies came in, who told me they had been with the doctor at the meeting the night before, and had enjoyed it very much. Presently the doctor himself came in, and greeted me in a way that dispelled all my fears. He told me he had arranged matters so that he could have an hour or two with me ; and he pressed me to stay and lunch with them. I agreed. I knew I had no right to be there save as a worker for Christ ; so I turned to one of the young ladies, and asked if Christ was hers. She said ; ^tta&rus Inquirers. t»$ " No ; but I wish He were ! " Putting a similar question to the others, I got from them a similar answer. Then I turned to my host, and asked him if Christ was precious to his soul. He said, "No." Then he went on to tell me he had had one of the best of mothers. He reminded me how, at the meeting on the previous evening, I had knelt on the platform with my hand on my head, and how I had said : " Is there not some sinner here who had a praying mother ? Her hand has been laid on your head in blessing. Perhaps your head is bald now ; but you can never forget that mother's prayers." The doctor told me that, while I was so speaking, conviction of sin had laid hold upon him. He remembered the days when he knelt in prayer at his mother's knee ; he remembered the day when he stood by her dying bed, and she appealed to him to meet her in heaven. He confessed his desire, to meet her above. It was with that object he had sent for me. He wanted me to tell him how I found peace. I told him how the Lord found me, and pardoned my sins. We knelt to pray. The ladies wept ; the doctor wept ; and He who wipes the tears from every eye came into that room and revealed Himself to those earnest seekers as their personal Saviour. I went to my lodgings rejoicing. "An Hungered," and fed from Heaven. Shortly after this I returned to Prescot for a little necessary rest. Many were under the impression that by leaving the «oal-pit for the platform I had an eye to i24 ®fre fjfonflJiJt (JamjraigttS. the bettering of my worldly condition. Had that been my motive, I would have been disappointed. It was so far otherwise, that soon after my return to my family there was no food in the house, nor was there any money to buy it. I remember one morning on which we had not broken our fast for thirty-six hours. I did not care for myself; but it was a severe trial to see my wife and two children foodless. I had received an invitation to return to London ; but I had no money to pay my fare. On the table were the tea-cups and other crockery ; but there was nothing in the way of food. My wife sat with the baby on her knee. I took the Bible and read a portion of God's Word, and then knelt to pray My little boy came to me and said ! " Stop praying, pa. Me so hungry. Give me my breakfast, and pray afterwards. Me SO hungry." He went to his mother, and said : " Ma, I wish pa would stop praying, and give me my breakfast. Me so hungry." He came again to me and laid his little face to mine. I felt his tears wet my cheek. I shall feel them to my dying day. What could I do but plead with God ? There was a knock at the door. I got up from my knees and opened to the postman. He placed a regis- tered letter in my hand. I signed the little paper and opened my letter. I found a five-pound note from an unknown friend. It meant food for my family and my fare to London. I set off with my bag. When I reached Rainhill Station I found the parliamentary train had gone, so I had to take a second-class ticket. When I entered the 2ltt JUstoer to $rag^. tag compartment I was greeted with a social "Good morning ! " by the gentleman who was already there. He immediately began to talk to me about polities. When I understood I replied ; when I did not under- stand I held my peace. By-and-by I said to him : " Let us change the subject." He was willing, and asked what subject I wished to talk about. I said, " God is love." He dropped his paper and pulled off his hat, and said; " Do you know anything of the love of God ?" " A little," I replied. " I know that He loves me and gave his Son for me." He said, "Thank God!" I suggested that we pray in the railway carriage. He agreed. I prayed, and he prayed, and I prayed again, and then I sang. When I had done singing, he asked my name. " Kichard Weaver," I said. In a moment his hand was thrust into his pocket for a well-filled purse, which he offered to me with the words : " God bless you : this is yours." " Nay," said I, " I cannot accept it until I know what it is for." He asked if I remembered preaching in the theatre in Liverpool. I said, « Yes." " Well," he said, " I had a son who, through associat- ing with bad companions, had become one of the worst characters in Liverpool. He was drinking and gam- bling to a fearful extent, and robbing us at home on every hand. He went to hear you preach, and came ti& %\jt. %ax&an dampaigtts. home a new man in Christ Jesus. He is now the greatest comfort we have got. This purse has been in my pocket for some time as a present to you for what the Lord, through you, has done for our boy." I gratefully accepted the purse. But the pleasant surprises of the day were yet to be added to. I was under promise to preach at Green Lane on my way to London. In order to keep that promise I broke my journey at Stafford, and got into the train for Wolverhampton. In the carriage were two navvies and a respectably dressed woman. As the train proceeded towards Wolverhampton, the navvies were talking with each other, and in their talk were frequently taking God's name in vain. At last I could bear it no longer ; and I said to one of the men : " Here, my good man, don't you call my Father names any more." " Call your father names I " said he, " I never spoke a word about your father. I don't know him. Dost thee, Jim ? " " No," said his comrade. " The more shame to you," said I. " If you knew my Father, you would love Him. So please don't call Him names any more." I asked him to give me his hand. I spoke to him of God's love. He told me that six months before he had gone to see his dying mother, and she had put her hand on his head and asked God to bless him. He asked : " Do vou think, Sir, that God will save a sinner like me?" faebbits crying for iKewj. 127 We knelt in the carriage. The navvies cried to God, and their prayer was answered. One of those navvies is now a missionary of the Gospel. When I got out at Wolverhampton, the woman who was in the carriage followed me, and asked if my name was Richard Weaver. She said she guessed it was, from my talk with the men. She went on to ask if I remembered preaching at such-and-such a place, some sixteen months before. I said, " Yes." She said, " The Lord bless thee I Sixteen months ago I had no bed but a bed of straw : my four children had nothing to eat. My husband had been put in prison, and had come out more like a devil than a man. As he came along he saw a placard with your name on it. He said to himself : ' That must be the man I used to work with in the coal-pit. I'll go and hear him.' Your text was, 'The Master is come, and calleth for thee.' He was the first to go to the penitent form. " I was sitting at home that night in fear. When he came in there was only an inch of candle in the socket. He said, ' Where are the children ? ' ' Upstairs in bed,' I said. ' Bring them down,' said he. I laid the baby on the hearthstone and went upstairs, thinking he was about to turn us all out to seek shelter under some hedgerow. I knelt by my sleeping children, and asked the Lord to protect them ; and then I awoke them and took them down. To my astonishment, my husband took the eldest into his arms and kissed her, and said, ' My dear lass, the Lord has sent thee a father home to-night.' He did the same with the second girl, and with the boy, and also with the baby. Then he put his 128 ®he Itonitott dampaintta. arm around my neck, and kissed me, and said, ' My dear wife, the Lord has sent thee a husband home to- night.' Oh, Mr. Weaver, what a word I ' My dear wife! I had not heard it for fourteen years ! How can I thank you ? The Lord bless thee ! " Next morning there was a knock at the door of my room. " Come in," I cried. In walked four children, followed by a man, who said : " God bless thee, Eichard. I am the man that my wife toid thee of yesterday." There they stood, dressed in a way that showed at once respectability and comfort. We had a delight- ful thanksgiving meeting. In the strength of such encouragements I went on to London on the following day. I preached in the Surrey Theatre, the Victoria Theatre, the Borough Road Chapel, New Park Street Chapel, the Riding School in the West End, the City of London Theatre, Effingham Theatre, and other places. The Lord worked in a wonderful manner. Thieves were made honest ; harlots were made virtuous ; wives were reunited to their husbands, and husbands restored to their wives. Not a few who were known as "bad characters " were brought to Christ during that mission ; and so thorough was the change and so complete the blotting out of their past, that they are known now only as devoted workers for Christ, some as evangelists and some as ministers, in different parts of the country. It was the Lord's doing. To Him be all the glory. VIII. In Jkoilanb. FEAR that you may not always be willing to lie still — you who have been like the Fiery Cross over hill and dale, gathering those to our Conqueror who are called and chosen faithful." (Extract from letter written to Weaver by Mrs. Stewart Sandeman.) The Journey North. While labouring in London I received a telegram from Mr. Radcliffe, urging me to join him in Aberdeen. I made the arrangements necessary for the carrying on of the London work, and set off for the north country. I shall never forget that journey. I had overlooked the need of bodily sustenance. After we passed Carlisle, the pains of hunger took hold of me. It was then so late that all the refreshment rooms were closed. I had a bishop for a travelling companion. He had abundance of the good things of this life, and there he sat eating and drinking, and keeping me yearning for an in- vitation to partake with him. I reached Aberdeen without receiving the invitation so urgently wished for. I thought the bishop lacking in compassion ; but it is probable that it never occurred to him that I must be hungry. 130 9n Sfcotlanb. Campaign Begins at Perth. On reaching the address from which Mr. Radcliffe wired me, I was astonished at noticing that the servant- girl who opened the door wore neither shoes nor stockings. Better acquaintance with the customs of the Aberdonians let me know that it was no uncommon thing for the servants in the summer-time to do their work barefooted. On asking for Mr. Radcliffe, I was told he had gone to Perth the day before. On giving my name, however, a hearty welcome was accorded me. I telegraphed to Perth, and got a reply from Mr. Rad- cliffe asking me to join him there. I returned to Perth that same day, and in that city Mr. Radcliffe and I laboured for some time. Blessed results followed the preaching of the word. En Route to Glasgow. Leaving Perth on our way to Glasgow, we travelled by means of a horse and carriage, and preached at the various towns and villages we passed through. At Crieff, a platform had been erected in a field, and thousands had assembled to hear the word. When I had done speaking, I invited the anxious to follow Mr. Radcliffe and myself to the other side of the field. To our surprise, hundreds followed us to ask, " What must we do to be saved ? " We heard of whole families being kept awake all night with joy that salvation had visited their homes. At Braco we had a similar meeting about four in the afternoon. As we had to hurry on to Stirling, we left the anxious ones in the hands of the ministers and Christian workers of the district. ©n flUasgottr <§m«. 13* In Stirling we held a meeting in the Corn Exchange. The meeting lasted all night. Far on in the morning I retired to the hotel for a little rest ; but about five o'clock the "boots" of the hotel called me up, and told me Mr. Kadcliffe wanted me to return to the Exchange to sing to those still there. I found there were yet between thirty and forty inquiring the way of salvation. As I went in I met a working man and his wife on their way out. I asked him if he had found Christ. He said: " No ; but I can stay no longer. I have to go to my work." I took hold of their hands, saying : " I will sing just one verse. The Lord help you to make it yours." I sang : Just as I am, without one plea, But that thy blood was shed for me, And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee: Lamb of God, I come. The man said, " It is done ! Christ is mine ! " The woman also believed. They embraced each other, and went home rejoicing in God their Saviour. On Glasgow Green. We reached Glasgow on the following day. We had been advertised to preach on Glasgow Green. A large platform had been erected. A Glasgow gentleman pre- sided. Each speaker was allowed ten minutes. As soon as the ten minutes were up the chairman rang a bell. When my turn came, I looked at the vast concourse of people, and said : M I will sing first." I sang : JJ* Jit $r.ni[att&. In evil long T took delight, Unawed by shame or fear, Till a new object met my sight, And stopped my wild career. Oh, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb, The Lamb upon Calvary ; The Lamb that was slain, that liveth agRin, To intercede for me. As I sang, I heard the ministers on the platform saying : " This might do for England, but it will never do for Scotland." Before the hymn was finished the people had joined in the chorus. I began to speak. The Lord was with me. The bell was rung for me to stop. I turned round and said : " Thee can ring the bell, but I'm not going to stop." I went on preaching. The Spirit came in such power that many were struck down under the word, and had to be carried into a neighbouring church. There they lay on the floor as if dead. For a time they seemed to be unconscious of everything around them. The Home Door never Barred. One poor girl was laid on the floor of the church. A doctor felt her pulse and said, " She is not dead." By- and-by she sat up and said, " Christ for me ! " Her home was a little cot on the side of a hill in a glen near Blair A thole. Nine years had passed since she left her mother's protecting care. Pardoned by God, she started at once for her old home. She begged by day, and travelled by night. Barefooted, sorefooted, and weary, she toiled on in the storm, supported, as she told me Cfre fJro&ijjal Jjaugljier. 133 afterwards, by the thought of reaching her mother. It was late at night when she reached the glen. A light shone through the window of the little cot on the hill- Bide. She reached the door and knocked. There was no answer. The old widowed mother lay in the box- bed, as they call it ; but she knew not what to make of the knock at that hour of the night. The girl outside trembled with cold, and knocked again and again : still there was no answer. At last she put her hand upon the latch, and lifted it, and the door at once opened. Then the mother cried : "Who's there?" " It's me, mother," said the weary daughter. The mother sprang out of bed, turned up the light, that she might see her daughter better ; clasped her in a warm and loving embrace ; took off her wet things, and put on dry ; and seated her at the little table, on which soon appeared a warm and refreshing supper. By-and-by the daughter said : " Mother, how is it that the door was not locked to- night ? " " My dear child," said the mother, " that door has never been locked since you left nine years ago. I thought you would return home to your mother, and I left it unbarred for you." How like our Heavenly Father ! A Publican Preferring Christ to Customers. After working for some time in Glasgow we went to Greenock, and there held open-air meetings. The dis- trict was moved for miles around. It seemed at that time as if the Millennium were at hand. From tU fin Scatlsmb. Greenock we went to Saltcoats, and thence to Ardrossan. Again the Lord worked wondrously. Let me give you one case from that neighbourhood. My favourite hymn at that time was that which begins : My heart is fixed, eternal God, Fixed on Thee ! fixed on Thee 1 And my immortal choice is made : Christ for me I Christ for me I The wife and daughter of a Dunlop publican had come to the meetings at Ardrossan. They went home to Dunlop new creatures in Christ Jesus. They began to sing, " Christ for me ! " It was carried home by the power of God's Spirit to the heart of the publican, and he fell on the floor as if dead. When he became conscious, the first words he was heard to utter were, " Christ for me I " Young men were sent to pull down his sign, and he declared what the Lord had done for his soul. When the other publican heard, he swag- geringly said : "Yes, it is Christ for him, and all the customers for me." But the work of the Spirit broke out in full force in the place. One night a band of young men and women passed his place singing a gospel hymn. He thought he would like to hear what they were singing ; so he came and stood in his doorway. It was the hymn, " Christ for me ! " The arrow reached his heart. He fell on his knees crying, " What must I do to be saved ? " The Lord pardoned his sins, and he too had his sign taken down ; and I am told that for a time Dunlop was without a public-house. The Oospel of regeneration is the best Temperance lecture I know. flrisoitErs <&anbztteb to (&ott. t$$ In the Calton Jail, Edinburgh. After a brief sojourn in the South, I returned North, to hold meetings in Edinburgh. While there I was asked to preach in Calton Jail. I spoke first in the women's ward. As I looked at the eighty gathered to hear me I felt they had had plenty of harsh words ; so I spoke of the love of God, and I sang, " Rest for the weary." Those who desired to have conversation with me were asked to put out their numbers. In this way I had the privilege of dealing with upwards of thirty anxious inquirers. As I was about to leave the prison, the kind-hearted governor pointed to one of the cells, and said : " In that cell is the worst character in all the prison ; 1 have put her on low diet and in chains, but I cannot break her will. She has not put out her number ; but I wish you would pay her a visit also." The cell door was opened. On the three-legged stool in the centre of her cell sat the wretched inmate. Putting my hand on her shoulder, I said : " God bless you ! The Lord loves you." " No, He doesn't," was her reply. " I am too bad for God to love." " But," I said, " God commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." After some further conversation, she dropped on her knees and uttered the cry : " Thank God, some one loves me !" I prayed with her, and left the cell. Next day, as I was preaching in another part of the prison, a letter was put into my hand, with the request that it be read to the other women. It waB from the woman of whom I l 3& In JlnttlEitft. have spoken, and it was to testify that the Lord had pardoned her sins. As soon as I had read out the name of the writer, several cried out : " If God can save her, He can save me." Several put out their numbers as a sign that they wanted to be spoken to ; and I went from cell to cell to tell of the salvation that is in Jesus. The stories they told of the way in which they had been entangled into sin and crime were so heartrending that I left the prison humbled at the remembrance that it was only through the grace of God that my lot was different from theirs. When the Fine is Paid the Prisoner is Free. A few days later Mr. Eadcliffe and I went again to the prison ; this time to speak to the men. The power of God was on the meeting. The usual invitation to put out the number was given. In going round the cells of those who had done so, we came to a cell in which we found the inmate on his knees. I asked him if he wanted Christ. " No," he replied. I asked, "What are you praying for, then?" He said, " For my wife and children." He went on to tell us that the Lord had already found him in the meeting, and had pardoned his sins. I asked his wife's address, giving as my reason that I meant to go and tell her how the Lord had had mercy on her husband. " God bless you," he said. " Tell her to cheer up, as I come out of prison a new man in Christ Jesus ; and if God spare us, there are happier days in store for her and the children." fPrtamur's jFhte |Sai&. *3? We left him praising God. By-and-by Mr. Eadcliffe asked the Governor what this man was in for. " Drunk and disorderly," was the answer. " What is the amount of his fine ? " " Ten shillings." Mr. Radcliffe paid the fine, and the prisoner was free. As he shook hands with the turnkey, he said : " By the grace of God, you will not catch me here again." I preached that evening in St. John's Church, and in the inquiry meeting found the man who had been liberated from the prison in the morning. He pleaded with me to go and speak with a companion be had brought to the meeting. I found that his companion was one of those who imagine they have to wait awhile 53 and a cry for help, some poor blindfolded stumbler fell headlong into the abyss. My Guide turned to me and solemnly said : " Richard Weaver, you have come to heaven before your time. I want you to go back to earth, and do what you can to pull the bandages from the eyes of those whom I have redeemed with my own blood." I said, " Lord, I am willing." I awoke, and behold ! it was a dream. But from the dream I believed that God was going to restore me to such health as would permit me to serve Him yet a little while longer on earth ; and I was raised from that bed of weakness and permitted to climb back to the sunny heights of health. And unto me it has been given to be instrumental, in the hands of the Saviour of men, in removing the bandages of sin and degradation from the eyes of hundreds — yea, I may say, thousands — some of whom are walking in the light in the towns up and down England, some in Scotland, some in Ireland, and some in Wales. It is the doing of the Lord alone. To Him be all the praise I "Your Money Perish with You." It is characteristic of Weaver that in his own story of his life is no mention of his refusal of what some would call a " magnificent offer " from America. In the year 1868, two gentlemen from the United States sought a personal interview with him in order to secure a promise from him to go to the States on a preaching tour. Unfortunately they came not with the appeal : " Come pver and help us," but with the temptation : " Come, 154 In Srelatto, Hales, mi gwamlaitd. and we'll give you thousand dollars and pay all your expenses." It only made "Weaver certain that it was not a call from God. Like the Hebrew youths, he was " not care- ful " to give his answer. The men with whom the dollar is a power were gre-atly astonished at his blunt reply : " Your money perish with you : I shall not go." It needed a bigger attraction than the: prospect of netting dollars to draw Weaver across the Atlantic. A Thank-Offering Returned. Nor is there mention of his return of a munificent thank-offering. At the close of a successful mission in C , Weaver was surprised with the gift of the title deeds of two villas in the neighbourhood. Taken un- awares, Weaver accepted the " deeds." But he could not sleep. He believed that his acceptance of the gift would afford the enemy a handle, and interfere with his success in winning souls, should he have the privilege of returning to that neighbourhood. He felt he had not the smile of God on what he had done. Fearing to allow the temptation to be dallied with longer, he got up between two and three in the morning, went and rung up the minister who had invited him to the town, and asked : " Mr. , do you ever wish me to return to this town?" "Why, certainly," said the minister. " Then take back those title deeds," said Weaver, and he flung them at the minister's feet and hurried off before a word of protest could be uttered in reply. X. Holbingf tire fatt at ^ollintoo0&. . N the life-story that I have heen tracing, it has hitherto been a case of keeping company with a pilgrim whose pathway was flooded in sun- shine. He has proved his Saviour's worth in the day of prosperity : he is now to have an opportunity of discovering His priceless value in the night of adversity. Experiences lie before him, such as »hose the Psalmist describes in the words : " They laid to my charge things that I knew not : they rewarded me evil for good to the spoiling of my soul " (Psalm xzxv. 11, 12). For the sake of readers who have not the opportunity that I have had, I would say that careful and full investigation of all that can be learned regarding Weaver's trial, in the district in which it occurred, completely swept away from my own mind every vestige of suspicion of Richard's innocence. For the five and twenty years of his life that remained he constantly affirmed it, and when he lay on his death- bed, with full consciousness that he was about to depart, he reiterated, of his own accord, the solemn assertion that the dart that had wounded him was the poisoned arrow of a groundless calumny. I lately asked the neighbours if Mr. Weaver had as 156 %olbm$ tJje fort at ftflhdnonfc. great power of drawing an audience after he passed under the cloud as he had before, and they told me that in that respect it made not the slightest differ- ence. " You had only to put a waggon into the corner of a field — it mattered not where — and let it be known that Weaver was to preach, and at the hour the people were there in thousands 1 " This was the graphic way in which a Cheshire farmer put it. I was told that no one that ever visited the district got the audience that gathered to hear Richard Weaver. Nor may I omit a seemingly trifling, but in this direction very significant incident of which I myself had personal cognizance. I spent the Christmas of 1896 at Moss Bank, the home in which Weaver breathed his last, and in which the bereaved members of his house- hold still reside. It is a modest villa in the Cheshire village that is famous for the large number of its castellated homes of Manchester merchant princes. How those mansions are crowded on the foliage-covered elopes of Alderley Edge ! The " waits " of the district, who on Christmas Eve carried round the echoes of the song sung by the angels to the shepherds of Bethlehem on the Advent that, cut the history of the world in twain, did not forget the humble home of the family of the late veteran evangelist. No fewer than four bands came to pay their respects to the memory of Richard Weaver, At the castles of the wealthy the sacred serenade might be a means of procuring a contri- bution. At Moss Bank it was purely an expression of gratitude and of affection and of esteem. The following letter from an English Church vicar refers to this period. It is the spontaneous testimony "(Soi brought Hm oat." t$j of one who writes with local knowledge of Weaver's trial. Bempton Vicarage, Yorkshire, Feby. 2, 1897. My Dbar Sir, — When I was curate of Chorley, Alderley Edge, in 1863-5, 1 had the great pleasure of making the acquaintance of the redoubtable Richard Weaver. On more than one occasion, when engaged in the afternoon service in our beautiful church, did I hear Richard's mighty and pathetic voice rolling across the village from the tent in which large numbers of people were hang- ing on his words. Richard called on me, and I could see that he was fully grounded in and apprehended by Christ, no more to go out. A sterling God's man, his preaching of repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ, was ever telling and tender — never putting asunder what God has joined together. In 1870 I heard him deliver a very Scriptural and searching discourse in the chapel of the immense Sunday School edifice in Macclesfield, where many were bowed down. There was no attempt to get up a Revival or sensational effect, a course ever, to my mind, derogatory to the presence, promise, and purpose of the Divine and Sovereign Spirit of the Saviour. Yes, poor Weaver passed through thejire and the water; but God brought him out. Gladly contributing these few lines, Believe me, dear Sir, faithfully yours, Nicholas McGrath. Towards the close of the year 1872, the proprietors of The Christian received an account of special services, conducted by Weaver, in the Free Gospel Hall, Leicester. Desiring to be assured that the glowing account was not exaggerated, they paid a visit to the town, and witnessed for themselves the remarkable work in progress. The report read as follows : — We have had brother Richard Weaver for some four weeks or so, holding revival meetings in the Free Gospel Hall, Leicester, rs8 f olfcinn tfre fort at f olUnbmn&. I have in bygone days been at many meetings where Richard has been preaching, but never at any of these meetings have I witnessed the power of an Almighty arm made more visibly bare than I have witnessed at very many of these meetings ; Dor have I ever heard Weaver speak with more of the Spirit's power than of late ; and I am quite sure, from what I have heard from others who have been ten, twenty, and up to forty years, preachers, that they, like myself, have never experienced more of the divine presence in the soul since the days of their first stepping into the glorious liberty of the sons of God ; and never have I seen more clear conversions to God than I have witnessed in the Gospel Hall. Dead souls have been quickened, backsliders have been reclaimed, and believers have rejoiced that God has been speaking in, through, and by his servant, with such a power that has not been often felt in Leicester ; and eternity only can reveal the good that is going On at the Gospel Hall. I do not just speak individually, for hundreds would tell much more than 1 have here related. Brethren, pray for him, that the Lord will still use him to his glory, and give him strength of body, as well as soul. He requires our prayers. Pie had a very bad fit on Saturday night, which is the second since he came to Leicester. Neverthe- less, he preached twice on the following day, when at the prayer- meeting a great many anxious souls came to the penitent forms to get a touch of Jesus as He was passing by. — I remain, your humble servant, W. J. Mayo*. Weaver's own account of the days of darkness that he passed through is as follows : " Every heart knows its own sorrow, and every back its own burden"; but I have sometimes thought that no man has ever had the troubles that I have had to contend with. Afflictions sore have been my lot. I have had physical weakness to battle against. Ever since the time of my dream I have been obliged to walk with a stick to steady myself. For years I was troubled with epileptic fits. At times it required Crifila anil Jlffliriixma. 159 as many as five men to hold me. At other times I have been unconscious for hours together. I have had poverty and want to endure. I have seen wife and children weeping for lack of the food that I, as bread-winner, had failed to procure. But the greatest trial of all was when things that I knew not were laid to my charge. It is reported of Wesley that on one occasion, when preaching in a Dublin pulpit, he said that every sin had been laid to his charge save one ; and he went on to say, " When I am charged with that also my crown will be found." In that respect I can shake hands with the venerable founder of the Wesleyan Church. I have never yet been counted a thief; but every other sin has been laid at my door. To add to the bitterness, I was forsaken by many of my earthly friends. Some of those who had been the most profuse in their professions of attachment to me were the readiest to " drop " me. Thus, I have had trials and temptations of various kinds, and from different sources. But not one trial too many ; not one affliction too severe ; not one temptation too strong. I was never allowed to lose my confidence in God. He who said to Peter, " I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not," must have been inter- ceding for me. He also graciously allowed me to know, in part, why these things came upon me. My life-story has already made plain that I have had much prosperity in the work of the Lord. As bright days and seasons as were ever given to a son of Adam were given to me. I could part with the memories and visions of the bright days : it is not bo with the gifts of the dark and cloudy 160 ffal&ittg tlje JFort at ^ollintooob. days. These latter have let me know by experience that faith can penetrate the darkest clouds. It can prove victorious over every foe. About this time Weaver received an invitation to carry on Gospel work in a hall in Manchester. The invitation seemed to be of the Lord. It seemed also to offer a permanent sphere of settled usefulness. He removed with his family from Macclesfield to Man- chester. So long as health was given him, all was well. But the terrible strain that he had endured began to tell. The pain in his head became so great that he was unable to preach. There were grave fears that his reason was beginning to tremble on its throne. His devoted wife got him away to Liverpool, to stay with some friends there. He rallied somewhat, but not suffi- ciently to warrant his taking up the work, so thai had to be given up ; and with the giving up of the work he said good-bye to a regular income. Under the necessity of reducing expenditure, the troubled family gave up their home iD Manchester, and went to reside in a little cottage in Ahierley Edi;e. But Weaver's convalescence did not continue. Instead of getting better, every day witnessed a change for the worse. Erysipelas at last laid hold upon him, and he was unconscious for seven days and nights. The doctor visited him three or four times a day to see if he were still alive. All hope that lie would recover was given up. The children were taken to his bedside to get their final look at him ere he breathed his last. It was an unconscious lump of clay that they looked upon. 31 (Ehctrkss prospect. 161 The mother had faith to believe that God had a better leave-taking in store for them than that ; so she knelt in prayer, and pleaded with God to let the father's consciousness return ere he set out on his long journey; and the prayer was answered. Weaver fell asleep. When he awoke, consciousness had been restored. But it was a return to new troubles. Two of the children had been seized with small-pox. They lay in the adjoining room. So ill were they, that it was un- certain whether they were not "marked for falling." Nor was that the only new trial. A solicitor's demand for instant payment of £300 lay awaiting his attention. In connection with the arrangements for the work in Manchester, a burden was allowed to fall on Weaver that he should never have been called upon to carry. These new trials made his return to consciousness a sad return. As he himself says : " There I lay, helpless and alone, apparently forsaken by even those who once seemed likely to prove the staunchest of friends. I was getting better ; but my earthly future in those days of darkness was a somewhat cheerless prospect." But God was remembering his servant. It was a fit time for one of " those good deeds in a naughty world " that remind us that the angels have not yet left the earth. Mr. William Allman, a Cheshire farmer, came one day to that trouble-shadowed cottage, and asked Mrs. Weaver if she were in need of anything. He gave as his reason for coming that the Lord had laid it upon his heart to come and put the question he had asked. Trembling and astonished, Mrs. Weaver told him of the solicitor's demand for the instant payment of £300. The 162 %olising *&* Jo** at ^ollttttooob. farmer took the demand, went and paid the money, and returned to his farm all unconscious that he had been an angel of God. (Weaver was enabled to repay this loan.) And he was not the only angel of God that visited that sorely-troubled cottage home. Weaver himself shall tell us of the visit of another, and of what fol- lowed thereon. Mr. John Street, the friend who at the beginning of my itinerant evangelistic work procured me leave of absence from the coal-pit, was the means under God of lifting me out of a gloomier pit than the other had been. He came to see me, and took me with him to his home at Oldham. One day while I was staying there, a Mr. Stansfield came to tea. He was a partner of the firm of Butterworth and Murgatroyd, of Glebe Mills, Hollinwood. He was quite a straDger to me, and I was thus somewhat astonished when he said : " Mr. Weaver, will you come and live among us, and do what you can in the way of visiting the people around ? and my partners and I will stand by you." I said, " I think my labours in the Lord's work are drawing to a close. I am not able to do much now." " Well," he said, " we don't want you to do much. Do what you can, and we'll stand by you in the matter of your earthly necessities." On thinking over the offer, it seemed to me that it did not matter to myself where I spent the little part of life left me ; so I agreed to go and hold meetings in the Workmen's Hall on the Lord's day. After I had held meetings for a few Sundays, they took a house for Hettleb at UMlitttoonfc. 163 me, and sent vans for my furniture, and settled me in Hollinwood. The place had at that time the repu- tation of being one of the roughest and wickedest in Lancashire ; but even there the Lord had reserved unto Himself a few who had not bowed the knee to Baal. These were anxious for the salvation of their neighbours. They brought me eighty Bibles for free distribution. Mr. Stansfield induced the workpeople to open their houses to us for cottage meetings. I took the Bibles round, distributing them as far as they would go, and I read the Word, and talked to the people as opportunity offered. One night our cottage meeting was in Bower Lane. The house was so small that I borrowed a chair and went outside and began to sing. People gathered round inquiring who I was, where I came from, and what I was going to do. On the last point they were not left long in the dark. Interest in the mission was awakened. The Lord was with us. Conversions were taking place almost every night. Amongst those who made profession of finding Christ were some of the worst characters in the place. Mr. Stansfield took his stand with me when I went to mission the streets. There was opposition and persecution. I was nick- named " Butterworth and Company's bull-dog." It only deepened the interest in the mission. Our numbers so increased from week to week that the Institute became too small. My benefactors built a hall for me at a cost of over £3,000. When Dr. Talmage preached in it he said it was the finest mission hall he had ever seen. The local newspaper gave an exceedingly full account of the proceedings in connection with 1 64 SM&ittg tlje Jfnrt at ffcllitttoooil. The Laying of the Foundation Stone of the afore-mentioned hall. It evidently was regarded as an incident of some note in the district. As it was an event of considerable importance in Weaver's life, I give a somewhat detailed account of the story of the day. I. get my information from the newspaper report. It was on a Saturday. The day was fine. Flags were flying from Glebe Mills. The members of the mission met in the tent in Hardman Street at 2.30, and, headed by the Hollinwood Original Brass Band, walked in procession to the site of the building. That a goodly measure of success had been granted to Weaver may be inferred from the fact, that although he had been as yet only a short time at work there, the processionists numbered two hundred and ninety-six. Having arrived at the place where the hall was being built, Weaver, who conducted the proceedings, gave out the hymn, "Rock of Ages." When that had been sung, he engaged in prayer. Thereafter he proceeded to present Mr. Stansfield with a trowel of silver and a mallet of ivory. On the trowel was the inscription : God so loved the world, that He gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. On the mallet in an inlaid plate were the words : Presented by the friends of the Hollinwood Mission, conducted by Mr. Richard Weaver, to Edwin Stansfield, Esq., on the occasion of his laying the foundation stone of a Mission Hall, built by the munificence of Messrs. Butterworth and Murgatroyd, Glebe Mills, Hollinwood, July 27th, 1878. On one side of the stone, which Mr. Stansfield pro- ceeded to lay, was the inscription : ftsghtg t&e 3Fo»ttiratinn Statu. 165 Unto you therefore which believe, Christ is precious ; but unto them which be disobedient, the stone which the builders dis- allowed is made the head of the corner. On another side of the stone, which was a corner stone, were the words : This stone was laid by Edwin Stansfield, Esq., 1878. In the course of his address, Mr, Stansfield said that their object in building that place and calling it a Mission Hall was not in furtherance of any particular creed or doctrine, but for the salvation of the Bible. The plain and simple truths of the Gospel would be de- clared in that place ; and he hoped, if he was spared to see it opened, and the mission located in it, to see it made use of by God as a place for the gathering in of souls. After Mr. Butterworth had addressed the gathering, Dr. Cranage, of Wellington, spoke, and in the course of his address said that he very much liked to see mission halls. They had one in their town, and it was mainly by the instrumentality of their friend Mr. Weaver that it was built. Mr. Weaver came to Wellington to hold some services, and whilst there he suggested to them the idea of a Mission Hall. They accordingly set to work, and when they had a small balance in hand, they commenced to build. But when the hall was finished they still wanted £50, and for a time they could not see their way. They all earnestly desired to open the mission hall free of debt. There was a young Quaker staying with him at the time, and this friend never ceased to pray to God to send in the remaining £50. It so happened that on the day before that on which the hall was to be opened, the young man ruptured a blood vessel. He was carried into bis (Dr. 1 66 Ifrol&htg tbe Jfort at Urillttttoootl. Cranage's) house, and he died, exclaiming, "My Jesus hath done all things well." They did not know the full meaning of their friend's words at the time, but when his will was read it was found that in it he had bequeathed j€50 to their mission hall. Dr. Cranage added that Mr. Weaver opened their hall for them in 1862. After a hymn and prayer the company adjourned to the Institute for tea. Thereafter a public meeting, presided over by Mr. Stansfield, was held in the Tent. The chairman was supported on the platform by Rich- ard Weaver, Mr. Thos. Wood, and Mr. John Street, of Oldham; Mr. Alfred Butterworth, Springbank, Werneth; and Mr. Roberts, of Liverpool. In the course of his address the chairman alluded to the fact that when Weaver came among them, they, as a body of mission workers, were subjected to much criticism, to cold looks, and to many unkind taunts. It hurt him much, but it also set him scheming how to make tbe work more effective. When he thought the time had fairly come, he spoke to his partners in the private office about the advisability of building a hall better suited for the work. They were at one with him on that point. Then arose the question, Should the mission people be allowed to carry the burden of building the hall, or should that burden be carried for them ? His partners said to him (Mr. Stansfield), " What do you think about it ? " He said that the place should be built for the people. There and then they decided to build it. Plans were advertised for. So quietly had th« thing been done, that even Mr. Weaver was taken by surprise. When he was shown the plans he thought they were plans for some other building instead of filrogreBB of ths tffltorL 167 their own. Mr. Stansfield was glad they were fast tiring down the prejudices of their neighbours. Weaver was the next speaker. He told the story of the way by which he had been led to Hollinwood. In the course of his address he said that when it was suggested that he should come to reside at Hollinwood, his dear wife at first objected. She did not like to leave those beautiful flowers and the splendid landscape scenery which down in Cheshire abounded on every hand. After a little persuasion that difficulty was overcome. With regard to the work he had to confess that it was hard at the start, but with God's help he had been able to wade through it all. He was thank- ful to say that now he had a good band of devoted workers, and the people were beginning to look at him and to give him a kind word and a shake of the hand when they met him. Mr. John Street then addressed the assembly. Ad- verting to Weaver's illness of two years before, he said he received a letter from Mrs. Weaver asking him to go and see her husband. He went and found him in a very weak state indeed. He said to Mr. Weaver in his own old-fashioned way : " Neaw, my lad, it ul noan do fort' ha thi here like this." He accordingly brought him to Oldham, where he had got fairly strong and had laid the foundation of a great work. Mr. Alfred Butterworth said nobody felt prouder than he at being present on that occasion. He recollected the time before he gave himself to God, that his whole aim and ambition was to get money, and his principal study seemed to be how to adopt plans by which he might more readily fill his coffers. But he 1 68 Holfcittg tire jFort at ^nllmtoooft. was glad to say a very important change had been wrought in him. He now looked upon wealth as a thing of secondary importance; as the love of it was likely at times to turn their thoughts from those great and high and noble considerations which ought to be every Christian's deepest concern. It required a person to be always on his guard lest he should find himself going in the wrong path. Other speeches in like spirit followed, and the proceedings closed in the usual manner. The following are the testimonies of two of the Hoi linwood converts : Fhom Jammib Taylor. Formerly there was at the top of Hollinwood what they called the "Road End Gang," and there were certain gentlemen who used to come every Sunday afternoon and hold cottage meetings. One Sunday afternoon one of them came amongst this gang, giving tracts, and inviting us to the cottage meeting with him. When we got to the door and saw that the place was full of women and other people, we turned back again. Then we went back to the top of the street, and we commenced to gamble again in the way of tossing, and I won eighteenpence with it. After the meeting was over, we stood at the end of the street, and this gentleman came to us and said to me, " Don't you thiuk you would have been better if you had been in the meeting with us this afternoon ? " I said " No." And he said, " For why P " and I said, " For this reason, while you have been in the meeting I have won eighteen- pence with tossing." He said, " You have sold your soul for eighteenpence ! " and I said that if I had, I would sell it again for eighteenpence if I had the chance. Then he said there was a man preaching at the Hollinwood Institute, named Richard Weaver, and he invited us to go and lisien to him i and we went, and when we got there a lot of us gat in a corner where there was a fireplace. There was a man with a silk hat and we commenced to get cinders to spin at this silk hat ®EBtimnttiea of (Konberta. 169 Mr. Weaver spied us out from tbe platform, and he knew me by coming and visiting my father when he was sick, and he exposed me to that extent that when I left the meeting I commenced to swear, and I threatened that if I had him I'd shove him in the canal. The week following, I don't know how it was, hut I was led to the same place again ; and that night, instead of throwing the preacher into the, canal, the Lord came with his great, mighty power through the preacher, and I fell into the fountain. That is now over nineteen years since, and I have never regretted one moment of serving God. Fhom John Isherwood. For many years I was a member of the Hollinwood Working Men's Institute. I used to play at billiards, bowling, and card- playing. One night I was playing at billiards, and the billiard- room was propped up with four props. While playiDg, one of these props was in the way of the cue. I made inquiries from Mr. Hardman, the man in charge of the Club, what was the matter that the props were up again, and he told me that the converted collier, Mr. Weaver, was coming to preach in the room above. After the game was over, I went upstairs out of curiosity, as I was a collier myself, and had heard so much of Richard Weaver. After the singing and praying was over, he commenced to preach about Martha and Mary ; and the earnestness of the man was so great that I came to the conclusion that he had gone out of his mind. After speaking at home about him and about his earnestness, I went again; and for six months, Sunday after Sunday, I kept going. I was still blind to my sins. At last a time came when Weaver as an instrument in God's hands preached from the old test, " Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting." I was invited to stay to the prayer meeting; I went instend to the " Filho," and called for a glass of bitter beer ; but the Spirit of God was now working upon me through the words of the preacher in such force that I went home, and if they haven't removed the beer that I called fornineteenyearsngo.it is there still! Little did I think at the time when I put the cue into the rack and went to hear him that I should work with him. I am iD the work yet, and still labouring in the same hall. For seven years I have been superintendent of the Hollinwood Mission Hail i?o ffaltong tljt Jfort at HoIIinhmofc. Introduction to Dr. Talmage, of America. The following remarks were made by Dr. Talmage on his return to America after one of his visits to this country. The account is reprinted from The Signal : — I had great desire to see the much talked about, ofteD con- demned, but divinely honoured Richard Weaver, the English Evangelist. He has for many years been stirring the hearts of vast multitudes. It has been no unusual thing for him to addiess ten thousand people in the open-air, and to have hundreds under one sermon converted. " Is it not strange," I often said, " that I see nothing of Richard Weaver." He had for years paused in his itinerant work, and been preaching in a large hall in Hollinwood, near Oldham. At last I found him coming out of the stables of one of my hosts (Dr. Cranage, of Wellington, Salop), where he had been looking at the horses. I heard him singing before I saw him. We greeted each other like old friends. " You must go to Hollinwood," he said. " I cannot go," was the reply. " I have but one day, and that next Saturday, to rest in before I leave England, and I must rest or die." By this time we had reached the house. He got down on his knees, and said : " O Lord, show this man that it is his duty to go to Hollinwood." Rising, he said : "This is my excuse for demand- ing that you go. It will be the neediest audience that you have seen in England. All poor, and the Lord's poor, and you have not seen England till you have seen my humble Mission Hall." After further consideration I accepted the invitation to preach on the Saturday afternoon. Arrived at Hollinwood, we had a deliglitful time. Richard Weaver is one of the most magnetic men I ever met. He recited reminiscences, and sang for me, and did every- thing except tell the story of the Lost. Sheep. 1 said to him : " I have heard and read much about the way you tell that story " ; but he declined, saying that he needed the inspiration of a large audience before him to do it well. True to his statement, the people in the hall were the Lord's poor. I never enjoyed preaching more than that afternoon to that unpretending audience, A gentleman (one of the partners who built the hall ) played the organ. As I was leaving for the train, he handed me an envelope. I said, " Excuse me, I cannot take that. I suppose it is to meet gr. {Ealmitjje'a $Hsit. 171 my expenses. I came down here to serve Richard Weaver, and I will pay my own expenses." He replied, " You do not know what the letter contains. Put it in your pocket." Arriving at the station, I opened the letter, and was surprised more than I can tell, for it contained one hundred pounds. When Dr. Talmage preached in the Hall, he com- menced his address by saying that when quite a young man, his mother one day gave him a little book entitled, " The Life of Kichard Weaver." She said, " De Witt, read this ; and if ever you go to England, be sure and meet with this man whom God has so blessed." " And," Dr. Talmage continued, " here we are, Kichard Weaver and myself, on the same platform, serving the same God, preaching the same Gospel, and bound for the same Heaven." His text was " Come thou and all thy house into the ark." According to our informant, he preached a sermon of such power and pathos that it can never be forgotten by those who had the privilege of hearing it. During Weaver's sojourn at Hollinwood, when visiting on one occasion at the house of his dear old friend, Dr. Cranage, be met a converted Parsee, Mr. M. H, Mody, of Bombay. He was of the highest birth, and ranked as an Indian prince ; but because of his conversion to Christianity, he had been cut off and persecuted by his friends and relatives. Weaver introduced him to those who had built the Hall for, and had proved such friends to, himself. Through their munificence Mr. Mody was sent out to Bombay to labour for Christ among his own people, the Parsees, and his work has been blessed of God to many souls. It should also be said that the Bible used by Richard i7» Hotting the ^ati at BoUinhiooir. up till the day of his death, was presented to him when he entered upon his labours at Hollinwood. The bond of love that existed between him and his mission people was wonderful, and accounts for the greatness of the work that was through him accomplished there. Many of his friends say that of all the works which God did through Richard Weaver, the work at Hollin- wood is one of the mightiest in its results. Mr. Weaver's narrative proceeds : Now I thought, and they thought, that I was settled there for life ; but God had ordered it otherwise. Friends from London and other parts of England, and from Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, kept pleading with me to give up the Hollinwood mission, and go up and down the country as before. At last the appeals became so pressing that I was driven to the conclusion that the Lord was calling me. After prayer and conversation with my brother Stansfield, I decided to go. It cost me a great struggle to leave the place where I had lived and laboured for five happy years, and the people that I loved as my children in the Gospel. Many times sirjce, and especially since my health failed me, have I found myself wishing I had remained. They were so kind to me. They saw to all my earthly wants, so that I was free to devote my time and strength to the work. There was nothing that they could do for me that they did not do; no kindness that man could wish thai they did not show. I have often wished myself hack among them ; but in deciding as I did, I followed such li^ht as I had, and have not the slightest doubt that 1 was led in the right path. I believe that all is well. XI. 21 %tut (ftomra&e. '/HE first place Weaver visited on leaving Hollin- wood was Dr. Barnardo's " Edinburgh Castle," in the East of London. The following is taken from a report of an address which he delivered there on the evening of the Derby Day, 1881 :— I went to-day into a hairdresser's shop in Newgate Street. The first thing the barber said was : " Are you going to the Derby ?" I looted at him, setting my eyes firmly upon him, and said, " Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the un- godly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sittetb in the seat of the scornful, but his delight is in the law of the Lord." The barber shaved me in silence. How the people were flocking past as I came along, evidently rushing to the Races ! Now, my dear friends, what they call " pleasure " is only sadness, and grief, and anxiety. I, for one, don't believe in gambling at alL I believe it to be downright dis- honesty and theft. A Gambler is only a Respfctablk Thief; and he ought to go and live in St. Giles', along with other thieves. No gambler gambles for the benefit of other people. It is only for himself ; and he doesn't care whose monei he gets so that he gets it. It doesn't matter to him who goes to the wall if only he himself is all right. They may make fun of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, with his opposition to the adjournment of Parliament on such an occasion ; but he is right. It is a disgrace to our country that its 174 &■ flCnte Contrai?. government should be in the hands of men who adjourn Parliament for " the Derby." If we are a Christian community, we should act worthy of the name we bear. While I was preaching at Dr. Barnardo's I stayed with a friend whose house had been my home during all my sojourns in the great city. He sent an invitation to my wife to join me. She came, bringing our three youngest children with her. A month after coming up to London she became unwell, and returned home with the children. I was under promise to conduct a mission in Mr. Charrington's Assembly Hall, Mile End Road, and remained in London for that purpose. One day, while at prayer, I felt impressed tbat the Lord was about to take my wife to Himself. I told the people I believed I had a great trial before me. When I had done speaking, a lady said to me, " You should try to dispel such thoughts as these." Still the presentiment remained. I went home. When I entered the house I said to my niece : " Where's your aunt ? " " In bed, uncle," was the answer. Without taking off hat or coat, I walked upstairs, and was received with a smile and a kiss. I said : " Sarah, how are you ? " She replied that she thought she was better. In another room lay our youngest child, ill of scarlatina. That was on the Monday. On the Thursday I sent for other doctors, that a consultation might be held. When they came downstairs, they said : " Mr. Weaver, you must prepare for the worst." Next day my wife lay there : our eldest son Sam sat beside her, holding her right hand, and looking at his J$tra. WLzabn'm &mau& %llntss. ijs mother. The doctor sat in a chair near. Speaking to our son, he said he could do no more. The youth said to his mother : " Mother, Dr. Sparrow has done all he can." She said, " Have you, Doctor ? " He replied, " Yes, Mrs. Wea-ver." She said, " God bless you, Doctor ; I shall soon he in heaven with my Saviour. W ill you meet me there ? " " I hope so, Mrs. Weaver," was the reply. She tenderly urged him to have his hope exchanged for assurance. She pleaded that He who shed his precimi s blood was worthy of trust. The doctor went away, and she sent for some of our neighbours. Among those who came were my bene- factor, Mr. Stansfield, and his good wife. She said to him : " Mr. Stansfield, you have been very kind to me and mine ; and I pray God to reward you here and hereafter. You will meet me in heaven, won't you, Mr. Stansfield ? " He said, " Yes, Mrs. Weaver." A friend who had been a great drunkard, but had been brought to Christ, came with his wife. When they entered the room, my wife said to him: " I shall soon be in heaven ; will you meet me there ? " He said, " Yes, Mrs. Weaver." She turned to his wife, saying, " Kiss me." She did so, and was then asked the same question. She could not say that her sins were forgiven ; so her answer was, " I hope I shall," " Hope ! The blood of Jesus never fails. Kisa me again 1 " M 176 Jl ®rae Cnmra&e. It was done. Again she was asked the pointed ques- tion : " Will you meet me in heaven ? " Many a time was the question repeated, for my wife would not let her go. At last her friend broke down, and cried out : " The Lord help me, Mrs. Weaver. I will meet you in heaven." Two friends who had been telegraphed for arrived, and were shown into her room. I was dumb. My wife greeted them with the request that she had been making of all the others. One of them turned to me and said, "To be here is to be in the antechamber of heaven." I saw that her life was ebbing fast. I went to the bedside, on which was lying the wife that had bved with me more than thirty years. She had rejoiced in my joy. She had wept with me in my sorrow. Many times when I had been cast down, she had comforted and cheered me. Often had she risen from her bed in the small hours of the morning to plead with God for me. She was the mother of my six children. I said, " Sarah, have you given us all up ? " She said, " I wonder at you, Richard. I gave our children to the Lord when they were born ; and I shall meet them all in heaven." She went on to say : " There are three things I want you to promise me." I asked, " What are they ? " " First, you will bury me in Ardwick Cemetery, in the grave of my mother ; it will hold two — you and me." I said, " That shall be done." " Second, you will be as kind to our niece as to oui own children. She has been a good girl to me." %tt Ifast KRor&a. i?7 " That shall be done." " Third, you will try after I am dead and gone to win more souls to Christ than you have done while I was living. And, if I can, I will pray for you in heaven" I said, " That shall be done." Many times since, when I have seen the mighty power of God on the congregations I have been addressing, I have believed that my wife was pleading with Jesus for me. Then turning to her children, she said : " What is there here to court my stay Or hold me back from home, While angels beckon me away, And Jesus bids me come ? " Whispering the words, "Precious blood," she departed to be for ever with the Lord. No man knows the value of a good wife till he has lost her. It was after mine had gone that I made the discovery that I had lost my right arm of power, and wisdom, and counsel. Bendigo. As an example of one of the ways in which my wife was unto me a true helpmeet in the work of the Lord, I will narrate the story of the conversion of a notable character who went by the name of " Bendigo." His real name was William Thompson. He was a great prize-fighter. In my own unconverted days I had often bet on his fights. At his birth he was one of triplets. He was brought up as a heathen, and permitted to run 178" % ®ttte (Eotttra&e. about and do as he liked. He told me he never had a shoe on his foot, nor any clothes worth speaking of, till he was in his teens. From his youth he had a very strong propensity for fighting. He fought twenty-seven prize-fights, and he won them all. He stood some five feet ten inches high ; but what weight he was I cannot say. He could throw a stone two hundred yards. He could heave half a brick across the river Trent, at Nottingham, where it is Seventy yards in width. There was hardly a field in the neighbourhood of Nottingham that he could not throw a cricket ball over. Though he could not read a word, he was in the earlier of his fighting years noted for his temperate habits and truthful disposition. He thought that God had given him the ability to fight, that he might win money to keep his mother out of the workhouse. No one ever taught him the art of boxing ; nor did he imitate any man's style. Before he went into a fight he used to go down on his knees and ask the Lord to allow him to win, for his mother's sake. But he fell from the paths of tem- perance. He had saved a little money, and had placed it in the hands of one who professed great friendship for him. But the profession was hollow. He robbed Bendigo of it all save £30, and the too-trustful fighter was so cast down at the shameful way in which he had been treated, that in a fit of recklessness he took his £30 and began a drinking spree, which ended in his being brought before the magistrates. After this he became careless. The white flower of his reputation had become so soiled that he despaired of its restoration. He was continually in trouble, and " frss for mtt gettotgo." 179 often in prison. It had been thus with him for a long time, when I went to Nottingham to preach. I wanted to see Bendigo ; but when I told a brother in Christ about my desire he simply laughed at me and said : " It's no use. He'll simply tell you that the Lord gave him the power to fight to keep his mother out of the workhouse." I failed to obtain an interview. Ten years later, on the invitation of kind friends, I returned to conduct a mission in the town in the neighbourhood of which was Bendigo's home. On Thursday afternoon I was praying about the meeting that I was to conduct in the evening. To my astonishment, I could not think of any text from which to speak to the crowd that would gather in the hall where I was to preach. My mind was full of Bendigo. The only voice that seemed to me to com* from heaven was a voice which said : " Pray for old Bendigo." Presently I was called to my tea. At the table I asked my host if he could tell me where old Bendigo was. " In prison," he said. " At least, if he is not there he has only just come out, and they are after him with a warrant to put him in again." I said, " I believe God is going to save him. I can think about nothing, pray about no one, save this old man. Will you go with me to-morrow to see the Mayor and get me permission to visit Bendigo in hia cell?" My host said, " Yes, I will go ; but I know it's of no use to attempt the conversion of Bendigo," and he laughed. The want of faith vexed me, but I only said. 180 % W.vne (Somra&e. " Sir, I believe God is about to save Bendigo." It was the month of February. There had been a heavy fall of snow ; so when the hour of meeting drew on, I was driven to the hall. The young man who opened the cab-door, said : " Who do you think is at the meeting to-night ? " I said, " I don't know." He said, " Old Bendigo." On making inquiries, I found that he had come out of prison only that morning. Some of his old chums and companions, who went by the name of "Notting- ham lambs," had gone to the prison gates to welcome him out. In addition to these, a man of some wealth, who had heard me preach, and thought my preaching would help Bendigo, had also gone to the prison gates at the hour when prisoners are discharged. When Bendigo made his appearance, his old " pals " went forward and shook hands with him, and said : " Come along, Bill ; we've got a breakfast ready for thee — warm ale and beef-steaks. Come ! " Mr. W also stepped forward and said, " No, don't go, Thompson ; I want you to come with me. I have got a capital breakfast prepared for you ; and I want you to go to-night and hear a man preach in the Temperance Hall. He was formerly a collier and a prize-fighter. They used to call him 'Undaunted Dick.' " Bendigo said, " Mr. W , I'll go with thee ; " and thus Bendigo was led to the meeting. I went in, got on the platform, and looked round for Bendigo. Though I had never seen him before, I had no difficulty in picking him out. I called to him to come and take a seat on the platform by my side. H© Hett&tgn at tijt JJteetittg. 181 walked limping on to the platform. His limp was due to his having broken one of his knee-caps when he was turning a somersault before one of his fights. He sat by my side as I preached. My watch lay on the table. He kept lifting it, and looking at it. A gentleman whispered : " Mind your watch, or Bendigo will have it." I whispered back, "Never mind; God will give me another." By-and-by Bendigo became restless and said he must leave, or the train would be going without him. He lived at a place named Beeston, about four miles out of Nottingham. I told him to sit still, and if he missed his train I would send him home in a cab. Next morning he had to appear before the magistrate. The usual penalty — six weeks or two guineas — was imposed. Mr. W paid his fine, and he was back in the hall in the evening. He wept as I spoke. Next day I went to see him in his cottage home. It was like a little museum, so filled was it with presents of one kind and another. I spent the afternoon pleading with God for him, and pleading with him for God. When I left he seemed thoughtful. Next day was Sabbath, and the last of the days of my mission. At the evening service the place was crowded long before the hour. A large number stood round the door unable to gain admittance. Seeing the prize-fighter approach they cried: " Here cotbes old Bendigo : make way for him I " He was planted once more on the platform by my Bide. My theme was — God's love to even the chief of sinners. God's Spirit was at work. When I had done speaking, Bendigo dropped on his knees before that i8a 3^, ®r«* Comttt&e. vast concourse of people, and cried to God for mercy. His prayer was : " Lord, if Thou couldst save a man like 'Undaunted Dick,' Thou canst save me." The people shouted, " God bless old Bill I " Some of them were weeping ; some were laughing — in each case I believe it was for joy. Bendigo got up fiom his knees, and said : " What are you laughing at ? I have fought for you, haven't I ? " "Yes, Bill." " Well, I will pray for you now." It came into my mind to take Bendigo home to Cheshire with me. I said : " Friends, it has come into my mind to take Bendigo home with me, if he will go." They cried, " God bless you, Mr. Weaver." Bendigo said, "I will go, Daddy." He called me " Daddy," though I was his junior by some years. Morning came. I went out with my host to say good- bye to a few friends before I started for Cheshire. When we returned Bendigo had arrived. My hostess called me into another room, and said : " Mr. Weaver, if I were in your place I would not take Bendigo home. He's a walking nuisance." By-and-by came a message from Bendigo's brother telling me not to take his brother Bill to my home, as he would only insult us all. I thought if I could get him away from his old companions and friends, there would be more of a chance for him, so I stuck to my resolution. I got him to take a bath. We had him rigged out in a new suit — underclothes and overclothes, for both were needed. In company with a friend JEtre f inn taxtab into a Jamb. 183 named Mr. Dupe, we set forth for Cheshire. When we were passing Alton Towers, Bendigo said : " I am so hungry, Daddy." I said, " Cheer up ; we'll have some shrimp pie when we get home." Turning to Mr. Dupe, he said : " I shall want something better than shrimp pie when we get there." We reached home. Pointing to some sides of bacon that hung overhead, and speaking to Mr. Dupe, he said : " Jim, shrimp pie ! shrimp pie I " Some time afterwards, when we were alone, my wife said to me : " Eichard, you have brought many a rough character here, but this one seems to be the masterpiece. I shall be afraid to stay in the same house with him." I said, " The Lord has turned the lion into a lamb." But Bendigo had not as yet entered into light. That evening passed away. We had prayers, and retired to rest. Next evening came. Mr. Dupe, my wife, and I, were in the study. Bendigo was in the dining-room with the children. Thinking we would like to see how they were getting on, we slipped noiselessly to the door of the dining room. With the wisdom of those who lock the door of the stable after the steed is stolen, we had put a guard around the fireplace after our little Frankie had burnt his right hand through falling into the fire. It was very cold. The children were on their knees around the fire-guard. They were saying their child prayers before they retired to rest. Bendigo was kneeling with them. Reginald, as the eldest of the young children, was leading the others. 184 |t Srae Comrate. We heard him say, " Lord, bless father." To our astonishment, Bendigo also said, " Lord, bless father." " Lord, bless mother," said the boy. " Lord, bless mother," said Bendigo. The boy prayed for his friends one by orje, and the petitions were repeated by Bendigo. Then came "Lord, bless Bendigo." " Lord, bless Bendigo," said poor Bendigo. "They say Bendigo is a bad man, Lord," said the boy. " They say Bendigo is a bad man, Lord, and it's true," said the man. " But Thou canst save Bendigo," said the boy. " But Thou canst save Bendigo," repeated the man. " Thy blood was shed for Bendigo," said the boy. " Thy blood was shed for Bendigo," said the man. "Lord, save Bendigo to-night," said the boy, con- cluding his little prayer. " Lord, save Bendigo to-night," said the man, in tones of unmistakable earnestness. Mr. Dupe said, " Praise the Lord I " My wife wept. My heart was bowed in worship at the manifestation of Jesus' power to save that mine own eyes were be- holding. They arose from their knees. Bendigo took our youngest son into his arms, and carried him round the room, sighing : " Oh that I had been taught in my childhood to pray, and to love God. How different my life would have been ! " My wife made her appearance. Bendigo turned to her, and said : " God bless you, madam! Oh that I had been brought (Eljt $ettitEttt f rije-fij5bter. 185 up as these children are being brought up I What a life I have lived ! But I am in heaven now. I am in heaven now." And the penitent prize-fighter knelt once more, and laid his head on the fire-guard, and sobbed like a little child. The heart of a little child was given unto him. He arose from his knees born of God. Changed thus by Divine grace, he had now no greater delight than to hear the Word of God. He kept our Reginald so closely engaged reading it to him that the boy's sight failed him for a time. Bendigo travelled with me, and sat by my side on platforms in Liverpool, London, Birmingham, Manchester, Rochdale, Hanley, Derby, Leicester, and in many other places. Some that no words of mine could reach were unable to resist the testimony of old Bendigo. To see him " clothed and in his right mind " was to them nothing short of a miracle of saving grace. Conviction laid hold of them, and they fled for refuge to Bendigo's Saviour. Returning home, he joined the Good Templars, and obtained complete mastery over the drink that once had held him in chains. His desire for it was com- pletely taken away. At last, one day whilst coming down from the attic of the little cot at Beeston, where he lived, he slipped at the turn of the stairs and fell to the bottom. Several ribs were broken, and one of the broken ribs had pierced his lungs. The news spread that Bendigo was dying. Rich and poor, Christians and worldlings — for he was esteemed by all — went to see him. Amongst those who visited him was the ex-pugilist, Harry Pawson, who had fought Tom Sayers. The dying man put out his hand to welcome his old friend, and said ; 1 86 % ®nic ffiontraiie. " Harry, will you meet me in heaven ? " " I am too bad, Bill." " You have never been so bad as me, Harry ; and if the Lord could pardon me, He can pardon you. Harry, promise to meet me in heaven." " I am too bad," said Harry again. But Bendigo would not give him up. Looking appealingly to him he said : " Harry, give me a kiss as a promise that you will meet me in heaven." The story as I have given it is from the lips of a gentleman who was present at the interview. My in- formant told me that when Harry Pawson bent, with weeping eyes, over old Bendigo on his dying bed and kissed him, his own eyes filled. To see these old war- riors bidding each other such a farewell was more than he could bear. After Harry had given the kiss that was to Bendigo a promise that his friend would meet him in heaven, the dying prize-fighter did his best to sing these two lines : For you must be a lover of the Lord, Or you won't go to heaven when you die. They were almost his last words. Soon after singing them, he departed to be with Christ. The aldermen of Nottingham, at their own expense, gave his remains an imposing public funeral. He was buried, according to his own wish, in his mother's grave. Over the grave they erected a massive tombstone, on which is sculptured — A LION AT REST XII. Uttitsittttg femur I8attk-M&s. tFTER a campaign of many months in Londonj we find Weaver in the North of England. In the pages of The Christian we see accounts of rvJsSf successful Missions that he conducted in "JO*. Newcastle, Blyth, Scotswood, Spennymoor, Shildon, Crook, etc. On the invitation of Mr. Quarrier, of The Orphan Homes of Scotland, he crossed the Border to conduct a five weeks' mission in the second city of the kingdom. After receiving Weaver's promise to come to Glasgow, the Orphans' friend and a few of his workers set about securing halls for the Sabbath services. They were look- ing at St. Andrew's Hall — the largest in the city — and discussing its suitability for the eleven o'clock meeting. One of the workers said : " We need not take this : we could not fill it." In his own characteristic way, Mr. Quarrier replied : "We will take the hall, and leave the Lord to fill it." So the hall was taken, and Mr. Quarrier's faith bad its justifying reward. When the hour of meeting came the place was filled in every corner. A meeting of workers gathered in the hall of The Orphan Home, to welcome Eichard on the evening of his arrival in Glasgow. The building was crowded, not only with inhabitants of Glasgow but also with some who had 1 88 ftebtzttittg former gattle-fiel&s. come several miles to see their old friend, and in many cases their spiritual father. When the evangelist made his appearance, the whole congregation rose to their feet and sang, Praise God, from whom all blessings flow. After overcoming the emotion produced by so cordial a welcome, Weaver's eye caught the following motto on the wall : " If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it." Catching up the words " I will do it," he dwelt on the fact that if souls were to be converted in Glasgow — and of that he had not the slightest doubt — it must be the Lord's doing. That was a work that was beyond man's power. The following account of the mission is taken from the pages of Mr. Quarrier's narrative for that year (1881-2):— On the 19th of November, Richard Weaver began five weeks' special services with us. For many years we had been observing how the Lord was using this servant of his to the working people in many parts of England, and having satisfied ourselves as to his standing, and believing that God would bless him here also to the same class, we invited him to come. The thousands that flocked to hear him filled the three largest halls— the St. Andrew's, the City, and the National — in our city. Every Sabbath witnessed to the fact that he had not lost his old power to get and hold large audiences. Trial had sanctified the vessel, and made him more fi ttcd to tell out the old, old story. We have had large experience of evangelists, and believe there are few so well qualified to speak to the working classes as Richard Weaver. During the five weeks he was with us he conducted over fifty meetings, and at every one of them there were anxious inquirers at the close ; and not a few who had passed from death unto life while the meeting was going on. It was pleasing to see the hundreds, as the result of his former work in this city, who came to welcome him. Standing fruit is the best testimony of usefulness in the Master's service that any one can have. j$£0tlatt&. 189 Many were loud in their thanks to us for bringing him to the city. If we had done it for the praise of men, we might have been lifted up ; but our only object was to make Christ known to the perishing by using those whom God honours. From the be- ginning we have sought to work with all who love the Lord Jesus, and we welcome all whom God uses in the winning of souls. In a conversation that I had with Mr. Quarrier about his invitation of Weaver, I was not astonished at the dis- covery that the Orphans' friend had not acted without consulting his Urim and Thummim. For a long time he had had it laid on his heart to invite "Weaver. The vision was so persistent that it seemed to him to be "of the Lord." But he did not act without spreading out his Gideon's fleece. He asked the Lord, if it really were his desire that Weaver should be invited, to send means for the necessary expenses in such abundance that there could be no mistake. The money came in. Thereupon Mr. Quarrier felt that he need not confer with flesh and blood. He had received his orders, and he obeyed. While health was given him, a visit to Glasgow under Mr. Quarrier's auspices was an annual occurrence. Once Mr. Quarrier had taken the lead, and the step had received such an abundant justification as those first five weeks gave it, other invitations came pouring in on the evangelist. Amongst these was an invitation from a few old friends in Edinburgh. Mr. Napier was the bearer of the invitation. He gives the following report of the financial arrangement : — " I asked him of his charges." In reply, he said, « Is Christ dead ? " I, of course, said, " No." Then said he, " He will look after all that. If we do our duty, the Lord will do his." igo ftebiatthtg former gattle-fiel&a. The Drill Hall was engaged for the Sunday evening. It is supposed to hold about six thousand. It was packed to the door. Weaver's poet laureate was still to the fore ; and at the meeting held to bid him good-bye, the following verses were read : — We hail thee with gladness, dear Weaver, again To Edina the scene of thy labours of yore ; Thy presence amongst us will gladly constrain The chords of my harp to re-vibrate once more. We welcome thee back to old Scotland again, To the land of the covenants, sacred and dear, Where martyrs have bled the pure cause to maintain, And truth shone out bright as the firmament clear. In greeting thee, Richard, we think of the past, When the thousands were moved by thy eloquence great j When thy words reached the hearts of the multitudes vast, And made the ungodly with terror to quake. Though now we behold thee with age on thy head, No loDger retaining the freshness of youth, Yet a Power is upon thee that rouses the dead, And brings the poor wanderers back to the Truth. In gladness we lift up our hearts unto God, And prayerfully gather around you to-night, To meet you and cheer you and send you abroad More souls to reclaim to the kingdom of light. By the time of the farewell meeting held in the following year, the heart of the poet was somewhat sore because of the continued absence of many that he expected to see by Weaver's side. To these he makes a passing reference, and then concludes as follows : — Whoe'er can forget the bright days of the past, When his words held together the multitude vast I In our fields and our halls they gathered to hear And shed o'er the Gospel's sweet story a tear. Wtabtt'a floei laureate. 191 Farewell, then, once more ; thy old friends are now few : May those that surround thee be (rallant and true I May Heaven still bless thee, and lengthen thy day, To deliver poor sinners from Satan's vile sway I In connection with those later Edinburgh campaigns, it may be mentioned that the late Dr. Moxey threw himself heartily into the work. In addition, he advised his elocution pupils if they wanted an example of natural oratory, to go and hear Richard Weaver. On the invitation of the Ayrshire Christian Union he held meetings in Ayr, Maybole, and Kilmarnock. Still following the traces of him that abound in the pages of The Christian, we find him next in the North of England, conducting missions in Jarrow, Durham, Willington, and Barrow-in-Furness. Thereafter he visits Wales, and conducts missions in Swansea, in Tonypandy, Cardiff, and Pontypridd. Then we find him in London, conducting special services in various parts of the great metropolis; after this at Belfast, where a blessed work is begun. A few weeks later we see him in the thick of the fi^ht in Liverpool. Blessing attends him wherever he goes. Stirring and interesting incidents occur in great abundance ; but as the reader is probably of opinion that he has, already had enough of these, I content myself with a pen portrait of the evangelist as he appeared at this period of his life to an able limner, the Rev. Hopper Joplin. It is an eloquent example of the greatness of the impression made by Weaver on his co-workers. In reproducing the pen portrait I have been com- pelled from want of space to condense it. In the process the sketch has doubtless suffered considerably. 192 HebiBttittjj former gattle-fieUia. Those who wish to see it in full as it appears in the original will find it in the files of The Jarrow Ouardia/n. The following is the substance of Mr. Joplin's sketch : — "It was to be expected that time would have wrought Borne changes upon the popular evangelist. So it has. When he came upon the platform of the Mechanics' Hall on Sunday afternoon it was soon apparent that he is not the man he was twenty years ago. His hair is now white and he complains of a trouble at the heart. This said, I cannot say that I see much difference in his preaching. He seems to have the same power, and his voice does not appear to have lost any of its compass. " He seems to have been born for his work. He is well built, has a strong constitution, and possesses a remarkably powerful voice. His voice is well managed ; he uses it to the best advantage. When appealing to his audience it rolls along in trumpet tones. He is a true orator. He has complete control over his congre- gation, and keeps them in his powerful grip. He makes them laugh and cry at will. He sways them as the wind sways the standing corn. This is not done mechanically, it is heart speaking to heart. He talks to the people. He does not attempt sermonizing, nor does he give essays and learned disquisitions ; but he is a true preacher. " Perhaps his great forte is in telling stories. He announces his text, and after having made plain its connections, be seeks to illustrate it. His illustrations are peculiar to himself. They are composed of incidents which have come under his own notice. He does not deal with second-hand anecdotes. It is therefore 31 P*ti portrait. 193 refreshing to hear from a man's lips, incidents which have come under his own observation. I never heard any one who could relate a story with such effect. I am sure tears, during the last few days, have moistened many eyes that have not known what it was to weep for many a year. It is well for a man to have the better part of his nature stirred up now and again, and I know no man who can do it better than 'the con- verted collier.' " Like a master musician, he can bring out the sweetest notes. Many people wonder, and ask, ' What is the secret of Weaver's success?' I think it is due to his marvellous sympathy. He is not a learned man. He does not preach sermons after the fashion of ministers. A working-man himself, he addresses his audience as such, and does it in phrases with which they are familiar ; and he begets their sympathy by his down- right homeliness. His rendering of Bible stories is very effective ; he reduces them to every-day occurrences. He told the story of the Lost Sheep the other night as few men could tell it. " He is one of the fathers of the evangelistic move- ment of the present day; and I doubt not when the history of the Eevival Movement of the latter part of this century is written, Richard Weaver will have assigned to him his true place." In the same article Mr. Joplin gives us also a portrait of a Weaver crowd from the point of view of one of the crowd. It is such a vivid description of the bigness of the wave that accompanied Weaver's course through the sea of humanity, that I insert it almost in full. It is given by Mr. Joplin as his recollections of the i94 Hebiaitittjj former fSattle-fisIfts. first time he heard Weaver some twenty years before. He was only a tiny school lad at the time. " I got permission to take a holiday to go and hear the man who was creating such a stir throughout the country. I set off alone, took the train, got to New- castle, followed the crowd, and soon found myself one of some hundreds who were anxiously awaiting the opening of the doors of the large Town Hall. All sorts of people were there. They had come from the office, the shop, the factory, and the mine, to hear ' the con- verted collier ' preach. It was more like a holiday than an ordinary working day. The crowd was at its best ; everybody seemed happy. Now there was a laugh at some enthusiastic brother from tbe country ; then there was a snatch of some popular Eevival melody ; then the usual sally, as though they would force the doors. " At length the great moment arrived — the moment when you unconsciously draw yourself up, button your clothes tight about you, adjust your coat-tails, and get ready for the struggle. The doors were thrown open, and everybody wanted to get in first. There was the usual scramble, and the familiar cries, men howling and women screaming ; but it is everybody for himself. It was my first experience of the power and selfishness of a crowd. I gave myself up to it. What else could I do ? It is of little use fighting the crowd; go with it, and it will land you somewhere. It landed me just where I wanted to be — right in the middle of the hall. But it had been a ' crushing ' experience. I felt more dead than alive. " I remember, when I found myself in a comfortable seat, putting my hand to my side to feel if all my ribs & Witabtt ®rnto&. 195 were gone. I felt a strange sensation down about that part. But they seemed to be all there still, and not one of them broken. It did seem, however, that my vest had suddenly become too large for me. I wore knickerbockers, and they were fastened, not with the orthodox braces, but were instead buttoned on to my vest. Oh, that crowd ! it had robbed me of some of those buttons, and I was doomed to feel for the re- mainder of that day a great want and a great danger. I was certain of one thing— that the ' great crowd ' had taken what little there was of me and squeezed it into the smallest possible compass. I cannot say that I have fully recovered from that crushing yet. " In spite of it all, however, I was soon enjoying the hymns which were started impromptu by the congrega- tion and sung with the greatest enthusiasm. It is a happy way of spending an hour. You must fill up the time in some way or other. It seems to be a ques- tion of putting your fingers in your mouth or singing. I prefer singing." In the earlier months of 1884 Weaver began to be troubled about his duty to his motherless children. He felt that he ought to be to them at once a father and a mother ; but he was called away from home so much that he was bereft of the opportunity usually given to the earthly father. He had a home for them, and one of the best of housekeepers ; but to him a home without a mother was like a house without a roof. He thought if he could find some godly woman willing to unite her interests with his, his children would be even better cared for. He did find such a woman 196 fteniBtrttuj former iJattU-fieloB. in Miss Needham, of Leek, and was married to her on April 3rd, 1884. The sentence from her letter that I have given in the Preface is ample evidence of her sympathy with Eichard in his life work. We do not wonder that he was happy in this marriage also. As the years passed on, he had increasing reason, with Addison, to give God thanks for " The kind and faithful friend that doubled all his store." And well was it for him and his that he had such an helpmeet. In his later years he was a sorely-tried man. He had no lack of invitations to conduct missions, but he had a sad lack of physical health. In the earlier years of his work for God, he had made terrible drafts on his ner- vous system. The bill had now to be paid : and in much pain and weakness, and many breaks of engage- ments, it was paid. Latterly he counted himself happy if he could work for twelve or thirteen weeks out of the fifty-two. Yet the gleanings of his life were richer than the full vintage of many an Abiezer. He still was made use of to turn many unto righteousness. These decisions for Christ gladdened his heart and filled his mouth with praise ; but they did not feed and clothe and house himself and his family. The Lord allowed him to suffer from continuous broken health during the later years of his life ; and broken health, long continued, ultimately came to mean financial strain ; and the latter, to one like Weaver, who wished to owe no man anything but love, was a pain more diffi- cult to bear than the physical. He became weary. He began to rejoice in the fact that he was only a stranger and a pilgrim in the earth. He had his " lodgings in Cheshire," but his " home was in heaven." XIII. Plants from Witahtt'z Jlliitg. Jf OR the sake of those readers who never had the privilege of hearing Weaver, I add a few extracts from his addresses. In making the aelection I have been guided by a desire to furnish the reader with the material necessary for an answer to the question, What was the secret of his power? How is IT? " People sometimes say to me, ' How is it, Weaver, that the Lord blesses your labours so ? ' "'Well, I don't know, except it is that I trust in God. There is nothing else. It depends upon what God does, and not upon what we do.' " I sometimes say to my wife, ' Well, lass, I do not know how it is that people come to hear me, and how it is that the Lord blesses my labours.' And she says : ' You know you ask for it ; you know you trust in the Lord ; and that is how it is : for he that trusteth in the Lord shall never be confounded.' " A Tremendous Power Somewhere. " There is power in the Gospel. Sceptics may scoff and sneer, and say they will do this and that, but the 198 Atones ftnin WLtabzt'z &Ihtg. Gospel can stand against all the attacks of infidels and of devils too : it can and does save men from the burn- ing gulf. Glory be to God ! the Gospel of Christ can save to the very uttermost all that come unto God through Jesus. " I am no astronomer. I look above and around me, and I see there is some mysterious power at work in the natural world ; but I do not understand it. If I were to say that the sun went round the earth, the astronomer would call me an ignorant blockhead, and tell me the earth goes round the sun at the rate of many thousand miles a minute. I cannot understand how it is. I see that there must be a tremendous moving power somewhere ; but I cannot tell where this moving power comes from, nor can the astronomer either. " So with the waves of the ocean. As we stand upon the sea beach, and gaze upon the big waves that are rolling in one after another, dashing against the rocks, and making the vessels sailing on their bosom creak and tremble, we see there is a tremendous power some- where ; but where it comes from we cannot tell. I have stood by the side of a river and have seen the tide rising in the regular course quietly and slowly along its way ; but presently the tide has rushed along and seemed to say, ' Stand back, for I am mightier than thou.' And the tide has rolled onwards with mighty power, but where the power was I could not tell. " And in like manner, whilst I have stood by the black river that leads to hell, and its stream has swept numbers along upon its flood, I have looked; and, (Btrti ott goar oton ^rtnoar! 199 thank God, the mighty power of God has arrested them, and brought them back and I have heard the cry : ' God be merciful to me a sinner.' There is a power in the Gospel. It is the power of the Living God." To Thine own Self be True. In the course of an address on " David and Goliath," Weaver said: " Saul ordered his armour-bearer, ' Dress him in my armour.' Then David essayed to go ; but he could not, for he had not proved them. Would to God that every preacher would prove himself. There are some who put on Mr. Wesley's armour ; and some, Mr. Whitefield's ; Jtnd some, Mr. Spurgeon's ; and some that of other men. If you cannot fight in your own clothes, you cannot fight in another man's. "As I travel about and see men doing this, I often wonder how they can put these men's old sermons before the people : we have read them all in bygone times. I would not give twopence for all the skeleton sermons in the world. If, instead of spending their time in getting off by heart the sermons of other men, they had spent the same amount of time on their knees, the Lord would have given them a power over men's hearts. May God pardon all who wear other men's armour. " There is a separate suit for every one of the Lord's soldiers : for every one also there is a separate sword. May God help you to gird on your own. You cannot fight in Wesley's armour. He had his trim ; Whitefield 200 Mtanzs farm WLcahst's Sling. had his ; Knox had his ; and Eichard Baxter had his. Where did these men get the power ? In the closet. Paul had the power of God upon him ; but he did not imitate Peter, or John, or James. In his own way he said, ' The Gospel is the power of God unto salvation.' Throw away all such imitations. Ask God to bless you with his power, and clothe you with his Spirit, and you will be enabled to do good in his Name." Not Enough in Earnest. " I would sooner have to do with the outcasts of society than with Gospel-hardened sinners. They go to God's house Sunday after Sunday, and they listen to God's word, but it never seems to move them. They say the man was ' a fluent preacher 'or 'an intellectual preacher,' and that is all. I see large bills saying that a minister of the Gospel is going to give readings from ' The Old English Poets.' Our cry is, * Escape for thy life : look not behind thee : remember Lot's wife.' Souls are going to hell, and ministers should be up and doing. They should not be idle six days of the week, and then stand up on Sunday and cry to the Sabbath-breaker to repent and take heed. Our cry is, ' Monday-breaker, Tuesday-breaker, Wed- nesday - breaker, Thursday - breaker, Friday - breaker, Saturday-breaker, six-days-a-week-breaker— repent and take heed ! ' If we believe that souls are going to hell, let us try to bring them to Christ. If one soul is of more value than ten thousand worlds, let us try to save that soul as a brand from the eternal burning. May the Lord help us to do it ! We are not enough in earnest about souls ; or else we should see the Lord's ffrlrE J^tadlmjjs of |orfisn. 201 arm made bare, and souls flocking as doves to their windows." In the Swelling of Jordan—I. The Sceptic. "Infidelity is dark, dismal, dreadful. Listen to yonder dying sceptic. Death is coming, and it grows darker. ' Now for the grand secret. Dark ! Dark 1 1 Dark I ! ! I think I have been deceived. Oh, the waters are cold ! Oh, what's that ? The devil has seized me. What a fool I have been ! I am going down the stairs into the eternal vaults. I hear the howling of the damned, and I see the flames of hell. Oh, that devilish infidelity ! My feet are already in the flames ! I am Lost ! Lost ! Lost ! ! ' " (As Weaver uttered each of the last three words in our church he descended one step ef the pulpit stair, striking it so heavily with his heel that the dull thud was a weird accompaniment to his despairing shriek " Lost I " It was awful.) " Will you," he continued, " cry ' Fire ! FlRE I FIEE ! ' to the sleeping inmates of a burning house, and shall not I shout ' Hell-fire ! Hell-Fire ! HELL- FIRE ! ' to my brothers and my sisters who sleep upon the brink of everlasting woe ? If you had stood by the death-beds I have stood by, and heard the dying shrieks of lost souls going down to the fiery lake of hell, you'd say, ' Richard, tell about it ; they want to be warned.' " Some people say, ' Talk to me about the joys of heaven as much as you've a mind to ; but this preach- ing about hell unnerves me.' If you can't bear to hear about it, how will you bear to feel it ? How many of you mothers are suckling your children for hell ? " There was a young man condemned at Chester, and 2oa Atones from WLt&bzt'a Sltttg. when the judge put on his black cap and sentenced him to be hanged by the neck till he was dead, his mother, who stood near, wrung her hands, and cried, ' Oh, my son ! Oh, my son ! ' But the son turned upon her with ' Mother, you're the cause I ' mothers, think of that before it be too late," In the Swelling of Jordan — II. The Believes. " I remember a poor collier, who had his leg taken off by the conductors of a pit. The poor fellow was coming up the shaft, when his leg was caught, cut off, and fell to the bottom. I shall never forget that scene. He said he felt he had got his death-blow. Oh, how he rejoiced in the prospect of heaven ! He said to me : " ' Richard, if I can but see my dear wife, I shall be satisfied.' " Just as we were removing him, his wife came, for she had heard of the accident. Her first words were : " « Is he alive ? ' " I said to her, ' He is alive.' " And she joyfully exclaimed, ' Thank God. If he can only speak to me, I shall be satisfied.' " The doctor was trying to stop the bleeding, but he could not ; and we could see that the paleness of death was coming over him. The wife kissed him — the face dirty as it was — it was the farewell kiss of affection. He assured her that all was well in the swelling of Jordan. And then the daughter came from the factory to see him die. They were certain that all would be right on the other side of Jordan. And the dying man, did he grieve ? No. He asked his dear wife to hold his hand while Jesus received his soul. £. 4%eiB Creation. 203 " ' Bless thee, lass,' said he, ' the Lord will be a father to our children — the Lord bless thee. Give me our child, and let me kiss it.' And as he put his poor dying arm round the little babe, which smiled at him, he said, ' The Lord bless thee.' The group gathered round, and he said — Lend, lend your wings, I mount, I fly, O grave, where is thy victory t death, where is thy sting ! " And he said to me, ' Richard, I am going to my fare- well sleep, and willingly lay aside my pit clogs, and am ready to welcome heaven.' Such was the end of a Christian life." A New Cbeation. " I made lots of resolutions for five-and-twenty years that I would turn over a fresh leaf, but I made every one in the strength of Richard "Weaver. And how many times I have wept in private, and actually knelt down and said a form of prayer before God that I would begin to do different ! Those iniquities and crimes that I had committed rose up against me, and I was determined to turn over a fresh leaf; but old com- panions and the world were so closely bound to me, that I could not say this thing and the other to them. But as soon as ever I got a peep at Christ, that moment I had no desire for public-houses or public-house companions. As soon as ever I got a sight of Christ, that moment I could say, ' I am a new creature in Christ Jesus ? Old things have passed away, and all things have become new.' 204 f&ottea front WLtabzt'a Sling. " You that say, ' I wish I was as happy as the man standing speaking to us to-night,' you see before you only a reformed drunkard, who was not reformed by teetotalism, but by the grace of God. " You might sign a temperance pledge, and be very good, moral, kind, benevolent, and charitable, and become a good citizen and neighbour. You might become a good falher, a good son, a good mother, a good daughter ; but that is not all. You know you have to pass through the river that we have just been singing of, and then how will it be with you ? Will you say to the people around your dying couch, ' Fetch me the pledge, and hang it by the side of my dying bed ? '" Adopted. " Suppose you and I were next-door neighbours. A poor little starving boy, with neither shoes nor stockings on his feet, comes to my door some cold winter morning, and knocks at it. We will suppose that I have Dever known what it is to be a father, and therefore speak to the boy with less kindly tone than I would to the dog at my feet, as I ask, ' Where do you come from ? ' " ' I have no home,' says the poor boy. " ' Be off with you. There is a workhouse for you. Go there.' " Then he goes to the door of your house, and knocks there. You had some little children once ; but they passed away from you, and your heart is not so hard to the poor boy at the door as mine was. You feel tears running down your cheek, and you say : ftjje ^iiopfei $ on. 205 " * Where do you come from ? ' « < Why, sir,' he says, ' I have to lie under hedges, and in carts, and wherever I can.' " ' Where is your mother ? ' " ' I have none ; she is dead.' *' ' Where is your father ? ' " ' He is dead, too, sir.' " There is a spring of true sympathy somewhere in your heart, and you go to your wife and say, ' Well, lass, come and look at the little starving boy at the door.' She looks at him, and sees his feet bleeding from being cut with the stones, and the sight goes to her heart ; and she thinks : " ' Ah, if he were a child of mine, he should never be in that fix ! ' " ' Well, dear,' you ask, ' what do you say now ? Will you take him and adopt him as your own ? ' " ' Yes,' says the good woman, ' we will.' "•Very well.' " ' Now, my boy,' you say, ' if you will comply with our rules and regulations, we will take you and bring you up as our own child.' " The wife clothes him with the clothes of her poor dead child, and puts its shoes upon his feet, and feeds him. The next Sabbath day you all go to the same church together, and I come alongside of you and say, 'That is not your child, is it, neighbour?' " ' Yes, it is,' say you. " But I am not convinced, and I say to the boy : ' My boy, are you not the lad that came to my door begging ? ' " ' Yes,' is the answer. 206 Stones front Heaher'a Sling. " ' Do you know that you are an adopted child ? ' " ' To be sure. Don't you think I know the difference between being then cold and now warm ? — between being then hungry and now fed ? — between being then ragged and now clothed? To be sure I do. You cannot persuade me that I am not an adopted child.' " Dear friends, Jesus Christ found me a poor beggar on the way to hell. Glory be to God ! His kindness did not end with shedding a tear over me : He took me in, and clothed me, and fed me. Bless the Lord ! I know in whom I believe. Pardoned sinners must know it, because ' He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness in himself.' What a blessing is that ! If I did not believe that, I would never speak to sinners again." Cleanliness, one of the Fruits. " If a woman tells me she is converted, and I enter into her house, and find it filthy, I would not believe about the conversion. If a mother says she is con- verted, and she has dirty children and dirty clothes, I would not believe it. Therefore when beggars come to beg of me, I tell them, if they are dirty, they must go and wash before I can give them anything. And so if there are any of you that have dirty homes, and I come to visit you, and you profess to be Christians, I should not be against telling you that you do not know Christ, because that is not the fruit of it." Desire for Unity, another of the Fruits. " A man at Leek got converted, and on one occasion when I went into his dressing-room^ for he was a dear ®be f or&'s fetoels. 207 friend of mine, I saw, in a little drawer of the dressing- table, his precious treasure of gems. He said, ' This is my drawer of jewels.' So I began to peep into it, and the thought arose in my mind, ' I wonder how many drawers of jewels the Lord has got.' " There is the Church of England drawer, and there are as good Church people as Dissenters ; there are jewels there as well as hypocrites and counterfeits. Then there is the Independent drawer, and the Lord has got a number of jewels there. Then there is the Baptist drawer with a lot of little jewels, and a good big one, that shines yonder at London, called Spurgeon! and if you search you will find another drawer full of Wesleyan gems, and still another called Reformers. " Dear me, what a lot of sects and drawers ! I would to God that the bottom would drop out, and that the whole chest might become one big drawer ! Such a lot of drawers, and sects, and parties, fairly puzzles some people, who wonder how it is, seeing that all Christians are children of one common Father. Oh, may the time soon come when Christ shall be the drawer to bold us all ! The Lord help us to strive after it !" A Forgiving Spirit, another of the Fruits. " A poor prodigal, at a place where I was speaking one night, said to me, ' I came, sir, not to hear you preach, but to put my hands into other people's pockets ; I came to thieve, but I stopped to pray.' He rose from his knees a saved man. ' How do you know ? ' some people may say. Well, I will put it in this way — he professed to be saved. If a man, by continual consistent 2o8 Jltojtca from tffiteaber's idling. conduct, proves the truth of what he professes, I have a right to believe him. It is over five years since, and he is walking upright before God now ; and I believe five years is enough to test whether a person is on the Lord's side or not. " The brother who prayed with him said to the young man, ' You were brought up in the same class that I was, in such a place, were you not ? ' " ' Yes,' was the answer. " ' Do you know So-and-so ? ' « ' I do.' " 4 Are you not So-and-so's prodigal ? ' " ' I am.' " ' Don't weep, then ; but come to my house, I have a spare bed, and you shall go thither.' " Accordingly, we all three got into a cab together. Presently the young man said : " ' I should bike to call on my father and mother, and tell them what has happened to me, and ask my father's forgiveness. I am unworthy to enter his house, but I should like to go and tell him.' " We drove up to his house, and sat in the cab while he went to the door. A servant girl opened it, and I could see some more people in the lobby. " ' Is my father in ? ' « ' Yes.' " She brought the old man to the door, and there was the little daughter, and the mother, wiping the tears from her eyes. The young man dropped on his knees, saying : " ' Father, God has forgiven me to-night : will you forgive me ? — for He has pardoned all my sins.' ®fre firebars ftetnrtt. ieg " ' Oh,' said the little sister, 'there's my brother John I' " But the father turned away, telling him : ' You must come again in three weeks ; then we will see how it is with you. Good night ! ' " So he came away ; and at the friend's house he was too sorrowful to eat, but he sat down and wept : " ' Oh, Mr. Weaver, did you hear it ? It was not what my father said that affected me so much — I deserved all that ; but did you hear my little sister cry : " There's my brother " ? That affects me most. She acknow- ledged me as her brother, did she not ? ' " "We tried to comfort him, but he cried : ' I deserve it all, I deserve it all I ' " Soon there was a knock at the door, and a servant girl was introduced. She said to the young man : ' You must come home, sir ; your father has sent me to fetch you.' " ' How is it that he has forgiven me so soon ? ' " ' We had family worship,' the girl said. ' Master read the Bible, and then he prayed, and when he came to that part of the Lord's prayer, " Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," the little girl said : " Stop, father ! " " Why, my dear ? " " You have not forgiven my brother," Master could get no further, and he sent me to fetch you home.' " The Lost Sheep. " Wasn't it just natural that the man should care more about his one lost sheep than about the ninety- nine that hadn't strayed away ? Here's a farmer owns & hundred sheep. Well, at night he counts 'em, and he makes one short. He goes over them again ; perhaps 2io j§tonca from WsabEr's Blittg. he's reckoned wrong. No ; it's only ninety-nine again. He goes in to his wife, who is sitting by the kitchen fire, waiting till he comes to supper — ' Why, lass, there's one gone. Poor thing, he must have got over the wall.' (Ah ! the devil's always ready to help a poor sheep of Christ's over the wall.) He starts in search of him. By-and-by he sees the footmarks — ah, thither he is I But now he has to mind where he treads ; he has to make a spring now and then over some boggy place, and the land is all sopping wet. But he sees the track of the wanderer, and now he hears, ' Ba-a,' and the great soft eyes of the creature stare up at him from a quag- mire, as if to say, ' Oh, master, help me out.' He takes him up, and puts him over his shoulders, and the black mud drips down his jacket ; but he doesn't mind that. At last he comes to the brook that skirts his orchard, and there he washes all the filth away ; and the poor thing trots into the fold with such a happy bleat, as if to say, ' Thank you, sir.' Now, that's how Jesus fetches back his wanderer. Only He doesn't put him across his shoulders ; He puts him in his bosom, and then He takes and washes him in the fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness, the fountain filled with his own precious blood. That's what He did for me many years ago." The Woman that Touched Jesus. " I imagine I see a little boy tripping up the street of a certain town, singing, 'Hosanna to the Son of David ! ' A poor afflicted woman stands on her doorstep and hears the child. ' What is that you say ? ' she asks, as he is passing by her house. ' Oh,' says he, « haven't ©be ®ouc(j tbat ^anes. 211 you heard about Jesus of Nazareth ? He's cured blind Bartimeus that used to sit at the wayside begging ; and He has raised a young man to life that was being carried to his grave ; and healed ten lepers all at once ; and the people that have sick relations bring them and lay them at his feet, and He cures them all. And those who have no friends to bring them, if they can only just touch Him, are made perfectly whole. ' Oh,' cries the poor woman, ' if that's true, He can cure my disease that I've been tormented with these twelve years. When will He be here, my bttle man ? ' ' Why,' says the child, ' He'll be here directly. He's coming this way. There ! don't you hear the noise of the multi- tude ? Look ! here they come. Hosanna ! hosanna to the Son of David I ' and away goes the little boy to tell his mother that the Prophet she has taught him to look for is come at last. ' Well, I'll go,' says the poor thing, timidly. ' I'll get behind Him. Maybe He won't pity me ; but that dear little lad said as many as touched Him were made whole : I'll go and try, how- ever.' " I imagine I see the poor, weak creature, who has spent all her living on physicians that only made her worse, drawing her tattered shawl around her and wrig- gling her way through the crowd. They push her aside, but she says, ' I'll try again.' She winds to the right, then to the left ; now nearer, and the next minute farther off than ever. But still she perseveres, although she seems to have so little chance of getting through the throng, which is thickest round the Man she wants. Well done, poor woman ! Try again ; it's for your life, you know. That disease will be your death, if you don't 2ia Stones from Meaner' s Sling. get it cured; and a touch of his clothes will do it. I imagine I hear one rudely asking the fainting creature, ' Where are you pushing to ? You've no business here.' 'Ah,' she answers, ' I see there a Man whose like I never saw before. Let me but touch his garment, and I shall be as well as any of you.' And now another step or two, and she can hear his gentle voice speaking kindly to Jairus, as He walks home with him to heal his little daughter lying at the point of death. The woman stretches out her hand, but she isn't near enough. Another step — yes, now she touches — it is but the hem of his garment ; but it is all she needs. Glory to Jesus ! her issue of blood is dried, and immediately she feels in her body that she is healed. Glory to Jesus ! she touched, and was made perfectly whole. And if there was virtue in his garment, isn't there efficacy in his blood ? May God help you to come to Christ to- night." Welcome Home. While conducting the missions that he held in our church, Weaver sang the following hymn as a solo more frequently than he sang any other : O sinner, come to Jesus ; No longer roam; He waits from sin to free us, Oh come, then, quickly come. He'll meet you at his gate, And will make your heart rejoice, If you'll follow in his footsteps, And listen to his voice, Making music in the ear, Amidst sin's deep midnight gloom : sinner, He has loyed you, Welcome, welcome home. HUlrotne Ijcime. 213 O sinner, come then quickly, Obey his gracious call, And Christ will on you brightly Cause light and joy to fall : Soon, soon your course may end, And the day of grace be past, When with tears, and grief, and wailing, Sfou will find your fate is cast ; But He listens for your voice, And He longs to see you come ;• sinner, He has loved you, Welcome, welcome home. Our days are sad without Him, And night is long and drear ; Then open thy heart to Him, Cry, " Welcome, Jesus, here." Thy pathway He has watched, And has often cast a ray To guide thy erring footsteps In the true and living way ; But his heart was grieved again, When He found you would not come* O sinner, He has loved you, Welcome, welcome home. XIV. ftom tljt ^olttux'z Wdttt-bag. -T is exceedingly difficult to get a perfectly natural portrait. Artist and sitter conspire to yield to the temptation to introduce " pose." Of course, the artist does his best to give the " pose " the appearance of absence of " pose." His highest art is to conceal art. But the "pose" is there all the same. A similar temptation besets the biographer. A perfectly natural biographical portrait is seldom seen. Conscious of the force of this current, I gladly avail myself of the opportunity of allowing Weaver to be seen where no " pose " was possible. His letters to his wife and daughters were not written under the consciousness that the public were looking on. They are evidence that he was in no way different in private from what he was in public. They prove that there was no " pose " about Weaver. If he appeared to the public to be an evangelist, it was because he was at heart an evangelist. The following are extracts from letters to his wife : Dorking, March Wth, 1885. Many of the people who come to the meetings come as far as six and seven miles. Last night a mother and two daughters came five miles. The mother had heard me twenty years ago, and had got saved ; and she thought if she could get her grown-up daughters to hear me, they would be saved also. It was as the #ettm Heme. 915 mother wished and believed. They both professed to have found the Lord, Mother aud daughters went home happy. Praise the Lord ! Wimbledon, April 3rd, 1885. Twelve months to-day we were made one before the Lord. It has been twelve months of affliction to me, and of trial to you ; but we could not see these beforehand. It is a sore burden to me that I should have brought on you these trials and burdens that I have. I thought it would have been difierent with us in money matters from what it has been ; but we must cast all our care upon the Lord. Do you ever take notice how much it takes to keep the house P We shall have to sacrifice each other's company at present, as you see we can hardly make ends meet. It is hard for me to be away from home ; but I cannot forget what the Lord sacrificed for me. We shall have to take another house with less rent. Gheer up : it will be better by-and-by. The Lord bless you, my dear wife ! After lamenting the disappointment he experienced in meeting so many who had the profession without the reality, in a letter dated Portsmouth, May 3rd, 1885, he thus breaks out : My dear wife, and children, and niece, — Let us have a real Christ, whatever others have. My prayer to God is that my family all may be real Christians, filled with the love of Christ ; and not afraid to let others know it, and not unwilling to live simply to bring others to Him. I hope Frank will give himself to the Lord and work for Him, Belfast, June 16th, 1885. I had a warm reception here. People may say what they like about the Irish, but they are so warm-hearted that they seemed ready to eat me. Belfast, June 19th, 1885. I hope you will have a good day on Sunday, and that you will all get a big lift heavenward and get a baptism of the Holy Ghost. Let us all try and live more like Jesus, and come out more from the world, and get more rilled with the love of God ; and then we all will enjoy Christ more. The Lord wants us to be out and out *i6 IFront tire Solbicr's fiExta-bay. for Him. He does not want us to be dwarfs. He wants as to be giants m his cause. Belfast, June 29«A, 1886. I want Reggie and Bewley to give their minds to reading more than they do. Cambridge, 1893. This is the hardest place I was ever in. I have no after-meet- ings. 1 just speak and close the meeting, and leave them with the Lord. London, 1893. I hope the Lord will give me strength to hold up for this mission. I do want to be able to go to the Scotch church, if the Lord will The following are extracts from letters to his son Reginald : Barrow-in-Furness, 1882. You will be glad to hear that last night as I was concluding speaking they began to cry out for pardon and mercy, and came rushing out of the gallery and the body of the chapel — men and women — to the communion rails. Praise the Lord ! The Lord is with us. Pray on, Reggie, for the Lord to save sinners. 1 know my children will be glad to hear that the Lord is using their father in bringing souls to Christ. Portsmouth, 1885. There are lots of openings for youDg men who feel called of God to preach the old gospel of Christ. It does my soul good to see how the Lord is leading my dear boys. Your own dear mother, if alive, woidd have been glad ; but I don't doubt but what she knows all about it ; give your mind to study and reading. This extract is from a letter to his daughters, Bessie and Hettie : Sale, September 2nd, 1884. Now my dear daughters, I hope you are loving and looking to Jesus, and praying to Him to make you his followers. I want you to grow up to try and be as much like Jesus as you can be ; (Do Ijts gfiugljtera. ai7 for He is the only One to imitate. I am praying that you grow up in the fear of the Lord, to be like Mary and Martha. Read John xi. 5, and think over what ie said : and take it to yourselves, and remember that He loves you also, and read it thus : " Now Jesus loves Bessie and Hettie and their brothers." The Lord bless you, my dear daughters, and make and keep you both good, dear children of the Lord. The following extracts are from his letters to his youngest daughter : — London, November 8th, 1895. My dear daughter Hettie, — I was glad to get your letter, and to hear you were going to play now. There are two daughters here just about as old as you and Bessie. They put me in mind of you. I hope, my dear child, you will give your mind to study. Try to be a good girl, and look to Jesus for help. I think I have read of a little girl that did her lessons better because she asked the Lord to help her. You can read in the 14th chapter of John, and see what the Lord says on that. He is willing to help those that ask Him. It's nice to have the Lord to help us in all things. We can ask Him to help us to love Him, and to be like Jesus. Try to be like Him, dear child. Do what your mother wants you. You know she will do anything for you. Had your own mother lived, she would have liked you to love and fear the Lord Jesus, and to read your Bible and other good books. What a comfort it is to know that Christ Jesus, who loved you and gave Himself for you, is yours. To have the blessing of the Lord, mv dear child, is worth more than all the money in the world. The riches of the world often bring a curse ; but where Christ is there is love, and peace, and joy, and pardon, here ; and when we have done with the world — heaven. The Lord bless you, my dear child 1 Fifethire, July ith, 1892. My dear daughter Hettie, — I writ* a letter to you that you will get on your twenty-first birthday, and I pray that the Lord will bless you with fresh blessing from bis Loving Self, as He who loved you and gave Himself for you. What a comfort and blessing to know that Christ is yours ! I pray that you may get fresh strength from Him, to live nearer to, and be more like Him ; ai8 Jfrom tlje jlntfrier'a Itetier-bajj. to confess Him to others ; and to let people know you belong to Christ, and are not ashamed of Him. May the Lord bless you, my dear child, with grace and love ! Your own mother used to pray, " Lord, make us Bible Christians," and I pray the same. The longer I live the more I can see a deal of sham profession. Let me advise you to get your Bible, and study about the blood, and you will see you get sheltered under the blood, and every other blessing you get is through the blood. The following is one of the last letters Weaver wrote. It was written to one of his converts, Harry Wintle, the son of Richard's attached friend, Mr. Thomas Wintle, Hon. Supt. of the Undenominational Christian Mission and Eagged Schools, Pontymoile, etc., South Wales. Moss Bnnk, Alderky Edge, Cheshire, Feb. 15, 1896. Dear Harry, — I was so glad to get your letter ; it's very kind of you to think of me. I do pray that you may grow in grace as you grow in years, and be a comfort to your parents and a light to the other boys at the Mission. You see I have not been able to leave my house since I left you. I felt very ill then, and I have thought sometimes I was going Home. It is sad about the poor men in the Rhondda Valley explosion : it teaches us to be ready. I don't doubt but many of them heard me preach when I was in the Valley a few years ago ; and if they were prepared and saved through His blood, they are now singing before King Jesus. That's better than singing before the Queen ! Give my love to all the old men and women, the young men and maidens, and the boys and girls, at the Mission Hall, and ask them to keep on praying for me, for I pray for them and you every day, that the Lord will bless and keep all looking to Jesus. Give my love to your dear mother, father, and sister, and to all at Bethany House. The Lord be with you, my little friend Harry ; and I want you, if you are spared to your parents, to be a comfort to them both. The Lord bless you and watch over you is my prayer. I doubt if I ever shall be able to come and see you again. Peace be with you. Yours ever in Jesus, Richard Weaves. JPront tttginalir ^lahrlifiie. a 19 And almost from within sight of the pearly gates, one hour before his home-going, he sent the following telegram to Mr. Wintle, "Just going home shouting Victory." On turning to the Letters received by Weaver, I find it exceedingly difficult to make a selection. It is only a selection that has been put into my hands, and yet the bundle is so large that the letters in it would themselves fill a goodly-sized volume. I have read them all. As I read, I was taken by Bunyan's Interpreter " behind the wall, where I saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the which he did also continually cast (but secretly) into the fire." The Good Shepherd knows that the faith of his tried ones requires special sustenance. Richard had his special trials ; but in these letters there is of heavenly sustenance enough and to spare. If Weaver, as an evangelist, could in any sense be said to have had an earthly employer, that employer was the late Reginald Radcliffe. Did the employe satisfy his employer with regard to work ? Let the following letter from Radcliffe answer. Hampstead, January 7th, 1861. My dear Weaver, — Do not be in a hurry to work. Always bear in mind it is not a few battles we have to fight, but a day- after-day work ; therefore, do take care. I hear that one of the two men who were so greatly used in the Welsh Revival is now laid by with something like weakness of mind. Do breathe awhile. The first thing for you now is to try and rest and get back your health. I did not like that shudder you had, and do think you must have a good rest. You know how you are wanted at Bristol 246 jFrom the ^ol&Ur'a f etter-bag. and perhaps we could both go together as far as Bristol, and I could penetrate further, and still be a door-opener for you ; and if afterwards my beloved brother comes and takes my congregations, and runs away with my friends, let God be glorified. Lovingly yours as ever, Reginald Radcliffe. The following, which in the original is entirely inde- pendent of capital I's or of ordinary rules of spelling or grammar, is one of the most touching of all. Maccksfield, January 2\$t, 1861. Dear Richard Weaver, — You are beginning to touch the publican's feelings. One, I know, has already said you have been the means of two or three of her best customers leaving ; and if you stop much longer, she may shut up. It would have been better for me had they shut up years ago, although two of my brothers are in the trade. Yours — one who has listened to you this last week, and found much benefit. God bless you ; and may He protect you when far away from borne. May Heaven bless you! Alongside of that communication from some unlet- tered brother, let me put the following extract from a letter written by Lord Carrick : You will remember our meeting at Oldham some years ago, when beloved Harry Moorhouse and I were there born to an inheritance reserved for us who are kept for it. And that grace which brought us salvation and is sufficient for us on our pil- grimage journey will bring us full blessing in glory when our Lord comes. Nothing but failure down here, but no failure with Him ; for He is able. The Lord will bless and sustain you. Ever yours in our Lord, Cabeick. The following is from a student : Glasgow, July 20th, 1876. My dear spiritual Father,— It was with tears I read your letter to Brother Hill, the evangelist, whom I asked if he could tell me anything about you. There are thousands in Glasgow ®Ijfi fet thai t&oxidjzb tire f&eari. at who are praying for you, and who love you with all the warmth of Christian affection. You aak who thus writes. Well, I am a Ynrkshireman ; but I was in Glasgow when you were here. Then I was hastening on post haste to hell. You, by God's help, stopped me in my mad career. Ever since I have been preaching Jesus. For nine years I have been a missionary, and am now a student in the Glasgow University. Glasgow, 1886. Dear Brother in Christ, — I enclose two copies of a Gaelic trans- lation of the hymn, " Be in time," from your hymn-book. The translation was done by Mrs. McKellar, one of the best of Gaelic- speaking poetesses. It appeared shortly after the Revival in Scotland. It was a great favourite, and moved many to tears. The Day alone will declare the good it has been the means of doing. Yours, Neil Campbell. Canterbury (no date). Dear Sir, — Many years have passed since the Lord put it into my heart to hear you preach at Vernon Chapel, King's Cross. I shall never forget that night. The first hymn given out was " My Jesus, I love Thee." Although that arrested my attention, it was the text which the Lord sent right home to my heart. It has been there ever since. The words were, " How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation ? " My sins stared me in the face ; but before the service concluded, I saw Him through whom salvation came. Oh, sir, I was happy ! so happy, I scarcely knew how to contain myself. I have never ceased to love you as the instrument through whom the Lord made Himself known to me. It is this love which has prompted me to write to you and tell you that your labour that night was not in vain. I heard of your trouble in the shape of slander. My heart was stirred within me, and I wished to publish that you were my spiritual father, and that your work was a real work. I can assure you, dear sir, that although all men were to be against you, I should still be for you. With Christian love, . I am, &c, John Whitcombe. 222 fFrnm the Jinlftier'a fEeiter-Irajj. Amongst the messages of sympathy I notice letters from Lord Cairns ; Mr. Stoughton, of Hodder and Stoughton ; Mr. Wm. Jones, of Bangor; Dr. Hagart, Santhal Mission ; a Russian sister in Florence ; Miss C. Balfour, of Lowestoft ; and from many others. The burden of the comfort of which they all speak is well given in the following extract from a letter written by Von Schulthess-Rechberg of Zurich. The Lord thy Shepherd ia ! dread not, nor be dismayed ; He leads thee on through thorny paths by ways his hand hath made ; The stormiest wind He rules, the wildest wave He hinds ! Thou hast " the secret of the stairs," for to his heart it winds ; Green pastures wait for thee, and when thou needest rest Beside the softly flowing stream, He'll hear thee on his hreast. Trust Him whate'er betide, on Him cast all thy care ; The wilderness has pleasant spots, and He will guide thee there. Oh, watch we by the way ! the Bridegroom soon shall come, And the silver trumpet's joyful shout shall call his loved ones home; Oh, watch we by the way, and all his footsteps trace ; Keep close beside Him, hear his voice : we soon shall see his face. I put in the following extracts from a letter, written by Dr, Barnardo, as evidence that in addition to the miles of shadow in Weaver's pathway there were not wanting furlongs of sunshine : — 18 to 26, Stepney Causeway, London, E. April 7th, 1884. My dear Kichard, — I had your letter, and I had a good laugh over it. I am glad you have got a good wife as quiet as yourself. If she is not a good deal quieter, I pity the house that has you both in lodgings. My dear friend, you may be sure you have our very warm and hearty congratulations. However, we must not let you go to sleep, or else you will be getting too fat ; and that would never do. I want you and Mrs. JFronx C U. JSpurnEDti. "3 Weaver to come up to London for Easter. We will have your two rooms at the Edinboro' Castle made very nice for the young bride and bridegroom, so be sure you both come. I must tell you that Easter holidays are great times in the East of London ; numbers of people think of nothing hut pleasure, dissi- pation, and sin ; and it is most important that at that time we should hold up some strong attraction to draw them aside from the perils of their position. As I knew on getting your letter this morning that you would come, I went up at once and announced you in The Christian ; so that it will be published on Thursday. But amongst all his letters none was so prized by Weaver as the following from the late C. H. Spurgeon. I understand it is the last letter Mr. Spurgeon wrote before he left England en route for heaven : — Westwood, Beulah Hill, Upper Norwood, October 23rd, 1891. Dear Friend, — Thank you much. I too have had a weak heart go as to be compelled to be carried upstairs to bed by two men. That is getting better. You must feel it a great hindrance and trial. I am not free from my disease yet ; but it waxes weaker and weaker and will be driven out. God is good indeed. May you have many souls at your last service at the Castle. Oh that they may fly like doves to their windows, freely, numer- ously, at once. Tell them I know how sube a buppobt Jesus is WHEN WE ABB IN THE FACE OP DEATH. FAITH IN HlM SE- DUCES DYING TO SLEEPING, AND MAKES PAIN ITSELF INTO A BASS NOTE IN THE PEBFECT MUSIC OF DELLGHT IN God. May you be strengthened to bear clear testimony to the power of faith ! May your own soul be full of joy and peace through believing ! We leave, myself and wife, on Monday early, Yours in Christ Jesus, C. H. Spubgeon, XV. Honourable Discharge. {jfJiy-N my introductory personal reminiscences of the 1^ evangelist, I have made mention of the fact that when he conducted the two missions in White Memorial Free Church, he stayed in our home. He could not hide his heart-hunger for something that was withheld from him. The Lord was blessing him wonderfully in the church ; night after night was witnessing a marvellous out- pouring of the spirit of " repentance and forgiveness of sins " ; and yet the happiness of the evangelist was lacking in completeness. When at last he gave me the key to the door of his heart, I discovered what it was for which he was yearning. He greatly desired before he left the battle- field to have the joy of standing once more shoulder to shoulder with his old comrades in the fight. Ere he left Glasgow, the prayer of his heart was granted. He had gone from us to conduct a mission in St. George's Cross Tabernacle. About ten days after leaving us he called at our home. He did not need to tell me that something had happened to him that filled his heart with gladness. It shone from his face. He had gone to a mid-afternoon meeting on the previous day. On leaving that meeting, he and his old comrade; the tlleb. Hobert Mobile's Jnbttation. 225 Rev. Robert Howie, of Free St. Mary's, Grovan, suddenly found themselves face to face. That seemingly acci- dental meeting led of course to the usual inquiries after each other's welfare. These in their turn led to an invitation to Weaver to call on Mr. Howie at his manse. The acceptance of that led to an appeal from Mr. Howie to Weaver to conduct an evangelistic mission in his church. With exceeding readiness Richard promised to do so. Mr. Howie is deservedly held in esteem in church circles in Scotland. The news spread that he was having Weaver. The lead of the Convener of the Home Mission Committee of the Free Church was followed. Requests for Weaver's services were received in such abundance, even before he left Glasgow, that it seemed as if it would be wise for him to flit his home to our city forthwith. He was seriously contemplating such a move when he left for the South to fulfil a pro- mise to conduct a mission in Pontymoile, South Wales. The time appointed for the St. Mary's Mission drew on. The bills were on the hoardings. The morning had come on which he was to start for Mr. Howie's. But he was in the grip of his old trouble — bodily pros- tration. The doctor forbade him leaving his room. He bad to send a telegram announcing his inability. It was a sore disappointment to his friends here. Their disappointment was slight in comparison with his. But he meekly said : " The will of the Lord be done ! " He hoped that the Mission in Free St. Mary's might be arranged for at some not distant date. It was so arranged ; but it was not to be. His last mission had been conducted. One more conflict, and the wars of the veteran would be over. 226 Honourable JjtBcharjje. The Easter of 1896 was drawing on. On the Tuesday preceding that anniversary of our Lord's Resurrection, Weaver caught a chill that sent him to his bed. No immediate danger was feared by those around him. He himself, however, seems to have been aware that already he was foot to foot with the last enemy. As they helped him up the stairs, he told them he would not come down again until he was carried down in his coffin. Thursday saw a great change. It was evident that death was in the cup. For him it had no terrors. He was capable of playful humour while setting his house in order. As an instance of this, I may mention his manner of giving instructions about the disposal of his books. He had gathered a large library. He told his sons that they were to divide his books among themselves, giving the one with the least brains the largest share of the books ! He left them to settle who was who for them- selves. After awhile he grimly smiled and said : " After all, it won't do. It will not make you equal. You may surround a man with books as you like : unless he has brains to take them in, they are no good to him." Early on Saturday morning he had a further relapse. In the evening it was seen that the end was not far off. All his family were gathered round him except his eldest daughter, Mrs. Hardwicke. She was detained through the illness of her child. On Saturday evening he could speak only with the greatest difficulty. One of his sons prayed with him, and after that he began to speak with great unction and with wonderful voice. fire Home-Call. aay He gave the following instructions with regard to his burial : " If you sing at my funeral, let it be the hymn : — In evil long I took delight, Unawed by shame or fear ; Till a new object met my sight, And stopped my wild career. Oh, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb I If you put anything on my tombstone let it be, ' A great sinner saved by great grace.' " To Bewley and Frank, his evangelist sons, he said : " MaDy young men imitate great preachers ; but one talent used for Christ is worth a thousand imitations." " God's Word 1 You surely won't doubt that." " Stick to Christ. Stick to the Cross." " Live for heaven. Live for souls." While his wife and children waited weeping on the bank, the pilgrim for whom the call had come entered the much-feared river. His exclamations told them how it fared with him in his struggle through the dark waters. Now it was the shout of triumph : " Victory through the blood of the Lamb 1 " Anon he was speaking of the " Peace that passeth all understanding." "Peace flowing like a river." By-and-by they heard him say : " Now I have found the ground." " On Christ the solid rock I stand." " I can do nothing but trust." 228 Honourable Discharge. He kept pressing onward, and he was cheered with a vision of the end of the journey : " My prize is in view." " Easter Sunday with the Lord." " I shall drink at the fountain." After this he suffered most acutely. His breathing was agonizing to hear. Asked if he had much pain, he replied : " It's only old nature struggling." He was quite conscious till within three minutes of the end. But his soul was so far across the river that it was only in whispers that his voice reached the ears of the friends that he had left on the bank. He evidently longed for rest. His whispers were : " Home." " Home." " Not far now." Two hours before his departure he said : " Let me lie down." " The chariot wheels are rattling." " It will soon be here." An hour later he whispered : " There's a light in the valley." It proved the light of the longed-for chariot. At 11.20 he was taken with one of the fits which troubled him so much twenty-five years before. He had not had one for twenty years. The paroxysm was soon over, and there was a glorious calm. Writing at the time, of that last moment, Bewley says, " I have stood by dozens of death-beds, but never have I seen such a beautiful expression. He fell back on my arm and was gone." Human eye hath not seen, nor hath human ear heard, &. £iep into tbe It0ljt. 229 the full story of the glory that "the great change" brought to Eichard Weaver. He had been wont to delight in a characteristic description of the contrast between the death of the sceptic and the death of the Christian. In the course of his address on the prayer — " Let me die the death of the righteous " — he sum- marized that contrast into four pregnant sentences : — " Now for a step into the dark," says the sceptic ; " Now for a step into the light," says the Christian ; " I am leaving all behind," says the sceptic ; " I am going now to possess," s&ys the Christian. His step into the light had been taken. He had entered on the possession of the incorruptible inheritance. There was no occasion to sorrow over Hm as over one who had given no pro- mise of future usefulness. But a chair was vacant at the fireside. A cheery companion had left the family circle. His incoming would be expected, and he would not appear. His voice would be listened for, and it would not again be heard. A great bereavement had been allowed. The gentle Jesus has, however, his own way of soothing the pain. Letters of sympathy came flocking from the four winds to Moss Bank, as doves to their windows. They came in such abundance that they compelled the bereaved to think of the good purpose to which the life just closed had been put. And if there was sorrow, keen and poignant, there was also thanksgiving, sincere and deep. The greater number of those messages of sympathy have been put into my hands. On reading them I am impressed with the evidence they afford that Weaver had been made of God a spiritual benefactor to representatives of every class. I am impressed also with 230 Honourable Diarborge. the largeness of the number of the towns and villages in which are the homes of personal friends of " The Con verted Collier." That bundle of letters is an evidence of something so unique that I am inclined to give the names and addresses. But "Directories" are of local rather than of general interest, so I forbear. He who wept at the grave of Lazarus has them in His book, and He may be trusted to redeem the pledge He gave in the following words : " For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in My name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward." XVI. tKHwatljs for iljj> Harriot's Coffin. T^N Mosaic jurisprudence it was deemed impera- tive, in the more serious cases, to have the evidence of more than one witness. Many are the witnesses that are willing to give evidence as to the greatness of the blessing that Weaver was to his generation. Want of space compels me to be satisfied with the testimonies that follow. Feom a Free Church College Principal. The following testimony is from the pen of the late Rev. Principal Brown, D.D., of Aberdeen, who, at the advanced age of ninety-four, and within a few days of his decease, remembered distinctly the marvellous work of grace of thirty years ago. " I had heard a good deal of Richard Weaver, the converted collier, and I expected much from him when he came to Aberdeen in the year 1864. I had a good opportunity of judging of the impression which he pro- duced, as I was on the platform of the Music Hall with him every evening while he wa9 here. I was the only minister of any denomination who was there, or even in the Hall. The numbers were not many at first ; but 23 s tfiSreatbs for tire tStarrinr'a ffinffitt. before he left there was hardly standing room, and the Musk; Hall when packed holds three thousand. One who was present told me afterwards that he came there to make sport of Richard Weaver ; but two lines of a hymn arrested his attention : His blood can wake the foulest clean, His blood availed for me. " ' If there's a foulest upon earth, I am that man,' said he to himself ; ' and if it can make me clean, it must be wonderful blood.' He could not leave the meeting; and that night was the turning-point of his life. "The hymns, the prayers, and the preaching, were all in the same strain. The precious, cleansing blood of Christ was his constant theme, and he put the whole energy of his being into it. I have seen the veins swell on his temples, and his face suffuse with colour, from the pressure of his earnestness, as he bent over the platform swinging his arms while preaching or singing of the love of Christ. He had a voice powerful, yet sweet and full of tenderness, and far-reaching. He said himself he could make it heard by an audience of ten thousand, and I did not doubt it. " One of his favourite hymns, Ob, tbe Lamb, tbe bleeding Lamb ! made a deep impression. A young man told me of his conversion through that hymn. He had gone, uncon- verted, with a friend, to a social gathering of young men. The talk turned chiefly on Richard Weaver and his meetings, when one sitting next to him turned and remarked to him, 'And what do you think of this Bleeding Lamb ? ' He was horrified, he said, and (Klje late flriitripal proton. 233 started back ; he was not accustomed to hear it put in that light. But the words clung to him, and he could get no rest till he himself went and found peace through the atoning blood of the Lamb " One evening the impression was so great that every one felt it ; and he (Weaver) requested the anxious to go out, the men into one room and the women into another. He asked me to go down into the hall, in case some might be there waiting but unwilling to go into the room. Then I learned that eight men were in a room waiting, with no one to speak to them. " ' Will you go, sir ? ' said one. " ' Certainly,' I answered. The result will speak for itself by the following incident. " A year after this some one called upon me, and said to me, ' If you want to see John Strachan alive, you would need to come now, for he is dying.' " ' Who is John Strachan ? ' I asked. " ' Oh, you don't know him ; but he knows you.' " I went to see him, and his first words were, ' Come away, sir ; I want to see you once more before I go to Immanuel's Land.' " ' But how do you know me ? ' I asked. " He answered, ' Do you remember eight young men who went into a room to be spoken to after one of Richard Weaver's meetings ? I was one of them. You came in, and I don't know what you said, but you put your arms around my neck, and I thought it must be a wonderful religion to make a gentleman like you act like that. That night I got no sleep. I knew enough about the way of salvation, and I closed with Christ. I determined then to speak to all my friends of the 834 Wtt&tha tax tht Warrwr'a Coffin. change which had come over me ; and if I had known that I had only one year more to live, I could not have done more, for I spoke to every one of them.' " I prayed with him, and said I was going away for a few days, but would call again soon. When I went, his landlady told me that shortly after I left he had died triumphantly. " These are but specimens of the impression produced at all of Richard Weaver's meetings, and of the fruit that remained to the glory of God. " For the personality of Richard Weaver, I may say that I have had him in my own house, and myself and my family were struck with his refined gentleness. The refining power of the grace of (rod was eminently exemplified in him. It shone in his face. He was anxious to be able to study the Word critically and experimentally, feeling himself to be deficient in theological training. He asked to have a copy of my Commentary on the Gospels, which I was glad to give to him, although his natural insight was uncommonly good." From Mr. Thomas Wintle, Pontymoile. "Whatever else is lacking in the national character of the Welsh, it must be admitted that they are an eminently religious people. Whether amongst the dwellers on the mountain sides, or in the glens and vales, in the towns, coal-fields, or other industrial centres — amongst all classes — there is a mani- fest desire to inquire after that which is spiritual. Many times within the last century the Principality iKt. Stomas tHhttle. 235 has been favoured by mighty revivals under such Spirit-filled, heaven-sent preachers as Howell Harris, John Elias, Christmas Evans, Dr. Eees, Herber Evans, and other flaming evangelists, till the remotest parts have felt the power, and participated in the times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord. " This was the soil on which Eichard Weaver had to sow the word, which is the seed of the Kingdom, when he visited Cardiff in 1865. Consequently the largest building, and even the Market Hall, were quite inade- quate to hold the crowds of people that thronged to hear the ' Converted Collier ' tell the story of redeeming love. " He visited Cardiff several times, with such blessed results that a few friends offered him a tempting salary to remain and settle down permanently in the town. Alderman Richard Cory proposed to give him a fine villa residence in Roath. All these advantages Richard declined, feeling assured that it was the Lord's will that he should continue as he had begun, and preach the Gospel all over the land, wherever an open door pre- sented itself. Swansea, Pontypridd, Rhondda Valley, and many other localities in Wales were visited and revisited, and everywhere the word was with power. " One Sunday afternoon, when Weaver was conducting a Mission in Swansea, walking down the street he saw a fruiterer's shop partly opened, and several customers standing inside waiting to be served. His quick perception and ready wit led bim to go into the shop, and addressing the woman in charge, he said : — " ' Mrs. ! I see some one is dead here ; you have the shutters up.' 236 Wreaths for t^e Warrior's Coffin. " ' No, sir,' said the astonished woman ; ' there's no one dead here.' " ' There is ! ' thundered Richard, ' and the hurial will be in hell.' " Without another word he walked out, and went on to the meeting. The woman became so terrified that she refused to serve the customers, shut up her shop, and followed the evangelist to the Albert Hall. There that afternoon she was converted, and returning home told her husband what had taken place. His reply was a murderous attack upon his wife for closing the shop. The police came on the scene, arrested the husband, and removed the poor woman in an unconscious state to the hospital, where her right leg was amputated. The hus- band was tried at the assizes, and sentenced to a term of imprisonment. A few months ago, Mr. James Jones, evangelist (one of Eichard's spiritual children), was visiting at Bristol, and there saw the one-legged woman bright and happy, rejoicing in that Christ whom she received as her Saviour in the Albert Hall, Swansea, under such remarkable circumstances. "In 1891 Richard Weaver visited Pontymoile in connection with our Mission. On the first Sunday afternoon, when he got on the platform and saw the crowded congregation of Welsh colliers and iron- workers with their coal-marked faces and horny hands, he was much moved, and at once said : ' Let us pray.' We shall never forget that prayer. He pleaded with Grod as a collier, for colliers, conversant with all their hardships, dangers, difficulties, and trials; and When, with a voice trembling with emotion, he patheti- cally asked the Father of the fatherless, and the Husband WReaber'B last JlfttBston. «37 of the widow, to remember in much mercy the loved ones left behind in that neighbourhood by the one hundred and seventy-six men who had been killed a few weeks before in the Llanerch colliery near by, strong men sobbed aloud, while others, bathed in tears, cried for mercy. Thus commenced what un- doubtedly was Weaver's most successful efforts of later years. Probably a people was never found whose ears were more open, or whose hearts were more ready to receive and to be stirred to their depths, by the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. " He regularly afterwards visited Pontymoile once or twice a year as long as he lived, and each Mission was equally successful. Its influence was felt throughout the valleys of Monmouthshire. Qur brother was be- loved by all, and became greatly attached to us and deeply interested in our work. "His last Mission commenced on Sunday Dec. 5, 1895, and night after night for a fortnight Richard preached — though often in much pain — with marvellous power, from such texts as ' The great day of His wrath,' and 4 My Spirit shall not always strive with man.' At the closing service he showed evident signs of physical weak- ness and pain, and frequently afterwards said that he should never preach again — that his work was done ; and it is worthy of remembrance that the text of his last ser- mon was 1 Cor. xv. 57 : ' But thanks be unto God which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' As he warmed to his subject the signs of weakness disappeared j he preached with the old-time energy and fire ; and a rich ingathering of souls crowned the conclusion of his public labours in the cause of Christ. «38 Wtt&t^a for ifre Utamor's Coffin. "Richard intended going with us from Pontymoile to Miss Perks' Soldiers' Institute at Winchester, for a short mission ; but feeling so ill on Saturday morning he determined to return at once to his home, or what he smilingly described as ' his lodgings in Cheshire,' only to be called so soon to his ' home in the glory.' " After he reached his lodgings, as he called them, he sent a characteristic letter to our son, and almost from within sight of the pearly gates, one hour before his home-going, he sent us the following telegram : ' Just going home shouting Victory.' " From Mr. E. H. Kerwin, the coadjutor of Mr. F. N. Charrington, in the work of the Great Assembly Hall, Mile End. "We look back many years and recall the stirring, whole-hearted appeals made by Richard Weaver to the large audiences that used to gather in our old temporary hall which stood on the site, before the Great Assembly Hall was erected. Weaver was always fond of the Great Assembly Hall, and whenever he was preaching in or near London, if he had a night off, that night was spent amongst us. The longest time he spent with us was a month's mission he took in July, 1881 ; prior to that date he had never held more than a week's services. It is with much gratitude that we record thanks to the Lord for the blessing which we received from his preaching. We have those associated with us in the Great Assembly Hall to-day who were brought to the Lord through the preaching of Richard Weaver: and one of those a few days back was gr. §arttar£io. 239 relating to Mr. P'rank Weaver how his father had been the means of his conversion. This man was casually walking down the road, when he was invited by some one standing outside to come in and hear Eichard Weaver. Curiosity led him to accept the invitation, and that night he was converted. Two evenings afterwards he brought his wife, and she was converted. They have both been engaged in our work as voluntary helpers ever since. " One of the last occasions on which Eichard Weaver was seen in the Great Assembly Hall was a memorable one. It was on the Thanksgiving Day, 11th of April, 1894, when the two old veterans, Joshua Poole and Eichard Weaver, stood side by side proclaiming the Truth of God to nearly 5,000 Christian people." From Dr. T. J. Barnardo. " I gladly comply with the request that I should lay my humble wreath upon the coffin of the inimitable evangeUst and veteran warrior for Christ, Eichard Weaver. " My recollections of him date back to the very begin- ning of my own Christian life. I think that it was in 1863 I first met Eichard. He visited Dublin, where I then lived, just as the marvellous revival of religion associated with the ministry of the Eev. J. Denham Smith and of Eev. Dr. Grattan Guinness was sub- siding — subsiding, however, only in the emotional character of the work ; but breaking out anew on every side in more solid and lasting trophies of divine grace, as seen in the lives and characters of those whom it affected. Q «40 Mreatlra for t\jt tSRarrior'a ©nffitt. " It is no exaggeration to say that Kichard took the city by storm. The old Metropolitan Hall, and subsequently the new Merrion Hall (reared in great part through the munificent benevolence of Mr. Henry Bewley) were crowded out to hear the impassioned utterances of the collier evangelist. The influence he exercised extended through every rank : not merely did vast crowds of business people and working folk throng every assembly, but the wealth, fashion, and high birth of the Irish metropolis were also at the feet of the lowly-born pitman. I have seen him in those days drive through the streets of Dublin in the carriage of one of the oldest and most aristocratic families. The wife of the Lord Chancellor sat by his side, and in the seats opposite ladies who were at that time the ' bright particular stars ' of the Irish Vice-Eegal Court. No man, being what he was, was ever more flattered than Kichard without being spoiled : no man ruled more absolutely in his unpolished but gracious way than he did over his votaries. " I saw Richard and watched him under many circum- stances of which little note has perhaps been taken by others. Henry Bewley, the grand Christian despot, whose life, wealth, house, wife, family, all were devoted to the spread of evangelical truth, admired Richard im- mensely and believed in him. No one, indeed, who came near this remarkable man could doubt his deep sincerity. His unconventionalism shocked not a few : vet it was native to the man, it simply marked his reality. Richard was ' out and out.' His sincerity glistened like a diamond, and it mattered not whether the setting was silver or gold or merely lead, it was the brilliant gem alone which drew all eyes and charmed all imagina- tions. No reporting could do justice to Richard's unique addresses ; and people who had merely read accounts of his meetings might well wonder at the secret of his power. But the whole man was in these appearances of his, and the mere words he used were only one of his means towards an end. I have his voice, his manner, his very theme ringing in my ears, before my eyes, haunting my memory to-day. I can under- stand, for I myself have felt, why men were thrilled, and why women surrendered themselves to the magic of an oratory that was untutored indeed, but which was touched as by a live coal from off the heavenly altar. I have never heard any one, never expect to hear any one on earth to compare with him in his match- less eloquence. Yet there was nothing that was not strong, manly, in all that Richard said, and did, and sung. And how can one describe these songs of his ? No one ever thought, amid the crowds who always filled the building where Richard spoke, of judging his songs by ordinary standards. Such singing was something altogether by itself, unique, standing apart. It was aa effective as his speech. " Richard was pre-eminently a preacher of Christ. Other things might be touched upon, but only as illustrations to let the light in upon his theme, or as avenues that led up to the centre — the metropolis of all his thoughts. He was eminently human too. The touches of tenderness with which at times his addresses were marked, carried one away upon a flood-tide of emotion. " And I knew him after the great trouble fell like a «4* Utreat&B for t^rc Warrinr'is Coffin. dark cloud over his life. I knew him in and through it all, and I loved him — loved him because I believed in him, and as I believe in him to-day. " Seventeen or eighteen years ago I was in Man- chester holding a Mission. There I saw a white-haired, benevolent-looking, elderly man in the midst of my audience, sitting between his wife and daughter. It was Richard. At this time he was conducting the Hollin- wood Mission. For years he had laboured unheard of and unnoticed in this lowly ministry among the poor, and many among them had learned to love this wonder- ful old man with the deep-blue turquoise eyes, whose brightness was yet undimmed by age or sorrow. Out of the talk that followed that little meeting came Eichard's decision to enter once more upon the work of an evangelist, to which, indeed, many voices were call- ing him — voices which he now hoped were speaking in the tones and with the authority of the great Master. I was glad to be able forthwith to invite Richard to East London, and he came. The old Edinburgh Castle was crowded out at his renewed services, for the common people always heard him gladly. Although age and grief and disappointment had dimmed the fire and lowered the vitality of the inimitable Richard, yet the magic of that wonderful voice and the touching homeli- ness of the Lancashire talk, carried his hearers by com- mon impulse to the feet of Christ. On that first night over one hundred persons professed either to have been led to Christ, or to have been restored from backsliding. That Mission was followed by another. Again and yet again Richard visited us ; but at each visit it was manifest the evangelist was becoming less vigorous and less able for the task. Occasionally, however, in spite Jteb. %. Ittotttgomerg. *43 of all hindrances, there would flash out some revelation of the depths of that heart full of love to Christ and man, and then all would be charmed and held spellbound. I remember too, how at a meeting of workers held at the Assembly Hall in Mile End Eoad, the old man suddenly arose — Reginald Radcliffe being in the chair — and spoke as only he could speak ; and well do I recollect the deep impression made upon all present by his words and looks. " But I must not extend this necessarily hasty resume of my recoDections. The memory of this dear servant of God is green in my heart, and I can never forget the wonders which God did by his agency." Fbom Rev. H. Montgomery, M.A., Belfast. " I gladly contribute a few words telling of Richard Weaver's later visits to Belfast, and bearing witness to the fact that God graciously used his servant in con- firming the faith of his children and in bringing sinners to the Saviour. " It was the privilege of the writer to stand alongside the veteran evangelist on each of the occasions referred to, the meetings being held in a large circus in a central situation. " Given that the preacher has the popular gifts, a circus is the kind of building likely to attract the class of people needing the gospel. God had graciously endowed our friend with unique qualifications for reaching and retaining the ear of the crowd. He had a voice of great power and flexibility, a tender heart, a fine command of simple Saxon language, the power of exposing sin and shams of every kind, a mind thoroughly saturated with the word of God, a clear, strong grip of 244 tBtreatlrs for tlje tS&arrior'B Coffin. the truth, and an experience in gospel work almost unrivalled. All these gifts and graces were honestly and sincerely laid at the feet of the Master for Him to use as He thought best. With such endowments as these it is hardly necessary to add that large and inter- ested audiences always waited on the ministrations of the evangelist. " Mr. Weaver was a man who preached from ex- perience. The gospel was no mere theological theory with him. He had been in the depths, and had been drawn up therefrom, and he knew the meaning of ' Out of darkness into his marvellous light.' It is said that two priests once approached a French evangelical pastor, and thus addressed him, ' Sire, we wish to enter your religion.' ' Ah,' said the pastor in reply, ' our religion must enter you.' This is how it was with Richard Weaver ; what he preached he knew as a personal ex- perience. The experimental in his addresses was what captured the crowd. " Nansen had a large and ready audience because he could tell of being further north than other explorers. Our evangelist, by declaring what and where he had been, and how God had reached and rescued him, was used by the Lord of the Harvest to attract multitudes to the Cross and rouse large numbers from the sleep of sin. " Our friend's power of illustration was remarkable. He was never, as far as I can remember, guilty of using an ill-judged metaphor or an infelicitous illustration. In one address he gave in Belfast, on ' Many waters cannot quench love,' two well-remembered historical incidents associated with the Covenanting persecution period in Scotland were most touchingly and suitably introduced — that of the murder of John Brown of tffieaber'a (Sentlenesa attir (BcntalUg. »45 Priesthill, and the drowning of Margaret Wilson and Margaret McLaughlin in the Solway. Weaver had the art of putting truth well, of arranging it suitably and logically. He could, and did, through God's grace, sling smooth stones, i.e., present the gospel message in such a way as was most likely, through the power of the Spirit, to'enect the conviction and conversion of the sinner. " I can never forget the extraordinary way in which Weaver on one particular night, when closing his address, shouted out the word 'sinner.' His voice rang like a clarion all over the immense building, and made almost the very fabric quiver. Even by that one word numbers were roused. " The gentleness of our dear friend, his geniality, his generosity, made him to live in the hearts of hundreds whom he and we will never know of until the great day. His love for the old gospel, and for bringing sinners to the cross, burned within him a bright flame to the last. He was in feeble health when with us ; but the sight of a big congregation kindled in his soul a yearning compassion for the perishing, and drew from him strong crying in prayer for God to save, and save on the spot. " The circus in which Mr. Weaver preached has passed away ; but the fruits of his ministry in this city will abide to the glory of God, and as a proof that the message of mercy is still the power of God unto sal- vation to every one that believeth." As Weaver's friend of thirty-five years' standing, Mr. R. C. Morgan, was in Africa, the privilege of laying the wreath of public testimony on the coffin on the day of the burial was accorded to Dr. Barnardo. *4<> ISEreatljs for tfre tSEarrior's (Boffin. He gratefully accepted the honour. Under the impression (got by consulting wrong tables) that the train left London at 10.30, he reached the station at 10.20. To his dismay he discovered that he had made a mistake. The train left at 10.10. Those in charge of the burial decided to find a man of opportunity among the mourners at the grave. They found the Eev. John Eobertson, of the City Temple, Glasgow. He had no time given him to prepare ; but he loved Weaver. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth spake. Thus it came to pass that the out- standing wreath was not a wreath of English roses, but a wreath of Scottish bluebells. Mr. Robertson's addresses here given are taken from The Signal of 22nd April, 1896. In the chapel he said : — Through Dr. Barnardo missing his train, I am unexpectedly called upon to take this memorial service. Our hearts are stricken to-day. Before us lies the precious dust of one of the most honoured servants of the Lord Jesus Christ of this half-century, honoured by the Master by having had committed to him, more than to any other in our generation, the work of calling sinners to repentance and being made the means of their conversion at the cross of the Crucified. Richard Weaver was a flame kindled by God Himself j and this flame lit up with the atoning love of Christ the hearts of hundreds of thousands of his fellow-sinners. Perhaps it is meet that a Scotsman should have crossed the border to lay a wreath of Scottish bluebells on the coffin of Richard Weaver ; for though he beloDged to you English people, and loved his native England, his heart nevertheless was pecu- liarly knit to the " land of the mountain and the flood." It was in Scotland that some of the most marvellous results of Richard Weaver's preaching were seen, and it was in Scotland that the Holy Ghost confirmed the Word with signs following to an extent that thrilled our staid and solemn country into unwonted Ueb. lohtt Hobert«ott. 247 " Hallelujahs." Richard Weaver's hymns flew like wildfire on the ■wings of the wind, and our grave, psalm-singing Covenanters perforce had to open their mouths in the infectious harmony of those new Gospel melodies of his. God was with him, and he is now with God. The day was heavy in Glasgow when the newspaper paragraph caught our eye, saying, " Richard Weaver is dead." I have lost a dearly-loved friend — so have you. He is not here. The cold frame is not he ; his spirit has left it and is with Christ, which is far better ; and the precious dust we now commit to the grave, in the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection when the morn of morns dawns upon the Church. I have thought it remarkable, and I think it was designed of God, that Richard Weaver's last sermon in Scotland should have been preached in the very building in which were seen his old triumphs in preaching the Gospel of Christ — the City Hall of Glasgow, where my congregation now gather. Thousands on that occasion thronged round him, and listened to some of the most thrilling utterances that ever fell from mortal lips, commending the love and grace of his Saviour. Will ever any that were present at that last meeting of the veteran revivalist — for revivalist he was to the end — forget his words when he summoned from the spirit land, Abraham and Jacob, David and Isaiah, and all the saints of old, Luther and Calvin, and John Knox, Wesley, Whitefield, M'Cheyne, and Thomas Chalmers, to bear testimony to the sufficiency in life and in death of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the faithfulness of God 1 It was the old fervour repeated over again of the great Revival time of 1859 and I860, and gave some of us that were bairns at that wonderful time a kind of idea of what Richard Weaver and that great Revival were. God tried him and tested him beyond most, and he stood the test and came forth as gold. His hair as I knew him was driven white ; not so much with the snows of age and the coming eternity, as from the blanching of the pain and travail of sadness and sorrow, and I will say, the unmerited neglect and cruelty he passed through. But all is over now ; " there is rest for the weary," as he often sang, and he has found it in the bosom of his God. We commend the bereaved widow and family of him who hath gone to God, that He may grant them his own consolation, «48 tSKreailja for tire tKarrtnr'a Coffin. and as we commit the dust of his servant to the tomb to wait his promise of resurrection, do we not hear the voice say to us all, " Be ye also ready, for ye know not the day, nor the hour, when the Son of Man shall come " ? Oh, let us be in earnest, for eternity will soon be upon us, and our opportunity gone. Mr. Eobertson then read 1 Thess. iv. 13-17. There- after the coffin was lifted and borne by four colliers who had been converted through Weaver's instrumentality ; and was lowered into the grave. A great throng from the city and different parts of the country were piesent, and Mr. Eobertson was asked if he had any further message. Stepping forward, he said : At this open grave, I have been asked to conclude with a few words. The first time I ever heard of Richard Weaver was long ago in connection with a hymn my mother, now in glory, sang to me. The traditions of the great Revival of 1859 and 1S60, in which Richard Weaver passed through Scotland like a flame of fire, were to Scotch boys like me, as we grew up, like a holy atmosphere. We never saw, but we heard and were glad, and have wistfully longed for that old time of the right hand of the Most High to return. When the annals of the spiritual movements from God on this poor earth of ours are written by the true annalists, the recording angels, one name will be inscribed as a messenger of Christ to our nation, more prominently than earthly historians seem inclined to inscribe it, and that name is " Richard Weaver." Just as Wesley and Whitefield were called by God to call out his people from the darkness and unbelief of a degenerate Christendom, so half-way through this century God called Richard Weaver to summon his people from the surrounding chill and death of for- mality and indifference. No bishop's hands were on his head — the converted collier needed them not. The Cross was where he stood, and he beckoned sinners to come with thfir guilt-laden hearts to where he had himself obtained peace and pardon from an offended God. I never thought that he would, in the provi- dence of God, be at my own fireside ; that my house would for a (Bbangelital ^ucteasifftt. 249 time be his 1 ome, that he would be loved by my bairnios, listened to by my people, and listened to in his very last sermon in Scotland, in the City Hall. The evangelical succession ia a truth that needs to be restored ; and I am surprised to find it too much overlooked in the ordinary survey of those things which led up to the entrenched evangelical position of our churches that resulted from the visit of Messrs. Moody and Sankey from America in the seventies. Pioneers that do the most difficult work are apt to be lost sight of. Perhaps even in this neglect pioneers may be like the first Pioneer of Chris- tianity, the Christ Himself, who came unto his own, but his own received Him not. Let the missing link in the evangelical succes- sion be righteously restored. The link is Richard Weaver. We owe, indeed, under God, the visit of Messrs. Moody and Sankey to him whose body is about for a time to be enclosed in this grave in Manchester. Though strangely it is not mentioned in the published " Life of Henry Moorhouse," yet it is the fact that Henry Moor- house was converted to God through the instrumentality of Richard Weaver ; and it was Henry Moorhouse's teaching and contact with Mr. Moody that sent him over to this country to tell the " old, old Story," with such great blessing from God, for which we would praise Him: but in justice let the historical link be realized. Richard Weaver was second to none, and first to many, in natural gifts as an evangelist — apart, of course, from the grace of Christ and the baptism of the Holy Ghost, without which all gifts are vain. The '59 and '60 movement, on which, like a ship on the inrolling wave, he was borne, was weird in its unearthliness ; it was from God. But we will not speak of the servant, but of the Master ; we will not mention at this graveside the sinner saved, but the Saviour ; we would commend Christ to you all. He has gone home, and we have sung around his grave the hymns that he requested the mourners to sing ; and we give God thanks that in his place his two sons here proclaim, as evangelists in speech and in song, the Gospel their father spoke and sang so movingly and long. May God comfort the bereaved I Their translated father told them to put on the tombstone that will be erected on this spot the words, "A Gbbat Sinneb Savbd by Great Gbach." *5° Wttathi tot tfre Wi&ttiat'i fltnffin. Farewell, soldier of Jesus, fallen asleep ! Farewell, Richard Weaver ! dear old Greatheart of the evangel. Till the heavens be no more we shall not meet, but then we shall — yes, meet thee, and meet our Lord and Saviour, when we shall be like Him and with Him for ever and ever. Amen. Here is another wreath from Scotland — a humble wreath of heather sprays, from Weaver's Edinburgh friend and laureate, Mr. R. Meek. Shall I put it in ? I don't know. It's badly plaited. But it's tied " wi' the silken band o' love," and that covers a multitude of defects. So I'll risk it. And now his sun is set, To rise in brighter day ; To shine with more effulgent light Above the starry way. The servant's work is done. O'er many vales of ours He sowed the good seed of the word 'Neath heaven's refreshing showers. And into city slums He bore the gospel light, Till here and there a ray shot forth From out the darkest night. Oh, can I e'er forget Those happy, holy days, When hand-in-hand with him I walked In heavenly wisdom's ways? But this is not our rest ; God called his Richard home : And though I face a lonelier walk, My call will shortly come. We have heard that sigh before. When ? Where ? At last we remember. It comes from the " muirland of mist where the martyrs lay." It is Peden's sigh at "®h tat bz toi* Kitr-We!" 251 another Richard's grave. As we think of the rest into which Weaver has entered, we feel that it is natural for a lonely and wearied comrade to give expression to his longings in the sigh : "Oh tae be wi* Ritchie!" But a far different vision draws our gaze. As we think of Weaver's life, we see a strong man standing by the whelming river of sin. He makes us feel that he dares to believe that the waters of even that Jordan can be divided. He has seen it done, and he believes it can be done again. He lifts on high the old tried and proved mantle : he calls upon the tried and proved Lord, and he smites the waters, And they are Divided. The signs that followed his preaching were: " Holier lives, Tenderer mothers, and worthier wives, The husband and father whose children fled And sad wife wept, when his drunken tread Frightened peace from his roof -tree shade, And a rock of offence his hearthstone made. In a strength that was not his own began To rise from the brute's to the plane of man. Old friends embraced long held apart By evil counsel and pride of heart ; And penitence saw through misty tears, In the bow of hope on its cloud of fears, The promise of Heaven's eternal years I The peace of God for the world's annoy, Beauty for ashes and oil of joy." How we wish we could close with that vision ! But 2S Z TSUtreiitljB for tlje Warrior's Coffin. another keeps thrusting iteelf in on our unwilling atten- tion. We ourselves stand by the same river. We have the old mantle. As we lift it on high, we carefully explain that we've altered it somewhat. We loudly declare that the Gospel which we preach is " the old Gospel with a difference." The blood-red Cross that used to be the outstanding adornment of the old mantle was an offence to many. So we have removed or hidden it. The mantle that we raise on high is without " the offence of the Cross." In the most approved fashion we smite the waters ; but — but — They abe not Divided as before. Printed and Made in Great Britain. 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' ■ ■POWER Columba, and the Story of Iona. William Carey. Stephanie, the Waldensian. The Story of Pandita Ramabai. GREAT SALVATION SERIES. Of Gospel Gift Books— 4d. In Art Pictorial Covers. All well Illustrated. Full of pointed and in- teresting Gospel Narratives. Pleasures for Evermore. Great Redemption. Great Salvation. Pleasures True. Redeeming Grace. Trophies of Mercy. Bible Treasures. The Wonderful Story. The Children's Friend. Bible Tales for Boys and Girls. Healing Leaves. Crowns Unfading. Won to Christ. Fourpence each Net. 12 for 4/6, post free. Excellent Gifts to the Young Folks. Will be read eagerly in their Homes, by Old and Young alike. "Precious Stones" Series. Full of. Illustrated Gospel Narratives for Young and Old. Nicely bound in White Leatherette. Rubies of Redemption. Diamonds of Decision. Evergreen Emeralds. Heavenly Sapphires. Jasper Joys. Pearls of Peace. Gems of Grace. Jewels of Gold. 4d each, 12 (assorted), 5/- post free. JOHN RITCHIE, Ltd., Publishers, Kilmarnock, Scotland.