And down a row of cottages at the bottom of Water Lane there lived a blind woman named Mrs. Woodrow, whom I shall ever regard as one of the best of my many friends. I had been preaching one day on the importance of praying for the ministry, and when visiting her a few days afterwards I said, “I’m sure you pray for me.” “Indeed I do,” she replied with great emphasis, “morning, noon, and night.” She spoke with such earnestness that I could not refrain from asking her what she prayed for, when she said, “They tell me you’re a very young man, so I pray that you may be kept from the sins of young men.” How much do I owe to the prayers of that blind widow!
In addition to these advantages I enjoyed the intimate friendship of my beloved and honoured friend the Rev. James Hough, founder of the Tinnevelly Mission. After his return from India he had settled in the incumbency of Ham, and I never can forget his first visit to me. I had taken a lodging just beyond the bridge, and I had scarcely finished my breakfast on the first day after my arrival when the venerable man entered the room. He spoke very kindly to me, and before he would say a word upon any other subject, he told me that many Christian friends had been praying that the right appointment might be made, and afterwards for me when they heard that I was appointed, and that he had come on the first possible occasion to commend me solemnly to the Lord. He then fell on his knees and pleaded for me before God that I might have grace and wisdom for the difficult post to which I had been called. His subsequent intercourse with me was in harmony with that beginning. His house was always open to me, and whenever I wanted counsel I always used to go to him, as I never failed to find in him one who seemed to bring his wisdom fresh from the throne of grace.
With these advantages I set to work. I wonder at the grace of God that kept me from making more blunders than I did; for having had no experience I had not the slightest fear of difficulty. Things in those days were very different to what they are now. Ritualism had not then been invented, nor had that loose vague system now so popular under the name of Undenominationalism.
Among those who professed to be Churchmen there were only two classes—those whose Churchmanship consisted in maintaining things as they were, who were living for the world; who, if they cared for their own souls, were utterly unconcerned about the souls of others; who showed not the slightest sympathy in any Christian object, and who seemed to consider that anything that disturbed them must of necessity be unorthodox. To avoid such disturbance one of those gentlemen stumped out of church every Sunday morning as I went up to the pulpit, and others used to take refuge in the chapel of Archdeacon Cambridge on the other side of the river.
On the other hand, there was a body of people, drawn from all classes of society, who “had passed from death unto life,” who had been quickened by the Spirit of God, and who were taking their stand nobly on the side of their Saviour. Thus there was a much wider line of demarcation between the converted and the unconverted than we meet with in modern times, and a clergyman’s work was simpler than it is now, inasmuch as there was much less to entangle and confuse the application of the message to individual souls.
But there was in some cases sharp opposition. It may seem extraordinary to some that at the visitation of the late Bishop of Winchester, [77] then Archdeacon of Surrey, I was publicly presented before the Archdeacon by one of the churchwardens for having been guilty of giving a Wednesday evening lecture in the infant schoolroom! What was more extraordinary still was that, when I was called up before the Archdeacon and all the clergy to answer for my fault, the Archdeacon said with great solemnity that it was an important matter, and he must refer it to the Bishop. And what is more wonderful still, in consequence of that reference I had to give up the lecture.
The Bishop was in a great difficulty. He thoroughly approved of such lectures, and had advocated them in a charge recently delivered, but he believed that they were not strictly in accordance with the Act of Uniformity, so that he felt it impossible to support me, while at the same time he did not at all wish to have the responsibility of stopping me. This led to a somewhat painful correspondence with that excellent man, and after full consultation with my dear friend Mr. Hough, I thought it best to give up the lecture, stating that I did so in obedience to the Bishop’s wish. One blessed result of that whole transaction was that a bill was carried through Parliament distinctly legalising all such services.
But of all those whom God raised up as counsellors and friends, there was no one to be compared to the beloved one whom God gave me to be my loving wife, [78] on July 10th, 1839. She combined the ability of her father with the devotedness of her mother, and it is perfectly impossible for me to say what she was to me in the parish, in her home, and our own private intercourse. One thing only I would especially mention respecting her, viz. that it was to her that I owe what I believe to be the most useful characteristic of my ministry—I am thankful to say that from the very beginning I always quoted a great deal of Scripture in my sermons, but I used to do so interweaving those texts with my own composition. But she taught me the use of proof texts—she said that my preaching was not so profitable as that of the Rev. H. H. Beamish, to which she had been accustomed, and instead of merely quoting a passage, he used to give a chapter and verse, and allow the people time to look it out in their Bibles.
As he was constantly engaged in the exposition of the Word of God, and laid a solid foundation of the truth taught, I was thoroughly convinced of the wisdom of her words; and for the last fifty years I have systematically acted on her advice, so that, although I never heard Mr. Beamish in my life, I have always regarded his ministry as the model on which my own has been formed; and when I have seen the blessing which the exposition of Scripture has been made to very many souls, I have never ceased to thank God for that dear young wife who did not shrink from pointing out to her husband his defects.
It was during the period of my Richmond curacy that I had the high honour of being invited by my dear friend the Rev. Henry Venn to become a member of the Committee of Correspondence of the Church Missionary Society. I think it was in the year 1844. I am not quite sure respecting the date, but I have no hesitation in expressing my thankfulness to our Heavenly Father for the wisdom, the fidelity, for the true missionary spirit with which the affairs of that great society have been conducted during the many years of my intimate acquaintance with its business and its leaders.