“‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’
“‘But they wanted something different—a story.’
“‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story—the most thrilling one that can be conceived of.’
“‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the antipodes.’
“‘Then I am glad to have it to say, that a man coming from the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’ dying love. My business is to preach the Gospel of Christ, and when I can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I looked upon those people to-day, and remembered where I should next meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain curiosity—tickle their fancies with amusing stories, however decently strung together on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant by preaching the Gospel. And then, how could I hereafter meet the fearful charge, “I gave you one opportunity to tell them of me—you spent it in describing your own adventures!”’”
The following reminiscence of Mr. Judson’s preaching in Plymouth has been kindly contributed by the Rev. Dr. D. W. Faunce, now of Washington, D. C.:
“The old church was crowded, and I was able to find a seat only in a corner of the gallery. Shall I confess my disappointment, at first, when a slim, worn man, with a weary voice, rose in the pulpit after the pastor had conducted the opening exercises, and gave out his text, ‘These are they that follow the Lamb.’
“Trained in a religious household, where missionary names, and especially those of Judson and Rice, were familiar words, somehow, in my boyish fancy I had thought of him as a great orator, with a loud voice and commanding tones, who would sweep down all before him with a resistless eloquence. Hence my disappointment. But as he went on, in simple language, to unfold his thought, and repeated over and over again his one theme, pleasing Jesus, somehow I forgot all about eloquence. There stole over me, a boy convert of only a few months’ standing, a great tenderness. Was this venerated man influenced in all he had done by the simple thought of pleasing Jesus? Well, then, might not I, boy as I was, strive to please Jesus also? My eyes began to fill, and my heart was in my throat. Was there anything I could do to please Jesus? A hundred times since, the single simple thought of that sermon has come to me, and the memory of that summer afternoon in the corner of the gallery, and the scene and the words have been an inspiration. And if that is eloquence which gets its thought written imperishably upon the heart of an auditor, then the simple, almost childlike words of that hour were truly eloquent.”
Mr. Judson’s movements in this country were chronicled alike by the secular and religious newspapers. His toils and sufferings had made his name a household word among all Christians, and wherever he went, the churches were crowded with people who desired to see and to hear America’s pioneer missionary. On the evening of the second day after his arrival, a meeting was held in the Bowdoin Square church, Boston. The following words of welcome were spoken by Dr. Sharp:
“There are some feelings,” said Dr. Sharp, “which are too sacred for public utterance. There are sentiments of respect and regard which, when whispered to the ear, or spoken in the privacy of confidential intercourse, are pleasant and refreshing as the breath of spring, but which lose their fragrance in the atmosphere of a public assembly. Were I to express my own feelings toward yourself—my admiration, my confidence, my gratitude, my regard—I should say many things that in this assembly would seem out of place. I may, however, without violating Christian propriety, speak in behalf of the public in the presence of the public.