As befitted a persevering and energetic man he was an early riser, yet he found that not only did his business require it, but he discovered “our Lord when on earth rising a great while before day that He might spend some time in secret prayer, and David says, ‘Early will I seek Thee.’” So good a habit scarcely needed so lofty an apology.
His father appears to have remonstrated with him as to his excess of zeal: “Concerning the meetings you attend, God Almighty never designed man to spend all his time in godliness; He designed such as you and me to work for our bread”—advice that had not much effect, for we find Nisbet writing when down home in Scotland in 1808, “I have lost much time in coming here—no Thursday night sermons, no companion with whom I would wish to be on intimate friendship, and no Sabbath schools; and the Sabbath is a very poor Sabbath, very unlike our dear Sabbath in London.”
Having, however, returned to London in 1809, he commenced business for himself on a very limited scale as a bookseller in Castle Street, and characteristically the first books sold were copies of Streeter’s “Catechism.” In due course of time he prospered, was admitted to the freedom of the City of London, and elected to the office of Renter Warden in the Stationers’ Company.
As soon as his reputation as a religious publisher was established, he purchased a house in Berners Street—“the great object of his ambition being, not to amass a large fortune for aggrandisement, but to be the pious proprietor of a comfortable dwelling, which he could throw open for the hospitable entertainment of godly men.”
He firmly adhered to his principles of publishing books of one peculiar class, and rigidly excluded everything that was not of a moral or religious character; and not satisfied with purchasing the copyright of his authors upon highly advantageous terms, often added a liberal bonus when the work proved profitable. “To such a degree,” says his biographer, “did his generosity overflow, that one estimable man, ‘whose praise is in all the churches,’ felt constrained to put the curb on his publisher’s largesse. ‘I shall agree to accept one hundred pounds, and no more,’ commences one of his legal agreements.”
Such conduct had its reward, for, says Mr. Wallace, “notwithstanding the humble position which James Nisbet occupied as a mere shopkeeper, so high was the estimation in which he was held as a philanthropist and a churchman that he was occasionally honoured by pressing invitations from families in the higher ranks of life, to visit them at their country seats”—the lesson drawn from such amazing condescension by the biographer being, “Him that honoureth I will honour”—and accordingly Nisbet went for a whole week to Tollymore Park, and naturally writes from there: “What a blessed thing it is to be a Christian.” The curious chapter in which this visit is recorded is headed, “Yea, brother, let me have joy of thee in the Lord.”
Among the numerous authors with whom Nisbet was connected was Edward Irving, for whom he published “Discourses on Daniel’s Vision of the Four Beasts,” and other books. Irving, by far the greatest orator and most eloquent speaker of our later times, “was for long enshrined in the warm recesses of Nisbet’s heart, and Nisbet not only sat under him, but contributed £21,000 to the Regent’s Square Church. But the love of truth was in Nisbet stronger than earthly affection, and soon the gift of speaking with unknown tongues was discovered.” “Last Sabbath,” writes Nisbet, “a most tumultuous scene took place, the lives of many people being in jeopardy, so that even Mr. Irving himself was terrified, and said that he would not allow the spirits to speak again in public.” He was then accused of heresy, and Nisbet, like most conscientious men, felt constrained to side against him. An ecclesiastical assize was holden for his trial, in March, 1833, at which a strange scene occurred. His answer to the charge was rather an authoritative command than an apology, perorating thus:—
“I stand here not by constraint, but willingly. Do what you like. I ask not judgment of you; my judgment is with my God; and as to the General Assembly, the spirit of judgment is departed from it. Oh, know ye not how near ye are to the brink of destruction. Ye need not expedite your fall. All are dead carrion. The Church is struggling with many enemies, but her word is within herself—I mean this wicked assembly.”
Then after the trial he was found guilty, and the sentence of deposition was about to be prefaced with prayer, when a loud voice was heard from behind a pew where Irving stood:—“Arise, depart! arise, depart! flee ye out, flee ye out of here! ye cannot pray! How can ye pray? How can ye pray to Christ whom ye deny? Ye cannot pray. Depart, depart! flee, flee!” The church was at this moment wrapped in silent darkness, and when this strange voice ceased, the 2000 sprang trembling to their feet as though the judgment day had come. On lighting a candle, however, it was ascertained that the speaker was a Mr. Dow, who had been lately ousted from the church for similar views. Irving rose grandly to obey the call, and pressing through the crowd that thronged the doorway and the aisles he thundered: “Stand forth! stand forth! what, will ye not obey the voice of the Holy Ghost? As many as will obey the voice of the Holy Ghost, let them depart!” Onward he went to the door, and then came to the last words:—“Prayer, indeed, oh!” and thus he left his church for ever.
Thousands and almost millions of tracts and small books did Nisbet scatter broadcast, freely to those who could not pay, with small charge to those who could. And at the period of the “Disruption” he circulated at his own expense, not only in Scotland and Ireland, but all over England, great multitudes of Dr. James Hamilton’s “Farewell.” But even in the midst of these labours the ungodly were busy, and a rumour was circulated that James Nisbet had gone over to the Church of Rome; and this, in spite of his well-known antipathies, gained considerable credence. The following is from a letter from Mr. Wolff:—“I, a few days ago, read in the Morning Post that an eminent and successful bookseller had entered the Church of Rome. I thought that this bookseller must be one of the Tractarian party (the Rivingtons), but to my utter astonishment I heard it whispered that the bookseller was nobody else than Mr. James Nisbet, his whole family, and my old friend Mr. Murray, with the observation that ‘one extreme leads to the other extreme.’... My dear Nisbet and Murray, what could induce you to do such a spite to your John Knox, Chalmers, and Gordon, and join with a rotten church? Nobody is more impatient in acknowledging the good things to be found in the Church of Rome than myself, yet I would rather see the Pope and all his cardinals fly to the moon than become a Papist again. In fact I never was one.” (A curious way of putting it.)