‘And a deal of good that will do us. Larnin’ and eloquence will never save a soul. If the root of the matter an’t there, what’s the use of them? We don’t want a lot of giddy creatures coming along and crowdin’ up the place. I’ll be bound to say that young man is a Neologist.’
‘A what?’ all asked with horror.
‘A Neologist; and if you want to know what that is, read the British Beacon. Lor’ bless you! the editor makes fine work of the Neologists.’
‘Well, of course we don’t want a Neologist down here.’
‘I never heard such a sermon. Nothing about being born in sin and shapen in iniquity. Not a word about hell; not a word of the saints being preordained for glory. He had the impudence to tell me, to my own face, that “a God of love would never consign sinners to an everlasting torment.” I’d quite an argument with him. I called him all the names I could think of. I really don’t think I can bring myself to go and hear him again. If you have him, I’m off to the Baptists.’
‘Well, look ’ee, you must not leave us, at any rate. How the people would talk if you were to give up Bethesda and join the Baptists!’
‘We want the elect to be preached to,’ said the chemist, ‘not the world. Now, this young man has no idea of that. It’s all labour in vain preaching to the world. The Lord knows them that are His. They are the flock, and we want a shepherd for them. What are the men of the world but a generation of vipers?’
‘Well,’ said the other deacon, ‘it seems to me that he has no idea of saying a word in season. For instance, as you know, last week old Brown, the milkman, died very suddenly. I said to him, “Mr. Wentworth, you might improve the occasion. You might preach about the shortness of life.” “How old was old Brown?” says he. “Eighty-five,” says I, and then he laughed.’
‘Laughed?’ repeated all the party.
‘Yes; and said he had “better wait for some better opportunity to talk of the shortness of life.” He said old Brown had had “rather a long innings.”’