THE

EVANGELICAL MAGAZINE

AND

MISSIONARY CHRONICLE.

JANUARY, 1863.

A Sunday Afternoon in Regent's Park.

REGENT'S PARK on a Sunday afternoon is certainly not very inviting at this season of the year, and is therefore not much frequented; but in summer, if the weather be fine, it is like an ant-hill, covered with busy, moving beings, who all seem bent on enjoying the trees and grass and fresh air. Some are promenading up and down the broad walk; others are sitting on the numerous seats in twos and threes, or in family groups, chatting away the quiet hours; others are lying on the green sward, basking in the warmth of the sun. All are perfectly at leisure, and therefore receive with great thankfulness and read with avidity any attractive-looking little book or tract that may be placed in their hands. Where such crowds are gathered together, and are quite disengaged, there is manifestly a grand field for evangelization; and the Christian churches in the metropolis ought prayerfully and thoughtfully to ask how they can occupy this field to the greatest advantage. The liberty to preach was during the past summer used very extensively; and perhaps some may be curious to know what kind of preachers stood forward, what audiences they got, what reception they met with; and not only curious on these points, but anxious to judge by them whether this mode of evangelization is desirable or not. Because clearly there are two other methods which are suggested by the circumstances of the Sunday crowd, and these are altogether unexceptionable. The one has already been hinted at, viz., the organization of a band of Christian men or women who should be furnished with interesting, forcibly written books or tracts, to give to every person who seems to be wanting something to while away the time; and the other is the sending out of a second band, whose object it should be to join the little groups occupying the various seats, get into conversation with them, and gradually lead their minds to the one great subject of all-Salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. This

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latter method, I am aware, needs great tact and discrimination, but with tact and discrimination it might be made the means of incalculable good.

And now as to the preaching. A friend of mine and myself determined to pay a visit to the Park one Sunday afternoon, that we might hear for ourselves the several preachers, and decide whether we could with advantage add our voices to the many that were already lifted up. On subsequent occasions I went with other friends, and preached to large and attentive congregations. I cannot, therefore, pretend to keep the incidents of a single Sunday distinct from what occurred on some others; I simply give a faithful sketch of the kind of scenes that might be witnessed.

Almost all the preachers took their stand beneath the trees which line the sides of the broad walk; partly for the sake of the shade, and partly because this is the most crowded part of the park; so along this broad walk we strolled, stopping at each separate station to listen to what was going on. First we saw an elderly man of not ungentlemanly appearance, who had placed himself beneath a tree, and was talking away in a loud voice, in the hope of increasing his audience, which at this time only amounted to two, and even over these his hold was evidently of the feeblest. What was the subject of his discourse I cannot say, as we did not feel inclined at once to double the number of his hearers. Passing on a few yards, we mingled with a large and attentive congregation, who were listening with manifest interest to their preacher. He was not a person of any wide range of thought or power of expression, but he was so simply telling of the love and grace of Christ, that we could not but hope and believe that a blessing would attend his labours. From his general tone, and method of presenting the truth, we judged that he belonged to the Brethren. On the opposite side of the way was another good and earnest man, addressing a still larger number; a man of strong common sense, great self-possession, hard, rasping voice, and direct, decided manner, bent on forcing the truth into the minds of his hearers, if they would not open their hearts to receive it gladly. Not far off from him was a clergyman or ex-clergyman, who was trying to convince his audience that he took immense interest in the working-classes, and was teiling them of his doings and sayings in connexion with the poor-laws, flourishing as his voucher an old Times newspaper, in which his achievements were duly chronicled. Still further on was the refreshment booth, before the entrance to which a teetotaller was haranguing a crowd of six or seven hundred, who seemed from their merriment to be greatly enjoying the waggery of blocking the way to the enemy's palace. Beyond were two separate groups addressed by young men, very deficient in education, but evidently desirous to do good; who sometimes grossly violated good taste, and at others gave sketches of the

dangers to which the young are exposed, and the ruin into which they fall, which were not altogether ineffective. Opposite to these was a youth, hardly more than a boy, who would have been much better employed in attending a class, under some wise and judicious teacher, than in torturing the truth which he had only partially learned himself. On the whole it was a strange mixture-wisdom and folly, strength and weakness, in about equal measures. But there was certainly one sermon, which, by its great excellence, did much to counterbalance. the weakness and folly which abounded in many other quarters. It was delivered by a working man-a fine, tall fellow, with honest, manly face, and perfectly natural and unaffected manner. He had nearly finished when we came up, so that all I can do is to report his closing remarks as nearly as possible in his own words. Looking earnestly at the group of working people who stood before him, he said, "And now, if any of you, my friends, really feel the burden of your sins, and wish to get rid of it, look to Jesus; simply trust in Him, and you will not only find pardon, but power to overcome your old habits, and do better for the time to come. When people come and recommend anything to us working men, we generally ask, 'Have you tried it? and if you have, does it answer?' Now, my friends, I have tried religion for the last fourteen years, and it answers admirably. It has not made me a worse husband or a worse father, or a worse workman, or a worse companion; on the contrary, it has made me a far better husband, a better father, a better workman, a better companion, and, what is more, a thoroughly happy man. I am happy at home and happy in my work; happy now and happy in the prospect of a hereafter; so I can speak from experience; and from my heart can recommend it to all. Many years ago, when I was discharged from my regiment, I received a certificate from my officer, and on it was written, 'Very good.' 'Oh, that's capital,' I said to myself, 'to leave with such a good character.' But one of my comrades was discharged the same day, and on his certificate there was 'Very, very good.' 'Oh,' thought I, ' he has gone beyond me.' Well now, my friends, some of you may perhaps be saying, 'I'm quite satisfied with the world and the pleasures it brings me; it appears to me to be very good.' Well, I won't stop to dispute this point with you just now, though I have my own opinion about it; but this I know, that if you find the world very good, you would find religion very, very good. It goes far beyond the world. It has the promise of the life that now is, and of the life that is to come. There is nothing like religion for making you truly happy. The other day I was passing by an infidel place, and must needs go in; so when I got in I heard a man giving an account of a visit which he had paid to one of their number who was just dead, and he said that he could assure them on the word of a gentleman that he had died very happy. Well, I thought to myself, 'That's very strange;" so when he sat down, I rose and said, ' May I be permitted to speak a

moment.

word?' By all means,' they answered. So I said to them, The gentleman who has just sat down has told you that one of your friends, an infidel, who professed to believe that dying is either going nowhere, or else going no one knows where, died very happy. Now, that's the very first infidel I ever heard of who died very happy; but, as your friend declares it on the word of a gentleman, of course it must be so. I am obliged to admit that one infidel has died very happy; but then, if he died very happy, I am sure he lived very miserable. For listen; I've got a dear wife at home, she is the light of my dwelling. When I get home from my work, there she always is, with smiling face, to give me a cup of tea and a warm welcome; if I was going to die and leave her for ever, to go nowhere, or no one knows where, I couldn't be very happy at that I have four dear little children, whose little bright faces are always looking out for me when I am coming home, and whose pleasant prattle and merry laugh I love to hear; if I were going to die, and to look on those dear little faces no more, and felt that I was going nowhere, or no one knows where, I could not be very happy at that moment. If I had lived a cat and dog life with my wife, and wished to get rid of her on any terms; if my children had been my curse and torment, and I wished to see the last of them by any means; then, perhaps, I could be happy in the thought of dying and going nowhere or anywhere-but this would be only because I had lived so miserably. And so I say that the person whose death has been described, and who died so happy, must have lived very miserable; for if he had lived happy, he could only have been miserable at the thought of dying and leaving all that made him happy behind. But, my friends, real religion makes us happy while we live, and happy when we die. It is religion that bas given me such a happy home; it is that which makes my wife so good a wife, and my children such obedient children, and myself such a happy man; and when I come to die, then, through faith in my Saviour, I know where I shall go-to my Father's house in heaven: there I shall see my Saviour whom I loved, and have a happy meeting again with those I left behind.' I can speak well, then, of real religion; I can warmly recommend it to you. Without delay, choose this good part. Give your hearts to the Saviour, and He will make you safe and happy for ever."

After listening to this man's "good words," my companion and myself withdrew to some distance, and having sung a hymn and collected a considerable crowd, we proceeded to preach the Gospel to them. They listened very attentively, and would evidently have listened much longer; but five o'clock was drawing near, at which time the band strikes up, and a vast multitude gather around it to enjoy the music. Preaching then becomes an impossibility; gaiety and folly are soon in the ascendant. Many, indeed, do not stop to hear the band; then quietly go to a distant part of the park, or to their own homes.

But the great majority remain, and their numbers are soon swollen by multitudes more, who make their appearance just in time to hear the band. When so vast a crowd gathers together, a considerable portion of which consists of the young of both sexes, and another portion of the very lowest of the population, it can easily be imagined that both in the park and the immediate neighbourhood there is much to distress a Christian heart. Why those in authority should have introduced a practice which disturbs our quiet neighbourhoods, makes Sunday afternoon like a fair-day, and converts the park-which used to be a spot in which families and well-disposed people could take a pleasant saunter, and refresh themselves after the fatigues of the week-into a place of noisy amusement, I cannot say. It would be indeed a blessing if it could be put down.

On the whole, I cannot doubt that much good has been done by the preaching, even if there must be a large set-off on the other side. Instances have come to my own notice which have made me truly thankful. After an address of my own, a young man followed me in deep distress of mind, and has since had various conversations with me; and a soldier now regularly attends my ministry, and is in an interesting and hopeful state, who was first awakened to serious thought by a sermon which he heard in the park. Above all, the spirit of hearing that is manifested, the quiet, devout attention, the readiness to listen to any one, however humble, who will simply and faithfully tell the "glad tidings," is surely a remarkable and encouraging feature of the present day, and an undoubted token for good. Never was the door of opportunity thrown more widely open to the church. Never did a graver responsibility rest on the church to enter and work. May God put it into the hearts of all to be earnest and faithful. The fields are white unto harvest. Oh, that many labourers may hasten into the harvest! PASTOR.

The Time which is Come.

TO-DAY we find ourselves present in a year of which we may often have spoken, and sometimes thought, with the vague curiosity that wanders towards a period of unascertainable character. A few years ago-twenty or thirty, perhaps, though in looking back they seem but a little while this 1863 appeared to us a remote and almost unattainable year, which we hardly expected to reach; or which would find us very different creatures, if at that distant time we should be alive. It is come! it is 1863 now; and we have reached it by such gradual and imperceptible changes of being, that, on reflection, we are startled to perceive the once far-off now close around us, to find what once appeared full of mystery, in our total ignorance of all that might be, is