From Death into Life by William Haslam

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After breakfast, as we were walking on the seashore, under the majestic
cliffs which have stood as a wall against the Atlantic waves for
centuries, we heard our good-natured Newfoundland dog barking at
something on the rocks; we looked up, and behold! There was an
exquisitely graceful fawn-coloured kid, with a scarlet collar and bells,
bounding about playfully on the narrow ledges of the rocks. It seemed to
us to be leaping about on the face of the cliff, for we could not see
the little ledges on which it picked its way. It was quite out of the
dog's reach, and appeared to know it, judging from the coquettish and
defiant manner in which it was jumping about, in high glee at its
independence. While we were standing watching the pretty and graceful
creature, a young lady came out from behind other rocks, and called to
her pet, which arched its little neck and looked at her, then at the
dog, as if it would say, "How can I come down?" I walked towards her,
and on speaking, found that she knew me, and that I had seen her when
she was a child. After a little talk about the playful kid, I asked her
if she had been to the meeting; she said "she had, and she had not!"

I waited silently for an explanation. Presently, she said that her mamma
had forbidden her to go to "such wild meetings," but that her father had
asked her to walk with him under a wall in the garden, there they could
and did hear every word; and she added, "I think papa has found
peace--he is so very happy'."

"And have not you also?" I asked.

"Ah," she replied, "I wish I could."

The more I talked with her, the more convinced I felt she was in
earnest, but that something stood in the way. She said she did not know
what it was--that she really wished for salvation, and was willing to
give up everything. I said, "Do you think your mother would let you
return with us on a short visit? We are just going back to Baldhu."

She said, "Mamma is not at home: she has gone away for three days; but I
think papa would let me go. Shall I ask him?"

She did; and soon returned, saying that she might do so if we could
promise to bring her back in two days. This being settled, she hastened
to get her things ready, and sent her maid to fetch home the pet kid,
which she bade her take great care of during her absence: then we set
off.

On arriving at our house she went straight to her bedroom, and there on
her knees implored God's mercy, and remained pleading and praying for
five hours, before she found peace. Then she came down among us,
rejoicing in the Lord. That evening she spent at the meeting, and the
next day in visiting among the cottages. On the third day, after a happy
visit, we took her home to her father, rejoicing in the liberty of the
children of God.

Her mother returned the day after, and when she was told of the change
in her husband and her daughter Lucy, she became exceedingly angry, and
wrote, not to thank, but to forbid us the house; also prohibiting
further intercourse. At the same time she declared her intention to get
all that nonsense out of her daughter's head as soon as possible. She
dragged this poor girl out to parties and amusements of every kind,
against her will, which had the effect of making her dislike them the
more, and caused her to cleave steadfastly to the Lord in prayer.

Six months later, she was taken ill, and after a few weeks' suffering
she died, rejoicing that her sins were pardoned, and that she was going
home. It was evident that God would not trust that mother with a
daughter whose soul she was determined to injure. He took His child away
to Himself.

2. ROSE-IN-VALE

The open-air preaching at Perran led to many similar services there, and
at other places. I will tell of two only, to prevent sameness, and for
fear of tiring the reader.

The former of these, was at a place called Rose-in-vale, in the same
parish, on the lawn of the chief parishioner. He was an uneducated man,
who had risen from the rank of a common miner to that of a mine captain.
Being very shrewd and clever, he had succeeded in accumulating a
considerable sum of money; and though he and his wife had a very large
house, they chiefly occupied two of the smallest rooms. "Them fine
things up in the parlours," he said, he "made no 'count of;" indeed he
was anything but comfortable or easy in his state apartments. Being the
wealthy man of the parish, he sat on Sunday in the large square pew; but
beyond giving personal attendance, and that very regularly, I do not
know what other heed he gave, either to the service or the sermon.

During this summer he invited me to give "a preaching" in his garden.
Accordingly, on a fixed day, I went, and tried to speak, but found it
most difficult to do so. I know not why; but again and again I felt as
though I had lost the thread of my discourse and was rambling--that I
was at a loss for words, and could not hold the attention of the people.
Perplexed, and greatly discouraged, I was not sorry when the time came
to conclude; therefore I did not invite the people to remain for an
after-meeting for prayer. Several persons came up and asked me why I had
dismissed the assembly. "Ah!" I replied, "because there is no power. I
could not get on at all!" They were surprised, and said they thought
that I had been helped more than usual, and were quite sure that the
Lord was working among the people. However, the congregation had gone
now, and could not be recalled. This only made me feel more distressed
than before.

The feeling was very strong with which I had been so burdened while
speaking; and, to add to my perplexity, I observed three coast-guard
men, who had come some five or six miles, behaving badly, and laughing
all the time (as I thought) at my discourse, to the great discomfiture
of my preaching. Open-air addresses were not common in those days, and
for a man to set up (as some said) and pretend to be a second Whitfield
or Wesley, was bad enough, but to fail was most humiliating!

Three years after this, I was travelling outside a coach, when a rough
sailor-looking man came climbing up to the top, although he was told
that there was no room. "Never mind," he said; "I will sit on the boxes.
I want to talk to this here gentleman." So saying, he perched himself on
the luggage, and offered to shake hands with me. "Do you know me?" I
asked.

"Oh yes, bless you, of course I do! Don't you remember three coast-guard
men at Captain O--'s garden?"

"Yes," I said, "indeed I do, and am not likely to forget them easily;
they behaved so badly, and disturbed me so much."

"Well," he continued, "I'm one o' them. I don't know why we laughed and
made fun, for we all on us felt your words deeply, and went home to
pray; and a few days afterwards we were all three converted--that we
were. Praise the Lord! After that, we volunteered for the navy, to go to
the Crimea war. I've been in some hot scenes, sure enough. One day we
got a little too near the Russian battery, and they peppered us
brave--no mistake, I assure you; they cut our masts and rigging to
pieces, and ploughed up our deck with their shots. Men were being killed
on every side of me. I thought, now I shall see the King in His glory.
My soul was so happy, I expected every moment to be cut down and sent
into His presence; but not a shot touched me! I had not even a scratch;
and here I be, safe and sound, all through mercy!"

Thus, these three men, who made me at the time so unhappy, and disturbed
me to such a degree, turned out well, after all.

Since then, on several occasions, I have felt as discouraged in
preaching as I was that day; and though again and again I have said that
I will not heed it, I have nevertheless found it difficult to be unmoved
under this mysterious influence. I write this for the comfort and
consolation of others who are afflicted under similar circumstances,
that they may not be cast down by their feelings.

3. Mount Hawke

The next occasion was very different, and quite a contrast in results. I
was invited to a neighbouring parish, which formerly used to be united
with Perran at the time when I had sole charge of it. Here, on the
appointed Saturday afternoon, I found not fewer than three thousand
people assembled on the common. They had erected a kind of platform,
with a canvas awning, to shelter me from the wind, which always blows
with more or less violence in Cornwall, even when it is not raining.

There I stood and beheld this concourse of people, evidently full of
large expectation. I gave out the hymn--

"Oh for a thousand tongues, to sing
My great Redeemer's praise!"

This was heartily sung; and after prayer for a blessing, I announced my
text, and spoke from the fact, that Christ Jesus came into the world to
save sinners. Upon enforcing this as worthy of all acceptation, I
pressed the thought, that the Lord Jesus came more than eighteen hundred
years ago, and that is present still, and able to work greater than He
wrought then; for indeed He only began then to do and to teach what He
is doing and teaching continuously now.

A mighty power of the Spirit of the Lord came on the people, and several
hundreds fell upon their knees simultaneously, and many began to cry
aloud for mercy. The strange part was, that the power of the Lord
appeared to pass diagonally through the crowd, so that there was a lane
of people on their knees six or eight feet deep, banked up on either
side by others standing. It extended from the left-hand corner near me,
to the right-hand corner in the distance.

It was quite impossible to go on preaching, so I gave out a hymn, and
then went in among "the slain of the Lord." After about an hour, some
one suggested that we should go to the school-room; as it was getting
dark. The clergyman of the parish was on horseback in the lane close by,
watching proceedings. I asked him if we could have the use of the
school-room. "Oh yes," he said; "yes, certainly--certainly--anything."
He seemed very frightened. The men and women in distress of soul were
led to the room, crying and praying as they went. When I reached the
place, I found it impossible to get in, far it was already full, besides
a throng standing at the door. I was taken to a window at last, and
getting in through that, I stood on the schoolmaster's table, which was
near.

Against the wall the men had, in miners' fashion, set up with clay some
candles, which were beginning to bend over with the heat of the room.
The place was densely packed, and the noise of the people praying for
mercy was excessive. I could do no more than speak to those who were
near me round the table. As they found peace one by one and were able to
praise God, we asked them to go out and let others come. In this way the
meeting went on till ten o'clock, when I left; and it continued to go on
all night and all the next day without cessation. It will scarcely be
credited, but that same meeting was prolonged by successive persons
without any intermission, day and night, till the evening of Sunday, the
eighth day after it began. This kind of thing was not unusual in
Cornwall, for we had the same in our school-room at Baldhu for three
days and nights; but eight days is the longest period of which I have
any personal knowledge.

I went again and again to see how they were going on; but the people
were too absorbed to heed my presence; and those who were then seeking
mercy were strangers to me, and had not been present at the service on
the previous Saturday.

CHAPTER 15

Drawing-Room Meetings, 1852-53.

From that time I did not confine myself so much to my own church, but
frequently went out to preach in other places, as opportunities
occurred; and these were, for the most part, brought about by remarkable
and unsought-for incidents.

One Sunday a lady and gentleman came to my church from one of the
neighbouring towns; they were professors of religion, and members of
some Dissenting body. My sermon that evening was upon wheat and
chaff--the former was to be gathered into the garner, the latter burned
with fire unquenchable. I said that we were all either one or the
other--to be gathered or burned. They went away very angry, and
complained one to another of my want of charity; they also remarked that
I took good care to let the people know that I was not amongst the chaff
which was to be burned. The arrows of the Lord had evidently found them,
and had pierced the joints in their harness. They could not sleep all
night for anger and distress. In the morning the gentleman rose early,
and before breakfast had his horse out, and galloped over eight miles to
see me. He came with the intention of finding fault, but instead of this
he burst into tears, and told me that he was the greatest of sinners.

He was in sore distress, which increased all the more as he gave vent to
his feelings. I could not help rejoicing, and told him that God had
wounded him, but that He only wounds to heal, and kills to make alive.

"Ah," he said, "that is the first thought of comfort I have had; it is
like balm to my soul."

We knelt down and prayed; then I had the privilege of leading him to
Christ, and we praised God together.

I gave him some breakfast, and after that rode back with him to see his
wife, whom he had left in the morning in great trouble of mind. We found
her up, and rejoicing. It was most touching to witness the mutual
surprise and joy of these two loving ones, when they discovered that
they were now united in the Lord.

She told us, that after her husband's departure she was in such terrible
trouble that she got up to pray, and that while she was on her knees she
saw a vision on the bed-cover. Before her was printed, in large visible
letters, "Thy sins be forgiven thee;" she could scarcely believe her
eyes, but with her own finger she traced the letters, and was sure they
were there. Taking them as a message from Christ, she rose and thanked
Him, and now felt quite sure she was saved. I could not help telling her
not to believe in her eyes or her visions, but in Jesus, and the fact
that He had died for her. Having thanked God together, they next began
to think of their servants; so we sent for them, and both master and
mistress told them what the Lord had done for their souls; and while we
were praying, they all three cried aloud for mercy, and found peace.

This was the commencement of a good work in that town by drawing-room
meetings, and many were gathered to the Lord. Amongst the number was the
mayor of the town, who in his turn wished to have a meeting at his
house. As soon as I was able to fix the day, he invited his friends, but
on finding that so many more desired to come than he could accommodate,
he announced that the meeting would be held at the Town Hall. Great
interest was excited, and it was soon evident that even this building
would not be large enough, so it ended in the Temperance Hall being
selected. The vicar hearing about it, wrote to protest, and asked me to
call on him before I went to the place of meeting. He said it was bad
enough for me to come to his parish to private houses, but to come to a
public room, and that a large one, was quite out of the question.

I endeavoured to show him that the lecture or address I had come to give
was not an official or ministerial act; but he would not see that. I
also suggested that there was no law against it. He, begging my pardon,
said "The 'Conventicle Act' had not been repealed yet, and that no one
could lawfully hold a meeting of more than twenty persons."

"But surely," I replied, "that is virtually repealed by the 'Toleration
Act.' A clergyman ought not to be in greater bondage in England than a
layman, or more restricted. Anybody else can come and preach the Gospel
in your parish, and you cannot hinder it. Do not hinder me. It will do
you no harm."

He said, "I cannot conscientiously allow it. It is against the Canons."

"Which Canon is it against?" I asked.

He took down a book and showed it me, but casting my eyes on the one
before, and another which followed, I found that we neither of us
observed the one or the other. Why, then, be so zealous about this?
"Besides," I said, "you are not responsible; you have not asked me, nor
have I asked your consent. Your conscience need not be troubled about
the matter."

"But," he said, impatiently, "I am determined that you shall not preach
in this parish. I will inform the Bishop."

I replied, that "the Bishop had not any jurisdiction in this case; there
is no law on the subject. The Conventicle Act only refers to worship,
not to service or preaching."

He said, that he "could see no difference whatever between worship and
service."

"But," I said, "I am sure the Bishop knows, and will acknowledge, the
great difference between these two."

Then, changing his tone, he said, "Now, come, there's a good fellow,
don't preach at the Town Hall."

"My dear man," I answered, "I am not a 'good fellow' at all I cannot
give it up."

"Then," he said, "at least please to defer your address for a week, till
we can get the Bishop's decision."

He asked so kindly and earnestly, and made such a point of it, that I
consented to wait for the Bishop's answer, and defer the preaching for a
week. He was very pleased, and said that I was indeed a 'good fellow',
but the praise I got from him barely satisfied my conscience, and I was
ashamed to meet my friends. I had not gone far before my courage failed;
so, going back, I said that "I must withdraw my consent to defer the
meeting. I will take the consequences and responsibilities, and go on."

"No, no." cried the vicar, "I will arrange for the Postponement of your
meeting. Look here, I have written out a notice for the crier; he shall
go round the town at once, and tell the people that the meeting is
unavoidably deferred for a week."

I was very reluctantly persuaded to yield, and then went to my friend
and told him what I had done. He was very much vexed with me, and said,
"Then we must go at once and tell the mayor before he hears the crier."
We did so, and found that this personage was disappointed too, and
advised me to go away out of sight of the people. Accordingly, my friend
and I went to a house which commanded a good view of the town and
principal streets, from whence we could see the people assembling and
dispersing. A large gang of them stood opposite my friend's house, and
asked if I would not preach to them in the open air; and when they
ascertained that the vicar had hindered the preaching, they were much
exasperated.

In the evening I went back to my own parish, and had the usual service,
which I found very refreshing after so much bickering about
technicalities.

The Bishop's letter arrived in due time. In it his lordship said, that
he "always had entertained a great esteem for me and my obedience to
authority, and highly commended me for postponing or giving up my
service at the above town." As he did not say a single word of
prohibition, I immediately wrote to the mayor to expect me on the
following Tuesday, "For the Bishop had not forbidden me," and I also
wrote to the vicar to the same effect. Large bills, with large letters
on them, announced that "the Rev. William Haslam will positively preach
in the Temperance Hall at three o'clock on Tuesday next."

The churchwardens of the parish were requested to attend the meeting,
and protest, on behalf of the vicar, and also to present the
archdeacon's monition. They stood beside me all the time, and after the
service was concluded they showed me the archidiaconal instrument, with
a great seal appended to it. They said that they "dared not stop that
preaching," and so they took their monition back.

This gave rise to a long correspondence in the newspapers, some taking
part on my side, and some against me. Thus the question was ventilated,
and finally concluded, by a letter from some one, who said, "The Bishop
of Exeter is one of the greatest ecclesiastical lawyers we have, and if
he cannot stop Mr. Haslam, the question is settled; for be sure his
lordship has all the will to stop this preaching, and would do so if he
had the power."

From that time I never hesitated to preach the Gospel in any parish or
diocese where I was invited. So few of the clergy asked me, that I was
obliged to go out in spite of them, or, at any rate, without asking
their consent, and in consequence of this, I am afraid I became
obnoxious to many of my clerical brethren. Since then things are much
changed. The Earl of Shaftesbury has succeeded in getting an Act passed
through both Houses of Parliament, to settle the question about such
services. Now any clergyman may preach in Exeter Hall, or any other
public non-ecclesiastical building, without consulting the vicar of the
parish. Besides this, a general disposition has arisen amongst the
clergy, from one end of the land to the other, to have "missions," so
that there is no need to work independently of clergymen, but with them,
and very cheering it is to be thus employed. It was not pleasant to
witness the scowl and the frown, nor to get the cold shoulder. Thank
God, times are changed now; but I must needs tell of some of the scenes
I was in, and the opposition I had to encounter, during the years that
are gone by.

CHAPTER 16

Opposition, 1853.

I have been telling hitherto of blessing and prosperity in the Lord's
work. Many more cases might have been mentioned, and many other things
of not less moment and interest; but enough has been said, I hope, to
show the character of the work, and give some idea of the amount of
blessing which attended it. But it must not be supposed that the offence
of the cross had ceased, or that the enmity of the carnal mind was never
stirred; indeed, I always doubt the reality of a work which moves on
without opposition. On the day of Pentecost, when the Holy Ghost was
first given, while believers were rejoicing, and sinners were pricked to
the heart, and some mocked, there arose the opposition of others, who
resisted the influence of the Spirit; and being "cut to the heart," they
gnashed with their teeth, and went forward in furious contention against
the Lord's work. So it was with us.

The opposition ran very high, but I do not think it was of malice or
hatred, but rather "righteous indignation." The instigators of it were
serious and earnest persons, who verily thought they were doing right.
They tried first to save me from what they considered was my
infatuation; and failing that, did all they could to save others from my
bad influence. "I bear them record, that they had a zeal for God, but
not according to knowledge." It was just such a zeal as I had before I
was converted; therefore my heart's desire was drawn out towards them,
and I made continual efforts to win them.

One dear friend of old time said he felt "so hurt" because I was
changed, and often wondered why "God did not strike me dead for all the
harm I had done to the Church." Another said that he "should not be
surprised if the very ground opened and swallowed me up for my
fraternizing with schismatics. The sin of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram was
nothing to mine." At the Clerical Meeting, which I attended
notwithstanding all this stir against me, I was beset on every side with
something more than loving reproaches; for evidently my old friends were
very much grieved, and could not forgive me for what they considered the
betrayal of Church principles.

A special meeting or synod of the clergy was convened by the Rural Dean,
to take into consideration among other things, my defection, and to
decide what public notice should be taken on the subject of this great
scandal. I also attended this meeting, and found my brethren in a very
angry and excited state. One after another got up and made grievous
charges against me, about the proceedings in my church and parish. The
burden of their distress, however, seemed to be noise and excitement.

They said that "There was brawling in my church, and howling in my
schoolroom, women fainting and men shouting in a most fanatical manner.
They had not witnessed these scenes themselves, but they were credibly
informed of them. Moreover, they asserted, on good authority, that I
preached a very different doctrine to that which was authorized by the
Church. I had declared that there was no salvation by the Church and
Sacraments, but by simple faith in Christ; that any man--it did not
matter what his previous life had been--if he only came to my preaching,
and did as I told him, would be saved." These, and many other such
charges, were made and supported by shouts of "Hear! hear!" and cries of
"Shame!" The Rural Dean said he was glad Mr. Haslam was present to
answer for himself; he had observed that I had sat very quietly to hear
others; and he now hoped that a patient hearing would be given to me.

I rose, and said I was very thankful to be there, and to have this
opportunity of testifying before them all that the Lord had converted my
soul!

There was a little interruption here, but after a time I was permitted
to go on. I said that before I was converted, I was even more zealous
than any of them against this change, and greatly prejudiced against it.
I actually flogged a big boy in my school for going to a chapel and
professing to be converted; this I did before all the children, and he
promised that he would "never be converted any more." I could,
therefore, well understand their present feelings, and said that I was
not angry with them, but rather prayed that they might, in their turn,
be enabled to see these things as I now saw them, and be saved as I was.

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