ic doubt, love is
regarded as but a spasm of the nervous system, life itself as the refrain
of a music-hall song. At the Tabernacle the pastor and people were of a
very different way of thinking.

And Mr. Spurgeon was no windbag--_vox et praeterea nihil_; no darling pet
of old women whose Christianity was flabby as an oyster. He was an
incessant worker, and taught his people to work as well in his enormous
church. Such was the orderly arrangement that, as he said, if one of his
people were to get tipsy, he should know it before the week was out. He
never seemed to lose a moment. "Whenever I have been permitted," he
wrote on one occasion, "sufficient respite from my ministerial duties to
enjoy a lengthened tour or even a short excursion, I have been in the
habit of carrying with me a small note-book, in which I have jotted down
any illustrations that occurred to me on the way. The note-book has been
useful in my travels as a mental purse." Yet the note-book was not
intrusive. A friend of mine took Mr. Spurgeon in his steam yacht up the
Highlands. Mr. Spurgeon was like a boy out of school--all the while
naming the mountains after his friends.

It is also to be noted how the public opinion altered with regard to Mr.
Spurgeon. When he came first to London aged ministers and grey-haired
deacons shook their heads. What could they think of a young minister who
could stop in the middle of his sermon, and say, "Please shut that window
down, there is a draught. I like a draught of porter, but not that kind
of draught"? It was terrible! What next? was asked in fear and
trepidation. These things were, I believe, often said on purpose, and
they answered their purpose. "Fire low," said a general to his men on
one occasion. "Fire low," said old Jay, of Bath, as he was preaching to
a class of students. Mr. Spurgeon fired low. It is astonishing how that
kind of preaching tells. I was travelling in Essex last summer, and in
the train were two old men, one of whom lived in Kelvedon, where Mr.
Spurgeon was born, who had sent the Baptist preacher some fruit from
Kelvedon, which was, as he expected, thankfully received. "Did you see
what Mr. Spurgeon says in this week's sermon?" said he to the other.
"No." "Why, he said the devil said to him the other day, 'Mr. Spurgeon,
you have got a good many faults,' and I said to the devil, 'So have
you,'" and then the old saints burst out laughing as if the repartee was
as brilli