Ere I that awful name record,
That is spoken so lightly among men,
Let me pause a while and wash my pen:
Pure from blemish and blot must it be
When it writes that word of mystery,"
To Mr. Spurgeon there is no mystery at all. He knows the decrees of God, and he has escaped the wrath to come. Hallelujah! Mr. Spurgeon is a converted man; and that makes all the difference.
Now, how was he converted? This becomes an important question; for on his early conversion hangs the whole of Mr. Spurgeon's future career. He is one of the elect, and in regard to so important a matter I much prefer that he should speak for himself. The event took place on Dec. 15, 1850, in the Primitive Methodist Chapel, Colchester, in Mr. Spurgeon's sixteenth year:—
"It pleased God in my childhood to convince me of sin. At last the worst came to the worst. I was miserable; I could do scarcely any thing. My heart was broken in pieces. Six months did I pray,—prayed agonizingly with all my heart, and never had an answer. I resolved that in the town where I lived I would visit every place of worship, in order to find out the way of salvation. I felt I was willing to do any thing and be any thing if God would only forgive me. I set off, determined to go round to all the chapels, and I went to all the places of worship; and though I dearly venerate the men that occupy those pulpits now, and did so then, I am bound to say that I never heard them once fully preach the gospel. I mean by that, they preached truth, great truths, many good truths that were fitting to many of their congregation, spiritually minded peo-
