this party, which dreaded nothing so much as the entrance of young converts imperfectly indoctrinated in the principles of Plymouth. This was a curious, but a highly instructive sequel to the movement of fifty years earlier. Darby opposed New-lumpism with all his strength; yet it is very doubtful whether its leaders did not to a great extent make him their catspaw, and involve him before he was aware in the most colossal blunder (I do not say the greatest fault) of his whole life.
It is the old story. A very insignificant spark fell into the powder magazine, and Darbyism exploded in fragments. The meeting at Ryde had long been an eyesore to the Exclusive Brethren, and for many years past it had enjoyed the good word of nobody. Recently, some London leaders with an inclination to the hyper-spiritual school had “taken up” the objectionable “gathering”—with a view to making party capital out of it, as their opponents thought. In March, 1877, the majority of the meeting seceded, on the refusal of the minority to visit the contractor of an illegal marriage with excommunication. As the offence was one of many years’ standing, and the marriage was not within universally forbidden degrees, the case for extreme measures was not exactly clear. But the meeting had a bad name for laxity, and a large number of Brethren sympathised with the seceders. No second communion was formed, the party that had withdrawn assembling for prayer, but not observing the Lord’s Supper. Meanwhile the minority (known as the Temperance Hall Meeting) accused Mr. Kelly, who was in no good odour with the New-lump school, of having fomented division. Mr. Kelly’s convictions favoured severity in dealing with illegal marriages, and this lent colour to the imputation.
