Blessed old man! The little room, with its close atmosphere, and many discomforts, seemed to me like the gate of heaven; and had he lived in Old Testament days, his name might have ranked with them of whom it is said, “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.”
A few months after I had established the Mothers’ Society, one of the women brought a message from her husband, expressing his great wish to see me. I promised to call in the course of the week, and the next afternoon I found my way to a little low dwelling, which was pointed out to me as the residence I was seeking. It consisted of only two rooms—one in front, where the family seemed to live during the day, whilethat behind served as a bed-room. Three or four children were playing on the floor; the mother was busy at her washing-tub; and near the fire sat the husband, who, I saw, from his leather apron and the boot he held in his hand, was a shoemaker. The reception here was very different from the one previously described. When the wife announced me, the man rose from his seat; and, as his height exceeded six feet, his head scarcely cleared the ceiling. His fine figure, the form of his head, and the expression of his countenance, conveyed the idea that, had the man been born in a different position, he might have risen to be Lord Chancellor. After the usual greeting, he said (still standing)—
“Madam, I have wanted to see you for some time past, to thank you for what you have begun to do for us. You have thought of what we want done for us more than anything, and I hope, madam, you will go on with it; and God will bless you for this work, and so shall many of us; for we often think we might do better, if somebody would take the trouble to put us in the way of it.”
I told him that I was quite rewarded for any trouble which I was taking, by the pleasant friends I made. When I was living in the country, I had always been accustomed to a large number of poor friends; and since coming to London, I had missed them very much. I told him of a book society that my brother and I had established in the village near our house. Twelve men, like himself, (I believe, four out of thetwelve were shoemakers,) each brought a book, and on the first day of the month each man passed on his book to the member next on the list; and thus all had the benefit of reading twelve books at the cost of one. We had quarterly meetings with these men, to converse about the books; I repeated to him some of the observations they used to make, and I saw my listener was much amused.
“Ah!” said he, “I lived in the country, too, before I came here; but there was nothing of that sort going on there. I wish there had; it would have kept me out of a deal of mischief. I have blessed God that ever I came to this place; for though it is poor and dirty enough, I have met the best friends here that I ever knew.”
He then gave me a long and interesting account of his previous life; how he had early imbibed infidel principles from some of his companions, and had gone on for years rather wishing them to be true than actually believing them to be so.
“I couldn’t bear,” he said, “to think there was a God, or another life to come after this; it made me so miserable. I was obliged to try and get rid of the thoughts as fast as they came; and then there was the people as called themselves religious; I really couldn’t see that they were better than those as didn’t say anything about it. They liked eating, and drinking, and pleasuring, just as much in their way as any one else; and though we often heard that they talked about us in a way that shewed they despised us, and thought themselves a deal better, that only made usfeel worse. But since we have been here, some of the ladies as bring round the tracts has stopped and talked to us sometimes in quite a different sort of way, you know, ma’am. One of them left me a tract to read some time ago. I couldn’t get this tract out of my mind after I had read it. There, whilst I was at work, it was lying on the bench, and I kept looking into it again and again. One day, while I was puzzling about it, the missionary came in. I soon saw he wasn’t like them religious people I knew before, and I told him all that was in my mind: and ’twas the best day of my life when I met with him; for he has helped me to see things very different; and I bless God that ever he came here, and so does many others beside me.”
“Well,” I said, “you can say you are a happier man now than ever you were before, cannot you?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank God, I can trust Him for this life, and through my blessed Saviour I have hope of a better life to come.”
I saw, by the thoughtful and earnest expression of his face, that the man had still something on his mind; so I did not reply, but waited a minute.
“Do you know, ma’am,” he continued, “though God has been so good to me, and has made me to see how He can and will save me, sinner though I am, it do trouble me, and I can’t help it, to see so much confusion, like, in this world. Some people as isn’t worse than others, nor yet so bad, seems to be always a-suffering; and little children too, it do grieve me tosee them suffer: and then you see, ma’am, what a place this very ‘Potteries’ is, to be in God’s world.”
“But,” I replied, “God did not make the Potteries what they are. Some sixty years ago, before any one lived here, the air was fresh and sweet; flowers and trees were growing here; and it was altogether as pleasant a place as any other portion of God’s dominions.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s true:” but the shade had not passed away from his countenance.
“Do you know,” I continued, “it is one of the greatest troubles of my life that I so often feel just what you describe. It was only a short time ago, I was walking in London; and as I turned into one of the back streets, I saw a little boy sitting on a doorstep, with a baby in his arms about five or six months old; as I passed by, the baby began to cry, and the miserable expression of its little face, and the hopeless look of its nurse, feeling so powerless to do anything to comfort it,—both little faces looking already old from hunger, cold, and neglect,—so troubled me that I could scarcely look at or enjoy anything while I was out. In the evening, after my own healthy, happy children were gone to bed, I was sitting in my comfortable room by the cheerful fire, surrounded by everything to make life comfortable and desirable; but instead of feeling thankful for so many mercies, I sat and cried at the recollection of those unhappy little children.”
“And did ye sure, ma’am?” said the man. “Law!now, how we do feel alike after all, when we come to know! But I suppose, ma’am, that sort of thing does not last long with you?”
“I remember, that evening at family prayer,” I continued, “the chapter which was read had this verse in it: ‘Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.’ I thought it was not my will, either; but there was this great difference,—whatever GodwilledHe had thepowerto do; that He had sent His Son to die for the world, and these little creatures were part of His world, and He would do with them just what is right.”
“Do you think, ma’am,” said the man, “that God is altogether angry with us for this sort of feeling? He must know that it is very difficult for us to see so much misery, and not be troubled about it.”
“I do not think that is quite so clear,” I said, “as that He is pleased with us for trusting Him entirely. I think He has great sympathy with us in the difficulty we have to contend with in this respect. He says, ‘And blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in me.’ Though He did not blame Thomas for his unbelief, He said, ‘Blessed are they who have not seen me, and yet have believed.’ Even a grain of faith is commended, and spoken of as having much reward connected with it: and the apostle tells us, ‘Cast not away, therefore, your confidence, which hathgreat recompense of reward.’”
“Well, ma’am,” he replied, “I do pray for faith. I do think it is a glorious thing to be able to trust everythingwith God. I says to myself often, ‘There, wait a bit, and you’ll know.’”
I answered, “I once heard my dear mother talking to a person who troubled himself very much about the management of God’s world. She said, ‘I have often compared our present condition to that of servants who might be called into a great house to assist in performing some important work; but instead of the same servants being employed throughout, each was expected to work only one hour, and then to give place to others. Of course, from this circumstance, no one of them would be able to understand the object and design of the work; these would only be known to the master. All that he required of them was, to do his bidding a little while, and then to receive a great reward. How foolish it would be of those servants to go fretfully through their short period of service, and dishonour their master by evil reports of what they could not understand, and lose their reward at last!’”
“O ma’am,” said the man, “that is beautiful: it was never so plain to me before.”
Just then the children, who had been sent out by their mother to play, that they might not interrupt our conversation, returned; and, after making a little acquaintance with them, I took my leave. As I returned home, I hoped that this pleasant interview might be the beginning of a long friendship; but I never saw my friend again. Only about a week from that time, he was taken ill, and died a few days afterwards. I did not hear of his sickness in time to see him; but I heardthat he died in peace, trusting wholly in the Saviour. How soon was the mystery, with him, exchanged for perfect knowledge! How soon was he admitted where every tear shed, either for himself or others, was for ever wiped away; while we, who tried even out of our own dimness and sorrow to enlighten and comfort him, are still left to wonder and weep!
Foster, after the death of his wife, when writing to a friend, says, referring to the years that may elapse before he may be permitted to join her, “Does that to her appear a long time in prospect, or has she begun to account of duration according to the great laws of eternity? Earnest imaginings and questionings like these arise without end, and still, still there is no answer, no revelation. The mind comes again and again up closer to the thick black veil; but there is no perforation, no glimpse. She that loved me, and, I trust, loves me still, will not, must not, cannot answer me. I can only imagine her to say, ‘Come and see. Serve our God, so that you shall come and share at no distant time.’” And again, in another letter, he says, “How striking to think thatshe, so long and so recently with me here, so beloved, but now so totally withdrawn and absent, that she experimentally knows all that I am in vain inquiring.”
The cottage of the communicative little old woman, to whom I am indebted for so much of my information, was amongst the earliest erected in the Potteries. It must have been a picturesque object when the smoke first curled from the low chimney across the verdantplain, where neither villa, terrace, nor steeple were to be seen. The Hippodrome was then on the spot where the graceful church of Saint John’s now stands. Travellers, who were in the habit of coming this way, tell usthatwas then the waymark, just as the church now seems to be the town-mark.
Not far from the Hippodrome stood “Tucker’s Cottage,” which an artist thought sufficiently picturesque to transfer to his sketch-book. The reader may confirm this opinion on reference to my frontispiece. This interesting dwelling consisted of one floor, divided into two apartments, one for the family, the other for domestic purposes and such animals as were thought indispensable to the general welfare. Before and behind was an ample plot of ground, enclosed by a thick mound of earth that resembled the outworks of a fortification. The ground front was the domain of poultry, pigs, and the donkey; in the rear stagnated a lake, into which flowed the foul streams of the province. The pond was overhung with willow stumps, that assumed the title of trees. Like a sea far more famous, it had “no outlet but the ambient air.” As years passed, and the events previously described took place, this primeval cottage was fast advancing to decay. The roof and walls had been often repaired with old pieces of board, condemned teatrays, plaster, and similar rubbish; the windows had become opaque, and the chimney transparent. Various means had been adopted to prevent the downfall of the whole house. After a “stiffer breeze” than common, thelittle old man might have been seen doctoring Jenny’s (the donkey’s) apartment, and his own also. But all his trouble and pains were unavailing. The little dwelling, which he and his “guidwife” had helped to rear with their own hands, laughed at by the world, but endeared to them by the associations of a lifetime, was sentenced by the Commissioners to be taken down; and thus, just five years before the expiration of their lease, the venerable pair were compelled, at a cost to themselves of thirty shillings (which they could very ill afford), to pull down what remained of the old fabric. “Some natural tears they shed, but wiped them soon.” Yes, literally, they “wiped them soon;” for the poor old couple belonged to the company of the faithful, who believe that “here they have no continuing city, but seek one to come.” It was “the Lord’s will,” they said. “He ordered all for the best.” “The Master would soon call them to a house not made with hands;” and so, without repining, they rented an adjoining cottage. Here the principal inconvenience was, that “grannie,” in her old age, had scarcely room to stretch her weary limbs: so narrow was the new domicile, that the chain of the faithful dog had to be shortened, against his wishes; and the poor ducks and hens, accustomed to a more ample domain, could scarcely find a roosting-place.
There is yet another member of this little family who must not be forgotten. A deaf and blind sister has long received shelter in this humble home, where no charitable aid has entered, or parochial relief intrudes.Though feeling is the only avenue of access to this afflicted one, she shares their family devotions. The Bible is brought to her, and she passes her hands over it, and then places them in the attitude of prayer, in which she always keeps them a certain time. After they removed to their present habitation, this poor creature was much perplexed at the loss of the old familiar turns and corners by which she had been accustomed to feel her way about. The only way in which they could comfort her, was to bring to her the Word that “endureth for ever,” pass her hands over it, and lift them up to heaven.
It is not unusual to find persons of determined character holding peculiar sentiments, and very dogmatical in the expression of them. With significant nods and wise shakes of the head, you may frequently hear this worthy couple saying, that “man can do nothing towards converting himself—no, nothing. You may as well tell me to mount up to the sky, as that man can think one good thought of himself, or do one right action.”
The old woman entertains a very high respect for the excellent curate we have before mentioned. Once, on detecting herself speaking more highly of him and his work than was consistent with her principles of the “creature being nothing,” she qualified her praise by saying, “He was able to do all this, because the Lord’s time was come; he wouldn’t have done nothing without that, d’ye see, ma’am.”
I spoke to her once about some plans of my own,by which I hoped to effect some improvement. “Well, ma’am,” she said, “if the Lord’s time is come for it, you’ll do it; and if it isn’t, you won’t. He’ll stop you up, or let you go on, just as He sees fit. I don’t trouble so much as some people do about trying to alter things, and make ’em better; for I know the Lord have planned it all out, and He’ll do it just as He likes.”
Although they have the greatest respect for the whole of God’s Word, yet some portions of it are much more frequently quoted and dwelt upon than others. “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him,” seems to have made a greater impression than, “Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.”
Divine grace sanctifies the natural disposition, but it does not entirely alter it; and we can often trace an intimate connexion between character and creed. The opposition which these good people had experienced had tended to strengthen a severity natural to them. How different were these impressions of truth from those of the kind-hearted man previously described, who “would have all men to be saved,” and could scarcely bring his mind to acquiesce in any wish short of that. There are few Christians to be met with who are not more deeply impressed with one form or phase of truth than another. Nor is this to be regretted, if we can only meet on the common ground of “love to Him who has died for us.” In the words of one of the most popular preachers of the present day,“Supposing the Spirit of truth to descend upon the earth, would He anywhere find a temple erected to Himself, of which He could take possession and say, ‘This is mine?’ No; but He would go from one building to another, and see here astonethat He could claim as His own, and there another, and we should hear Him saying, ‘The materials for my temple are now scattered, though most of them are to be found even here; but the day is coming when I will collect them together, andMy temple shall stand upon the earth.’”
In the sketches of character thus presented, there is no intention of conveying the idea that the inhabitants of the Potteries generally answer to this description. The object has been to shew that, in the midst of every disadvantage, and surrounded by all incentives to evil, God has had His own people, and has given them grace to persevere to the end.
To such as have accustomed themselves to look down upon this place as a plague-spot—a pest that we should be well rid of, this narrative will shew that there is good material to be picked out of the rubbish, and that even the rubbish itself may be capable of conversion into good material. In talking to policemen, I have more than once heard them say, “We hardly ever take up any of the Pottery people for theft; they are known amongst us to be honest and industrious. Our work lies among the Irish. We have very little to do with the Pottery people; and if it were not for theDRINK, we should havenothingto do with them.”
“You talk about sending black coats among the Indians; now we have no such poor children among us; we have no such drunkards or people who abuse the Great Spirit. Indians dare not do so. They pray to the Great Spirit, and He is kind to them. Now, we think it would be better for you teachers all to stay at home, and go to work right here in your own streets, where all your good work is wanted. This is my advice. I would rather not say any more.”—Extract from Speech of the Chief of the Ojibbeway Indians.
“You talk about sending black coats among the Indians; now we have no such poor children among us; we have no such drunkards or people who abuse the Great Spirit. Indians dare not do so. They pray to the Great Spirit, and He is kind to them. Now, we think it would be better for you teachers all to stay at home, and go to work right here in your own streets, where all your good work is wanted. This is my advice. I would rather not say any more.”—Extract from Speech of the Chief of the Ojibbeway Indians.
Ahthis drink, this terrible drink, which still goes on slaying its thousands and tens of thousands! No wonder that indignation has been so roused against it, that many have banished it from their tables, and even from their houses! Our poor Potteries have endured a full share of the misery and destruction that ever follow it.
During the summer the brickmaker, with the assistance of the elder members of his family, sometimes earns between £2 and £3 per week. One man informed me that he and his family had earned £2, 18s. nearly every week through the season; and yet that man’s wife and three children were shivering at my door, one bitterly cold morning in December, and begging for food and clothing. The effects of the hard work and hard drinking had been to bring on a terrible illness, and not a sixpence was left of all the money which they had earned “when the sun was shining.” After enduring privation and suffering too terrible to contemplate, the man and one of the children died, and the poor widow with the remaining children went to the workhouse.
Were it not for this inveterate habit of drinking, few places would be more independent of help from without than the Potteries; but long habits of intemperance have so impoverished the people, that few can now afford tobuythe pigs for themselves; they therefore fatten them “upon commission,” and in this way can gain only a miserable livelihood. Considerable sums of money, however, may be still earned by those who are careful and prudent, both by pig-feeding and brick-making. The latter work is not constant, but can be procured at only one particular time of the year. Hence in the course of the same year may be seen, in the same family, the extreme of prodigality and destitution. The effect of an increased income, generally, is that more money goes to the public-house, and the future is still unprovided for. I have often told these labourers that their memories seemed much shorter than the bees’, birds’, and ants’. These little creatures never forget that winter will return, and make the most ample provision for it. But any stranger would think that the present was the first winter which these human beings had ever known; that it had come upon them unexpectedly, and found them unprepared for it.
The only means by which many of them get food for the winter is by pawning the little furniture that they have, or by “going on tick,”—in other words, by getting trusted at the shops. Those, however, who manage to pay for their things as they buy them, do it in such a manner as to be little better off than underthe “tick” system. The child is sometimes sent to the shop three times a-day, to obtain the supplies for each meal as it is wanted. Of course, the shopkeeper cannot give so much time, paper, and string without being paid for them. After a careful calculation, I feel convinced that, whether the poor man’s wants are supplied through the “tick system,” or the “hand-to-mouth” system, in either case he gets the value of only fourteen shillings for his pound. This proves the justice of the saying, that poverty perpetuates itself.
The winter of 1856–57 was one of unusual distress. Less casual work than usual turned up in the neighbourhood; and had it not been that several of the women found employment as charwomen and laundresses, many would have had no resource but the workhouse.
When the mother has to go out to work that she may obtain the necessary food for herself and children, the effects to the family are often most disastrous. On her return, wearied out in earning her hard-won half-crown, she finds that the baby has been crying for hours (as well it might, poor thing!); that another child has been scalded by hot water from the kettle; that another, perhaps, has wandered away, and has not come home, and that she herself must go and seek for it; while the “little girl” left in charge of the whole is severely scolded, if not beaten, for her many shortcomings. In the midst of all these annoyances, the father returns for the hundredth time, without having found work, exhaustedand footsore in his fruitless search; and, sorer still in spirit, as he feels that he is not wanted in the world, that the labour-market has no demand for him, he enters the wretched hovel which he is obliged to call “home.” He hears the crying of the children, the scolding of the mother; and sees everywhere the destruction which children left to themselves will cause. The wife throws her half-crown at him as he enters, crying, “There! much good may that do yer. Here’s a shilling’s worth of things broke,—Johnny’s coat is burnt, and Sally’s pinafore; the children have eat up the tea out of the paper; and yer’ll have to pay for a sight o’ doctoring afore this scalded leg is well.” A man already angry would, with less aggravation than this, return railing for railing; and so the angry words are given back again with interest. Blows occasionally follow, according to the temper of the moment, sometimes inflicted on the provoking wife, sometimes on the poor victim whose negligence is supposed to have caused all these misfortunes. The cravings of hunger oblige some one at last to pick up the half-crown, and “the girl” is despatched with many threats to the nearest places where bread and cheese and porter can be procured, and charged at the same time to get “two penn’orth of gin,” to give to the baby to make it sleep. This expensive food consumes the greater part of the half-crown. Three pennyworth of bread, two pennyworth of vegetables, two pennyworth of barley or rice, and four pennyworth of meatwell cookedwould have supplied all the family with a good nourishing supper,leaving something for the mid-day meal of the morrow; but there has been no one at home to cook, and in their excited and miserable state it is not food they care for, so much as something that will dim the perception of their extreme wretchedness—anything that will make them sleep and forget. So they drink the porter, and the baby has the gin, and, in spite of the moan of the scalded child, they sleep; but in such an atmosphere, surrounded with such dirt within and stench without, that should they all awake with burning fever the next morning, no one can wonder. They tell me that, on the mornings after such nights, they suffer from intense depression, so much so, that whatever remains of the half-crown is spent on drink, in order to drag themselves up to a repetition of their daily toil.
Now, the earnings of the family just described (for I have drawn a picture from real life) averaged for five months in the summer £2, 10s. per week. They could, of course, have lived very well upon twenty-five shillings. If we reckon ten shillings for paying off old scores, buying new clothes, furniture, and sundries, there would still be fifteen shillings left, which might have been put into the Savings’ Bank to meet the demands of the ensuing winter. But instead of doing this, the man in his distress confessed to me, that the cost of what he and his wife drank each week of their prosperity would amount to at least a pound. The usual quantity of beer that a brickmaker takes during the hours of work is seven pints. This expenditure is looked upon simply as necessary: and when money isplentiful, there must be the drinking for luxury as well as necessity.
The only excuse which can be made for this recklessness is that the toil of the brickmaker is excessive. In the summer, he is expected to work from four or five o’clock in the morning till eight o’clock in the evening. This pressure of work necessitates the drying of sand on Sunday for the next week’s work. The Sabbath is no day of rest to him. He is expected even on that day, and during his short night, to be watchful over the bricks, and cover them up on the approach of rain. Should he oversleep himself, (which is at least possible after such a day’s work,) or be away at a place of worship on a Sunday, and the bricks in the meantime be injured by wet, he would lose some part of his wages, of which a portion is always kept back by the master.
I had a conversation, recently, with a man who has for the last seven or eight years acted as a kind of leader in a brick-field. During all this time he has been a “teetotaller;” and though his work has been as hard as that of any man in the field, and sometimes even harder, he is in perfectly good health, and what is still more unusual, retains the full possession of his intellectual faculties. I say, unusual; for in most cases when this hard work is accompanied with hard drinking, the brickmaker does actually very nearly realise the old woman’s complimentary description of, “He has no more sense than the clay he works on.” His life thus literally resembles that of the brute: every bone, muscle, and sinew is exerted to its utmost extent.The only change from work is eating, drinking, and sleeping; and when this has gone on for several years, all intellectual power seems extinct.
The man to whom I have just referred has for some years past rented a house near the Potteries, for which he pays seven shillings per week. The eldest girl, now fourteen years old, has been in a place for the last four years, and is so fond of it, (the father tells me,) that when she comes home for a holiday, nothing can induce her to stay a minute beyond the time appointed for her return.
“I got a holiday,” said he, “last autumn, and I took my wife and children to the Crystal Palace. We had a beautiful day there, and see’d enough in that little time to give us something to talk about ever since. The only trouble we had was, my girl was in a kind of a fidget, for fear she shouldn’t get back to her place in time.”
I asked this man a great many questions about his mode of life. He said:—
“Our trade would do very well, if it wasn’t for the number of hours we have to work, and if we could get our Sundays to ourselves. There is just now a strike among the men; they want to get sixpence a thousand more upon the bricks than they at present receive: and as I know how to reckon very well, I know that the masters could give us that, and still get a handsome profit for themselves. If we could get that, then we should only work from six to six; and we shouldn’t, in that case, have to dry our sand on Sundays; wecould then get all that we wanted ready on Saturday evening. I don’t hold with these strikes, ma’am; they are not the right sort of thing. It isn’t much use, either, for men to stand out against their masters; for until they have learnt to save money, they can’t hold out no time hardly without hurting themselves dreadful. The day the men turned out, a gentleman was riding by, and he stopped and asked me what it was all about; and so I told him. He says to me, ‘Do you take any part in it?’ And I says, ‘No, sir, I don’t feel comfortable about it at all; but, sir, for all that I don’t like thiswayof doing it, I don’t think the men are asking for more than they should; they only want the masters to be as considerate of them as they are of their horses.’ ‘What do you mean?’ the gentleman says. ‘Why, sir, I mean this, that the horse employed in our brick-field is brought in at six o’clock in the morning, he has a proper time for rest in the day, and he is always taken off again at six in the evening; but the men must work fifteen and sixteen hours to get a living out of it; and this hurts their bodies and souls too, sir; for it isn’t many men can think much as works like that. I am a stronger man than most, sir, and I save myself a deal by not drinking; but it hurts me, I find, and as soon as I can get a little money in hand, I shall try and get out of it, and take to selling coals, or something of that kind.’ You know, ma’am,” the man continued, “I think over all these things a deal, and I do wish masters would listen to what we have got to say; for though we ain’tso wise, like, as they are, we think we could make some things plainer to them. When this was first talked of among the men, I did wish master would let me talk to him about it. I think, if he would have heard how we ’splained all, things wouldn’t have been as they are now. It seems to me, that God have planned out this world for us all to depend upon one another, and we ought never to stand to one another as we do now. You know, ma’am, when we working-men look at all these fine houses and gardens about, and see all the fine furniture that goes into them, we know that it is all done by our labour, and that the great people couldn’t do without us, any more than we could do without them. And it do seem to me, the world would be a deal happier, and better, too, than it is, if we felt that sort of thing to one another; felt, I mean, that we were all wanted, like, to make the world go on right.”
I told him, I thought many masters of the present day felt just what he said, and honoured and valued their servants, and wished very much that they should have proper time for improving themselves, and making their own homes comfortable; “but,” I said, “you know as well as I do, that when mengetthis time, they do not always make a right use of it.”
“Ah, that’s how it is, you see, ma’am; and I am always a-telling ’em how they do stand in their own way, and hurt theirselves. Though we can’t have everything we want to get, there is a good many of ’em needn’t be half so bad off as they are; but yousee, ma’am, there is a great deal of bad management at home, sometimes, and that always keeps a man down. I have looked after this thing so long, that I can pretty well tell whether a man has got a good home or not, afore I ask him. He always holds up his head, and doesn’t seem afraid of anybody; and if things do go cross with him, he does not get reckless, like, about it, and he takes the world kinder, like, than other people. I am so thankful to have this nice place to myself here, and to be able to send my children to school, and see ’em growing up the right way, that I never envies nobody. If master were to offer me his carriage, and to change places with him, I wouldn’t; for I know I’m happy now, and I mightn’t be then.”
I asked him what he supposed to be the cause why so many working-men had such wretched homes.
“Why, ma’am,” he answered, “there is so many things, I hardly know what to say. The drink seems the chief thing; but there is many a man that wouldn’t drink, if he could bear himself without it. There are so many women who don’t seem to know how to manage no more than nothing; and whentheytake to drinking and going to the pawn-shop, then there is nothing but misery for them all. There’s many a woman in our place who has only one decent gown, and that’s most always in the pawn-shop; she just gets it out of a Saturday night, when the money comes in, and by Monday sometimes the money is a’most gone, and she puts it in again. Some of our poor fellows have got but one shirt; and I have known a man giveit to his wife on Monday morning to wash, and she has taken it off to the pawn-shop, and got some drink with the money she got. Sometimes when the wife does try to go on right, the man don’t; he takes to all the bad ways, and leads her a dog’s life: it is only when they both pull one way that it all goes right.”
After the distress of the winter, to which I have before referred, I thought it a good time to endeavour to make some impression upon them as to the urgent necessity of making provision for the future, so that there might not be a constant repetition of such terrible calamities. I therefore addressed the following letter to them, and sent a copy to each man in the Potteries:—
“TO THE WORKING-MENOF THEKENSINGTON POTTERIES.“My dear Friends,—“I have seen with much concern and sorrow, during the past winter, how greatly most of you have suffered. Work has been unusually scarce and difficult to obtain, and you have found it almost impossible to maintain your families in any degree of comfort. Perhaps you have been tempted sometimes to look with envy on your richer neighbours, and have thought that they cared nothing for all your sorrow and suffering; but, indeed, many of them have cared a great deal about it, and have talked over it, andhave tried to think of some means to prevent this sad state of things from happening so often.“Some of you think, I dare say, that rich people should help you, by giving you more of their money; and so they should, perhaps, in times of sickness and calamity: but I have watched these things now for many years, and I have not observed that those do best who have most given to them; but the prosperous people are generally those who resolutely set about to help themselves.“Now, we have been thinking over various ways by which you could do this better than you have hitherto done; and one thing that has occurred to us is, that as many of you earn more money in the summer than you actually need to spend, it would be a good plan to put by some of it for your use during the winter. We all find it very difficult to take care of our money ourselves, and most of us have recourse to some bank or other to take care of it for us. It is much to be regretted that there is no Savings’ Bank in this neighbourhood nearer than Kensington, and it would take up too much of your time to carry your money there often. The excellent Penny Savings’ Bank established at the Notting Dale School-room is most valuable, but it at present confines itself to rather small sums of money; and some of you—young men especially, who have not yet begun the expense of housekeeping—could, with good management, save a considerable sum of money every week. If young men only knew what future misery, degradation, andsorrow they would save themselves by being determined not to involve themselves in the expense of a family until they had at least fifty pounds in the Savings’ Bank, I am sure they would try hard for it“It would give me much pleasure to do something to help you over this difficulty; and if you do not object to trust me with your money, I propose being at the Infant School-room, Princes’ Place, every Saturday evening, from eight till nine o’clock, to receive from you any sum you may have to spare from your weekly earnings. You would have a little book in which to keep your own account, which you could at any time compare with mine. One of your kind friends in this neighbourhood, Mr —, has kindly consented to take care of the money. By giving a week’s notice, you can have out what you put in, at any time you like.“I think I can tell you of one way that would enable you to save a good deal of money. There are thousands of workmen in this country who are doing some of the hardest work that is ever done, such as working at iron-foundries, &c., and who do it all without the aid of intoxicating drink. With the money thus saved they are able to get better food, better clothing, and more comfortable homes; and, consequently, are better, stronger, and happier. I wish very much that you would give this a trial. At the end of the week, you can reckon how much you usually spend upon drink, and can bring that sum to me. I am sure you would feel the benefit of it inthe winter. I have the pleasure of meeting some of your wives every week, and then we talk a great deal about the best means of making your homes comfortable; but the wife cannot do it all alone: it is her place to learn to lay out the money to the best possible advantage,—it is yours to obtain it; and it is when both husband and wife act wisely and well, that the family is usually prosperous and happy.“But above all these things I have mentioned, I want you to be in earnest in seeking to obtain God’s blessing upon all you do. ‘Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ Perhaps you think you should like to have the good things promised without the trouble of seeking God; but those who have tried, those who have really sought God, and found Him, tell us that this is the best part of it, and that they would rather give up every earthly possession than live again without God in the world.“You know, when Jesus came from heaven, He did not settle Himself in a grand house, and have a number of people to wait upon Him; but He, as the reputed son of a carpenter, worked as you do for the supply of His own wants, and spent a great deal of time, besides, in helping those who wanted help. However poor or neglected you may be, you cannot be more so than Jesus was. I do not know of anything so likely to cheer you in your daily toil, as to remember that God cares for you; that He is watching you, and inviting you to come to Him, weary andheavy laden as you are, and He will give you rest. I wish you would come to this kind Friend every day, and ask Him to make you wise to know how to manage your worldly affairs aright; and ask Him to make you holy, that your worst enemy, sin, may not triumph over you. Ask Him to make you fit for that ‘beautiful world He has gone to prepare;’ so that when you have accomplished, as an hireling, your day, and finished the work He has given you to do, you may find an entrance into that kingdom, which is not meat and drink, ‘but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.’“I hope to meet many of you at the Infant Schoolroom, Princes’ Place, on Saturday, the 1st of May. I intend to be there about a quarter before eight o’clock; and if I can help you in this or in any other way, it will give me much pleasure.“I am,“Your sincere friend.”
“TO THE WORKING-MENOF THEKENSINGTON POTTERIES.
“My dear Friends,—
“I have seen with much concern and sorrow, during the past winter, how greatly most of you have suffered. Work has been unusually scarce and difficult to obtain, and you have found it almost impossible to maintain your families in any degree of comfort. Perhaps you have been tempted sometimes to look with envy on your richer neighbours, and have thought that they cared nothing for all your sorrow and suffering; but, indeed, many of them have cared a great deal about it, and have talked over it, andhave tried to think of some means to prevent this sad state of things from happening so often.
“Some of you think, I dare say, that rich people should help you, by giving you more of their money; and so they should, perhaps, in times of sickness and calamity: but I have watched these things now for many years, and I have not observed that those do best who have most given to them; but the prosperous people are generally those who resolutely set about to help themselves.
“Now, we have been thinking over various ways by which you could do this better than you have hitherto done; and one thing that has occurred to us is, that as many of you earn more money in the summer than you actually need to spend, it would be a good plan to put by some of it for your use during the winter. We all find it very difficult to take care of our money ourselves, and most of us have recourse to some bank or other to take care of it for us. It is much to be regretted that there is no Savings’ Bank in this neighbourhood nearer than Kensington, and it would take up too much of your time to carry your money there often. The excellent Penny Savings’ Bank established at the Notting Dale School-room is most valuable, but it at present confines itself to rather small sums of money; and some of you—young men especially, who have not yet begun the expense of housekeeping—could, with good management, save a considerable sum of money every week. If young men only knew what future misery, degradation, andsorrow they would save themselves by being determined not to involve themselves in the expense of a family until they had at least fifty pounds in the Savings’ Bank, I am sure they would try hard for it
“It would give me much pleasure to do something to help you over this difficulty; and if you do not object to trust me with your money, I propose being at the Infant School-room, Princes’ Place, every Saturday evening, from eight till nine o’clock, to receive from you any sum you may have to spare from your weekly earnings. You would have a little book in which to keep your own account, which you could at any time compare with mine. One of your kind friends in this neighbourhood, Mr —, has kindly consented to take care of the money. By giving a week’s notice, you can have out what you put in, at any time you like.
“I think I can tell you of one way that would enable you to save a good deal of money. There are thousands of workmen in this country who are doing some of the hardest work that is ever done, such as working at iron-foundries, &c., and who do it all without the aid of intoxicating drink. With the money thus saved they are able to get better food, better clothing, and more comfortable homes; and, consequently, are better, stronger, and happier. I wish very much that you would give this a trial. At the end of the week, you can reckon how much you usually spend upon drink, and can bring that sum to me. I am sure you would feel the benefit of it inthe winter. I have the pleasure of meeting some of your wives every week, and then we talk a great deal about the best means of making your homes comfortable; but the wife cannot do it all alone: it is her place to learn to lay out the money to the best possible advantage,—it is yours to obtain it; and it is when both husband and wife act wisely and well, that the family is usually prosperous and happy.
“But above all these things I have mentioned, I want you to be in earnest in seeking to obtain God’s blessing upon all you do. ‘Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ Perhaps you think you should like to have the good things promised without the trouble of seeking God; but those who have tried, those who have really sought God, and found Him, tell us that this is the best part of it, and that they would rather give up every earthly possession than live again without God in the world.
“You know, when Jesus came from heaven, He did not settle Himself in a grand house, and have a number of people to wait upon Him; but He, as the reputed son of a carpenter, worked as you do for the supply of His own wants, and spent a great deal of time, besides, in helping those who wanted help. However poor or neglected you may be, you cannot be more so than Jesus was. I do not know of anything so likely to cheer you in your daily toil, as to remember that God cares for you; that He is watching you, and inviting you to come to Him, weary andheavy laden as you are, and He will give you rest. I wish you would come to this kind Friend every day, and ask Him to make you wise to know how to manage your worldly affairs aright; and ask Him to make you holy, that your worst enemy, sin, may not triumph over you. Ask Him to make you fit for that ‘beautiful world He has gone to prepare;’ so that when you have accomplished, as an hireling, your day, and finished the work He has given you to do, you may find an entrance into that kingdom, which is not meat and drink, ‘but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.’
“I hope to meet many of you at the Infant Schoolroom, Princes’ Place, on Saturday, the 1st of May. I intend to be there about a quarter before eight o’clock; and if I can help you in this or in any other way, it will give me much pleasure.
“I am,
“Your sincere friend.”
It did not surprise me at all, that for some weeks this letter seemed to be taken no notice of. I went regularly to the place appointed, but no one came. Among other reasons, no doubt the calamities of the past winter had involved in debt nearly all of those to whom I had written, and the money for the first few months after they obtained work went to pay off old scores. But the principal obstacle was, that where people have been so little accustomed to think and reason, any new proposition would, in the first place,take some time to be comprehended; and then, as the safety of their money was involved in the plan, it would require to be received with great caution. When a month had passed, a few began to bring me small sums. I had no large depositors during the summer, and the whole of my receipts did not amount to more than £25. This, however, was a beginning; and as the men received their money back again in the winter, several of them remarked that it was “all as if it was given them; the bits of money would all have been gone, if they had not been saved up in this way.”
I found that a few of them had previously made some attempts at saving money, and were much disappointed at the result. One woman told me she had once with great difficulty managed to save up seven pounds; one day, when she was absent, her little room was broken into, and all the money stolen. They said they were too far off either from Kensington or Paddington Savings’ Bank to deposit their money there; and “as to keeping it in their own places, that was impossible,—it never kept there.”
A ragged boy, about thirteen years of age, came to the school-room one evening, bringing a penny which he asked me to keep for him; and said, if I would come for it, he would bring a penny there every evening. I told him I had not time to do that; but if he would take care of it through the week, I should be glad to receive sevenpence from him every Monday evening. He said he couldn’t do that; for if he had it in hispocket, he should play pitch and toss with it. I told him, if he would bring it in the dinner-hour, the Infant School teacher would be so kind as to take care of it for him till the night came for paying it in. This he agreed to do. I asked him how it was he had just the penny every day to save. He said he was earning ninepence a-day then; and that he told his mother he earned only eightpence, and so saved a penny for himself. I said, “You shouldn’t do it in that way. I dare say, if you told your mother you wanted to save a penny a-day, she would not object to it.”
“Tell my mother, indeed!” said the boy. “Oh yes! and take her a stick at the same time to beat me with; and then it would be the sooner over.”
He then asked me what I meant to do with all the money he brought me, or rather meant to bring me.
“I shall put it in my desk, and take care of it till you want it.”
“But supposing now I should die, what would you do with it then?”
“Well, I have not thought of that. I hope you will live, and make a good use of the money.”
“But suppose I don’t?”
“Well, when you have saved two or three shillings, you can make your will, if you like, and leave it to somebody.”
“But I can’t write, and I’ve heard as how wills is ‘allus writed.’”
“Then you had better come to the Ragged School, as soon as it is opened, and learn.”
“Well, I think I will. I have heard it takes a sight o’ money to bury anybody. If I should die afore I can write, you can spend the money for that.”
“Very well; but I hope you will live and learn to read and write, and grow up to be a clever and good man.”
“And do yer now?” said he, walking off with one of those inimitable whistles peculiar to ragged boys.
“Some say man has no hurts, some seek them to reveal,And to exasperate some, and some to hide and heal.”Trench.
“Some say man has no hurts, some seek them to reveal,And to exasperate some, and some to hide and heal.”
Trench.
ALITTLEbefore Christmas I received an intimation through the women whom I used to meet, that their husbands would be glad to talk with me, if I would give them an opportunity for that purpose. I fixed an evening, and sixteen men came. They told me they had been thinking a great deal about the bad management of their affairs generally, and especially about their habit of buying everything at a great disadvantage; that they wished very much they could see their way to do better. One man had a copy of the rules of a Loan Society which had worked very well in other places, and might be a great help to them. They would require assistance from some of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood to help them to start it. This they asked me to obtain for them, and also the use of the school-room, where they might make their payments; since, if they had to go to a public-house for this purpose, they might as well abandon all thought of saving. Two or three of the men told me they wanted, in some quiet way, to learn to read and write better; for though, when they were asked, they said they could do both, yet they could doneither well enough for the occupation to be pleasant to them. I knew what they meant by the “quiet way:” men have a great dislike to learning as children, or with children. I told them, as to the writing, the best thing they could do would be to save a few sixpences, and buy some of Darnell’s copy-books. Any man might teach himself to write well from them, with no other assistance than just being told how to hold his pen. Good reading, too, they might acquire by constant practice and listening to others who could read better than they.
This last observation opened the way for me to introduce another subject. I told them that, before we separated, I wished to read a chapter in the Bible. Though we differed in many other respects, we were all alike in this, that each needed God’s teaching; and if we expected any of our plans for improving our condition in life to be successful, we must ask God’s guidance in making the plans, and His blessing in carrying them out. One of the men immediately got up and brought me a Bible, adding, “Now we shall be all right.” This man was a great professor of religion, but I knew, alas! not always a consistent one; and I saw the scornful curl of the lip directed against him from some of his comrades. Out of these sixteen men a great variety of creeds might have been collected. One or two of my listeners were stanch Baptists; about the same number were Wesleyans; one, I believe, was in the habit of attending the Church: but those who had hitherto taken the leading part in the conversationwere men who have always a great deal to say against “parsons;” who use the word “humbug” more frequently than any other in reference to anything of a religious nature. Most of the rest belonged to a very numerous class; more numerous among working-men than is generally supposed. They might be styled Gallios; for they professedly, at least, “cared for none of these things.”
I felt the difficulty of suiting such an audience, and as I turned over the pages of the book, had to encourage myself by the thought, “Never mind; it is God’s Word, and not yours.” I began by saying that amongst the many different characters who came to Jesus, when He was upon earth, there was one in particular, mentioned in the 3d chapter of St John, whose history would interest us. He differed from others in this respect, that he was not a poor man. He was a Ruler among the Jews,—a master of Israel; but that did not much signify, since we need in our smaller affairs the same wisdom that he was seeking to enable him to be a better Ruler.
Now, though this man wished to be wiser and better, he thought it would never do for the people, who looked up to him as their Ruler and Guide, to see him going to Jesus to be taught just like any common man; so at last he thought of the plan of seeing Jesus by night. In this way, he hoped he should get what he wanted, without making his visit known to other people. Many teachers would have said, “Well, as you are ashamed to beseencoming to me, youhad better not come at all.” But Jesus did not think of the affront put upon Himself; He only saw before Him a man whose heart was not right with God, who was not safe for heaven. I dare say, too, that as Jesus knew all that was passing in the mind of this Ruler, He knew that he had not come to Him for heavenly knowledge only. He rather perhaps wished to learn from Jesus some arts of government, by which he could obtain a greater influence over the people. He would have liked to have known how long the Jews were to be in subjection to the Romans, and many other things of that kind. But Jesus had made this man’s soul, and knew its worth; knew it as a fact that it must live for ever, and that, if He helped him now to gain or to govern the whole world, it would be of some little use to him for a few prosperous years, and then would come the blackness of darkness for ever. Therefore, without taking any notice of Nicodemus’s compliments, whatever they may have meant, He lost not a moment in announcing to His wondering disciple the great and solemn truth, “Ye must be born again.”
After explaining this to them as well as I could, together with a few of the following verses, we came to the words,—“And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up.” I turned to the chapter in Numbers, giving the account of this. From the intense interest with which these men listened to this simply as a narrative, I was led to suppose that to some of them itmight be new. I told them I once saw a picture of this extraordinary story. In one corner of the picture was the pole with the serpent lifted upon it. Strong men, women, and little children were there; some in great agony, as if just bitten; others perfectly prostrate, with the hue of death upon their faces. Mothers were standing with little children in their arms, trying to raise the head that seemed to have drooped in death, and to rouse it just for one look. But that which struck me most was the figure of a man standing before an apparently dying woman. He had something in his hand, to which he endeavoured to draw her attention; and his figure was placed exactly between her and the brazen serpent, so that without stretching her head either to the one side or the other, she could not see the object from which alone she was to derive life. The artist had made it appear that, with the little dying strength which remained, she was trying to move herself out of the way of this hindrance; and as I continued to look at the picture, so strongly was I impressed, that I felt myself saying, “This manmustbe got out of the way, or she will die.”
“In thinking over this afterwards,” I continued, “it occurred to me that there were manynowacting the part of this cruel man. All teachers of error resemble him. Those lecturers, whom some of you men hear occasionally, and who tell you to believe in nothing you cannot see,—that as to your being bitten with the old serpent,sin, it is all a fiction, although, even whilst you are listening, you can hardly be still for the agonywhich the bites have inflicted; the Roman Catholic priest, too, who comes and tells us we need notlook for ourselves, that his looking for us, or the intercession of the Virgin Mary, will do equally well—that at any rate we need not troubleourselves,—are like this man in the picture. Then you yourselves sometimes stand in one another’s way; and when you see any eye directed aright, instead of removing all impediments, you rather, by your jesting, ridicule, and banter, cause the eye to be turned away. And what is it turned to? It just goes back to the old dreary state of ‘seeking rest, and finding none.’ Nothing ever strikes me so much in false teaching as its cruelty. These self-constituted leaders will see you suffer without relief, knowing, too, that bad as it is, this is only the beginning of suffering, they will still interpose themselves and their false doctrines between you and the look that would bring such healing and joy as you have never known before. It is something like this:—Suppose there was but one large fountain of water in the street from which the inhabitants could obtain their supplies, and that this fountain was in the keeping of one person, whose duty it was to open it to all who applied, and to allow them to help themselves as freely as they pleased; suppose, then, that instead of aiding you to fill your pitcher, he exercised a great deal of ingenuity in persuading you that if you carried it to the top of Notting Hill, or over to Kensington, perhaps you would get water which would answer your purpose much better—that the wells there had been more recently dug—that thewater there would suit your particular constitution better; that he said anything, rather than allow you to supply your wants in the most simple and direct way—in the way intended and provided by one who really did know exactly what was adapted for you.
“I should be sorry to undertake to persuade any of you to go this round-about way to supply your wants. Your own good sense would be stronger than any arguments I could possibly use. You would say, ‘It has answered the purpose for years past, and those who have gone before us have done very well upon it; why should I change?’
“Whenever your worldly interests are concerned, I do not consider you men are easily to be taken in; it is only about the salvation of your souls—your eternal interests—that which will be living on still when the heavens and the earth have passed away,—it is only on these points that you allow yourselves to be—to be—I must use one of your own words—to be ‘humbugged.’
“Then, again, if it were some difficult thing which God asked us to do, we might make many excuses—we might plead the want of learning, the want of capacity, the want of strength; but we have only to ‘Look, and live.’”
“Ma’am,” said one of the men, “will you pray for us?”
We all kneeled together, and prayed that whatever prevented our looking to the “Crucified One” might be removed; and that, instead of going to earthly fountains to quench our thirst, we might drink of the water of everlasting life, and thirst no more.
Just as we were separating, one of the men said—“Ma’am, if you will come here to meet us every Wednesday evening, we’ll all come, and bring about a hundred more with us.” I replied that I was much obliged to them, but I really had not the time to spare. If my help was the only help they could get, I would make any sacrifice and come; but if they would only take the trouble to walk about half a mile, to Mr Lewis’s school-room, at Westbourne Grove, he would be very glad to see them in their working clothes, and would explain everything to them much better than I could.
Several of them promised to go; and as most of them were still lingering about over the fire, I said to them,—“I wish you men, would try and get out of the way of talking about ‘parsons’ as you do. I don’t mean to say that all ‘parsons’ are what they ought to be by a great deal; but the way you often speak of them is as unjust as it would be for me to speak with contempt of all working-men, because some amongst them are drunkards and thieves.”
“Ah, that’s true,” said one of them. “Fair play’s a jewel, anyhow.”
“It is not only the unfairness to them,” I said, “but you put yourselves very often out of the way of receiving benefit from those who do most sincerely and earnestly wish to help you. As long as we dislike people, it is hardly possible that they can do us any good. If you are not in a hurry to go, I will tell you about a man I met with lately, who was doing himself a great deal of mischief in this way.”
They said they were in no hurry,—they shouldn’t do anything more that night; they were glad to stay.
(I did not give them the story so fully as I have written it here. I had no notes with me; and simply told them from memory the part that would apply to our previous conversation.)
“For some weeks before we went into the house in which we now live, several workmen were employed there; and I generally went once in the course of the day, to see how they were getting on. One of them, a painter, was a remarkably clever man; he seemed to have read an endless number of books, papers, and everything else. It was the time of the Indian mutiny; and if I had been unable to look at the papers, he could always tell me anything that was going on. He often made remarks upon the government of the country, and sometimes these were very sensible. As he was a single man, and did not seem to care much where he spent his time, I proposed to him that (as he had to come all the way from Blackfriars) he should take possession of a little bed-room in the house, and make himself comfortable there. He seemed very glad to do this. A day or two after he had settled himself, I had occasion to go to his room; and I found, amongst other things, a great quantity of books and newspapers strewed about. Some of the books were political, some on India; and there were a few novels, by no means the best. After I had finished speaking to him about his work that day, I said to him, ‘When I was up in your room just now, I was looking at your books.Some of them are very good. I am going to ask you to be so kind as to lend me one for a few days, it is “Napier’s India.”’ He seemed much pleased, and ran off directly to fetch it. When he returned, I said, ‘There was one thought that came into my mind while I was looking at your books. If I had not known whose they really were, I should have supposed that they belonged to some one who had no interest in anything beyond the present life; some one who meant to get as cleverly as possible through that;—but that was all.’
“‘I suppose you mean, ma’am, there were no religious books there? As to those, I gave all them up long ago: I couldn’t stand such twaddle.’
“‘Have you had a great experience of religious books?’
“‘Why, no. I went to a Sunday-school once, but it wasn’t much of it; and some ladies used to call and leave us some tracts, and beg us to read them. I didn’t like to promise to do so, and not do it; but it was such “bosh!” Do you know, ma’am, after you had been here for a day or two, we were talking about you; and I said, “I do think she is one of the right sort; she doesn’t bring us any tracts, or any twaddle.”’
“‘I am afraid I am going to lose my good character.’
“‘Oh no, ma’am; I shall be happy to listen to anything you have to say!’
“‘Well, I want to hear whatyouhave to say. Itinterests me very much to know how you are planning it out. Do you intend to make the best of this life; and then—whatthen? Are you so pleased with it, as to feel satisfied that all shall end here?’
“‘Why, as to being pleased with it, I don’t think anybody who has lived five-and-twenty years in the world can be much pleased with it. I am sure it ain’t much to me. I’ve nobody, hardly, belonging to me, to care anything about me; and if it wasn’t for the liking I have for books, and that sort of thing, I should have nothing but my work to do, and to eat, and drink, and sleep: and I don’t call that worth living for; do you, ma’am?’
“‘No, indeed, I do not. I feel very sorry for you. I should so like to help you to be happier, if I only knew how; but, perhaps, if I told you what I think about it, you might call it “bosh” or “twaddle,” or something of that sort.’
“‘No, ma’am, I shouldn’t. You see, ma’am, it isn’t because I haven’t thought about these things, for I thought myself almost crazy once; and the people who, I expected, might have helped me were worse to me than anybody. My father was a mighty religious man in his way, and dreadful strict: we couldn’t hardly speak or look of a Sunday, but we got a thrashing for it. My brother and I have said often and often, that, as soon as we took to the world for ourselves, we’d have done with all that sort of thing; we had had enough of it. The masters I have worked for have made a great fuss, some of ’em, about theirown religion; but they haven’t minded cheating us a bit when they could do it in a quiet way. And as to caring aboutoursouls, they have never troubled themselves about that. And don’t you think, ma’am, that if they really thought we were going to burn in hell-fire for ever, if we went on a bad way, that they’d make some fuss about it, and try to stop us? I know, if I believed it, I wouldn’t do much besides try to prevent people going there; but you may depend upon it, ma’am, they don’t believe it; they keep it in store, like, as something to frighten poor ignorant people with.’
“‘But I want to know whatyouthink; I am not just now concerning myself about these people.’
“‘Well, I have pretty well made up my mind, after all I have seen, just to take the world as it comes, and live on in the best way I can, and not trouble my head any more about it. I suppose, God has got it all planned out about us, and He’ll do what He likes with us.’
“‘That is quite true. God has planned it all out; but then He has made no secret of His plans. He has written a book to tell us how we stand towards Him, and how He stands towards us.’
“‘Ah! you mean the Bible. We used to be punished with having to learn chapters out of it, and we hated it; and I have never took up with it since. People talk about its being good news, and all that sort of thing; but I don’t believe there is any good news in it for me.’
“‘Supposing, when you first came here, I had written a letter to you, inviting you to come to my house whenever you liked to do so; telling you that I would have a nice room prepared for you, and, in every respect, would make you as comfortable as possible; and supposing that, instead of reading my invitation, and availing yourself of my kind offers, you had treated my letter with contempt, and refused even to open it, pleading as an excuse that a letter once proved disagreeable to you. If, after you left, I should hear that you spread an evil report about me, and accused me of unkindness, do you not think I could justly charge you with injustice?’
“‘Yes; and I see what you mean. I can’t say I’ve tried to find out much about the Book, either good or bad.’
“‘There is another thing. I think that you have rather confused ideas about the character of God. You confound your earthly with your heavenly Father; and thus you think unjustly of Him, and His works also. Now, as I cannot stay longer to-day, I am going to ask you to reward me for not troubling you with tracts, and what you call “twaddle,” by just reading one little chapter that I will leave turned down for you here.’
“I left him the 15th chapter of Luke to read; and he faithfully read it, and the next day we talked about it. He was too intellectual a man not to appreciate its exceeding beauty; but he did not feel himself to be a prodigal needing the love and forgiveness of the kindFather; so that it was to him little else than a ‘pleasant song.’
“After many observations had passed, I asked if he were in the habit of attending any place of worship. He answered, ‘Oh, no! I have been to the cathedral sometimes, but I didn’t like it.’
“This was Saturday. At the end of our conversation, I told him I thought he had better make one more trial of attending a place of worship; and, as he lived in Blackfriars, I recommended him to go to Surrey Chapel, to hear the Rev. Newman Hall. He promised he would. On Monday, I did not get to the house till it was late. Some of the men had gone away; but this painter was still lingering over his work. ‘Oh, ma’am,’ he said, ‘I am glad you have come. I wanted to see you, to tell you I went yesterday to hear the gentleman you spoke about.’
“‘I am glad to hear it. I hope you will often go.’
“‘I believe I shall, forheis something about a parson. I said to myself, “You ain’t a humbug, anyhow.” I went in the morning, and I went again in the evening.’
“I had no time to talk to him then, nor for some days after. I think the Friday of that week was set apart as a fast-day. On the Thursday I found him painting away very busily. As soon as he saw me, he said, ‘We have just been talking about you, ma’am, and we know you are in a hurry to get this house done; and so, instead of knocking off work, because it is the fast-day to-morrow, we are going to stick to our painting, and have a jolly good day at it.’
“‘I am very much obliged to you; indeed, I think you areallvery kind in trying to accommodate me; and I quite appreciate all you do; but I could not think of allowing you to do what you propose. You know the state the country is in; what terrible accounts we are constantly receiving from India; and what severe general distress there is. Although we may not be suffering from these calamities, it would be selfish and heartless in the extreme not to join with those who are, in praying for God’s mercy to deliver us out of these troubles.’
“‘Well, ma’am, that’s all very right, I dare say; and I don’t object to the thing itself; but what I object to is the way it is done in. I was reading the proclamation outside the Mansion House, the other day; and it says that the Queencommandsus all on that day to pray to Almighty God. Now, I don’t think any one has a right to command us to do anything of the sort; and, if I pray at all, I shall do it some other day.’
“‘I gave you credit for being a wiser man. What would become of law and order in this country, if some one had not the power to decide such things? There would be no end of contest and confusion. I don’t suppose that either you or I should make very good Sovereigns; but if there were no one else, it would be much better for the country to give one of us the power of saying what should or should not be done, rather than to leave every question open to be contested. And as to your taking offence at theexpression, “her Majesty commands,” that is merely a form of words, meaning that her Majesty confirms the wish of the nation. The term itself is just as much of a form as the “Most Gracious Majesty” which is used to the really gracious and ungracious alike.’
“Another man then joined in, and said that he thought, ‘what the nation wanted more than fast-days was better government. The government was always getting the country into trouble, and then setting it to pray itself out of it again.’
“‘If that is the case, that would be a very good reason in itself for having a fast-day,’ I said, ‘that we might pray for better government.’
“Most of the men joined in this talk about governments. It was evidently a topic upon which they were much in the habit of conversing; and I could not but be struck with the shrewdness of their observations.
“At last I said, ‘Now, after all you have told me about oppressive governments, bad laws, taxation, and all that, you have not brought forward one thing that would for a moment stand in the way of your following any occupation you like, and becoming great in it, choosing any kind of home your industry and resources would enable you to command, reading what books you like, adopting what form of religious worship you like, sending your children to any school you like, and taking up with any friends you like; so that I cannot offer you much sympathy for the oppressions of which you are complaining. But thereis something going on in this country that is oppressing you. I think, if you could prove there was anything in the present government which caused destruction of life and property to 10,000 persons every year, it would excite such indignation in the country that the government would hardly stand another week.’
“‘I should think not,’ one of them said.
“‘And yet there is something going on amongst us that is destroying at least 60,000 precious souls and bodies every year; and I have often wondered that you men, who have such ability to detect and expose the faults of a government, which, after all, is not hurting you much, and which you cannot alter, should expend uselessly the power that might be successfully directed against the monster evil to which I am referring.’
“‘You mean the drink, I suppose, ma’am?’
“‘Yes. Now, here is an evil worth fighting against. If you directed all your efforts againstthistyrannical government, and were determined to get rid of it, you would be doing much more good for yourselves, and the country too, than any House of Commons will ever do, even supposing all the members of it were elected by ballot.’
“Then followed a kind of teetotal discussion. Amongst other arguments brought against teetotalism, the painter objected that ‘people who lived altogether upon food ate such a lot that they got heavy and stupid in their minds.’ I asked him if he knew that the preacher he had heard last Sunday was a water-drinker?