CHAPTER VI.
1875-1877.
Mrs. Way's sewing—class for Jewesses—Bible Flower Mission—George
Clarice—Incidents in home work—The Lord's Day—Diary at sea—
Letters of cheer from Canada.
The Home of Industry has been already likened to the Pool of Bethesda with its fine porches. Many sights there have been peculiar to itself, and in no instance has this in past years been more remarkable, than in the meeting for Jewesses, which has been carried on ever since the year 1870. From fifty to seventy daughters of Israel are gathered weekly, through the Lord's blessing on the patient, unwearied labours of his honoured servant Mrs. Way. Greatly indeed should she be honoured, for she diligently sought out these lost sheep, when few comparatively could be found to "care for their souls." When first told of "the name at which every knee shall bow," much scorn and contempt were manifested, but Mrs. Way is now cheered by many signs of the Spirit's work, and when a hymn of praise to the "Crucified One," is heard from the inner hall on the ground floor, visitors may be startled to know the voices are those of Hebrew mothers.
Again the Pool of Bethesda is brought to mind, as love for the sick and suffering is shown in a way hitherto unthought of. In 1875, the Home of Industry became a centre of the now well-known Bible Flower Mission. One of the much-loved helpers recorded this touching incident:—
"In the early spring of 1874, a snowdrop, primrose, and two or three violets which had been casually enclosed in a letter from an East-end worker to Mrs. Merry, were passed round her sewing class of 200 poor old widows, 'for each to have a smell,' and then divided and given to three dying Christians, one of whom breathed her last fondly clasping them. From that time flowers were collected through the medium of 'Woman's Work,' etc., and during the season distributed by the ladies at the Home of Industry among the sick in the neighbouring courts, and in different hospitals.
"Again the hedges, tipped with tiny coral buds, primroses, and daffodils peeping up amid the brushwood, golden-eyed celandines and daisies lifting their sweet faces with smiles of welcome, remind us of the near approach of the bright spring-time. But the heart is saddened, and the joy of seeing this fresh burst of resurrection—loveliness is clouded, when we turn to gloomy, stifling courts and lanes in the crowded cities, where gleams of sunshine scarce ever penetrate; the lives of whose miserable inhabitants are yet more utterly devoid of brightness; to whom the voice of spring is an unmeaning sound; to sick ones in these courts, who have no easier couch for the pain-filled limbs than a heap of shavings on the hard floor of a room filled with noisy children, and disorderly men and women; to other sufferers tossing feverishly in hospital wards, with nothing softer for the tired eyes to rest on than the endless stretch of whitewashed walls, the background of long rows of patients whose sad pale cheeks vie in whiteness with the sheets and walls: and the cry ascends?
"'Oh, that a tithe of the wealth of fragrant, many-coloured flowers so lavishly spread over gardens, fields, and hedgerows, could be brought to cheer those who so dearly prize each separate bloom!'
"And once more down, deeper down, into the haunts of vice, smiling so sweetly with the radiance of heavensent gifts, these messengers may go—ready-made missionaries—to open doors and hearts fast locked hitherto, but which must yield to their gentle influence; and thus prepare the way for the ministry of the word of salvation.
"Oh, that men and women surrounded by loveliness could see as the angels do!—strong natures, hardened by years of sin, whose stony hearts are melted at sight of the flowers, and weep (as only such can) when the deep hidden springs are touched, and memory recalls days of childhood's innocence, long, long past; lessons in that village Sabbath-school of the holy God; the story of the Son of His love dying in die stead of guilty sinners, to raise them to the bright, pure land above, where is no sin, no curse, no sorrow, but cloudless day and endless rest and joy; and the spotless flowers seem to beckon them onwards and upwards, to seek and find the way thither; for are not the flowers one of the first links in that chain of love which draws the poor, wearied, sinful heart up to God and heaven?
"Ah! and would to God the country folk might hear! ay, and that the sounds could penetrate into the halls and castles of our land; the silent cry of hospitals with several hundreds of patients, and but rarely a flower?
"'I should so like a little buttercup.'
"And the weary murmur of gladness that steals through the wards when a chance bouquet is brought in; and the heartfelt blessings from many dying lips on the flower-gatherers.
"'Tell them we may never meet on earth, but we shall thank them in heaven.'
"Oh! could the veil be lifted for a brief moment and the dull ears quickened to catch the pleading accents of the blessed lord? 'Do it unto Me'? none would longer count their flowers and fruit their own, the Royal seal would be seen on each, whether growing wild in copses, or carefully nurtured in hothouse and conservatory, and these treasures would be poured out for those so sadly needing them, 'For Jesus' sake!'"