LETTER IV.
“When my father and my mother foresaketh me, the Lord taketh me up.”
TO THE SAME.
My Dear Friend,—I know not what were your sentiments, in reading my simple tale; which, by the bye, you have only to thank yourself for your trouble, as it is by your’s, and the desires of many, that I thus make public my origin, as far as I can trace it. Your care for me, and anxiety, long manifested for my best interest, I hope I shall never lose sight of: although I am a stranger to the affection of a mother, I know not what affection she had for me. I have heard of some, who have sought after, and dealt motherly with some of my deserted little fellows; I knew one of them, who is now living, who had been taken from his mother for reasons unknown to me; but, I have been informed, she kept her eye upon him, while an infant at nurse, and during his abode at the hospital; and when he was apprenticed, she frequently came of errands to the shop, and dealt with him for years, but did not make herself known to him. (I judge how you would have acted; I do not think you would have kept that secret so long.) His time was expired, and he was to seek a lodging: strange to tell, he sought, and found one at the very house his mother lived in. After some time she invited a few friends, by the consent of her husband, to sup with her, and she, of course, invited her son. After the supper was over, she related a very affecting story to the company, concerning her former husband, and the reasons why she was obliged to part with her child; when, to the astonishment of the young man, she made herself known to him; and, no doubt she exclaimed to him, calling him by his name, “I am your mother.” Judge the feelings of all present. This is the story, as related to me. I remember the young man, when a boy with me. This is a privilege I never had; but, blessed be God, my heavenly father has owned me, and the Church of God has also received me: she is called the mother, for, “who so doeth the will of my father, the same is my mother, my sister, and my brother.”
Nothing, of any importance, occurred to me, while in the Foundling; I was free from care, and a stranger to sorrow. A good table provided daily; a kind master, who was a God-fearing man, and studied the welfare of the children; the schoolmistresses and nurses were all as affectionate as mothers, and the worthy governors took every care of the comfort of the Establishment. Many poor children have their worst times in infancy, and their juvenile days; but mine were the best: I was particularly marked, by all, as a favorite, and allowed little privileges, which others had not; and when the master bought playthings for the boys, he generally gave me a book, knowing that my heart was set upon that alone; but this little Paradise must be exchanged for a wilderness of sorrow, sin, and woe. It was customary, in those days, that any respectable person might chose an apprentice out of the hospital, at any age, as no premium was given with them. Formerly, I believe, there was a premium, till the days of the execrable and infamous Mrs. Brownrigge, who was executed for her cruelty to some poor girls, she had out of this place, and from the parish. I suppose the hospital being crowded, the governors were the more willing to let children go out at a very early period, to persons who engaged to take care of them. I was chose out of the rest, as we stood in a row; the master recommended me for temper and conduct, believing the person who came to choose an apprentice was very respectable, and in about three weeks after, my new master came tor me. I was but ten years and a half old; of course, I was bound an apprentice for nearly eleven years; this was a long time to look for. All that knew me in the hospital, were sorry at my departure. I trudged through the streets, and chattered with my new master, till I arrived at his house, in Great Portland Street, Mary-le-bone. I know not how to express what a singular sensation came over me when I entered his house; a dizzines, or rather a darkness overwhelmed me, that all appeared dark about me; no doubt, this was but the native weakness of the nerves; or, if it was, as I am at times induced to think, a supernatural sensation surely it was an indication of the dark days I should now begin to feel. Never shall I forget the grief that overcame me, the few first nights I wept aloud, I had left all that was dear to me; I was among strangers; I felt, indeed, like a deserted, a banished child: but the hand of time wiped away my grief, and a variety of new scenes began to open to my view. I am sure, my dear friend will smile, when she can picture to herself how strange the streets appeared to me, the shops, pictures, books, and names of persons over the doors; these I used to gaze at, and rehearse when I came home, which afforded much mirth to the family. There was one great evil attended my early departure from the Foundling; I had not attained to the use of my pen; I could read well, for being only taught my letters, and a little spelling, I was so extravagantly fond of a book, that I seized every bit of paper with any printing on it, to read it, that many were astonished to hear me read, at a very early period, with such propriety. But, alas! just as I was put to writing, I was chose an apprentice; the person to whom I was bound, promised faithfully to put me forward in writing and arithmetic; but he broke his word, and rather objected to my reading at all, than attempted to improve, or give an opportunity for it; this has been a great grief to me, and an incalculable loss. The business of my master, as a carver and gilder, increased so much that it was impossible for me to be spared to attend an evening academy; but I still loved reading, and generally had a book of some kind in my pocket.—After I had been apprenticed for some time, I went to see my old friends, at the Foundling, who were all rejoiced to see me; particularly the master, who bore the same respect for me till his death, which was recent; but was often sensibly touched at my train of afflictions. There was a branch of the business in which I soon became very useful to my master, though it proved of very little use to me, at the end of my apprenticeship; and finding this, I was not taught any other branch of the trade: this was violating his agreement. I was also the perfect slave in the house; set to every part of the vilest drudgery, and debarred that knowledge of the trade, to which I was bound an apprentice. I believe my master had formerly been a professor; but, as his money increased, he neither professed, nor followed the religion of the Son of God; but he joined himself to a sect called the Swedenbourgians, who talked much of wisdom and charity, as a divine influence; but, this I know, my master had but little charity for me, his slave. I often think of an expression I am told Mr. Whitfield sometimes used—“golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and iron masters; but he that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved.” The Lord led me on from stage to stage, nor ever left me, till he had given me some blessed acquaintance with himself. Hence the promise, “I will give them an heart to know me.” The Lord bless you.
Yours, J. C.
To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,
Before my feeble thoughts had learn’d
To form themselves in prayer.