CHAPTER XI.
A GILDED SALOON—A PIGEON PLUCKER—DISCOURAGEMENT—THE COFFEE MAN—DESTITUTE—THE SOLITUDE OF THE CITY—MADNESS OF DISGRACE—THE BEGGAR AND HIS BOY—THE "TRAVELLER'S REST"—THE SLEEPLESS CHURCH—COFFEE STALLS AND BOOTHS—THE COVERT FROM THE STORM—BIBLE POWER.
The Book in the Streets and Night-Houses:
ITS SILENT FORCE.
"The seed is the Word of God." Luke viii. 11.
TWO hundred and sixty nights occupied in evangelizing efforts in the streets, refreshment houses, and dens of the mighty city, gave evidence that the Word of God is powerful to arrest the attention of the most thoughtless—to stop the guilty in their downward career; and that it is the power of God unto the salvation of sinners who are sunk so low as to cause them, when restored, to stand out before men as miracles of mercy. Disappointments were frequent, and if continuance in the work had depended upon known success, would have been crushing. This however was not so: the great Master does not send out His servants at their own cost. When He, of His sovereign grace, takes a sinner and places him among His children, and then by distinguishing favour makes him a wheel or a lever in His great machinery of mercy, He only requires faithfulness—not success. Men can only fill the office of subordinate instruments and visible agents in the mighty process of salvation. "God was in Christ Jesus reconciling the world unto Himself," but "He has committed to us the ministry of reconciliation." This truth ought to remove indolence and avarice from those who are named by the name of Christ. The redeemed people who realize the debt they owe unto their Lord, should covet to be the deputies and agents of Divine love; such should labour and study, and pray for success, because the Holy Spirit works by instruments made fit for His use, and the armed omnipotence of God is engaged on behalf of repentant sinners. The great restoring work is of God, and of God only; and it is therefore the duty of His servants to labour as cheerfully when denied, as when favoured with evidence of blessing.
These thoughts were suggested when materials for this chapter were being collected. The mind reverted to so many instances of failure,—to a succession of men and women who had been the objects of much earnest effort, but who had passed from under the influence of the Missionary without giving the remotest hope of their salvation. If a proportion of them were referred to, this would be a dismal record. We will only therefore, by way of illustrating the nature of the work, refer to one instance.
A Cabinet Minister had conferred with the Missionary upon the matter of legislation for night-houses; and as other interviews were sure to follow, he thought it well to visit all such places of which the police could give him information.
One night he followed several fashionably dressed gentlemen into a house near the Haymarket, and found himself in a gilded saloon, with billiard rooms upstairs. The gentlemen remained together, and as the visitor felt strange, he went to the upper end and threw himself upon a couch; he was meditating as to what he could do there, when a middle-aged gentleman entered and gave a familiar nod to the group, and then glancing keenly toward the stranger, approached and took his seat at the other end of the couch. After a little thought, an envelope containing a tract was handed to him. He gave a sudden start, and the Missionary in a merry tone, exclaimed "It's not a writ;" and then both laughed heartily. The attention of the proprietor and his waiter in full dress, had from his entering in, been fixed upon the stranger; he therefore thought it well to make friends with the gentleman, and pressing near to him, he said, in a confidential half-whisper: "Oblige me by not opening the envelope now, as it only contains a religious tract." As he looked at it with astonishment, the giver continued: "You no doubt think it absurd, quixotic of me to venture in here with tracts, but you will respect my motive when I tell you that I have for years visited the lower class of night-houses, and conferred benefits upon many; and that I am the voice of one crying in the night season, 'Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.'"
"A motive so good, justifies the act," replied the gentleman. "I am going over to the Turkish saloon, and will pass out with you."
In the street they fell into a pleasant chat, and an appointment was made for another night; this was kept, and followed by several others, besides chance meetings. From his friends he ascertained that the gentleman was supposed to be of good family, that he had graduated at Oxford, and that he bore the assumed name of Clifford. He was a most fascinating person, though his countenance had a dissipated and at times malicious expression. He had a large acquaintance among young men of position, who at that time frequented the Haymarket, and was often seen with a gentleman, now deceased, who by bad company lost his fortune, and had to sustain a long law-suit to prove his sanity. By the lower order of the depraved he was regarded as one of quite a large number of gentlemanly men whom they called "pigeon pluckers."
One night the gentleman and his Christian friend, who had met in the Haymarket, were conversing together, when he was accosted by a young man who appeared to be of age, with "Ah, Clifford! how'do? glad to see you. Just a word at your leisure."
"Certainly, my lord," was his reply. "I will be with you in a few minutes: should have been waiting for you, had I not met with this very pleasant friend."
"As Clifford's friend, may I crave the honour of offering my hand to your lordship?" inquired the Missionary.
"Certainly," replied the young nobleman (if such he was), and then the Christian visitor grasped his hand, and holding it with mild restraint, looked him full in the face, and said, "You are in danger, my lord. This dissipation will injure your person, your good name, your fortune, and perhaps your country. Be wise. Like a certain young ruler mentioned in the Gospel, approach the Lord Jesus, and ask, 'What shall I do to inherit eternal life?'"
A deep colour rose to the face of the young man, and he stepped hastily away; but turning back, as by sudden impulse, he again offered his hand to his reprover, and said, "I thank you, sir;" and was then lost in the crowd of the gay and dissipated.
"You are in danger my lord."
Some weeks after this event, the night visitor met the gentleman, and had tea with him in a café. As they sat together at the small round marble table, the Missionary observed, "To me it is astonishing that you can live such a life as you are doing; heaping up wrath against the day of wrath. From a child you have known the Holy Scriptures, and I am surprised that texts do not at times rise to your memory, and produce a fearful looking forward to judgment!"
"Such is not the case," he replied, "strange as you may regard it. There is only one matter of memory which ever troubles me, and that is the verses of a child's hymn which our mother used to teach us as we knelt at her side in the nursery,—
'Almighty God, Thy piercing eye
Strikes through the shades of night;
And our most secret actions lie
All open to Thy sight.'
"At times these verses flash across my mind at most inconvenient seasons, and destroy my enjoyment; they occurred when you first spoke to me in the saloon, and the other night I caught myself repeating them when playing an important game of billiards." The pocket Bible was produced, and the words solemnly read,—"He hath appointed a day in the which He will judge the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all men in that He hath raised Him (Jesus) from the dead."
The visitor then repeated to him the verses of a Judgment Hymn of his own writing, which evidently made a deep impression:—
Roll, roll, ye thunders with terrific dread!
Shout, shout, ye angels and awake the dead!
Proclaim the mandate of the Almighty King;
Man, dead and living, to the Judgment bring.
Rise, rise, ye millions of reposing clay!
See, see, the light of the eternal day!
The brightness of His coming gilds the sky,
The glorious mantle of the Judge most high.
Rejoice, rejoice, ye ransomed sons of God!
Sing, sing, the virtue of the Saviour's blood!
Your loud triumphant Hallelujahs sing,
With great rejoicing hail your Saviour-King.
Mourn, mourn, neglecters of a Saviour's love;
Weep, weep, rejecters of the Heavenly Dove;
Insulted mercy leaves thee to the law
Which dooms to death, and bids thee hope no more.
Awake, awake, ye slumbering sinners, pray;
Cry, cry for mercy, now in mercy's day;
Flee to the Covert from the storm, and rest
Your blood-bought souls upon the Saviour's breast.
After this visit there were several other meetings, and then a long interval occurred. Upon inquiring for his friend at the divans and saloons, the visitor was told that "he had not been seen for some time: that he had no doubt gone upon the Continent, and would turn up next season." He was not there the following year, and was never seen in his old haunts again. It was with him as with others,—much effort without apparent result; and yet it is possible that, in the day of the Lord, good concerning some of them will be made manifest.
In one class of cases there is freedom from discouragement, and that is when the Christian worker is enabled to strengthen, to encourage, and to assist disciples in their efforts to give a testimony for the Lord, and to do good under depressing circumstances.
It was certainly thus with an old man who kept a coffee-stall in a poor neighbourhood. His shop consisted of a large barrow with canvas covering, supported at the corners by upright pieces of wood. At one end he had a small iron stove, with a large kettle upon it, and a coffee-pot on one side and tea-pot upon the other; at the farther end was a cupboard well filled with bread-and-butter and plum cake. Upon the centre of the barrow was a white cloth, covered with cups and saucers, and underneath were several pails of water. He used to wheel the whole concern to his corner as soon as the clock struck twelve at night, and wheel it away when the public and coffee-houses opened at six in the morning. The acquaintance of the proprietor was made in the following manner: One bitterly cold morning, about three o'clock, the Missionary, who was trembling from the chill felt upon leaving a warm night-house, approached the stall, and held his hands to the fire. The policeman on duty paused for the same purpose, and the following conversation passed between them:—
Stall-keeper: "I have read the book you lent me, and don't think the doctrine sound. Sovereign grace fore-ordained unto salvation, and the saints elected according to the Divine purpose must be saved. No man can pluck them out of the Saviour's hands."
Policeman: "You make too much of your favourite doctrine of election. Our Lord died for all who ever lived or shall live in the world; and it is written that it is not the will of God that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."
"Both doctrines are plainly taught in the Divine Word," remarked the stranger; "and, like the colours in the rainbow, they harmonize and blend over the throne where Jesus is seated. We do well to seek for the full assurance of faith, and to rejoice in the sure covenant; but while doing so let us witness for the Lord who bought us, and try to win others by testifying of His abounding grace."
With a happy smile the policemen recommenced his weary walk round the beat, while the stall-keeper and the night-visitor had pleasant converse about the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which hath appeared unto all men. This led to a friendship with the stall-keeper, who was a Cornish man and a Calvinistic Baptist; and to a slight acquaintance with the policeman, who was a Congregationalist. Several visits were paid to the "Coffee Man," as he was called, and work was appointed him in the great vineyard. He was supplied with tracts, which he kept in his cupboard, and for several years he was a valuable distributor. Groups of depraved people, who "make night hideous," used to surround his stall; to these he gave tracts, and spoke the truth boldly. He indeed became a kind of spiritual adviser to the depraved. Many repentant ones spoke with confidence to the good old man, and several were sent by him to his friend, and were placed in institutions of mercy.
This was not a solitary instance of converted men being found in night occupations; and it became an object of the visitor's efforts to strengthen such in the faith, and to lead them boldly to witness for their Lord in the midst of the ungodly. These helpers were precious and their testimony valuable, because the great body of persons met with were disreputable or utterly vile. Many were ignorant of the true light, but there were others who had received religious advantages, and who, by rejecting proffered mercy, counted themselves unworthy of eternal life. Among this mass of the unholy were to be found the young, the thoughtless, and the distressed, who being easily led captive by the devil and his servants, supplied the places of those who were constantly sinking to perdition. With some of these the work was effectual for good, as the following case will illustrate.
One night, a little after eleven, the Missionary was walking down Oxford Street, in company with another evangelist, when they passed a girl of seventeen, who was walking slowly, as if ill. The night visitor glanced at her, and was struck by the expression of misery and disease,—it seemed as though the sorrows of a life had been concentrated in that young face. He therefore turned suddenly, and approaching her, said kindly, "Don't be afraid: I am a religious man, and a friend to poor girls in trouble. Now do tell me where you are going?"
"To sleep under the trees in the park, sir, if I can get in," she replied; "if not, to walk about all night;" and then she burst into tears.
In answer to inquiries, she made the following statement, in a very truthful manner. She said, "I am a village girl, and came from home after losing my only parent about eighteen months ago. A neighbour's girl who was in London got me a place. It was at a lodging-house: and I rarely got out, as they only let me go to church three times. All the stairs were of stone, and I had to clean them; this, with constant running up and down, brought on a white swelling in my knee. I remained as long as I could crawl, and then, as I had saved three pounds, went to live with the charwoman. After a time I went into an hospital for two months. I returned to the charwoman, and tried to get into place, but I looked so ill that no one would engage me. After the money was spent I pawned my clothes, and I was told to go to the workhouse. I went to the door, but the man spoke so sharp to me that I drew back, and now I have been in the streets for two days. Last night I slept with some other girls under the trees in Hyde Park, but they talked so dreadful that I am afraid to go in again. Oh! what shall I do?" and then she sobbed so loudly that several persons crossed from the other side of the street.
"If your tale is true, I will provide for you," said her interrogator: "at all events I will see that you are taken care of to-night." He then took her to a coffee-house, where he was known, and paid for a supper, bed, and breakfast. At leaving, he took an envelope from his pocket, and tearing it, gave her one-half, and said, "Stand with this in your hand near the fountain in Regent's Circus to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, when a lady with the other half will speak to you, and take you to a Home."
At the appointed time the poor girl approached the fountain, where a matron of the Rescue Society was waiting to receive her. As soon as she reached the Home her statements were inquired into, and found to be correct. Care and proper treatment soon restored her to health, and a lady received her into her service. Three months after the lady called at the office to thank the secretary for sending her such a good servant. She remained in her place several years, and gave evidence of real gratitude for the great deliverance which had been wrought out for her.
The state in which this poor girl was found illustrates the lonely condition of those who are friendless in a great city. The most wretched and deserving may in the crowd jostle against the best and kindest of men and women, and yet be sinking to the lowest depths of wretchedness and vice, unnoticed and uncared for. Hence the Christian duty and true philanthropy of arresting such wanderers, and putting them in a position to live godly, righteously, and soberly in this present evil world. The following case will show that such efforts are not lost, and that the words of the Book are powerful to reclaim even outcasts:—
One morning a ragged, wretched-looking girl of nineteen, was brought to the house of the night visitor by a woman of depraved and drunken appearance, who said, "This 'ere young woman was a-going mad, and fainted like, when she ran into the night-house, and said as how she wanted the parson man, who preaches like out of the Bible in the streets at night; and as that's your honour, I found out that you lived here, and so I've brought her. I had to treat her, as I has good feeling, and the men wanted to take her to the police, as she is mad, and I think she ought to be took to Bedlam."
The object of this speech stood with her hands before her face, trembling with emotion. Filthy as she was, the Missionary and his wife took her into a private room, and by soothing words drew from her the following statement. She said, "I am a Scotch girl, and my father is a tradesman in a large way of business. In a bad temper I absconded from home, and have been awfully wicked. One night I heard you speak to some people round a coffee-stall, and then you showed us the Bible, and said that every word in it would come true, and that Jesus would come again as a thief in the night. At leaving, you said that 'the heavens would pass away with a great noise, and that the earth would be burned up, and that all who rejected mercy now would then be banished from the Saviour's presence.' I felt so miserable that I went to my lodging, and next day I wrote to my father, asking him to forgive me. He did not write for two days, and I was so anxious that I stood for hours looking for the postman. At last a letter came in his handwriting, and the only words in it were, 'You are no daughter of mine: never write to me again.' I felt mad when I read it, and walked about Regent's Park all day: when the gates were shut I hid myself, and went to sleep on the grass. I woke up in the night, as it was raining, and I was soaked through. As I crossed the bridge I began to laugh and dance, and thought how nice it would be to drown myself; so I took off my bonnet and shawl, intending to jump in, when I thought I heard you speaking of mercy and Jesus, and was so startled that I took up my things and ran as fast as I could. I jumped over the palings as though some one was after me, and ran until I got to the night-house, and then I fainted." At the end of this recital she looked wildly round, and almost screamed, "Oh, save me, sir: do save me! don't let me go into the park."
She was assured of her safety, and words of Christian tenderness were spoken to her. After partaking of refreshment she was sufficiently calm to be sent in charge of the woman with a note to the manager of the Refuge for the Destitute. She was received, and next morning, being ill, was taken into an hospital. Her father was written to several times, but did not reply to the letters: a maiden aunt, however (those blessings in a family), sent for her into Scotland. A week after a very grateful letter was sent by the aunt, inclosing full payment for expenses incurred in the rescue of her niece: also a letter from the girl, expressing thankfulness to God and man for her wonderful deliverance from a watery grave. After these no other voluntary letters were sent. When he wrote, the replies were so cold and short as to give him to understand that though thankful, they wished to break off from all who knew of her dreadful fall.
Such and much worse instances of ingratitude, where the greatest of blessings had been conferred, were not uncommon. At first it was a real discouragement to the man, who felt the sorrow and weariness of this desperate struggle for souls; but at length he became reconciled to labour as unto the Lord only. Even then he at times felt saddened, after labouring for the good of some apparently worthless person, to be avoided after the good had been accomplished. It seemed like the Gospel story of the ten lepers being healed, and only one of them returning to give thanks to the great Healer. The proportion of the unthankful is very large; for out of the 374 women, girls, and boys, whom the Lord enabled the Missionary to rescue, or to deliver from some peril or misery, they are few indeed who at the interval of years show gratitude. One of these shall be referred to here, as the narrative also shows that the blessing which gives success frequently rests upon perseverance in effort to do good.
Upon a drizzly night, a beggar man and his boy of thirteen years entered a public-house which remained open until one o'clock in the morning. The man asked alms of the publican, and then of the Missionary to whom he was talking, and said that they only wanted fourpence for their lodging, as they had tramped in from Chatham, and were both ill. Out of pity to the boy, who staggered from weakness, the visitor walked with them to a "Traveller's Rest," and paid the money. Upon the way the man stated that he was a discharged soldier, and had left the regiment through bad eyes; he was nearly blind, and that he had a small pension for the first year. His wife and themselves had lived pretty well by begging in the country during the summer, as he always wore a red jacket and carried his discharge paper. On their way his wife had been taken ill, and was left at an Infirmary; but he hoped she would soon join them. He appeared very thankful when an offer was made to place the boy in a Refuge, and a call for that purpose was arranged for the next day.
"The Traveller's Rest" was situated in a low back street, with several courts in it, and a passage at the end. The road was offensively dirty, as the Missionary passed down at two o'clock upon the next afternoon. The swarms of children were of the gutter, shoeless, tattered, and filthy. At many of the doors women of debased countenances were squatted, smoking short pipes. A fiddler was playing in the doorway of a low beerhouse—"The Dan O'Connell,"—while men, women, and children were dancing inside and out, to an Irish jig. Out of two windows were long poles with bills underneath, announcing the pleasing fact that a "clean shave and a wash could be had within for one halfpenny." These were no doubt rival barbers. "The Rest" was one of several, and was offensively dirty. In the back, or common room, were two tables and several forms, the company consisting of eight women and five men. Three of these were at the fireplace, one holding a number of sprats upon a long skewer, another a red herring, and the third was frying steak and onions. They regarded the stranger with what he knew to be a professional look, and one woman in the same breath told him that "the sojer was upstairs, and that she was very ill, and almost a skeleton with starvation;" and then she took a bottle of medicine out of her pocket, and to prove how bad she was, invited him to taste it. This he courteously declined, and ascended to the bedroom, the air of which was horribly offensive. A row of old mattresses upon the dirty floor formed the beds, while the walls were shockingly dirty. But as the "soldier" said, "What 'commodation can a chap expect for twopence, when you has the use of fire and water?" To the disappointment of the visitor, the man began to wriggle out of his promise to let the boy go to a Refuge; and when pressed he became impertinent, and said, "With my eyes bloodshot and the boy a-looking ill, we can get lots; and I shan't starve for him." When leaving, the reader re-entered the common room, and secured the attention of the people to the parable of the good Samaritan; and then, holding up the pocket Bible, he said, "It's in here, and many other things which the blessed Jesus spoke."
Some weeks after this the visitor saw the boy huddled up in a night coffee-house, the father being fast asleep. The lad told him that a lady in Upper Brook Street had been very kind to them, but his father drank away all the money. The address was taken down, and next day the Missionary called upon the lady, who was so good as to express her thanks, and they together planned the rescue of the boy. By threats and entreaty the father was prevailed upon to let him enter the Refuge in Commercial Street, and the night visitor took him there in triumph.
The lad did well in the home, and was initiated into the mysteries of the two crafts of the shoemaker and carpenter. He did his work well, and showed a thankful heart. He procured a slip of leather about nine inches long, and wrought the name of his friend upon it with shoemaker's thread, and upon one of his visits gave it him, while the tears of gratitude stood in his eyes. The visitor has it now among the precious memorials of his work. Poor boy, he was without money with which to buy a present, so he devised this in order to show how warm his heart was.
Upon leaving the Refuge, he was apprenticed to a master carpenter, the lady kindly paying a small premium with him. He did well, and at the end of his time entered a good shop of work. He occasionally called upon his friend to report progress. After a long interval he came back for a short time, and stated that he had for eighteen months been a member of a Presbyterian Church, and by giving tracts and by conversation was trying to do good to others. It was a pleasant interview, as the young carpenter thanked his friend more warmly than ever for his rescue, and then they knelt together in prayer. One instance like this makes up for all the toil and sorrow of the work, and leads to humiliation before Almighty God, that He of His great mercy should use earthen vessels for the purposes of His grace.
We cause a gap in this chapter, in order to make an important announcement,—an announcement which deserves to be printed in large type, and blazoned in letters of gold; it is, that as London never sleeps, so the large Church of God in the mighty city never sleeps. There are now many workers for Him in the night season, and the call of sinners to repentance never ceases in the empire city. The happy result was brought about in this way: People heard of and became interested in the work of the midnight visitor. First among them was a clergyman of importance, then at a college in Oxford. He wrote to the Missionary, asking him during the week of the Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, to give letters he had written to any young gentlemen he might find in casinos, saloons, and night-houses, wearing the dark-blue necktie. Several nights were thus occupied with interest and profit.
Soon after this, the founders of the midnight meeting movement consulted him about that project, to which he gave his hearty support. Upon the first night he gave away the invitations, and for that purpose penetrated places into which no one but himself dare have entered with that object. The large room was crowded, not less than 250 young women were present; and he stood rejoicing with prayerful heart beside the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, while he gave the first address. The midnight visitor knew that a movement was then being inaugurated which would continue to recover many from destruction, and which would raise the moral tone of London. Several private individuals now commenced visiting at night, and the Committee of the London City Mission had compassion upon their overworked servant, and by the appointment of a Missionary to night-houses, relieved him of these self-imposed duties. A change of importance had however been brought about. His evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons, his writings and private influence, had its share in securing a beneficial Act, closing night-houses from one until four o'clock in the morning. This was a great moral good, and it has resulted in the establishment of hundreds of street coffee-stalls. There is still much room for Christian effort at night, as the following extracts from printed statements of the two Missionaries thus employed will clearly show. We introduce these with an extract from "The Sword and Trowel:"—
"The Missionaries invariably leave their homes at twelve o'clock in the night, and return about eight o'clock in the morning. And the number of cabmen is now so great, and their spiritual instruction so much needed, that the effort has proved to be one of the most necessary, as well as fruitful departments of evangelization. There are nearly 2000 night cabmen. They are very docile, remarkably glad to be taught the message of God's love. And, indeed, the two Missionaries seem generally attached to them. Being earnestly desirous for their best welfare, and remembering how close death must be to most of these old men, these messengers of peace yearn over their souls. In numbers of instances their efforts have been blessed. Poor old men, down whose furrowed cheeks the tears of penitence have flowed, have found in Christ the truest consolation for their wearied hearts. In the hour of life's eclipse—for death to the Christian is nought more—they have witnessed a good confession, and have given bright and glorious testimonies that they have been born again."
One Missionary writes,—
"The coffee-stalls and booths which are to be found all over London at the corners of the streets, and in public thoroughfares, near railway stations, etc., are excellent opportunities for usefulness. These are kept by people who have no other means of obtaining a livelihood, and who sell a cup of smoking hot coffee for one halfpenny, and a slice of cake or bread and butter for the same price. Many of these people are Christian men and women, and render the Missionary great assistance in expounding the message of mercy and salvation to their customers. Not only cabmen and the outcast get a cup of coffee at these places, but men in the building trade, railway carters, and others, towards six o'clock, gather round them in large numbers, to obtain that which does them good and saves them from going to the early public-house. So that these coffee-stall proprietors are a really useful part of the community. These coffee stalls have increased rapidly, so that now about four hundred and sixty can be counted in the streets of London at night. The Church of England Temperance Society have also stationed a number in leading thoroughfares by day. We give a picture of one of these because it contains the latest improvements and best use of them.
"On one occasion a pugilist gave me his address, and told me that, when a little boy, his mother used to teach him his prayers, some of which he repeated. He added that he had got the best wife in the world, but he treated her like a brute. I talked to the poor fellow till he wept like a child, and he took hold of my arm and said, 'You shall go home with me to-night.' I begged to be excused, as it was now three o'clock in the morning. However, there was no alternative, so off I went with him, arm-in-arm. He called his poor wife up, although I wished him not to do so; but so far from being angry when she saw that my object was to try and reform her husband, she thanked me with tears in her eyes. He promised by God's help to seek to lead a new life, and give his heart to God. As I had a Testament in my pocket I gave it them, and we knelt down and prayed for God's blessing on our meeting. I went home musing on the event which had occurred, and could not help feeling that the Lord had directed my steps back with the man. I have called since, and find that by trade he is a sawyer. He is now working at his trade, is a teetotaler, and in a hopeful state of mind."
As some instances of usefulness have come under my notice through the reading of the Word of God, I purpose to refer to two or three:—
"Mr. —— has been a night cabman for thirty-six years. In reply to my questions, he said he did not remember when he last went to church, and if he was to go, he is so deaf he could not hear the parson. I asked, 'How do you spend your time on Sunday evenings?' 'In reading Lloyd's Newspaper,' was the reply. 'Oh,' I said, 'then you could read a Testament, if I got you one?' 'I dare say I could,' was the answer. I took him one, which he read, and he became so fond of it that he soon laid aside the newspaper, and the Testament became his constant companion. Although he is deaf, yet he now attends church, and is in a hopeful and penitent state of mind.
"Mr. ——, poor man, was always full of trouble. He had lost his wife by death, buried four children, and broken his leg; and every time I attempted to converse with him, he would pour his burden of troubles into my ear, and think no one sympathised with him. I got him a Bible, and turned down for him Isaiah liii., and several other portions of God's Word, which he read. The next time I saw him I heard but little of his troubles, and the time after that he said, 'Sir, my Bible has quite cured me of complaining, for when I read of what my Saviour suffered, I feel ashamed to murmur or complain. It is the Bible that has cured me, for I see others have suffered before me, and that nothing has happened to me but what is common to all men.'
"Poor old —— said, 'I have read your Testament all through, and don't know what I should have done when I was in the workhouse but for my book. I have been thinking very much about our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and I feel that it condemns me, for I used to think that I was not so bad as others, and that through my own good works I should go to heaven. Now I feel I am a sinner, and have no good works, and that it is through the righteousness of another that I must be saved. I asked the Chaplain in the workhouse, and he explained the whole thing to me as clear as day.' I have often explained to him the glorious doctrine of justification by faith in the finished work and righteousness of the Lord Jesus Christ, for which he is very grateful.
"A man, named ——, said, 'Well, if your Testament has done nothing else, it has kept me out of the public-house, and therefore it has done me good; and my wife is pleased, I can tell you.' I advised him to go on reading, and to seek the aid of the Holy Spirit to help him."
As it is always pleasant to record increase of good, we are glad to state here that a second and well qualified Missionary has for several years been working at night in East and South London, and that with marked success. All the night cabmen and thousands of people to be instructed in saving truth by night only are now under visitation.
The following words from the pen of a clergyman's wife (Mrs. Hebert), who has for years sustained this good work, will form a most suitable conclusion to this chapter:—
"Night after night the work has been going on, much being done, as we have often seen, in a single night, and the result is that many have found rest to their souls. Prodigals have sought their Father's house, the afflicted have heard the rod, the inquiring have been directed to Jesus, and have found Him; the aged have been brought in at the eleventh hour, and are spending their little remnant of life to His glory who called them into His vineyard. Let us give thanks and pray more. Let us identify ourselves more in spirit with our Missionaries. It is our work as well as theirs. We can only reach these poor cabmen through them.... Missionary work is so like Christ's work, and so great a blessing rests upon it, that we should all seek to have a share in it in our own way,—that is, in the way God may have opened for us. Then we shall feel not only that we are fellow-labourers with all who are seeking to spread the Gospel, but, as it is so wonderfully said by St. Paul, we shall be 'workers together with Him' whose word shall not return to Him void.... We have all had our trials, like those whom we are seeking to lead to the God of all comfort. Life and its treasures are passing away, but the things which cannot be shaken remain. God's work still claims us. We can still be about our Father's business. And what is so elevating and so soothing amidst cares and distractions and losses, as the thought that there is a calm, holy, steady course marked out for us by Him, and that He condescends to be glorified by us, whether by our life, or by our death?"
The Book in the Highways:
ITS FETTER-BREAKING.
"There are in this large stirring tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of th' everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart,
Through dusky lanes and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."