Like Henry Fawcett, the blind Postmaster-General of England, Dr. Matheson had a marvellous memory. No doubt the loss of eyesight does much to quicken the faculty of memory. Often after he had preached, the vestry would be besieged with people who were anxious to speak with him. Many of these people had known him before, and it was a source of amazement to them to have the blind preacher call them by name almost immediately after hearing them speak. Sometimes visitors from a distance, whom he had not seen for many years, would say, "You'll not remember me, Doctor." Perhaps a puzzled look would cross his face; then he would say, "yes I do; you are Mackintosh, of ——" It would be Mackintosh right enough, and Mackintosh would be a very much surprised man.
In addition to his preaching and visiting, George Matheson was the author of many fine books. In 1882 he published a book of meditations with the title "My Aspirations". The success of this book was instantaneous, and in a very short time the entire edition was sold out, and several other editions followed. Later he published many other volumes, among them being: "Moments on the Mount", "Voices of the Spirit", "Searching in the Silence", "Times of Refreshing", "Leaves for Quiet Hours", and "Rests by the River". His books proved helpful to thousands of people. From every part of the world letters came from people whose lives had been greatly blessed by reading the works of the blind author. What was true of his preaching was also true of his writing. People felt, at once, the strong, cheerful, grateful heart of the author. Great numbers of people, around whose lives heavy clouds had gathered, had their hearts strengthened, and their faith in God renewed, as they read George Matheson's books.
In 1882 he wrote his famous hymn, now known the world over, "O Love, that will not let me go." It would be impossible to tell just what this hymn has meant to thousands of people. The hymn is now found in most hymnals and has become a great favourite. George Matheson gives the following account of how he came to write it; "The hymn was composed in the manse of Innellan on the evening of the sixth of June, 1882. I was at that time alone. It was the day of my sister's marriage, and the rest of the family were staying over night in Glasgow. Something had happened to me, which was known only to myself, and which caused me the most severe mental suffering. The hymn was the fruit of that suffering. It was the quickest bit of work I ever did in my life. I had the impression of having it dictated to me by some inward voice rather than of working it out myself. I am quite sure that the whole work was completed in five minutes, and equally sure that it never received at my hands any retouching or correction."
George Matheson lived to be sixty-four years of age and managed to fill every hour with useful and loving service. To read an account of one day's work in the life of this blind man is sufficient to make most people realize how hard he worked. He was methodical in his habits and careful to leave no duty undone. After breakfast each morning he attended to his correspondence, generally answering letters by return mail. Then he would have read to him the morning papers. He showed a keen interest in everything that was going on. From that he would pass on to his studies in French and German. This would be followed by some study in science, philosophy, history or theology. Then he would dictate to his secretary, something for the press or for his own use as a speaker. Added to such work, of course, there were his extensive labors as pastor and preacher, and it can be truthfully said that he did not fail in anything. Whatever task he put his hand to, he did with all his might.
George Matheson died at North Berwick, on August 28th, 1906, and was buried at Glasgow a few days later. Tributes of sympathy came to his relatives from all over the world. By his strong preaching, and probably still more by his brave, cheerful spirit as set forth in his books, he had helped a very great number of people everywhere. In his noble hymn he had written, "I trace the rainbow through the rain." That is exactly what he did. Where so many others saw only difficulties, he saw possibilities. And so it came to pass that, though he lived in darkness for nearly half a century, he served God and his fellow-men with a devotion which will never be forgotten.
CHAPTER II.
HOW A LAME BOY BECAME THE WORLD'S GREATEST POTTER.
In the summer of 1730 a little lad was born at Burslem in Staffordshire, England. There was no fear of the little fellow being lonely for he came into a family where there were already twelve boys and girls. Josiah Wedgewood, for that was the boy's name, was number thirteen. Was he unlucky? Well, in some ways he was, but in others he was not. His mother had her hands full with so large a family, but she taught Josiah to read and write and then sent him to a dame's school. Later he was sent to a school in Newcastle-under-Lyme. This school was three and a half miles from where he lived, but the little fellow was keen to get an education and cheerfully trudged the seven miles to and from school each day. He was a lively boy, fond of all kinds of sports and a general favourite at school. He showed a remarkable faculty for making paper designs. With pen and scissors he cut out designs of an army in combat, a fleet of ships at sea, a house and gardens, and many other interesting things. This gift of Josiah's gave great pleasure to his little friends, but the schoolmaster took a very different view and rather severely admonished the budding designer. Josiah was also fond of collecting fossils, shells and beautiful things which he found around the country lanes. He was constantly bringing these things home, and at last he fitted up a disused workshop of his father's and it served the purpose of a miniature museum.
When Josiah was nine years of age his father died. It was a great blow to the family, for while the father had never been more than an ordinary workingman, he had kept his family in fairly good circumstances. Josiah was taken from school at once and sent to help in the factory, where his eldest brother, Thomas, was in charge. For several generations the Wedgewoods had been potters and the whole countryside was famous as the chief centre of the industry in England. It was a proud day for Josiah when first he began to work at the trade in which he was destined to become so great. He was too young to understand what a serious handicap it is to be sent out into the world with little education, and besides, in those days, comparatively few received a thorough training in school. Several of his brothers and sisters never learned to read or write, and after they became men and women, they had to sign their names with a mark, for they had never learned to write even their own names.
When he was eleven a serious misfortune befell Josiah; one which darkened his whole life. The terrible scourge of small-pox swept over England, as it did over all European countries from time to time, and he suffered a severe attack. In those days medical skill had not developed very much, and the doctors were quite unequal to the task of dealing with the dreadful disease. Besides that, the utter lack of sanitation, and the conditions under which most of the people lived, were such that it seemed as though plagues must just run their course. Severe cases of small-pox were almost regarded as hopeless, and recovery was very rare. For a time it seemed as though Josiah could not live, but at last he rallied. His right knee, however, was seriously affected, and for the remainder of his life he was a cripple.