Laddie, and Miss Toosey's mission

by Evelyn Whitaker

Whence can they buy bread in this wilderness? But among that hapless crowd there is One, footsore and weary and fasting like them, yet Who is the Creator himself. "He Who maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains, and herb for the use of man," Who "feedeth the young ravens," and Who "filleth the hungry soul with good things;" and he is looking with infinite compassion on their want; and He says to His disciples, "Give ye them to eat." And then, abruptly, the Bishop turned from the story of the miracle to his own work, and he told of the great extent of mountain forest, and plain, of the mighty rivers, of the rich and fertile land, and the luxuriant beauty all around, fair as the promised land of which Moses said, "The eyes of the Lord thy God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year even unto the end of the year." But the people of this fair land are, like the weary crowd on the hillside, far from home—ah! how far from heaven, with the deep, deep sea of ignorance rolling between; they are hungry, sinking for the want of the Bread of Life; but civilization and knowledge and light are far away from them across the ocean, and "how can we satisfy these men with bread here in the wilderness?" It is evening too; surely the sun of this world is getting near its setting, and casting long shadows, if we would but see them. Shall we send these poor souls away fasting?—these women and little children? Will they not faint by the way? How can they hope to reach their heavenly home without the Bread of Life?

But the Lord is looking on them with the same infinite compassion, and He is saying to me and to you, "Give ye them to eat." Is there not here this evening, among you Martel people, a lad with five barley loaves and two small fishes for the Lord's use? It seemed so little to the disciples, scarcely worthy of mention. "What are they among so many?" Merely enough for two or three, and here are five thousand and more. But the Lord said, "Bring them hither to Me." He had no need of them. He could have commanded the stones to be made bread; He could have called manna down from heaven; He could have satisfied them with a word; but He was graciously pleased to take that poor and humble little store in His all-powerful hand; and it was sufficient; the people were filled, they had as much as they would, and there were yet fragments that remained. Never think of the smallness, the poorness of the instrument, when it is the Master's hand that uses it,—He who made this lovely world out of chaos, and formed the glorious light out of utter darkness. Do not be kept back by false humility, by thinking too much of the insignificance and worthlessness of the gift. Give your best,—give your all. "Bring them hither to Me," saith the Lord. What have you to give? Turn over your store,—yourself, that is best of all, most worthy offering, poor though it may be—your money, your time, your influence, your prayers. Who so poor but what he has one or more of these barley loaves of daily life to offer to Him Who gave us all? I am not here to beg and entreat for your money, though to our dim sight it seems sorely needed just now, when, from village after village, the cry comes to me for teachers and for light, and I have no men or means to send them; and worse still is the silence of those who are in such utter darkness; they do not know their own need. But still we know and believe that it is the Lord's work, and it will be done. It may not be by me or you, but in His own good time it will be done. He does not need your money; He only offers you the glorious privilege of being fellow-workers with Him. Yours is the loss if you do not heed; the work will not suffer; only you will have had no share; only you may not have another opportunity given you; only the time may come when it will be said to you, "Forasmuch as ye did it not to these" (who are indeed poor and sick and in prison), "ye did it not to Me."

It was not by any means what the almshouse men called "a powerful discarse;" the old men belonging to Frowde's charity, in their snuff-colored coats, each with a large F on the left shoulder, clustering round the north door after service, shook their heads in disapproval.

"He don't wrusstle with 'um," said old Jacobs; "he ain't fit to hold a candle to old Thwackum, down at Ebenezer. Why, I have seen him punish that there pulpit cushion till the dust came out like anything, and he had to take off his neckcloth, it were that wet; that's what I calls preaching now, and to think of the likes of this 'un being a Bishop."

Miss Baker, too, of the firm of Silver & Baker, drapers in High street, expressed her opinion in a high key, under an umbrella, as she went home along Church lane, "that he did not preach the gospel;" but then she was very particular, and the Apostle Paul himself would scarcely have come up to her standard of "gospel" sermons.

There was not a very good collection either. You see, it was partly from its being a wet evening, so that the congregation was altogether small; and it had not been given out on the preceding Sunday; and no bills had been printed and posted on the church doors and principal public houses in the town, as was always done in the case of sermons in aid of the Irish Church Mission, or the Jew's Society. So people had not been attracted by the announcement of a real live Bishop; and those who came had not had time to get small change; and so at the end of the sermon, with the best intentions and a natural dislike to pass the basket without giving anything, they found themselves devoid of the necessary threepenny-bits and sixpences. So, when Mr. Mackenzie, the tall lawyer, who always held the basket lined with green baize at the north door, emptied its contents on the vestry table, and the other baskets added their quota, there was but a poor show; and Mr. Peters, kind man, when Mr. Malone was not looking, slipped a sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket to add to the heap, more for the honor of Martel than from interest in the Mission; and he explained that unfortunately some of his best people were not at church, and that they had had a collection so very recently, and that he hoped that next time the Bishop was in those parts—but here a warning glance from Mr. Malone cut him short, and he did not commit himself further.

What a fortunate thing it was that Mr. Peters had a curate of such high principle!

"Who was the old woman sitting in front of Wyatt?" John Rossitter asked his mother, when the brougham door was closed and they were going down High Street slowly, with the drag on, for it was very steep, with a blurred view of lights and moving umbrellas through the rainy windows.

"My dear John, do you suppose I know every old woman in Martel?"

"No; but I thought you might have noticed her; her face was a sight to see in the sermon."