The Man with the Book; or, The Bible Among the People.

by John Matthias Weylland

See p. 206.

In answer to this invitation several outcasts called during the week upon the "reformatory man," as they pleased to style him, and were rescued. Early one morning, the keeper of the night-house came himself, leading by the hand a little girl without shoes or stockings. She was offensively dirty, with dishevelled hair, her frock of rags being pinned round her. He fairly dragged her in at the door, and said, "This 'ere gal, sir, has been about the streets for months, as she's a Irish cockney, as we calls 'em. Her mother is dead, and her father has bolted; and she sleeps under stairs where the doors are open, and under the arches with them that's got no homes; and she gits into my shop for bits of grub; and a woman, who is a bad lot, wants to take her, and we had a row, and I have bringed her to you,—and here she is."

Yes; there the poor child stood, an object to be shuddered at and avoided; but a fit object for Christian compassion. To provide for her was a difficulty, as the Missionary had burdened so many Institutions with cases that he scarcely knew where to apply. After conferring with his wife, it was arranged that she should be cleaned in the back kitchen, and dressed in one of their children's old clothes, while he went in search of a home for her. After hours of toil, all the success he met with was a promise from the manager of a crowded home to receive her at the end of three days, when an inmate was to leave. There was, therefore, no help but to keep the child for that time.

A bed was made up for her in the kitchen, and orders given that the doors should be all locked, and that she should be carefully watched. There appeared little need for this, as the child was shy and reserved; but she proved to be deeply cunning. Next morning, while the family were at breakfast, she slipped upstairs with a key which had been left upon the dresser, and entering a room, she stole two dresses—one of them a good silk,—and fifteen shillings in money. The theft was soon discovered, but the thief had got clear off. As she had spoken of the savouriness of "Jew's fish" (cooked in oil) it was surmised that she would go to Rag Fair, and her ill-used friend, therefore, got upon the roof of an omnibus, in hope of seeing her upon the way. In this he was disappointed, and, therefore, walked about the fair for some time. He was about leaving in despair, when he noticed, in the distance, a girl of her style, but of strange appearance, and upon approaching he found that it was her, but so changed that he could not refrain from laughing as he seized her arm. Her clothes had evidently been changed,—in place of the neat little frock, she had put on a dirty sky-blue silk, which was much too large; upon her feet were a pair of green boots, and upon her head a straw hat with large red feather. In one hand she held a piece of greasy fish, and in the other a green parasol.

In reply to the question, "What have you done with the dresses?" she replied, "'Eld 'em up 'ere, and a woman gave me ninepence for the silk un, and two shillings for the t'other; and I've bin in and bought these 'ere pretty clothes; and I've had lots of fish and taters and beer, and was a-goin' to the gaff."

This statement was made in such a disingenuous manner that it seemed evident that the poor child, like the heathen, had no moral sense. As it was useless to try and trace the dresses, it only remained to march her off to the Refuge, where, out of consideration to her friend, she was at once received. We may add, that she did well in the Institution for several years, and that she became a good general servant.

This girl was one of seventeen outcasts whom the keeper of "Teddie's Den" brought to the Missionary, all of whom were rescued; but though a "helper" in the good work, he did not obtain spiritual good himself. At times he seemed to tremble when passages concerning judgment and mercy were read from the Book; and he treated the Reader with respect,—but that was all. The dreadful influence of his business and the love of liquor quickly removed all good impressions, and he continued to do evil: "He saw the better, yet the worse pursued." Bad as he was, he at times showed a kindness of disposition quite out of keeping with his appearance and character; for instance, when he heard that his friend was ill, he went to Covent Garden Market, and, of all things there, bought a pomegranate, and left it at his house. A few nights after this he was in liquor, wandered from his door, and leaning against an area gate which was unfastened, fell back upon the stone steps. He fractured his skull, remained unconscious for some hours, and died in that state. The grief of the Missionary was great; he had diligently sought the salvation of the man, and he, therefore, felt crushed beneath the discouragement. The evangelist has his trials and heart-sorrows, his disappointments are frequent and painful, though not so often referred to as they perhaps ought to be. It is a fearful thing when the words he utters become "the savour of death unto death;" but he has no choice in this matter, as the order of the great Master is: "Thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee; and whatsoever I command thee, that thou shalt speak."

The "missus," for no one seemed to know her name, succeeded to the full control of the den, and it soon became evident that she was hardened rather than softened by the wretched end of her husband. She expressed a positive dislike to the man whose faithfulness was no doubt a difficulty to her, and she hindered his efforts to do good.

"The master was a fool," she observed, a few weeks after his death, "to bring you back here, as it's ruination. After you left the t'other night the people was all glum; and now gents as has lots of money to stand treats doesn't come, as they are affeard of meeting you; and I have got a man a-coming to help as will turn anybody out, and you shan't come."

This was no doubt her determination, but the Missionary had obtained such power with the supporters of the place, that they would have defended him from insult, certainly from violence. All knew him as one able to rescue them, and as the only one who sought their spiritual good. Bad therefore as they were, they felt that the friend of the soul was their best friend, and they treated him as such. All then that the "missus" could do was to keep him at times out of the back room.