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.