Towards the close of 1853, I commenced a Mothers’ Society, and the following letter will be found to contain an account of its establishment and early progress. It is addressed to a dear friend, in answer to a letter of inquiries from her. As similar inquiries have frequently been made since, by persons interested in the same way, I think it best to give the letter entire:—
7 St James Square, Dec. 8, 1854.
My very dear Friend,—I fear you must have thought me very dilatory in replying to your last kind letter, containing so many inquiries respecting the Mothers’ Society. In consequence of your asking for a minute history of its rise and progress, and putting, besides, so many definite questions, I felt that the limit of a common letter would be quite insufficient, and I have therefore been compelled to wait for a day of more than ordinary leisure. As, I see, you request me to go back so far as to tell you what made me think such a thing desirable or possible, I must, indeed, lose no time in beginning.
Although it must be more than ten years since I had the pleasure of working with you in the management of the Bath Female Friendly Society, I dare say you have not forgotten what queer characters we used sometimes to come in contact with. I remember a few desperate cases, where, when everything else had failed, we at last succeeded in making some impression through their children. One of the most remarkable instances of this kind I have related, just as it occurred, in a letter which I addressed to the society, when I was obliged to be absent a few weeks in the spring. [110] From that time, I have always been deeply impressed with the idea that, under judicious treatment, this softer and better portion of woman’s nature might be so taken advantage of as to lead to excellent moral results.
But I never had any definite idea of reducing these thoughts to practice; and they would, in all probability, have remained quietly in my own mind if I had not come in contact with those whose juster views of the value and shortness of life had led them to work, as well as think, whilst it is day.
One afternoon, the autumn before last, I was sitting alone, and had taken up the Times, when my attention was arrested by a speech from the Earl of Shaftesbury. I forget the object of the meeting, neither do I remember the exact words used, although the idea at once impressed itself. He was speaking hopefully of the good effected through ragged and other schools. ‘But,’ he said, ‘I have long felt that until the homes of these poor children are better—until the fathers and mothers are better men and better women—our schools can accomplish comparatively little. I believe that any improvement that could be brought to bear on the mothers, more especially, would effect a greater amount of good than anything that has yet been done.’
I laid down the paper, and thought for some time, wondering what could be done, and wished that somebody would do something. But I had advanced no further than this, when the arrival of visitors gave my thoughts another direction.
The next morning, whilst I was busy with my children, I was told that the city missionary wished to see me. The object of his visit was to tell me that a large room in the neighbourhood was to be rented for a Girls’ Evening School, and he thought it could be spared one evening in the week for a Mothers’ Meeting. He knew some poor women who would attend; and he asked me to take the management of it. From my ignorance of the practical working of such a society, I felt very much at a loss to know how to commence it, and was inclined to think that I had neither the ability nor the time to conduct it.
I could not, however, but remember how remarkably my attention had been several times drawn to this subject, and the various incidents which had again and again impressed it on my mind. But the thought that weighed most of all with me was—I knew I had a most entire sympathy with poor mothers; that of all things in the world, I most wished to try and do something to shew how much I cared for their great difficulties and sufferings; and though I might fail to render them much real service, I trusted the truthfulness of my feelings towards them would manifest itself, and that this might lead to some good result. At any rate, I resolved to try, and to trust that the way would open, and that light would come.
It was on the first Monday in November 1853, that I walked to the nicely lighted and pleasant room provided for us. About seven or eight women were assembled, and two or three came in afterwards. I thought they looked at me much as they would have done at the entrance of the white bear from the Zoological Gardens, that is,—provided he were caged; for the stare had no fear in it, though abundance of curiosity.
They said they were glad I was come, for they did not know what they were met there for; they ‘s’posed I did.’ I said, I was prepared to explain it to them; but I wished to begin by reading a few verses of Scripture. This they submitted to pretty well; but as soon as it was over, they began talking all round to each other, in by no means particularly soft voices. I knew that, as long as the game of ‘Who can shout loudest’ was to be played, I had no chance; and not wishing to shew my weak side at the first meeting, I remained perfectly silent, and listened, as far as I could, to the observations which were made principally at me, but not to me.
At last, they seemed rather struck at the isolation of my position, and there was a lull. Then I told them I certainly had not called them together without having something to say to them. I had far too high an estimate of the value of their time. As soon as they caught the idea that some kind of improvement was contemplated in their domestic affairs, they began again. If that was what I was after, I should have had such and such an one, ‘she sarved her children dreadful.’ Then followed no end of narratives of the wickedness of their neighbours; and many of the cruelties that mothers can be guilty of, came out in detail. One woman said, she was ‘always a-trying to do ’em good, and told ’em what they should do; but, instead of doing it, they jist up and sarced at her in a minnit.’ I was the more amused at this last expression, as I thought it rather aptly described my own position just then, though I must, in justice, pause here to remark that, with only one exception, I have never from the very first received direct impudence from any of them. When the hour expired, and we rose to depart, I knew that very few who were there would return; but I requested them to send those very wicked neighbours of theirs; and as they themselves seemed impressed with the desirableness of doing so, I left, with the hope that the publicans and sinners might be brought to hear, though the Pharisees would not.
As I am giving this history simply from recollection, having kept no kind of memoranda, I cannot be certain of perfect correctness when I speak of numbers; but I remember the attendance became less and less, until—I think it must have been about the fourth evening—I entered the room at the usual hour, and no one was there. The general arrangement of the room had been even more than usually carefully attended to, through the thoughtfulness of our kind city missionary. It was well lighted, and the fire burned cheerfully. My chair was placed in a ‘chosen spot,’ and a Bible lay on the table before it; but no one came. I opened the Bible, and read; and though I cannot give any effect to this narrative by speaking of the remarkable appropriateness of the passage that happened to fix my attention, I distinctly remember losing, under the influence of its holy power, all sense of vexation and disappointment; and the solitude soon appeared in the light of a most valuable opportunity for praying, long and earnestly, for those I so much desired to serve. I felt perfectly resigned to His will; either to fit me for it, to raise up others, or to give me to see clearly that this was not the work He had appointed me to do. About a quarter of an hour before the time for closing, a woman came in with a bottle of medicine in her hand. She had been coming to the meeting; but her husband had been taken ill, which had obliged her to go in search of medicine for him instead. On her return, she thought she would just step in and see how we were getting on. I had noticed that this poor woman had seemed far more interested than any one who had yet attended; and I was glad of an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her. She told me that her husband had formerly been an infidel; but through the influence of a tract that was left at the house, combined with the effect of the visits of the missionary, he had become an entirely changed character. She described, with great simplicity, how the alteration gradually manifested itself; how, at first, he did not like her to see him praying; and how she took care to keep out of the way at the time. Then he came to praying before her, and then with her and the children; and now, no day passed without their united supplications ascending to the Author of their mercies. Then followed the description of what John used to be, and what he now was; what the house was then, and now. All this was narrated with beautiful simplicity. I never felt more emphatically that ‘surely I know it shall be well with them that fear God, which fear before him;’ and that the only cure for the sting of poverty was, that every family should be governed by the principles which influenced this. I need hardly add, that the meeting that night was for my benefit.
But I am entering too much into detail, and must pass on more rapidly. About six weeks after that solitary evening, there were at least twenty-five present; and let me give you an idea of the improvement in their manners. I was a minute or two late. They were nearly all assembled. As I entered the room, they all rose, and remained standing till I was seated. And this was by no means in consequence of any lectures I had given them on manners: I should have considered it as much as my place was worth to have offered such instruction.
From having frequently heard a difficulty as to the time which these meetings took from their work, I thought of a plan for supplying their fingers, whilst their minds were occupied in listening to what was passing in the way of instruction. Various materials for clothing were provided, and issued to members of the society, as required by them, at a reduction of twopence in the shilling. Good patterns were also provided, free of charge. In this way, during the winter, most of these women made several garments for themselves and their children; and as the payments were usually only a few pence at a time, the total cost appeared to them very trifling. In addition to this, a Savings’ Bank was established, and some of the depositors saved as much as seven or eight shillings.
As the summer advanced, the attendance, of course, lessened. The greater part of the poor people living in the Potteries, being brickmakers, can follow this occupation only in the summer, when they work early and late; and the wife often works too. We therefore thought it best to give up meeting, from July to the end of September.
As we parted, one of our members, a good woman, who had interested me very much, came to me, and, with tears in her eyes, spoke of the happy hours we had enjoyed there, and said the time would seem long till we met again. We then little thought how long it would be. The Potteries was one of the first places visited by the cholera that year; and this good woman, to whom I was most sincerely attached, was one of the first victims. She was attacked one morning, and died in the evening. A sickly child, too, who had been long the object of the greatest care and solicitude to his poor mother, followed her in a few hours, and one grave received them both.
When we assembled in October, in addition to the inroads which death had made, a few members had left the neighbourhood; but still so many returned, and brought with them so many companions, that I saw it was quite impossible to carry on the society longer single-handed. Neither was there any occasion for doing so. Several ladies kindly offered their assistance, and we are now regularly organised.
Another great advantage which we now enjoy is, that, within the last few months, a new clergyman has come to the parish, who, by his occasional presence among us, and the kind interest that he takes in all connected with the society, is a source of much encouragement to us, as well as valuable assistance.
And now having given you an account of what may be called the building up of these meetings, I will answer your next inquiry—‘How do you manage to interest the mothers?’ I must begin what I have to say on this subject by stating that I believe there is no society in existence where there is so little difficulty in creating an interest, as in a society of mothers. In fact, you have not to create, but to take advantage of what already exists. A woman who will come to such a meeting at all, will be sure not to be perfectly indifferent to the improvement of her children; although it is lamentable to see how habitual selfishness will sometimes almost obliterate even this first principle of nature. But, believe me, there are few cases, very few, where, under right influence, this feeling cannot be restored, and brought into living action, and always with great benefit to the general character.
We commence by reading a passage of Scripture, and with prayer. In the prayer, besides mentioning the peculiar difficulties and sufferings incident to a poor mother’s life, any cases occurring amongst them particularly demanding sympathy are mentioned, in order to be made the subject of our united supplications. I believe that this has done much to give a kindly interest in one another; for the instances we have had of their sympathy for each other in times of distress have been truly beautiful.
When they have all settled to their work, and the money affairs are over, I generally make a few inquiries as to what occurred at the past meeting; whether any plan then recommended has failed or succeeded. For instance, a better domestic observance of the Sabbath was the subject for two evenings. This led, among many other things, to a conversation on the best way of arranging about the Sunday dinner; so that it really might be the best in the week, and yet leave as little work as possible connected with it to be done on that day.
Experiments in cooking, and, indeed, anything belonging to their pre-eminently practical life, they seem much to enjoy, and they are eager to relate, at the next meeting, either success or failure.
I find that, when they can be induced to make the effort, their experience helps them to arrive at conclusions of far more value than any mere theoretical suggestions; and I have often the pleasure of seeing the ideas which I may have thrown out serve them as a kind of scaffolding, useful only as enabling them to erect a building more adapted to their own mode of life and circumstances.
A few evenings since, I was saying to them how much better it would be to try to employ and direct children’s energies, than to be so often punishing them for inconvenient manifestations of them. I shewed them the German plan of amusing children for a length of time, with little bundles of sticks that could be arranged in a variety of forms; also, how to cut out paper, patchwork, &c. I said—
‘You will find that children will keep themselves amused much longer, and far more earnestly, if you will treat their rational play with some respect, and not do violence to their feelings, by applying to it such terms as “mess, stuff, bother.”’
One woman looked up from her work, having evidently thoroughly received the idea, and said—
‘There, now, how often I’ve said to ’em, “Get along with your bother:” I jist wish I hadn’t.’
At the next meeting, I asked this woman if she had tried any of the amusements; she said—
‘O ma’am, I have never had such a week before with the children; they builded all over the table two or three times a-day; and I told them, when they made a very nice house, to let mother see; and the little “critters” were so pleased, and “we haven’t had no beatin.”’
About a quarter before nine o’clock, our missionary comes in, and concludes all with a concise, well-adapted address, and a short prayer. I must take this opportunity of stating, that I attribute our success, under God’s blessing, quite as much to the excellent influence which he has exercised without, as to anything that has been done within. In visiting the women, and inducing them, in the first place, to attend the meeting, he has taken a part which I could not; and, by his wise and timely suggestions, he has often saved me from mistakes.
We did not start with the rules as they now exist,—we were not then ripe for them; but as the right time came, I introduced them, and they were passed with the full consent of the whole meeting. Hence the mothers view themselves—and justly—as governed by their own laws.
I see, you still further inquire how, with so many domestic claims of my own, and not enjoying good health, I find time to attend to such a society. Now, in alluding to this, you no doubt were influenced by the recollection of Mrs Jellaby’s celebrated establishment; and have been thinking, when you pay us your long-promised visit, whether you will be able to trace a resemblance in my children to the poor little neglected ‘Peepy;’ how much semi-cooked meat you will have to eat; whether the potatoes will sometimes be lost by being placed in the coal-scuttle, and so forth.
After all that has been written and said, both for and against mothers of families being allowed to do anything besides ‘minding their own business,’ it seems to me that the question resolves itself simply into this:—Is the occupation in unison with home duties, and can it chime in with them? or is it something that will divert the thoughts and actions into an entirely different channel? Now, although we may imagine it possible to work one’s own mind up into a strong interest in some ‘Borrioboolah Gha,’ it is rather too much to expect that the minds of those about us will be equally interested. But if you could see the great pleasure which my children derive from hearing about the society, and working with me, you would be the first to beg me to continue it for their sakes. On the morning succeeding a meeting, they come round me with numerous inquiries after some mother or baby, whom they have learned to know through hearing me speak of them. They have, of their own accord, set apart one day in the week for working for the little children of those mothers who are very poor; and when, the other day, they heard me speaking of a poor woman who was lamenting she could not read, they immediately offered to go two or three times a-week to teach her.
It seems to me, that the few hours a-day which we set apart for teaching our children, (for ‘school,’ as we call it,) has far less to do with the formation of their character, than that which they see and hear constantly going on around them. It is the every-day incidents of life that impress children; and if it had only been for their sakes, I do not know that I could have thought of anything better fitted to prepare them for what I wish them to be,—followers of Him ‘who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.’
There is another thing that helps me. You know, our servants are neither ‘necessary evils’ nor ‘natural enemies;’ they are, indeed, our friends and helpers; and from remaining with us so long, they become as much interested as we are, in everything that is going on; and, by their sympathy and thoughtfulness in clearing away impediments, they render us most valuable assistance. Thus, no mornings are taken up abroad in inquiring for characters, or at home in what is called ‘looking after them.’
Another plan I find very useful is, not to allow every day to be encumbered with every kind of work. One day is set apart for everything connected with this society, which has then the best of my thoughts, and as much work expended upon it as can be given without interfering with regular duties; and if it attempts to intrude itself upon the wrong day, it is told to ‘bide its time.’
‘But the “ill health” you mention?’ Yes, that is a drawback, yet not entirely so. It is certainly true that I have sometimes risen from my bed to attend the meeting; but then I always tell the mothers so, and appeal to their compassion; reminding them, that though I cannot speak loud, they can be quiet; though I cannot enforce order, they can maintain it; and I really believe that the secret of our so soon getting into order was the working of the spirit of sympathy with me. As soon as they felt that something depended upon them, they set about it in good earnest. But that I may not by this convey to your mind any wrong idea of the kind of discipline necessary, I will just say that such appeal must always be made en masse; that anything approaching to a monitorial system would be ruinous in such a meeting, since nothing requires more watchfulness than to keep down the spirit of jealousy. A good president must be really absolute, though as little apparently so as possible.
Long as this letter is, I will not apologise for it. I feel that to you there is no occasion for apology; for I have perfect confidence in your sympathy. I could write another still longer; and it would give me far more pleasure to do so than this has given. It would be full of incidents, shewing how the sunshine of kindness will bring to life that which, having been so long covered up by the frost and snow of neglect, had been supposed to be extinct.
But adieu, my dear friend,
Yours most affectionately,
M. B.
CHAPTER VI.
Difficulties.
“Be useful where thou livest, that they may
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still.
Kindness, good parts, great patience are the way
To compass this. Find out men’s wants and will,
And meet them there. All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”George Herbert.
Some time ago, I received a letter, in which the following remark occurs:—“Amongst the number of women whom you have had to do with in this society, you surely cannot always have escaped meeting with, what we call, queer characters, even if not desperate ones. There is a class of unmanageable women in the world, of whom I am more afraid than of anything else; and the very thought of them has deterred me from commencing a society open to any one, and, consequently, open to such as I have referred to.”
The difficulty mentioned here will generally be experienced, to a greater or less extent, at the commencement of these societies; and in the establishment of them it should by all means be anticipated and considered. But, after a time, when the greater part of the members have conformed to law and order, the general disposition will be manifested so strongly in the right direction, that the rebellious individuals will either make up their mind to conform, or to leave. There is a quiet way of meeting sauciness, which very soon disarms it. It is some trouble to be saucy; and when nothing is gained by it, not even amusement, the attempt is generally relinquished as not worth the effort.
I think it was the second winter after we were established, that a fine, tall woman presented herself, and said she wished to be admitted. I told her of our usual arrangements, and asked her if she would like to have some material for work. She said, “No; not that night: she should look about her, and see how she liked it.” She took a seat just before me, sat with her arms crossed, and hardly kept her promise of looking about her, as she stared at me all the time. In about half an hour, she got up, and said she should go, as it was duller than she had expected.
The next week, to my great surprise, she came again. She said that she wanted some material for work; and asked if we had anything good enough for her. She was supplied with what was required, and she took it away to her seat; but brought it back again in a few minutes, saying, “It wasn’t such stuff as that she wanted.” I took the flannel from her, put it back into the box, shut the box, and went on reading, leaving her standing at the table; while every one else was quietly working and listening. She looked at me steadily for some minutes, in the hope of my “having a row with her;” but as I took no kind of notice, and continued to read without even raising my voice, she presently walked across the room, upsetting a few things in her way, opened the door, and, bouncing out, banged it after her, so as to shake the whole room.
During the next week I made a few inquiries about her, and was told she was “the best hand in the Potteries at a row.”
“Law, ma’am! have you got Mrs A— among you? Why, she’ll soon upset you all. Why, when she goes with the men into the public-house, they’re all afeared of her. There’s never no peace where she is.”