“The mother, with streaming hair and bleeding heart, kneels over her pallid, dying infant, whose beastly father is drunk and cursing; all these heaped and huddled together with nothing but a little carpentry and masonry between them; all crammed in like salted fish in their barrel, or weltering, shall I say, like an Egyptian pitcher of tamed vipers, each struggling to get his head above the others.” This is as true now as it was in Carlyle’s day. Such work goes on every night of the year. Having seen these things myself, I speak what I do know. I am truly glad that London is in England, and not in our beloved country. I hope we may never have a city as large as this, for I am thoroughly convinced that it is not good for so many men and women to dwell together.
If it were possible for five millions of men to come together to live and do business in the same city, each having the same amount of money in the struggle of the survival of the fittest which would follow, a few men would soon have great wealth, and others would be reduced to poverty and want. The successful ones would then become proud and haughty, overbearing and dictatorial. Some of the others would, like the ass in the tread-mill and ox under the yoke, be doomed to a life of toil and servitude. Another class of the unfortunate ones would become despondent, wretched, reckless, indolent and selfish. The hard-hearted would set dead-falls and snares to catch their weak-minded and strong-passioned brother. This would go on and on until thousands would lose their manhood and womanhood. They would abandon all hope and courage and virtue. They would resort to treachery, lying, stealing, gambling, and murdering. They would thus degenerate into the lowest, vilest, meanest specimens of humanity.
THE TOWER OF LONDON.
This is London. I have seen more wealth, more of the trappings of place and pride, more worldly pomp and regal splendor, than I have ever seen anywhere else. I have also seen more poverty, suffering, vice, and ignorance than I ever expected to find in a country so highly favored as is England.
Having spoken somewhat at length of the lower strata of London life, let us now look at the praiseworthy efforts that are being made to elevate, humanize, moralize, and Christianize these hope-abandoned wretches. What is known as the “East End” is the worst part of the city. It is inhabited by a million and a half of people, most of them being the off-scouring of creation—not “the bravest of the brave,” but the vilest of the vile. Just in the midst of this den of shame and corruption stands the “Great Assembly Hall” which, for the last eleven years, has been open day and night for gospel work.
Mr. Fred. M. Charrington, the Superintendent of this Mission, has a strange and interesting history. His father was a strange man of great wealth, and one of the largest brewers in London. He had only two sons, who were the sole heirs of his immense fortune and lucrative business. The sons had all the advantages of a thorough education and extensive travel. Fred served twelve months as brewer to the Queen. But, some sixteen years ago, as Fred. Charrington (then twenty-one years old) was returning from a continental tour, he chanced to fall in with a gospel minister. When the preacher spoke of man’s duty to serve God, Charrington protested. He said they had had a pleasant time together, and he did not care to have their peace disturbed, or friendship broken, by the introduction of such subjects as man’s sin, Christ’s righteousness, death, hell, and the judgment. This conversation led to Charrington’s conversion. After that, he worked in the brewery all day, taught the Bible to classes at night, and preached the gospel on the streets every Sunday. He soon saw, however, that he could not successfully teach the Bible, and preach the gospel on Sunday, to people who were drunk on the beer and whiskey that he had sold them during the week. This so troubled his conscience that he gave up a business that was bringing him an annual income of more than $25,000. He then established this Mission in East London, which has grown to be the largest and most successful work of the kind in the world. The Assembly Hall, with the property belonging to it, is valued at $250,000, Charrington having given about one-third of the money out of his own pocket. He has more than 2,500 members in his church. He is strictly an immersionist. Before one can possibly become a member of Charrington’s church, he must sign a pledge neither to drink, nor buy, nor sell whiskey, beer, or any other strong drink. His Sunday audiences range from 4,000 to 5,000.
