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

"I tell you again, that as a guilty sinner, you must pray for yourself," he replied, in a slow, quiet, tone. "The blood of Jesus can save you now: ask God in His name to pardon you." And then the dying woman, after him, repeated short prayers. After a pause he took her cold hand in his, and kneeling down, implored pardon for her from the God of all grace. His voice was, however, stopped by the sobbing of several women and young thieves who had entered from the shop. The death-expression upon the face of their old acquaintance in guilt, with the solemn attitude and words of prayer, overcame them, and they seemed to kneel as in contrition before their offended Maker.

There were intervals of consciousness, during which words of hope were read from the Book of Life; and at her request, expressed by movements of her hands, prayer was again offered. She soon became unconscious, and expired at three o'clock.

A few comforting words were spoken to the weeping daughter and the women who remained in the room; and the night-visitor then passed into the street. A large crowd of the criminal and depraved had assembled from other night-houses, and as he left they made a passage for him to pass through, while the two policemen turned on their bull's eyes to light him on his way. He, however, stepped back, and standing upon the threshold of the den, held out his Bible, and said, "She is dead, and her eternal state is fixed: you, however, are upon the side of the grave where mercy can be sought and found. Look up, now, to where the Saviour is seated, at God's right hand, beyond those dark clouds. Be in earnest in seeking salvation, and then live for the hour of death and the day of judgment." He then passed down the street in silence, not a word reached his ear from that gathering of the wicked.

The wretched inheritance descended to the daughter, now a young woman of twenty. Before her mother's illness she had suffered persecution from her, because she boldly confessed faith in Christ. Another cause of offence was her receiving tracts and placing them upon the tables before the customers were admitted. She, however, showed such dutiful affection to her mother, that it no doubt softened her hard heart, and caused her to show a better feeling towards the unwelcome visitor. A few evenings after the funeral she called upon her friend, and upon entering the room burst into tears, and said, "I can't, sir, keep the dreadful place open, for I am always praying, and the language and sin is awful: I will beg my bread first. What shall I do?"

She was soothed, and a quiet conversation took place between them concerning her position. After conferring with his wife, he said, "You are painfully circumstanced,—no one would receive you into their service if they knew that you had been brought up in such a place. We, however, will do what others could not, as I am assured that the Lord has dealt mercifully by you. We need a servant, and will take you into our house." She, with expressions of gratitude, accepted the offer; so he wrote notes to the landlord of the house, and to a broker, and sent her with them.

Next evening the Missionary paid his last visit to "Teddie's Den." A hand-cart was at the door, and the broker inside. The furniture, crockery, and fixtures were quickly sold and removed, and then the night visitor and its late mistress left. It was with a joyous, thankful heart, that he closed the door behind them, for he felt that a stronghold of sin and Satan had fallen before the silvery notes of the Gospel of peace.

The young woman did well in her place, and gave evidence of a renewed nature. After a few months, her master and mistress were so well pleased with her, that they recommended her into a reformatory institution as under matron. For two years she filled the office with credit to herself, and to the spiritual benefit of many of the inmates, including one who used to frequent her parents' den. This woman had for years been the companion of thieves, and had by vice so injured her health as to suffer long illness in the London Hospital. Upon her discharge she was sent to the Institution, and great was her astonishment to find the young woman who, when a girl, waited upon her at night, an under-matron in the home of Mercy. From her she gladly received the good news of Jesus receiving sinners, and was led to call upon His name, and then to rejoice in His mercy.

One evening the young assistant called upon her friend, and said timidly, "You know Mr. So-and-so, don't you, sir?"

"I do," was the reply; "and think well of him."

"You have been more than a father to me, sir; and will you please give me away?"

The office was cheerfully undertaken, and readily fulfilled. After the marriage, the Missionary friend and father handed her a Bible, with this writing in it: "Heirs together of the grace of life." The union is a happy one, and she is a living proof that sovereign grace can raise its subjects from the lowest depths, and place them among the princes of the children of light.

The Book in the Streets and Night-Houses:

ITS SILENT FORCE.

"Sow in the wild waste places,Though none thy love may own;God guides the down of the thistleThe wandering wind hath sown.Will Jesus chide thy weakness,Or call thy labour vain?The word that for Him thou bearestShall return to Him again.Sow with thine heart in heaven,Thy strength thy Master's might,Till the wild waste places blossomIn the warmth of a Saviour's light."

Anna Shipton.

CHAPTER XI

A GILDED SALOON—A PIGEON PLUCKER—DISCOURAGEMENT—THE COFFEE MAN—DESTITUTE—THE SOLITUDE OF THE CITY—MADNESS OF DISGRACE—THE BEGGAR AND HIS BOY—THE "TRAVELLER'S REST"—THE SLEEPLESS CHURCH—COFFEE STALLS AND BOOTHS—THE COVERT FROM THE STORM—BIBLE POWER.

The Book in the Streets and Night-Houses:ITS SILENT FORCE

"The seed is the Word of God." Luke viii. 11.

TWO hundred and sixty nights occupied in evangelizing efforts in the streets, refreshment houses, and dens of the mighty city, gave evidence that the Word of God is powerful to arrest the attention of the most thoughtless—to stop the guilty in their downward career; and that it is the power of God unto the salvation of sinners who are sunk so low as to cause them, when restored, to stand out before men as miracles of mercy. Disappointments were frequent, and if continuance in the work had depended upon known success, would have been crushing. This however was not so: the great Master does not send out His servants at their own cost. When He, of His sovereign grace, takes a sinner and places him among His children, and then by distinguishing favour makes him a wheel or a lever in His great machinery of mercy, He only requires faithfulness—not success. Men can only fill the office of subordinate instruments and visible agents in the mighty process of salvation. "God was in Christ Jesus reconciling the world unto Himself," but "He has committed to us the ministry of reconciliation." This truth ought to remove indolence and avarice from those who are named by the name of Christ. The redeemed people who realize the debt they owe unto their Lord, should covet to be the deputies and agents of Divine love; such should labour and study, and pray for success, because the Holy Spirit works by instruments made fit for His use, and the armed omnipotence of God is engaged on behalf of repentant sinners. The great restoring work is of God, and of God only; and it is therefore the duty of His servants to labour as cheerfully when denied, as when favoured with evidence of blessing.

These thoughts were suggested when materials for this chapter were being collected. The mind reverted to so many instances of failure,—to a succession of men and women who had been the objects of much earnest effort, but who had passed from under the influence of the Missionary without giving the remotest hope of their salvation. If a proportion of them were referred to, this would be a dismal record. We will only therefore, by way of illustrating the nature of the work, refer to one instance.

A Cabinet Minister had conferred with the Missionary upon the matter of legislation for night-houses; and as other interviews were sure to follow, he thought it well to visit all such places of which the police could give him information.

One night he followed several fashionably dressed gentlemen into a house near the Haymarket, and found himself in a gilded saloon, with billiard rooms upstairs. The gentlemen remained together, and as the visitor felt strange, he went to the upper end and threw himself upon a couch; he was meditating as to what he could do there, when a middle-aged gentleman entered and gave a familiar nod to the group, and then glancing keenly toward the stranger, approached and took his seat at the other end of the couch. After a little thought, an envelope containing a tract was handed to him. He gave a sudden start, and the Missionary in a merry tone, exclaimed "It's not a writ;" and then both laughed heartily. The attention of the proprietor and his waiter in full dress, had from his entering in, been fixed upon the stranger; he therefore thought it well to make friends with the gentleman, and pressing near to him, he said, in a confidential half-whisper: "Oblige me by not opening the envelope now, as it only contains a religious tract." As he looked at it with astonishment, the giver continued: "You no doubt think it absurd, quixotic of me to venture in here with tracts, but you will respect my motive when I tell you that I have for years visited the lower class of night-houses, and conferred benefits upon many; and that I am the voice of one crying in the night season, 'Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.'"

"A motive so good, justifies the act," replied the gentleman. "I am going over to the Turkish saloon, and will pass out with you."

In the street they fell into a pleasant chat, and an appointment was made for another night; this was kept, and followed by several others, besides chance meetings. From his friends he ascertained that the gentleman was supposed to be of good family, that he had graduated at Oxford, and that he bore the assumed name of Clifford. He was a most fascinating person, though his countenance had a dissipated and at times malicious expression. He had a large acquaintance among young men of position, who at that time frequented the Haymarket, and was often seen with a gentleman, now deceased, who by bad company lost his fortune, and had to sustain a long law-suit to prove his sanity. By the lower order of the depraved he was regarded as one of quite a large number of gentlemanly men whom they called "pigeon pluckers."

One night the gentleman and his Christian friend, who had met in the Haymarket, were conversing together, when he was accosted by a young man who appeared to be of age, with "Ah, Clifford! how'do? glad to see you. Just a word at your leisure."

"Certainly, my lord," was his reply. "I will be with you in a few minutes: should have been waiting for you, had I not met with this very pleasant friend."

"As Clifford's friend, may I crave the honour of offering my hand to your lordship?" inquired the Missionary.

"Certainly," replied the young nobleman (if such he was), and then the Christian visitor grasped his hand, and holding it with mild restraint, looked him full in the face, and said, "You are in danger, my lord. This dissipation will injure your person, your good name, your fortune, and perhaps your country. Be wise. Like a certain young ruler mentioned in the Gospel, approach the Lord Jesus, and ask, 'What shall I do to inherit eternal life?'"

A deep colour rose to the face of the young man, and he stepped hastily away; but turning back, as by sudden impulse, he again offered his hand to his reprover, and said, "I thank you, sir;" and was then lost in the crowd of the gay and dissipated.

Some weeks after this event, the night visitor met the gentleman, and had tea with him in a café. As they sat together at the small round marble table, the Missionary observed, "To me it is astonishing that you can live such a life as you are doing; heaping up wrath against the day of wrath. From a child you have known the Holy Scriptures, and I am surprised that texts do not at times rise to your memory, and produce a fearful looking forward to judgment!"

"Such is not the case," he replied, "strange as you may regard it. There is only one matter of memory which ever troubles me, and that is the verses of a child's hymn which our mother used to teach us as we knelt at her side in the nursery,—

'Almighty God, Thy piercing eyeStrikes through the shades of night;And our most secret actions lieAll open to Thy sight.'

"At times these verses flash across my mind at most inconvenient seasons, and destroy my enjoyment; they occurred when you first spoke to me in the saloon, and the other night I caught myself repeating them when playing an important game of billiards." The pocket Bible was produced, and the words solemnly read,—"He hath appointed a day in the which He will judge the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all men in that He hath raised Him (Jesus) from the dead."

The visitor then repeated to him the verses of a Judgment Hymn of his own writing, which evidently made a deep impression:—

Roll, roll, ye thunders with terrific dread!Shout, shout, ye angels and awake the dead!Proclaim the mandate of the Almighty King;Man, dead and living, to the Judgment bring.Rise, rise, ye millions of reposing clay!See, see, the light of the eternal day!The brightness of His coming gilds the sky,The glorious mantle of the Judge most high.Rejoice, rejoice, ye ransomed sons of God!Sing, sing, the virtue of the Saviour's blood!Your loud triumphant Hallelujahs sing,With great rejoicing hail your Saviour-King.Mourn, mourn, neglecters of a Saviour's love;Weep, weep, rejecters of the Heavenly Dove;Insulted mercy leaves thee to the lawWhich dooms to death, and bids thee hope no more.Awake, awake, ye slumbering sinners, pray;Cry, cry for mercy, now in mercy's day;Flee to the Covert from the storm, and restYour blood-bought souls upon the Saviour's breast.

After this visit there were several other meetings, and then a long interval occurred. Upon inquiring for his friend at the divans and saloons, the visitor was told that "he had not been seen for some time: that he had no doubt gone upon the Continent, and would turn up next season." He was not there the following year, and was never seen in his old haunts again. It was with him as with others,—much effort without apparent result; and yet it is possible that, in the day of the Lord, good concerning some of them will be made manifest.

In one class of cases there is freedom from discouragement, and that is when the Christian worker is enabled to strengthen, to encourage, and to assist disciples in their efforts to give a testimony for the Lord, and to do good under depressing circumstances.

It was certainly thus with an old man who kept a coffee-stall in a poor neighbourhood. His shop consisted of a large barrow with canvas covering, supported at the corners by upright pieces of wood. At one end he had a small iron stove, with a large kettle upon it, and a coffee-pot on one side and tea-pot upon the other; at the farther end was a cupboard well filled with bread-and-butter and plum cake. Upon the centre of the barrow was a white cloth, covered with cups and saucers, and underneath were several pails of water. He used to wheel the whole concern to his corner as soon as the clock struck twelve at night, and wheel it away when the public and coffee-houses opened at six in the morning. The acquaintance of the proprietor was made in the following manner: One bitterly cold morning, about three o'clock, the Missionary, who was trembling from the chill felt upon leaving a warm night-house, approached the stall, and held his hands to the fire. The policeman on duty paused for the same purpose, and the following conversation passed between them:—

Stall-keeper: "I have read the book you lent me, and don't think the doctrine sound. Sovereign grace fore-ordained unto salvation, and the saints elected according to the Divine purpose must be saved. No man can pluck them out of the Saviour's hands."

Policeman: "You make too much of your favourite doctrine of election. Our Lord died for all who ever lived or shall live in the world; and it is written that it is not the will of God that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."

"Both doctrines are plainly taught in the Divine Word," remarked the stranger; "and, like the colours in the rainbow, they harmonize and blend over the throne where Jesus is seated. We do well to seek for the full assurance of faith, and to rejoice in the sure covenant; but while doing so let us witness for the Lord who bought us, and try to win others by testifying of His abounding grace."

With a happy smile the policemen recommenced his weary walk round the beat, while the stall-keeper and the night-visitor had pleasant converse about the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which hath appeared unto all men. This led to a friendship with the stall-keeper, who was a Cornish man and a Calvinistic Baptist; and to a slight acquaintance with the policeman, who was a Congregationalist. Several visits were paid to the "Coffee Man," as he was called, and work was appointed him in the great vineyard. He was supplied with tracts, which he kept in his cupboard, and for several years he was a valuable distributor. Groups of depraved people, who "make night hideous," used to surround his stall; to these he gave tracts, and spoke the truth boldly. He indeed became a kind of spiritual adviser to the depraved. Many repentant ones spoke with confidence to the good old man, and several were sent by him to his friend, and were placed in institutions of mercy.

This was not a solitary instance of converted men being found in night occupations; and it became an object of the visitor's efforts to strengthen such in the faith, and to lead them boldly to witness for their Lord in the midst of the ungodly. These helpers were precious and their testimony valuable, because the great body of persons met with were disreputable or utterly vile. Many were ignorant of the true light, but there were others who had received religious advantages, and who, by rejecting proffered mercy, counted themselves unworthy of eternal life. Among this mass of the unholy were to be found the young, the thoughtless, and the distressed, who being easily led captive by the devil and his servants, supplied the places of those who were constantly sinking to perdition. With some of these the work was effectual for good, as the following case will illustrate.

One night, a little after eleven, the Missionary was walking down Oxford Street, in company with another evangelist, when they passed a girl of seventeen, who was walking slowly, as if ill. The night visitor glanced at her, and was struck by the expression of misery and disease,—it seemed as though the sorrows of a life had been concentrated in that young face. He therefore turned suddenly, and approaching her, said kindly, "Don't be afraid: I am a religious man, and a friend to poor girls in trouble. Now do tell me where you are going?"

"To sleep under the trees in the park, sir, if I can get in," she replied; "if not, to walk about all night;" and then she burst into tears.

In answer to inquiries, she made the following statement, in a very truthful manner. She said, "I am a village girl, and came from home after losing my only parent about eighteen months ago. A neighbour's girl who was in London got me a place. It was at a lodging-house: and I rarely got out, as they only let me go to church three times. All the stairs were of stone, and I had to clean them; this, with constant running up and down, brought on a white swelling in my knee. I remained as long as I could crawl, and then, as I had saved three pounds, went to live with the charwoman. After a time I went into an hospital for two months. I returned to the charwoman, and tried to get into place, but I looked so ill that no one would engage me. After the money was spent I pawned my clothes, and I was told to go to the workhouse. I went to the door, but the man spoke so sharp to me that I drew back, and now I have been in the streets for two days. Last night I slept with some other girls under the trees in Hyde Park, but they talked so dreadful that I am afraid to go in again. Oh! what shall I do?" and then she sobbed so loudly that several persons crossed from the other side of the street.

"If your tale is true, I will provide for you," said her interrogator: "at all events I will see that you are taken care of to-night." He then took her to a coffee-house, where he was known, and paid for a supper, bed, and breakfast. At leaving, he took an envelope from his pocket, and tearing it, gave her one-half, and said, "Stand with this in your hand near the fountain in Regent's Circus to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, when a lady with the other half will speak to you, and take you to a Home."

At the appointed time the poor girl approached the fountain, where a matron of the Rescue Society was waiting to receive her. As soon as she reached the Home her statements were inquired into, and found to be correct. Care and proper treatment soon restored her to health, and a lady received her into her service. Three months after the lady called at the office to thank the secretary for sending her such a good servant. She remained in her place several years, and gave evidence of real gratitude for the great deliverance which had been wrought out for her.

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."