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

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.

We cause a gap in this chapter, in order to make an important announcement,—an announcement which deserves to be printed in large type, and blazoned in letters of gold; it is, that as London never sleeps, so the large Church of God in the mighty city never sleeps. There are now many workers for Him in the night season, and the call of sinners to repentance never ceases in the empire city. The happy result was brought about in this way: People heard of and became interested in the work of the midnight visitor. First among them was a clergyman of importance, then at a college in Oxford. He wrote to the Missionary, asking him during the week of the Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, to give letters he had written to any young gentlemen he might find in casinos, saloons, and night-houses, wearing the dark-blue necktie. Several nights were thus occupied with interest and profit.

Soon after this, the founders of the midnight meeting movement consulted him about that project, to which he gave his hearty support. Upon the first night he gave away the invitations, and for that purpose penetrated places into which no one but himself dare have entered with that object. The large room was crowded, not less than 250 young women were present; and he stood rejoicing with prayerful heart beside the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, while he gave the first address. The midnight visitor knew that a movement was then being inaugurated which would continue to recover many from destruction, and which would raise the moral tone of London. Several private individuals now commenced visiting at night, and the Committee of the London City Mission had compassion upon their overworked servant, and by the appointment of a Missionary to night-houses, relieved him of these self-imposed duties. A change of importance had however been brought about. His evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons, his writings and private influence, had its share in securing a beneficial Act, closing night-houses from one until four o'clock in the morning. This was a great moral good, and it has resulted in the establishment of hundreds of street coffee-stalls. There is still much room for Christian effort at night, as the following extracts from printed statements of the two Missionaries thus employed will clearly show. We introduce these with an extract from "The Sword and Trowel:"—

"The Missionaries invariably leave their homes at twelve o'clock in the night, and return about eight o'clock in the morning. And the number of cabmen is now so great, and their spiritual instruction so much needed, that the effort has proved to be one of the most necessary, as well as fruitful departments of evangelization. There are nearly 2000 night cabmen. They are very docile, remarkably glad to be taught the message of God's love. And, indeed, the two Missionaries seem generally attached to them. Being earnestly desirous for their best welfare, and remembering how close death must be to most of these old men, these messengers of peace yearn over their souls. In numbers of instances their efforts have been blessed. Poor old men, down whose furrowed cheeks the tears of penitence have flowed, have found in Christ the truest consolation for their wearied hearts. In the hour of life's eclipse—for death to the Christian is nought more—they have witnessed a good confession, and have given bright and glorious testimonies that they have been born again."

One Missionary writes,—

"The coffee-stalls and booths which are to be found all over London at the corners of the streets, and in public thoroughfares, near railway stations, etc., are excellent opportunities for usefulness. These are kept by people who have no other means of obtaining a livelihood, and who sell a cup of smoking hot coffee for one halfpenny, and a slice of cake or bread and butter for the same price. Many of these people are Christian men and women, and render the Missionary great assistance in expounding the message of mercy and salvation to their customers. Not only cabmen and the outcast get a cup of coffee at these places, but men in the building trade, railway carters, and others, towards six o'clock, gather round them in large numbers, to obtain that which does them good and saves them from going to the early public-house. So that these coffee-stall proprietors are a really useful part of the community. These coffee stalls have increased rapidly, so that now about four hundred and sixty can be counted in the streets of London at night. The Church of England Temperance Society have also stationed a number in leading thoroughfares by day. We give a picture of one of these because it contains the latest improvements and best use of them.

"On one occasion a pugilist gave me his address, and told me that, when a little boy, his mother used to teach him his prayers, some of which he repeated. He added that he had got the best wife in the world, but he treated her like a brute. I talked to the poor fellow till he wept like a child, and he took hold of my arm and said, 'You shall go home with me to-night.' I begged to be excused, as it was now three o'clock in the morning. However, there was no alternative, so off I went with him, arm-in-arm. He called his poor wife up, although I wished him not to do so; but so far from being angry when she saw that my object was to try and reform her husband, she thanked me with tears in her eyes. He promised by God's help to seek to lead a new life, and give his heart to God. As I had a Testament in my pocket I gave it them, and we knelt down and prayed for God's blessing on our meeting. I went home musing on the event which had occurred, and could not help feeling that the Lord had directed my steps back with the man. I have called since, and find that by trade he is a sawyer. He is now working at his trade, is a teetotaler, and in a hopeful state of mind."

As some instances of usefulness have come under my notice through the reading of the Word of God, I purpose to refer to two or three:—

"Mr. – has been a night cabman for thirty-six years. In reply to my questions, he said he did not remember when he last went to church, and if he was to go, he is so deaf he could not hear the parson. I asked, 'How do you spend your time on Sunday evenings?' 'In reading Lloyd's Newspaper,' was the reply. 'Oh,' I said, 'then you could read a Testament, if I got you one?' 'I dare say I could,' was the answer. I took him one, which he read, and he became so fond of it that he soon laid aside the newspaper, and the Testament became his constant companion. Although he is deaf, yet he now attends church, and is in a hopeful and penitent state of mind.

"Mr. –, poor man, was always full of trouble. He had lost his wife by death, buried four children, and broken his leg; and every time I attempted to converse with him, he would pour his burden of troubles into my ear, and think no one sympathised with him. I got him a Bible, and turned down for him Isaiah liii., and several other portions of God's Word, which he read. The next time I saw him I heard but little of his troubles, and the time after that he said, 'Sir, my Bible has quite cured me of complaining, for when I read of what my Saviour suffered, I feel ashamed to murmur or complain. It is the Bible that has cured me, for I see others have suffered before me, and that nothing has happened to me but what is common to all men.'

"Poor old – said, 'I have read your Testament all through, and don't know what I should have done when I was in the workhouse but for my book. I have been thinking very much about our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and I feel that it condemns me, for I used to think that I was not so bad as others, and that through my own good works I should go to heaven. Now I feel I am a sinner, and have no good works, and that it is through the righteousness of another that I must be saved. I asked the Chaplain in the workhouse, and he explained the whole thing to me as clear as day.' I have often explained to him the glorious doctrine of justification by faith in the finished work and righteousness of the Lord Jesus Christ, for which he is very grateful.

"A man, named –, said, 'Well, if your Testament has done nothing else, it has kept me out of the public-house, and therefore it has done me good; and my wife is pleased, I can tell you.' I advised him to go on reading, and to seek the aid of the Holy Spirit to help him."

As it is always pleasant to record increase of good, we are glad to state here that a second and well qualified Missionary has for several years been working at night in East and South London, and that with marked success. All the night cabmen and thousands of people to be instructed in saving truth by night only are now under visitation.

The following words from the pen of a clergyman's wife (Mrs. Hebert), who has for years sustained this good work, will form a most suitable conclusion to this chapter:—

"Night after night the work has been going on, much being done, as we have often seen, in a single night, and the result is that many have found rest to their souls. Prodigals have sought their Father's house, the afflicted have heard the rod, the inquiring have been directed to Jesus, and have found Him; the aged have been brought in at the eleventh hour, and are spending their little remnant of life to His glory who called them into His vineyard. Let us give thanks and pray more. Let us identify ourselves more in spirit with our Missionaries. It is our work as well as theirs. We can only reach these poor cabmen through them.... Missionary work is so like Christ's work, and so great a blessing rests upon it, that we should all seek to have a share in it in our own way,—that is, in the way God may have opened for us. Then we shall feel not only that we are fellow-labourers with all who are seeking to spread the Gospel, but, as it is so wonderfully said by St. Paul, we shall be 'workers together with Him' whose word shall not return to Him void.... We have all had our trials, like those whom we are seeking to lead to the God of all comfort. Life and its treasures are passing away, but the things which cannot be shaken remain. God's work still claims us. We can still be about our Father's business. And what is so elevating and so soothing amidst cares and distractions and losses, as the thought that there is a calm, holy, steady course marked out for us by Him, and that He condescends to be glorified by us, whether by our life, or by our death?"

The Book in the Highways:

ITS FETTER-BREAKING.

"There are in this large stirring tideOf human care and crime,With whom the melodies abideOf th' everlasting chime;Who carry music in their heart,Through dusky lanes and wrangling mart,Plying their daily task with busier feet,Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."

CHAPTER XII

TO AND FROM THE CITY—OUR OMNIBUS—BOX AND MONKEY BOARD—THE LOST DAY—CRAPE ON THE WHIP—NIGHT GATHERING OF BARGE MEN—FETTERS BROKEN—THE SILENT WATER-WAYS—BIBLE IN CABIN—THE BARGEMAN'S HOPE.

The Book in the Highways:ITS FETTER-BREAKING

"He went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and He said unto him, Follow Me. And he left all, rose up, and followed Him." Luke v. 27, 28.

"MY saying is," observed the driver of an omnibus to a gentleman at his side, "that it is right to be sociable; for if we are to have friends, we must be friendly ourselves." "Capital remark, that," we thought, while sitting down at the other side of the rather elevated box, waiting an opportunity to join in the conversation. The man was not quite unknown to us, as, in our almost daily journeys to the City, we had mounted at his side in turn with that of other knights of the whip who drove omnibuses from one of the suburbs to the centre of the mighty City—the Bank.

Once before, a short terse sentence had, in our hearing, been uttered by him which made a favourable impression, and we were now certain that James was a character—a man with an individuality. He was certainly respected by his fellows, as, while many others had singular names given them, expressive of peculiarities or contempt, he was always addressed as James; and it was certain, from the hurried words shouted by the drivers as they rapidly passed each other, that he dared to be singular by paying like respect to them. It was thus that we got to know the christian or surnames of men who were addressed by others as Kitty, Cranky, Boosey; and even "Ugly Jib"—as a worthy man was called in derision of a facial deformity—smiled pleasantly as our driver, in cheery tone, gave the rapid word of greeting, "Fine morning, Dan," or "Raw evening, Dan; button up tight."

A kindliness of disposition was also evident by the style in which he handled the "ribbons;" with a care and decision peculiar to the man, as though fearful of jagging the horses with the bit. As for the whip, it was simply what he called it, "his ornament." To have used it with violence upon his dumb friends never entered his mind. This was evident one dreary night when we had stayed late in the City, and happened to be the only outside passenger. As the hill was ascended near the end of the journey, the horses slackened pace almost to a walk. Now, we thought, is time for use of the "ornament;" and use it he did, but in a gentle manner. Patting one horse upon the neck with it, he said in an encouraging tone, "Now, Polly; come, get on;" and then passing it over to the other, he stroked kindly and said, "This won't do, Sally; come, pull up." Then followed the "click, click, click," an accomplishment of the mouth only attainable by the thorough "bus" driver; and then the horses, as with a human sense of the power of kindness, took the collar and cheerfully capped the hill.

"And so you treat your cattle as young ladies, do you?" we observed.

"Well, you see, sir," he replied, "as the saying is, 'the man that's any good considers his beast;' and it answers, as I can keep time as well as any one; and the foreman of the yard never finds fault, as I run them in quite comfortable, not all reeking and trembling as some do. And then, when I go into the yard of a morning, the pretty creatures look round and shake their manes, as much as to say, 'Good morning, master, we shall get on all right to-day.' You see, sir," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "I have two daughters at home, Mary and Sarah, and good girls they are, though I don't see much of them; and as I am always thinking of them I mention them like to the horses when I want to pull up to time and the like."

"Your daughters, I suppose, go out to some employment, as you see so little of them?"

The answer was not immediately given, as the man hung his head and with ill-concealed emotion said, "No, sir, they ain't quite old enough for that; and I have heard a saying that no good is got by showing your sores, and 'that which can't be cured must be endured.' You see, I have to work more hours a week than niggers in the West Indies were ever made to do. Compared with other working men, I do nearly two days' work in one. This I have done for these sixteen years, and very little I've seen of my family and home. I often feel that I am getting used up, and think of a saying a foreman of mine had for men who asked for a day off the box: 'Rest indeed! rest in the grave, that will do for you.'"

This reply was given in a tone of despair which stopped the conversation for the short time required to reach the end of the journey. The parting word of "Good night, coachman," evidently helped him to regain his usual cheerfulness, as we heard the shake of the reins and the usual utterance, "All right, Sally; come, get on, Polly."

With us, cheerfulness was not so easily regained. The happy home and family joys seemed to deepen rather than remove the impression made by the driver. "It is now after ten," we thought, "and the poor fellow has another journey to the City and back. On the box again at eight in the morning until midnight, with little prospect of a Sunday; well, we will speak to him upon that subject."

A few nights after, being purposely late, we again mounted beside our proverb-speaking acquaintance, and watched for an opportunity to draw him out upon the "rest-rights" of his class. This soon occurred, as the driver remarked that his horses were fresh, "as they had yesterday in the stables."

"And so they have a rest-day now and then," we remarked, "and you have a natural and scriptural right to one in seven. How often do you get it?"

"I've lost mine this many a long year," was the reply; "and as they say somewhere, 'losers are always in the wrong;' and so five thousand or more of us who toil on the stones of London during all the Sundays are in the wrong—of course we are—and being in for a bad bargain must make the best of it. For us there is no help, as saints and sinners are both against us."

"Saints against you?"

"Yes sir, begging your pardon, the saints, or that sort of them that ain't advanced, and can't get on without their ears being tingled. We who live all our waking hours elevated on a 'bus observes a great deal, and that there are two sorts of Christians. It is wonderful if you compare duly what religion does. The hundreds of gentlemen's carriages it keeps indoors; the lots of working-men and city gents who can be happy at home, and the wonderful number that goes to their own places of worship, as is right. Well, these religious riders are a strange set, they are indeed. Sometimes they are ashamed of their prayer or hymn books, and sometimes they show them off boldly. My conductor was a Sunday-school boy not long ago, and he hates the sight of them. Between the box and monkey board there is an understanding, 'signs and wonders,' as I calls them, and when a religious party gets in, he puts his hands together and looks solemn; and when the pleasure-takers—our worst enemies—and there's no end of them, he rubs his hands and looks jolly. Well, these religious Sunday riders are a selfish, shabby lot; it's quite common when they pay with a shilling for them to say, 'Give me a threepenny piece, please, conductor.' That, you know, is for the collection; but if he can help it he don't give it them, as he is of my opinion, that these people ought to keep to their own places of worship, and not bring religion into contempt by supporting Sunday labour. Well, but the Sunday pleasure people are generous fools. They do a hard day's work and pay for it, as they don't believe in the religious way of being happy. At night the men put their wives and children inside and get out here themselves smoking hard after the drink they have had. Last Sunday night two of this sort got up beside me, and one of them swore badly, and offered me a cigar; but I said to him, 'The saying is, that "the tongue defiles the whole body," and I don't care to smoke with a man that curses.' Then he bullied me and threatened to inform about me; and I thought afterwards that I had done wrongly, as it is not doing my duty in that state of life in which God has placed me (as the Catechism says) if I offend riders; and as we outcasts—yes, I say outcasts, as men who have no Sundays and no ministers to care for them are—can't hope to be saved if God Almighty does not have mercy upon them for doing their duty."