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TORONTO: ' " WESLIYAN BOOK BOOM, 80 KING STREET EAST. 1873. , ;. 9 %4' 3^4 1 '?'?4- FEB 4 1951 fiVE PAC E In presentiilg this edition of Strange Tales to a Canadian public, it is not needful that anything should be said concerning the Author, the extensive sale of whose works has made his name a "house- hold word " in thousands of homes in our Dominion. It has been thought that a smaller volume of John Ashworth's "Tales" would better meet the wants of Sabbath-schools, as well as find its way into the hands of many who could not afford the more expensi/e editions of his works ; and, to accomplish this, the present volume is issued. It is perhaps only necessary to add that none of the " Tales " in this edition are included in the larger volume of Strange Tales from Etimbh Life, by the same Author. With prayers for the blessing of the Great Head of the Church upon these simple records, we commit them to the press. Toronto, 1873. u Wi :?S.: , I J j^ r I I: pON TE NTS. I, PAGE Harry 1 II. A Dancer 25 III. Mrs. Bowden ^1 IV. The Fog Bell 63 V. The Golden Wedding 85 VI. William, the Tutor 107 VII. Fathters 132 VIII. The Old Deacon 164 IX. little Susan 177 X. Old Matthew 1^9 XI. Old Ab' 221 XII. Milly 247 XIII. Happy Ned 269 HARRY. Minds that love to gaze on creation's won- ders, and behold with profound pleasure the sublime dissolving views of the heavens, the earth's countless tints of beauty, or the grand majestic sea, often feel by the contemplation an elevating influence to which they would otherwise be strangers ; and this influence is, in degree, regulated by the condition of the heart and conscience. The song of birds* the scent of flowers, the voice of the stars, the glory and harmony of Crod's works, are the best seen and felt by those whose hearts God has made the most pure, and whose con- sciences are the most void of offence towards God and man; for it is through the moral vision the soul takes in the true and beau- tif al in things physical as well as spiritual. 2 HARRY. The mind at peace, serene, and calm, Tinges with glory all around. But when conscience is ill at ease from any cause ; when the still small voice will still be heard ; when we feel an undefinable something dreadful tracking our steps, some painful reckoning that we know must be made, then the dappled heavens, the rain- bow's hues, or the tints of the lily, if seen at aU will give few joys, but rather intensify our feelings of sadness. A tradesman said, "When 1 had committed my first act of forgery, the song of my canary and the ring- ing merry laugh of my children, gave me the most intense pain of mind ; their happi- ness jarred on my misery, and I could not bear the contrasti." And when the woman was asked by a child to si^iell the swaet white rose she answered, — "I cannot now smell the rose, child, or look at it with any pleasure, for it reminds me of my days of innocence ; days I would give the world to possess again/' A third, when asked to behold a beautiful landscape, re- plied, — HARRTw ^ Landscapes, ot the beaUtiM in niitttte, have no charms for me. There is a polices- man yxmdet, tlxat I care more about than p^ay landscape, for I suspect he is looking m this direction." Forged bills, virtue lost, poltoeman feared, will take the charm from the warbling of birds, mirth of children, the perfume of roses, or the beauty of landscapes: fon* a guilty conscience is the grave of aU tnie pleasure. Many have proved this true, and Harry is one of the number. Hatty was one of that htttuietfouB =and highly respectable class genera&y dalled clerks or bookkeepers ; thousands at whom are to be found aU over tbe iiatlcvi, bilt principally in our large tiianufact;arix^ towns. Their beginnings aa^ oft^n ^ety humble, their positicm and labioUt^ Coilifi'- dential and responsible, and gi^at ttust is reposed in them. Millions elf nMttiey pass through their hands, and frotii ihei^ ratfiks spring many of our merchant princes. When Harry first mounted the long-legged stooL a new world opened out before him; he had RAKRT. If.*- heaid that the head of the firm was once a poor lad, and he saw that industiy and in- tegrity might again do what it had done before. For several years he patiently toiled on, receiving annually a small increase of ^^alaiy, and was more and more trusted with work requiring the strictest honesty. His employers treated him with respect, and left several matters in his hands, which showed their increasing regard for his prudence. His Sundays found him in the church, and his spare evenings were spent in study and the reading of books calculated to strengthen his intellect and moral principles. He married a respectable young woman, made a fair start in life, and all seemed bright in prospect But one thing was lacking, and for want of that one thing he was compara- tively weak. He was not a decided Chris- tian, and consequently less prepared for temptation, which in some form is the com- mon lot of alL Harry became dishonest. I know that a man may be honest who makes no profession of religion. There are hun- dreds who would scorn to break the eighth HABBT. oomtnandment^ who would not care much about breaking all the other nine. To boast of our integrity, because we have not sinned against the whole decalogue, is not much to boast of. One man may be strong where his neighbour is weak, and weak where his neighbour is strong, — some stand at a point where others fall, and fall at a point where others stand. None are safe at every point but those who have hold of the offered hand that can uphold us alL ** Thou shalt then walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble," for this hand sustains the uni- verse, and blessed is the man that maketh the Lord his trust. There was a young man in the same office with Harry who had obtained his situation through the influence of Mends. This young man was impatient and rather lax in his morals. One day the two being alone in the office, he standing with his back to the fire, and Harry busy at the desk, speaking in an undertone, he said, — "Harry, lad, I have been thinking that this world is made up of horses and riders, and if we do not ride we shall be ridden; 6 SAltfiT. R,*#- ^:.;% and I am determined to be a rider^ What prospect have you and I, with our noses tp the grindstone day after day for our paltry Bfllaries ? We neye> need to think of a house in the country or a competency for old age. I am sick of if ^But our employers have houses in the country, and a provision for declining years, and they began life poor as either of us, and keeping their noses to the ^indstone, as you call it, has made them somebody, as it ha^ done thousands besides them," replied Harry. "But it has taken them a desperate long ^ime ; it is slow work, and I am determined to go rather faster. I made as much money in one hour last week as my quarter's wages will be ! What think you of that, my lad?'* "How did you do it ?" asked Harry. ** Go with me toruight, and you ahaU havQ your hist lesson ; and you will find that a fortune is much sooner made thaii SfmP people think," was the auswer. Without any suspicion Harry went, and was conducted by his fellow-clerk to a well^ fiimisJiod upperrioom, where sat several HABRY. s in the g year^, f us, and 5, as you as it ha9 d Harry. ute long ;ermine(jl i money 's wages ay lad?'' cy- an havQ 4 that « mt, and I a well* severa]i gentlemen; some smoking cigars, mi all (Jyinking spirits. Two weye settling apcpunts that required a many bank notes, and both seemed much excited, the certainty of a fevourite horse winning waj? the subject of j conveygation, and several beta were, offered ^ find taken. Harry saw at once where, he was, and after drinking a couple of glasses of ♦whiskey he went diieptly home,, racier ^tonished tp think he had be^n in 6,\;^h ^ place, but he had heard enough tha^ fu^ht \o make him look very an^ous^y at the ^rting columns of the papei? the fpllwing morning, — a p^-rt of the paper he )aa4 neyer thought worthy of his notice btifoye. The head of the firm hearing from a private letter that the iiew clerk was a frec^m^ntj^? of the b^ttiiig hquse at once discharged hin^. Hoxxy saw how narrow his own escape had been, and (or a time it acted aa a warning* A few wee^p^ after the di«chai:gpd clerlf ai^t JIany fit a railway station, and inform^ him he ^ad made a considerable sum by his bi^tting; fnd offered to furnish him with secret in- iom^ioji wh^n the chances wex6 gocKl^ ^nd; ii^ fe,-'T« fci> ' 11 I?!' 8 HABBT. be his agent for any amount he wished to stake, promising to keep all in perfect con- fidence. Hany had five pounds, part of his quarterns salaiy, and in a moment of weak- ness he handed it to the persuasive blackleg; in a few days after twelve pounds was re- turned, his five having made seven pounds more at the York races. From that time Harry paid daily attention to the sporting, or rather blackguard columns in the papers, caring far more for the bettings than the money article^ foreign markets, or prices current, working his small capital through the secret but fatal medium, some* times winning and sometimes loosing, and at last lost more than he was able to pay ; the gamester lent him what was required oo 9 six months bil^ deducting thirty per cent interest From that day Banjr became the conv* panlon (i a troubled conscience ; how to meet the bill when it fell due he could not tell, and he knew if he did not he should be exposed, and probably lose his situation and charaoter, and to him character was eveiy- HABBT. 9 tlung : that gone, His bread was gone. His wife perceived a change ; he was often silent and thoughtfid, and frequently troubled in his sleep, but in her innocence she attri- buted it to his close office hours, and urged him to take a litfle more exercise in the open air. Harry's condition was no doubt one of trouble, and his experience was like that of hundreds, if not thousands, who have fallen from the same cause. Many I have known. Very lately a fine young man called, upon me, requesting an interview. With anguish of spirit he informed me he had left his situation and home to escape from deb1*« consequent on betting, and he had a fear lesl he might some day rob his master to get rid of his tormenting gambling creditors; that he had posted a letter to his father telling him of his flight and that he need not seek for him for he should never return. ** What do you want me to do for you, my young man?" I asked. " Help me to get work in an office, ware- houae.labouring, anything that will be bread." ID lURRT. i^- ** Win your father care for youliaving left your place and your home?" I asked ** Oh yea, sir; my father is a good man, aud always by precept aud example taught me the right way, I never knew my father do "wrong,, and I was comfortable and happy he^ fore giving way to this cursed betting" *' H«ve you a mother, or brothers, or sis- ters, sir V* *^I have na mother, but several aisteis some of them very young." " Well, sir 5 you must at once write home, and tell your father you are here, and that I think I can get you work." . " Oh, I dare not write home," he replied. : "But you must, or I will not stir one step to help you. K your father be the man you say, your letter will almost kill him, for he will think you have done something terrible, and intend self-destruction." He sat down, and, with trembling, wtote home ; I sending it to the posi The follow- ing day I received a letter from the father addressed to the son, who, after having read BARItT. « it, banded it to me. It was written in a tremulous hand, and read as follows :-^ " My dear child, why have you ran away ? Whal have you done? Do tell me, and tell me all. Qave 70U robbed your master ? Are the police seeking you; or is it something worse still ? [ have known no deep since I received your first letter ; I took it up stairs and spread it before God, beseeching Him to have mercy on youj and guide you to John Aeli worth, of Bochdale, who I did believe would take care of yon until ^ome• thing could be done. He has so far answered my prayer ; and now tell Mr. Ashworth to advise with you what is the best to do ; write me at once, and the Lord God save yon my child." Inside the father's letter there was one from a young sister. She, childlike, wrote: "Dear Brother, why do you not come home? Father cries and cannot eat, and we all cry because yon do not come home. Will you come to-day ? Do come and made us all happy ; that is a good brpthjor, «luL I w;iU kiss you." Had these two young men hearkenecl to one single sentence of the Bihl^,-^" If w- ners entice thee consent thou not.'' aU this suffering would have been spared ; or espe- cially had they been converted to God, born again of the Spirit, and \^&a ^(^w (a;^tHi6S . .,",5 12 HARRT. in Christ Jesus, then they would have sought divine guidance, and God would have di- rected their paths, for no godly man, or even honest man, would even think of betting. The betting man wants money without earn- ing it, or Tvithout giving an equivalent for it : nothing but crime and misery can come from gambling ; misery to the loser and a guilty conscience to the winner ; both are accursed with '*The ayenging fiend that follows them behind With whips aad stings." Some it has hanged, some transported, and imprisoned more. Few gain in the long run, and those gains are never blessed. " Woe unto him that gaineth an evil gain," is the declaration of Him that can send the woe. As the time for meeting the bill drew near, Harry's distress of mind increased. All hope that the man who first led him wrong would help him was gone, for he had been forced to leave the country to escape the consequence of his viUainy, he joined the Southern anny, and lost his life in the HARRY. 13 e sought have di- or even betting, ut earn- ilent for Ein come and a K)th are )ehtnd ted, and ong run, "Woe " is the he woe. U drew ed. AU I wrong ad been ipe the led the in the American civil war. So Harry was left alone to meet the coming trouble. Had he told his wife, or made known his danger to a few friends, he might have been saved, but he feared to teU ; and this fear, coupled with his folly, led him deeper and deeper into sin. Thoughts, now entered his mind that twelve months before would have made him shud- der. Having to assist in stock-taking, he secreted a valuable article, and in the dark had it conveyed to a receiver of stolen goods; he paid his betting debt, but at what a fear- ful cost I The article not appearing in tlie stock-book, nearly eighteen months clasped before the theft was detected, and during those eighteen months it would be impossi- ble for pen or tongue to describe the mental anguish and extreme suffering that Hany endured. When speaking to me of this fearful period he said : " I believe there needs no hell to be more terrible than^a guilty consci^ice. To know that you have committed a crime for which retribution may overtake you any moment; to feel tJiat when you lie down at night you 14 iTAllBlf. I may be dragged from your bed by a police* man before morning, or when you rise in the morning yon may be in gaol before evening; to be greeted on y6ur return from business with the similes of your wife and the shouts of your children, when you knoW tnat any hour the one miay be broken-hearted and the oth«r for ever disgraced and de* graded. To sit down at the table snrWunded with your parents and friends who have come to take a social cup of tea, and ever^ knock at the door i^end a dagger to yolace in guard. Strict i have betting goods, ad the "Her all her Some bilt pooir A DANCER. *'Liglit-wing*d hopes that oome wben bid, Kainbow joys that end in weepings Passions strong 'mongst pure thoughts hid. Like serpents under flowerets sleeping'* Qnb of our London Aldermen, in company with a few friends, paid a visit to one of the City Bagged Schools, and began to question the lads on their knowledge of history, the catechism, &c., especially that part of the catechism referring to the promise made by their godfatheis and godmothers, when they were baptised. Several of the children answered him cleverly. On asking what they thought the ** pomps and vanities of this wicked world " were, one little fellow shot up his hand to show his answer was ready. "Well, my boy," said the Alder- XD|ui, " what are the pomps and vanities 1 " 22 A DANCER. " Lord Mayor's Show," said the boy, amidst a burst of laughing from all the visitors. No doubt the boy was near the mark, but he would have been nearer still if he had said a fancy ball, wh^re the cotiiKon, quad- rille, waltz, polka, and minuet, are elegantly performed by superbly dressed and scented gentlemen, tripping the light toe^ vrttK the half-dress^ light-heeled ladies reeling and whirling; to the enchanting sound of music till the dead of night or early morning. I rather thilik the palm for vanity wtmld be given to the fancy ball. I am not; and I hope never shaQ be, one of those morbid, gloomy, creatures that can- nvt beiar to see the natural outburst at ekviMcBxii hettlthj in- the merry lianghy or hed,tty innocent play ; purity of hetot is compatible with joyous' cheerfolness; That He who created' aU things; and is the source of all good; intends £^ oonscious beings to be happy we have abundant evidence to prove, both in His word and His works ; and that happiness is the best secured by ^ williug QprtjlianciS YdQx the' JL CAlffCElt J3 writJiien and unwritten Tequirements of both physical and moral laws. Peace with Gkwi through Christ, evidenced^ by a life of holy labour fbrGrod's glory and the good of others, secures the highest possible felicity in thia >*forld, and anything or everything that tends to increase or strengthen thid highest^ of all human pleasures must undbubtlybe right; and this ought to be the guiding stco'of all our actions, the regulator of all our pursuits, and the test of aH our indulgences, in eating, drinking, dressing; amusements, diversions, entertainments, or recreations, then all be* comes a joy and a bleswng. But when'the ob- ject and purpose of pleasure is a- mere^ carnal or sensual indulgence, then it invariably be* oomes a curse, proved, a thousand* times proved,, by countless miserable victims, and Annie,, the prominent figure in this sketch* is one. Annie was one of those girls, too fre- quently found in our schools, our workshops, and in service, who give early indications of impatience under restraint, and love to IblioT^ their ^wn desires, oad vai» pwj>«ft** s::i T'1 la 24 ▲ DANCER. sities, without reflecting on the consequences^ and one who it was easy to prophesy would bring trouble on herself. She loved finery, Saturday afternoon and Sunday walks, and what are called amusements, especially dancing; and in this day, when so many allurements and temptations are held out by the unprincipled to decoy the young, this propensity for dancing was a dangerous besetment That amusements and recreations differ in character, quality, and moral influence, there is no doubt. While some are comparatively innocent, others are calculated and are often intended to minister to the lower and baser propensities of our nature; and dancing, especially mixed dancing, has this tendency^ "When blended sexes meet, then hand in hand Fast lock'd, around they fly, or nimbly wheel In mazes intricate ;" This is no doubt very agreeable to unsano- tified hearts, but he would be a bad reasoner that could not calculate the effects. Many a sorrowing parent can tell how their dear II A DAKGEB. 26 ones hayd fallen; many a Sanday-scliool teacher tell of those that have disappeared from the class to hide themselves, in grief and shame, through a foolish love of dancing, How Annie learned to dance her parents do not know; they first heard of her per- forming in one of those vistibules of perdi- tion, a public dancing sti^e, kept by one of those agents of Satan, a publican, for sordid gain. These stages are found to be profitable to their wicked owners, and attractive to the gay, the foolish, and the simple. Bands are engaged to rouse and stimulate the young to join in the giddy whirl ; the harp and the fiddle lend their thrilling sounds ; hired performers of questionable character are kept as baits to catch the innocent, and fieiy drinks to inflame. They are often called by the most attractive names: Tea- gardens, Alhambra, Tiptoe Temple, &c; but no youth that values his seK-respect, no female that possesses one particle of modesty, will degrade themselves by stepping on those boards. Hearts now broken have once been there j the blood gfflouja, dying mi 4e«4i 2« M DAlTOEBi clingsr to everj^ timber, and lionie but thos0' on the road to ruin^ could eve^bd fotind to pjittronise thdUL ohBdiren.: will form soma ideA of thi^ soitbw of Anni^'» nlot^et wben-'sli^ first heiod o^ heirdaughter danoing on a stkge in comiectioii with public pleasure ground^, find a pu^l^ house. She kh&w that nothing but evil oOUld spring frOm< eVil ; and wi<^ loispeak^ aMe distress of mind she intreated her netei^ to be seen thete again^ pointing otit i^e cOb;^ sequence \ij referring to seveiail youn^ women who had! made shipwreck of evisiy virtue, and brought thetnselvee and^ others^ to untold'distress and trouble. Annie partljr! promised her mother that) shfe would go no morOi but she did not keep her^pronlide ; she' excelled in dancihgj and herdesire tOe^ibit her abilitjl' and her love of flatteiy wad. stronger tilian her regard for* her motheif^' peace of mind, or her own' salvaMott. Agaiii and again she- mingled with the giddy throttgi frecfuently returning home late in Iflie ev^nwg;: the iksa% enti!e«tied^ perstia- A DAKCBIL' 2^ 8ions,or ttreatenings of her parents wete all of no use; the Sunday-school was giVen up, she seldom appeared' at churchy and ati last through heif oonduct waa forced to leave home. That dancing, especially ntixed dancings young men and young women dancing to- gether, has been a snare to hundreds besides Annie, admits of no doubt ; and yet, like every questionable indulgence, it finds many defenders, and perhaps never more than at the present time. While these defenders would scarcely dwe to apologise for the Ibve^ of dancing in poor Annie, and her vulgar exhibition of her favorite amusement, yet they are loud in their praises of dancing as a^ very healthy exercise, calculated' to strengthen the lungs, develope the muscle, rectify the nerves, correct defects in walkings and produce elasticity of step ; that it is a physical necessity, and: educatitDn cannot be- considered complete without a knowledge of dancing. These are the stock arguments used by parents and guardians who can #ad tOit send their: ohildsen to the: dancing) » A DANCER. school, to be drilled in the precise, severe, artificial step, alike for all, whatever the difiference in physical capability. The expense and trouble in learning having been great^ of course opportunities must be sought to exhibit and show off the attainments, especially if at a marriageable age. But dancing damsels make sorry wives. I rather the bat, the ball, and the climbing pole, the hoop, the swing, and the skipping rope, can do aU this quite as well, far more naturally, with less of the foolishly precise, and tedi- ously artificial, and that the boys and girls of [our common schools and village greens will compare favorably in health, action, and vigour with those who have passed through the hands of an artistic dancing 'master. Apologists for dancing are generally lovers of the world, and the things of the world, who are blinded by the deceitfulness of riches, and the lust of other things. Having no object in life, time hangs heavy on their hands, and to break the monotony of an indolent, useless existence, they seek for excitement in outward things: theatres^ I I- m A DANCEB. 29 balls, concerts, card tables, billiards, watering places, &c., and they undoubtedly are the most miserable part of the communitj, the most to be pitied and prayed for. But what is most surprising, some pro- fessors of religion, and even holding offices in the church, are found amongst defenders of artistic and mixed dancing ; and what i^ worse still, they try to justify their opinions and conduct by an appeal to the Bible. They tell us that Miriam danced; that David danced ; that they danced when the prodigal son returned. We admit that Miiiam did dance, and said as she was dancing, " Sing ye to the Lord, for He hatl; triumphed gloriously." Her joy was bound- less for the great deliverance God had Wrought for long oppressed IsraeL David and the elders of Israel went to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the house of Obed-Edom to the tent he had pitched for it in Jerusalem ; that mysterious, sacred ark, the visible symbol of God*s presence, and so great was his joy that he danced before it, and well he might. And 50 ,A dakceh. '1 ^ 11 the dancing mentioned at the return of the prodigal son, was indicative of joy for the restoration of the lost one. The dancing mentioned in the Bible was clearly a religious exertjise, an outburst of exuberant gladness and gratitude for great blessings sent of God ; or a solemn act of praise ; but never performed by the mixed sexes, and never in the night ; and they were regarded as wicked and infamous persons who perverted dancing fromrits sacred use. But those who try to make the Bible sanction their folly, will perhaps remen-ber the cost of one dance mentioned in the four- teenth of Matthew. Herodias seems to have been a woman very likely either to dance herself or have a dancing daughter ; she had two husbands alive, but she left her first husband, Herod Philip, to marry his more rich and powerful brother Herod Antipas, a most scandalous affair, and John the Baptist saw it his duty to reprove Herod for their shameful conduct and unlawful connection. This honesty and faithfulness brought down upon him the wrath of the adultress, and A DAKCJCB. 91 ^Bhe planned his destruction. Salome, her well-trainad dancing daughter, was tlie selected instrument for carrying out her vengeance. When Herod's birthday came, it seems to have been kept up, like many stiU are, in revel and riot ; and the young lady danced before him so exquisitely that his passions were aroused, he promised, with an oath, to give her whatsoever she would ask, and she, being be/ore instriuM of her mother^ said, " Give me here John Baptist's head in a charger ;" Herod sent and be- headed John in the prison, and thus the prophet and preacher in the wilderness, he that baptised the World's Kedeemer in Jordan, and according to Christ's own testi- * mony, the greatest man bom of woman, was cruelly murdered at the instigation of this dancing daughter of a wicked mother ; ..and his head was brought in a dish and given to ' the light-heeled damsel, and she brought it to her mother, and very likely they both danced together over the success of their deep laid scheme. Depend ugon it, this atrocious event is 82 A DANCER. not recorded as a mere link in the biography of John ; it is a great moral lesson, teaching IS that the most fiendish cruelty can lurk m the breast of half-robed gaiety, and that the dance of one may cause another to weep, and that a dance can and did subserve the purpose of lust. But no doubt it will be said, — ^Why quote Salome or Annie, their's are exceptional cases; dancers are not all so heartless as they were. Perhaps not; it would be wrong to say they were, but it is not many years since a young woman went to take a last interview with her brother, who was condemned to be executed the following morning. So strong was her love of dancing, she left that brother's celL. went to a public dance, and there, hand in hand, arm in arm with a young man, whirled round and round in the polka and other dances until late in the evening ; reckless as some of her companions were, this unfeeling conduct rather shocked them. That young lady, then so active, and blooming, and gay, now lies in an earlv grave, A DANCER. 83 and was carried to that grave from tlie Union Workhouse. Salome and she would have been fit companions. One of our quaint old authors teUs us, "As apothecaries do cover tlieir pills with some sweet substance, whereby to make them go down the easier ; so the devil, under the sport and pleasure of dances, maketh man to swallow lustful desires ; and albeit they proceed to no greater iniquity, yet is this a mortal wound to the soul, considering that wc know that such lusts are accursed in the sight of God.** And what is dancing now, either on the open stage where Annie fell, in our ball- rooms, or our social gatherings ? Is it an exuberant or solemn act of praise for great deliverances, a religious observance to the glory of God, as those recorded in the Scrip- tures often were, or are they wicked and infamous assemblies ? If there be a place in this world where the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life may be 8e.-,t MRS. BOWDEN. The three thousand wives and mothers assembled inEdinburgh, Newcastle, Leic^ter, land Blackburn, to bear addresses from one who had often met similar gatherings in other towns, presented scenes and suggested thoughts widely in contrast There was no difficulty in detecting the persons by whose moving pow^ the vast multitude Vrere in- fluenced and brought together : they quietly took their places amongst the mothers under their special care, without parade or ostenta- tion, standing out from others by that inde- finable something which education and re- ligion ever gives. The wives and mothers^ though crowded together, had also their in. dividuality, — the truly beautiful, the merry and happy, the sedate and thoughtful, the 42 IIBS. BOWDEN. fair and fat, mingled with the lean and care- worn; the pale and sickly, the careless and easy ; nor would it have been very difficult to tell from the appearance and countenance, which of them had good children, good husbands, and lived in sweet homes. But no gathering of females that I have witnessed has exceeded in interest the one we had in Milton Church, in our own town, on the evening of the sixth of January last. At the expense of one who honours the Lord with part of what the Lord has trusted him, five hundred and fifty widows met together, sat down to their favourite repast, and for a few hours seemfed to enjoy the company of each other. Though the object in bringing them together was to make them as cheerful and happy as possible, to get better ac- quainted with their social, temporal, and moral condition, and to speak to them woixls of peace and comfort, still the thought could not be . withheld, that all of them had worn weeds of woe, the sable emblems of the de- parted, that the hand that had brought them bread, the arm that had been their shield, I I 1 MBS. BOWDEN. 43 and the hearts that had held them dear were all laid in the dust. Every one of those five hundred and fifty widows had her history, and one part of that histoiy was linked with the tx)mb. j It was no easy undertaking to speak to this chastened assembly : human language would fail to sound the depths of their emotion. The words of Him who multi- plied the widow's oil, raised the widow's son, saw the widow's mite, and says let the widows trust in me, seemed the most suit- able to the requirements of the moment, and received the best response of many hearts. Numbers in that memorable meet- ing I knew ; many of them attend our Chapel for the Destitute. One of them recently left us, who for several years sat with five other aged females on the same form, richly enjoying the means of grace, and now, with her husband who died eight years ago, she counts amongst the dead, and I have thought a few words on the late years of her life may be of use to the living. The very word, "widow/* calls forthmore o» u |fRS. bqwde;^. less sympathy, and where it is (isspciated with a group of helpless qhildren, we kuow that ill most cases it means a piotracte^ struggle and many trials. The oldest child of five, and herself only seven years of ag^e, once said to her mother, — ''Mother, since my father died, I have often seen you go up stairs with a sad and sorrowful face, which makes me feel poorly ; but vlien you come down again, your face shinpa what do you do at your face, mother ?" Poor little thing, she did not then under- stand that her mother went up stairs to spread her troublea before Hinji who knows all 9orrOiW, can help in time of need, and make his children happy in every affliction. ; Mrs. Bowden, the subject of this sketch, had no little children, they were grown up wheif she lost her husband, nor did she ri^emble the praying mother in her religious yi^ws and feelings. She sometimes went to church, but niore frequently spent her Sab- bath in dijwting, rubbing, cooking, eating, and sleeping, probably caring more for her |)pli3]b^^4 ^f^^ W^ M^^ f<^nd^r^ than MBS. BOWOEN. 46 for the house of God, or the salvation of her own soul, consequently her Sahbaths instead of being hours of peace, holiness, and joy, were mostly days of langour, yawning, and weariness ; and we fear she was a true type of thousands. After her husband's death, she began to be more thoughtful ; she saw how solemn a thing it was to die, and knew if she had been called away, she was not prepared. She attended more regularly some place of worship, her tnie condition became i^ore and more revealed, the light entered her dark mind, and in merc^ she became convinced she was a sinner. And now commenced a struggle more important, and momentous in its results, than anything that can possibly engage the human soul. She knew that she had wasted years of priceless value, sinned against Gk)d, grieved His Holy Spirit, and that His frown i rested upon her. What "Was she to do?-i Many in this state of mind to quencn the striving of the Spirit have fled to theatres balls, billiards, concerts, operas, novels, plea-, suring places, social p^^rties, and dnnk. God 46 MBS. BOWDEK. be merciful to me a sinner, is the prayer they seem determined never to offer up. God calls, but they refuse. He stretches forth His hand of mercy, but they regard it not; and what might have culminated in pardon and peace, sinks them deeper and deeper into guilt and misery, and they swell the number of the great cloud of witnesses who prove that there is no peace to the wicked. What a mercy this was not Mrs. Bowden's case I She, like Bunyan's pilgrim, felt her burden grow heavier and heavier. She went from chapel to church, and from church to chapel, and at last to the Chapel for the Poor, and there, bathed in tears of penitence, con- trition, and sorrow, the still small voice whispered " thy faith hath saved thee ; go in peace ! " and then she felt what millions have before her felt, how precious Christ is to them that believe. Her new-bom joy filled her soul with unspeakable felicity, filling her mouth with praise and thanksgiving. She spoke about it to her neighbours, told all her fellow-worshippers at the Chapel. Like the poor man out of whom Christ cast the de^ MRS. BOWDEN. 47 mons, she tola 'wnat great things the Lcnrd had done for her. The dark, dark cloud of guilt that shrouded in its folds the hearts of , woe, was lifted up, and the smiling beams of heaven came down upon her happy soul. It is painful to hear persons professing to believe the Bible, call in question the doctrine of the conscious pardon of sin. Those sweet portions of God's word which to God's children are so precious, because expressive of their own experience, are to such words without meaning. There must be a spiiiiual birth or no heaven. To have it and not know it is to remain ignorant of God's greatest gift,— a gift which, when felt, pro- duces the greatest joy : being justified by faith we have peace with God, and tihat peace must have a beginning, or there can be no peace. A doubter on this great ques- tion, residing in Yorkshire, who held high office in the church, speaking to one of his flock on the subject, said, — " I do not believe that anybody can tell when their sins are forgiven^ except at th»] I 48 BfBS. BOWDEy. point of death, and I question if they know then." " I am of the same way of thinking;" re- plied the woman, " and I think it is all talk when I hear people say they can teU." This woman had a daughter who came to be a servant in Lancashire, and fortunately for her the new home contained a family altar. One morning the master, while pray- ing for the saV'ition of the whole house^ hold, made mencion of several by name, and amongst them was the name of the new servant. A few days after, the servant sought a piivate interview with the niistress, and told her how unhappy she was. ** Are you not satisfied with your plaoe ?** enquired the mistress. ^ " yes, I am well pleased with my situ- ata B. but I wish to tell you that I have bijen concerned about my soul ever, since my master prayed for my salvation. The jM^ayer sunk deep xnto my heart, and I want to know ^/hsit I must do to be saved." The mistress, placing her hand on the ialiorJder of the servant, answered, — " XBS. BOWDBT, 49 Hary, I am so glad you have told me ; aud now ait down, and we will read, and talk, and pray about your sorrow, for I hope it will aoon be turned into joy, for God never turns a penitent away, nor wounds without intending to heaL" For several hours, during the several fol- lowing days, tlie good lady explained the scriptures, especially the third chapter cf ^Tohn, and pleaded with God on her behalf; then came the great change, Mary and her Qiistress rejoiced together. If scenes like this were more frequent in the houses of the wealthy, there would not be so many registering offices, or so many servants' boxes at our railway stations. About three months after Mary's converr aion, ehe requested permission to go and see her mother, for she had received a letter informing her that she was not quite well. Leave was given her, and away by the coach she v/ent, arriving after her mother had retired to rest. Maiy first ran iip stairs to kiss her mother, and asked how she was, tlien took off her bonnet and shawl, and mad^ herself mm 60 WIS. BOWDXir. a cup of tea. Before blowing out her candid for the night, Mary asked her raother if she might read a psalm. % "Yes, child, if you wish," was the answer. Mary read the ninety-first Psalm, and afier a pause said, "Mother, must I pray with you?" • "Yes; but can you pray without a book, chad?" "Praying is telling God what we want, with humility *»nd truth, mother." Mary kuelt down and after thanking God for her own salvation, prayed earnestly for the salvation of her mother, — so earnestly that the mother was much astonished and afifected. During the follow* ng day, at the request of her mother, Mary read and prayed with her many times ; she felt herself a poor sinner, and sought a Saviour; and before Mary returned to her place of service, she had the unspeakable joy of hearing her mother tell that she had found Jesus, The same day, the man high in office in the church called to see her; the moment he entered, she said,--* «• MRS; BOWDEN. 51 *I am glad you have called, please sit down, for I must tell you we have both been wrong : we may possess conscious forgive- ness of sin and peace through believing. I know we may, for through the shed blood of Christ, and the instrumentality of my dear child, I now enjoy it What a mercy ! What a mercy I"; ~ , The gentleman rose up, walked towards the window, looked out^ and b^an to whistle, then taming to the daughter, he oaid^ — ^ .\ '» "Young woman, I think your mother is not so well to-day, she is evidently ram- bling ; good morning." :" Bambling I " relied the mother, with i stnile, "rambling I I wish I had rambleii' thirfy yeaxs since." >r . Whata mercyi tlkM this great question (tf II knowledge of sins forgiven is so plainly ' (iraght in God's own word. He there tells ' tlfl, that the Spirit itself beareth witness •with our spirits that we are the children of €k)d. David said, '* I will confess my trans- gressions unto thcLoid* wad Ib^ foqpvest' f - 11 , i i ; 1 1 52 MBS. BOWDEN. the iniquity of my sin. As far as t^e east is from the west^ so far hath He removed our transgressions from us. Blessed is he whose transgressions is forgiven." And Paul i^ the Acts say^, ** Being then made free from sin^ ye b^caine the servants of righteous^ ness. Amongst the many happy people attend* ii^ ^e Chapd for the PeQtitute, none seemed tp oi\joy ^he i^^ant moie than ]^. Bowden, ^ c^ed the ^eektnight aervioe h^ little Sunday, a lift hy the way, the green spot In t|^ w^deirnesi^} and 11 vf a^ ia^y cheeariiig to 8^ I^er ^^ ^ Qr9yr4 9f poctr people, many with, shawls on their headq iindtead of bom^ets, &f 4 elggs on ^k feel 4iis(k^ Qf isthoes, but a^' )6fM3, iqf gD^pri^^^^ value tiheae littk' % J^^: ^^s^w a love £w th«> .llRd. lK>W0Jtif. es flddai ni^ahs of griacd is one sign of spiritual health in either rich or poor ; and those that fird the most anicious to increase their spiri- tual strength will esteem these the most higlily. When we try to find arguments against class meetings, church meetings, prayer meetings, &c., it is an indication that W6 are not very fast growing in grace ; we need these helps by the Way. The world dally rolls in upon us, and we need a strong ahn to roll it baok» to keep it in its proper place. M^ans are required, and the week- day means are often a powerful check. Mrs. Bowden experienced the truth of our Lord'« woxds, '* In me ye have peace j " but she had one great anxiety : all her family Wete not saved. That they all might find the Saviour she had found her earnest, con- stant prayer. The intensity of this wish can only be understood by those that have ex- perienced it. To have a husband or a wife^ a brother or a sister, walking down to eternal death, heedless of all entreaties or persuasions, id an unspeakable trouble. 1 recently saw three sisters weeping over M VBS. BOWDBKw their wayward brother,not because lie bad dis- graced Irimself or them by any open sin or breach of the law, but because he turned a deaf ear to heaven's warnings, and walked in the way of the ungodly. They feared for his never-dying souL This was Mrs. Bow- den's case. All her children were not walk- ing in the way to heaven, and this at times gave her great concern. One of her sons sat at the fire ill of consumption, coughing hiu^f into the grave, and her anxiety on his account grew stronger every day ; he had a strange temper, was very irritable and im- patient in his afi^ction, nothing seeuaed to impress him; this distressed her much.. She tried all means to do him good in body and soul, but received few thanks and little encouragement. She was never tired of talk- iog about him, and glad when any one called to see him. His sickness was long, and re- quired much attention. This afiected his mother's health, but she frequently said, — "I will nurse him, and do all I can for him, to the last moment ; but I cannot bear 1^ Uiink of him being lost for ever; the MKS. BOWDElf. 65 thought of this veij near kills me. Oh ! if his soul was saved how I should rejoice." The last time she attended the Chapel, she was sufiTering horn a severe cold, and made it much worse, but the circumstances of that night were so peculiar, that some allowance must be made for her indiscretion. Many in Eochdale and neighbourhood will long remember the last Sabbach of last year. Mingled sorrow and thankiulness will ever be associated with an event that transipired on that day. The Wesleyans of Union Street had long desired to extend their influence to a growing hamlet, just outside the town, and for this purpose built a place for the preaching of the gospel and a Sabbath school, near the junction of Clark's Lane and Mitchell Street, on the Spodand Koad. I was requested to take one of the opening services. The dedicating of new places of worship is an opportune time for displaying Christian union amongst Christian professors, and breaking through that nalTOW sectarian bigotiy that withers and chills Christian effort. Having recently ^ 5f UBS. BOWDEK oondufeted published services fot thirteeiil differently nained chjir6hes, I have learned to love thein all^ and find that if We were all inore ishaken up together, we should bettef display Christian charity, and exhibit to th^ world one iarue test of discipleship,^LoViiig each other. If Satan oould langh, he would laugh the loudest at Seeing the professed followers of the meek and lowly Jesilil quarrelling, or standing aloof from each othe^ in supercilious dignity, and in their self^ iighteoufiness dispising others. If the wordsj ** He that exalteth himself shall be abased/' were Well considered, few would dare to »d^j "t'je temple of the Lord are we,*' Proffesi what we wilV we never are in the true j)lac^ Until we feel We could wash each other's feei The day on which the hew place of wox^ ship in Spotland Road was opened was fearfully stormy; a hurricane, terrible m its consequences, swept acro8S the country, levelling to the ground many buildings in course of ereotion. About ten minutes to four, its foiy W9M so terrible, and its force so tfRiS. BOWl)BlA W irreaistible, that out building gave way, the entire gable feU upon the people, the two side walld followed, the toof-— for a moment held up by the ttemendous force of the storm «--KX)me down in one mass, ahd the screams ftnd groaiis of the btiried intittitude rose abOyiEi the rbariiig stdrm. One Wall still re- Huianed Near this #aQ I stood ^th dosed eyeiB and bowed head, believing that my last moment wds come, jthe scene that imme- diately followed was trtdy distressilig : the maimed, bruised) bleeding, and tettified, forced their way from under the .rtdns, and iH'^rM dismay tan through the dreiiching taioi a\ d hoti^lihg blast Crowds gathered rbu:^ to assist the helpless sufferers. Fire- ukdtL, doetot^, and policemeh, felatives &nd &lea<5B, tendered all possible assistahce, and tb the amazement of every one, there was not one killed. Over thirty wete injured, severial for life, and one has since died. As the report 6f the calamity spread over the town, its horrors were iDagnified ; many were sdid to be slain, and I amongst the number. Otir people belonging to th^ i» i!J J: i ii MRS. B0WDE1I» Chapel for the Destitute were in great trouble, and though the storm still raged, they came to the evening service under great excitement. But though I had not received the slightest injury, the sight I had just witnessed rendered me unfit to conduct thQ service, and a kind friend suppKed my placet Mrs. Bowden, though in poor health, could not be persuaded to remain at home. She wrapped her shawl around her, and pushed through the storm, and rejoiced with them all that the life of tL^ir pastor was saved 2 but she came no more. When James, the consumptive son, saw his mother's health fail, it softened him to some extent; but he was long before he showed signs of repentance towards God. When persons, either in sickness or healthy persistently refuse to be reconciled to their Maker, it is a proof of the grossest ignor- ance, or downright wickedness. ** Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life," principally applies to the latter, but T think it was the former in Jame's case; and I found, i^ ip^eaking to him« simplicity ojo^ patience UBB. BOWDBI^ 69 was required; the ABC of God's plan of saving sinners had to be taught him. The time came when neither of them could rise from a sick bed, and it became a ques- tion which of them would first depart Another son, who had been very kind to his widowed mother and sick brother, had long provided for all their wants, proving again that true religion always leads us to honour our parents. When this good son heard of his mother's dangerous illness, he brought his family to see her. One of the children, about four years old, after looking a long time in silence in the face of the aged suf-. ferer, said, — "Grandmother, pray to Jesus; he can make you well again." ., This sentence from the little grandchild filled the soul of the dying saint with rap- ture. The name of Jesus for five years had been to her precious ; and that name spoken by the mouth of a babe, and that babe her own son's child, was a joy indeed. As soon as she could speak, she said, — "X know Jesus can make me well, dear ; M lilts. dD'WDEN. but I am going to wh^re I shall see Wm, an J then I shall be poorly no moire." Mrs. Bowden's last hours were calculated to cheer ^rorkers in the Lord's vineyard. My MloW-labourets yet speak of happy tnOihents they enjoyed in witnessing her se- rene Countenance, and hearing her tell of her glorious prospects. When her head was raised a little, she could see her son in the othei^ bed, who, like herself, was fast sinking towards the ghive. Her prayers for him often greatly affected his heart; and when she heard him pray for himself, tears of joy would stream down her pale face. I felt it a solenm moment to kneel be- tW' ? I will I 70 .rTiil WQ BELL. try to be a good lad, work hard, and help you all I can." Peter redeemed his promise, and became the comfort and principal stay of the whole house, gathering the harvest of the sea, or any other work by which he could earn a few shillings to buy bread for so many help- less eaters. What a blessing it is when the oldest child of a family is a good child ! When the one that must have a considerable influence over th3 rest, makes that influence tell for the good of all Many a family deprived of their parents, have been kept together and reared in intelligence and piety by the kind, thoughtful oldest brother or sister, carefully and patiently watching over those more helpless than themselves; whatever may be the character of the firstborn, that character will considerably influence the others for good or evil, their power being next to the power of a parent. On calling at the thatched cottage once the residence of Peter, in company with Mr. McCormack and Mrs. Bagshawe, then w THE FOG BELli. 71 on a visit to Southport, we found the house small, but neat and clean. Jane, one of the elder girls, sat at a square table, preparing shrimps for the market, and with ma?^ellous dexter 'ty separated the small fish from the thin shell. On enquiring for her mother, she informed us she was gone to Southport to receive her weekly portion of the money subscribed for their relief at the time her brother was drowned. As she uttered the last sentence, her colour changed and the tear stood in her eye. On asking the age of her brother, she pointed to a framed funeml card that hung on the wall. Under Peter's name were the impressive lines of Heber ; — 11 Thou art gone to the grave^— but *twere wrong to deplore thee, When God waa thy ransom, thy guardian and gnide; He gav« thee and took thee, and soon will restore thee, And death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died." Before we left the mother returned, a younger sister and several of her little brothers came home from school, and all quietly sat down i 72 THE FOG BELL round their small room. Our conversation was about their present condition, their future prospects, and the two now no more ; and with much pleasure I learned that the father, during his life, was a steady, consistent member of a Christian church, that the Bible was read to his numerous household, and that beneath the thatched roof had been reared the family altar. Let the careless living say what they may, these are sweet thoughts about the dead. Speaking of how Peter and the other six neighbours who perished with him met their fate, we found that most of it was conjecture; but it is supposed they lost their way in the fog, and instead of taking their road home, they had wandered about more than two miles out of their proper course, until the tide gathered around them, when escape be- came impossible. Their cries for help were heard from the Lytham shore, but it was thought to be the shouting of boatmen call- ing to each other. At last the rolling waves that have stilled many a cry came over them^ and none escaped to tell the true tale. The .Tin FOO WBUU » kind-hearted Robert Wright and his young friend John Wright, were found tied to- gether, Kimmer, Hesketh, Aughton, and the two both named Peter Wright, the one mar^ ried, and the other the son and brother of the sad group around us, had fallen separ- ately, and all of tKem about five miles from home. ; Few men can tell how, when, or where i^heir earthly existence will temunate, but we all know we must die, and none are truly ^ise that are not ready. The future in its importjance ao immieasuiably transcends the present, that it is madness to make the pre- sent our chief QoncerU) and thereby ne^ct the futuce. The farmer, whose grounds had brought forth plentifully, cared fpr nothing but building new barns, eating, drinking, and being merry ; bt^t he was a fool, ^nd in ^e midst of his folly was suddenly called to his account The rich man clothed ii^ pur- ple and ^ne linen every day, caring for none but himself, had to leave the world, and we know what is now bis condition in the next, It was a tenible hour for the five foolish i m n THE FOG BELL. vrrgins, who found the door for ever shut againsf them, because they had not prepared to enter. We know that when the " London" foundered at eea, bags of gold, the once treasured property of those that were in the sinking ship, lay scattered on the deck, use- less then ; the preservation of life, and the safety of the unsaved soul, absorbed every other consideration. The man who stands ready, awaiting for the summons that may come any minute, — ready because he feels that he is a sinner saved by grace, saved by the shed blood of Christ, is the only truly wise man. What were the last words or the last thoughts of the seven fishermen in their last moments, when the rushing currents, rising sea, and impenetrable fog rendered escape impossible, will never be known to mortals. He only, before whom we must all appear, saw their last moments, and heard their last prayers, and let us hope that their cry for mercy was heard by Him who is fall of mercy. Peter's home training and the teachings of THE FOO BGIili. 75 .»» that Bible waiting to be presented on the following Sunday, would be invaluable to him in that awful hour. During the interview with the family, we learned how deeply the young man had been loved by them all. Jane was too affected to speak much, but when she said, "We miss Peter very rauih ; he did all he could for both mother and us; he was a good son and a good brother," the sorrowful faces of both mother and young children told how truly she spoke; We could not look on the sad group without feeling thankful that those who had been their teachers had left them so good an ex- ample. The fath'jr Jeading them to the house of God, making the day of rest a means of increasing his spiritual riches, and gather- ing strength for the conflicts of life, and sow- ing in their young hearts what we trust will yet yield a good harvest. Peter, having been early led to the Sun- day School, prized it exceedingly, and had he lived would probably have become a pillar in the house of God. He was greatly 76 THE FOG BW^ esteemed by all his young friends, of whom he had many in the Sunday School; he ne\er entered a public-house, or wasted pre- cious time in standing at the comei^ oi streets, or rambling about with the thought- l&is. Being a member of a Temperance Society saved him from many a snare, and prevented him from /ailing into those temp- tations that are the ruin of myriads of our young men. Whatever may be said about our Temperance Societies and Bands of Hope, there is no doubt that they hafe saved and are saving thousands from per- dition, Had Peter lived one Sunday longer, he would have had a token of the respeot in which he was held by being presented with a Bible, and though the gift might not have been very costly to the giver, yet the priceless Word of God will ever be among the most precious of all precious treasures, for he that delighteth and meditates on that Word, whatsoever he does shall prosper. I often think it possible to form a tolerably ponep^ opinio^ of th^ character of theoccu- 0] oj THE FOG BBXL. 77 pants of either cottpge or mansion, from the hooks on the shelves, pictures on the wall, or ornaments on the mantel-piece ; the law of association holds good in this respect as well as others ; the animate selecting its couiterpart from the inanimate, the one reflecting the other. Books, pictures, orna- ments, are teachers and companions, and if they be our own selection, what they are, we are. We sliould think it strange if we found in the house of a member of the Peace Society, the portrait of a pugilist or the bust of a wcm^ior ; or the walls of a man of th^ turf hung with Methodist preachers ; or the study of a minister decorated with favoutite racehorses or the steeplechase. The truth of these observations I once haid strongljr corroborated on a visit to the old seamen in Greenwich Hospital ; one of the venerable marines offering to be my guide thtoui^h this former residence of kings. We commenced at the range of dormitories. On entering the first, in addition to what there Was provided for every room, I found a chip of the Royal < 78 TKE FOG BELL. George, several rather obscene ballads, and pictures of three women of doubtful character, dressed in dashing colours ; one book only, a tattered volume'of old Dibdin. " This cabin belongs to an old obscene tar, who cares more for his grog and a long yarn than for his soul," I observed. " Do you know him ?" he asked. ** No, I judge from those pictures and songs on the wall," I replied. " You judge rightly too, for we have a deal of trouble with him, he is a wicked old man; but come into the nexL room, and tell me what you think of the tenant." On entering I at once saw it was in- habited by a very different person to the last. His little bookshelf contained Booth's Keign of Grace, Doddridge's Works, Pilgrim's Pro- gress, two Bibles (one a present), and two Hymn Books ; on the walls the Spiritual Kailway, Daily Eeadings, and a few exquisite Scripture illustrations. *' A good man lives here I will warrant," I observed. THE FOG BELL. 79 " Yes, sir ; we call him the good Samaritan; he reads and prays with most that are sick, and we all like old Ben. I rather think you can tell fortunes, sir, and I shall not take you into my room." I thought of Greenwich and the law of association as I sat in the thatched cottage at Moss Side. The top of the low wall that supported the end of the rafters and the thatched roof was the principal shelf; in betwixt the narrow space lay a few books and tracts, all moral or religious, and the Book of books occupied a conspicuous place; the neat framed funeral cards of father and brother hung together. Before leaving the cottage, we commended the mother and children to Him who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, feeling how difficult it must be for them to adopt the first line of the verse on Peter's memoriam. j It requires strong faith under such circum- stances to believe that the providence of God is equ&l, and that a bitter share has not fallen to their lot ; but after all so THK FOG BELL. 1 God nothivig Joes or suffers to be done, but what we Should do, if we all things knew as well as He. Wliile walking among the cottages and sand-hills, looking towards the sea, a tall upright post stood distinctly out in the hori- zon; this, t was told, was the Fog-bell, recently erected by subscription, to be rung in mists and fogs to guide the shrimpers in the safe direction, thereby preventing a recurrence of such a sad event as the one that had just transpired. Wishing to see this sigiial for safety, we went to the coastj iartd found it a strong beam, near the top the di3ep-ton«d bell, and around the base a wooden cabin to shelter the ringer from the storms and cold. The man now in charge of the bell is an aged fisherman, called Tom Wright, or old Tom, whom the shrimpei^ aV' w four shillings per week to be ready in tlie hoar of fdded, for though the Fog-horn had often signalled the shrimpers, the hell would he better heard. The man, like all we had seen in the neighbourhood, seemed to feel for the fate of the worthy sufferers, and those they had left behind, hoping there never would again be such a funeral at Marsh Side while he lived, or the world stood. It appeared that the scene he witnessed on the day the seven men were interred, had left a strong impression on the mind oi Old Tom, as no doubt it did on many. It will long be an epoch amongst the inhabitants of North Meols. Thousands from Southport and the surrounding district, some in car- riages, some on horseback, and some on foot, had travelled from a distance to be present. The seven biers, with their precious bur- dens covered with white cloths, stood ready, a hymn amidst sobs and wailing was sung, and then the melancholy procession moved on, both sides of the road were lined with 82 THE FOG BELU spectators, with heads uncovered, many of them weeping that did not often weep; each cofifm was followed by the relatives and friends of the dead one, for all of them were much respected. A few members of the Temperance Society, and several school- fellows of Pfc ; walked before him; his mother, three sisters, and six young brothers following after. On entering the parish chi xh, the sublime service for the dead, so impressive and descriptive of man's mortal and immortal state, was read amidst the sobs and tears of the vast assembly, — a service opening out in language of unequalled grandeur visions of the unseen world, the voice from heaven proclaiming the inefPa) le glory, and unspeakable felicity awaiting them that die in the Iiord. how beautiful would Peter's affection to his widowed mother, his care and kindness to his sisters and brothers, look in that solemn hour ! It is the hour when the deeds of the dead can not be hid, when heaven's messenger reads over the palls of the dei rted heaven's inexorable decrees, THE FOG BELL. 83 then the listening mourners can the best feel the true value of things eternal, and the warning, " Be ye also ready," is seen to be a warning given by the best of friends. I trust that when the graves which that day closed over the mortal remains of the seven fishennen, are again opened by the voice of Him that will raise us all, they may have a glorious resurrection. And that those who are alive, and their children's children, who have to earn their bread amidst the dangers of the deep, may be guided through clouds, mists, and shoals, to their families and homes in safety, by tha pealing notes of the new FoG Belu f^-!s of Lancashire, and the s.eam-loom and Sj^ inning-jenny super- seded the hand-loom and bobbin-wheeL The weavers had to sell their looms for fence- wood or fire-wood, break up their rural loom- sheds, and follow tlie work into the factories, and learn to labour by steam-power. One of these large mills was built by Mr. Fen- ton, of Bamford Hall, in the valley near Hooley Bridge. To this place James and Peggy came, with their young family, and so became my neighbours. They lived in one of a long row of neat cottages, over- looking the valley in which flowed the nver Boach, and for order, comfort, and neatness, few cottages could be found to surpass it. My business often led me by the door of this cottage, and this began our acquaintance. 94 THE GOLDEN WIlDfittftJ. From the first I wad struck with the haiv mony and happiness of the family,— no noise, no hurry, no hustle, hut order and tranquillity. When for the day the huge- steam-engine withdrew his mighty powet, and the hum of wheels, and the rattle of the loom had ceased, and James, with those of his family ahle to work, returned to their home, they always found a welcome frolic the good wife and mother L6vmg alvr»/,s, Ic/ing evei^, Singing, laughing, sullen neve^ ; Clean, industrious, sobisr, sfceadj. To please her husband ever readjr^ And James was one 6f those wise nteti that took his smiles homi^., and thdt during the whole course of hid married life nevei^ gave up courting. Farewell to all domestic happiness and wedded felicity when tottirfM people give up courting. No Wise husband and wife eves will ; they will court on to the end of life's journey* James had a smile for his own trife, and a kind word for his childiton. He kfii^w that THE GOLDEX WBDDINO. 95 smiles were most valuable at hia own fire- side. Some men have a smile for anybody's wife but their own and a cheerful word for anybody's child but their own, sud car whistle and sing anywhere but at their owi homes. In tlie field, the mill, the warehouse or the workshop, where none care a fig for them, they dare not put on their mighty ail's and sulky looks, or use insulting words ; but in their own homes they are a dread and terror. The sound of their feet is the signal for fear and trembling to both wife and children. No smile for them, — ^no cheery, kind word for them ; and woe to the jK)or wife if anybody has offended this mighty lord, for she will have to be the scape-goat for everybody's sin. Oh, how many wives there are who would give the cap off their head for the husband's smile, — who would kneel at his feet for a kind look or a kind word. All such men are miser^ able tyrants and cowards ; for all tyitmts are cowardd) whether they sit on thrones or three-legged stools. 96 !; *^ CfOtDEK WEDDlKa 'M88 and prayer --rt.ff ^"^""^scrip- house of God, and L^. ^^"^'^ ^^ ibo produced in the family L^T °' «^' »yfen,ily, fr^t, of'i^f ^'^"'^ia ^«ys are aU ways of ^' °'" '^^O""* herpathsa«parofp^i-ss.andaU « he sweetest religio^^d if ^'f*^"'' Pie(»od, and mutual affection. THE GOLDEN WFDDINO. 97 secret of city and be scrip, »8ive of 5e at the ^ grace, ubt- i: be- wise •If advice. The minister of the go? nel had in them charitable hearers, and aifcctionate couQsellors, and few entered their cottage that would be allowed to leave without a word about spiritual things. Many tiuiss, when I have called, after the first expression of welcome, Peggy would say, — "Well, I suppose you are like Gideon's host, — faint, yet pursuing ; passing through things temporal so as not to loose sight of things eternal. Let us talk a little about spiritual things first, for tliey ought to be first, and then we will talk about business and trade after." f • I have often sat at their humble fireside, exchanging and comparing religious experi- ence with James and Peggy, and have come away a better and more thoughtful man, and I believe that hundreds have done the same. One of their family trials — for they were not without these — was when they dis- covered that Lheir child George was deaf and dumb. For a time this was a great trouble^ 100 THE rOT^PKN WBIH)IN€K H arid the parents felt the full laeaning of the words, — , [ ^ . , -■■ " Oh ! if he could but hoar For one short hont, till I brg tongue eoold %ea6h To call me mother, in that broken apench That thrills the mother's ear ; But no, those sealed lips will ne*er be stirred To the deep music of that lovely word.'* But if George could not hear or speak, he could sometimes show a little temper. When he was about five years old, he one day was very impatient under a little correction from his father, and when the father had left the house, the little dumb creature stamped his feet, clenched his tiny fists and looked very indignant. The mother shook her head at the child to show him she approved of what his father done. This enraged him more^ and he ran up the stairs, sat down on one of the steps and began to stamp his feet with all his might. The mother was grieved by this act of insubordination, and shed tears of pity for her aftiicted child. Geor^je came down ^:S if THE GOLDEN WKDDINa 101 of the teaoh red jak, he When y was nfrom ^ft the ed his 1 very ead at f what re^ and of the th aU y this >f pity down stairs, and, seeing her sorrow, made signs to know why she wept. She took him on her knee and opened Uie Bible, — ^for she knew that the ohild somehow understood that he was to be good when the Bible was opened, < — ^when he bowed his head in submission, and seldom rebelled again. Greorge is now a fine and intelligent man, thirty years cf age, still residing with his parents, able to earn a good livelihood, and gives me a yeaiiy subscription to the Chapel for the Destitute. If he should leave home for a single day, to go as far as Manchester or Bolton, he signals for either his father or mother to kneel down and jMay that God will be with him, and protect him on his journey ; for the deaf and dumb son thinks much of the prayers of his pious parents. The 18th of February, 1866, was the day on which James and Peggy had been mar- ried fifty years. The copper and silvei wedding days had long been past, and nov came the time for the Golden Wedding. f. ' 1^ 102 THE GOLDEN WEDDINa ii They called their sons and daughters and their grandchildren together: some were gone to heaven, but of the three generations, sevent-een were present. It was a meeting of kindred spirits ; it was once again, to those that resided at a distance, a coming home to the place around which pleasing memories were enshrined. Oh, how much homes differ! Some homes are the nur- series of our affections, and some are their grave. All the gilests at this golde^x wed- ding were happy ; thoughts about departed ones they all had, but still it was a day of re- joicing. The frugal but full board was spread, and the blessing of Him that sent the blessing was implored. Incidents and events of past days constituted the principal sub- jects of conversation, and, at the request of affectionate children, the aged, gray-headed father aiid grandfather made a speech. It would be a blessing if every old man could Ray what old James Horrocks said on the day of his golden wedding. The mv:meiit he rose, overy eye was fixed ;t:s I I ; 1 i ! THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 103 rs and were ations, eeting hi, to oming easing much nur- their wed- )arted of re^ pread, b the vents sub- st of )aded . It joiild L the Sxed 'I i upon him, and every heart throbbed with emotion. He stood a short time in silence, ^ with tears streaming down his cheeks, which brought tears from his excited audience. With a strong effort he recovered himself, and gave, in substance, the following speech: — ' ''My dear children, I am glad to see you her^ on the fiftieth wedding day of your father and mother. I feel I cannot express my thankfulness to God for His goodnass and mercies to your mother and me, ever since we were married. We are both monu- ments of His mercies, and subjects of His saving grace. He has given us food and raiment, a house in which to dwell, health, strength, and reason, and more blessings of every sort than I can count. But the greatest blessing has been a knowledge of sins forgiven, and peace with God through Ciirist. " Yomr mother has been a good wife to me, and we have borne with each other, and, I think, love one anotlier better to-day than Js*''7 104 tHE GOLDEN WEDDING. we ever did in our lives, for we never gave up courting. I have always thought well of my wife. I promised when I had her, to keep to her only ; and I can truly say, that I have given no other woman a kiss these fifty years ; for I have been determined to think better of her than of anybody else. We know what struggles are, for I have never had more than eighteen shillings a- week, except sometimes when mowing, and you have all had to be brought up ; yet we always paid our rent on the day it was due, and every rate the first time they called for it; and I never was dunned or asked for money owing in my life. I am not boast- ing, for I do not want to boast, for it is aU of God's goodness and mercy. Oh, what goodness ! what goodness I ** Here the old man fairly broke down ; his heart became so full when telling of God's goodness that he could not speak, and he sat down amidst a shower of tears from all present After James had finished his short but I -— — ..i.nm|^j^,^^.Mmitni TOR OOIiDEl7*W£DDIlf6'. 105 remarkable epeecli, one of his sons loftfe and read the following lines composed for the occasion -i- :Ul *' W« meet to celebrate a day For wbioh we liave not ceased to pray ; Andi, oh, how- tbnakfnl ^w shoold be Our honoured paceiitfi t|)tt8 to 9jea r •♦ Through fifty years ol wedded life TheyVe safely passed, and free from strife;, Years sweetened by conjugal love, And crowned with blessings from above.** Other speeches were made, besides a short one from Peggy, all breathing gratitude and thankfulness. Before parting they sang a hymn, and then all knelt down; several prayed that the Holy Spirit »/ould still guide and comfort their aged parents; and the aged parents prayed that all their children and grandchildren might feel and know that Christ was their Saviour, and all meet at last where families never break up, not one be then missing, and aU be forever with the Lord. James is now seventy lilne years of age, i'.' i. 106 THE GOLDfeN WM)DINO. and Peggy seventy-two, and both continue in moderate health. They are able to do some useful work, especially in visiting the sick and poor; and to them the Sabbath day, the church, the social means of grace, and the family altar are more than ever precious. They can now sweetly testify — TliAt down to old age Ood*« people ntill prove His sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love s And vhen hoary hairs their temples adom, Idke lambs in His bosom they still shall be bomi^ itiniie to do g the bbath grace, ever re '¥ WILLIAM. THE TUTOR. Amongst the many sad and painful scenes to be found incur large towns and cities, there are few more impressive and instruc- tive than the night-houses. Here, especially in the winter months, may be seen crowds of squalid-looking men, utterly penniless, who are glad to avail themselves of a night's shelter and a crust of bread. And yet, lonely and destitute as they appear, many of them couid relate a history as full of interest as of misfortune or error. Being acquainted with the governor of one of these homes of the wanderer, I have often spent a considerable portion of the night amongst his casual visitors, to iLany of whom I am uo stranger. 108 WILLUM, THE TUTOR. One evening, after a long and interesting conversation with the inmates for that night, the time arrived when, according to rule, all must take their respective sleeping places. The governor, standing at one end of the long room, clapped his hands, and instantly ev«Ty eye was fixed upon him. When all was silent, he with a loud voice called out, — " Turn in I" and immediately fifty-nine men lay down on the boards, with a sb'ghtly raised plank for their pillow, and a rug for their covering. Never did I see so many men get so quickly into bed. They crouched down on the hard floor, without taking off one particle of dress, and in a moment all was quiet. The governor turned down the gas, until nothing but a' glimmer remained ; then we slowly and softly walked betwixt the rows of silent shadows, for the dim light made every object indistinct, and gave to the whole a gloomy and depressing effect. In these homes, on the same night, and in those miserable beds, often lie side by side almost every variety of character ; — the WILLIAM, THE TUTOB* 109 resting k night, ule, all places, of the stantly len all out, — e men bghtly ug for many mched ng off mt all ^n the lined ; itwixt light 7e to JCt. nd in ' side -the honest labourer, seeking employment, thci pickpocket, the weeping prodigal, the haard^ ened tramp, the sickly fusee-seller, the red- nosed coachman, the used-np gambler, the incorrigible mendicant, the ignorant cadger, the intellectual scholar, &c., and all, or noarly f all, are old or young drunkards. One of the last mentioned class is the princip&l subject of the following sketch. His name is William. Every week, and almost every day, makes me acquainted with something new that is painful to know. Either at the Ohapd for the Destitute, in the streets, or at my erwn house, hundreds o( persons fkid me ovtt, most of whom are seeking for sympathy and assistance, and present every coneeivabld state of wretchedness. Many are strangers, cf whom I know and can learn nothing; others reside in nei^bouring or distant towns, and give references ; and of some we know too much. Bat amongst them are frequently found poor, honest, deserving S' 110 WILLIAM, THE TUTOR. people, to whom it is a pleasure to render what help we can. The day on which William sought me out was a day to make beggars look beggars in- deed. Low, heavy clouds, fog, and drizzling rain, had made his old straw hat, thin blouse, and tattered nether garments, look a miseri able covering for any human being. Not knowing the way to the back door, he opened the small iron gate leading to the £ront ; but seeing one of my fellow-labourers, Mr. Barraclough, through the window, he stood still in the walk. On my opening the door, he drew a few steps nearer, and informed me he was in great need. His address was polished and respectful If not a gentleman in appearance, he was in deport^ ment and manners. He seemed very anxious that I should not consider him an impostor, and assured me he was really starving, without any present means of earning his bread. "What is your trade, my man?'' X asked. WILLIAM, THE TUTOR. '*Well, sir, I have no trade; I am a classical scholar, and was last a tutor in the ' family of a Member of Parliament." While speaking, he gave me a letter bearing the member's name. :. . •»* urr , -/.■ After reading the note, I handed it back, and, looking him in the face, said,-^- ^ .f . " Has drink done this ? " He held down his head, and with a trembling hand put back the letter into a soiled, greasy envelope, saying,- " Yes, it is drink." . - ; .. Having some confidence that he was speaking the truth, yet knowing by experi- ence how clever at deception many of my new friends are, I gave him a few sheets of writing paper, a couple of steel pens, and sixpence, telling him that he might get a little food and a fire-^ido in some lodging- house, and write me a sketch of his life, or 'arything he liked, — ^that I should be at home about seven in the evening, and that he might call again. , I did this more to give him a dinner aiK^ 112 WILLIAM, THE TtTtOR. a shelteir, than from any expectation of 'seeing him again ; but, about the time ap*- pointed, my niece informed me that a poor man stood at the yard door, wanting to speak to me. On going, I found it was William. He had brought his written paper, which I shall now give, without the slightest alteration :— » . • ^ " I am the son cff highly respectable parents. My fkther was possessed of very considerable wealth, hut, by some unfor- tunate speculations in Cornish mines, and losses sustained through his connection with a joint stodc bank, before the days of 'Limited lAability,* he becar^ much re- duced in circumstances. He was, however* aMe to brin^ 1^ his children well, and gave me thie best edtieation which our neighbour- hood oottld supj^y. I was the eldest of th^ ft^nlly, and, hairing shown from an early* age a marked disposition towards books and Study, unusual pains were taken to encou'- rage my inclinations ; so that, before I waa Mvelve years -of age, I was maetei* of several ™ .# WltLIAM, ikE TUTOH. in ctation of time ap- lat a poor (ranting to ad it was IS written ithbut the respectable ed of verjT 3me unfor- mines, and Lection with le days of r mnch re- is, however* ill, and gave » neighhouiv Idest of the m an early* is books and n to encou- jefore I was ei* of several Greek and Latin authors, In addition to a good knowledge of the different branches of English commonly taught in schools. " My habits and character were quiet and retiring, and when I arrived at the years of reflection, and began to think of my future course in life, I resolved, if possible, to enter the Church as the sphere most suited to my temper and abilities. " As my father's limited means were quite inadequate to furnish the expenses of a college education, I was very gl^ to accept the situation of tutor in a school^ where the salary, though small, was progress sive, and gave me hopes of some time or other attaining my object. I remained at this school for some time, discharging my duties to the satisfaction of the Principal^ who gave me a first-class testimonial on my leaving to take a resident tuition in a gentleman's family. I lived with this family for six years, and from the salary which I received was enabled to keep terms in Trinity College (where I gained second i 114 WILLUM, THE TUTOR. place at entrance, and classical honours subsequently), as well as to give some pecuniary assistance to my father and mother. . " Up to this time everything went well with me. I occupied a respectable position, bore an irreproachable character, and had every prospect of a happy future. But, alas ! to use the words of Tennyson, — ' No one can be more wise than Destiny ;' and the events of a very short time indeed sufficed to overturn the fabric of a whole life-time, and to precipitate me into an abyss of wretchedness. " I had for some years been deeply attached to a young lady, • and, with every reason to believe that my affection was reciprocated, haH indulged in all the day- dreams that arise from the most powerful passion of the human soul. She was the daughter of a medical doctor who resided in our neighbourhood; nd as our two fami- '■« I WILLIAM, THE TUTOB. 115 a.1 honours give some father and went well le position, ', and had iure. But, jon, — estiny ;* ime indeed Df a whole le into an Jen deeply with every 3ction was 1 the day- 5t powerful le was the ho resided two fami- lies were on very intimate terms, our affec- tion, which I believe was then sincere on both sides, had ful? scope for development. It is needless for me to attempt to describe the rise, progress, and force of my attach- ment for her, — it would only be *the old story over again,* of what most men have felt at some period or other of their lives. It will be enough for me to say that all my hopes, plans, and projects had reference to ' She was my life. The ocean to the river of *iny thoaghts That terminated a!L' * After some years thus happily spent, at length, as if from mere caprice, she changed, and married a young man of only a few months' acquaintance. I had never givea her cause to alter in her faith to me, and she herself would assign no reason. Then, came down days of gloom and misery upon me. I lost all interest in life, and grew weary of the sun, — nothing could console or colm my mind. The ' heavens sieomed as i 116 WILLIAM, THE TUTOR. i i t brass, and the earth as iron/ and my spirits drooped and sank so that I could hardly go through my daily duties. " Then I flew for refuge to the fool's anti- dote for a dejected and prostrate mind, and in the deceitful stimulus of strong drink i)btained some nerve and heart for my work. But it mastered me before long, and, as a * mocker,' most truly verified the words of Solomon. I was obliged to resign my situ- ation, which I had held so long with credit and reputation } and the thought of this preyed deeply on my mind, and carried me fatill further into the mad vortex. The cold- ness and reproaches of friends only addedi fuel to the flame, and I became desperate; ''In this state of mind I sesolved to ccme to this country, and try to obtain some em-' ployment in which, now ' sadder and wiser/ i might redeem my character. But after landing some weeks in fruitless efifortS|. and having been compelled to part with my clothes and books, as a last resource I sought employment in the fields* I have WnXIAM, THE TUTOR. IIT my spirits hardly go fool's anti- mind, and ong drink •my work, and, as a words of I my situ- kth credit bit of this ^rried me The coH- nly added) sperate; id to ccme some em'- nd wiser/ But after » e£fortS|< with my ^source I I have been so engaged for the last two months, and by the labour of my hands have avoided starvation. Now, even that means of sup- port seems cut off, since the harvest ended, and I know not whither to turn. I have suffered much of late both in mind and body, but I believe that what 1 have gone through has taught me a salutary and last- ing lesson, should I ever again have an opportunity of redeeming the past. "I have a very strong personal experi- ence of the almost infinite evils of strong drink. 1 have seen and known how it affords a specious but most fallacious sup- port in sorrow, adding remorse to regret,-— how it renders callous and insensible every better feeling and sentiment of the heart, and blights and withers all that come beneath its influence. I believe the best man on earth would speedily degenerate if once he became entangled in its fatal meshes. " As for myself, I am now a wreck and ruin of what I have been. I have alienated ;,; -J :vW .fH lis WILLIAM, THE TUTOR. my friends, lost opportunities, deprived my- self of even the means of supporting life, and stand at this moment absolutely alone in the world. The ' last scene of all * only is wanting, that calamity may culminate and conclude. And yet I believe I should retrieve myself, should Providence kindly grant me an opportunity. " I have abandoned the habits which destroyed me, and, with God's help, shalU never resume thein. I have bought experi ence too dearly ever to tamper with the enemy again, — which I believe to be the most insidious foe man has to deal with. Few persons, I am convinced, deliberately become drunkards ; the vice mostly assumes an attractive and even innocent aspect in its first approaches, and preserves this ap- pearance up to a certain point, at which the victim becomes subject to a physiological change which necessitates a constant supply of stimulant. If he does not then, at once, discontinue the habit, he sinks with a wonderful rapidity into the condition of the WILLUM, THE TUTOft. 119 )s which Ip, shalU t experi with the be the eal with. Uhcratcly ' assumes ispect in this ap- ^hich the liological t supply at once, with a n of the sot, reckless of himself and everything else, but drink. " It is at this point that the drunkard is made. The great obstacle to his safety is the want of moral courage to drop the habit then, at once and altogether. • • • *F and now, * the heavy change I* I was lying in the field of a stranger, in a strange land, in the dead of the night, houseless and homeless, hungry and cold, hundreds of miles from a single human being to whom my life or death would give a moment's concern. And for what had I come to this ? For a miserable weakness, for a short* lived exemption! from the pangs of a fruit«> less regret, for a pleasant but delusive draught of a Lethe, which, in drowning the recollection of some sorrows, made me also forget my duty towards my God. True, I had often endeavoured to fortify my breast with the maxims of philosophy, and often^ braced up all the manhood I possessed to^ quench the fire that was consuming me ;- but I had neglected to appeal for help to Heaven, as if mortal woe, from any cause whatever, were unworthy of the ear of the Almighty ; and the result was — ^failure and ruin. With a deeper appreciation of their 51 126 WILLIAM, THE TUTOll. force and truth than I had ever known before, I thought of Rousseau's words: *ItOvhli de la religion conduit a Vouhli de tous lea devoirs de Vhomme' (The forgetting of religion leads to the forgetting of all the duties of man.) But what availed the knowledge of this now? Had I thought seriously and earnestly on this subject months ago, what might I not have escaped ! And the spectre of a gloomy proverb '^rose, and sternly reminded me that ' Eepeiitance comes too late when all is spent :' and had I indeed spent all. Money, position, friends, character — all were gone. There was hardly on this night in all England a poorer wretch than myself. I tried to remember some of my thoughts and feelings during the fever- ish dream in which my indulgence in drink had plunged me, but I could retrace nothing rational, nothing satisfactory, nothing but ' combinations of disjointed things.' There had been no study, no improvement, no looking forward to something better, no 4 ■J IT; :m sL WILLIAM, THE TUTOR. 127 ir known i words : roubli de forgetting of all the ailed the thought i subject escaped I Jrb *»rose, Jpeiitance sind had I 1, friends, as hardly er wretch some of he fever- in drink i nothinsr ling but There nent, no Jtter, no I settled plan of action, or object in life. I had been retrograding ; not merely standing still, but sinking lower and lower, and, worst sign of all, I did not feel that I was doing so. I was in a state of moral aud physical stupefaction. I hoped for nothing, I feared nothing, and I cared for nothing. Oh drink, drink ! what an infatuation at- tends it! In spite of warnings, loving or dreadful, in spite of all conviction and all resolutions, still it attracts, ensnares, and destroys its scarcely unwilling victims. I am so persuaded, from experience, of its almost supernatural powers of fascination, that I believe if over every ale-house door, instead of a sign, there were placed the plain English of the beginning of the inscription over Dante's 'Porta dell' Inferno;* * Per me si va nella citta dolentCt Per me si va tralla perduta gente f •Through me men go into the «V'A' I'll i FATHERS: Iff} .ill \ ** A word— ft look— has crashed to earth Many a budding flower, Which, bad a smile but owned its birth. Had blessed life's darkest hour." A LITTLE boy, about fire years of' age^ said to a lady-friend of his mother,— ** If my mother was to die, and be buried, and go to heeven, would you be my father's wife, and my new mother V* The lady, opening her eyes wide and holding up her hands in astonishment, burst out laughing, and replied, — "No, my little feUow, I think I would not." The child was silent a few minutes, then earnestly looking her in the face, rejoined,— K I'rSa 132 FATHERS. iii "Then I know what for. Father is such a cranky fellow, he makes me and all my brothers and sisters miserable ; and ho would make you miseraUe too, would he not r Another little fellow, returning from scliool, being asked by his companion whal he liked the best in ih» whole world, replied, — ** To hear my father scraping his shoes at the door." "Why, how is it that you like that the bestr asked his youthful school-fellow m aurprise. "Because he makes us all as happy as crickets when he comes home; me, and Kate, and every one of us, and that is first- rate." These two «;hildren unsconsciously re- vealed fireside secrets of great importance ; and they also explained one cause of ihe misery or joy of thousands of families — a cause producing the most painful or pleas- ing results — and I hope one or two illus- r.kTmnts; m trations may be productive of good to many, but especially to fathers. Two middle-aged men quietly walking through the fields one Sunday evening, amongst other subjects of conversation^ began to talk about domestic matters. One of them said,^ — ** I sometimes think that I shall lose all my natural affection for my children, espe^ cially my sons. I never think of them vdthout pain of mind, and I am more or less grieved with them every day. The old-^ est left home last week because I reproved him for a fault, and I expect soon to heai^ of him wearing a red jacket, or something worse." ** I am sorry to hear that David has lefb home," observed his companion ; " what does his mother say about it ?" "Well, she does not say much, but I see she feels it greatly. She eats little and sleeps less ; but I am not going to send for him back. The door is open, if he thinks proper to return." I -4 4 % • 134 FATHEBS. I I was told of this conversation, no doubt for the purpose of inducing me to do what I could to get David home again, for his mother's sake. I scarcely knew how to go about the affair; but a circumstance tran- spired which gave me the opportunity of speaking to him on the subject I had been some miles into the country, and was returning home late in the evening, when I was joined on the road by David, who had been to see a few of his old neigh- bours. It was a cold winter evening, and there was an east wind, strong and piercing, that gathered up the soft snow in whirling columns, plastering the sides of windows, door-posts, corners, and angles on both sides of the road, making us pull down our hats to keep it out of our eves, and draw closer our cv.ercoats to keep out the cold. Side by »ide we were battling the storm, and had just passed the home of David's parents, when a well-known voice was heard, not loud, but distinct and earnest, calling, — " David, J9artV^, David !" : , PATHEHa. 135 David instantly stood stilly saying, ** That is my mother ;" then turning quickly round, was going back to meet her, when she came up panting for breath, with a shawl over her head. For a moment we all three stood without speaking, then the mother and son both burst out weeping. I stepped on a little in advance, not wishing to obtrude on their sorw^w, but heard David say, — •* Well, mother, had it not been for you I should ha«e left home long since. I cannot longer stand my father's conduct, — ^I have stood it long enough. Be as easy about me as you can, mother ; I will try to be a good son, and give you no more trouble than I can help, but I cannot return home again ; at least not yet. Go back, mothc ^ for I know that you are not well, and I fear you will tiike cold ; now, do go back.** They parted, both weeping bitterly; and on David overtaking me, I thought it best not to allude to the short, sorrowful inter- view with his mother ; so we walked on to \':. Li 136 VATHESS. the end of our journey in silence, he only once observing, " this is hard work." During the following week I had an inter- view with David. He frankly, and without reserve, told me his reasons for the step he had taken, carefully avoiding saying any- thing offensive about his father. ** I did not want to leave home," he observed, "for many reasons. I knew it would greatly pain my mother, and be a bad example to my younger brothers ; and reveal to others what only our family knew. I know there is many a worse man than my father, and people, seeing nothing of his inner life, respect him ; but I think there are few homes that have fewer smiles, and few children who have to submit to harder Words. The day before I left, I was reach- ing a pound weight from the shelf, and accidentally let it fletll, breaking a small square of glass, value about twopence. I felt vexed and sorry for the little mishap. My father stood near, and, as he had done ol yATH]SIt& 137 hundredg of timesi began to call md a worthless, blundering blockhead, with many other hard words^; in the presence of several persons then in the room. The blood rushed to my face, — I felt insulted and degraded, — and I was deeply mortified, but held my peace. This was about nine in the morning, but during the whole of the forenoon I writhed under his stinging words. On sit- ting down to dinner I had recovered a little peace of mind, and was disposed to be on good terms with everybody, but no sooner had we all sat down at table, than he began again, by saying, — '*'I wonder ii there is any man in the country whose children are such stupid fools as mine. If there be, I pity him.' "I knew this was aimed principally at me. All desire for dinner instantly fled, and my food lay before me untasted I held down my head to hide my emotion and my grief. I durst not look at my father, or mother, or sisters, or brothers. I did not know what to do. I quietly rose from the i! i, i 13d FATHERS. table, intending to go out of doors and have a good cry, but, in a voice of thunder, he ordered me to sit down. I obeyed without a word, but eat I could not "The remainder of that day was like many days in our house, one of silence and sadness. The cheerful, happy look, the ringing laugh, the merry face, so healthful and joyful amongst sisters and brothers, which I have seen and envied in other homes, were banished from ours. After finishing my day's work, I sat down in one comer of the room, intending to calm my mind by reading, for books are one of my chief pleasures. I had not turned over many pages before my father came in. While laying down his hat on the table, he sarcastically and sneeringly scdd, — "*I think, sir, your reading does you little good ; and I do not intend to have much reading here to-night !' "I closed the book, thinking I would calmly speak with him, to express my regret for my little mishap in the morning, fATHEBfl. 139 and Just got out the word ' Father/ when he rose up, and indignantly asked how I dared to speak to him. Seeing that matters only grew worse, I went to my bed-room, though much earlier than usual ; he followed me to the bottom of the stairs, calling out,— "'So, you can twm your back on your father. Fine conduct that, for a son.* ^ "Then, violently shutting the door, he left me alone to my own thoughts, which, I assure you, were getting terrible. I sat down on the bed, for I had no desire to sleep. My sou' was roused, and then the thought first came, that if I remained longer at home I might say something I should regret for ever. I know I am commanded to honour my father and mother, and I have tried to do so. I am twenty years of age, yet I do not recollect ever dishonouring them in word or deed. I have, with the rest of the family, endur d much suffering from my father's temper, but I have never replied again, whatever abuse I received." 4 <* Well, David, I can enter into your feel- <>m m 140 FATHEBfl. ings, and sympathize with you. We have all our cross to cany, and this is yours. Had you not better return home for your mother's sake, and for the sake of your two younger brothers," I observed. ** You need not think I am indifferent to the comfort of my mother and brothers^ but at present I cannot return. If I did, my father might not speak to me for weeks. He is always silent and distant with his own children. We never have cheerful, sweet conversation at our fireside, if he be present. U we are happy in his absence, the moment he enters the house, it is all over. His severity to us all is such that I have many times kept out of the house until bed-time, and several times gone to the theatre, though I knew it was wrong, but I have done it for peace and quietness and to put oa time. He seems to think it beneath him to chat and talk, and be happy with his own children, like other fathers that I know. I believe he would be glad to see us all do wellj for he has not been indif- FATHERS. 141 fcrent to our education, nor careless about our morality ; but we never receive any commendation or encouragement for any action ; never one word of praise to encour- age or nerve us for higber purj jses ; be is cold as an iceberg, and almost as distant as a perfect stranger. The consequence w, we may respect bim, but cannot love him. My brother Philip, now eighteen, said, the night I left home, ' Whether you go or not, I shall before long. I will be wed, or go to America, or the sea, or for a soldier, or somewhere ; I will not stop with him/ meaning my father.'* After hearing David's statement, and better understanding the whole question, I found it difficult to advise. How sad to think that he who ought to have been the Iteart and soul of home joys, the main- spring of domestic peace, the prime source of fireside felicity, the cementer of family nffections, should, by his bad temper and distant, unsocial disposition, wither and blast every buddiog hope, and make what M n. uz FATHERS. h m I might have been a bright little paradise, miserable, gloomy, and barren. Home ought to be the sweetest, dearest, happiest spot on this side heaven. Home, to be home, must not merely be a place of rest and shelter for the body, but a peaceiul, joyful sanctuary for the soul, •• Where kindred spirits meet In harmony to dwell." Our homes, as a rule, are what we make them, and there is no doubt that thousands of young men are in the army, navy, prisons, penal settlements, or buried in early graves in strange lands, who have been driven from their home and country by the unkind treatment of stem, unbending, per- haps well-intentioned but mistaken fathers. The laudable ambition x>f the young heart the noble aspirations of the youthful soul droop and die, because trampled on, or rudely shaken by the very hand that ought to have tenderly trained and guided it. If the voice from heaven says, " Children, obey FATHERS. 143 your parents,** it also says, " Fathers, pro- voke not your children to anger, lest thet BE discouraged/* David did not return home, but he kept his promise to his mother, that he would give her as little trouble as possible. He consulted her about a young woman he intended for a wife, and would have talked with his father on the subject, but he would not speak to him, or advise with him, and refused tc be present at the marriage. Philip, David's younger brother, carried out his threat ; he went for a soldier. Oh, how full of meaning i3 that ond short sentence; what deep emotions do the red- coats call up, especially amongst mothers ; how many hav3 had to bow down their heads in sorrow, and endure unspeakable anguish of soul to see one they have nursed, I and blessed, and kissed thousands of times, pass away to distant lands, or bloody fields ; cut off, perhaps, for ever from home, every fair hope and prospect blighted. Mothers m ir n :1- '-.It 144 f;.thers. ; ., i I t ■ '■ 1 '\ V 1 live; and Thilip's mother well-nigh sank into the grave. When the father heard that Philip was really gone, he seemed astonished ; he trisd to act the stoic, tried to seem indififerent ; but, in spite of his iron soul, he could not hide all his feelings from his family. He usually lay down a few minutes after din- mer, but he was heard walking up and down his room instead of sleeping. When urged by the mother and his other children to get Philip back, by buying him off, his answer was,— "I shall not show such weakness; as Philip has made his bed, he must lie." I am not goiug to justify the conduct of David and Philip in leaving home. I wish they had both patiently endured their lot, and meekly borne their heavy cross, for the comfort of the rest of the family, especially their mother. This would have been nobler on their part, and perhaps better in the end. Sebf-denial, suffering for the good of others, is one of the hard lessons of life, but it is a fATHimff. U8 [gh sank iilip was he tri3d lififeient ; iould not lily. He f ter din- md down en urged "en to get s answer :ness; as ie." mduct of I wish their lot, 3, for the especially en nobler I the end. of others, >ut it is a lesson that often brings a rich reward. Those grand characters that adorn all his- tories, in eveiy land, are the unselfish ; and the grandest of all is He that suffered for us all, leaving us an example that we should follow His steps. " Do right, and bravely bear eaoh bloir» A blessing will be given — If not in this bleak world below. In yonder smiling heaven : Walk in the way thy Saviour trod, I>o right, and leave the rest to Ood.** This doing right — ^this self-sacrifice fo* the welfare of others, in the fear of God and to the glory of God — sooner or later invari- ably conquers. It is ever triumphant, and ever wiU be. But if unable to justify the conduct of David and Philip, in the course they took, 1 am less able to excuse their father. That ha suffered, there is no doubt ; he became more silent. He never mentioned the names of his two sons, and in his presence none but the youngest sister, a little child, durst 19 H ■a \ I Hi 146 FATHERS. I . I speak about them ; but this little innocent thing would sometimes climb on her mother's knee, and say, — "Mother, when will David and Philip come back ? Are they .gone a long way, mother?" Philip did not come back, but wrote many letters home ; these letters his mother kept treasured in her breast, and often read, and le-read them in silence, and sometimes on her knees in secret. Only once did he mention his father, and then begged his forgiveness for anything he had^ done v/rong. A short letter from the trenches in the Crimea, written on a drum head, came to his mother^ it was the last letter he ever wrote ; three hours later he was killed. Poor Philip ! thee and thy brother David are not the only victims of stern Fathers, who have provoked their children to wrath. I mentioned a little boy, whose greatest pleasure was to hear his father scraping his feet at the door. The family of which this child was one, numbered two more than the II, FATHERS. 147 family of David and Philip ; they were not quite in as good circumstances, but careful habits and industry had raised them beyond want. The father held the reins of govern- ment in his own house, with a firm and steady hand, but he was one of the kindest of men; his children all loved him, and obeyed him more from love than fear, and it was a beautiful sight to see his oldest son arm in arm with the father, going or return- ing from church on Sunday, or business oik the week-day. ' '" • I remember once taking dinner with this family ; the father was cutting a small joint of meat, when one of his sons, about twenty-six years of age, began to laugh, saying to the father, — " The only time I ever knew mother and you have a wrong word, was about how that joint ought to be cut" . ' - ' ''■'■■'•- ^ ^'^■'■ . The mother, with a quiet smile, said, — •* I think, Eichard, your memory will be at fault, for I do not remember father and wi ili 1i \ ik 148 FATHEKS. me having a quarrel about anything, eince you were bom." "And Tm sure I do noV' lejoined the flEither. " Well, now, I must explain myself" rth plied Richard, looking at his mother. ^ Whan father began to carve the meat, you said he should cut off the top part first ; he said he thoi^^ht not ; you tried to show Mm the reason why he should, but again he said he thought not A little colour came into your cheeks, mother, and you seemed morti-* fied." , " Well, Eiehaxd," said both, laughing heartily, ''we do not recollect the cirdum^ stance, and you may perhaps be right ; but/' c$)s«rved the father, " mother sometimes blushes when she finds herseM in the ^rroDg, not because she is vexed^but beccmM she cannot help it." "WidH, well," said the mother, still laitgh- ing, "I am glad Bichard's evidence l^r^aks down, and no doubt, he will be^ tdo;"-^ fATBIMK, 149 flocompanyfng the last word wiUi a little squeeze of Eichard's left ear. We had all got to dinner except little Fred, the youngest boy; he sat bolt up before his plate, quiet as a mousa I was wondering what the lad had done amiss, when the father, in surprise, exclaimed, — ' ** Dear me, Fred ; how vi it I have over- looked you, a person of so much importance. I must give you an extra bit, for your patience, my lad." Fred, with a thank you« took his extxt Wt, sayiftg, — . t ' '^ We have always Qome sort of a spree at oitt dinners.*' * ' r I also remember being in this hoiuse one evening, talking with the mother and daughter, when the ISskthar came in. H0 seemed tired, and sa^t down with his back towards the open dr, but joined in our conversation. One of his sons, who had been several days from home on business and was that moment returning, cam6 quietly behind |us father, and put botib 'I - ... <.»! :1 . 160 fATHEBS. hands over his eyes. The father smile^ and said,— ' "Who dares to take such liberties with tne, as to make me play at blind-man's buffi What presumption i I only know three oi four persons in the world who durst be sc bold, and one of them is my son Peter." All burst out laughing, and Peter came to the front to shake hands with his father, and told him about a small business trans* action in which he had been engaged, and in which he had been over-reached. " Well, well, my lad, no doubt you have done your best, and you will know bettei next) time; but I am rather weary, r^nd 'Want my shoes off my feot/' 'A grown-up sipter knelt down to unbutton h^ father's shoes, but Peter caused her to scream cut, by cat^ching her under the arms to lift her up, saying,-^ •* Nay, nay, I am going to have the honour to unloose my father's shoes to day ;" and bending down, the strong, stout young man showed hi'iiself the worthy son of a worthy FATHERS. 151 tire, — ^the loving cliild of one who in kind- ness and affection first loved him. That evening, after supper, the father requested Peter to conduct the family devo* tion, handing him the Bible and hynm-book. Peter was handing them forward to me, but his mother said, — r "No, Peter, Mr. Ashworth has Worked hard to-day, and I think he ought to be excused ; you had better do it to-night» my son.** Peter took the books, gave out the hymn,— " Saviour, breathe an evening blessings Ere repose our eyelids seal," also led the singing, and reading a portion of the seventh chapter qf Acts, then en- gaged in prayer. ^ Happy family! Happy father! Happy children ! ;,^ v^ Oh fathers, never think that a manifesta- tion of parental affection is any sign of weakness ; firmness and love to your chil- dren beget for you affection and respecti 'ill ":?i: "''A i Petter far bury your chfld's bodyi than bury his heart; bett^er entomb him altogether, ttian destroy his love for you. Teach your children by exan^le to love, to love Bveiy*- bod^V especially to love you,, and more especially to love God ; from this will spring a thousand joys, and then home, the liome pf their parents, the fathef's fireside^ will indeed be the sunniest, brightest^ aweetest place on this side heaven, and you the most honoured, the most blessed, and the happiej>; of Fathebs, . .. . ■■' -'il "■' '., *». :i! . ■ ::• 4 n, .; \}*>. ■ 1'.^ •r ■» » ■< :^*;v.' .1 ' THE OLD DEACON. That mysterious law of association, by which the sound of bells, the scent of flow- ers, the falling of a leaf, or any other indr dent, calls up from memory's storehouse thoughts and feelings, long since cherished, but almost forgotten, seems by the order of Providence to be a wise arrangement, by which the events of the past shall bear some relation to the things of the present, and often to the future ; binding together in a series of links generation after generation, making of aU one vast family, so that any- thing affecting one, in some degree, affects aU. The falling of a leaf one calm evening in autumn, became the parent ojf these re*- mi fill 154 THE OLD DEACON. flections. The sun had just sunk down behind the hills, tinging the heavens with the purple hues of his departing glory; placid night hung out her sable pall, veiling the distant objects from view, .^ ^ ^ | And silence, with her mighty eloquence, Poured her 8tr»Dge language on the pensive louL I sat where I had often loved to sit, beneath the outstretched branches of the balsam poplar ; the stillness of the evening was so intense that the striking of the hour of nine by the bell of old St. Chad's reverberated through the dale; and when the undulati g sound had died away, the silence Was more profound, but broken at length by the tick, tick, tick of a falling leaf, as it dropped from branch to branch, resting finally at my feet. Thoughts unbidden came at the sight of that leaf as it now lay amongst its dead compan- ions. What a lesson if wisely read ! How emblematical of this life's changes ! How descriptive of relatives and friends, who have dropped from their various spheres, and THE OLD DFACON. 165 Mve ■onl. !neath balsam was 80 of nine 'berated ulati g ^ more ie tick, d from y feet. )fthat mpan- How How who >and ii/»w lie in the dust! Never on any previous occasion had so many of those departed ones been brought back to memory : friends, old and young, rich and poor, from towns and hamlets, churches and marts, seemed to ga- ther around ma It was a moment of sub- dued pleasure. I could not literally shake hands with them, as in bygone days, but I was glad they had stood before me, though only for a few moments. I never could dis- cover a reason why anyone should fear holding mental communion with those de- parted dear ones, whose company we so much loved when living ; they may or may not be unconscious of those sweet recollections that will not say to thetn farewell ; we still see their smiling faces, hear their merry laugh, or listen to their cheerful song. We walk with them in the iiekl, sit witli them in the garden ; mingle oui ; - jlms, our hymns, and prayers at the family altar, or in the church. Their well-known opinions govern many of our actions. What we know they would have thought, or what we think they would m -1 158 THE OLD DEAOOIC liave done, exercises no small influence on what we thinlc and what we do ; is it not well for us that it is so ? Many of the joys of the present, spring from the joys of tha past, and no small portion from a remember^ ance of those we have loved. But the great mistake is, when we make what might be one soTirce of softened gladness, a cause of pain and sadness ; murmuring and repining when we ought to calmly submit, and where ftubmission would indicate the truest wisdom. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, was no foolish expression, for "The dead arts like the atsra, by day Withdrawn from mortal eye, Bat not extinct, they hold their way, In glory through the sky.** One of the most prominent figures whici seemed to stand before me that calm evening, was a grey headed veteran whose locks had become hoary in his Master's service, and one of those singular characters both loved ttud feared by several who knew him, fof THE OLD DEACON. 157 reasons ttey still remember. He was by- trade a flannel weaver ; steadiness and in- dustry, in early life, enabled him to become a manufacturer ; and by caution, prudence, and perseverance, he secured a competence that enabled him to retirefrom business, before old age or infirmities compelled him : but he did not travel on the continent to spend his wealth, or build a mansion, or set up his carriage to consume it, or fill his house m'^ii servants and fabv company to devour it ; he knew who had given him all his bank notesy and he knew he would some day be asked what he had done with them, and he tried to be a faithful steward. I have no wish to forget my first, second, and last interview with the eccentric old man. 1 had gone down to take service in the church of which he had long been a worthy member, and an active, patient, prudent deacon. For many years his house had been the home of the workers in the Lord's vineyard, irre- spective of creed, and he furnished many a hungry ambassador with something m&SQ i i-, I i 168 THE OLD DEACON. than a cup of cold water. I was then a very young man, and rather afraid of several in the congregation, the deacon in particular. His countenance was neither placid, saucti« fied, or heavenly looking, but the very con- trary : he had a large face, strong features, his eyebrows fledged with long white bristles, and his hair, iron grey, defying all order ; he knew little about syntax, but his language was powerful, and fearfully direct. Talleyrand said " that words were invented to hide thoughts." This may be true in regard to diplomatists, such as Talleyrand was, but the old deacon would have been astonished to have heard him. I had finished my day's work in the pulpit, and on leaving the chapel found the deacon waiting for me at the gate. Placing his arm in mine he said — " Well, my young friend, I suppose thou will have to take a little provender at my house ; thou art very welcome, and that will make the feed no worse." After the repast, he sitting ou one side of THE OLD DEACON. 15^ the fire and I at the other, and after a con- siderable pause he said — " Art thou married, my young Mend ? " '*Yes," was my answer. **And hast tliou family prayer in thy house?" - " Yes," I again replied. * I am glad to hear that. There are many people that can talk loudly about religion abroad that have not much at home; all their religion is for exportation, none for home consumption, but I am always pleased to see young married couples begin right, and there is nothing so likely to keep a family right as a family altar. Many families professing religion have gone wrong for the want of it ; — keep up piety at home, my lad, keep up piety at home, — it keeps the fireside warm and comfortable. I am thankful that the very first day our Betty and me began housekeeping, we adopted Noah's plan when he cam»^ out of the ark. Did I ever tell thee about it ? " ** No, sir^ this is our first conversation." wm II 1610 fttR OLD t^HsXtO^, tm M:\ "Well, tlien, I will begin a nltle fvtrth^ back. Before I began to follow her> as they say in this country, I was careless, ignorant, and sinful ; I thought much about her, but if I offered to speak to her I lost aU my words and trembled all over. I iTollowefi her at a distance ifrom place to place, and one Sunday evening I followed her into a chapel. And it was well for me I did, I shaH never forget that night. The light li had no anxiety about him ; but if he had a little load, and especially none at all, he would kick and gallop, leap over hedges, or run through gaps and open gates, getting both the driver and himself into scrapes and trouble. I am just like that wayward black pack-horse, when the load is heavy and I have to cry to the Lord to help me to carry it, and when I feel my weakness and dependence the most, then am I the most strong, and walk the most safely. And the Lord knows that, and for my own good, and perhaps for the good of others, He keeps me well weighted ; but, bless Him, He will lay on me no burden but what He will enable me to carry." I knew to what the deacon more especially referred when he was talking about his burdens, they mostly came from the church' : and ever since the first seven deacons wei^ chosen in Jerusalem to the present hour, deacons have had their full share of anxiety on behalf of others. A link between the pulpit and the pew, the minister and the 1 16B THE OLD DEACOir. people, they have often to cany the sins of both. A church, prosperous and at peace, is to them, real happiness, a troubled, declining church is a perpetual sorrow ; and with all their failings the church and the world owe much to patient, plodding, enduring deacons. I have mentioned that the old deacon was very direct and pointed in his observations, he knew nothing of circumlocution. He was loving, honest, straightforward, and wished to do everybody good, as the follow- ing circumstance will folly illustrate : I had called to take tea with him one Sunday. During the repast he was silent, and seeiDied a little troubled. A young man sat at the table who had been preaching that afternoon what he thought to be a most magnificent sermon, from the text, " AU thy works shaU praise thee, Lord, and thy saints shall bless Thee." He opened out his discourse in a grandiloquent style, quoting from Young, " Morning stars exulting shout- ing o*er the rising baU;" from Shakespeare, **The eloud-capped towets, the gorgeous ill' •- fan OLD DEAOOir. 169 palaoes * and diat sublime piece from Pollok's CourH of Time, beginning, ''"Whose garmentB were the cloncli ; WhoM Btiinstreit, iMtmks ; whoie lamps, the moon and ttars) Whose oigan ohoir, the voiee of many waters ; Whose banquets, moming d^ws ; whose heroes, sforma ; Whose warriors, mi^^ty winds ; whose lovers, iowera ; Whose orskors, the thunderbolts U Qod ; Whose palaoei^ the everlasting hills ; Whose ceiling, heaven's unfathomable blue." Mounting up still amongst what he called fbe stellat worlds, he expatiated on the satellites of Saturn, Uranus, and Jupiter, and finished his seriel flight in th$ milky way. After tea, the old deacon requested the yotmg preacher to go with him into the front parlour. When both were seated he said-^ ' **My ytoung man, thou hast been flying thy kite high thib' afternoon, very high, and if thou does not mind the string will break, and it will come wibble wabble down. Thou hast been Walking oyer the stars in stilts. i 170 ^HE OLD DEACOSr. cloud- capp'd towers shouting, o'er the rising bail, satellites, Jupiter, and milky way, indeed ! It is thin milk in the pulpit. Thou got so high up, thou never saw Calvary where the Maker of all died for those gospel- hardened sinners that were staring at thee ; thou never tol<^ us that the work of God that praises Him most was the work of redemption, shedding His blood for a guilty world. My dear young Mend, do come down before thou tumbles down; keep at the foot of the cross, it is he and only he that humbleth himself that shall be exalted, either in the pulpit or out." Few can conceive the i^gony of the young preacher, while the old deacon was so ten- derly crushing him. He had to preach again the same evening, and preach to tliis terrible old man. He was in great fear, and trembled as he walked up the pulpit steps. During prayer he wept, an 176 THB OLD DEACON. A few days after, the inhabitants of the village of Deamley, looked out from their doors and windows to take their sad fe^e- well of old John Kershaw, long their neigh- bour, and long their friend, and many are still livin); who will remember the good Old Diijlgv.^4. LITTLE SUSAN. To watch the liv( ly pranks of little child* ren as, with glee and wild delight, they hop, and skip, and dance, and romp, and run ; to hear them sweetly sing their artless, tuneless cherub songs, or tell their wondrous tales of father, mother, sister Jane, and little Tom ; or see them twine their puny arms around each other's necks in guileless love, or fill Uieir tiny hands with primroses, daisies, buttercups, and bluebells, is one of those pure scenes that gives to earth its sunshine, and links the soul to holier thoughts which have their source in heaven. If we could imagine a world without children it would be a sad and sombre world, u It ' M I 178 LITTLE «USA1T. — ^like a garden without flowers, a forest without the song of birds, a skj without stars. Children answer many other pur- poses besides the perpetuating of the human race ; they are little peace-makers, beams of light, fountains of love ; they open the pent- up springs of emotion, and mellow and soften petrified feelings ; they awaken slum- bering nergies, and give new life to expiring fiynipathies. Many a selfish, frozen soul has been melted by the sight of helpless infancy; many a dark and wicked project has been an*estcd by the thought of the sorrow and disgrace it would bring on the little angels sleeping in the crib or cradle. And has not the whole Christian church been taught a grand lesson by a little child ? When the first disciples disputed among themselves who should be the greatest — a dispute that still causes all the disturb- ance in the Christian church — the meek and lowly Saviour, who loved the young, took a child and set him in the midst of them, saying, ** Whosoever shall humble himself as a little XITTLE SUBAy. 179 child, the same is the greatest ;" and " Who- soever shall not receive the kingdom of heaveu as a little child, he shall not enter therein." This was a severe rebuke to the contentious disciples, and is so still to proud, haughty, imperious souls ; such are offeadcd and amazed at this teaching, — 80 low they will not stoops And BO miss heaven. But though little children are often greal blessings, there are times when we look upon them with mingled feelings ; when the father who, v/ith Lonest toil, has won them bread, and clothes, and home, feek his strength fast failing, and when, in spite of means employed, or hope to cheer, he falls from the ranks of labour to lay his feeble, helpless form on a bed of sickness — ;perliap9 q( death ; then to look on the little iianoceut prattlers, who will soon be left fatherless, has called forth many a sigh, and watere/l many a sunken cheek with hot unbidden tears. It k ijgideed a monjLeiit^jjf fiaduess^ aud poor ^ t J i '1 I: p li 15 ! r I 180 LITIXE SUSAN. deed is that man who at this moment has no strong arm to lean upon; who in his deepening sorrow hears not the promise of Him who says, " Leave thy fatherless child- ren, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me." There is suc'i a promise, and that promise was to the dying father of little Susau a stronghold in a time of heavy trouble. It wap on one of my journeys, and at the house of a kind friend, when I first saw little Susan. She came in her sleeping-robes to shake hands and bid me good night. ** And how many of these little folks do you count ?" I asked, addressing the husband and wife. They both looked at the child, and giving her the evening kiss, sent her to bed, the husband saying, — " Yon little dear is one we have begged, and adopted as our own ; and I rather think my wife would like to tell you how it was she came here, for she has an impression that an invisible hand brought us Susan." fjki i ii^HM I I I i) j|iiTti!pmr'w »««g"»« UTrLE SUSAli; 181 " Well, sir," began the wife, * one Sunday evening, feeling rather poorly, I durst not venture to go to our place of worship, and as I sat alone and quiet in the parlour, I heard some children playing in the street. I opened the door, and invited them all to come in, promising to tell them something about a little girl, and read them a nice tale out of a Uttle book. They all knew me, and at once gladly came in, and sat down round the fire* While I was reading and talking to them, and looking on their bright eyes, and inno- cent lovely faces, I felt my heart fill with deep emotion. Oh, how my soul was knit to the young lambs. That moment I had a yearning wish to seek out some poor, father- less child, and take it for my own, with the special object of training it up in the fear of the Lord, and providing an occupation by which it might honourably earn a living. On another Sunday evening, as I again sat alone, being still out of health, I felt these desires stronger than ever, and I believe prayed that we might be guided in finding ,%. ^-v^ ?i >* y IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 12.8 ta I2£ 12.2 I: :i^ 11° 12.0 K ■lUU I 1.8 L25 iu 11^ Photographic Sciences Coiporation 5< <,^.*^5^ ^A' ^A' 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)S73-4S03 z r/. ^ ^ ^ >?^^^*-"^ V^^ 4g> 182 Lrmj! susAK some poor child that had lost one or hoth parents, and decided that I would speak to my husbaiid about it on his return. When be came froni church, I toid him of my resolve, requesting him to comply with my wish ; we boi^ seW the responsibility it would involve, a^d knew it would entail great anxiety ; but ^ter looking at the matter on all sides, we agreed that one should be sought out. The following morning the postman brought this letter:-* • WeMip9olr December Ut, 1867. *T>EAR Covsnr, * I have not the pleasure of knowing yon, but through my dear husband, Joseph Harrison. I am grieved to send to yon the lAd news, by his own wishes, how veiry iU he ia* The dbotors have no hope of his veoovery ; he has been very ill at home since the 26th of September. It is consumption. Oh, how grieved I aiki to part with such » faithful oompaniun as dear Joseph ha* been to om the few years we have been tegether. I must bear tiie loss as well as I ean ; my loss will be his gain ; the Lord^B wiU be done. I have lour little children ; the eldtst eight years of age, the youngest not two. He has a great desiie to see his oouMJBi lUigvN* ttd John. Pieair Jo«6ph, his tn^ !«.; ■ ; -li'l UTTLE SlTBAlf. 18$ both Lk to iThen olve, we olve, but we The this getimg short in this wodd» but I sm thankfiil to him so resigned to go whenever the summons oaUs. * Believe me^ yonr oousw. i{ •*, 111^. /.A " This letter muBt have beem in the poet- office at the very moment we were talking about looking out for some poor child t& adopt, and great was our astonishment pUr reading it, for we both thought that our bnged-for cluLd was found, and our excite* meut was such that we instantly prep(u:ed for setting out for -Welshpool by the n^t train. " Our early arrival surprised our cousinSf BS muck as their letter had surprised us. The poor wife, soon to be a widow, with swim* ming eyes shook us by the hand ; her words were few. Hope for her dear husband was gone ; he was fast sinking to the tomb. We quietly laid asid^ our travelling clothes, and sat down to wait until Joseph had been apprised of our presence, and be prepared to receive us. The four dear children men* 184 tITTLB SUSAlf. 1 ' I n tioned in the letter, neat and orderly, were in the room. I saw my husband fix his eyes on one, he called her to him and asked her name; the little creature, blushing, told liim she WcLS called Susan ; he took her by the hand and then looked at me, I nodded con- dent, for I could not speak; so the choice was made, provided the parents were agreeable. " The sick father received us with evident pleasure, and told us as well as he was able that his journey was nearly ended ; that for his wife and children's sake he had strug- gled hard against what he had been forced to submit to ; that it was long before he could consent to die, but now he had re- signed all hope of life here, but not in the life to come, for he now could say, * Father, not my will, but Thine be done.* ** There is a something real in a sick room, something that forces solid thought, truth that brings reflection. As I sat beside the bed of Joseph and saw his pallid cheeks and tliin wasted hands, I remembered what a LITTLE SUSAN. 185 Bne strong man he had been, and knew he was but a few hours from the grave, and his eternal doom. Eternity, w'th all its import, was fast closing around him, and time with him soon would be no longer. Oh 1 how unspeakably precious iii that ii^oment is the Saviour, the Friend of sinners, the world's Redeemer ; to feel then *hat we are His, to have the living witness in our never dying souls, that our sins are pardoned, our peace made with God through Christ, and when the eartlily sun is setting, have a clsar view of our glorious mansion, our future home, our home in heaven. This, and this only, can meet the requirements of the deathbed. For what are worldly riches then ? What is all this world can give ? If the soul be not saved then, if that soul from any cause be lost, millions of worlds could not redeem it. Thoughts like these may come at other times, but are sure to come in the chamber of the dying. " It was long before m^ husband could 186 LITTLE SUSAN. prefer his request, but at last he said in broken words, "'Joseph, if you have not made your will, and if you think of doing so, I wish you would leave us little Susan; we will take her for qpr own child, and, I hope, train her in the right way, that she may be a blessing to us and be happy herself/ "The father turned his face toward the wall, and remained long silent, for he was weeping. We waited in breathless suspense for his first words. With unexpected calm- ness he replied, as he looked on his sobbing wife, "*I have no will to make, for I am poor enough, but I have often thought how desolate my dear family would be ; this has giver, me bitter sorrow and anguish of heart, yet I am forced to leave them to Kim who will be a fatlie^r to the fatherless, 8«d a judge to the widow. I know you will love my dear Susan, and make her a good home, and if my poor wife will give her consent, it is UmS 9TJAA2L isr perhaps the best thing that could come to the child. I think it is/ "The poor wife, her eyes red with crying, at last consented,^^ but observed, '. ** You will now call Susan your own child, but I must call her mine too, dear, dear Susan.' " The fathvT then said, ' Keach down the Bible, and read the part where Abraham offered up his son Isaac, for I shall better uaderstand it now, it is so like my own case.' "I lead the chapter he asked for, but under the circumstances it was liard work to get through it without breaking down. When it was finished, the father said, — , i " * Well, the blessing ot Grod went with IsaaCjand God's blessing will gc with Susan, I feel it will' " We have had many tilings to test our fe^ngs and try our nerves since we were married, but I think we never had harder work than bringing Susan away. The col- lecting of her toys, her doll, her little. ^.1 :^1 188 UTTLB SUSAN. ? = garments, and when she was ready, the parting; the kiss from her mother, who seemed as if she v/ould never let her go, the kiss from her little brother and sisters, and the last kiss from her dying father. Oh I it was a trying scene. Susan seemed composed, the little thing could not understand the fiiU meaning, and perhaps it is well she did not ; it was a sad time for those Who did. ' "It was late when we arrived home; several of our neighbours came in to see out new treasure. When she got on her night> dress and cap, and was ready for bed, we asked her if she could say her prayers. * Yes,* she said, kneeling down sJt my sida Every eye was fixed on the dear child, and when her clear, musical voice, so new and strange in our house, repeating her taught devotions, came to * bless my father,* w^ none of us could stand it, and we all broke down ; the prayer of the little creature did us all good and softened every heart. I thought I never felt so near to God as I did Uiat moment.*' ^ LITTLE SUSAN. 189 Ah! thought I, as the new parents of Susan finished this part of tlieir story, '* it did them all good;" out of the mouths of habes and sucklings God has perfectei praise ; the soon to be fatherless child had unconsciously drawn out hearts to implore blessings on herself. What a comfort it is to those that are called to leave their little ones, to know that God in His goodness has given special orders on their behalf, and surrounds them with a special providence. How many widows, left with young, fathes- less children, have, in after years, when those children have grown up, expressed their wonder and surprise at the way in which Providence has opened out their path, and watched over th'em for good, never leavings never forsaking them. God's promises fail not. Speaking to us in His Holy Word He says, " Ye shall not afflict any fatherless child, for God executes the judgment of the fatherless ; and in Him shall the fatherless find mercy ; for Thou art the Helper of the fatherless." He also tells us that one of the 1 ■, J i? 1 :i! IDO iiTTTtE StJSJtN. 1^ i' tesijs of pul« religion is to ** visit the father- less in their alHiction." Sweet words these to dying parents, for Ho that promises is able to perform, and does perform. Perhaps in no nation or period in past history have 80 many evidences of the Lord's care for heLpless children been manifested as at the present time in our own country. We have mXLny homes for orplians, but there is one itliat is a wonder to the whole world. God never leaves himself without a witness to His unchangeable truth, and George Mullor Juas, no doubt, been raised up to show the amazing effects of faith with works, and to be an everlasting rebuke to those who doubt the power of pi-ayer or the indifterence of Jehovah to the aflairs of i^en, and in this case especially show^ing heaven's regard for the helpless young. Fi*om this year's report, which Mr. Muller has kindly sent me, I find he has now under his care twelve hundred and ninety-nine children, every one of which is without either father or mother; living in fiiie/large> healthy^and palace-like build* UTTLE ST7SAK. Ml father- s these ises is erhaps y have ire for at the e have is one God ess to IVfuUor w the and to doubt ice of 1 this rd for eport, [fiad adred «^hich iving >iiild* ing9/eTect(3d expressly for them, and has this year received for their support from all parta of the world, twenty-one thousand pounds, without asking anyone but his God for a single farthing. This army of orphans has many a time eaten its last meal, but never yet were they one short. Never shall I forget, nor do I ever wii^ to forget, my feelings and emotions on enter- ing these heaven's orphan houses at Bristc^. The first room I visited was where the very youngest children were crowing and laugh- ing, and playing with almost every variety of toys. I gathered all their dolls together in the middle of the room, piling them up in one heap, to see if they could all tell their own ; soon a general scramble took place, and amidst a yell of delight, all secured their precious treasures. Eoom after room was visited, all kept in neat order, and full of children of a corresponding age, each clean, and looking healthy and happy. To nurse, feed, clothe, educate, and train the hundreds of orphans to earn their 192 UTTLE S03AK. It ll own bread, is something, but their loving earthly friend has a higher object still ; he trains them for the skies, to meet again in a better world their parent? who are gone before. In one room — the room containing those just springing into active life, to years 'of thought, the good seed sown was bringing early fruit. As I rose to address them, the mild-faced teacher said, ** You may speak to them of the love of Christ for sinners, for many of them are beginning to love Him who first loved them ; at least fourteen are not far from the kingdom of grace, if they have not already entered, and others have their faces Zionward. Bring them up in the fear and admonition of the Lord is our order from heaven, and we work, and pray, and hope that we may be able to do it" They sang their hymn, sat down, and then expected me to take my part. I thought, but did not then speak, of the pathetic lines I had often quoted in my early days, of one who sadly said, LITTLE SUSAN. 193 ?ain m a •• Alas ! T am an orjihan boy, With naught on earl *• to cheer my heart } No father^ love, no luother's joy,* Nor kill, nor friend, to take my part. My lodging is the cold, cold ground ; I eat the bread of charity ; And when the kiss of love goe, < round, Alas I there is no kiss for me.' How different were the smiling faces before me from this one poor child, who had lost his father in battle, and his mother of a broken heart, and left a homeless wanderer. Here is a paradise of fatherless and mother- less children, under God's special care, and George MuUer, God's humble, believing agent. When I saw the good man walking in procession with one division of his juvenile charge, I thought of their parents, who in their dying moments had looked with un- speakable sorrow upon these children. How it would have soothed their last hours, could they have seen that they would be sheltered in such a merciful home. Susan, too, had got to a home where thosa who begged her from her dying father, IS m t' if \i: 1 \ — 104 LITTLE SUSAN. \ believe that man does not live by bread alone; for there she was surrounded with religious influences, the Bible was daily- read, and when that book is made the in- structor and guide, wlien its blessed doctrine and precept regulate the thoughts and actions, there is peace in that house. Of the bible it ic truly said,^- " Here may tho wretohed sons of want, Exhatu-tlcss riches find, Biches above what earth can grant, And lastig aa the mind." This cannot be truly said of any other book, nor of all the other books in the world. None but the wicked despise it, and they despise it because they are wicked. Give me a fireside where the word of Grod is read, with daily prayer, and when the family can say that the courts of the Lord's house are a joy, and the Sabbath of the Lord a delight. Misery may press into that house, but it can never enter. Happy are thosd UTTIiE SUSAV. 195 children, however lowly, who have such a fireside, such a sweet little Eden. Susan's real mother had not neglected her children, and it was very soon evident that the child had a mind capable of fast taking instruction. Any book, but especially books with pictures, she would get if she could: her improvement at school and in the house pleased her friends. One morn- ing, family worship was conducted without the presence of her second mother, who was sick in bed. After it was over, Susan got the bible, went up stairs, and gently op^iing the chamber diuor, imd going to the bedside^ said, " Mother, shall I read i^r you this mon^ ing out of my Bible." •*I think you cannot read well enough yet, my child ; you shall some day." ''Yes, but I can read some: will you let me try ; you can tell me the hard words^ mother." '* Very well, dear, you can begin." Susan choosing a place she had o^n :^i 196 LITTLF StrSAlT. ?f read before, the twenty-third Psalm, began, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake," &c. To hear a little child read is always in- teresting, but Susan's reading that morning completely overcame her mother. Such a sweet voice reading such precious words, amply repaid all the trouble and care that had been taken to teach her. A few days after Susan arrived at her new home at New Mills, another letter came from her mother, with the expected, but still painful intelligence : — '*Dkab Cousins, " You ii?ill now receive the sad news. Joseph departed this morning. Oh ! my dear cousins, what a solemn thing death is. We inter him on Thursday. Dear little Susan ! give her a kiss for me.'* Susan's new parents rightly judging that LITTLE SUSA!?. 197 |, began, lall not m green ihe still leadeth I for His ^rays in- morning Such a Is words, ^are that 1 at her ter came but still vs. Joseph us, what a Thursday. [ing tliat I in after days the child might wish to have been at the funeral of her father, provided her suitable mourning, and on the day of interment took her down to WelshpooL She was pleased to see her little sisters, and her real mother, and pleased with her new clothes. The oldest child of eight years had some conception of the mournful cause that had brought so many to the house, all dressed in black ; but the other three innocents could only look on in surprise and wonder. If there be a scene in this world that can draw out our sympathy to its very depths, that can touch and melt the hardest heart, it is to witness helpless children standing round the open grave of a parent ; the hand that gave them strength, the knee on which they sat, the lips they kissed, the voice that cheered, all lying in the coffin below their feet, cold, stiff, and silent, — silent for ever. One prop gone, and over the opening path of life in which their little feet begin to tread, hangs the dark shadow of the ominous cloud ; but behind that cloud there is a watchful t"^' ■i, 'I .< I 198 LITTLE STJSAUr* eye, and wben ilr is the dai^kestiy thete is* still ft voice,«''-a vmce that die^rs tlie saddest scwl ; ftnd fiBdth» heani^ that Totoe> exelaims^ '* In Him the fatherless find metdy, to He is the l»Ip«r of the UJ^iii&tJtfmi!'. OLD MATTHEW. m The abort and simple records of the- poor will ever hare their interest; for amongst the sons and daughters of dailj' toil, myriads of whom are doomed to pass their lives in obscurity, many may be found patiently enduring their lot, with submission, fortitude, and even cheerfulness, counting their mercies and measuring their blessings, not by end- less wants, but by what they need-— making t^e thing* of the world without subordinate to the grander world withm, and confirming the testimony of one of their order who found it possible to be * troubled, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair;" * caist down, yet not destroyed ;" *' as sottow*- ^ ■' ! I- i'.\ 200 OLD MATTHEW. ful, yet always rejoicing ;" ** as having noth- ing, and yet possessing all things." This language to the world without; is a foolish paradox ; yet it is a glorious truth ; and old Matthew Shepherd adds one more to the millions of witnesses. Those who have read " My New Friends," in the first volume of " Strange Tales," may possibly remember that amongst the re- markable characters composing our first con- gregation at the Chapel for the Destitute, there was one man that knelt down, and offered up a singidar prayer, beginning with : ** Lord ! I thank Thee on my bended knees for what Thou hast done for a lot of the worst men and women in Hochdale. Who could have thought of seeing us on our knees preying? We cannot laugh at one another, for we have all been bad enough, and we are all poor as Lazarus ; but if we are poor in pocket, we are getting rich in faith, and that's better than o* th' brass i' th* world. I saw some rich folks in the market buying fat geese and legs of mutton, but I OLD MATTHEW. 201 had to be content with a penny red herring ; I thought there's a difference, but I do not envy them, for I dare say they have their troubles of some sort Brass does not give as much comfort as religion. Jesus Christ sent the disciples to tell John that the poor had the gospel preached to them ; and the gospel gives more comfort than brass, fat geese, and legs of mutton." It is now near ten years since old Mat- thew so astonished me with his petition, and during the whole of those ten years he has gone in and out, and been a great favourite amongst us, because of his remarkable elo- quence, simplicity, and originality. He was by trade a flannel weaver, — a business that in hifl younger days was regarded as the most honourable and lucrative of aU employ- ments, and the weavers were the most proud and self-important of men. Fifty years since, thousands of the inhabitants of Roch- dale and surrounding villages carried on the manufacturing operations in their own dwellings. There houses were large and 202 OLD MATTHEW. Well-lighted for the purpose ; tlie occupation was easy and healthy; large families were then great blessings, for all could find suit- able and profitable employment under the parents* roof; and in well-regulated homes the dignity of labour was seen in its beauty, and yielded to the workmen a rich bounty. There were then, as now, and ever will be, occasional fluctuations in trade, which brought distress, especially amongst the im- provident, but the frugal and prudent lifted their heads amongst the most respectable in society. The flannel weavers in the hamlets and on the banks of the Eoche were then thought to excel as singers — the occupa- tion was favourable to the development of the lungs — and the solo, duet, and chorus often rose above the rattle of the shuttle or hum of the spindle. But many of the songs then sung would sound strange now ; they were not Church songs, but generally such as could be sung in the public-house on Saint Monday or Tuesday, — songs of love, war, sea, stonns, shipwrecks, rights of man. OLD MATTHEW. 203 tyrants, and three blind mice. On these Saint Mondays, firey orators tried their powers of eloquence, denouncing all op» pressors, but more especially flannel manu- facturers; higher wages were demanded^ comHi'*.tees and public meetings followed, aH the shuttles in the whole country were forcibly taken, and all work for months suspended, to compel the masters to comply with the terms demanded. Distress, riots, and the reading of the riot act followed ; the soldiers fired on the maddened multitude, — some were killed, many imprisoned, and a few transported, and numbers long remem- bered this battle of the shuttle gathering of 1829. It was during these times of turnouts and troubles in trade, that many of those marvel- lous inventions that made the machrne almost a living thing took place ; and though the enraged weavers, in formidable mobs, often broke them to pieces, still the inven- tions went on, for the masters, anxiouB to keep their customers and supply their orders, 204 OLD MATTHEW. i ! submitting to necessity, began to build huge factories for the new machinery, — and to the young and the strong they gave employment in these immense workshops. Thus the mingled sound of the rattle of the shuttle, the buzz of the spindle, the solo, the duet, and the chorus died away in the rural homestead, — and Matthew, like many others, was left a stranded vessel on a waveless shore. A singular circumstance connected with one of the Saint Monday flannel weavers, a neighbour of old Matthew's, may be useful to some of the Saint Monday men now. This man had saved a guinea for the express purpose of having a whole week's fuddle. He began on the Eushbearing Monday, spending three shillings per day for seven days ; on the morning of the eighth day he was burning with thirst, but his money was done. He went to the back door of the drunkery where he had spent every farthing of his guinea, to beg a pint on trust. Judy, the landlady, was mopping the passage ; he stood looking at Judy, with Ids racked lips. OLD MATTHEW. 205 parched tongue, and bloodshot eyes, expect- ing her to ask him to just a drop ; but she did not, and he requested her to trust him only one pint. With an indignant look of Bcom and contempt, she replied, — " Trust thee ! thou dirty, idle vagabond ; set a step in this house, and I will dash this mop in thy face." The poor wretch hung down his head in shame. He was leaning against a pump; and, after a little si idy, began to talk to the pump. "Well, Pump," he said gravely, ** I have not spent a guinea with thee, Pump : wilt thou trust me a drop V He lifted up the handle, put his burning mouth to the spout, and drank to his filL This done, he again said to the pump, — ^" Thank thee. Pump; and now hear me. Pump : — ^I will not enter a public-house again for the next seven years, so help me, God ; and, Pump, thou art a witness." The bargain was kept, and this man after- wards became a respectable manufacturer, Wi fiU li It m 206 OLD MATTHEW. and often sold, " It was a grand thing for him that Judy threatened to dash the mop in his face." My first acquaintance with old Matthew hagan one Sunday morning. I was seeking all the roughs I could find, and inviting all the street loungers, or any that attended no place of worship, to our erening service at the ''Destitute." Five or six men that stood at the corner of St. Mary's Ga^o seemed disposed to have a tilt with me; one of them, who had on a poor drah cotton jacket, speaking in a civil and respeotful manner, said, — " Mr. Ashworth, look at this jacket, and look at my whole garments. Would you go into any church or chapel dressed as I am; now, would you ? " "I know that a man with self-respect must keenly feel being poorly dressed, especially on the Sabbath, and no doubt this keeps many from the church," I re- plied ; ** but perhaps in your case the fault may be your own. Are you a sober man ? " iiiii OLD MATTHEW. 207 " Yes, I am a sober man, and have only sixteen shillings per week wages ; and there are six to keep out of it, for I am the only one that earns a penny in our house." " Well, my man, your case is bad enough ; hut there is one comfort for the poor. God does not judge us by the shape of our coat^ or quality of our cloth. Our Saviour was poor, and He lived amongst and preached the Gospel to the poor, and the common people heard Him gladly." A voice behind me said, " Bless Him ! bless Him 1 He was poorer than any of us, and He was poor for us, and He just suits poor folks ; bless Him ! " I turned round to look at the speaker, and saw a thin-faced, white-haired old man. It was old Matthew ; and that evening the poor man with the drab jacket and old Mat- thew made two more to our congregation. This Sunday morning's conversation had stmck a chord in old Matthew's soul, — a chord now more feeble than in former yeara^ but not eiitirely unstrung. s !! ' i |i I 208 OLD MATTHEW. In his earlier years he had been amonj^st the Primitive Methodists. He joined them during the time of that great revival, when Hugh Bourne and Clowes, whose zeal for dying souls could not be bound by chapel walls or printed rules, raised their standard on Mow Cop Hill, and with trumpet voices sang to burning words those spirit-stirring songs which melted stout and flinty hearts, — those songs, fervent prayers, and earnest gospel words, went down to the deep depths of moral darkness, and from those depths the cry for mercy came from many a breaking heart. Those hedge and highway heralds knew no unconsecrated ground : — He who was their fheme, said ** Go ; *• They heard His voice, and went. The fields almost forsaken they re-occupied, and from those fields have gathered no mean harvest. And as souls were saved, and men were bom again, they did what Christ bid him to do vho came out of the tombs, — they told their friends what great things OLD MATTHEW. 209 God had done for them ; and hence arose a band of men whose hearts God had touched. These men never thought that a study of segments and circles, lines and angles, was any preparation for preaching the gospel; they cared little for metaphysics or mathe- matics. Their college was the prayer meeting, and their only work on theology the Bible; their logic, "He that believeth shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned.** Their great, and grand, and all-engrossing theme was Calvary, — Christ crucified for sinners. This fired their souls, and every man was ready to stand side by side with the prophet in the wilder- ness, and cry, " Behold the Lamb of God ! " If these gatherings were sometimes noisy, it arose from the constitutional temperament of their converts, — men who had once been loud in the service of Satan, would now be loud in the service of God. If their hearts were changed, their lungs were not. Their trumpet voices, especially on the morning of their camp-meetings, have disturbed many u ■ ' ii'l f I ' ( i i;l I ! i ^1: 2m OiJ> MATTHEW. an ungodly sluggard in his bed, and set W* guilty conscience to work ; have brought ihe tear of contrition from the eye of many a street lounger and many an unwashed sinner. These Primitives have their own mission, have done and are doing a mighty work, for if they are the best fishermen who catch the most fish, these worthy men will take no mean station beside the fishermen^ of Galilee. Matthew heard them preach, believed th« gospel^ and joined these ardent souls. He learned their favourite nervous songs, and ever retained a love for what he called " the blue sky chapel," meaning open air services. Por a long time he was a member amongst, them, but for several years previous to ther morning that I met with him, from some oause, he had not been regular in his att'end** ance, but he was always a peaceable, sober man. He was never drunk but once, aD.d then it was from a neighbouring gentleman giving him one half pint of twenty years' old beoi*« This had such effect on him ^'1 OLD MATTHEW. 211 itat, on entering the house, he tumbled over the cradle, and as he lay sprawling ou his back in the corner, he shouted out to his a9r tonished wife,— " I have only had one gill, I have only had one gill ; it^ is not my fault ; I hava only had one gill'' That drink brings untold misery, noae can deny ; but Matthew wq» not the victim of this parent of all orimj9^ Wh^her &om want of business enterprise, or niegleotaiiig opportunities which aU have more or less, I know not, but Matthew had one long^pwii^ tracted aijid exhausting trial,^— a trial frona which the people of God are not entirely exempt, but whiioh religion alwajrs modifies and makes^ tolemble to be bovne» Thia tiial was poverty. We kaow that? povertjs often corner f^m extravagance^ igaomnee, want of forethomglM^ or bad mauAg^meatH^biit i^ot always; 8iak;nes9> low wa^esr, with fnoniiiea of young Qhildren> scai?eity of wojk, or feeble, limbs &om old age, often bring ^verty. ij^i^i^ J^^!^ ^ relative; one .H 4 I it :, s !'i i 1 lli I s - * it ' 212 OLD MATTHEW. man would think himself very poor with what another would think great riches. It is wonderful how nearly balanced are the things of this life which give to life its joys or sorrows. And Matthew's native eloquence woiild sometimes show this with great force. Amongst our other meetings at the Chapel for the Destitute, there is one to talk about religion, called an experience meeting. Matthew loved this communion of saints. One evening he said :— ** My friends, I was happy this morning. My old limbs are getting clumsy and stiff, but a short walk loosens my joints a bit, so I took a walk up Falinge-road. Sun wor shining, and in those big trees that nearly meet over the road, scores of birds were sing- ing and chirping with all their might. I sat down under the trees to hearken them. How they did sing, to be sure i I thought, well, some of those birds were sparrows ; how happy they are I Our Saviour talked about sparrows. He told us our Father in heaven noticed and fed them every one. Ah! I ii OLD MATTHEW. 213 ►or with hes. It are the its joys oquence at force. J Chapel k about aeeting. saints. ioming. id stiff, i bit, so iin wor ; nearly resing- ^ I sat L How it, well, ; how about heaven Ahl I thought, that is grand, for sure ! An' I thought, well, God thinks better o' one of His childer than many sparrows ; an* I am one of His childer, and in His sight worth all the sparrows in the trees o'er my head, and more, too ! an' if He feeds them He'll feed me, that's certain. These thoughts filled my soul with such a flood of love, that I cried for joy. I thought, if sparrows chirp and birds sing, I ought to sing a vast deal louder ; so I sang and cried for gladness. This is part of what I sang: — 'No foot of land do I poflsesSp No cottage in this wilderneiis; A poor wayfaring man : A while I sojourn here below, And gladly wander to and fro^ Till I my Canaan gain.' Ah! thought I, my Canaan is not far off. Methodists used to sing that hymn more than they do now. Many of them are getting rich ; they have both land and cottage, and 30 they cannot sing it now, — but I can. 'All . ^* OLD MATTHEW. t «( Well, well, I envy nobody in the \v it would sharpen theirs. But osoe thing I am sure of, — we cannot be poor if we have Christ, and we cannot be rich Witiiout Him. Bless Him ! bless Him f Old Matthew's words were singularly con- hrmed a few hours later, by another poor Christian I was requested to call and see. The moment I saw the placid countenance of Jhis gray*haired old pilgrim, I knew him, «ii STATTHICW. laid my hand on his knee, 215 'My sajnag,- id to see yon. dear old friend, I am pleased 1 How are you, Mr. Stott ? " ^ariiig up in his ann-ebair, and looking me in the face, he replied,^-^" My name, sir, is not Mr. Btott ; it is John fHott. WiU you fdease teU me your name V* Laughing ^t ills frankness, I informed liiA who I wad. H« lose from Ms sehair, ^ut hie hand on my i^Kmld«r, and with a tremulous voice im*- {ulcnred heaven's blessiiog to rest upon me.; und theft, resuming his ^eat, he several tinned exclaimed, "Pmise the Lord! praise the Lord !" **^(m M are you now, Mr. j^xjtt?" I ^ked. "Well, sir, in a few days I shall be ninety years of age," he replied. " And how le^g have you beett a member of the Church ? " "Well, sir, t was converted at twenty; to I have been joined to the Church of my ii i m' f^ i'i u 216 OLD MATTHEW. Saviour seventy years, and never reproved or turned out, thank God/* * I am pleased to think that you are well provided for in your old age; you seem comfortable," I observed. ** Yes, sir, the Lord does provide. What I have would be thought very little by some folk, but I make it do very weU. I like plain meat ; it suits me best, and costs little. I have only five shillings a week, but I many a time think that I am the happiest old felley out of heaven. Ah ! I am happy, for sure ! and the love of Jesus wiUr make folk happy, and I am fair surprised that every body does not love Him." " And how long is*it since your wife died?" ** Well, sir, it is * wenty years since she went to heaven; and I sometimes think that I am so long after her that she wiU think I have missed t'road. But I have not ; no, no, I have not." On parting with old John Stott, his simple, earnest prayer in my behalf affected xne much. Wliat a testimony ! Only five OLD MATTHEW. 217 •eproved are well u seem What 3y some I like ts little. , but I lappiesfc happy, 1 make id that 3 diedr tee Bhfi think le will " have tt, his ffected iy five shillings per week, living in lodgings, ninety years of age, and in his own opinion " the happiest old felley out of heaven." Never yet were Satan's servants, old or young, able to say this ! Sin has no such trophy. "Having nothing, and yet possessing all things," for all things are ours, if we are Christ's; and old John and old Matthew, while knowing something of poverty, pos- sessed the true riches. But there are greater troubles in this world than poverty. Trials more severe, and anguish of heart more bitter, has been the lot of many parents through the con- duct of undutiful, rebellious children, bring- ing a sadness of soul, a sorrow of spirit, far more distressing than mere struggles for bread. Matthew had one son, whose con- duct greatly embittered the old man's last days. This son was a drunkard, and through drink often got into disgrace. The old man could sometimes prevail on this child of his sorrows to accompany him to the Chapel; then hope would spring up concerning him. 4 m m :;* !i ^i h ' 218 OLD MATTHEW. But that hope was again and again dashed to the ground. When Matthew, in his pmyers, mentioned this lad, his voice always trembled : — bad children have caused thous- imds of trembling prayers. Matthew's chief earthly <}omfort was his Chapel for the Poor. As long as strength jpemc^ned, he was ibund at the various means. Often might he be seen on the Sunday evening leading old blind John Hamer through the narrow streets. It was a beautiful sight ! Two feeble, gray-headed, old men, bending und^ the weight of years, plodding their weary way to the house of prayer. To Matthew it was \he house of God, the gate of heaven. But the blind man's guide was the first to fall, his white jocks disappeared fitmi our midst, and we all heard with sorrow that he was sick unto 4eatL To stand by the bed of the dying, to look on the sunken eye, the wasted form, and heaving breast has often been my lot. There great lessons are learned.. As I gazed I I: ..I milim OLD MATTHEW. 219 n daslied ^., in liis 56 always 3d thous- was his •strength various on the id John It was -headed, of years, biouse of lionse of 10 blind ys white and we ck unto to look m, and ny lot. I gazed on the closed eyes, moving lips, and changed features of my dear old friend, as he lay in his poor home, on his poor bed, I felt it was a great lesson indeed. Bending over him, I said, " Matthew.** His whole body moved, his eyes opened, his features changed, he smiled and answered, — **I know that voice; sure I do. What could I do now, Mr. Ashworth, without Christ ? He is very near me, and very, very precious 1 I have been praying for my children, especially one — ^you know where he is. Poor lad ! my prayers for thee are ended, but I hope to meet thee in heaven. I leave my wife and children in my heavenly Father's care, and die very happy." Matthew had his failings, but he is gone where failings wiU never reach him moie. In the world he had great tribulation ; in Christ he had peace. Heaven now counts one more ; while of the old stock, the Chapel for the Destitute counts one lesa. f : i I ■;■ i J 'I' ! :l m OLD AB' On the ridge of bills which divide Lan* cashire from Yorkshire there is a cluster of huge sandstone rocks, called, by local tradi- tion, Kobin Hood's Bed. Standing on these rocks, with the face towards the setting sun, an irregular dale stretches out on the north- west side, about ten miles in length, bounded by broken ravines and uplands, the highest point being Knoll Hill, the south opening out into an e^ctensive level plain. This valley cannot, like those of Savoy, Italy, and Egypt, boast of producing corn, and oil, and wine, but it can show many stupendous smoking obelisks, that for height leave Pompey's pillar, and Cleopatra's needle im- {•■ III I m 222 OLD AB*. !'i nil measurably behind. The tillers of the soil on these fiats and slopes count not their acres by hundreds, yet their small patches of grazing land yield to the industiious husbandman a ipoderata compQitence. This depression among the hills, from its farms or factories, claims no special notice, but the historian will yet mark it out as a place of some celebrity. We think not of tlie va^e of Avon or the plains of Troy without their immortal bards, and this valley, in coming years, will find its chief renown from being the home and birth-place of one of England's powerful tribunes. Many years ago, but yet within the memory of persons still alive, an unpretend- ing carriage, with a trusty driver and steady horse, not for the first time, entered this valley at the south-west end, and the sole occupant of the humble vehicle was a thin, but hale, old man. This grey-haired veteran, grown grey in his Master's service, came with a weighty message to the whole of the inhabitants of this valley. Electrio tdo^, ■m':i OLD A»'. 22^3 ihe soil their )atcbes stiious This farms mi the lace of le vaje it their coming I being gland's in the retend- steady ?d this he sole a thin, eteran, , came of the 3 tele-, graphs were tlieu unknown, bat at the sight of this aged ambassador^ intelligence flew fast before him. The village blacksmith, the pedlar, the wayside stone broakeiv shouted out, " Wesley is come ; " the grocei*, draper, and sadler, forgetting their customers^ greeted each other with the shout, " Wesley is come." As he neared the town, many voices loudly proclaimed the welcome news, that Wesley was come. On went the drivei* at a very safe speed, until he arrived at the " Old Clock Face," t. small public-house, in a narrow part of the town, called Blackwater Street ; but being the wakes, the stables at the Clock Face were all occupied, and John Wesley's horse had to be stiaUed in the bottom room of a tin-plate worker's shop, in White Bear Yard, belonging to James' Hamilton. One of the tin-plate workmen who, through a former visit of Wesley to Roch- 1 dal^ had become a greatly changed man, was wonderfully proud to have Wesley's >horse in the shop Lear his bench. He 'i w 224 OLD AB*. iiii' ail ? ' iiii ['■3 patted his neck, stroked him down, and gave him plenty of com and oat cake. A woman from the country came with a broken tin roller, used in the spinning of woollen, to be repaired, and told the man she would call again in an hour, and he must be sure to have it ready. She called, but the roller had not been touched. She was very wroth, and spoke in strong terms to the workman. His reply was, — ** Mistress, this is Mr. Wesley's horse, and I have to attend to him. I am so proud of seeing any thing belonging to a man that has been so great a blessing to me." But this only increased the rage of the woman, who roared out, — "Hang you and Wesley too, I wish he had the tin roller in his throat." "Well, well," quietly replied the man, " Mr. Wesley is just now going to preach in the chapel at Toad Lane, at the end of High Street. If you will go and hear him, I will have your roller ready when you come back," i:: OLD AB'. 225 " I will go and look at the cliap, but I shall not stop long to hear him talk ; I have something else to do," was her answer. Being a determined character, the woman pushed her way through the crowd, and got near the pulpit. She heard, and trembled, and wept, and, with many others, fell on her knees, crying, "What must I do to be saved V* The amazing unction and influence attending the preaching of Whitfield and Wesley in churches, chapels, barns, streets, lanes, fields, or market-places, was marvel- lous. Scenes greatly resembling the day of Pentecost were often witnessed. After one open air service in Moorfields, Whitfield had one thousand persons giving in their names as anxious inquirers after salvation. When souls are sa.ved it still is, and ever will be, by the descent of the Holy Ghost ; and nothing but Christ exalted can bring the converting Spirit down, — " I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me," — for ever settles the true work of the Christian min- is m !■■ i 226 OLD AB*. [; 1 lilj ¥ .1 [I! istiy. Wesley and Whitfield knew and felt tliis. Baptized with the Holy Spirit them- selves, they preached salvati(»i by faith in Christ. Multitudes believed, and the woman that wished the tin roller in Wesley's throat was one, and the subject of this narrative was indirectly another. In those days many of the inhabitants of this valley, as in most parts of England, were in great spiritual darkness. Places of worship were few and far between; books \^ere rare things ; Sunday or other schools, except in favoured places, did not exist ; not one in fifty could read, and where the people assembled for worship, that they might be able to sing, the hymns were read out in two lines, and sometimes only in one. At one of these gatherings, two young married country women believed in the Lord Jesus Christ and were saved, and one of them was the wife of Abraham, better known as Ab*, the subject of this narrative. With intense earnestness she told her husband, and be- sought him to seek for pardon and peace^ I 'I OLD AB*. 227 that they might rejoice together. He heard her with astouishment, and trembled from head to foot. A few days after, a minister came to preach in the neighbourhood, and she urged her husband to go, but could not prevail. Putting the child in the cradle, she requested him to rock while she went out. She ran to the service, but the thoughts of her child disturbed her, and before it was over she run back. Ere she got home, the baby had waked up, and began to cry as loud as a three months' old baby could cry. Her giant of a husband — a giant in bone and stature — lifted the little thing out of the cradle, and began to walk across the floor, quietly swinging it up and down, saying, — "Husht, chilt, husht; do husht; bless thee, chilt, do be quiet, for I cannot bide to yer thee cry. Husht, will ta ? Bee bo ! bee bo ! When th>. mother comes whoam, winnot I thrash her. Bee bo ! bee bo ! husht, chilt, do husht ; tha makes me sweat." Just then the mother arrived, and taking hold of the child, iJai'.l, " He, lad, 1 •'■'J lif 1! i :i!l 1 I :i ■ j r I 'i :!i n 228 OLD AB*. wish tha had yeard yon mon preach ; tha^ never yeard nought like it; no, never. I wish tha had goan ! " The way in which this was spoken soft- ened down the ire of her tall husband, for his conscience had begun to trouble him. He knew his wife was daily praying for his sal- vation, and he had several times promised he would go to the chapel some time. One evening, without telling her of his purpose, he went to Union Street Chapel, in Koch- dale. The place was crowded, but he got into one comer, with eyes and ears open, and he that night witnessed scenes and heard words that stirred his soul, and alarmed his guilty conscience. During the singing of one hymn he was wrought to such ^a pit-ch of agony that he called out " Murder ! murder !" not knowing what he said. In this state of mind he set off to- wards home. It was a stormy, winter evening; the snow was piled up in large drifts, covering high thorn hedges, and in many places blocking up the road. He mi i." ■:' OLD AB'. 229 cared little foi' the storm ; on he went, until he began to ascend a by-lane behind Norden, then falling on his knees, with his face against a wall of snow, he began to cry for mercy. Long he knelt, and long he cried — cried until his hot breath melted a hole in the drifted snow. God heard that cry, saw his sorrow for sin, and spoke peace to his souL Up he sprang, and lifting both hands, clapped them over his head, and shouted for joy ; then rushed on through every obstacle. On arriving itt home, he threw wide open the door, and again shouted, — "Lass, lass, aw'm saved ! aw'm saved ! God has saved my soul in a snaw-drift ! Glory ! glory I " Did Abraham's after life confirm the rap- turous declaration of that evening ? Did it manifest to beholders that the change was genuine ? Yes, it did. It was not the mere outburst of an excited imagination— a momentary flash of wildfire,--but the extacies of the new birth. He had heard men preach, who preached for souls, and the gospel of Christ was the power of Grod to .;i| , im m t« ! P' iii il I II |! l| l>!!^ 1 i i III! 230 OLD AB*. his salvation. Oaths and curs6s gave way to prayers and praises, and taproom brawls to chapel songs, and louder songs have hardly ever come from mortal throat. But in all new converts, especially such ardent souls as Abraham's, the old iCnd new man have often desperate battles. Old tempers and old habits fight hard to keep their place, or return after being driven out, and nothing but watching and prayer can defeat them. This neglected, the house is empty, the wicked spirit, bringing others moie wicked, will come back, and the last end of that man will be worae that the first. Abraham had many of these conflicts between grace and sin. One of his beset- ments was hunting. At the cry of the hounds lie would leave his work, and run half-naked up hill, down dale, shouting and howling louder than tlie bay of the dogs or the huntsman's horn, the boldest of all the four- legged or two-legged animals, yelling, panting, and blowing to catch the little, beautiful, timid, trembling hare, and called OLD AB*. 231 ive way brawls ive hardly •^^y such ^d lAGW les. Old to keep iven out, ^yer can house is ig others 1 the last b the first, conflicts iis beset- le hounds alf-naked howling 3 or the the four- yelling, le little, id called It "no"l)le sport." The sport often ending amoiigst ale pots, rum casks, and in sore bones. After his conversion, he one day heard the hounds. He tried hard to keep back, but tried in his own strength, which always fails. Away he went, over hedge and ditch, shouting as loud as ever. S<^.veral of the old hunters laughed heartily when they saw him. One of them called out, " Amon, Ab', amen ! " Ab' was very dejected that evening when he returned home. He knew he had disgraced himself ; he durst not look his wife in the face ; he became so miserable, that he went down to Kochdale to ask the minister, Mr. Bogie, what he must do. The minister told him to pray for more strength, to resist all temptation to any sin, and God would help him. After that he halloed to the hounds no more. To see a giant of a man married, and a father, who could not say his A, B, C, would seem strange to the children of our Sunday- schools now ; but so it was with Abraham. %:m M liiiii H ill m ii:! ! i' .t .. It : is ii; n 1 III: •Hi I 1 'V 232 OLD AB . He got a little spelling-book, and went amongst his neighbours to get some one to teach him to read, but none of them could. There was only one Sunday-school in the neighbourhood, and it was three miles away. This first Sunday-school was begun by James Hamilton, of Eochdale, in 1784, in the same room down the White Bear Yard, in which Mr. Wesley's horse was stabled, on the night before mentioned. Mr. Hamilton wrote to Kobert Eaikes for instruction about Sunday-schools. Mr. Raikes advised him to get the children together, and teach them to read and write, and, as often as possible, take them to some place of worship. Mr. Hamilton began the first Sunday with six scholars, and the second with thirteen. An acquaintance of his, John Croft, asked him why he took the children into his tin-shop on the Sabbath, and when informed that it was a Sunday-school, he requested per- mission to become a teacher. Tlie ninth Sunday there were twenty-three scholars, and then, as recommended by Mr. Eaikes, OLD AB'. 233 |ncl went e one to m couJd. ►1 in the ■les away, legun by 17 iH, in ear Yard, tabled, on Hamilton iioii about ed him to li them to possible, hip. Mr. with six een. An sked him tin-shop d that it Jted per- he ninth scholars, . Eaikcs, they took them in procession to the parish church. When they got to the church door, the beadle, with his red collar and long black staff with silver knob, sternly refused them admittance. James Hamilton told him it was a Sunday-school, and they must be admitted. This enraged the * mighty beadle, and he took out the hand-cuffs ; at the sight of which John Croft took to his heels, down the one hundred and twenty- two steps, but Hamilton stood firm. The beadle then shut and locked the door, and ran to the Vicar, old Dr. Wray, to tell him that two men had brought a lot of dirty children, that they called a Sunday-school, and were determined to go into the church, and he was determined they should not. The Vicar, scratching his wig, said, — " Put them in some corner, out of sight." It would be a large corner that would hold that same school now, for it numbers twelve hundred, and mPxiy thousands more are taught in the valley, not only to read, hvX their way to a better world. "■■ I i III m ii ri;i 1il ;; !i h' W\ ■i I III t 234 OLr> AB*. But if Al)rahain could not then read, he had the organs of lx)th tune and sound, and could sing with uncommon power. I re- member him when I was a boy in the school, — a school and place of worship built by several who, like Abmham, had received the gospel, all helping with hand and pocket, — he was then about fifty years of age, and sat in one corner of the singing-pew with his mouth and ears open to catch the words. He was not the leading singer, but he did lead with a vengeance. Clarionets and fiddles, bassoons and trumpets, all had to go at his speed, often to the mortification of the professionals.* High above all instni- ments sounded his voice. He sang aloud for joy. Many said that Abraham's religion was all noise and sound, but I thought he had more religion than all the people in the cliapel. After his conversion, he joined the church at Bagslate, and in the week evenings met in claas with Samuel Standing, of Tenter House, and several years after, the church OLD IB*. 235 having greatly increased, he was requested to take charge of a class himself. One reason why the Wesleyan Church in one single centuiy has become so vast, both in numbers, power and influence, is, that all grades of talent are set to work. One talent, two, or five, all are employed according to their several abilities, either as preachers, leaders, or Sunday-school teachers. Zeal and knowledge have here a w de tield ; the calm, thoughtful logician; the culd, phlegmatic reasoner ; the cautious, pathetic pleader ; the burning, fiery orator ; the shouting, stamping, Bible thumper; all have their mission, all have their followers and admirers ; and thus all idiosyncracies are met, from the highest intellect to the lowest, and from this has grown up that gigantic section of the Chris- tian church, Abraham knew nothing of circumlocution ; his sententious, terse, and pointed speeches in the love-feast and class, both before and after he became leader, were retailed throughout the neighbourhood, and aro re- i 236 OLD AB'. m il . iiiembered by many to this day. He was always serious, and however others might laugh at his laconics, he himself was in sober earnest. Amongst many other rough, wickedj and daring characvers that were gathered into the church from the hills and valleys of Norden, was his brother Joseph. Seeing him in one of their meetings, he shouted oiit,-^— " Eh, Joe, lad, what ft mericy it is that thee and me aVe here. Before God saved oi^r soids, ^e were both wild as March hares, and ragged as filley foifes. If the grace of God had not stopt u«, we met o' bin in hell, brunnin' liko two breek." Orife evening, in his class, he said, — • ** Friends, my soul is filled as full of love as t shoddy bag. As I coom oer*t fields, aw shewted glory so lewd that shedp and kew^s all stared at me. I shewted lewder than when I went o' hUutin', for I had far more need to sliewt the praises of Jesus Christ than shewt aiter huntin' dogs." A i^oor man in his class that had beeii . i OLD AB*. 237 gome time without work, and had several of his family sick, expressing his gladness that the Lord had promised to deliver in the day of trouble, Abraham replied, — **If theaw had to tak thy troubles un poverty to some big mon, un ax him to help thee, theaw would have to go to th' back dor, un mind th' dog kennel; a sarvant would ax wot theaw wanted, then tell another sarvant, then th* butler, then th' maister; un he met be engaged, un thee tpiid to CO* again sonae time else ; but when theaw brings thy troubles to Jesus, theaw art not stopt we yard dors, dog kennels, sarvants, nor butlers, but theaw may go streight too Him, un He ^/ill mak thee welcome. Glory ! glory ! glory !*' One of his members, who was prospering in worldly things, spoke of the difficidty of keeping humble, Ab* replied, — "I am the most humble, and think of God best, when me stomach's empty, un aw think sometime God lets it be empty to keep me reet, till I'm better rooted and grounded.** ,:i AJ.\ Hi!'!' :|i iii-!;; Hi ;; lip ' ' m i li^ii ^« I ' .III U W i III 238 OLD AB*. At one church meeting several thought that there; were signs of a revival, and that prayer-meetings ought to he held. One speaker said it would only he a burning of candles to no use. Ab' said, — " Candles against souls ! candles against souls ! that caps all. A soul saved is worth o* th* candles it* world. I'll find candles I 111 find candles 1" After Abraham joined the church, one weakness long troubled him: he was hot- tempered, soon provoked, and could say stinging words, and so grieved many. He had often to mourn and weep over this fail- ing. Hs would sometimes confess his infir- mity, and ask his friends to bear with him. Keferring to his grievous fault in one meet- ing, he said, — " Friends, I think my temper mends a bit Th' donkey kicked milk cans off yesterday, un I did not fly in a passion ; awV sin th' day when aw should o* kilt it on th' spot.** That he had much to try his temper must be axlmitted. His good little wife soon pre- OLD AB*. 239 sented him with a pack of hungry children, — seventeen in all. Cotton weaving was then their principal support, for he was not then a farmer, and it was one continued struggle for very existence. The scanty, well-patched, but clean clothing of father, mother, and children, as they appeared in the chapel and school, told of thrift and poverty. What a mercy to those children that their parents were Christian ; that they were led by them from their childhood to the Sunday-school and the house of God ; led, not driven, — taken, not sent. Many parents drive and send their children to a place of worship, but go not themselves. Such parents need not be surprised if the child, in after-life, should copy the example, and reject the precept; and it is well for families attending the sanctuary, when the pew and fireside harmonize. Wh^n all the religion is in the church on Suuda3% and none at home on Monday, it is a poor look out for the young ones, or the old ones either. S' m ri ri '%j¥^ m 1 1 ■ 'i! i I ■ ;K'' i| I 1 i'^ii 111 '!,S .1;'! 240 OLD AB*. My long residence in the town has never le3sened my love for the country ; the rest- less toils of anxious businesss find a healthy antidote on the mount and in the wild wilderness, , Whore tiny streams sing their soft songs To shining pebbles. To climb the smooth or rugged steep, that brings to view the outstretched landscape, where distance fades, and sky and jnountain meet, gives to overwiought nerves, morbid feelings, or languid circulation, new life and active energies. This love of rural walks and country scenes has often led me to our neighbouring hills and dales. In one of these walks I found myself climbing amongst the purple heath and sheep tracks of Rooley Moor and Hunger Hill. I cared little for food when I set out, but about two o'clock in the after- noon, while passing over the last-mentioned and right-named hill, I felt an intense desire for a good dinner. Seeing the roof of a OLD AB*. 241 i house below my feet, I desceHded, hoping to find it the home of some hospitable person. Passing through a stone stile, and entering the open farm yard, I was quite delighted to find it was Bank House, and the home of the now Old AV. The aged man sat on a saw- block, with an axe in his hand, chopping rotten branches into firewood, on the stump of a tree. He was without hat or coat, and his vest wide open. Accosting the old man, I said, — ** Could you furnish me with a little bread and butter-milk, sir, for I am very hungry?" *' Ah, we con. Yoar i'th reet shop, for win just churnt, un aw think there's bits o' butter in yet, un that will mend it." He then called aloud, "Ann, Ann, get this gentleman some milk and biead." The day being fine, I sat down on a strong stone bench beneath the window, on one end of which stood two inverted large cans, used for carrying milk to the town. Ann, his aged partner, very soon brought me a nice round white loaf, a print of fi'esh made \ iiii I |i 1 I M 1-'ii |!!^ ii[ii ■;|:ii!; I I i i'« ■'!!ii m: OhP AB-. butter, and a neat jug of rich mellow butter- milk, which made me think I waa " i'th reet shop." Just then a large sheep dog came bounding from the barn,: barking in rage and fury, his hair behind his neck standing straight, up ; but the old farmer shouted out,-^ " Com/e ewt, dog; come ewt, will ta?" I thought, now is my time for opening conviersation, for I longed to begin with the old man, so I said, — " Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For G\/d bath made them aa" The old man paused from breaking chips, and without lifting up his head observed, — "Is not that election, sir; is not that election ? But happen yo* don't care aught about it." *' It is one of Watts' songs for children, I replied. " Watts was a sweet singer for young or old." " Which is the best poet — ^Watts or Wes- ley — do yo think ? Some say one, un some ■M :::;i( '.*->^l OLD ABV 24S^ biitter- i'th reet )g caiue :age and tandins; shouted ta?" opening with the ag chips, erved, — not that re aught hildren, nger for or Wes- un some say another. Wot do- yo say ? Dun yo' know Wesley once preached in this house;' standin* i'th old oak staircase ? But happen yo don't care about it t" Old Abraham again > observed, "Well, sir," I replied, ♦' I think the Lord raised up and inspired both Wesley and- Watts "^ to write hymns for His children. Millions that aie gone home to brighter ' climes, have sung them, and millions yet ^ unborn shall sing them. Watts wrote more for meek, timid, doubting, but true Chris- tians, who f3el -their weakness and unworthi- ness, — who fearing to say too much, often say to little. These sing from his hymns, " When' I ban read my title d<»r To mansions in tlie skies, : : I^ bid farewell to every fear, Aad-wipc my Wieepirig eyes.* The moment I finished this verse; ' Abraham started up from the saw^block; and called out, — "Ann, Ann, do cdom ewt^ liwsj un yer k i:i! hill I' ! : -Mi 1^^ ,:!■;; 5. lin li Mi^ ■m\ 244 OLD AB . tlii) mon talk. My wife's a timid Christian, but, bless her, hoo's o good un.*' Ann came to the door with tears in her eyes. She had heard all, for she was in the porch, looking on and hearkening, but he did not Bee her. Going on with my com- parison, I observed, — ** Wesley wrote for bolder and more daring Christians, — men whose ardent souls were best stin-ed by strong, nervous language, such as,— • "My God, I am thine, what a comfort divinfl^ What a blessing to know that my Jesu j is mine ; In the heavenly Lamb, thrice blessed I am, And my heart it doth dance at the soond of His n)?>mc ^ Before quoting that verse, I had risen to my feet, to give it aT the force I pot'^ibly could. The old man stretched himself, with the axe in one YiBud and the chip in the other, then raising them straight over his head, and looking up in the clear, blue sky, with all his might he shouted, — '* Glory ! glory ! glory ! that's me, tliat's ■fc-^n" 1 ' i OLD AB\ 245 Christian, in her J was in the (ng, but he my com- rore daring souls were language, is mine; Mn, id risen to I poi'sibly taself,with tiip in tbo t over his hlue sky, ue, tliat's me ; my God, I am thine, for sure. Glory ! glory ! and our Ann's thine too ; but boo does not make as big a noise about it as I do." While the old farmer was so lustily shouting, the sheep dog began scampering about the yard, yelling and barking, while Ann, the dear aged partner of his joys and sorrows, laughed through her tears. Before leaving, and while I stood betwixt the two aged pilgrims, with our faces towards the valley that stretched out to Tandle hiUs and the Yorkshire boundaries, I gave out one of those hymns I knew they could both sing. Looking into the calm« serene heavens, we all sang together— "There we shall see His face^ And never, never sin ; And from the rivers of His grace Drink endless pleasures in ; Yea, and before we rise To that imtnortal state. thou bts of such amazins; bliss 1 'i Should constant joys create/' f^ 'lilill liliiii ■mm. ■! :■ Jill '" ill Jill m ■lit i2l5 ^LD AB*. Tlie old man stopped singing, and sob- .bed i'or joy ; his dear old wite joined me in tremul ous voice. To us all it was a moment of deep unspeakable bliss, — a bliss which none but Christians know. ,. As I passed out at the gate to resume my walk, they both watohed me ascend the hill, and the last words I heard were,-^ " God bless yo, us who yo are ; you stirred up my old soul aI)ove a bit." ; Abraham's religion was not all noise and . sound. The blessing he found in the snow drift, lifty .>ears before, safely guarded him through a long life, and now he, with his faithful Ann, are with the other Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the spirits of the just men made perfect, enjoying that amazing bliss of wiiicli wo that day sang. md sob- M me in moment js which mine my the hill, m stirred toise and the snow irded him with his Abraham, f the just amazing ! 1 MILLY. !••», '■ D %♦ III II U 'A MAN, who tdtmented himself and others with his bad temper, ealled at a barber's shop ,to 'be shaved. After the operation, he put down a penny as usual, and was going out, when the barber said,^^ "Stop, stop, it is three halfpence this time." " How so V* observed the new shaved man; , "it was only a penny last week." "So it was, but you are bad tempered to^ -d^y, and your face is much longer this week 4han last, and tlie job more diificult : three •lialfpence, if you please." The barber might be only jesting with his surly customer, but there is no doubt that teiQper alters the shape of the countenance. § 243 MILLT lit, H liii tiH ■,H' Of this til ere are many evidences, and Milly, our early acquaintance, was one. Grievous offences against children may, in aftei life, be forgiven, hut they are seldom forgotten. An aged neighbour of mine, a kinu old woman, had on several occasions given me a little bread and butter. She wai one day baking, and made me a little cake. I watched the oven with intense interest until my small muffin was ready. It seemed a long time, but at last the good-natured old creature pronounced it quite enough, and was putting it into my pinafore, when hear- ing feet descending the stairs, t ie cried out,— '' Bun, child, run! Milly's coming, Milly's coming ; run, run I " There was not time for me to escape out of doors, so she opened the pantry door, bidding me be very quiet. I got into the furthest comer, amongst the coals, and sat silent and almost breathless with fear, my hot cake burning my lingers. But Milly had suspected something, and opening the pantry door, snatched the bread from my hands. MILLY. 249 id MOly, in may, seldom mine, a lions She waf /le cake, interest t seemed [tured old igh, and lien bear- ed outv — U Milly's oftpe out 'ly door, into the > And sat fear, my illy had B pantry hands^ gave me a sound box on the ear, and pushed me out into the street, threatening vengeance if ever I came there again. There I stood, my ear singing and burning, robbed of my precious cake, and turned out of doors for no fault of my own. My opinion of Milly was formed that day, and years have not changed it Nor was I alone in this respect, for all the children in the neighbourhood, from some cause, held her in the greatest dread, and those older in experience and knowledge avoided her company. She was feared and shunned by all, young and old. Milly's infirmity was uamistakably seen iifher face. It was not the miserable hag- gard countenance of the drunkard's wife, nor the sad look of paintul and sharp sorrow, but cold and cheerless, leaving disagreeable impressions, from which a child, a dog, or a strangt" vould turn away. Her temper had stamped itself on her features, as it does on all, but perhaps shows more in woman than man, especially since man began to wear beards. Had she cultivated a kind, sunny. » m '■■.''>«.V»i»-S<'»"«l«W!l!i!»ij ii :il * 11 m ■ ! 1 1 1 j t li^ 1 ' m fl r'250 •iflLLY. geniarspirit, «he might have been thcjuglil; haidsome; but her temper settled that question. A sweet disposition will make a 7][daiii ! woman beautiful, but a sour temper will spoil any face. MiUy 's occupation, together with all that leompofied the household, consisted in spin- ning, winding, and weaving flannel pieces, all ^working together in a large upper room. The aged 'creature who made me the unfor- ^tunate cake was mother or grandmother to .}&U, and it was painful to witness her con- stant anxiety to keep peace amongst them, and especially to please Milly, for she knew if lilllly was kept right the others would tiot give her much trouble. She anticipated all her wants, was silent when sharp words were spoken, and would watch her countenance to see ho AT matters stood, just as she would look at the clock to tell the time of day. When the cloud was on Milly'sbrow, which it often was, the timid mother would walk up and down the house restless, looking in every corner to see if ought was wrong. J4IIXY. 251 titled that fill make a mr^ temper 1th all that fd in spill- pieces, all fper room, the unfor- mother to IS her con- >ngst them, r she knew t wouHfiot eipated all ivords were •untonance she would we of day. •ow, which :>uld walk looking in as wrong. Had she been sitting near the fire, sha would have moved back to give her room ; had she been reading, she would have laid down the book, and taken her knitting, fearing fault would be found with her for being idle. But there was the greatest difEculty to please Milly with her food ; the potatoes were either over or under boiled ; the meat either raw or burned ; the tea too weak or too strong; the bread and butter too thick or too thin. Soi** jdmes, when called to her meals, she would have looked on the table, and because the provisions did not suit lier, without speaking a word, she would have turned round and gone back to her work, or sat down in the sulks. The poor mother would then be very miserable, fret, and be unable to take food herself, and say, — •* What is the matter, Milly ? Tell me ; I have done my best" But Milly would not condescend to an- swer, but sulk on, never speaking to any of them the remainder of the day, or perhaps for several days. u 1 M mT.-i'>mmtm',r-ariiti!)t 252 MILLY. Sulking at lier dinner on one occasion, liet niece, a strong, healthy young woman, ob- served, — ** Well, it*s an ill wind that blows nobody any good ; we shall have so much more." But she was instantly caught by the hair of the head, and instead of joining at sulk- ing Milly's share, Milly gave her tears for her own dinner ; and that day, as on many former occasions, there was sulking, anger, and sorrow in the whole house ; peace and harmony entirely destroyed, all through the temper of Milly But Milly's mother always suffered the most from these outbursts of her daughter's temper ; the poor old creature would tremble and weep for hours. It is sad when children by their conduct to parents increase the sorrows inseparable from the infirmities of old age, for tlie venerable in years to say, as I have heard one say, — " I have lived too long, and I am in the way now. There was a time when I could have borne sharp words and angry looks ; l>1 MILL7. 253 [casion,liet >man, ob- s nobody more.'* •y the hair g at sulk- T tears for IS on many dng, anger, peace and bhrough the uffered the daughter's uld tremble en children icrease the iirmities of 3 to say, as am in the 3n I could Dgry looks better than I can now ; I was not then de- pendent on others, I could earn my own bread, and fight my own battles in life; now I cannot, and I bitterly feel it. But I shall not trouble them long, they are fast shorten- ing my days^ and I would advise people never to pray to be old ; let the Lord take them when He will, if through Christ they are ready, for it is better to be in heaven than grieved at the fireside of others when our limbs are feeble, and we cannot help ourselves." These painful words were spoken by an aged parent suffering from the hot temper and cruel words of a child. How many homes have being deprived of their sunshine by the black cloud of one bad temper ; how many families made miser- able by the culpable selfishness, the morose, moody, sullen disposition of a Milly ; how many happy social circles have been broken up, and how many joyous, pleasant parties turned into grief by one Milly ? They .change cheerfulness into sadness, sweet into 254; »HLLY. I M :i:\'\ bitter, lioney into gall; being wretched themselvesj they caimot bear to see others happy. Miserable in their own souls, they, take a fiendish delight in making others mis- erable; and perhaps nothing rouses their bitter malignity, their intense hati-ed so much, as caring nothing about, or trying to be cheerftil in spite of them. This is always an unpardonable offence. But to be abso- lutely indifferent to the conduct of others, especially of those with whom we live, is impossible. The genial soul and smiling face will warm our hearts, the surly look and frozen so\d will <;hill them ; we cannot help it, do what we will. Of this the fol- lowing fact is an instance : — A shoemaker who had married a wife with a little of the MiUy temper in her, was rather surprised to find that she could sulk. He was a steady, industrious, careful man himself, and was determined he would not allow his wife's temper to affect his own. He tried to whistle and sing as usual, but found he could not j he tried to laugh hecs milly; 255 wretched •e others 'uls, they, ihers mis- ses their lati-ed so trying to is always be abso- of others, 'e live, is d smiling jurly look we cannot 5 the fol- d a wife II her, was :>uld sulk, •eful man i^uld not his own. isiial, but augh hei out of her sulks, but it only made matters worse ; he felt vexed and uneasy in spite of himself. Having scratched his head, and pondered over the matter, he thought hel would sulk too, but he was not bad enough for that, — it would not suit his sunny souL Hitting on what he thought would stop this sulking, he said, in a whisper, to Fred, a young lad he had as an apprentice, — " Fred, go into every one of the thirteen cottages in this row, and tell all the women to come as quick as possible ; mistress has been struck dumb. Quick, Fred, quick ! ** Fred *^hought it was true, for he had not heard the mistress speak for three days; so he ran into every house, saying, — ** Come, come, mistress has lost her speech, and master wants you to come and see her. Do come." The sulky, ill-tempered wife, unconscious of what T7as going on, sat sewing at the fire- 1 side, and< very soon seven of the neighbours all stood around her, with faces expressing • : f' ill i Ul'i! i ilijilj Hpi Iti^: fffl! V J- I f'1 ■il 256 HILLY. their sympathy with the speechless woman. One of them said, — " What a pity I what a pity I How did it come on ? " The shoemaker's wife was astonished, and in her astonishment rose up, and looking at the crowd of women, exclaimed,-— " Whatever is there to do ? " The merry cobbler was peeping out of lus small worksliop, to see how matters went, and the moment he heard his wife speak, said to the now confused gi*oup,-^- " I am very much obliged to you ; she can speak now ; and if she becomes dumb again, I will let you know." I am not sure the cobbler took the wisest course in this matter, nor do I recommend it. By a practical joke he had made his sullen wife speak, but it was at the expense o| exposing her temper to the whole neigh- bourhood, and thus lowering her in her own self-respect and the respect of others, and this seldom results in real good. I would advise all people that sulk, to give notice MILLT. 257 • r, fri qulk and liow long* ^"\tive^e?SthL cobbler a^dlua :&^e ludicrous dU^a^^ Mmy bad one -^^^^J^J^itrious. inbercbaracter »f TJ^^^ cburcb. Buk and honest, and also attend^ tbese good <1^;X M "^oL. the n.in- ^" Ts^ ^sSws Cbuxcb. at the request ister of St. btepnen ^ j^^^^^^ of MiUy, ''«T,,i*;Snnrptised; tbey an the neighbours w«e JJ ^^^ «,^ld not «-^««*^^,X Some thougl't of writing to MT. «o ^ ^j^ sort of a person M^y^^^t that good tt.e nunister P^*'*^*^ others, for he ' ,igKt be done^^' I dJ "t tbinkshe was cawe several Umes. x ^^^^ ^^^^ considered a membe,^AI>. tad-tempered fe disgraced by "^^ would be denuded member, aa such a C"^"^^^^^ iife.-love. of what givasl^^U>^^-l^X surly. 3oy,peace' gentleness, mee IT ! \: I 258 BOLLT. moody, sullen tamper is the very opposite of that Christianity taught by the meek and lowly Je»us. This the world knows, and bad-tempered professors of religion little know the harm they do. **If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth kia own heart, this man's religion is vain." I know there is an old saying, but a veiy foolish one, that " whet is bred in the bone cannot come out of the flesh." That temper, like other developments of our depravity, may be transmitted, or rather produced by example, admits of no doubt. Bad-tempered parents have often bad-tempered children: they copy what they see. But it is a mere excuse for any man or woman to say or believe that they cannot subdue the worst temper, and bring it under entire subjection. They may, and they ought, and they would, if they strongly wished it. But it is a burning shame and a disgrace for persons professing Christianity to give heed for a moment to the thought that the grace of VILLT. 259 opposite \e meek knows, [religion If any ns, and ^eth kia >» tt a veiy ;he bone temper, jpravity, luced by «mpered children : s a mere say or le worst bjection. r would, it is a peisona id for a jrace of God cannot root out the worst temper ever Satan made. All admit that the new birth, of which Christ spoke to Nioodemiis, is an entire spiritual change,-^K)ld things passed away, and all things became new ; but pray \vhat is changed if the bad temper is the same ? It may, and does in some, fight hard, but it is weak as a feather if we only accept offered grace. I remember being in a neighbour's house, when a messenger came from the office, in great haste, to say he was wanted immedi- ately. Off went his slippers, and he called out, " My shoes, my shoes ; " but his shoes were very dirty ; the servant had neglected to clean them, but quickly began to brush' and get them ready. The master turned his back to the fire, standing in his stocking feet, and began to whistle a favourite tune. The moment the - shoes were finished, he slipped them on, and away he went. , Seeing him again, on the evening of the same day, I said,— "When you began whistling this morning. Ji i jl!,! 260 JflLLT. : i while your elioes were being bruslied, was it the safety-valve ? " " Yes, I iotended it for qoq," he laugh- ingly replied, *'How long have yoa had that safety- valve, may I ask ? " " Well, sir, after my conversion, I found a had temper to be my besetting sin, and 1 made a vow that for six months I would devote ten minutes every day to think and pray over my infirmity, asking for strength to conquer, and by grace I obtained a com- plete victory; and so may any one who seeks divine help. I have to watch over it yet, and I ought to watch over i^ or any other besetment" If I were to give the name of this man, thousands would know him, and hundreds testify to his amiable and gentle temj>er« His presence in any company is ** A diarm to banish grief away, ( To BBatoii tbe doad from care ; Tain tears to smiles, make dalness gay. Spread gladoess everywhere." ■ILLT. 261; M, was it laugb- safety* |l found a tin, and I I would ink and strength |ed a corn- one who oh over it it, or any this man, hundreds e temj>er. '»g*yt And that ouglit to be said of every one pro- fessing to be religious. Lovely tempers are the flowers and fruit of grace. Milly, like all persons of her disposition, was a self-tormentor, and also a tormentor of others. She was on bad tarms with herself and her neighboui's. The niece, whose hair she pulled on the day the dinner was wrong, was visited by a young man, who was anxious to make her Ms wife. Knowing Milly well, he kept out of ber way as much as possible, fearing to bring either himself or his intended in collision with her. But one evening, as he stood near the door, she very abruptly ordered him away; he waa much grieved at her insolent conduct, and did not move olf as quick as she expected ; she snatched up the tongs, and struck him behind the head with such force that u little more would have killed him. He bled pro- fusely. His parents, sisters, and brothers, wlio lived close by, hearing that he was much hurt, ran in great haste to see what was the matter. When they learned how i . 9($9 WILLT. W M ji* and why he was wounded, their wrath and indignation was poured on the head of Milly, all the inhabitants of the village taiwitig their part. Some cried out, " take her to the pump, take her to the pump ; " others, bring her out, and we will stretch her curls ; " and had it not been for her quiet sister, who begged of them not to hurt her, she would have reaped on the spot whac she had sown. Milly trembled with fear that night, and for several days durst not leave the house. She 8a\/ 9he had made a mistake, her temper had nearly brought her .before a jury, the whole village cried shame on her, and her relatives were grieved and humbled. People advised the niece to be married at once, and not live another month with such a pest as her aunt. The preaching in the house was given up ; friends who had jbried to defend and screen her could do so no longer ; no one wished her company, and yery lew saluted her with a good morning. She frowned on others, others fro^vned on her ; She.wi^ not Iricndly, therefore had bo friends. 1 •'•i MILLT. 263 ith and [of Milly, o le her to others, ^etch her 'her quiet hurt her, Ipot what [with fear durst not i made a •ought her Led shame eved aud 3ce to be ler month preaching "^ho had uld do 80 )any, and orning. on her ; friends. Let all sour-tempered people kjiow that this must and will be the result of their morose souls, — they will be shunned and avoided, as a natural and very proper con- sequence. There was a dressmaker in the neighbour- hood that held out in favour of Milly, when almost every one else had given her up. This dressmaker was a kind, patient person, and never would have a disrespectful word spoken of an absent person without trying to say what could be said in her favour. She thought some excuse might be made for Milly, because she was so like her father, — tliat having been trained wrong all tlie blame ought not to K^t on her, Milly took a gown to be made to this person, and seemed very cheerful and agreeable. Exact orders were given, and exactly carried out, for the dress- maker was determined to convince the neighbours f.hat she could keep on right terms with the surly one ; but the gown had to be altered, and again altered, and because she refused to alter it a third time she got a ;i; , ...m .' > « m0 mm> mm^6,)mi>)(.mm9t mim »iimia^m: I II i 5 I » ■■ f llijii 264 MILLY. few stinging words from Milly's hot tongue, and a rather pompous threat that she need never expect another stitch fit)m her, — a promise for which the dressmaker sincerely thanked her. Though defeated in her good intentions to keep on friendly terms with her had tempered neighbour, she would not speak a word against her. When her name was mentioned, she would laugh and shake her head, nothing more. Milly, aa might be expected, was consid- erably advanced in life before she was mar- ried. No young man, that valued his peace of mind, would for a moment think of being tied to such a vixen. No dcubt many, like the cobbler, are taken in a little, and have to do as well as they can. The fat^ easy, sleepy, come-day go-day man, that took Milly to be his wife, was the object of general sympathy. An old acquaintance meeting him re- marked, — " Why, I understand yon are going to be married ; is it true ? " Yes, I suppose it is," was the answer. MILLT. 265 consid- as maT- bis peace of being any, like 3 have ta Yy sleepy, Uy to be mpathy. lim re- ig to be &wer. " Well, I do not like to say anything, but you may make up your mind that you will never be able to sit on the right side of the hearth-stone, or have sweet words to mend hard times/* This opinion, from one who knew Milly well, did not prevent the wedding, and when he finally took her out of the neighbourhood, an old man declared he was a public bene- factor, for he had delivered them from a fire- brand. Little was heard of her after, for her new home was a single house at a con- siderable distance from any other, — just such a place as all Millys should reside in, in mercy to others. The old man was right when he called Milly a firebrand, and this will be true of most if not all bad-tempered people ; for, as the Bible says, " death and life are in the power of the tongue, and he that hath a tongue falleth into mischief." Perhaps no- thing gives us a b'etter conception of the torment of infernal spirits, than a morose, gloomj'', n alignant temper. It is like the ^M I ■^ H n i 1 i- 2m MTLLY. l>erpetual sting of the scorpion, — in bitter spite stinging others, and in madness sting- ing itself. It is an evidence of deep depra- vity of heart, of a wretched, unsubdued, guilty soul. " The poison of asps is under the tongue," and the venom that destroys all peace is in the heart. If a bad-tempered person does good at all, it is but negative. We are sometimes so disgusted and nwrtified with their conduct, that we determine never to degrade our- selves by such exhibitions of weakness, or rather wickedness ; knowing that is a deadly foe to our peace, the very opposite of Chris- tianity, and a grievous sin against God and man, we feel we must be on our guard, and watch and pray to avoid such a disgrace. There is no excuse for bad tempers, no more than there is for swearing, lying, or stealing. We all, like the man that stood whistling: in his stocking feet, may have a safety-valve. Provided we foUow bis example, we may possess those sweet tempers that are the sunshine of life, the milk and honey of the k^L^fittm MILLY. 2G7 n bitter M stind at all. imes 80 conduct, ide our- :ness, or i deadly f Chris- :rod and ird, and isgrace. 10 more bealing. tling in -valve, e may re the of tjjft soul, springing from love, and begetting love, and turning winter's gloom into per- ennial spring. It is now many years since Milly boxed my ears, and robbed me of my precious little cake, but she is still remembered, for she became a sort of standard of temper. If any one sulked, it would be said,— " What, another MUly ! " If they set mischief among their relations and neighbours, it was observed, — " Why, she is as bad as Milly." If a person had a I'asping tongue and a fiery temper, some one was sure to say, — " She is Milly number two ; or, siie is a regular Milly." This sketch of Milly is not overdrawn. She is only one of many hundreds, and my object is to hold up the mirror tx) old and young, showing how grievous, odious, and sinful bad tempers are, and by so doing in- duce othei's to determine that, by diviuQ help, they will never be like MiLLY. ) , »-^ c a * 'i g^|^^^ilf^i*i{«IS^j«S,«*H»«*35!^^ HAPPY NED. Every nation, every considerable town, and almost every village has one or more characters standing prominently out from all the rest, distinguished by some peculi- arity of body or mind, by some remarkable power or quality, making itself seen or felt to scores, hundreds, or thousanxls. The in- duenoe these conspicuous members of so- ciety exercise over the minds of others is •often marvellous; their image or actior dwelling in the memory of the many m some degree mould their thoughts to theif own peculiar pattern, whether high or low, foolish or wise, good or evil. It has fallen to my lot to come in contact with many of these remarkable men in every sta^e and ,! 270 HAPPY NED. condition of life, and amongst them Edward Sunners, or H'^.ppy Ned, occupies no mean place. My first interview with Ned was at Liverpool ; he then gave me a shake of the hand which I did not soon forget ;» that firm grat,^ told ofahigwatm heart and unmis- takahle muscular power ; about the middle height, sharp «ye, bald head, clean shaved, rather stout. His strong bones, broad shoulders, full chest, firm step, aisd vigour of mind marked him out as a champion; iot either right or wrong. In his younger days; when striking at the blacksmith's forge, with his rolled-up shirt-sleeves, his brawny arms, and his big red face, smc^ared with soot and sweat, no one would have taker him for an angel, and he would have been a bold or foolish man that dared to pull Ned's ears. But very frequently his sleeves were so tattered and torn that there was not much left to roll up, and his face was often black from other causes than smoke from the smith's fire. He was one of those deeply i! ^' HAPPY NED. 271 Kflward o mean was at 3 of the lat firm unmia- middle shaved, broad vigour ioni for ;er days^ gCj with ly anns, ioot and n for an bold or 1*8 ears. were so >t much n bkck om the deeply degraded and miserably low characters called pugilists, ready to fight any man his own weight, either Sunday or week days ; and sometimes his bruised and battered features told that he had found clenched fists as strong as his own. So reckless was his conduct that when his mother wiM dying he left her bedside to go and fight a pitched battle, and, strange to say, when he entered the ring stripped and ready for the brutal and savage encounter, a yoimg woman, one of the spectators of the fight, fell in love with Ned, and when the battle was over " popped the question ; ** marriage soon fol- lowed, and the equally yoked couple went to live in lodgings, with just one halfpenny to begin the world with. Many of Ned's battles were fought on the Sunday, in Parliament Fields, at one time the general place of resort for the roughs of liveipooL After a victory, he would tie ribbons round his hat, and march in triumph with his torn clothes, bloody face, and short pipe in his mouthy his wife by his side^ and I 272 HAPPY NED. a bull-dog at his heels. One of tliese l)altleg was with a man who was afterwards hung. Ned was a child left to himself, and allowed by his parents to roam the streets or lanes at will, without any restraint. At twenty-two years of age he had never been in a place of worship, never in a Sunday or day school, never once on his knees in I '^yer, or ever taught to pray. He could not read or write one letter; he knew neither law nor gospel; he was a heathen in England, and an English heathen, and too many such are found amongst us In the room at Fawcett's foundry, where Ned worked, these were several men of a very different character. There were re* ligious men, and men who came to Hieir work on a Monday morning clean, cheerful, and merry, instead of with parched throats, blood-shot eyes, ragged clothes, and sullen looks, like Ned and many others in the same workshop. The p&rt of the room where these good men worked was called, in deri- sion, t^e Ami^n Corner, and Cuckoo Nest. lurrY NED. 273 l)aitle9 hung. If, and streets lit. At er been nday or :nees in [e could e knew heathen }eD, and 7, where nen of a were re- to their cheerful, 1 throats, id sullen 3 in the )in where , in deri- :oo Nest. One Monday morniRg, Ned heard these men telling what a glorious Sabbath-day they had enjoyed at Stanhope-street Chapel, and one of them seeing poor Ned trying to cram the torn sleeve of his dirty shii-t out of sight, spoke kindly to him, and entreated hiri to go with them to the chapel the fol- lowing Sunday. With much persuasion he consented, but as Sunday drew near, he wanted to run off his bargain, but to this they would not consent. Sunday came, Ned was called for, and went, for the first time, into a pbce of worship. Had he been a wild man from the back woods of America, or a dark negro from Central Africa, he could not have been more bewildered and astonished. To see a multi- t\ide of well dressed people, all lising together to sing God's praises, mingling their voices in hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs, and then bow in solemn prayer to the great Jehovah, was a sight so new to Ned, that he seemed confounded and afraid. The whole service told powerfully on his .1.1 ti 1 II V i 274 HAPPY NED. ignorant but opening mind. The good men who had taken him to church saw the effects with joy, and earnestly requested him to attend again. On the Tuesday evening following, one of them persuaded Ned to go with him to the class-meeting, and here he was greatly surprised to hear a smaller com- pany of Christians singing, praying, and talking about the love of God and heavenly things, and making what he called "little short speeches." It was at one of these meetings that Ned felt the full weight of his guilt ; and the sins of his past life, es- pecially his secret sins, in all their horror crowded round him. The very heavens seemed black over his head, the earth ready to open and swallow him up. He cried mightily to God for mercy. So ignorant was he that he thought if he could make a little short speech at the week-night meeting like the others, he should be happy as they were. He got one ready, but when the evening came he had forgot it altogether ; but that night was to Ned the night of HAPPY NEIX 275 d men iw the edhim vening d to go tiere he er com- ig, and javenly " little f these light of life, es- : horror heavens h ready .e cried gnorant make a k-night 3 happy it when )gether ; light of nights, — his cries for mercy were heard. God heard those cries, and pardoned him nil his sins. So great was his rapture that, with a thundering voice, he shouted out with all his might, — "My happy soul Is free, For the Lord has pardoned mo Hallelujah to God and the Lamb.' A person in the meeting was greatly offended at the noise Ned made, and asked him if he was sincere, or if it was only sound? In his simplicity he thought she perhaps knew better than him, and that it might not be a real conversion, and for three days after he was more miserable than ever, but in his prayer to be truly saved, his: joy again rushed back into his soul, and he agdn shouted loud as ever,— •^fialldafah to (}oa and the Laab I *• The woman that called Kdd a sham after- ward saw her mistake, and very mudh re- gretted the expression. k] IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 11.25 l^|2B |Z5 itt Uii 12.2 ;^ 11° 12.0 I; i I 1.8 1.4 6" Hiotographic Sciences Corporation \ ^ ■'^ <^ i\ 23 WEST MAIN STXEET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SS0 (716)872-4503 '^ »% 'V iV ^ f 276 HAPPY NED. Tliere is no doubt that the silent, orderly, sedate persons in some of our churches, have their nerves terribly wrenched by the vocifeous demonstrations of the more im- pulsive portion, and the impulsive are some- times at a loss to understand the religion of the quiet and passive. It is well for both to have charity, for such contrasts ever were and ever will be. The sweet sound of the .^lian harp, touched by the soft breath of the gentle breeze, gives the deepest rapture to some souls, while others require the rougher and louder sounds of the trumpet's blast; but when heaven tunes the instru- ments, the harp and the trumpet will both answer their purpose,— one for the social means, the drawing-room, and the vestry, and the other for mountain tops, highways, and hedges. Ned's conversion amazed everybody who knew him. Had the steam boiler at Faw* cett's fotmdry blown up, or the tall chimney been blown, down, surprise could not have been much greater. Challenge him to fight m HAPPY NSD. 277 said one, and see wliere his religion will be in five minutes. Saturday night will try him hard, said another ; he will find his thirst for rum and ale too strong for him. Others mockingly said he begins to look very pale, singing and praying does not suit his constitution. Ned heard all, and God gave him grace to stand it all. Being a man of great energy, he took the best course for not only retaining his piety, but increas- ing it Working for God keeps us near to God. He began to learn to read, write, attend prayer-meetings, cottage services, and open-air preaching; he also learned many Soul-stirring hymns. These he sang at the meetii.gs with wonderful effect. He now became as bold a champion for his Eedeemer as he before had been for Satan. He told his old companions what the Lord had done for him, and affectionately urged them to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and he would pardon them every one, and everybody in Liverpool, and make them all like him, happy, ui(>ht and day. It was this constant '^1 r 278 HxVPPY NEDl speaking of his happiness, his cheenrful smiling face, and his hearty greeting ojf everybody, that got him the name of ha$>pj Ked. '. : ' Ned before and Ned after his conversion were astonishingly different characters. Tiie bleared eye, bruised face, parched lips, dirty rags and tatters, gave place to cheerful smiles, a clean appearance, and a respectable attire: the dark, sullen, miserable soul, to joy, peace, gentleness, meekness. He had proved the Bible true where it says,. " There is no peace to the wicked," and he had alsQ proved it true where Christ says, " My peace I give unto you/' And no man ever did oy ever will find true peace out of Christ ■ i 'About five years after Ned's conversipii, from some cause of other, all the hands in Fawoett's foundry turned out This, b» all turnouts do, produced much sufferiiig. Many of the hands had to seek employment in other places. A situation in the post- oifiee was offered Ned, but he refused* HAPPY KED. 279 because they worked on the Sunday ; for he fiaid,— - '* Neither kings nor governments shall rob me of my blessed Simday. Never ! nevar !" He then applied at the custom house, for A place ^ acant there. An official rather pompously enquired, • " What is ycur profession, my man ? " Ned thought he was asking after his creed« er to what church he belonged, and caring Utde about creeds, he replied,-^ . ** I am a soldier in the army of the King of kings, sir; bless the Lord!** ** Begone, my man, begone," was the sharp rejoinder. It was evident they misunder^- stood each other. Several rdigious gentlemen, who had seen how well Ned was adapted for doing good amongst the most ignorant and degraded paxt of the community, wrged him to devote all hra time to that work; and now com- menced his life as a town missionary. Let it not be thought that Ned, in his new sphere of labour, was going to live the t»„ i 280 HAPPY NED. life of a gentleman. The missionary who conscientiously attends to his work has more to depress his heart and disturb his mind than falls to the lot of most people. His love for dying souls — his deep desire to lead perishing sinners to Christ — absorbs every other feeling. He enters the dwellings of guilt and misery, dens of sin and sorrow, and rooms infected with pestilence ;.the sick and the dying are constantly before his eyes* He sees distress he cannot relieve, suffering he cannot alleviate, and pain he cannot assuage. Crowded gin shops and beer houses — ^licensed iniquity — counteract all his labours, and the ragged, miserable wives and children of the drunkard call for his daily sympathy. Hopeful cases of a change for the better often relapse in deeper degra- dation. Iniquity and every abomination meets him at uvery comer, night and day ; and he sees more of human depravity in one week, than thousands of the easy and wealthy do in a whole lifetime. His mo- tiyes are often questioned, and his best iuteu* HAPPY NED. 281 who has rb his eople. ire to )8orbs filings orrow, e sick seyes* Ofering Wnot beer it all wives or his hange legra- lation day; ty in r and mo- uteu- tions misconstrued; and nothing but a feeling of duty,, a burning desire to do good, and the love of God in his heart could possibly sustain him in his work. The town missionary indeed sows in tears, but he knows that if he be the instrument in God's hands of saving only one soul, that one soul is more valuable than the whole world, and will be the crown of his rejoicing in the kingdom of heaven. Ned commenced his missionary labours amongst the scavengers, night men, chimney sweepers, boxers, dog fighteis, and the lowest of all the low characters in the town. He rose early in the morning, being seldom in bed after five o'clock, and spent many of the first hours in prayer, that God would help him that day in the work he had to do, and make him the instrument of good to those that ^ever heard the gospel This morning preparation gave him love and boldness. He had great tact, and his frank, cheerful, straight-forward way of speaking to the people soon made hiin a favourite. '4 282 BAPFT HED. witli most of thenL His Miouts were not confined to any particular district or locality, — ^he went about doing good e^eiy where. In ordei' ta haye greater power over the drunk- ftrdy he becamei a total abstainer himself, for he veiy properly aaid^— "If I take dtink myself, however little, my mouth is shut, and I have less power with tlie druEkacd." It required strong resolution to gm up Us tobacco^ for he deliglited; in his pipe, but i^ W48 determined to do it At last he " I. dropped smokii^ altogether for many reasons. One was because so many kuls smoked^ and because it had such a black- guAJod )ook with it Kind and: patient 86 he was with all the rouighs that he laiboured amoogst, he did not escape misrepresentation, and sometimes actual violence. The gentlemen^ under whose superintendence Ned was labouring were determined to make an example of one wiok^d person that had assaulted I^ed, and HAPPY NED. 283 5re not ;ality, 5re. In Irunk- lelf, for little, power r» Hp )e, but i8t he many black- U the daot timeb mder uring f one .and summoned him before the magistrates to answer for his conduct. When the case was called, the missionary and the assailant both stood up before the bench. " What is your charge against this man, Mr. Sunners 1 " inquired the Justice of the Peaoe. "No charge, your worship, no charge. God bless him ! *' Of course the assaulter was dismissed, to his utter astonishment, but he afterwards became a great friend to Ned, and stood his part in a subsequent insult He gained the man by returning good for eviL ^ Ned had many indications tliat his labours amongst the people were not in vain. One S&turday ev^iing, when about one hundred and fifty persons were assembled at a church meeibing, several of them i^ke of their joy and peace through believing in tba I/)rd Jesus Qhrist One man, a carter, with his desA, white smock, stood up, but Ms emo- tbn for a time choked his utterance. Wh^n able to speak, he ssijd,^^ r 284 HABPY N£P. " I have much reason, my friends, to bless God for what He has done for me. I ha/e been a wicked drunkard. I sold all the goods in the house for drink, and drove my poor old mother to the workhouse, having robbed her of everything. One day, miser- able and burning with thirst, I stood at the passage leading to the house where I lodged, looking out for some one to lend me a penny, or pay for a pint of beer. Happy Ned came past, and putting his hand on my shoulder, spoke to me the first words of sympathy that I ever remember. He asked me to go with him to a cottage prayer meeting, and he would call for me. He called, and I went with him. At that meeting, which Ned conducted, my sins against Ood, and my drunken, wicked conduct to my mother, crushed me down to the earth. I wept and cried aloud for pardon and mercy. Boon after, God heard my cry, and saved me. I gave up drinking, attended chapel, worked hurd, and took a small house and furnished it. and then ietched my mother back from HAPPY NED. 285 bless . ha/e U the re my laving miser- at the edged, >enny, came )ulder, ipathy ) to go g, and and I mating, iGod, o my ;h. I aercy, d me. Drked ished horn, the workhouse, and my two young brothers from begging in the streets ; and now we are all comfortable together, and Happy Ned is the instrument of it alL'* Many who have had wretched homes in the low parts of Liverpool could, like the carter, tell what a blessing Ned had been to them. In most of our large to%vns there is a class of useful men that have been too little cared for. They are blown in the wind, battered in the rain, are exposed to all weathers, and worked seven days to tiiS week. They are required to be respectful and civil to every- body, however provoked, and if the biting frost and scorching sun gives them blooming noses, their character is discounted, for it is charged to John Barleycorn. They hold a responsible position, and, as a rule, are hon- esty respectable, and intelligent. Ned was often amongst these men, and it was thought advisable by the Liverpool Town Mission Committee, under whom he had laboured from the first, that he should devote the 286 HAPPY NEa most of his time and labours for their spe- cial good, and from Uiat time he was called the Clubmen's Missionary. The cabmen held, and etill hold, the man who was doing all he could fot their welfare* body and soul, in high esteem, and address liim noit as Ked, but Mr. Sunners. Fourteen hundred cabmen in Liverpool and neighs bourhood meet their Missionary with a smile; and woe be to that man that; in their presence, should dare to insult tlieir kind friend. From the commencement of his labours, he has stood beside two thousand three hundred death-beds, and three hundred of these have been cabmen, some of whom are now in heaven. One of them, in his last moments, sent for his brother. On hia arrival, he requested that his head might be raised a little ; he then beckoned his brother to come near him. Taking hold of hit hands^ with a low, feeble voice he said>-^ " Dear brother, you see I am near the end of this life, but I am not afraid to die. My Saviour tsonquered death for me, and par- llkd HAPPY NF.Dk 287 doned my sins, before I >va8 lai^ ou tliis sick bed, o I cannot tell what I must have done, for I have now enough to do to fight with pain of body and shortness of >>reath. It was dear Mr. Sunners, or, as he is truly callc(\ Happy Ned, that led me to Jesus. Blessed^ man I blessed man ! And now, dear brother, I want you to come to the same dear Jesusi He will save you I He will save you 1 I do want to meet you in heaven ! Do come to Jesus ! do come I Promise you will meet xne in heaven 1 ** The deeply affectod young man promised his dying brother that he would try to meet him in the skies. The soul of the cabman passed away to glory^ leaving a smile on hia pale face of deaths In my last conversation with Mr. Sunners, I asked him why he was called Happy Ned t He replied, — • ^ "Because I am always happy, alway^ empty, always fidl, always longing, jdways filling, always happy : bless the Lord 1" Thousands in liveipool have seen tho -■■»<* , 1 * i 288 HAPPY NED. happy man walking the streets, and giving tracts, for he has given myriads of the silent messengers away ; and thousands have Seen him, winter and summer, standing near the large gas lamp, or in open places, singing Zion's songs, giving short, pointed addresses, or offering up prayers. Always in earnest, and always persuasive and respectful. The witty and self-conceited have often tried to entangle him, but his invariable reply is, — "I never argue except against sin and the devil, that is all. No, no ; never argue. If I won, I should be proud ; if you won, you would be proud. Religion is never proud. Come to Jesus, brother ; get your soul saved, that's the best argument." One scoffer tauntingly said to him before A large gathering of people whom the Missionary was addressing,— r" Ned, you have made a good thing of your religion, old chap.** Ned replied, — " Yes, lad, that is true. It brought me out of a lodging house into a back cellar ; out of the back cellar into a HAPPY NED. 289 giving le silent ive Seen ear the singing dresses, earnest, 1. The tried to }y is,— in and r aigue. m won, never it your before m the u have n, old la It into a into a back house; out of a back house into the front : cured me of broken flesh, black eyes, sore bones, cracked lips, and a parched throat; stripped me of dirty rags, and clothed me like a gentleman ; put a watch in my fob, and a bob in my pocket ; made me love everybody; and the best of all, made my soul very happy here, and promises me heaven, there to dwell with Christ for ever. Glory, glory, glory ! And what it has done for me, it can do for you all. Glory, glory ! Praise the Lord I" An intellectual sceptic, who had often tried his controversial powers with ministers and professors of religion, was passing by when Ned gave the above answer. On asking who the man was, and seeing him so evidently happy, he afterwards remarked, that " it did more towards his conversion to , Christianity than all the arguments he had Bver held." How true the words, — ** Know, » Without star or angel for their guide, "Who worship God shall find Him. Humble love, 10 i. jr 290 HAPPY NED. And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven. Love finds admission, where proud science fails." It is now seventeen years since Sunners began his mission amongst the cabmen, and many of them will bless God in time and eternity that ever they knew him. There are converted men amongst them, and all are more thoughtful about divine things. They all sigh for the Sabbath — to use Sunners* own words, " they literally groan for it," — and professors of religion are the greatest hindrance to their obtaining it. ' If church and chapel goers thought more about the fourth commandment, or cared as much for the souls of cabmen as their Mis- sionary does, Sunday cab hire would be almost unknown, and those worthy men enjoy the blessings of the Sabbath day. It is just approaching forty years since saving grace made Edward Sunners happy, Tor thirty-four years he has been an ab- stainer from all intoxicating drink ; he is highly esteemed by ministers of all denomi- HAPPY NED. 291 nations, well received in all circles, respected by all, rich and poor. A short time since, a man of wealth and influence meeting him said, — " Good morning, Mr. Sunners ; how are you getting on now V* Sunners replied, " I have just been sing- ing, sir, • My God, I am thine, what a comfort divine, What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine ; • In the heavenly Lamb thrice blessed I am, And my heart it does dance at the sound of his name.' That is what I have been singing. Glory, glory ! I wish every rich man in Liverpool was as happy as I am.** Well may such a man be called Happy Ned. ■►BVTrn muw — J