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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
BOOK OF EARNEST LIVES
BT
W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS
AiOhor of ''Celebrated Women Travellers," "Battle Stories from English and
European History," •• Girlhood of Remarkable Women," ttc
LONDON
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., Lim.
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
First Edition, May, 1884 ; Sfxond Edition, September,
1887; Third Edition, May, 1889; Fourth Edition,
June, 1890 ; Fifth Edition, November, 1891 ; Sixth
Edition, May, 1893 ; Seventh Edition, July, 1894 ;
Eighth Edition, October, 1902.
TTTT
PREFACE
THE stern critic from his Rhadamanthine chair has
of late been pleased to fulminate against what he
stigmatizes as "compilations;" yet I put forward the
present volume as avowedly a " compilation " only, — I
hope as one which will have some interest and attraction
for the general reader. The number of persons who will
have the leisure and means to refer to original sources,
or, referring to them, will have the tact and skill to use
them properly, must always be limited, and if "compila-
tions " are to be prohibited, a very large class of readers
will be deprived of all facilities for acquiring knowledge
on a vast variety of subjects. The work of the compiler,
if humble, is by no means easy ; he must be able to
analyse and compare, and to place the facts he collects
in a lucid order and agreeable form. In truth, he does
not so much compile as conaense^ and in a single volume
is often called upon to present the. results obtained from
the patient study of half a hundred.
However this may be, I am ready to acknowledge that
in the following pages I have been indebted to a
considerable number of authorities, from whom I have
endeavoured to glean what would best serve my object^
and enable me to place before the reader some striking
illustrations of Christian chivalry, of heroic effort and
enterprise in the fields of religious progress and the
charities of civilization. I have brought together a goodly
154
PREFACE.
company of educational reformers, of Christian mission-
aries, of philanthropists, of Good Samaritans ; men and
women who have dedicated their lives to the great work of
making their fellow-creatures better, purer, happier. These
are examples which we all may imitate in our different
spheres. Studying their noble careers, we may learn to
appreciate aright the law of human kindness, and to
understand how, if it were universally acted upon, the vast
sum of human misery would gradually be reduced ; and
this will lead us to do, each in his own little circle, what
it may be in our power to do, for the ignorant and the
afflicted, the strangers who fall among thieves and lie^ by
the wayside, bleeding from their many wounds. O reader,
do not pass them by! Do not be deaf to the voice of
pain and sorrow ! " Shrink from no offices of love, even
though they should be painful and perilous," always doing
unto others as thou wouldst that others should do unto
thee, and, unostentatiously but earnestly, following in the
steps of the Good Samaritan.
W. H. D. A.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
VAGI
WORK AND WORKERS IN THE EDUCATIONAL FIELD , .II
Theories of Education — Importance of Religious Element
in Education — Dean Colet — Roger Ascham — Progress
of Education in England — Female Education in the
1 8th Century — Lady Mary Montagu — Dean Swift —
Sunday Schools — Robert Raikes — The Monitorial
System — Dr. Bell — Joseph Lancaster — National Edu-
cation — Lord Brougham— Elementary Education Act,
1870 — Public School Education — Dr. Arnold — Infant
Schools — ^John Frederick Oberlin — Industrial Schools
— Mary Carpenter.
BOOK XL
WORK ON BEHALF OF THE SLAVE 1 47
Abolition of the Slave Trade — William Wilberforce —
Emancipation of the Slave — Sir Thomas Fowell
I Buxton.
BOOK IIL
WORK AND WORKERS IN THE MISSION FIELD • • . I91
John Eliot: A Missionary and Leader of Men — David
Brainerd — Henry Martyn : Type of the Modem
Missionary — ^John Williams, The " Martyr of Erro-
manga."
ntf COJ\/T£MS,
BOOK IV.
»AGB
PRISON REFORM . • . . , •• • .273
Condition of our Prisons in the i8th Century— John
Howard — Mrs. Ehzabeth Fry
BOOK V.
THE POOR ARE ALWAYS WITH US ** . » , » • 339
Vincent de Paul: his Labours on behalf of the Poor--
English Sisters of Mercy: Miss Sieveking, Mrs.
Mompesson — An English Gentleman among the
Poor : Edward Denison — Among the Sick : Sister
Dora.
BOOK I.
IVOPK AND WORKERS IN THE EDUCATIONAZ.
FIELD
THEORIES OF EDUCATION.
IMPORTANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT IN EDUCATION.
DEAN COLET.
ROGER ASCHAM.
PROGRESS OF EDUCATION IN ENGLAND.
FEMALE EDUCATION IN THE 18IH CENTURY: — LADY MARY
MONTAGU; DEAN SWIFT.
SUNDAY SCHOOLS : — ROBERT RAIKES.
THE MONITORIAL SYSTEM : — DR. BELL ; JOSEPH LANCASTER.
NATIONAL EDUCATION : — LORD BROUGHAM.
ELEMENTARY EDUCATION ACT : — 1870.
PUBLIC SCHOOL EDUCATION : — DR. ARNOLD.
INFANT SCHOOLS : — JOHN FREDERICK OBERLIN.
INT)USTRIAL SCHOOLS : — MARY CARPENTER.
WORK AND WORKERS IN THE EDUCATIONAL
FIELD.
IT is recorded to have been the opinion of Socrates that
the duty of man is to learn how to do good and avoid evil,
om TOL €v fxeydpoKTt KaKovr^ ayaOovre rirvKrau In a similar
spirit, Dr. Johnson remarks, in his ** Life of Milton," that the
great aim and end of education is to enable us to live as true
men ; that is, to live purely, truthfully, and manfully, with our
feet in the straight path and our eyes towards the light We fear,
however, that in a very large number of our English schools this
■end and aim is not kept very constantly in view. Indeed, the
common notion of education seems to be realized by the pro-
vision of a certain amount of instruction, more or less elementary,
in certain branches of knowledge — not including, however, that
self-knowledge which the old Greek sage thought of so much im-
portance ; and if in our high-class " academies " a separation be
made between the " classical " and " commercial " divisions, and
young gentlemen are specially prepared for the Civil Service and
other examinations ; or if in our schools for the poor a master can
show that 80 or 90 per cent, of his pupils have passed suc-
cessfully in " Standard III.," it is assumed that education is
really flourishing amongst us, and that we have really got hold
of the great secret for making the next generation wiser and bette
than the present. I think it probable, however, that the compilers
of our Church Catechism were nearer the truth when they pro-
posed to teach the young " their duty towards God, and their duty
towards their neighbour." The Church bids us learn " to hurt
nobody by word or deed, to be true and just in all our dealings,
to have neither malice nor hatred in our hearts, to keep our body
in temperance, soberness, and chastity ; " but the Legislature steps
in with the injunction that none of these thmgs shall be taught,
and substitutes the latest edition of the Revised Code.
GOOD SAMARITANS,
To • those who adopt Dr. Arnold's view of education, and hold
that it applies equallv- %6. mihd, and heart, and soul, — that some-
thing more. is; necessary, than the mere discipline of the intellect
to "prepare the y6un'g:studGi'4t.fo'r playing a noble part in the battle
of life, the general tone of public discussion on this subject can-
not but be mortifying. The public, and the men who write for
the public, seem incapable of rising above the commonplaces of
Utilitarianism, and argue as if an acquaintance with reading and
writing, and Latin and mathematics, were all that it is necessary for
the young mind to gain. In this sense a ** good education " means
nothing more than just enough learning to pass a competitive
examination, or to fit a youth for entering one of the great pro-
fessions, or, in the humbler walks of life, for a stool in a mer-
chant's counting-house, or a post behind a tradesman's counter.
And hence we find the "principals" of our high-class establishments
boasting, not that they have educated their pupils in the honour
of the Queen and the love of God ; not that they have made them
good citizens and good Christians ; not that they have taught them
to love all that is true and just, generous and hospitable, and to
despise the false, the mean, and the selfish; but that so many
have "passed" at this or that examination, have distinguished
themselves at Woolwich or Sandhurst. We do not say that such
success is not very desirable and creditable, but that it is by no
means a proof or a consummation of a " good education." And,
in like manner, we feel that whatever may be said in favour of
the Government educational secret of "payment by results," it
cannot be pretended that one of these results is to train up a
generation of men and women to believe in the Christian faith
and to live the Christian life. We hold that in our higher schools
as in our lower, the education given is too pretentious, and, there-
fore, too superficial ; that it aims at too much, and therefore,
accomplishes too little ; that it is worldly in tone and worldly in
object ; that it dwells too largely upon words, and too little upon
things ; that it is addressed too exclusively to the intellect, at the
expense of the affections and the imagination ; and, above all,
that it is wholly and completely a failure, when and so far as it is
not based upon religion, or inspired with a religious spirit.
The reader will not be displeased, perhaps, if I pause to
examine very briefly Milton's loftier and more generous idea of
MILTON'S PLAN OF EDUCATION, 13
education as it is developed in his celebrated *' Letter to Mr.
Hartlib," and to see whether the great Puritan poet and thinker
can help us to any useful general principles. He describes it as a
** voluntary idea of a better education, in extent and comprehen-
sion far more large, and yet of time far shorter, and of attainment
far more certain, than hath been yet in practice." Such an idea is
surely worth considering at a time when education, so called, b
more expensive than ever it was, and yet, by common consent, is
also more inefficient ; when our scholarship is daily growing more
imperfect, and a system of " cramming " is rapidly taking the
place of careful intellectual and moral training; when all that comes
of greater educational facilities and revised codes is an increase of
materialistic belief, a constant disregard of the rules and canons
of political economy, and a lamentable indifference to Christian
doctrine ; when all that comes, among the higher classes, of a
vast machinery of collegiate institutions, academies, special classes,
courses of lectures, and the like, is a superficial acquaintance with
many studies and a competent knowledge of none ; musicians
who cannot play, and artists who cannot draw ; linguists who are
ignorant of their own language, and can read and write no other ;
a taste for the meretricious in art, the chimerical in science, and
the sensational in literature ; a constant yearning after luxury and
pleasure, and a cowardly shrinking from self-denial and pain ; in
short, an abandonment of the old paths trodden by the feet of the
great and good, for new ways that lead only into cloudland and
confusion. This, of course, is speaking generally ; but that the
indictment is, on the whole, a true one, must be admitted by all
who consider the present pursuits of our young patricians, or the
condition of the modern stage, or the popularity of an unwhole-
some and unclean literature, or the amusements of fashionable
society, or, in fact, any of the straws on the surface, which
show the direction of the great currents of thought and feeling
among us.
The principle which formed the corner-stone of Milton's educa-
tional system was thoroughness. He was no advocate of the art
of beating out a thin leaf of gold to cover with deceptive tissue
the greatest possible amount of insincerity and unreality. And,
therefore, in teaching languages, he would have the teacher go at
once to the best books in those languages, and use them as his
14 GOOD SAMARITANS.
manuals, instead of wasting years upon Delectuses and Graduses
and Thesauruses. He strongly protests against the ambitious
folly of " forcing the empty wits of children to compose themes,
verses, and orations, which are the acts of ripest judgment, and
the final work of a head filled, by long reading and observing,
with elegant maxims and copious invention." What would Milton
have said if he had seen boys of twelve years old required to
furnish an analysis of Shakespeare's Macbeth ? Nothing more
strongly moves his indignation, nothing does he more severely
censure, than the pretentiousness which plunges the young into
the study of complex sciences in order that the " curriculum " may
look imposing in the "prospectus." "Latin, Greek, French,
Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, Logic " — when we see this goodly
enumeration figuring on a sheet of elegantly printed, hot-pressed
" post," we cannot but commiserate the unfortunate tyro who has
been crammed to the throat with so indigestible a mixture, and
with the poet we wonder,
" How one small head could carry all he knew ! "
In a strain of lofty eloquence Milton compassionates the
novices who having but newly left the "grammatic flals and
shallows," where they stuck unreasonably to learn a few words
"with lamentable construction," are suddenly transported under
another climate, "to be tossed and turmoiled with their un-
ballasted wits in fathomless and unquiet deeps of controversy."
The result is, that they for the most part grow into hatred and
contempt of learning, until they are called upon to choose their
future career. Then, some by the influence of friends, take to
"an ambitious and mercenarv, or ignorantly zealous, divinity."
Some are allured to the trade of law, "grounding " their purposes
not on the prudent and heavenly contemplation of justice and
equity, which was never taught them, but on the promising
and pleasing thoughts of "litigious terms, fat contentions, and
flowing fees." Others betake themselves to State affairs; while
others, "knowing no better," abandon themselves to "the
enjoyments of ease and luxury, living out their days in inglorious
idleness."
What Milton insists upon is, that things should be taught,
EVILS OF CLASS TEACHING. 15
rather than words ; that a sound foundation should be laid before
any attempt is made to rear the superstructure, and that both
teacher and taught should address themselves to their task in a
spirit of conscientious earnestness. He aims at education rather
than instruction ; and we may infer the scope of his plan from
the fact that he purposes to allow about twenty tutors to one
hundred and thirty scholars. Though our readers may feel that
such a proportion is impracticable in our modern schools, they
cannot but own that the class-system so popular now-a-days is
fatal to effective and thorough culture. It may be worked
successfully by an Arnold, by men with a keen insight into the
human heart, and a quick appreciation of differences of character;
but in ordinary hands it must always be a failure. To allot thirty
or forty pupils to a single teacher is to ensure the application to
all of a method of teaching which will be adapted only to two
or three. Hence, as a consequence, the two or three will push
ahead, carry off prizes, figure at examinations, and maintain " the
reputation of the school," while the great majority linger in the
rear, hopeless or indifferent, the despair of their teachers, and a
burden to themselves. It may be granted that the class-system
is useful to a certain extent, and that it enables a given amount of
information to be imparted to the maximum of number in the
minimum of time ; but it effectually prevents the schoolmaster
from acquiring a knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of his pupils —
from making himself familiar with, and adapting his method to,
their individual peculiarities. All are placed on the same
Procrustean bed, which is too short for some, and for many too
long. The teacher works in a permanent groove — after a pre-
scribed pattern ; and the influence of such teaching is injurious
not only to the pupil, but to the teacher himself, who gradually
loses his early enthusiasm and earnestness, and finds his labour
growing daily more irksome as it grows more mechanical. If it
be enough that a boy, on leaving school, shall be able to read
and write, to express himself in tolerable English, and to have
some knowledge, grammatical rather than critical, of Homer and
Virgil, with a smattering of French and a vague idea of geography
and history, the class-system may be considered successful ; but it
will never, can never give the education dreamed of by Bacon,
Milton, or Arnold ; the education that combines full and accurate
1 6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
information with careful mental and moral discipline; the edu-
cation that if it do not make every man a scholar, will, at all
events, direct him towards a just and lofty ideal of life.
How high a standard Milton had conceived we learn from his
noble counsel to the teacher to use "all books, whatsoever they
be," which may serve to stir up his pupils " with high hopes of
living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God and
famous to all ages." How seldom, nowadays, we have language
like to this ! Masters there are, no doubt, whose hearts respond
to its elevated meaning; who act upon it and by it and in its
spirit; but will any one pretend that the leading principle in
English education is to make " brave " — that is, true and Christian
— "men and patriots"? Who will assert that even the majority
of English parents regard the bringing up of their children from
this high point of view ? The best proof of the low tone of our
educational system is to be found in the low tone of our social,
and we cannot raise the latter until we have raised the former.
Contrary to the opinion of the educational philosophers of the
present day, who have discovered a panacea for all human ills
in what they euphemistically term " secular education," who
appear to believe that when every child in Great Britain is taught
to read and write and " cipher," a millennium will break upon a
happy and favoured nation, Milton anxiously provides that his
scholars shall be instructed in religion. The entire scope of their
teaching must be religious; their duty towards God and towards
their neighbour must be kept always before their eyes ; their
teacher must make a constant effort to fill their minds with high
and holy thoughts, and to put before them the examples of men
who have lived high and holy lives. We cannot doubt but that
Milton himself, in his brief experience as a schoolmaster, never
began his daily task without prayer to that " Eternal Spirit who
can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and who sends out
His Seraphim, with the hallowed fire of His altar, to touch and
purify the lips of whom He pleases." Puritan as Milton was, he
would have shrunk from that strange modern Puritanism, which,
in its professed dread of denominational schools, would eliminate
the religious element from our national education, and make it a
breach of the law to begin, with the hallowing influences of prayer
and praise, the daily task of instructing the youthful mind, or to
THE ''LIBERAL" EDUCATION. 17
supplement the lessons of history by the precepts and monitions
■of the Bible. He would have protested against the new ideal of
a liberal education, which banishes the Gospel of the Cross into
the background, and subordinates " Faith, Hope, and Charity,"
the Apostolic triad, to the great commercial triad of £^ s, d.
In truth, we can judge of the importance which Milton attached
to the religious element in education from the provision he makes
in his ideal system, that " after evening repast, till bed-time, the
thoughts of the scholar " shall be devoted to '* the easy grounds
of religion, and the story of Scripture." But then Milton's object
was one which apparently does not commend itself to the majority
■of teachers nowadays. He was not so solicitous about instruc-
tion as he was about discipline ; he looked to culture rather than
to information. Instead of aiming at a reputation for " passing "
candidates in examinations, he laboured that the young might
learn " to despise and scorn all their childish and ill-taught
qualities, and to delight in manly and liberal exercises ; " he
■desired to infuse " into their young breasts an ingenious and
tnoble ardour." And we are persuaded that if we adopted Milton's
.principles ; if we held it to be the aim and purpose of all true
education to strengthen and purify the soul as well as to improve
the mind, — to foster a love of truth and justice, — to inculcate the
duty of living a Christian life, — to set before young eyes the ex-
ample of the heroic dead, and to encourage them in imitating it, —
then, " these ways would try all their peculiar gifts of nature, and if
there were any secret excellence among them, would fetch it out,
and give it fair opportunities to advance itself by, which could not
but mightily redound to the good of this nation, and bring into
fashion again those old admired virtues and excellences, with far
more advantage now in this purity of Christian knowledge." No
doubt, an education set in this high key is given in some of our
public and in not a few of our private schools ; but that it is
exceptional will be admitted by all who have had their attention
closely directed to the subject.
And the reason why it should be so is not far to seek. A
complete education means a religious education ; and a religious
■education is the bugbear of the modern philosophical school.
But a religious education means something more than the present
•class-reading of a portion of the Bible every day — a mode of
1 8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
teaching which, as often practised, is positively harmful, tending
to place the Bible in the category of ordinary school-books, and
depreciating it to their level in the pupil's estimation ; something
more than an occasional lesson in the catechism, or the dull
stereotyped repetition of hymns and collects ; it means that every
branch of knowledge shall be taken up and pursued in a religious
spirit ; that all the appliances of intellectual cultivation shall b
wielded with a determination to make them useful, also, for the
purposes of moral discipline. We do not want our schoolmasters
to teach theology. But they can teach the lessons suggested by
the life of Christ ; they can teach the lessons written in legible
characters on the page of history ; they can teach the truths that
are embodied in the career of every good and great man ; they
can teach the wisdom that is manifest in the flowers of earth and;
the stars of heaven. This teaching involves the use of the Bible,
but does not meddle with dogmatic theology. It is, however, in.
the broadest sense, a religious education, designed to operate upon,
the moral nature, and to supply a constant motive and stimulus-
to holy living. And the teacher who approaches his solemn task
in a right spirit will soon discover that every department of study
supplies material for building up the superstructure of such an.
education. Do not the annals of great nations furnish abundant
opportunities for illustrating and enforcing the providential govern-
ment of the universe? Does not geography, with its laws of
climatic zones and the distribution of animal and vegetable life, —
or geology, with its marvellous records of the past, its testimony of
the rocks, and its " medals of creation," bring into light the
wisdom and power, no less than the benevolence, of the Supreme-
God ? And was not the poet right when he exclaimed —
" An undevout astronomer is mad " ?
For, from astronomy, cannot the teacher deduce the existence and
attributes of Him in Whom we live and move and have our
being ?
We admit that it is not the province or the duty of the school-
master to teach theology. That is, sectarian theology, —the dif-
ferences of construction and interpretation which have rent, and still
rend, the Church of Christ. But, on the other hand, there is a
theology which every wise-minded teacher will lose no opportunity
INFLUENCE OF RELIGION.
1.9.
of impressing upon the minds and hearts of his pupils. The-
creation of Man in the likeness of his Heavenly Father; the
supernatural gift of His spiritual presence in our souls ; the loss of"
that precious gift through pride and self-consciousness and
disobedience j the wonderful scheme of love ^nd mercy which,
wrought out our redemption ; the assumption by God the Son
of the '* vesture of the flesh"; the glorious sinless Life which
in its exquisite beauty has extorted the admiration even of^
His enemies; the sacrifice of the cross; the mystery of the
atonement ; Christ's personal intercession for the sinner ; the
tender watchfulness of the Holy Ghost over the Church ; the
promise of the salvation and restoration of fallen humanity ; the-
light which is thus thrown on the future of man, and the assistance
which is thus given to each of us in working for the welfare of our
race ; the certainty of a future judgment, and of an eternity in.
which the counsels of the Almighty will be revealed and fulfilled ;
these are the leading points of a theology accepted more or less
fully by all Christian believers, and of a theology that should^
underlie every educational system.
Only in the radiance of such a theology can the " dark places "
of history and the " oppositions of science " and the apparent
mysteries of life be made clear. Only by means of such a>
theology can we hope to make the young mind understand all
that is grand and beautiful in the government of the world and^
the phenomena of nature.
The dervish, in the fanciful Eastern tale, on rubbing his eyes-
with a precious ointment, given to him by the genii, sees shining
diamonds and glowing rubies, emeralds, topazes, and carcanets,..
where, before, he had seen nothing but bare rock and sterile earth.
He treads no longer on unfruitful soil, but a pavement set with
precious stones. In like manner the religious element in educa- \
tion transforms for us into beauty that which before seemed ^
commonplace, and into lucidity that which before was obscure ».
It is an expansive, and, at the same time, an elevating force. In
the hands and heart of an able, conscientious teacher, it invests
everything with a new importance, a fresh interest ; it clothes alL
life, all history, all nature in a pure and healthy atmosphere, just
as the sun by its rising beams converts a sombre landscape into<
a scene of freshness and of luminous splendour, steeping hill and
-ao GOOD SAMAi^ITANii.
valley and plain in golden light. The starting-point of the teacher
'in every class, and in every school, and whoever may be his
pupils, should be that one pregnant saying of our Lord's :
" Blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it," — the
word of God as set forth by prophets, evangelists, and apostles ;
as illustrated by the changes of human history and the aspects of
human life ; as glorified by the works of human genius in art and
• science and literature. It is in this way that religion constitutes
the axis or pivot on which every well-balanced educational system
•naturally revolves.
The education of a nation is unquestionably a subject to which
the attention of its rulers and statesmen should be directed. Prior
to the Reformation, it was left in England almost entirely to the
'Church, and every large monastery had its schools which provided
some kind of instruction for the children of the poorer classes.
After the Reformation, it was taken up by the Government, and
in the reigns of Edward VI. and Elizabeth a considerable number
•of Grammar Schools were established and endowed, in which was
taught a curriculum as comprehensive as the wants of the time
required. They derived their origin from the impulse given by
Dean Colet, the first, and not the least able, of the educational
reformers of England, who, in 15 lo, expended his private estate
in the foundation of St. Paul's Grammar School. Colet's ideal of
•education was a religious education, and over the master's chair
in his new school he caused to be set up an image of the Child
Jesus, with the words " Hear ye Him " inscribed beneath it He
superseded the old and effete methods of instruction by fresh
grammars specially composed by Erasmus and other scholars;
and at its head placed William Lilly, an Oxford student, who
had studied Greek in the east. The scholastic logic which had
so long cramped and confined the wits of men found no favour
in the eyes of the reformer, who aimed at combining rational
■religion with sound learning. His example was happily followed
by many imitators, and a system of middle-class education was
organised, which, by the end of the i6th century, "had changed
^the very face of England."
A letter addressed to Thomas Cromwell, afterwards Earl of
Essex, by his son's tutor, furnishes an interesting account of the
•course of education adopted by the more liberal and enlightened
DEAN CO LETS LETTER. 31*
teachers: — "After that it pleased your mastership," he says, "to.
give me in charge, not only to give diligent attendance upon
Master Gregory, but also to instruct him with good letters, honest,
manners, pastyme of instruments, and such other qualities as-
should be for him meet and convenient, pleaseth it you to under-
stand that for the accomplishment thereof I have endeavoured
myself by all ways possible to excogitate how I might most profit
him. In which behalf, through his diligence, the success is such,
as I trust shall be to your good contentation and pleasure, and^
to his no small profit. But for cause the summer was spent in-
the service of the wild gods (/>., the sylvan gods, or gods of the
field and wood and river), and it is so much to be regarded after
what fashion youth is brought up, in which time that that is-
learned for the most part will not be wholly forgotten in the older
years, I think it my duty to ascertain your mastership how he:
spendeth his time. And first, after he hath heard mass, he taketh
a lecture of a dialogue of Erasmus' colloquies, called Pietas Puerilis^,
wherein is described a very picture of one that should be virtuously
brought up ; and for cause it is so necessary for him, I do not-
only cause him to read it over, but also to practise the precepts of
the same. After this he exerciseth his hand in writing one or
two hours, and readeth upon Fabyan's Chrotiicle as long. The
residue of the day he doth spend upon the lute and virginals.
When he rideth, as he doth very oft, I tell him by the way some
history of the Romans or the Greeks, which I cause him to rehearse
again in a tale. For his recreation he useth to hawk and hunt,
and shoot in his long bow, which frameth and succeedeth so well
with him that he seemeth to be thereunto given by nature."
In a subsequent letter the tutor speaks of his pupil as learning
French, eytmology, casting of accounts, playing at weapons, and'
other similar exercises.
John Colet was the eldest son of Sir Henry Colet, twice Lord'
Mayor of London, and was born in 1466. After completing his-
education at Magdalen College, Oxford, he travelled in France-
and Italy, forming the acquaintance of Erasmus, Budaeus, and
other illustrious scholars, gaining a knowledge of the Greek lan-
guage and literature, and feeling the full influence of the revival'
of learning. But the strength and sobriety of his mind prevented
him from being tainted by the Platonic mysticism or neo-paganism.
GOOD SAMARITANS.
'q{ which the group of scholars round Lorenzo di Medici made
profession. Their literary enthusiasm was equally unable to dis-
turb his rehgious convictions. He studied Greek, not because it
♦was the language of Homer and Thucydides, but because it was
the key to the oracles of God as revealed in the New Testament.
The mission which he had undertaken was speedily made clear
when, in 1498, he took up his residence at Oxford and began to
lecture upon St. Paul's Epistles. In these bold and luminous dis-
courses, marked by a breadth of view which gave its tone to Angli-
can theology, he set aside the trivialities of scholasticism, and
brought his hearers face to face with the Apostle's " living mind."
To a priest who sought from him some direction in his studies, he
said : "Open your book, and we will see how many and what golden
truths we can gather from the first chapter only of the Epistle to
the Romans." It has been well said that it was more after the
manner of the 19th than the i6th century that he loved to indicate
the personal features in St. Paul's writings : his " vehemence of
•speaking," which left him no time to perfect his sentences ; the
skill and prudence with which he adapted his words to the neces-
sities of the different classes he addressed ; his '^ modesty,"
"toleration," self-denial, and courtesy; and the force and direct-
mess with which many of his sayings applied to the circumstances
of the times. Colet was prompt to recognise the principle of
" accommodation " in Scripture, as in the Mosaic narrative of the
-creation and the Pauline theory of marriage. In his doctrinal
conclusions he shook himself free from Augustinianism ; and
while dwelling strongly on the necessity of Divine grace, avoided
the extreme tenet of the bondage of the will. The simple facts
of the Apostles' Creed became to him the summa ChristiancR
theologicB. To the young theological students who came to him in
despair, tempted to abandon theological study altogether, because
it involved so many vexed questions, and afraid lest they should be
pronounced unorthodox, he was wont to say : — " Keep firmly to
the Bible and the Apostles' Creed, and let divines, if they like,
dispute about the rest." His faith, as Mr. Green remarks, " stood
simply on a vivid realization of the person of Christ." And in the
importance which was thus given to the moral life, in his free
criticism of the elder Scriptures, in his evident partiality for simple
.and intellia;ible formularies, Colet ** struck the kev-note of a mode
CO LET AT A BECKETS TOMB.
•of religious thought as strongly in contrast with that of the later
Reformation as with that of Catholicism itself."
Of the spirit in which he regarded the coarser aspects ol
the Roman religion his behaviour at a later time before St.
Thomas k Becket's great Canterbury shrine enables us to judge.
It was the Puritanic spirit, stern and uncompromising. Its glow
of precious stones, its exquisitely wrought sculptures, its elaborate
metal work, drew from Colet the bitter sarcasm that a saint so
lavish to the poor in his lifetime would assuredly wish them to
possess the wealth accumulated round him since his death.* In
like manner he refused to kiss the saint's shoe, angrily ex-
claiming: "What, do these idiots want us to kiss the shoes of
every good man?" And some rags, which were preserved as
relics, he touched with the tips of his fingers in great disgust,
and contemptuously put them down, " making, at the same time,
a sort of whistle."
Austere was the new teacher's life, frugal his table, simple his
attire. His character was distinguished by its integrity, his con-
versation by its vivacity, his manners by a frank cordiality which
more than made amends for the quickness of his temper. His
friends and pupils loved while they reverenced him. As for his
lectures at Oxford, they drew multitudes of eager listeners. He
had not taken any degree in theology; yet was there no doctor
of the law or divinity, no abbot or dignitary, who did not
hasten to hear him. For the first time his auditors found
themselves taught to see in the Gospels a living record of the
teaching of their adorable Redeemer. He told them with
courageous plainness, that he had not discovered in Scripture a
number of absurd propositions to which he could yield his
* Erasmus, who accompanied Colet on. his visit to Canterbury (see his
Peregrinatio rdigionis ergo), represents him as saying to the attendant priest :
" When the saint was so liberal to the poor while he was poor himself, and
had need of money for the supply of his bodily wants, can you suppose that
he would be displeased now, when he is rich and has need of nothing, if a poor
widow who has starving children at home, or daughters whose virtue is in
danger from the want of a dowry, or a husband lying on the bed of sickness
and destitute of the means of support, having first asked his permission, should
take a mere trifle from this vast wealth . . . either as a free gift, or a loan to be
repaid ? " . . He added : — "I am sure that the saint would be glad if, now
that he is dead, he relieved by his wealth the wants of the poor."
24 GOOD SAMARITANS.
assent only under compulsion ; but a Person whom he could take
as " his leader on the heavenly road," whom he could love with
a love far stronger than that given to the best beloved of human,
beings, and to whom he could devote himself in mind, body,,
and spirit.
That religious and intellectual revival which we call the
reformation, Colet, as Dean of St. Paul's, indirectly but
largely assisted, though he did not openly separate from the
Church of Rome. In 15 12, he was appointed by Archbishop
Warham to preach to the Convocation of the Clergy, and his
sermon was remarkable for its outspokenness. " Would that
for once," cried the vehement preacher, "you would remember
your name and profession, and take thought for the (reformation) of
the Church ! Never was it more necessary, and never did the
state of the Church call for more vigorous effort. . . . We are
troubled with heretics ; but their heresy is far less fatal to us and
to the people at large, than the vicious and depraved lives of
the clergy. That is the worst heresy of all ! " First of all was
needed, he said, a reform of the bishops ; then must come that of
the clergy, leading to a revival of religion among the people
generally. The accumulation of benefices must be abandoned j
the priesthood must cast off its worldliness and luxury ; its low
standard of morality must be raised; only worthy persons
ordained and premoted. Such teaching as this exposed Colet to
a charge of heresy ; but Warham protected him, and King Henry
encouraged him to go on. "Let every man have his own
doctor," said Henry, after a long interview with him ; " but this
man is the doctor for me ! " He appointed him as chaplain and
preacher-in-ordinary, and continued his favour to him until his
death, in 15 19, in the fifty-third year of his age.
Colet was the author of " Rudimenta Grammaticus," " Epistola
ad Erasmuson," and of a collection of Devotional Pieces, written
for the use of St. Paul's School. The last named included the
" Institutes of a Christian Man ; " which Erasmus pleased himself
by turning into Latin verse, as a proof of his regard for " a
man, than whom, in my opinion," says the Dutch scholar, " the
realm of England has not another more pious, or who more truly
knows Christ." Great was the grief of Erasmus at the death ot
his friend. " O true theologian ! " he writes ; *' O wonderful
RULES FOR ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL. 2;
preacher of evangelical doctrine ! with what earnest zeal did he
drink in the philosophy of Christ ! How eagerly did he imbibe
the spirit and feelings of St. Paul ! How did the purity of his
whole life correspond to his heavenly doctrine ! " And to Bishop
Fisher he writes : " I know it is all right with him who, escaped
from this evil and wretched world, is in present enjoyment of that
Christ whom he so loved when alive. I cannot help mourning ir
the public name the loss of so rare an example of Christian piety.
so remarkable a preacher of the Christian truth."
Of the evening of this good man's Ufe, Mr. Seebohm has
collected some interesting particulars. In 15 18, England suffered
terribly from the ravages of the sweating sickness, which struck
down its victims with terrible rapidity. It was usually fatal on the
first day. " If the patient survived twenty-four hours he was
looked upon as out of danger. But it was liable to recur, and
sometimes attacked the same person four times in succession.
This was the case with Cardinal Wolsey : whilst several of the
royal retinue were attacked and carried off at once, VVolsey's
strong constitution carried him through four successive attacks."
Colet was three times its victim ; he survived, but the injury to his
constitution was so great that he began to prepare for his approach-
ing end. Part of his work was to revise and complete the rules
and statutes for the government of his school of St. Paul's ; in
this he showed his devotion and purity of motive. He made no
effort to impress his own particular views on its constitution,,
though, as its founder, he was free to do so ; but anxiously left,
it open for adaptation in future generations, to the changing,
necessities of the time. He entrusted its charge, we may remark,,
'*to the most honest and faithful fellowship of the Mercers of
London ; " not of a bishop, or chapter, or ecclesiastical dignitarie^,
but of " married citizens of estabUshed reputation." In defining;
the duties and salaries of the masters, he provided expressly thati
they too might be married men : but they were to hold their
office " in no room of continuance and perpetuity, but upon their
duty in the school." .He wisely gave power to the Mercers to
amend and alter the statutes as from time to time might prove
expedient, knowing that finality cannot be predicated of any
human institution.
The statutes of his school completed, he introduced certain
26 GOOD SAMARITANS.
reforms into St. Paul's Church, and made ready a simple tomb
for the reception of his remains at the side of the great cathedral
choir, inscribing upon it no other legend than the words,
"Johannes Coletus."
Next among our educational reformers we may name Roger
Ascham, the author of " The Schoolmaster," the first treatise on
education written in the English language.
Roger Ascham was born about 15 15, at Kirkby Wiske, near
Northallerton, in Yorkshire. He was the third son of John
Ascham, house steward in the family of Lord Scrope, by his wife
Margaret, who came of an ancient stock. It is recorded of his
parents that, after a happy married Ufe of forty-seven years, they
died on the same day, and nearly at the same hour. Young
Roger was early taken into the family of Sir Anthony Wingfield,
and educated together with his sons. "This worshipful man,"
said Ascham afterwards, "hath ever loved and used to love many
■children brought up in learning in his house, amongst whom I
myself was one, for whom at these times he would bring down
from London both bow and shafts. And when they should play
he would go with them himself into the field, see them shoot, and
he that shot fairest should have the best bow and shafts, and he
that shot ill-favouredly should be mocked of his fellows till he
shot better. Would to God all England had used or would use
to lay the foundation of youth after the example of this worshipful
man in bringing up children in the Book and the bow ; by which
two things the whole commonwealth, both in peace and war, is
chiefly valid and defended withal." Sir Anthony taught them
archery in obedience to the law, which then required all boys
between seven and seventeen to be equipped with a long bow and
two arrows.
In 1530, still at Sir Anthony's expense, Ascham was sent to St.
John's College, Cambridge, and placed in charge of Mr. Hugh
Fitzherbert In February 1534 he took his degree of B.A., and
in March was elected a Fellow; in 1537, he became a college
lecturer in Greek. The new learning and the new religion were
at this time working their way into Cambridge, as they had done
a quarter of a century before into Oxford, and to both Roger
Ascham proclaimed his adhesion. As a writer of Latin and a
teacher of Greek, he quickly obtained distinction ; and on the
A SC HAM'S '' TOXOPHILUSr 27
resignation of Sir John Cheke, who was appointed tutor to Prince
Edward,* Ascham was made Public Orator of the University.
In this capacity he wrote his letters of compliment and formal
communications. These were not less admired for their pen-
manship than their elegance of composition; and he acquired
so much renown as a caligraphist that he was appointed writing-
master, as we should say, to Prmce Edward, the Princess Eliza-
beth, and the two sons of the courtly and chivalrous Brandon,
Duke of Suffolk. Eventually, on the death of Grindal, he was
promoted to take charge of the Princess Elizabeth's education.
In 1544 Ascham produced his "Toxophilus the School-
master, or Partitions of Shooting," in two books ; dedicating it
to Henry VIII., who was then on the point of invading France
He was allowed, in the following year, to present it to the king,
who rewarded him with a pension of ten pounds per annum. It
is the work of a man, not only thoroughly conversant with his
subject, but an enthusiast about it; and is well worthy of the
palmy times of England's national weapon. Philologus and
Toxophilus, the dramatis personce, converse through two books
on the advantages and pleasures ot archery, and on the art of
shooting with the long-bow, an art in which Ascham would have
men to excel, because in peace it triumphs over effeminate and
ignoble recreations, and in war mcreases largely a nation's
strength.
The book is valuable and interesting as a monument of our
early English literature. It is written in English, says its author,
because he desired to see it in the hands of the gentlemen and
yeomen of England ; and he proceeds to put forward a plea for
the use of EngHsh by English writers. " He that will write well
in any tongue," he says, " must follow this counsel of Aristotle,
to speak as the common people do, to think as wise men do ;
and so should every man understand him, and the judgment of
wise men allow him. Many English writers have not done so,
but using strange words, as Latin, French, and Italian, do make
all things dark and hard. Once I communed with a man
which reasoned the English tongue to be enriched and increased
* This is Milton's ''Sir John Cheke" (Sonnet XL), who taught ** Cam-
bridge, and King Edward, Greek."
28 GOOD SAMARITANS,
thereby, saying : * Who will not praise that feast where a man
shall drink at a dinner both wine, ale, and beer ? ' ' Truly,'
quoth I, 'they be all good, everyone taken by himself alone;
but if you put malmsey and sack, red wine and white, ale and beer,
and all in one pot, you shall make a drink neither easy to be
known, nor yet wholesome for the body.'"
" Toxophilus " is written with an evident love and mastery
of the subject: its drier details are relieved by philosophical
digressions, one of which, dealing wath the value of recreation
and its place in the educational system, is very interesting.
In 1548 Ascham was appointed tutor to the Princess Elizabeth
at Cheston; but, quarrelling with her steward, he gave up the
post, and returned to his college home. In 1550, through the
intervention of Sir John Cheke, he accompanied Sir Richard
Morissine, or Morison, ambassador at the Court of Charles V.^
as secretary. He spent some time at Augsburg, using his faculties
of observation and insight to good effect, — the result being, in
1553, the publication of a ''Report and Discourse of the Affairs
and State of Germany and the Emperor Charles his Court, during
certain years while Roger Ascham was there."
During his absence in Germany, Ascham's friends procured his
appointment as Latin Secretary to Edward VI. On the death of
the young king, fearing for the loss of his pension as well as his
office, he at once returned to England ; but, though his attach-
ment to the reformed religion was known, he secured the favour
and esteem of Queen Mary's advisers, retained his pension, and
was employed to write official letters and despatches. His influ-
ence seems to have been considerable, and to have been exercised
in defence of the interests of learning and religion ; for it was said
by his .contemporaries that he hindered those who dined on the
Church from supping on the Universities. On the occasion of
Mary's unfortunate marriage to Philip of Spain, he wrote within
three days as many as forty-seven letters to foreign princes, of
\\ hom the lowest in rank was a Cardinal.
In 1554 Ascham married Mistress Margaret Hour, a lady who
brought him some fortune, came of a good family, and appears
to have possessed some intellectual gifts. On the accession of
Elizabeth he was made Latin Secretary, and also reader in the
1 earned languages, — a post which brought him much about the
ORIGIN OF THE ''SCHOOLMASTER:' 29
Queen's person. He was liberally rewarded for his services ; and,
in 1559, received the prebend of Westwang, in the cathedral of
York. The Archbishop had previously conferred it on a nominee
of his own ; so that Ascham did not get the revenue without the
vexation of a lawsuit.
The book to which he chiefly owes his reputation, "The
Schoolmaster," was written in 1563, — the year of the plague,
when Elizabeth had taken refuge at Windsor. At his apartments
in the castle, Sir William Cecil had invited a number of " ingenious
men " to dine with him, and among them was Roger Ascham.
Cecil communicated to his guests the news of the morning, that
several Eton lads had run away on account of their master's
severity; which the great minister condemned as a grievous error
in the education of youth. Sir William Petre, a man of harsh
temper, advocated the contrary view, and was all in favour of the
rod and the "whipping-block." Dr. Walter agreed with the
minister, and Sir John Mason jested at both. Mr. Haddon
supported Petre, and asserted that the then best schoolmaster in
England was the hardest flogger. Ascham, intervening, warmly
protested that if such a schoolmaster turned out an able scholar,
the credit was due not to his birch, but to the boy's genius.
When Ascham was retiring after dinner to read to the Queen one
of the orations of Demosthenes, Sir Richard Sackville * took him
aside, and told him that though he had been silent during the
discussion, yet would he on no account have missed it ; that he
knew only too well the truth of what Ascham had maintained ;
for it was the perpetual flogging of a tyrannical pedagogue which
had given him an unconquerable aversion to study. As he
was anxious to prevent this defect in his own grandchildren, he
besought Ascham to " put in some order of writing the chief
points of their talk, concerning the right order of teaching and
honesty of living, for the good bringing up of children and of
young men." Ascham represents him as saying : " Seeing it is
but in vain to lament things past, and also wisdom to look to
things to come, surely, God willing, if God lend me life, I will
make this, my mishap, some occasion of good hap to little
* Father of Thomas Sackville, one of the authors of "Gorboduc" (1561),
onr first Enf^lish tragedy.
JO GOOD SAMARITANS.
Robert Sackville, my son's son. For whose bringing up, I would
gladly, if it so please you, use specially your good advice. I hear
say you have a son much of his age ; we will deal thus together.
Point you out a schoolmaster who by your order shall teach my
son and yours, and for all the rest I will provide you, though
they then do cost me a couple of hundred pounds by year, and
besides you shall find me as fast a friend to you and yours as
perchance any you have." " Which promise," adds Ascham,
"the worthy gentleman surely kept with me until his dying day."
The "Schoolmaster" was not published, however, until after
its author's death. Always afflicted with delicate health, Ascham
suffered much during the last years of his life from the scholar's
disease — dyspepsia. Between dinner and bedtime he was unable
to pursue his studies ; the curse of sleeplessness fell upon him ;
and, prematurely worn out, he died on the 30th of December,
1568, at the comparatively early age of fifty-three. It is said that
his closing years were also obscured by poverty, and slanderers
have ascribed the poverty to his love of gaming and cock-fighting.
As regards the former, the calumny is wholly without foundation ;
and with respect to the latter we must remember that, in Eliza-
beth's time, it was a popular sport. Fuller quaintly sums up the
scholar's character in the following terse phrases : " He was an
honest man and a good shooter. Archery was his pastime in youth,
which, in his old age, he exchanged for cock-fighting. His 'Toxo-
philus' is a good book {01 young va^n^ his 'Schoolmaster' for old,
his ' Epistles ' for all men."
"The Schoolmaster" was published by Ascham 's widow, in
1 570, with a dedication to Sir William Cecil, in which she solicits
him to undertake its defence, **to avaunce the good that may
come of it by your allowance and furtherance to publike use and
benefite, and to accept the thank efell recognition of me and my
poor children, trustyng of the continuance of your good memorie
of Master Ascham and his, and dayly commendyng the prosperous
estate of you and yours to God, whom you serve, and whose you
are, I rest to trouble you."
• In Dr. Johnson's opinion, the method of instruction elaborated
in this treatise is perhaps the best ever laid down for the study
of languages. Certain it is that Ascham's general principles, as
enunciated in the first book, are sound and sagacious, and should
INTERVIEW WITH LADY JANE GRE }
be carefully considered by every person engaged in educational
work. He particularises certain qualities, or, as he calls them,
** plain notes/' which will indicate '* a good wit in a child for learn-
ing," — borrowing them from Socrates, i, Euphues; 2, good
memory ; 3, attachment to learning ; 4, readiness to undergo pains
and labour; 5, willingness to learn of another; 6, freedom in
questioning ; and 7, delight in well-earned applause. As the first
of these qualities may not be readily understood by every reader,
we transcribe Ascham's description, with the remark that the
character embodying it obviously suggested John Lyly's cele-
brated "Euphues."
According to Ascham : — " Euphues (Ev<^u^s) is he that is apt by
goodness of wit, and appliable by readiness of will, to learning,
having all other qualities of the mind and parts of the body that
must another day serve learning, not troubled, mangled, and
halved, but sound, whole, full, and able to do their office : as a
tongue not stammering, or over hardly drawing forth words, but
plain and ready to deliver the meaning of the mind ; a voice not
soft, weak, piping, womanish, but audible, strong, and manlike ;
a countenance not wirish and crabbed, but fair and comely ; a
personage not wretched and deformed, but tall and goodly : for
surely a comely countenance, with a goodly stature, giveth credit
to learning and authority to the person ; otherwise, commonly,
either open contempt or privy disfavour doth hurt or hinder both
person and learning. And even as a fair stone requireth to be
set in the finest gold, with the best workmanship, or else it
loseth much of the grace and price, even so excellency in learning,
and namely divinity, joined with a comely personage, is a mar-
vellous jewel in the world. And how can a comely body be
better employed than to serve the greatest exercise of God's
greatest gift? — and that is learning. But commonly the fairest
bodies are bestowed on the foulest purposes."
As a specimen of Ascham's style we extract from "The School-
master" his well-known description of his interview with Lady
Jane Grey, prior to his German mission : —
" Before I went into Germany," he says, " I came to Broad
gate, in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble lady Jane
Grey, to whom I was exceedingly much beholden. Her parents,
the duke and the duchess " [of Northumberland], " with all the
32 GOOD SAMARITANS,
household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the
park. I found her in her chamber reading Phcedon Platonis in
Greek, and that with as much delight as some gentlemen would
read a merry tale in Boccace. After salutation and duty done,
with some other talk, I asked her why she would lose such
pastime in the park. Smiling, she answered me : * I wis, all
their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I
find in Plato. Alas ! good folk, they never felt what true
pleasure meant.'
"'And how came you, madam,' quoth I, *to this deep know-
ledge of pleasure? And what did chiefly allure you into it,
seeing not many women, but very few men, have attained
thereunto ? ' * I will tell you,' quoth she, ' and tell you a
truth which, perchance, ye will marvel at. One of the greatest
benefits that ever God gave me, is, that He sent me so sharp
and severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I
am in presence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep
silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing,
playing, dancing, or doing anything else, I must do it, as it
were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly as
God made the world, or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly
threatened, yea, presently, sometimes with pinches, nips, and
bobs, and other ways, which I will not name for the honour I
bear them, so without measure misordered, that I think myself
in hell, till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer (John
Aylmer, afterwards Bishop of London) ; who teach eth me so
gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that
I think all the time nothing, whiles I am with him. And when
I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because, whatever I do
else, but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and whole mis-
liking unto me. x\nd thus my book hath been so much my
pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure and more, that
in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deed, be but trifles
and troubles unto me.'"
Ascham's comments on the advisability of consulting the
natural bias and tendencies of a youth in selecting for him his
life's vocation are eminently judicious : —
"This perverse judgment of fathers, as concerning the fitness
and unfitness of their children, causeth the commonwealth [to]
PROGRESS OF LDUCAllON. 33
have many unfit ministers : and seeing that ministers be, as a
man would say, instruments wherewith the commonweahh doth
work all her matters withal, I marvel how it chanceth that a
poor shoemaker hath so much wit, that he will prepare no in-
strument for his science, neither knife nor awl, nor nothing else,
which is not very fit for him. The commonwealth can be content
to take at a fond father's hand the riffraff of the world, to make
I hose instruments of wherewithal she should work the highest
matters under heaven. And surely an awl of lead is not so
unprofitable in a shoemaker's shop, as an unfit minister made of
gross metal is unseemly in the commonwealth. Fathers in old
time, among the noble Persians, might not do with their children
as they thought good, but as the judgment of the commonwealth
always thought best. This fault of fathers bringeth many a blot
with it, to the great deformity of the commonwealth : and here,
surely, I can praise gentlewomen, which have always at hand
their glasses to see if anything be amiss, and so will amend it ;
yet the commonwealth, having the glass of knowledge in every
man's hand, doth see such uncomeliness in it, and yet winketh at
it. This fault, and many such like, might be soon wiped away,
if fathers would bestow their children always on that thmg where-
unto nature hath ordained them most apt and fit. For if youth
be grafted straight and not awry, the whole commonwealth will
flourish thereafter. When this is done, then must every man
begin to be more ready to amend himself than to check another,
measuring their matters with that wise proverb of Apollo, Know
thyself: that is to say, learn to know what thou art able, fit, and
apt unto, and follow that"
We have alluded to the numerous grammar schools which were
founded in the reigns of Edward VI. and Elizabeth. These, and
their successors, were no part of a scheme of national education,
such as the farseeing policy of John Knox initiated in Scotland, but
were simply designed to furnish a selected few, who were unable
to bear the cost, with gratuitous instruction of the highest order.
Up to the time of the Revolu tion, however, they represented the
only educational system which England possessed. The growth
of the commercial classes then led to its expansion ; and free-
schools were established, in which the education given was adapted
34 GOOD SAMARITAN:^.
to their needs. Mr. Knight remarks that during the progress ol'
education in recent years, reformers have spoken somewhat con-
temptuously of these schools and of the instruction they afforded,
but the censure seems undeserved. With a comparatively small
population, they were, so it seems to us, praiseworthy pioneers of
a national system. While the grammar schools developed the
sons of the professional classes and the more opulent tradesmen
into lawyers, divines, or physicians, the free schools took up the
sons of the mechanics and the labourers, and made them clever
handicrafts ai en and prosperous burgesses. A good work was-
also done by the parochial charity schools, which found an active
supporter in Queen Anne. Mainly through the efforts of the
Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, about 2,000
of these schools spread over Great Britain and Ireland, between
1698 and 1741.
At the beginning of the i8th century, however, we take it that the
educational standard in England was infinitely lower than in the
reign of Elizabeth or the earlier Stuarts. The upper classes were
essentially ignorant, and to a large extent were proud of their
ignorance. Their principal pabulum was provided by the weekly
news-writer. It is clear from the tone of the essayists, the
Tatler^ the Spectator^ the Guardian, that the number of those
who read was very limited, and that it was necessary to cater for
them very carefully, dealing with every question in the lightest
and most familiar manner. Writing in 17 13, Addison laments
that " there should be no knowledge in a family. For my own
part," he adds, " I am concerned when I go into a great house
where perhaps there is not a single person that can spell, unless it
be by chance the builer or one of the footmen. What a figure is
the young heir likely to make, who is a dunce both by father's
and mother's side ! " The ignorance of the women was worse
even than that of their brothers and husbands. Most of them,
according to the Tatler, spent their hours in an indolent state of
body and mind, without either recreations or reflections. '* I
think," says Steele, " most of the misfortunes in families arise
from the trifling way the women have in spending their time, and
gratifying only their eyes and ears instead of their reason and
understanding." Swift wrote a remarkable paper on the ** Educa-
tion of Ladies," which is not without value even for our own day.
EDUCATION OF GIRLS, 35
** There is a subject of controversy," he says, " which I have fre-
quently met with in mixed and select companies of both sexes^
and sometimes only of men — whether it be prudent to choose a
wife who has good natural sense, some taste of wit and humour,,
able to read and relish history, books of travels, moral or enter-
taining discourses, and be a tolerable judge of the beauties in
poetry ? This question is generally determined in the negative by
women themselves, but almost universally by we men."
Of course, a higher ideal of education was formed by many
intelligent women, and the views held, for example, by Lady
Mary Wortley Montagu would almost satisfy the warmest advo-
cate of female culture in our own day. '* Every woman," she
writes, " endeavours to breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying
her for a station in which she will never appear, and at the same
time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is destined.
Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will not only make her
contented, but happy in it. No entertainment is so cheap as
reading, nor any pleasures so lasting. She will not want new
fashions, nor regret the loss of expensive diversions, or variety of
company, if she can be amused with an author in her closet. To
render this amusement complete, she should be permitted to
learn the languages. . . There are two cautions to be given on
this subject: first, not to think herself learned when she can
read Latin, or even Greek. Languages are more properly to be
called vehicles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed
in many schoolmasters, who, though perhaps critics in grammar,
are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowledge con-
sists in knowing things, not words. I would no further wish her
a linguist than to enable her to read books in their originals,
that are often corrupted, and are always injured by translations.
Two hours' application every morning will bring this about much
sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough
besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more important
part of a woman's education than it is generally supposed. . . .
** You should encourage your daughter to talk over with you
what she reads ; and as you are very capable of distinguishing,
take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and humour,
or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of young
people, and leave a train of ill consequences. The second caution
36 GOOD SAMARl'IANS.
to be given her, — and which is most absolutely necessary, — is to
conceal whatever learning she attains, with as much solicitude as
she would hide crookedness or lameness : the parade of it can
only serve to draw on her the envy, and consequently the most
inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will certainly be
5t least three parts in four of her acquaintance. The use of
knowledge in our sex, beside the amusement of solitude, is to mode-
rate the passions, and learn to be contented with a small expense,
which are the certain effects of a studious life ; and it may be
preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to them-
selves, and will not suffer us to share. At the same time I recom-
mend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing."
This was not altogether an unsatisfactory sketch for the studies
of a young girl, but to most of Lady Mary's contemporaries it
would have seemed the dream of a visionary or the folly of an
enthusiast.
I have referred to Dean Swift's essay on the " Education of
Ladies." He has also a paper on *' Modern Education," which
treats of that of gentlemen, and he shows, with characteristic
force, that in his own time it was sadly neglected. " The very
maxims set up to direct modern education are enough," he says,
*' to destroy all the seeds of knowledge, honour, wisdom, and virtue
among us. The current opinion prevails that the study of Greek
and Latin is loss of time ; that public schools, by mingling the sons
of noblemen with those of the vulgar, engage the former in bad
company ; that whipping breaks the spirits of lads well-born ; that
universities make young men pedants ; that to dance, fence, speak
French, and know how to behave yourself among great persons
of both sexes, comprehends the whole duty of a gentleman." A
similar opinion is still held, we fear, by many.
" There is one circumstance," continues Swift, '* in a learned
education which ought to bear much weight, even with those who
have no learning at all. The books read at school and college
are full of incitements to virtue and discouragements from vice,
drawn from the wisest reasons, the strongest motives, and the
most influencing examples. Thus young minds are filled early
vith an inclination to good, and an abhorrence of evil, both which
.ncrease in them according to the advances they make in Htera-
ture ; and although they may be, and too often are, drawn, by the
ROBERT RAIKES— SUNDAY bCIWOLS, 37
temptations of youth, and the opportunities of a large fortune,
into some irregularities, when they come forward into the great
world, yet it is ever with reluctance and compunction of mind,
because their bias to virtue still continues. They may stray
sometimes, out of infirmity or compliance ; but they will soon
return to the right road, and keep it always in view." It may be
doubted whether this is, indeed, the special merit of a " learned
education." The classics have their uses ; but we should hardly
be disposed to regard them as incentives to the practice of the
higher virtues, and are inclined to think that the study of Christ's
Gospel will have an infinitely greater influence for good on the
minds and hearts of the young.
The first outlines of a national system of education were laid
down by Robert Raikes in 1780, when he started Sunday schools.
That they supplied a want is proved by the rapidity with which
they spread. In less than forty years England possessed 5,000
of these schools, attended by 452,000 children. In 1833 the
number of Sunday school children had increased to a million
and a half, and it must now be nearer three millions; though
these schools have lost something of their popularity, and their
place is to some extent being supplied by improved agencies.
The sum of good which they have accomplished cannot well
be over-estimated. Many a mind has owed to them its first
conceptions of knowledge \ many a soul has first been awakened
by them to a sense of the love and wisdom of Jesus Christ.
They have guided the feet of thousands and tens of thousands
into the paths of peace and righteousness ; they have saved thou-
sands and tens of thousands from succumbing to the evil influences
of the world. Society has been perceptibly purified and elevated
by them ; they have confirmed and extended, — have supplemented,
and in some cases been an eftective substitute for, the work of the
preacher and the teacher. The establishment of Sunday schools
seems to me one of the noblest efforts of a wise philanthropy ;
and among the world's Good Samaritans, Robert Raikes, their
founder, must ever hold a foremost place.
Robert Raikes, the son of "Raikes the printer," long well
known as the proprietor and conductor of the Gloucester Journal,
was born in a house in Palace Yard, Gloucester on the 14th of
38 GOOD SAMARITANS,
September, 1735. He was fortunate in both his parents; for
while his father was a man of enlightened mind and generous
character, his mother was a woman of exemplary piety and many
acquirements. He received a liberal and yet a practical educa-
tion, with the view of fitting him for a journalistic career ; and
through the death of his father in 1757, found himself, at the age
of twenty-two, plunged into it, as well as into the management
of an extensive printing and publishing establishment. His
ability, diligence, and firmness fully maintained and consolidated
the large business he had inherited, and he soon took up a leading
position among the influential men of his native city.
His first essay as a philanthropist was made in connection with
the city prisons ; for in the work of prison reform he preceded
John Howard. The condition of the prisoner, whether he was a
felon or only an unfortunate debtor, was a disgrace to the boasted
humanity of England. He was half starved, ill-clad, harshly treated;
his cell was loatlisome and pestiferous ; and nothing was done
to provide him with useful employment. At Gloucester Castle
from forty to sixty prisoners were received every week ; yet for
this large number only one court was available. The day-room
for men and women felons measured twelve feet by eleven. The
unhappy wretches imprisoned for debt were huddled together in
a den fourteen feet by eleven ; it had no windows, and light and
air struggled in through a hole broken in the plaster wall. In the
upper part of the building was a close dark room, called " the
main," the floor of which was in such a ruined state that it could
not be washed ; this was the sleeping apartment of the mile felons,
and directly opposite the stairs which led to it a large dun^^hill
gave forth its reeking odours. The whole place was steeped in
inlection, and ten to twelve victims were slaughtered by it
monthly. As for the debtors, that any ot them returned to the
outer world alive was matter of surprise ; for they received no
allowance either of food or money, nor was any opportunity
furnished ihem of earning the smallest pittance. If una -le to
pay for beds, they lay at night on litters of straw ; for cloth mg as
for food they were thrown upon their own means or on the charity
of the benevolent, and hence it followed that the most honest and
deserving — those who had given up all their property to their
creditors — were the most wretched. Even the felons were better
ROBERT RArKES AND THE PRISONS. 39
treated, for they received beds and clothing, and every two days
a sixpenny loaf. It is needless to say that the indiscriminate
association of felons and debtors, the criminal and the unfortunate,
men and women, the hardened offenders and the involuntary or
repentant trespassers, was productive of the greatest evil, and that
few left such a cloaca without being hopelessly degraded and
polluted. Every new inmate on his entrance was forced to pay
a sum of money, called " garnish," which was immediateiy spent
in beer, supplied by the gaoler, whose chief emoluments were
derived from this contraband traffic. In a word, the pictures
drawn by Fielding in his " Jonathan Wild " and Smollett in his
^' Peregrine Pickle," by Dickens in his " Pickwick Papers," and
Besant and Rice in their " Chaplain of the Fleet," do not in any
wise exaggerate the awful condition of the English prisons at the
time that Raikes began his labour of reform in Gloucester.
His earliest efforts were necessarily tentative, and were limited
to providing the imprisoned debtors with the necessiries of Hfe ;
and for this purpose he made personal application to his friends
and addressed the public through the medium of his newspaper.
As early as 1768, paragraphs like the following appeared in the
Gloucester Journal : —
" The prisoners confined in the Castle, without allowance and
without the means of subsistence by labour, most humbly entreat
some little assistance from those who can pity their wretchedness.
The favours they have heretofore received will ever be remembered
with gratitude."
" ThQ unhappy wretches who are confined in our county gaol
for small crimes which are not deemed felonies (for felons have
an allowance of bread), are in so deplorable a state that several of
them would have perished with hunger but for the humanity of
the felons, who have divided with them their little pittance. A
person who looked into the prison on Saturday morning was
assured that several had not tasted food for two or three days
before. Were a county Bridewell established they might then
work for their subsistence. The boilings of pots or the sweepings
of pantries would be well bestowed on these poor wretches.
Benefactions for their use will be received by the printer of this
journal."
The exertions of Raikes were not contined to the reli«f of the
40 GOOD SAMARITANS.
physical distresses of the prisoners ; this Good Samaritan was not
less solicitous about their moral and spiritual condition. He
supplied them with wholesome reading, and strove to find for
them some kind of occupation, knowing the therapeutic value ot
honest industry. Dr. Glam tells us that if among the prisoners
he found one able to read, he gladly made use of him to instruct
his companions, encouraging him to be diligent and faithful in the
work by pecuniary rewards. And frequently he had the pleasure
ot hearing them thank God that, through their imprisonment, they
had had opportunities afforded them of learning that good which
otherwise they would probably have never known in their whole
lives. The selection of books being carefully made, and religious
instruction being blended with secular, the teacher himself was
often taught by his teaching others, and the very nature of his
employment exercised a salutary influence on his mode of
living.
But Mr. Raikes did not restrict himself merely to the business
of literary improvement; it was part of his object to inspire these
men with sentiments of good-will and mutual kindness, to subdue
in them that savageness of disposition and behaviour which
added to the hardships of their situation. And observing, says
Dr. Glam, that idleness was the parent of much mischief among
them, " and that they quarrelled with one another because they
had nothing else to do, he endeavoured to procure employment
for such as were willing, or were permitted, to work."
In due time the task of prison reform was undertaken by
Howard, who ever found in Raikes a vigorous and appreciative
supporter. In 1784, Gloucester Castle and its site were ceded by
the Crown to the county of Gloucester, and shortly afterwards,,
thanks to the energy of Howard and Sir George Paul, and the
cordial co-operation of Raikes, the old county prison was swept
away, and a new and commodious one, clean and well-ventilated,,
erected in its place.
We now come to the work with which Raikes's name is indis-
solubly connected. It is true that he was not the " founder of
Sunday-schools," if we Hmit the word " founder " to the person
who first conceived the idea of imparting instruction to the young
on the Lord's Day ; but it was he by whose untiring energy
the system was spread over the length and breadth of the
EARLY ORIGINATORS OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 41
country. It was he who converted a local practice into a national
one. It was he who, finding the institution in existence in a few
small towns and villages, recognized its merits, its potency for
good, and by his strenuous advocacy of it, secured its adoption
throughout the kingdom, by Nonconformists as well as by the
Church of England. In the same sense in which we speak of
James Watt as the inventor of the steam-engine, or of William
Wilberforce as the emancipator of the slaves, we may justly speak
of Raikes as the founder of Sunday-schools. As early as the six-
teenth century, the sainted Carlo Borromeo, Archbishop of Milan,
established Sunday schools in various parts of his diocese.
Towards the close of the seventeenth century, the Rev. Joseph
Alleine, of Taunton, a well-known Nonconformist divine, and
author of the " Alarm to the Unconverted," introduced the plan
into his own congregation. The monument to the memory of
Mrs. Catherine Bovey, in Flaxley Church, Gloucestershire, records
the fact of her " clothing and feeding her indigent neighbours and
teaching their children, some of whom every Sunday by turns she
entertained at her house and condescended to examine them her-
self. . . . Six of the poor children by turns dined at her residence
on Sundays, and were afterwards heard say the Catechism."
A Sunday-school was established at Cuttinits, in Yorkshire, in
1764; and another, on an humbler scale, at Little Levor, near
Bolton, by a poor man named James Hey, or, as he was popularly
called, " Old Jemmy o' th' Hey." " Old Jemmy " spent his week
days in winding bobbins for weavers, and his Sundays in teaching
the boys and girls of the neighbourhood to read. His scholars,
assembled twice each Sunday in a neighbour's cottage ; the hour-
of assembling being made known not by a bell, but by an old
brass pestle and mortar. Sympathizing with his object, Mr..
Adam Compton, a paper manufacturer, began to supply him with
books ; others sent him subscriptions in money ; and he was thus
enabled to form three branches, the teachers of which were paid
one shilling each per Sunday for their services. Thus, it is evident
that Mr. Raikes was not the inventor of Sunday-schools, though
he may well claim the honour of having developed the system.
It seems certain that, so far as he was concerned, the work came
upon him as a necessary sequence of his philanthropic labours in
the Gloucester gaols. Painful experience must have taught him
3
42 GOOD SAMARITANS,
in what an arduous Sisyphus-like toil he was engaged, while
endeavouring to subdue the natures of wretches long inured to
fierce and savage habits. Painful experience must have impressed
upon him the sluggishness and dulness of scholars unaccustomed
to any honest or useful exercise of the mind, and the lack of
receptivity on the part even of those who were willing to learn.
He must often have reflected on the unwisdom and improvidence
of society in allowing the young to grow up in an atmosphere of
evil, and have been startled by the ignorance of their most obvious
duties displayed by the lower classes. And every Sunday he must
have observed with regret that multitudes of the rising generation
of the poor were growing up in the same atmosphere, victims of
an equal ignorance.
" The streets," says his biographer, " were full of noise and
disturbance every Sunday, the churches were totally unfrequented
by the poorer sort of children, and very ill-attended by their
parents : they were nowhere to be seen employed as they ought
to be. Had they been disposed to learn or attend to anything
that was good, their parents were neither willing nor able to teach
'Or to direct them ; they were therefore a perpetual nuisance to the
sober part of the community. They were riotous, impudent, and
-regardless of all authority whatsoever in their mode of behaviour,
disrespectful in the extreme, and frequently detected in such petty
offences as plainly indicated that they were on the high road to
perdition, unless something could be done to rescue them. It
occurred to him, and to a worthy clergyman (Mr. Stock), to whom
he complained of the dissolute state of these poor children, that
infinite would be the benefit, to the community as well as to them-
selves, if any method could be contrived of laying them under
some proper restraint and instilling some good principles into
their minds.
" The foundation, they well knew, must be laid in the fear
and love of God, in a reverence for the duties of religion, and for
all things relating to the Divine honour and service. Mr. Raikes
soon began to make known his intentions to the parents, and
without much difficulty obtained their consent that their children
should meet him at the early service performed in the Cathedral
on a Sunday morning. The numbers at first were small, but
their increase was rapid. The gentleness of his behaviour towards
RAIKES' LOVE FOR CHILDREN, 43
them ; the allowance they found him disposed to make for their
former misbehaviour, which was merely from a want of a better
information ; the amiable picture which he drew for them when
he represented kindness and benevolence to each other as the
source of real happiness, and wickedness, malice, hatred, and ill-will
as the cause of all the misery in the world ; the interest which they
soon discovered him to have in their welfare, which appeared in
his minute inquiries into their conduct, their attainments, their situ-
ation, and every particular of their lives : all these circumstances
soon induced them to fly with eagerness to receive the commands
and be edified by the instruction of their best friend."
The first Sunday-school in Gloucester seems to have been
established in St. Catherine's parish by Raikes in the month of
July, 1780; and almost at the same time one was opened in
St. John's parish by his zealous coadjutor, the Rev. Thomas
Stock, M.A., then head-master of the Cathedral Grammar School.
**The beginning of the scheme," according to Raikes himself, was
owing to accident. Some business leading him one morning
into the suburbs of the city, where the lowest of the people, who
were principally employed in the pin manufactory, chiefly resided,
he was greatly moved by the sight of a group of wretchedly
ragged children at play in the streets. He inquired whether the
children belonged to that part of the town, and lamented their
misery and idleness. "Ah, sir!" replied the woman whom he
had been addressing, ** if you could take a view of this part of the
town on a Sunday, you would be shocked indeed ; for then the
street is filled with multitudes of these wretches, who, released
that day from employment, spend their time in noise and riot,
playing at • chuck,' and cursing and swearing in a manner so
horrid as to convey to any serious mind an idea of hell rather
than any other place. We have a worthy clergyman," she con-
tinued, " the curate of our parish, who has put some of them to
school, but upon the Sabbath day they are all given up to
please their own inclinations without restraint, as their parents,
totally abandoned themselves, have no idea of instilling into the
minds of their children principles to which they themselves are
entire strangers."
On this hint Raikes acted. The conversation suggested to
him the probable advantages of some " little plan " devised to
44 GOOD SAMARITANS.
check this deplorable Sabbath desecration. He inquired, there-
fore, if there were any decent, well-disposed women in the neigh-
bourhood who kept schools for teaching to read. He was told of
four ; and with these he made an agreement that they should
receive on Sundays as many children as he should send, and
instruct them in reading and the Church Catechism. Their
remuneration was fixed at one shilling for the day's work. Mr.
Raikes afterwards waited on the clergyman (the Rev. Mr. Stock)
to whom the old woman had referred, and explained his plan.
He was so much pleased with it that he undertook to visit the
schools every Sunday afternoon to examine into the progress
made, and enforce decorum and order.
Out of this arrangement grew what we may designate the
Sunday-school proper, established, as we have said, in St.
Catherine Street, in July 1780. The second was started by Mr.
Stock, in the parish of St. Mary the Crypt ; the third, in St.
John the Baptist's ; the fourth, in St. Aldate's ; and several others
rapidly sprang up all over the city. In November 1783, the
good work which had been so quietly organised was brought to
the notice of the public in Mr. Raikes's newspaper. And thence-
forward, for several years, he gave it vigorous and efficient journal-
istic support. Before the close of 1784, he had stimulated the
estabUshment of eleven prosperous Sunday Schools in different
parts of Gloucestershire. The beneficial effects were speedily dis-
cernible, and called forth a spontaneous tribute of approval from
the Gloucestershire magistrates at the Easter Quarter Sessions of
1786. Earl Ducie was soon induced to become their warm and
generous patron, under circumstances which Mr. Raikes described
in his journal : — " A nobleman," he says, " to whom a title and
large estate in this county lately descended, was present at the
parish church near his seat a few Sundays ago, where he saw the
aisles filled with a great number of the poorest children in the
parish. He observed silence and good order prevail among
them, and that, at the close of the service, instead of running
promiscuously and hastily out of church, they took their ranks
and walked in order two and two like a disciplined body, to the
number of more than a hundred. Inquiring into this singular
regulation, he learnt that with the view to keep the children out
of mischief— to which the Sunday was formerly entirely devoted —
SPREAD OF THE MOVEMENT.
45
the minister of the parish assembled them in Httle seminaries,
where the day was spent in the improvement of their mmds, in
learning the catechism, and in attending public worship. His
lordship inquired how far their general behaviour was affected oy
,this institution, and expressed great pleasure in hearing that a
remarkable alteration in their conversation and manners had
been the result ; nor were the children alone benefited, for the
parents were observed to be less vile and profligate since atten-
tion had been paid to the improvement of the children. With
this information his lordship appeared sensibly affected, and
immediately determined to give the measure all possible coun-
tenance and encouragement"
By degrees the movement spread beyond the borders of
Gloucestershire. Raikes made it known in the Gentleman's
Magazine^ also in the European Magazine ; and it so commended
itself to good men and women as a simple and effective remedy
for a great evil, that it everywhere met with a God-speed. Adam
Smith said of it : " No plan has promised to effect a change of
manners with equal ease and simplicity since the days of the
Apostles." Cowper averred that he knew no nobler means of
accomplishing the reformation of the lower classes. John Wesley
exclaimed : " I verily think these schools are one of the noblest
specimens of charity which have been set on foot in England
since the time of William the Conqueror." Bishop Porteous
(in 1786) devoted to it an episcopal charge, and vowed that
experience had but confirmed the favourable opinion he was
originally inclined to entertain of them. " The next generation,"
he said to his clergy, " if not the present, will probably, in con-
sequence of these benevolent exertions of yours, perceive an
astonishing change in the manners of the common people. And
they who live to see so desirable a reformation will not, I trust,
forget (most assuredly your Heavenly Father will not forget) to
whose kindness and to whose labours they stand indebted for
such substantial benefits."
A few years later it was estimated that in the Sunday schools
throughout the kingdom were no fewer than 300,000 scholars.
The " grain of mustard seed " had extended its branches every-
where, and these branches were sound and vigorous. They
showed no sign of decay ; it was cl«^ar that they possessed an
46 GOOD SAMARITANS.
abundant vitality. Royalty itself took the new movement under
its patronage. At Christmas, 1787, Queen Charlotte sent for
Mr. Raikes, and desired him to give her an account of its
position and of the good it had already effected. The Sunday-
schools at Brentford were visited by George III. Literature, as
represented by Mrs. Trimmer and Hannah More — two names
of far greater influence in their own day than in ours — was
highly favourable to it. In 1785 a new impetus was given by
the organization, through the exertions of William Fox, Jonas
Hanway, Henry Thornton, Samuel Hoare, and other philan
thropists, of the " Society for the Establishment and Support of
Sunday-schools throughout the Kingdom of Great Britain ; "
and the extent of the work done by it may be inferred from the
fact that in the first year of its existence it founded five schools
in London, and in ten years had distributed 91,915 spelling-
books, 24,232 Testaments, and 5,360 Bibles. At first the
Sunday school teachers were paid from i^. to 2s, each per
Sunday for their services. In many localities the want of funds
for this purpose hindered the growth of the schools, and led to
the introduction of gratuitous teaching, which may be regarded
as having insured the permanent success of the system. A
further reform, however, has yet to be effected before it can
accomplish all the good that lies within its power, and become
as mighty and beneficial a factor in the education of the people
as it ought to be, — the teachers must be trained.
In 1803 was formed the Sunday School Union; an association
still in healthy life, prosperous, and largely helpful in the great
work of religious education.
It may interest the reader to glance for a moment at the method
adopted by Mr. Raikes in the schools under his immediate super-
vision. We find it explained in letters addressed to various
correspondents. Thus he writes to Colonel Towerley : —
" It is now about three years since we began, and I could wish
you were here to make enquiry into the effect. A woman who
lives in a lane where I had fixed a school told me some time ago
that the place was quite a heaven upon Sundays, compared to
what it used to be. The numbers who have learnt to read and
say their catechism are so great that I am astonished at it
Upon the Sunday afternoons the mistresses take their scholars
HUMAN BOTANY. 47
to church — a place into which neither they nor their ancestors
«?ad ever before entered with a view to the glory of God. But
what is yet more extraordinary, within this month these little
ragamuffins have in great numbers taken it into their heads to
frequent the early morning prayers which are held every morning;,-
at the Cathedral at seven o'clock. I believe there were nearly >
fifty this morning. They assemble at the house of one of the
mistresses, and walk before her to church, two and two, in as
much order as a company of soldiers. I am generally at church,
and after service they all come round me to make their bow, and,
if any animosities have arisen, to make their complaints. The
great principle I inculcate is, to be kind and good-natured to
each other ; not to provoke one another ; to be dutiful to their
parents ; not to offend God by cursing and swearing ; and such
little plain precepts as all may comprehend. . . .
" The number of children at present thus engaged on the
Sabbath is between two and three hundred, and they are increas
ing every week, as the benefit is universally seen. I have
endeavoured to engage the clergy of my acquaintance that reside
in their parishes. One has entered into the scheme with great
fervour. . . .
" I cannot express to you the pleasure I often receive in dis-
covering genius and innate good dispositions among this little
multitude. It is botanizing in human nature. I have often, too,
the satisfaction of receiving thanks from parents for the reforma-
tion they perceive in their children. . . .
"With regard to the rules adopted, I only require that they
may come to the school on Sunday as clean as possible. Many
were at first deterred because they wanted decent clothing, but
I could not undertake to supply this defect ; I argue, therefore,
* If you can loiter about without shoes and in a ragged coat, you
may as well come to school and learn what may tend to your
good in that garb. I reject none on that footing. All that I
require are clean hands, clean face, and your hair combed. I
you have no clean shirt, come in that you have on.' The want
of decent apparel at first kept great numbers at a distance ; but
they now begin to grow wiser, and all press in to learn. I have
the good luck to procure places for some that were deserving,
which has been of great use. You will understand that these
48 GOOD SAMARITANS.
children are from six years old to twelve or fourteen. Boys and
girls above this age, who have been totally undisciplined, are
generally too refractory for this government."
To a Mrs. Harris he writes : —
" In answer to your queries, I shall, as concisely as possible,
state — that I endeavour to assemble the children as early as
is consistent with their perfect cleanliness — an indispensable rule ;
the hour prescribed in our rules is eight o'clock, but it is usually
half-after eight before our flock is collected. Twenty is the
number allotted to each teacher ; the sexes kept separate. The
twenty are divided into four classes.
" The children who show any superiority in their attainments
are placed as leaders of the several classes, and are employed in
teaching the others their letters, or in hearing them read in a low
whisper, which may be done without interrupting the master oi
mistress in their business, and will keep the attention of the
children engaged, that they do not play or make a noise. Their
attending the service of the church once a day has, to me, seemed
sufficient ; for their time may be spent more profitably, perhap*?.
in receiving instruction than in being present at a long discourse,
which their minds are not yet able to comprehend ; but people
may think diff'erently on this point. . . .
" To those children who distinguish themselves as examples of
diligence, quietness of behaviour, observance of order, kindness
to their companions, etc., etc., I give some little tokens of my
regard, as a pair of shoes if they are barefooted, and some who
are very bare of apparel I clothe. Besides, I frequently go round
to their habitations, to inquire into their behaviour at home, and
into the conduct of the parents, to whom I give some little hints
now and then, as well as to the children."
Many interesting anecdotes, bearing on the relations which
existed between Mr. Raikes and his scholars, have been pre-
served ; we can spare room for only one or two. The following
was related by Raikes himself.
One day, as he was churchward bound, he overtook a soldier,
as he was about to enter the church door, and remarked that it
gave him much pleasure to see him attending a place of worship.
" Ah, sir," was the reply, " I may thank you for that." " Me ? "
said Mr. Raikes, "why, I don't know that I ever saw vou before."
SOME RESULTS OF TFIE GOOD WORK, 49
^'- Sir," answered the soldier, " when I was a little boy, I was
indebted to you for my first instruction in my duty. I used to
meet you at the morning service in this Cathedral, and was one
of your Sunday scholars. My father, when he left this city, took
me into Berkshire, and put me apprentice to a shoemaker. I
used often to think of you. At length I went to London, and
was there drawn to serve as a militiaman in the Westminster
militia. I came to Gloucester last night with a deserter, and took
I he opportunity of coming this morning to visit the old spot, and
in hope of once more seeing you." He then told Mr. Raikes
his name, and reminded him of a curious circumstance which
had occurred while he was at school. His father was a journey-
man currier, and a vicious and profligate character. After the
boy had been for some time at school, he went to Mr. Raikes
one day, to tell him that his father was wonderfully changed,
and that he had left off going to the alehouse on a Sunday. It
happened soon afterwards that Mr. Raikes met the man in the
street, and said to him : " My friend, it gives me great pleasure
CO hear that you have left off going to the alehouse on the
5unday ; your son tells me that you now stay at home, and never
get tipsy." He immediately replied that the change had been
wrought by Mr. Raikes : not, indeed, that Mr. Raikes had ever
spoken to him before, but that the good instruction afforded to
his son at the Sunday-school the boy had carefully repeated to
him ; and that in this way he had been so convinced of the error
of his former mode of life as to have determined on a refor-
mation.
A striking story of one of Raikes's scholars, published originally
in a pamphlet entitled "The Sea Boy's Grave," is repeated by
Mr. Gregory.
The writer states that he once sailed home from the West
Indies in a ship, which included among her crew a notoriously
wicked sailor, and a cabin boy who had been trained in one of
Raikes's Gloucester schools. The boy's name was Pelham, but
he was known among the crew, perhaps from his frequent refer-
ences to his philanthropic patron, as "Jack Raikes." In the
course of the voyage the sailor was smitten with fever, and as
he grew rapidly worse it was apprehended that he would die in
his impenitence. Jack Raikes, however, obtained leave to nurse
50 GOOD SAMARITANS.
him. He watched over him with assiduous care, told him of
the Saviour of whom he had learned at school, and prayed
with him strenuously and earnestly for salvation in the Saviour's
name. After awhile the hard heart yielded, and the sins of a
misspent life were lamented with sincere contrition ; the poor
creature learned the sweet consciousness of his Master's loving
forgiveness, and rested in the hope of eternal happiness with the
Father. A few days afterwards the ship was overtaken by a
violent storm, which cast her on a rock off the northern coast of
Scotland, and shattered her into a hopeless wreck. As a last
chance, the sailors took to the boats ; but the one on board of
which Jack Raikes found a place was capsized by the breakers,
and next morning his body was thrown up on the neighbouring
shore. The writer of the narrative, who got safely to land with a
spar to which he had lashed himself, describes with touching
simplicity the appearance of poor Jack as he saw him lying, with
the other victims of the wreck, on the floor of the alehouse : —
" His countenance wore a sweet and heavenly expression, and^
stooping down, I robbed his bare head of a little lock of auburn
hair that lay upon his temple. His effects — alas ! how poor, and
yet how rich — were spread upon the table in the room, and con-
sisted of a little leather purse in which were a well-kept half-crown
and a solitary sixpence. His Bible, which he had ever counted
his chief riches, and from which he had derived treasures of
wisdom, was placed by his side. I took it up, and observed
engraved on its clasps of brass these words : * The gift of Robert
Raikes to J. R. Pelham.' ' Oh, Raikes,' thought I, * this is one
gem of purest light indeed ; still, it is but one of the many
thousand gems which shall encircle thy radiant head in that day
when the Lord of Hosts shall make up His jewels.' "
One last illustration of Raikes's work shall be a set of rules-
which he printed in 1784, for use in the Stroud Sunday-schools.
They will have an interest for Sunday-school managers and
teachers in comparison with the rules and regulations now in
vogue.
I. The master (or dame) appointed by the subscribers shall
attend (at his or her own house) every Sunday morning during
the summer from 8 till 10.30, and every Sunday evening during
RULES FOR THE STROUD SCHOOLS. 51
the summer (except the second in every month) from 5.30 till 8
o'clock, to teach reading, the Church Catechism, and some short
prayers from a little collection by Dr. Stonehouse ; and also to
read (or have read by some of those who attend, if any can do it
sufficiently) three or four chapters of the Bible in succession, that
people may have connected ideas of the history and consistency
of the Scriptures.
II. The persons to be taught are chiefly the young, who are
past the usual age of admission to the weekly schools, and by
being obliged to labour for their maintenance, cannot find time to
attend them. But grown persons that cannot read, who are
desirous of hearing God's Word, and wish to learn that excellent
short account of the faith and practice of a Christian, the Church
Catechism, are desired to attend, and endeavour to learn, by
hearing the younger taught and instructed.
III. Some of the subscribers will in turn visit these schools to
see that their design is duly pursued, and give some little reward
to the first, second, and third most deserving in each school
IV. The subscribers will keep a blank book, in which shall be
entered the names of all those parents, and other persons, who
having need of these helps, neglect to send their children, or to
attend ; and of those who behave improperly when they attend ;
with intent that they may be excluded from the alms and other
charitable assistance of the benevolent. Those who will take no
care of their own souls, deserve not that others should take care
of their bodies.
V. All that attend these schools shall, as much as may be,
attend the public worship both morning and afternoon on Sunday ;
and shall assemble at church on the second evening of every
month at six o'clock, to be examined, and to hear a plain exposi-
tion of the Catechism, which the minister will endeavour to give
them.
In explanation of these rules we have an account of the way in
which they were worked at Stroud : — *
As an early habit of reverencing and rightly using the Sabbath
must be laid in the rising generation, as one of the foundation
* Quoted by Mr. Gregory, pp. 137, 138. Our sketch is mainly founded or
Mr. Gregory's interesting narrative (edit. 1880).
52 GOOD SAMARITANS.
stones of that reformation devoutly wished for by all serious
persons, the attendance on public worship is particularly insisted
on. To promote which some of the rewards to be given are the
most necessary articles of apparel ; and through the failure of the
clothing manufacture in this county, these are wanting to many
who do, and to more that would, attend these schools. Some of
the children who are brought up to other communions are en-
joined to attend their respective places of worship constantly and
devoutly, and required to give an account of the preacher's text.
The other rewards are Bibles of different sizes, New Testaments,
Dr. Stonehouse's " Prayers for Private Persons and Families " (see
Rule I.) ; " Admonitions against Swearing, Sabbath-breaking, and
Drunkenness " ; Catechisms, and papers of Hymns. The time
before Divine service in the morning is employed in learning to
spell and read. The reading in the evening is performed by those
who can read fluently, as it is intended for the edification of all.
The rules are read every Sunday evening as soon as the children
are assembled. After reading three, four, or five chapters of the
Bible (more or less, as the connection of the passage may require),
the prayers are repeated. The youngest are taught, first. Dr.
Watts's Short Prayers, pages 42 and 43 of the above-mentioned
collection ; when they are perfect in these, they learn the additions
to them ; and persons of more advanced age learn the longer
prayers of Bishop Wilson and Bishop Gibson. While one is
speaking aloud the prayer, or answer of the Catechism, all the
rest are required to repeat the same in a whisper; by which
inattention and trifling are in a great measure prevented, and a
rapid progress is made in fixing what is to be learned in the
memory. The minister and some of the subscribers attend one
of these schools every Sunday evening, and make such familiar
observations on the Scripture and catechism as they think adapted
to such young minds. The most deficient scholars attend one or
two other evenings in the week, for about two hours, at the house
of the master or dame. The teachers are sober, serious persons,
whose conscientious assiduity may be depended on, and whose
indigent circumstances make the moderate pay of one shilling per
Sunday an acceptable recompense.
But we must pass on to the close of Mr. Raikes's useful and
benevolent career. His closing: years were crowned with many
THE MONITORIAL OR '^ LANCASTRIAN* iiY^STJim, 53
blessings : home happiness, a competency, and the respect and
esteem of all good men. No person of mark visited Gloucester
without paying a visit to the " Founder of Sunday-schools," and
as he possessed a liberal and generous temper, he delighted in
dispensing his hospitality. Miss Burney, who accompanied the
King and Queen on their pilgrimage to Gloucester, in July 1788,
speaks of him as "witty, benevolent, good-natured, and good-
hearted ; " and these admirable qualities may surely be accepted as
more than a sufficient counterbalance for the volubility and egotism
of which she accuses him. That he was not without grave faults
may very well be believed ; that he was not endowed with any
special intellectual gifts is certain ; but it is no less certain that he
spent his life in doing good ; so he may well be quoted as an
example of what may be accomplished by a man of ordinary parts,,
if he be diligent, enthusiastic, and in earnest.
At the age of sixty-seven, Raikes retired from business, but he
lived for about nine years to enjoy a well-earned leisure surrounded
by his family and friends. For some time before his decease, his.
health declined rapidly, and he lost his wonted strength and
elasticity ; but his end was wholly unexpected when it came upon
him suddenly, on the evening of April 5th, 181 1. He was then
in the seventy-sixth year of his age.
A great advance was made towards a scheme of national
education, some ten or twelve years after the foundation of
Sunday schools, by the introduction of what is variously known
as the Madras, the Monitorial, or the Lancastrian System. A
national policy of education must be founded on the two great
principles of efficiency and economy, and these principles imply
the existence of a large body of trained teachers, whose services
shall be available at a very moderate rate of remuneration. If the
labours of a master be limited to a few pupils, they will necessarily
be expensive ; if they be divided among a very large number,
they will necessarily be ineffective. To meet this patent difficulty,
which greatly impeded the progress of parochial and other cheap
schools, it occurred to Dr. Bell, when superintendent of the
Orphan Hospital at Madras, in 1793, to employ the elder and
more advanced pupils in the school to instruct the younger.
These youthful teachers were called monitors. In England a
54 GOOD SAMARITANS.
similar method was adopted by Joseph Lancaster, a young Quaker,
who threw himself into educational reform with equal vigour and
ability. It soon sprang into popularity, its advantages were so
obvious. A single adult superintendent could undertake the
direction of 300 or 400 pupils, when assisted by the older and
cleverer boys; while at the same time these boys were being
subjected to a very useful training, both intellectually and morally.
Not that the monitors could " teach," in the higher and better
sense of the word, but they could assist in the organization and
government of the school, they could instruct in elementary sub-
jects, and they could supervise the work of the junior classes
under the master's direction. In this way boys naturally gifted
for the scholastic profession receive the necessary discipline,
and paid monitors and pupil teachers now form a regular and
recognised part of the organization of our public schools.
Joseph Lancaster was a native of London, and born in 1778.
He is generally spoken of as springing from a Quaker stock ; but
some authorities contend that his father was at one time in the
Household Guards. When about nineteen years old, he began to
take a lively interest in the education of the masses, and anxious
to do what he could in his own small sphere, he rented a room
from his father in the Borough Road, Southwark, fitted it up for
the purposes of a school, and gradually collecting about 90 or 100
children, addressed himself to the task of teaching them. Whether
he derived any hints from a pamphlet published by Dr. Bell, in
1797, or whether the necessity of his position evolved the idea,
does not seem decided, and is of trivial importance. At all
events, he applied the monitorial system, and by its aid was
enabled to deal with constantly increasing numbers of pupils.
The success of his plan soon drew the attention of the friends
of education, and among others of the Duke of Bedford, through
whose influence Lancaster was admitted to the presence of
George III., in 1805. The King listened with interest to his
exposition, and uttered the celebrated wish " that every poor child
in his dominions might be able to read the Bible," a wish which
at this day seems within measurable distance of fulfilment. The
British and Foreign School Society, established about this time,
adopted the Lancastrian system ; in the Church, or " National "
schools, Dr. Bell's, which differed in some of its details, was gene-
DEATH OF LANCASTER. 55
rally used. But the progress of popular education was retarded
by many obstacles, and more particularly by the jealous igno-
rance of the higher orders ; so that, in 1818, in spite of Lancaster's
efforts, and the exertions of societies and private individuals, not
more than 175,000 scholars were receiving gratuitous or partly
gratuitous instruction.
But, as Henry Brougham said, "the schoolmaster was abroad;"
and an impetus had been communicated to the great cause of
National Education which it never afterwards lost.
As for Lancaster, like too many other reformers, he fell upon
evil days. His zeal for the public weal devoured his private
interests ; and after several years of energetic educational work,
which exhausted his pecuniary resources, he became insolvent in
1812. Six years later, he removed to the United States, and in
1829 crossed into Canada, always toiling unselfishly in the sacred
cause to which he had devoted the energies of a life. His method
was everywhere adopted, — but he himself was forgotten, and he
died at New York in great poverty in 1838.
If too much importance were at first attached to the Lancastrian
plan of mutual education, its influence was unquestionably
favourable to the foundation of schools by societies and indivi-
duals; and in conjunction with the Sunday-school system, it
helped to fix the attention of statesmen on the necessity of educat-
ing the masses. In 1807 Mr. Whitbread reminded the House of
Commons that the education of the people is the best security of
a popular government. What a desperate weapon, he exclaimed,
was ignorance in the hand of craft ! But how important did
craft become before an instructed and enlightened people ! " In
the adoption of a national system of education," he said, " I
foresee an enlightened peasantry, frugal, industrious, sober, orderly,
and contented; because they are acquainted with the true value
of frugality, sobriety, industry, and order. Crimes diminishing,
because the enlightened understanding abhors crime. The
practice of Christianity prevailing, because the mass of your popu-
lation can read, comprehend, and feel its divine origin, and the
beauties of the doctrines which it inculcates. Your kingdom
safe from the insults of the enemy, because every man knows the
worth of that which he is called upon to defend."
Nothing was done, however, in the direction indicated by these
GOOD SAMARITANS,
eloquent and sagacious utterances until, in 1816, Mr. Brougham,,
whose services in the cause of national education may well induce
us to forget or forgive his political eccentricities, procured from the
House of Commons the appointment of a Select Committee to
inquire into the educational condition of the poorer classes in
London, Westminster, and Southwark. The inquiries of this
committee disclosed the startling fact that a hundred and twenty
thousand children in the metropolis were without the means of
education. In 1818, the committee was re-appointed with power
to extend its investigations over a wider area. But its labours met
with the most uncompromising opposition ; and Mr. Brougham
and his colleagues, because they sought to raise the poor out of
the slough of ignorance and vice into which the neglect of the
rich had allowed them to fall, were accused of undermining the
foundations of social order. Referring to this controversy, in 1835,
when men's thoughts and feelings had undergone a salutary
change, Brougham rejoiced very naturally in the great progress
that had been made. " That bitter controversy," he said, " is at
an end — the heats which it kindled are extinguished — the matter
that engendered those heats finds equal acceptance with all
parties. . . . Those who once held that the Education Committee
was puUing down the Church by pulling down the universities and
the great schools — that my only design could be to raise some
strange edifice of power upon the ruins of all our institutions,
ecclesiastical and civil — have long ceased to utter even a whisper
against whatever was then accomplished, and have become my
active coadjutors ever since. Nay, the very history of that fierce
contention is forgotten. There are i^^ now aware of a controversy
having ever existed which, a few years back, agitated all men all
over the country ; and the measures I then propounded among
revilings and execrations, have long since become the law of the
land. I doubt whether, at this moment, there are above some
half-dozen of your lordships who recollect anything about a war-
fare which for months raged with unabated fury — which seemed to
absorb all men's attention, and to make one class apprehend the
utter destruction of our political system, while it filled others with
alarm lest a stop should be put to the advancement of the human
mind. That all those violent animosities should have passed
away, and that all those alarms be now sunk in oblivion, aff^ords a
BROUGHAM'S SCHEME OF EDUCATION. 57
memorable instance of the strange aberrations — I will not say of
public opinion, but — of party feeling, in which the history of con-
troversy so largely abounds."
For twenty years, however, the cause of national education
made but small progress in the legislature. The reports of the
Education Committee show that a large proportion of the
children of the country were being allowed to grow up in igno-
rance. In 18,500 schools, 644,000 children were supposed to put
in an attendance: of this number 166,000 were educated at
endowed schools, and 478,000 at unendowed schools, on the
week days. There were 452,000 children at 5,000 Sunday-
schools ; but we must not forget that a considerable proportion
of these children were included in the returns of the secular
schools.
The first practical scheme of national education was brought
before Parliament and the people by Henry Brougham, on the
29th of June, 1820. In introducing it, he stated that the
children requiring means of education were about one-tenth of
the whole population in England, whereas the facilities provided
were sufficient for only one-sixteenth ; while if the number were,
deducted of those who received merely a decent training in
regard to habits, such as the dame-schools and other inferior-
schools afforded, the amount of effectual teaching would be-
deplorably reduced. Large districts were destitute of all means
of instruction whatever; in others, the sole reliance was the-
Sunday-schools of the Nonconformists. In the plan which he
submitted, Brougham provided that all schoolmasters should be-
members of the Established Church ; that they should be elected,
on the recommendation of clergymen, together with that o£
resident householders ; and that they should qualify for office bp
taking the sacrament within a month of their appointment. These.-
restrictions were immediately fatal to the measure, which was
vehemently opposed by Nonconformists on the ground that it
placed' the education of the poor entirely in the hands of the
Church of England. A similar difficulty overthrew every scheme
of national education proposed during succeeding years ; the
members of the Established Church insisting upon direct religious
instruction, and the Dissenters refusing either to place the reli-
gious instruction of their children in the hands of the Church,
4
58 GOOD SAMARITANS.
or to pay for a system from which their children were necessarily
excluded. Brougham's measure was dropped, after the first read-
ing of the Bill ; but it accomplished a good work by awakening
the mind of the nation to a subject of the highest importance,
and it should always be respectfully remembered as the first
express move in the direction of national education on a uniform
system.
In 1823 was founded the London Mechanics' Institute, the
parent of a large and flourishing progeny which have done much
for the enlightenment of artisans and operatives, and the middle
classes generally. It is obvious that the members of these in-
stitutions, which are now to be found in every town and suburban
village, must be taught to appreciate to some extent the value ol
intellectual culture, and thus be led to desire the advantages ol
education for their children. When originally established, they
were designed simply to supply facilities for obtaining knowledge
to working-men, but they achieved, indirectly, an even more
important object by elevating the idea of education in the mind
of the people. They taught the masses to feel that knowledge
-was a thing to be loved and desired. They inculcated a sense of
the value of refinement, and did much to exalt the popular
standard of social morality. In their different districts they con-
stituted so many centres, whence radiated a wave of intellectual life.
To Dr. Birkbeck belongs the honour of having originated these
institutions. He had been preparing the way by bringing to-
gether classes and audiences of working-men for instruction by
lectures, direct tuition, and mutual communication. His leading
motive, and that of his coadjutors, was, to rouse the people to
educate themselves, and not to depend upon the patronage of
the wealthy or the assistance of the State. The response was
immediate and enthusiastic, for his plan came just in time to
meet an urgent need. Leaders were found in men of influence,
character, and ability; mechanics, operatives, tradesmen, pre-
sented themselves as followers. In a short time, many large
towns, such as Manchester, Sheffield, Birmingham, Liverpool,
opened Mechanics' Institutes, and gradually they spread into the
central settlements of the rural districts, everywhere awakening
a new spirit, and clearing the ground for the future establishment
of a comprehensive national system of education.
THE ''SIXPENNY SCIENCES:' 59
Mr. Constable, the Edinburgh publisher, meditated, in 1826,
"nothing less than a total revolution in the art and traffic of
Dookselling." He proposed to issue *'a three shilling or half-
crown volume every month, which must and should sell, not by
thousands or tens of thousands, but by hundreds of thousands —
ay, by millions." But the sale of his "Miscellany," a very
superior collection, was numbered only by hundreds, and the
enterprising publisher was ruined by his speculation. In 1827,
the "Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge,"* founded
by the energy of Brougham, Tooke, Charles Knight, and others,
began the publication of their sixpenny treatises, ridiculed by the
wits of the day as the " Sixpenny Sciences," — a series of really
excellent manuals, but still far from realizing the wants of the
masses in the combination of cheapness and goodness. In 1828
was opened the " London University," though it did not succeed
in obtaining a charter of incorporation until 1835. It differed
from the old universities in not requiring a residential qualification
from its members, and in excluding religious subjects from its
curriculum. In truth, it is simply a great examining corporation,
which grants its degrees and honours to all students who pass its
examinations under the prescribed conditions. As such, its in-
fluence has been immense, and it has forced the older universities
* "The institution of this society was an important feature of its times, and
•one of the honours belonging to the reign of George IV. It did not succeed
in all its professed objects ; it did not give to the operative classes of Great
Britain a library of the elements of all sciences ; it omitted some of the most
important of the sciences, and with regard to some others presented anything
rather than the elements. It did not fully penetrate the masses that most
needed aid. But it established the principle and precedent of cheap publi-
cation — cheapness including goodness — stimulated the demand for sound infor-
mation, and the power and inclination to supply that demand, and marked a
great era in the history of popular enlightenment. Bodies of men are never so
wise and so good as their aggregate of individual wisdom and goodness
pledges them to be ; and this society disappointed the expectations of the
public and of their own friends, in many ways ; but this was because the con-
ception and its earliest aspirations were so noble as they were ; and it is with
the conception and original aspiration, that, in reviewing the spirit of the
period, we have to do. Any work suggested is sure to find doers, — one set, if
not another ; it is the suggestion that is all-important in the history of the
time." — Harriet Martineau, History of the Peace, iii., 347, 348.
6o GOOD SAMARITANS.
into the adoption of a more liberal and comprehensive policy,
while it has promoted the adoption of the principle of com-
petitive examinations in all our educational institutions.
In 1832, the issue of the Penny Magazine and of Chambers's
Journal inaugurated — to use an objectionable yet convenient
word— that movement of cheap literature which, in our own time,
has attained such extensive proportions. The Penny Magazine
rose at once to a circulation of nearly 200,000 copies per week,
and drove out of the field the vulgar and immoral trash which
had previously degraded the mind of the people.
The first parHamentary grant in aid of education was voted in
1834. It was only for ^20,000; but it was a beginning, and through
subsequent years the same amount was contributed until, in 1839,.
it was raised to ;^3o,ooo. The grant was distributed in different
proportions through the National School Association, which was
in strict connection with the Church of England ; and the British
and Foreign School Society, which admitted children of all
denominations, but imposed upon them no sectarian instruction.
The principle adopted — an erroneous one, because it gave aid
where aid was least needed — was, to assist applicants in propor-
tion to the sums those applicants themselves could raise for the
building of school-houses. Experience proving the futility of
this method of procedure, the Educational Committee of the
Privy Council resolved that it should not be insisted upon, if
applications for help came from very poor and populous districts,
where no adequate amount of subscriptions was forthcoming.
But still no thought was given to the desolate districts which lay
in the two-fold gloom of utter poverty and ignorance.
A beneficent work, accompHshed at this time, was the establish-
ment and organization of a Normal School, from which might
descend "long generations of schools" for the training of teachers.
Parliament, in 1835, voted a special sum of ;^'" 10,000 for this
object.
In 1839, by an Order in Council, the management of the educa-
tion fund was vested in a Committee of the Privy Council. Thus
unpretentiously was established the Education Department of the
Government, which now administers the control and supervision
of the national system of education. To what an extent its work
gradually increased we may judge from the rapid growth of the
ENLARGEMENT OF NATIONAL EDUCATION. 6i
funds voted by Parliament; in 1852, the annual grant was
^150,000; in 1856-7, it had risen to ^451,213; in 1864, to
;^705,404. In 1872, the grant for education, science, and art
was ;£i, 55 1,560. For some years the clergy, with exceptions,
refused to allow their schools to participate in these annual
benefactions ; and a long quarrel was maintained between the
Church and the State in regard to the principles on which they
were distributed. One good result of a controversy, unfortunate
in itself, was the strong and successful effort made by the clergy
to extend and improve the National Schools, which thenceforth
played an important part in the education of the poor.
The larger measure of attention which this great subject, a
subject immediately affecting the most vital interests of the
nation, was every day receiving, was shown by the introduction,
in 1843, of 2. ministerial scheme. As explained by Sir James
Graham, it proposed that factory children between the ages of
eight and thirteen should not work for more than six hours and a
half daily ; that they should be compelled to attend schools
provided for the purpose ; the children of Churchmen, Catholics,
and Dissenters being committed, for certain prescribed hours in
every week, to the charge of their respective pastors, to be
instructed according to the religious belief of their neighbours.
The scheme was enlarged so as to include all pauper children in
the towns, and all other children whose parents consented to
their entering the schools. In this way the larger proportion of
children then uneducated would have been provided for; while
the Government held out a distinct promise of an early extension
of the system, with the view of including the neglected part of
the agricultural population. But a feature of the Government
measure was the appointment of seven trustees to each school :
four of whom were to be elective, but the other three were
required to be the clergyman of the district and two church-
wardens. As it was apprehended that this would yield a
majority of Church trustees over Dissenters, the Nonconforming
bodies initiated a strenuous resistance to the measure, and event-
ually succeeded in forcing the Government to withdraw it. The
nation, through this inopportune display of bigotry, was com
pelled to wait seven-and-twenty years for a liberal system 01
national education.
62 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Writing in 1846, Miss Harriet Martineau, a dispassionate and
intelligent observer, presents us with her view of the educational
" situation " at that date. " We have witnessed," she remarks,
"the rise and progress of Mechanics' Institutes. We have
seen a small beginning made of a State education of children.
A very small beginning it was — the whole sum of parliamentary
grants not yet reaching half a million. There has been a great
amount of virtuous voluntary effort among Churchmen, Dissenters,
employers of labour, and a multitude who were ready to aid;
but there are bounds to the ability of individuals ; and it cannot,
in the nature of things, go on expanding in proportion to that
ever-growing need. Again, the quality of the education given by
private efforts is a very uncertain matter. It can rarely be so
good as that which is planned from the united wisdom of a
people, and it is apt to be of a very low order. The sectarian
spirit which is the curse of English Society has therefore con-
demned the children of the nation to a defective education, or
to total ignorance. While in no department of benevolent action
has there been more energy and good-will than in extending
education, in none are we more behind the needs of the time.
We shall not be safe, morally, politically, or economically, till we
join in agreeing that, as each Church cannot have its own way,
nor any one, even though it be the EstabUshed Church, we must
avert the evil of ignorance in the largest class of the people, by
throwing open to all means, of sound moral and intellectual edu-
cation, leaving the religious instruction and training to the pastors
or guardians of the people."
We quote these words for two reasons : first, in order that the
reader may see what cause there is for thankfulness in the vast
educational progress that 'has taken place since they were
written ; and, second, because our national system is based upon
the too narrow principle enunciated in the last sentence. All that
the State professes to do is to encourage the moral and intellec-
tual culture of its children ; their religious training it puts aside
as a matter for private effort. It makes no attempt to bring
them up as Episcopalians, Baptists, Congregationalists, Catholics,
but as honest and efficient members of the commonwealth,
capable of contributing by their exertions to the national wealth,
and of securing their own livelihoods. Farther than this the
THE ''REVISED CODE." 6%
.State does not go ; though perhaps it might go farther without
offence to the law of rehgious liberty.
A movement on the part of the State which has exercised a
far-reaching influence took place in 1 861-2, when, acting upon
the report of an educational commission, appointed in 1858, the
Committee of the Privy Council on Education issued a *' Revised
Code " of regulations, providing, in all schools assisted by
Government grants, for regular examinations of the pupils, pay-
ment by results, evening schools for adults, and other technical
improvements. In the following year another step was made;
a " conscience clause " being added to the Code, which allowed
for the admission of children of Dissenters into the aid-supported
schools, by exempting them from religious teaching and attend-
ance at public worship.
In 1867, Earl Russell introduced into the House of Lords a
resolution which asserted the plain truth that every child has
a right to education, and recommended the appointment of a
Minister of Education, with a seat in the Cabinet. The resolution
was withdrawn ; but the discussion which it excited was satis-
factory, from the testimony it bore to the advanced views on the
subject that were rapidly finding acceptance. It began to be felt
that the time had come when the State must act with energy and
courage ; that the safety, prosperity, and honour of England de-
manded the establishment of a national system of education.
This fact was so apparent that in March 1868 the Dake of
Marlborough brought before the House of Lords a Public Ele-
mentary Education Bill ; but it was framed on too narrow a scale
to win for it any general support, and its sponsor hastened to with-
draw it. The movement received an additional impetus from the
formation, in October 1869, of the National Education League, with
the view of advocating compulsory secular education by the State.
At length, in 1870, the problem was ripe for solution, and Mr.
Gladstone's government undertook to solve it. Their *' Elemen-
tary Education Bill " was introduced into the House of Common
on the 17th of February. It provoked — as any Bill on such a
subject was sure to do — a considerable amount of vehement oppo-
sition ; the Church party not unnaturally objecting to a measure
which contained no distinct provision for religious instruction,
and the Nonconformists contending that it dealt too favourably
64 GOOD SAMARITANS,
with the Church schools. Moderate men, however, on both
sides, acknowledged that it was a fair, a judicious, and an en-
lightened attempt to settle, upon broad and intelligible principles,
a difficult subject. It passed through both Houses by large
majorities, and received the royal assent on the 9th of August.
It underwent some amendments in the direction of greater libe-
rality of spirit, in the session of 1872, and has since been left, un-
challenged, to do its great and good work. Briefly speaking, it
provides for the formation of rate supported schools in every
district where sufficient school accommodation is not furnished
by voluntary effort, and places their management in the hands of
a School Board, whose members are triennially elected by the rate-
payers. These schools share in the annual State grants according
to the proficiency of their pupils and the general excellence of
their organization. The Boards are armed with powers to compel
the attendance at school of any child whose parents or guardians
fail to supply him with due educational facilities. Thus, a really
national education is at length being supplied, and in another gene-
ration an absolutely ignorant man or woman will hardly exist upon
English ground. The instruction given is sound and broad : is re-
gulated in accordance with the Revised Code (which is constantly
undergoing amendment) of the Education Committee of the Privy
Council ; it affords the industrious pupil abundant means of equip-
ping himself with the weapons which in the battle of life ensure
success. The State has now only to draw up and set in motion a
scheme of Secondary Education, and in another quarter of a century
the power and capacities of the nation will almost be doubled by
the skilled labour of its trained and educated children. Mean-
while, what is also wanted is the infusion of a religious spirit into
our educational methods. At present, they are adapted, no doubt,
to communicate a considerable amount of exact information to
inquiring minds ; but they do not aim at producing Christian
men, who will live pure and manly lives, and resolutely endeavour
to accomplish their proper work in the economy of life. For the
high object of all rightly-conceived education will be, to fit us for
the performance of our duty, with all those faculties of intellect,
soul, and body which we have received from the Creator.
"Duty ! " Ay ; that, as George Wilson says, is " the biggest
word in the world ; " and should be uppermost in all our serious
CONDITION OF ENDOWED SCHOOLS. 65
doings. Education is successful or unsuccessful just in propor-
tion as it trains us to feel and appreciate the responsibilities of
our manhood, and to apply ourselves to discharging them nobly.
" A sacred burden is the life ye bear ;
Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly ;
Stand up and walk beneath it stedfastly."
We turn now to another branch of our subject.
" Those," says Dean Stanley, " who look back upon the state
of English education in the year 1827, must remember how the
feeling of dissatisfaction with existing institutions which had
begun in many quarters to display itself, had already directed
considerable attention to the condition of public schools," — that
is, the great endowed schools and grammar schools which we
owe to the liberal wisdom of our ancestors. " The range of
classical learning, in itself confined, and with no admixture of
other information, had been subject to vehement attacks from
the liberal party generally, on the ground of its alleged narrow-
ness and inutility. And the more undoubted evil of the absence
of systematic attempts to give a more directly Christian character
to what constituted the education of the sons of the whole
English aristocracy, was becoming more and more a scandal in
the eyes of religious men, who at the close of the last century
and the beginning of this — Wiiberforce, for example, and
Bowdler — had lifted up their voices against it. A complete
reformation, or a complete destruction of the whole system,
seemed to many persons sooner or later to be inevitable. The
iifficulty, however, of making the first step, where the alleged
objection to alteration was its impracticability, was not to be
easily surmounted. The mere resistance to change which clings
to old institutions, was in itself a considerable obstacle, and in
the case of some of the public schools, from the nature of their
constitution, in the first instance almost insuperable ; and whether
amongst those who were engaged in the existing system, or
those who were most vehemently opposed to it, for opposite but
obvious reasons, it must have been extremely difficult to find a
man who would attempt, or if he attempted carry through, any
extensive improvement."
That man, however, eventually made his appearance in the
66 GOOD SAMARITANS.
person of Dr. Thomas Arnold, head master of Rugby; a man
who stands foremost among the educational reformers of England,
who has stamped the impress of his genius on the higher educa-
tion of the age, and by his teaching and example raised up a
succession of philosophical educationists, — a man who possessed
all the most distinctive qualifications of statesmanship, and used
them for the benefit of the boys of a public school. By not a
few the apparent incongruity of a man fit to be a statesman being
employed in teaching schoolboys was felt and denounced ; but
no such incongruity was felt by Arnold himself. He took a high
and serious view of the responsibilities of tuition, and held the
opinion that no intellectual gifts could be too fine or too
abundant for the adequate fulfilment of the work of the school-
master, which, in his eyes, was almost too great a burden for
humanity to bear. For that work, as Arnold understood it,
included the development and elevation of the character, the
discipline of the heart, the purification of the soul, as well as the
cultivation of the mind. We cannot do better than leave him ,
to describe in his own simple but forcible words the qualifications
which he deemed essential to the due discharge of a master's
solemn task : *' They may," he says, ** in brief be expressed as
the spirit of a Christian and a gentleman, — that a man should
enter upon his business not ef -n-apepyov, but as a substantive
and most important duty ; that he should devote himself to it
as the especial branch of the ministerial calling which he has
chosen to follow — that belonging to a great public institution,
and standing in a public and conspicuous situation, he should study
' things lovely and of good report ; ' that is, that he should be pub-
lic-spirited, Hberal, and entering heartily into the interest, honour,
and general respectability and distinction of the society which he
has joined ; and that he should have sufificient vigour of mind and
thirst for knowledge, to persist in adding to his own stores without
neglecting the full improvement of those whom he is teaching."
A brief sketch of the life of this great educational reformer
cannot fail, I think, to be of interest to the reader, whom it may
lead on to the study of Dr. Arnold's vioble biography.
Thomas Arnold was born at Slatwoods, near East Cowes, in
the Isle of Wight, on the 13th of June, 1795, ^"^ named after
DR, THOMAS ARNOLD. 67
Thomas, Lord Bolton, then governor of the island. His father,
who came of an old Suffolk family, was collector of customs
for the port of Cowes. Afier being educated at Warminster and
Winchester, he entered the University of Oxford in 181 1. At
the degree examination in 1S14 he took a first-class ; and in
the following year was elected Fellow of Oriel College. Here
he mixed on intimate terms of friendship and sympathy with
m.any men who, in after years, exercised a large and permanent
influence upon English thought, — with the late Sir John Coleridge,
Keble, Whately, Hawkins, Hampden, and Copleston. These
friends speak of him as distinguished by the frankness and
simplicity of his manners ; the vigour and activity of his mind ;
the zeal with which he accumulated knowledge, and his delight
in dialectics, philosophy, and history. He is described as having
been vehement and almost presumptuously bold in argument ;
as of a quick temper, easily roused to indignation, yet more
easily appeased, and absolutely without bitterness ; as angered
rather by what he deemed unjust or ungenerous to others, than by
any sense of personal wrong ; as showing somewhat too little
deference to authority, yet, without any real inconsistency, an
ardent admirer of what was good and great in antiquity, partly
because it was ancient ; as in heart devout and pure, generous,
sincere, affectionate, and faithful. Altogether a noble and lovable
character, though not without its superficial flaws.
In 1819 Arnold settled at Laleham, near Staines, in Middlesex;
took unto himself a wife, Mary, daughter of the Rev. John Pen-
rose, a Nottinghamshire rector, and began to receive pupils to
prepare for the Universities. Prior to his marriage he was
admitted into the diaconate of the Church of England ; but,
owing to the conscientious scruples he entertained in reference
to some portions of the Thirty-Nine Articles and the Athanasian
Creed, he delayed taking priest's orders until 1828. He remained
at Laleham for nine years, and six of his children were born there.
They were years of great domestic happiness and of assiduous
study. He loved his work, and he threw himself into it with all
the energies of his nature. " I enjoyed," he afterwards wrote,
"and do enjoy, the society of youths of seventeen or eighteen,
for they are all alive in limbs and spirits, at least, if not in mind \
while in older persons the body and spirits often become lazy and
68 lOOD SAMARITANS.
languid, without the mind gaining any vigour to compensate for
it." One of his pupils, who in later life served under him at
Rugby, has sketched with graphic reality Arnold's mode of dealing
with his pupils, and we find in it the secret of his educational
system. He remarks that on joining the Laleham circle he
was struck at once by its wonderful healthiness of tone and
feeling; a healthiness too often absent from our great schools,
and even from those smaller educational establishments where
the influence of the master can more easily make itself felt.
Everything about the new-comer he found to be most real ; it
was obviously a place where a great and earnest work was going
forward. Now, this is exactly what, in too many schools, the
pupils do not seem to feel ; apparently they regard their work as
a sham, as something to be trifled and played with, and got rid
of as lightly and quickly as possible. They throw into it no
earnestness, no eflbrt ; take no serious view of it, or of its relation
to their future life. But it was the special excellence of Arnold
as a master that he raised the moral standard of his pupils ; he
taught them (in the words of Mr. Thomas Hughes) " that life
is a whole, made up of actions and thoughts and longings, great
and small, noble and ignoble;" that therefore our only true
wisdom is " to bring the whole Hfe into obedience to Him whose
world we live in, and who has purchased us with His blood."
After all, it is not what the master teaches from books, but what
he teaches by his daily living, that really influences for good or ill
the young minds around him. " We listened," says Hughes, " as
all boys in their better moods will listen (ay, and men too, for the
matter of that), to a man whom we felt to be, with all his heart,
and soul, and strength, striving against whatever was mean and
unmanly and unrighteous in our little world." They did not,
could not, fully understand him ; could not fully appreciate that
generous heart and noble nature ; but they knew he was loftier
and purer than themselves, and by this consciousness they gained
greatly. Just as the babe can feel, and enjoy, and be the better
for the sunshine in which it stretches out its little Hmbs, and
towards which it reaches forth its little hands, without having any
knowledge of the constituent elements of the great orb and its
photosphere whence it flows.
Dr. Arnold's great power as a private tutor rested in this, that
ARNOLD'S POWERFUL INFLUENCE FOR GOOD. 69
he gave such an intense earnestness to life, whereas most young
men are inclined to take life so lightly ! " Every pupil was made
to feel that there was a work for him to do — that his happiness
as well as his duty lay in doing that work well. Hence, an
indescribable zest was communicated to a young man's feeling
about life ; a strange joy came over him on discovering that he
had the means of being useful, and thus of being happy ; and a
deep respect and ardent attachment sprang up towards him who
had taught him thus to value life and his own self, and his work
and mission in the world. All this was founded on the breadth
and comprehensivenes of Arnold's character, as well as its striking
truth and reality ; on the unfeigned regard he had for work of all
kinds, and the sense he had of its value both for the complex
aggregate of society and the growth and perfection of the
individual. Thus, pupils of the most different natures were
keenly stimulated ; none felt that he was left out, or that, bocause
he was not endowed with large powers of mind, there was
no sphere open to him in the honourable pursuit of usefulness.
This wonderful power of making all his pupils respect themselves,,
and of awakening in them a consciousness of the duties that God
had assigned to them personally, and of the consequent reward
each should have of his labours, was one of Arnold's most
characteristic features as a trainer of youth." There was some-
thing astonishing in his hold over all his pupils. Yet the "hold,"
the influence, was due to something in the man, not in the teacher.
It was not so much their admiration of his genius, his learning,
or his eloquence, ; it was a " sympathetic thrill," caught from a
spirit that was earnestly at work in the world ; whose work was
healthy, sustained, and done in the fear of God ; a work founded
on a deep sense of its duty and its value, — caught from a spirit
that was always reverent, and humble, and sincere, so that others
could not help being invigorated by it, and catching from it a
glow of deep, and true, and lasting emotion.
Arnold's leisure at Laleham was devoted to his favourite studies
of philology and history, and he employed himself on an edition
of Thucydides, and on articles upon Roman history, written for
the Encydopcedia MetropoUtana, which prepared him for that
elaborate "History of Rome," the work of maturer years, on
which his literary reputation is chiefly based.
70 GOOD SAMARITANS.
By degrees it had become known to the public that in the
shades of Laleham lived a man with a special capacity for teaching
and a wonderful power of controlling and training the young ; a
man who had new and lofty views on the work of tuition and the
teacher's duties and responsibilities ; a man who carried the
method and spirit of a Christian philosopher into his system of ,
education: and so it came to pass that when, in August 1827, \
the head-mastership of Rugby became vacant, he was unanimously
elected to it. In June 1828 he received priest's orders from Dr.
Howley, then Bishop of London ; in April and November of the
same year took his degree of B.D. and D.D. ; and in August
entered on his new office, in which he was destined to " change
the face of education all through the public schools of England."
I think we may take it for granted that before his time the
initial axiom in school management was, that boys were the
natural enemies of their masters, and, therefore, to be watched,
cowed, and tyrannised over. Now, it was Arnold's distinguishing
merit that he made it the basis of all successful tuition that boys
were to be treated as rational beings, in whom confidence begat
confidence, and who could most easily be controlled by a formal
appeal to their honour. But he went further; he incroduced "a
religious principle " into education ; he made it part of his duty
to discipline the moral and spiritual nature as well as the intel-
lectual powers.
In the public schools, under the regime of the old race of
schoolmasters, the ''flogging-block" was constantly to the front ;
it was the alpha and omega of the old system of education. At
Jlugby, under Dr. Arnold, it was kept in the background. Arnold
ruled by attracting, influencing, and cherishing the better feelings
and aspirations of those with whom he had to deal. Flogging he
retained as a dernier ressorf, but only for moral offences, such as
lying and drinking ; while his aversion to inflicting it rendered it
still less frequent in practice than it would have been if he had
acted strictly on his own rules. His constant aim was to make
the school govern itself by elevating its public opinion. He
strove to make his pupils recognise the littleness and meanness
of those irregularities of conduct which boys too often regard as
signs of courage and resolution. He encouraged, he exhorted
ihem to be brave in well-doing, to fear God and love the truth,
ARNQLD AT RUGBY. 71
and to look upon this present life as a preparation and a rehearsal,
so to speak, for the life hereafter. But to raise their morale was
not his only, though it was his chief object : he strove to raise
also the general standard of knowledge and application. Prizes
and scholarships, therefore, were founded as incentives to study,
and examinations instituted that a pupil's acquirements might be
regularly tested. He believed, as I think most persons who have
had any lengthened experience of boys will and must believe, in
the union, as a general rule, of moral and intellectual excellence.
It is an absurd mistake to suppose that the stupid boys are
necessarily the virtuous ones. Of course, a boy may be clever
and bad; and then his cleverness will be injuriously affected by
his badness, — ^just as a strong plant may grow in an unhealthy
atmosphere, but, if it do, will assuredly deteriorate in leaf and
blossom.
Once, when preaching at Rugby, Arnold said : — " I have now
had some years' experience. I have known but too many of
those who in their utter folly have said in their heart, There was
no God j but the sad sight — for assuredly none can be more sad
— of a powerful, an earnest, and an inquiring mind seeking truth,
yet not finding it — the horrible sight of good deliberately rejected
and evil deliberately chosen — the grievous wreck of earthly wis-
dom united with spiritual folly, — I believe that it has been, that
it is, that it may be. Scripture speaks of it, the experience of
others has witnessed it ; but I thank God, that in my own
experience I have never witnessed it yet. I have still found that
folly and thoughtlessness have gone to evil ; that thought and
manliness have been united with faith and goodness." And as
his knowledge of the young increased, he was led to put increased
faith in this combination. Various reasons may be adduced in
support of it. As, for instance, that ability brings a boy into
sympathy with his teachers in the nature of his work, and in their
delight in the works of great minds; whereas a dull boy sympathises
with the uneducated, and with those to whom animal enjoyments
are the summum borrnm, sumina felicitas.
It was characteristic of Arnold that he believed in diligence, in
the power and success of steady application. He was not, like
•some masters, always on the watch for "smartness," — impatient
with the "slow and sure," — contemptuous of the plodder, however
GOOD SAMARITANS,
earnest he may be in his efforts. I think that in the race between
the hare and the tortoise, his heart and hopes went with the latter.
He was wont to relate how, on one occasion, before he went to
Rugby, he had fretted somewhat over the slowness of a pupil of
this kind, and reprimanded him sharply ; and how the boy had
looked up in his face, and pleaded — " Why do you speak angrily,
sir ? Indeed I am doing the best I can." " I never felt so much
ashamed in my life," he said ; " that look and that speech I have
never forgotten." He learned, in the course of his long experi-
ence, that the superficial cleverness in which unwise masters so
much delight bears little fruit. " If there be one thing on earth,"
he would insist, ** which is truly admirable, it is to see God's
wisdom blessing an inferiority of natural powers, when they have
been honestly, truly, and zealously cultivated."
In the classical languages and literature he p'aced the founda-
tion of his intellectual teaching. He affirmed that the study of
language seemed to him to have been given for the very purpose
of forming the human mind in youth ; and he regarded the Greek
and Latin tongues as in themselves so perfect, and at the same
time so free from the inseparable difficulty attending any attempt
to teach boys through the medium of their own spoken language,
as to be the very instruments for effecting such a work. In my
humble opinion Arnold set too high a value on the study of Greek
and Latin ; yet their essential importance in any well-considered
scheme of mental culture I am prepared to admit. It is to be
remembered, moreover, that it was Arnold who first made the
study of modern history, modern languages, and mathematics, a
regular part of the curriculum of English schools. In this respect,
as in so many other respects, his example has brought about a
precious and much-needed reform.
Much of Arnold's success was, of course, a personal success ; a
success due to the influence of his life and character. And in this
he presents a remarkable contrast to Keate of Eton and Busby of
Westminster, who were never the guides and friends of their
pupils, never moulded their minds or formed their habits, or left
upon them any distinct impression of themselves. "With very
little boys," says Dean Stanley, " his manner partook of that
playful kindness and tenderness which always marked his inter-
course with children. ... In those above this early age, and yet
A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER. 73
below the rank in the school which brought them into closer con-
tact with him, the sternness of his character was the first thing
that impressed them. . . . This was mingled with an involuntary
and, perhaps, an unconscious respect, inspired by the sense of the
manliness and straightforwardness of his dealings, and still more
by the sense of the general force of his moral character." The
elder boys cherished for him, we are told, a deep admiration,
partaking largely of the nature of awe ; and this softened into a
kind of loyalty, which remained even in the closer and more
affectionate sympathy of later years. When they left Rugby, they
felt that they had been living in a sphere of action purer than that
of the world about them; a better thought than ordinary often
reminded them how he first led to it ; and in reading the Scrip-
tures, or other works, they constantly traced back a Une of reflec-
tion that came originally from him as fi om a great parent-mind.
Here is an extract from one of his letters to Sir J. T. Coleridge,
which the reader will peruse with interest, — it is so characteristic
of Arnold as the head-master of Rugby : —
"We are going on comfortably, and, I trust, thrivingly, with
the school. We are above 200, and still looking upwards ; but I
neither expect, and much less desire, any great addition to our
numbers. The school cannot, I think, regularly expect mou
than 200 or 250 ; it may ascend higher with a strong flood, but
there will be surely a corresponding ebb after it. You mav'
imagine that I ponder over, often enough, the various discussions
that I have had with you about education, and verse-making, and
reading the poets. I find the natural leaning of a schoolmast.rr
is so much to your view of the question, that my reason is more
than ever led to think my own notions strongly required in the
present state of classical education, if it were only on the principle
of the bent stick. There is something so beautiful in good Latin
verses, and in hearing fine poetry well construed, and something so
attractive altogether in good scholarship, that I do not wonder at
masters directing an undue portion of their attention to a crop so
brilliant. I feel it growing in myself daily ; and, if I feel it, with
prejudices all on the other side, I do not wonder at its being felt
generally. But my deliberate conviction is stronger, and stronger,
that all this system is wholly wrong for the greater number of
boys. Those who have talents and natural taste and fondnesb
5
GOOD SAMARITANS.
for poetry, find the poetry lessons very useful ; the mass do nol
feel one tittle about the matter, and, I speak advisedly, do not,
in my belief, benefit from them one grain. I am not sure that
other things would answer better, though I have very little doubt
of it ; but, at any rate, the present plan is so entire a failure, that
nothing can be risked by changing it. . . .
" For your comfort, I think I am succeeding in making them
write veiy fair Latin prose, and to observe and understand some
of the differences between the Latin and English idioms. On the
other hand, what our boys want in one way they get in another ;
from the very circumstance of their being the sons of quieter
parents, they have far less vp^ts and more evrjOcLa than the boyj»
of any other school I ever knew. Thus, to say the least, they
have less of a most odious and unchristian quality, and are thus
more open to instruction, and have less repugnance to be good,
because their master wishes them to be so."
In 1 84 1, Dr. Arnold was appointed by Lord Melbourne to the
professorship of Modern History at Oxford. He delivered an
inaugural course of lectures in the following year, which attracted
a large and enthusiastic audience of students.
His contributions to historical literature were of a solid and
important character. They include a valuable edition of
Thucydides; and a " History of Rome, to the End of the Second
Punic War," which has been deservedly approved for close
reasoning, sagacious observations on men and events, and judi-
cious and always dispassionate criticism. Among his miscellaneous
works may be mentioned his " Sermons," which exhibit some of
the highest qualities of the Christian preacher; his "Commentary
on the New Testament " (unfinished), and the inaugural " Lectures
on Modern History," the sobriety and moderation of which cannot
fail to impress the reader. But it was as a man rather than as a
writer that Dr. Arnold was great ; posterity will know him, not so
much as the historian of Rome as the reformer of the public
school education of England.
It seems to us to have been his distinctive merit that he realized
that lofty ideal of education which Milton set forth in his
characteristically dignified and noble language: — '*The end of
learning," says Milton, "is to repair the ruins of our first parents by
regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love
ACCESSORIES f ERSUS ESSENTIALS. 75
Him and to imitate Him, to be like Him, as we may the nearest,
by possessing our souls of true virtue, which, being united to the
heavenly grace of faith, makes up the highest perfection. But
because our understanding cannot in this body found itself but
on sensible things, we arrive so clearly to the knowledge of God
and things invisible, as, by orderly covering over the visible and
inferior creature, the same method is necessarily to be followed in
all discreet teaching." Here the purpose and object of education,
as Arnold understood it, are plainly set forth. It is not to teach
reading or writing, or anything else, except as a means to an end ;
not to teach even the higher, the more abstruse branches of know-
ledge ; but to inspire the young mind with an admiration of the
beautiful, and the young heart with a deep love of whatsoever is
pure and holy. Dr. Arnold taught that the motive of all wise
culture must be, that a man may learn to walk humbly before his
God and uprightly among his fellows ; that he may sow the seed
of a good example wherever he plants his feet ; that he may
subdue his rebellious passions, discipHne his wild desires, think
high thoughts, and glow with noble sympathies. The error we so
frequently commit is in discussing the accessories as if they were
the essentials. Children are not sent to school that they may be
encouraged to possess their "souls of true virtue," but that theymay
acquire so much of linguistic and scientific learning as will assist
them in "getting on in the world." How far they will be helped
to prepare themselves for that other world which lies beyond the
narrow limits of human speculation is, to few of us, a matter of
lively concern. " The inquiry of truth," says Bacon, "which is the
love-making or wooing of it; the knowledge of truth, which is the
presence of it ; and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it —
is the sovereign good of human nature." It was this "sovereign
good " which Arnold taught his pupils to pursue. Unfortunately
it meets with scant recognition in our primary and secondary
schools ; in i^^^ of even our larger and more pretentious academic
mstitutions. In these the "sovereign good" is to gain the
highest number of marks in a competitive examination ; or to leap,
jump, and run almost as well as a professional athlete. The
inquiry, the knowledge, and the belief of truth, for instance, are
hardly permitted by those " public athletic games," in which, for
the prize of an electro plated cud or vase of vulgar design, our
76 GOOD SAMARITANS.
"young gentlemen" assume the attire of the acrobats of the circus,
and in the presence of applauding but surely unthinking " friends/'
compete in the "high jump" or "hundred yards' race." To
guide our children, as Arnold guided them, into the right path of
a noble and virtuous education, is the great national enterprise
which still, in spite of all that has been accomplished, awaits
consummation ; an enterprise infinitely worthier of a statesman's
energies than the puny political objects on which they are too
often wasted.
" Man," says Bishop Berkeley, in his " Siris," " is formidable,
both from his passions and his reason ; his passions often urging
him to great evils, and his reason furnishing the means to
achieve them." To train this creature of passion and reason ;
to make him amenable to Christian law; to accustom him to
a sense of justice and virtue ; to dissuade him from the pursuit of
evil, and to encourage him in the pursuit of good \ to impress
upon him that this life is but the cradle and nursery of faculties
which will be fully developed hereafter in proportion to their
measure of cultivation, here, — the aptest method of attaining such
ends as these, was Arnold's conception of a " liberal education."
But what kind of contribution towards it is made by that section
of educational reformers who seek to exclude from our schools
that religious element which Arnold valued so highly ? And why ?
Because the instruction given is, they say, "sectarian." Such an
objection comes strangely enough from men who, in their own
religious professions, are sectarian or denominational; who
belong, that is, to one particular religious body, recognizing its
form of government, and adopting its formularies. But let that
pass. Supposing that the religious teaching in the Board Schools
is, like the religious teaching in church or chapel, " sectarian,'' is
it not better than none at all ? The writer strongly doubts, how-
ever, whether children can ever be made to accept and retain the
shibboleths of the sects. How much of the theological portion
of any catechism sinks into the mind of a child ? Is not the hard,
cold, and abstruse doctrinal matter instinctively rejected, while
only its lessons of moral duty are taken up and absorbed? Are
such lessons worthless ? Is not their impression carried far on
into later life? And is it nothing that boy or girl learns the
wickedness of falsehood, the terrible consequences of sin ? Alas !
ARNOLD' S LAST LESSONS. 77
the cardinal defect of our educational system is that it is not
religious enough. Yet, from the vivid pages of history, what
lessons might not a judicious teacher draw in illustration of the
workings of God's providence? How would a survey of the
physical aspects of earth assist him in demonstrating the Divine
wisdom, and, yet more, the Divine love! And how, in every
branch of study, in every stage of intellectual progress, might not
the pupil be brought to reverence the beauty of holiness, and to
receive into his soul the sacred lights of honour, and truthfulness,
and love ! To do true and lofty deeds, to live the life of a true
and noble spirit, — this is the great lesson which the teacher shculd
inculcate hour by hour, and day by day. But how is it to be
taught if we draw a broad line of demarcation in our every-day
teaching between the " religious " and the " secular " ?
But we have digressed from our subject.
On the 5th of June, at the end of the summer half-year, and
before the final dispersion of the boys for the holidays, Dr. Arnold
preached in Rugby Chapel what proved to be his farewell sermon.
In the preceding fortnight he had suffered from a feverish attack,
but he appeared to have recovered his usual health, and also his
usual spirits and energy, and was eagerly looking forward to his
accustomed holiday at Fox How, his pretty rural residence
"among the lakes." On Saturday, the nth, after examining
some of his pupils in Ranke's " History of the Popes," he was
engaged in finishing the business of the school, distributing the
prizes, and taking leave of boys whose school course was closed.
By his own form, or class, it was afterwards remembered, with
pathetic interest, that the last subject he had set them for an
exercise was '' Domus Ultima " : the last translation for Latin verses
was from Spenser's lines on the death of Sir Philip Sydney, in his
*' Ruins of Time " ; and the last words with which he closed his
last lecture on the New Testament were uttered in comment on the
passage of St. John : " It doth not yet appear what we shall be ;
but we know that when He shall appear we shall be like Him,
for we shall see Him as He is." " So, too," he said, "in the Corin-
thians — 'For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to
face ! ' Yes," he added, with fervour, " the mere contemplation
of Christ shall transform us into His Hkeness."
At nme o'clock he gave a supper, according to custom, to the
78 GOOD SAMARHANS.
Sixth Form boys of his own house. They were impressed by the
vivacity and cheerfulness of his manner, as he spoke of the end of
the half-year, and of the pleasure with which he looked forward to
his visit to Fox How.
Before retiring to rest he made an entry in his diary, which,
read by the light of what afterwards occurred, carries with it a
solemn significance: —
" Saturday evening, June nth. — The day after to-morrow is my
birthday, if I am permitted to live to see it — my forty-seventh
birthday since my birth. How large a portion of my life on earth
is already passed ! And then — what is to follow this life ? How
visibly my outward work seems contracting and softening away
into the gentler employments of old age. In one sense, how
nearly can I say, ' Vixi ! ' And I thank God that, as far as
ambition is concerned, it is, I trust, fully mortified. I have no
desire other than to step back from my present place in the
world, and not to rise to a higher. Still there are works which,
with God's permission, I would do before the night cometh ;
especially that great work, if I might be permitted to take part in
it. But, above all, let me mind my own personal work, to keep
myself pure and zea lous and believing, labouring to do God's will,
yet not anxious that it should be done by me rather than by others
if God disapproves of my doing it."
Between five and six o'clock on Sunday morning he awoke
with a sharp pain across his chest, which he mentioned to his
wife, on her asking him how he felt, adding that he had expe-
rienced it slightly on the preceding day, both before and after
bathing. " He then again composed himself to sleep ; but her
watchful care, always anxious, even to nervousness, at the least
indication of illness, was at once awakened, and on finding from
him that the pain increased, and that it seemed to pass from his
chest to his left arm, her alarm was so much roused, from a
remembrance of having heard of this in connection with angina
pectoris and its fatal consequences, that, in spite of his remon-
strances, she rose and called up an old servant, whom they
usually consulted in cases of illness. Reassured by her con-
fidence that there was no ground for fear, but still anxious,
Mrs. Arnold returned to his room. She observed him, as she
CHEERFULNESS AND PA TIENCE IN SUFFERING, 79
WdS dressing herself, lying still but with his hands clasped, his
lips moving, and his eyes raised upwards as if engaged in prayer,
when all at once he repeated firmly and earnestly, ' And Jesus
said unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen thou hast
believed \ blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have
believed ; ' and soon afterwards, with a solemnity of manner and
depth of utterance which spoke more than the words themselves,
' But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers,
then are ye bastards and not sons.' "
But as the symptoms did not pass away, Mrs. Arnold at length
despatched messengers for medical assistance. At a quarter to
seven it arrived. To the physician's inquiries the sick man
replied calmly and clearly, though evidently suffering very
seriously. In the absence of Mrs. Arnold, who had gone to call
up her son, he asked what his illness was ; the physician
answered, disease of the heart. In his peculiar manner of
recognition he exclaimed, " Ha ! " and then on being asked if
he had ever in his life fainted, " No, never." " Had he ever had
difficulty of breathing?" "No, never." "If he had ever had
sharp pain in the chest ? " " No, never." " If any of his family
had ever had disease of the chest?" "Yes, my father had — he
died of it." "What age was he?" "Fifty-three." "Was it
suddenly fatal ? " " Yes, suddenly fatal." He then asked, " If
disease of the heart was a common disease ? " " Not very
common." "Where do we find it most?" "In large towns, I
think." "Why?" Two or three causes were mentioned. "Is
it generally fatal ? " " Yes, I am afraid it is."
The physician quitted the house for medicines, leaving Mrs.
Arnold, who by this time was fully aware of her husband's danger.
Her son now entered the room, but without any serious appre-
hension. On his coming up to the bed, his father, with his usual
gladness of expression towards him, asked, " How is your deaf-
ness, my boy ? " (he had been suffering from it the night before),
and then, in playful allusion to an old jest against him, " You
must not stay here — you know you do not like a sick room."
Presently his father said to him, in a low voice, " My son, thank
God for me," and as his son did not at once catch his meaning,
he went on saying, " Thank God, Tom, for giving me this pain :
I have suffered so little pain in my life that I feel it is very good
8o GOOD SAMARITANS.
for me, now God has given it to me, and I do so thank Him
for it." And again, after a pause, " How thankful I am that my
head is untouched." His wife, turning to the Prayer-Book, began
to read the exhortation in " the Visitation of the Sick," he listening
with deep attention, and at the end of many of the sentences
emphatically saying, "Yes."
" There should be no greater comfort to Christian persons than
'o be made like unto Christ." "1^5."
" By suffering patiently troubles, adversities, and sickness."
•' Yesr
" He entered not into His glory before He was crucified." " Yes.''
At the words " everlasting life " she stopped, and his son said,
" I wish, dear papa, we had you at Fox How." Dr. Arnold did
not answer, but the last conscious look which remained fixed in
his wife's memory was the look of intense love and tenderness
with which he smiled upon them both at that moment.
The physician returned with the usual remedies, which he
proceeded to apply. The spasms recurred slightly ; and Arnold
remarked, " If the pain is again as severe as it was before you
came, I do not know how I can bear it." He then, with his
eyes fixed upon the physician, who rather felt than saw them
upon him, so as to make it impossible not to answer the exact
truth, repeated one or two of his former questions about the cause
of the disease, and ended with asking '' Is it Hkeiy to return ? "
and on being told that it was, *' Is it generally suddenly fatal ? "
*' Generally." On being asked whether he had any pain, he
replied that he had none but from the mustard plaster on his
chest, with a remark on the severity of the spasms in comparison
with this outward pain ; and then a few moments afterwards
inquired what medicine was to be given, and on being told,
answered, "Ah, very well." The physician, who was dropping
the laudanum into a glass, turned round and saw him looking
quite calm, but with his eyes shut. In another minute he heard
a rattle in the throat and a convulsive struggle, flew to the bed,
caught his head upon his shoulder, and called to one of the
servants to fetch Mrs. Arnold. She had but just left the room
before his last conversation with the physician, in order to
i-cquaint her son with his father's danger, of which he was still
unconscious, when she heard herself called from above. She
HIS LABOURS THE BEST MEMORIAL. 8i
Tushed upstairS; told her son to bring the rest of the children,
and with her own hands applied the remedies that were brought
•in the hope of reviving animation, though herself feeling, from
the moment that she saw him, that he had already passed away.
He was indeed no longer conscious. The sobs and cries of
the children, as they entered and saw their father's state,
made no impression upon him ; the eyes were fixed, the coun-
tenance was unmoved, there was a heaving of the chest, deep
-gasps escaped at prolonged intervals, and just as the usual medical
attendant arrived, and as the old school-house servant, in an
agony of grief, rushed with the others into the room, in the hope
'Of seeing his master once more, he breathed his last.
I cannot dwell here upon the painful impression produced by
the sudden death of the great schoolmaster. He was buried on
the following Friday in Rugby Chapel, where a memorial has
since been erected to him; but the most fitting and enduring
-memorial is that new spirit in public-school education which he
was the first to inspire and foster. In his stanzas entitled " Rugby
Chapel," his poet-son, Mr. Matthew Arnold, has poured out a
tribute of affectionate praise, which has become part and parcel of
'Our literature. He says : —
** But thou wouldst not alone
Be saved, my father ! alone
Conquer and come to thy goal,
Leaving the rest in the wild.
We M'ere weary, and we
Fearful, and we, in our march,
Fain to drop down and to die.
Still thou turnedst, and still
Beckonedst the trembler, and still
Gavest the weary thy hand !
If, in the paths of the world,
Stones might have wounded thy fee%
Toil or dejection have tried
Thy spirit, of that we saw
Nothing ! to us thou wert still
Cheerful, and helpful, and firm.
Therefore to thee it was given
Many to save with thyself;
And, at the end of thy day,
O faithful shepherd ! to come,
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand,'
82 GOOD SAMARITANS.
As a pendant to the foregoing sketches of English educational^
reformers, we shall furnish a brief memoir of John Frederic
Oberlin, who has some claim to be regarded as the inventor or
creator of industrial schools.
Oberlin was born at Strasburg, on the 31st of August, 1740..
He was one of nine children, whom his father, a man of respect
able character and considerable attainments, though not in affluent
circumstances, educated with great care. Some interesting anec-
dotes are told of the child's early years, which seem to confirm
the old adage that "the boy makes the man." The elder Oberlin,.
limited as were his means, was accustomed to give each of his.
children a couple of pfenninge (rather less than \d. English) as-
weekly pocket-money. When the tailor's or shoemaker's bill was
brought home on a Saturday night, Frederic, who knew his-
father's anxiety always to discharge a claim immediately, would
watch his countenance, and if he judged from its downcast ex-
pression that he was in want of money, would haste to his savings'
box, and return in triumph to empty into his parent's hands his-
little treasure of accumulated pfenninge.
It is also related that, one day, when he was crossing the-
market-place, he saw some rough boys knock off a basket ot
eggs from the head of a countrywoman. Frederic, observing,
the woman's distress, rebuked the boys sharply, ran home, and
fetching his store, presented her with the whole of it. On*
another occasion, he was passing by the stall of a vendor of
old clothes. A poor and infirm woman was endeavouring, but
without success, to cheapen some article she was specially desirous-
of purchasing. To complete the sum demanded she wanted two
sous ; and she was on the point of leaving the stall, sorely disap-
pointed, when Frederic slipped the two sous into the dealer's
hands, whispered to him to complete the sale, and then ran away
before the woman could pour her thanks into his ear.
Oberlin, like most men who have become known for their
greatness or their goodness, owed a great deal to his mother's
practice and precept. She was sincerely desirous of bringing up
her children in the " nurture and admonition of the Lord " ; and
for this purpose assembled them every evening to read, and pray,
and sing hymns. By way of relaxation, their father, every Thurs-
day evening in the summer months, would accompany them to
OB ERLIN— CHRISTIAN WARFARE, 83
his old family estate at Schiltigheim. On arriving there, he
would fasten an old drum to his waist, draw up his seven bloom-
ing boys in military array, and make them face to right and left,
and go through other military evolutions, to the noisy music
of his drum. It has been suggested that the zest with which
Frederic joined in this exercise may have begotten his early par-
tiality for the military profession. While quite a lad, he would
mingle with the soldiers, and march by their side : and, having
attracted the attention of the officers by his knowledge of sieges
and battles, he obtained permission to join in their exercises. It
was under a peaceful banner, however, that he was destined to
enlist, and in an army which owns as its captain the Lord Jesus
Christ. Frederic's father required him to give up this fancy
"soldiering," and devote himself to serious study. Heat once
obeyed, and set to work with such diligence and good-will that he
sf>on regained the time he had lost. What impelled him to take
orders, however, is not known ; it was, perhaps, with no very
decided convictions that he became a student in the theological
class at the University; but he was confirmed in his resolution,
and encouraged to take up the cross of Christ, by the preaching
of a Dr. Lorentz.
He was ordained in 1760. Seven years passed, however, before
he obtained a pastoral charge, and from 1760 to 1767 he acted
as private tutor in the family of an eminent surgeon, Ziegenhagen,
in that capacity acquiring a knowledge of medicine which, in after
life, proved of singular usefulness. In 1767 he accepted the
chaplaincy to a French regiment, and in the same year was
offered the curacy of the Ban de la Roche, a valley of the Vosges
in the province of Alsace. It was not an attractive sphere of
pastoral labour, for the emoluments were scanty, while the inhabi-
tants were unpolished ; but it seemed a field where much good
work might be done, and with a blithe heart he entered upon it
He arrived at Waldbach, the principal village in the district, on
the 30th of March, 1767, being then in his twenty-seventh year.
Of the flock over whom he was set as guide, teacher, and
spiritual father, we have the following description : —
They were wholly destitute of the means of mental and social
intercourse. They spoke a rude patois, resembling the Lorraine
dialectj which was almost unintelligible to their neighbours.
^4 GOOD SAMARITANS.
From the surrounding districts they were shut off by the want of
roads, which, owing to the ravages of war, and the decrease of
population, had so completely disappeared, that the sole mode of
communication between the larger part of the parish and the
neighbouring towns was by stepping-stones across the river
Bruche. The husbandmen lacked the most necessary agricultural
. implements, and had no means of procuring them. The produce
f of the soil was inadequate to the support of even a scanty popu-
lation. And finally, the restraints of feudalism, more fatal than
the sterile land and ungenial climate, threw the most serious
obstacles in the way of successful industry.
Few less inviting fields of labour, from a worldly point of view,
could easily be found. Oberlin, however, placing his hope and
trust in God, determined to attempt its cultivation.
The most salutary reform cannot be effected without exciting
antagonism, — an antagonism generally the more violent as the
reform is the more obviously needful ; and reformers even in the
Bans de la Roche of the world must count upon meeting with
enemies and persecutors. The laudatores teiiiporis acti, the ad-
herents of the " old ways," determined at the outset to resist their
pastor's benevolent innovations, and concocted a plan for way-
laying him and beating him into a proper spirit of conservatism.
It happened, however, that the plot became known to Oberlin,
who took a characteristic way of frustrating the designs of its
authors. On the Sunday, the day they had chosen for carrying
them out, he preached a discourse upon the beauty of Christian
patience and the forgiving spirit, taking as his trxt those words
of our Saviour, so loving in themselves, but so hard to under-
stand, — " But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil, but whoso-
ever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other
also." After service he proceeded alone to the house where the
conspirators had assembled, and entering stood in their midst :
" Here am I, my friends," he said, as they gazed upon him with
astonishment, " I am acquainted with your intention. You have
wished to chastise me, because you consider me culpable. If
I have violated the rules of conduct which I have enjoined upon
yourselves, punish me for it. It is better that I should deliver
myself into your hands, than that you should be guilty of the
meanness of lying in ambush." These simple words, and this
HIS GREAT INFLUENCE- ROAD-MAKJNG. 85
unswerving courage, moved the peasants to shame and contrition,,
and they implored their pastor's forgiveness, which, we need
hardly say, was granted immediately.
Oberlin's sagacious eye perceived at the outset the necessity of
repairing and restoring the roads, so as to bring the peasants oi
the Ban de la Roche into contact with the civilization of the
neighbouring districts. The most important height was that
which led, or ought to lead, to Strasburg ; and, assembling his
people, he proposed that they should blast the rocks, and with
the shattered masses construct a wall to support a road, about a
mile and a half in length, along the banks of the river Bruche,
and a bridge across the river near Rothau. His project was at
once pronounced impracticable. Oberlin continued : — *' The
produce of your fields will then find a ready market, and instead
of being shut up in your villages nine months out of twelve, you.
will be enabled to keep up an intercourse all the year round with
the inhabitants of the neighbouring districts. You will have the-
opportunity of procuring a number of articles of which you have
long stood in need, without the possibility of obtaining them ; and
your happiness will be increased by the additional means thus-
afforded of providing comforts for your children and yourselves."
And meeting with no response, he exclaimed : — " Let all who
understand the importance of my proposition come and work
with me."
With a pickaxe on his shoulder he sallied forth. The peasants,
who had been inexorable to argument, yielded immediately to-
example, and hastily procuring their tools, they followed their
pastor. To each individual he assigned a suitable position,
reserving for himself and a faithful friend the most difficult and
dangerous places ; then, with great enthusiasm, all set lustily tO'
work, and the air resounded with the din of hammer and pickaxe.
The enthusiasm spread. Recruits poured in from every village,
rendering necessary an increased number of implements. He
procured them from Strasburg, and when his funds were ex-
hausted applied to his friends. Walls were raised to support the
earth at all points where landslips seemed probable ; the torrents^
were diverted into more convenient courses, or retained within
embankments ; arches were thrown over ravines, and the whole-
work was pressed forward with such perseverance and skill that^
S6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
in 1770, Strasburg was reached, and a neat wooden bridge, still
known as the " Pont de Charity," thrown across the river. The
benefits of this remarkable achievement were felt at once, and, as
a consequence, Oberlin's influence over his parishioners was so
confirmed and established that thenceforth he secured the ready
adoption of his successive plans. Highways were soon con-
structed between the various villages of the "Stony Valley,"
which had hitherto been practically isolated. The energy of the
workers surmounted every obstacle ; and it was a pleasant and
suggestive sight to see, every Monday morning, some two hundred
stalwart men starting forth, with the earnest pastor at their head
who, the day before, had been revealing to them the " oracles of
God."
When their agricultural tools and implements broke or stood in
need of repair, considerable delay and loss were caused by the
necessity of sending them to Strasburg. To remedy this serious
•evil, the indefatigable Oberlin established a large depot in Wald-
bach, where purchasers could easily supply themselves, credit
being given under suitable conditions. He also founded a loan
society for the assistance of the deserving poor, insisting, however,
•on the utmost punctuality of repayment. Discovering that there
were neither masons nor blacksmiths nor cartwrights in the
•district, which was greatly inconvenienced by the want of these
necessary trades, he selected some of the cleverest and steadiest
of the elder boys, and sent them to Strasburg to be instructed in
them. This plan provided a supply of good workmen, who, on
their return, plied their various avocations with industry and
success; and thus the money which had previously gone to
Strasburg was circulated in the district, to the rapid increase of
its prosperity. Money had previously been so scarce that the
gift of a single sou would overwhelm a poor woman with gratitude,
because it enabled her to purchase some salt to eat with her
potatoes. And finally, he directed his efforts to improve the
house-accommodation of his people. Their dwellings were miser-
able cabins, like those of the commoner peasants, — hewn out of
the rocks, or sunk into the sides of the mountains ; but under his
energetic direction decent cottages arose, with a deep and ample
■cellar to each, where their potatoes, their staple article of food,
<:ould be preserved trom the winter frost. In truth, Oberlin was
EXAMPLE BETTER THAN PRECEPT.
87
not so much the priest and religious guide of a parish as the
founder and patriarch of a community.
Solicitous to increase the resources of the district, as the best
means of raising it out of its pauperism, he resolved on the intro-
duction of orchard-planting. But knowing that an agricultural
population would listen with suspicion, and, perhaps, contempt,
^ to any teaching of his on a subject which they would regard as
peculiarly their own, he proceeded with much ingenuity to influence
them by example. The parsonage-grounds were crossed by public
footpaths, and therefore lay open to constant inspection. With
the aid of his servant, he trenched them carefully, and planted, four
or five feet deep, such fruit-trees — apples, pears, plums, cherries, and
walnuts — as he thought best fitted to the soil and climate. In due
time these grew and flourished, and with their crops of mature
fruit presented a striking contrast to the nakedness around. The
peasants at once applied to him for advice and assistance ; young
plants were readily furnished, lessons in the art of grafting found
eager listeners ; and before long almost every cottage was sur-
rounded by its smiling garden-ground, and the district, previously
so bare and desolate, assumed an aspect of fertility and plenty.
The indigenous plants of the Ban de la Roche were not neg-
lected, and Oberlin, who was a good botanist, took much trouble
to make his people acquainted with their excellent properties.
Here is a list of the most useful : —
Brassica oleracea .
Stellaria media
Cerastium aquaticum
Chenopodium bonus-IIsnricus
Leontodon autumnale
Epilobium montanu*Ti ,
Ranunculus ficaria . ,
Galeobdolon luteum ,
Lamium album . ,
Humulus lupulus . •
Anagallis arvensis . «
Plantago major , ,
Ranunculus acris . •
Polygonum bistorts .
Rumex acetosa . ,
Valeriana locusta . •
Cucubalus behen . •
Sisymbrium nasturtium .
Agrostemma githago
Stripe-flowered cabbage.
Common chickweed.
Water mouse-ear chickweed.
Common goose-foot.
Common dandelion.
Mountain willow-herb.
Buttercup.
Yellow dead-nettle.
White dead-nettle.
Common hop.
Red pimpernel.
Great plantain.
Upright crowfoot.
Twisted snake-weed.
Common sorrel.
Lamb's lettuce.
Bladder campion.
Watercress.
Corn cockle.
88 GOOD SAMARITANS.
The usefulness of some of these is not well understood even in
rural England.
Oberlin taught his pupils to mix the corn-cockle seeds with corn
in making their black bread; to obtain bread from beech-nuts;
and — a more doubtful good — to distil a kind of wine, called
piquette, from the wild berry, the dog-rose, or the juniper. He
also introduced the cultivation of flax and Dutch clover.
In 1778 he made a further step in advance by establishing an
Agricultural Association, composed of the more intelligent farmers
and the better-informed inhabitants. The pastors of the adjacent
towns and some of his friends became members ; and he then
connected it with that of Strasburg, in order to secure the com-
munication of periodical works, and assistance in the distribution
of prizes. The Strasburg Society, with the view of encouraging
its interesting auxiliary, placed at its disposal a sum of two
hundred francs, to be divided among such peasants as should
most distinguish themselves in the planting of nursery grounds
and the grafting of fruit-trees.
While thus vigorously endeavouring to improve the material
condition of his people, Oberlin did not neglect their spiritual ;
and the earnestness and zeal which he threw into the discharge of
his pastoral duties may be seen from the following New Year's
address to his parishioners, issued in 1779 • —
" Through the grace of God we have entered upon a New Year.
Oh that it may be new with respect to our sins, our sufferings,
and the temptations with which we may have to combat !
" As to sins, may their number diminish daily, and may we be
more constantly animated and governed by the spirit of our Lord
Jesus Christ. As to sufferings and tribulations, may they produce
the effect which God designs in sending them, namely, that of
detaching our affections from this transitory world, and of render-
ing us attentive to His Will and Word. May they quicken us to
prayer ; and induce us to strive more earnestly to enter in at * the
strait gate,' and to ' press toward the mark for the prize of our
high calling.' And as to the temptations which may be placed in
our way, may we live entirely to Jesus Christ, and maintain
constant communion with Him, in order that we may receive,
from time to time, fresh supplies of grace and strength to resist
them, and be enabled to bring forth fruits of righteousness, to the
OB ER LIN'S FASrORAL ADDRESS. \.^
glory of God and to the honour of His holy gospel. O Lord, bf
Thou pleased, with the renewal of the year, to renew our strength \
O Lord Jesus Christ, Thou hast said, * I make all things new ' — O
make our faith new also !
" May this year be marked by a more lively, more deep, and
more serious repentance ; by greater fervour in supplicating the
influences of God's Holy Spirit ; by renewed earnestness in devot-
ing ourselves to Him and to His service. May we look to Him,
and employ all our mental and bodily powers, our time, and our
property, to His glory, and to the purpose for which Jesus quitted
His throne, namely, the conversion and happiness of mankind.
O may we, this year, apply ourselves, with renewed faithfulness,
to obey all His commandments and all His precepts.
" May this year be distinguished by an increase of the number
of the children of God, and of the followers of Jesus Christ ; by the
weakening of the kingdom of Satan within us, and by the coming
of the kingdom of God.
" May we, not only during the present, but, also, during each
succeeding year which God shall grant us in this probationarj
world, become more and more prepared for a blessed eternity,
abound more in prayers of intercession and supplication, shed
more tears of penitence, contrition, love, and pity, and perform}
more good works, in order that we may reap an abundant harvest
on that day when God, through Jesus Christ, shall ' make alii
things new.' "
Into no branch of his work did Oberlin throw himself withi
greater fervour than into the educational. The instruction of the
young occupied his thoughts from the moment that he began his.
beneficial career in the Ban de la Roche. At that time the only-
regular school-house in the five villages which composed his;
charge was a hut belonging to his predecessor, which having
been constructed of unseasoned wood, was in a ruinous and
wretched condition. We are told, however, that his parishioners
received very unfavourably his proposition to build a more com-
modious one. The better education of their children was as
nothing compared with the increased expense which they found
he intended to bring upon them. And he did not succeed in
overcoming their opposition until he entered into a formal engage-
ment with the overseers of the Commune, that neither the expense
6
90 GOOD SAMARITANS.
of building nor the cost of repairing the projected school-house
should ever become chargeable on the parish funds.
To defray the unavoidable expenditure, he sought assistance
from some friends in Strasburg. His applications were not un-
successful, but their donations were inadequate to the object he
had in view. Yet, placing his trust in God, he began his philan-
thropic enterprise, and as the work went on, additional help was
forthcoming ; his faith found an abundant reward ; the school-
house was finished; and, as good work has a habit of multiplying
itself, in the course of a few years a school-house was erected
in each of the other five villages. Such was the influence of a
noble example, that the inhabitants voluntarily came forward
and took upon themselves the labour and cost of their erection.
Meantime, Oberlin assiduously trained a number of teachers for
^hese schools ; and observing with anxiety the neglect from
which the younger children suffered while their elder brothers
;and sisters were carefully looked after, he conceived the idea of
'establishing infant schools — of which he was thus the creator and
founder.
Observation and experience had taught him that, even from
rthe very cradle, children can be accustomed to distinguish between
right and wrong, and inured to habits of industry and obedience :
■and in conjunction with his wife, he engaged and trained con-
ductrices for each commune, hired larger rooms for them, and
salaried them at his own expense. The useful and the agreeable
went hand in hand in the curriculum adopted ; recreation alternated
with instruction ; and whilst sufficient discipline was insisted upon
to preserve order and teach the habit of obedience, a considerable
degree of freedom was allowed, and the infant's mind and body
were both allowed room for expansion. During school hours
the children were collected on forms in large rings or circles.
Two women were employed, the one to direct the work, the
other to teach and amuse the workers. While the children of two
or three years of age were made at intervals to sit quietly by,
those of five or six were tauglit to knit, spin, and sew ; as soon as
they showed signs of weariness, their governess placed before
them scriptural pictures, coloured, or natural history subjects,
making them repeat after her the explanations she gave. A
similar plan was adopted with geographical maps of France,
HIS SCHOOLS AND INFANT SCHOOLS, ^^
Europe, and the Ban de la Roche. They were also taught to
sing moral songs and hymns.
As soon as they were old enough, the children thus carefully
trained were removed to the public schools, in which were taught
reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, the elements of agriculture,
astronomy, and sacred and profane history ; the religious instruc-
tion Oberlin, notwithstanding his many labours, reserved to him-
self. Every Sunday the village children assembled at the church,
to sing the hymns they had learned, to recite the religious lessons
they had committed to memory during the week, and to listen tc
their pastor's exhortations. As a specimen of those hymns, the
following may be interesting. It is distinguished by its simplicity \ —
**Je ne saurois de I'annee
Sans toi commencer le cours,
Auteur de ma destinee !
Sage Arbitre de mes jours !
Entre tes mains je remets
Ma personne et mes projets :
Je t' adore et ja te prie
De renouveller ma vie.
** Guide-moi par ta lumiere,
Soutiens-moi par ton amour
Dans la nouvelle carriere.
Que je commence en ce jour }
Affranchis-moi de I'erreur ;
Excite et porte mon coeur
A ne vouloir, a ne faire
Que le bien, qui pent te plairc*
"J'ai des ma plus tendre infance
Souvent transgresse ta loi ;
II est temps que je commence
A me rapprocher de toi :
Pour assurer mon bonheur
Fais qu'une sainte frayeur
Me porte a la penitence
Pour disarmer ta vengeance.
**Daigne augmenter cette annee
En moi tes graces, Seigneur 1
Que mon ame illuminee
Se devoue a ton honneur;
Et qu'un fidele Chretien,
M'attachant toujours au bien,
g* GOOD SAMARITANS.
Et fuyant I'hypocrisie,
Je te consacre ma vie.
** Dieu tout-bon ! fais que je passe
Cette annee heureusement ;
Jesus ! fais luire ta face
Sur moi favorablement :
Rends-moi ferme dans la foi,
Pour vivre et mourir en toi,
Et pour avoir en partage
De tes elus I'heritage."
Once a week Oberlin gathered all the scholars in the village
schools at Waldbach, and compared the progress they^ made under
their different instructors, rewarding the diligent, and by a kindly
word of counsel shaming the laggard.
His efforts, so sagaciously conceived, and so energetically
carried out, met with such success that his Strasburg friends were
induced to increase their subscriptions ; and Oberlin was thus
enabled to establish a public library, to print several school books
for the use of his district ; to make a collection of indigenous
plants, and to procure a number of philosophical and mathe-
matical instruments. Prizes were likewise awarded to both
masters and scholars ; and various works upon natural history
and other branches of science, some of which he printed at his
own expense, were put in circulation on the plan of a little book-
society, being retained for three months at a time, first at one
village and then at another, passing successively from house to
house, in order that the younger members of the family might be
supplied with a continual fund of useful and agreeable infor-
mation.
The thoroughly practical character of Oberlin's mind, and his
abundant " common sense " — no other phrase is so true or ex-
pressive — is strikingly illustrated in the plain and forcible remarks
he appended to a little Almanack which he annually drew up for
the use of his parishioners. Oberlin was an enthusiast and a
reformer ; and it is a kind of traditional belief that enthusiasts and
reformers are very imaginative and visionary persons. Such
a belief can hardly be maintained in the face of the calm reason
dbleness of the following : —
BERLIN'S ALMANACK. 93
^^ Advice to my Cowitrymen of the Ban de la Roche ^ upon this
Almanack y
" I. The people of Germany have private almanacks, divided, by
means of ruled lines, into numerous partitions. In each partition the
names of the different individuals of the family are written, with a
little blank space below them, in order that some notice may there
be made of the manner in which the day has been passed, or any
necessary memoranda inserted. I have now prepared a similar alma-
nack for your use.
" II. The Strasburg children are accustomed to find their baptismal
names in their almanack, and to celebrate the days on which they are
recorded. You may also do the same with yours. They will all be
found in this almanack.
"III. The parents of large and numerous families are often puzzled
to find pretty baptismal names to distinguish their children from those
who bear the same family name. Henceforth, if they only consult
this new almanack, they will quickly be able to decide.
" IV. In your common almanacks you find and pay for a number of
incomprehensible things, and for others which are absolutely useless ;
for others contrary to the commands of God, such as prognostics of
the weather, nativities, predictions from the planets according to birth-
days, lucky and unlucky days, or good and bad omens. This new
almanack is divested of such nonsense.
" V. The changes of the moon, eclipses, and even some information
respecting the courses of the planets ; the names and figures of the
twelve signs of the Zodiac ; the time of the sun's rising and setting ;
and even the number of the months, and that of the weeks, are,
nevertheless, inserted here.
" VI. I have frequently been asked the signification of names of a
strange origin. By means of this almanack, I am enabled to give
a reply to all my parishioners, for it contains the meaning of every
name which can be obtained with certainty.
" VII. What a pity, perhaps you will say, that it has come so late.
I say the same. It ought to have been completed before the end of
December. But what good do you possess, the acquisition of which
has not been retarded by various delays and obstacles ? For my own
pare, I am so accustomed to expect this, in everything I do for you,
that I am heartily glad it is accomplished, even at this late period.
"VIII. What does it cost.? you will inquire. Dear friends, this
Almanack is the fruit of my long-cherished desires to promote your
good. Accept it as such. If it prove of any real benefit to you, or
afford you a moment's gratification, look up to your Heavenly Father,
94 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and say : * Thy goodness, O Lord, has crowned me with blessings.
Permit me to thank Thee for them ; and do Thou strengthen, by
whatever means it may please Thee to employ, the feeble faith of
Thy too feeble child.'''
In 1782, with the view of deepening and strengthening the
spiritual life among his people, he established an association
called " The Christian Society," which, in some respects, seems
to have resembled the Church " Guilds " founded, in recent years,
amongst English Churchmen. The following is a summary of
the Rules, translated from the original in his own handwriting : —
I. Regeneration.
II. Sanctification.
III. " We are all one in Jesus.*'
IV. "Abide in me."
V. " Christ is all, and in all."
VI. " Bring forth much fruit."
VII. ** Love not the world, neither the things that are in the
world."
VIII. Nourish the inner man, by
(i) The word of God.
(2) Continual prayer.
(3) The frequent use of the Holy Sacraments.
IX. The Superintendents are the overseers, whom the members
choose from among themselves.
X. Not only the Superintendents, but also all the members, ought
to watch over each other for good ; to exhort and to warn each other.
XI. With sweetness, charity, humility, and patience.
XII. As to the incorrigible, — follow the example of Jesus
Christ, Matthew xviii. 15, 16.
XIII. Meet for prayer on this subject.
XIV. Be submissive to your superiors. All the members are
fellow- workers with their pastor.
XV. Good management.
XVI. Good education.
XVII. " Wives, be in subjection to your own husbands.**
XVIII. " Search the Scriptures " diligently.
XIX. Diligence. Diligence, with application and energy — that
is to say, industry.
THE " CHRIS7IAN SOCIETY:' 95
XX. " Be careful for nothing."
XXL Lose no time.
XXII. Allow of no idleness, or negligence on the part of those
confided to your care.
XXI I I. Honest and exact payment j no artfulness or cunningj^
See Romans xii. 17.
XXIV. " Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly
love."
XXV. Endeavour to promote the happiness of all.
XXVI. *' Provoke unto love and to good works."
XXVII. Appropriate part of your earnings, at stated intervals,
to the public good.
This, however, was the only one of Oberlin's schemes that did
not prove successful, — perhaps because the constitution of the
Society tended to establish a kind of inquisition among its
members, rendering each a spy and overseer over the others, and
thus breeding a good deal of spiritual pride and Pharisaic intoler-
ance. No doubt the value of Christian fellowship cannot be too
highly estimated, but it is better that that fellowship should
depend upon the golden maxim, " Love one another," than upon
any code of arbitrary regulations. After a year and a half'.-*
existence Oberlin dissolved it. In addressing his parishioners on
the subject, he gave as his reasons for doing so, first, that he had,
in a great measure, obtained the end he had in view j second, that
names and external forms are not essential, but are subject to
vicissitude ; and third, that, in the event of his death or removal,
this external form would have been liable to change ; and the
members, overtaken by surprise, would have resembled, in some
degree, sheep without a shepherd, and would not have known
what to do. It was better that this should happen during his
lifetime. And he argued that he had, in a great measure, attained
his end : first, with respect to those who had been willing to
become members ; because they had had the opportunity of
declaring themselves on the side of their Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ, and of acknowledging Him in the spirit of that passage
(Matt. X. 32), "Whosoever, therefore, shall confess me before
men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven."
They had learned to know more of their spiritual wants, and how
necessary it was for them to be found in Christ Jesus, " without
96 GOOD SAMARITANS.
spot and blameless," " rooted and built up in Him, and established
m the faith." They had felt, more than ever, the duty and
necessity of prayer ; whereas many, previous to the formation of
the Society, had not even an idea of that continual prayer of the
heart which our Lord recommends to His disciples. They had
been led to feel that many souls were anxious for their salvation ;
and had learned to be " kind to one another, tender-hearted,
forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake, hath for-
given them." Again, with respect to those who had not been
members, a number of souls had been roused from their lethargy,
and though they had been unable to resolve to declare themselves
members, they had been induced to pay more serious and prayerful
attention to their spiritual necessities.
*' Wherefore," he exclaimed in conclusion, " I cannot suffi-
ciently thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, for all
the good that He has, through this agency, been pleased to effect
in my dear parish ; and for the evident blessing that has rested
upon it. May He watch over it, and grant that the good fruits
brought forth may be perfected and rendered permanent. May
the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ be promoted and extended
by any other means that He may see meet to appoint. May
He sustain His Church according to His promise, Matthew xvi.
1 8, so that * the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.' May
He who said to His disciples, ' He that receiveth you, receiveth
Me,' register all its members in His Book of Life. May He
abundantly shed His Holy Spirit upon them, and ' grave them
upon the palms of His hands,' so that no one may be able to
draw them away, or turn them from Him. May He protect
them, sanctify them, purify them, and prepare them for their
heavenly inheritance."
On the 1 8th of January, 1784, Oberlin sustained an affliction
which shook him to the very deeps of his being, in the death of
his beloved wife, who had been the indefatigable partner of all
his evangelistic and philanthropic labours. He bore it without
a murmur, as became a Christian, seeking consolation and
strength in prayer ; but thenceforward his interest in life was
perceptibly weakened, and he would often breathe a yearning
wish that the world in which God would re-unite him to his
OBERLIN SEBS THE FRUITS OF HIS LABOURS. 97
beloved wife — that other half of his soul ; to use the tender Latin
expression, dimidium animcd viecd — would soon admit him across
its threshold.
Years passed away, years of patience and Christian labour, and
a subdued peace and religious calm prevailed in the household
of the pastor of the Ban de la Roche. From the letter of a
French clergyman who visited Waldbach in March 1793, we
obtain a delightful glimpse of domestic happiness, so delightful
that we do not think the reader will object to the length of our
quotation.
" During the thirty years in which M. Oberlin has been pastor
of this canton, he has completely changed the face of it. From
an unintelligible patois the language has been reformed into pure
French ; the manners of the people have been civilized without
any injury to their morals ; and ignorance has been banished
without injuring the simplicity of their character. Many of the
women belonging to his parishes, having been trained for the
purpose under his paternal care and instruction, assist him in his
occupations. They teach reading, writing, and the elements of
geography in the different villages in which they reside; and
through their agency the children are instructed in many neces-
sary things, but, above all, have the seeds of religion and morality
been sown in their hearts. So well known and so highly appre-
ciated are these schools, that girls of the middle class are sent
to them from distant parts, and the title of ' a scholar of Pastor
Oberlin ' is accepted as an indisputable testimonial of piety,
talent, and gentle manners.
" As for the pastor himself, he has an open and affectionate
countenance, strongly impressed with benevolence. His con-
versation is easy, flowing, and full of vivacity, yet always adapted
to the calibre of those to whom he is speaking. In the evening
his visitor accompanied him a league on his way back to Wald-
bach. They ascended a beautifully-wooded hill, which the
sunset invested with a wonderful radiance. Moved by the
tranquil loveliness of the scene, and feeling that he had a
congenial listener, Oberlin related the simple story of his
industrious and useful life, speaking in the most touching
language of his views and ideas, and the fear and love of God.
Sometimes he and his friend paused to admire the heautie^ of
9^ GOOD SAMARITANS,
nature ; at others the impressiveness of his discourse induced
his hearer to linger. One moment was particularly affecting,
when, stopping about half-way up the hill, he said in the softest
tones, * Ja, ich bin gliicklich ' (Yes, I am happy).
"The moon rose in unclouded majesty, and night drew on with
all her retinue of stars, suggesting to Oberlin the thought that if
five years are necessary to bring a ray of light from Sirius to this
world, though it travels at the rate of twelve millions of miles
in a minute, how much swifter must the communication of spirits
be ! What is so swift as thought ? And he then proceeded to
describe the felicity with which, as he apprehended, we should
approach one another in a future state.
" On the following morning the visitor paid him a second visit.
The worthy pastor, in a plain, clean morning gown, was just on
the point of concluding a lecture ; his pupils wore on their faces
an expression of contentment and gentleness just like their
master's.
" The house was pleasantly situated, and from the garden side
enjoyed quite a romantic view ; in every part of it prevailed that
kind of elegance, or rather refinement, which results from a com-
bination of order, taste, and cleanliness. The furniture was
simple, yet it suggested to the visitor that he was in the residence
of no ordinary man ; the walls were covered with maps, drawings,
and vignettes ; texts of Scripture were affixed above every door.
As thus, above the dining-room door : ' Blessed are they which
do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.*
The texts above the other doors enjoined love to God and our
neighbour.
" When the visitors first entered, each as a welcome received a
printed text, * Abide in me, and I in you ; ' ' Seek those things
which are above,' etc. His study, a peculiar room, contained a
well-chosen rather than a numerous selection of books in French
and German, chiefly for youth. The walls were covered with
engravings, portraits of eminent characters, plates of insects and
animals, and coloured drawings of minerals and precious stones ;
in a word, it was literally papered with useful pictures relative to
natural history and other interesting subjects.
" The dinner began with a blessing. The pastor's children, tv;o
maids, and a girl who received her instruction there, were seated
DESCRIPTION OF HIS HOME AND ITS INMATES. 99
at the table ; in all their countenances was the same remarkable
expression of amiability.
" Oberlin had a singularly happy method of improving* occur-
rences, and, under the form of similes, drawing a moral from every
incident. There was no mysticism about him or his teaching.
* The Gospel,' said he, * is my standard — I should be afraid to
trust myself alone without it.' He related to his guests many
of the difficulties he had to encounter, and the sacrifices he had
to make, when he began his career in the Ban de la Roche.
' But now,' continued he, checking himself, * let me observe, it is
as great a fault to talk of our own virtues as of the faults of others.' "
The narrative continues : —
" It is surprising to witness the sound sense, refinement, and
superiority of mind evinced by these simple peasants. The very
servants are well educated, and they are clothed with that child-
like spirit which is one of the truest tests of real religion. One
of them, a widow, made many excellent remarks to us on the
duties of married life. ' In order to introduce and preserve
domestic peace,' said she, * let us turn to Him who is peace.'
" I am writing this at his table, while he is busy preparing leather
gloves for his peasant children. His family are around him,
engaged in their different avocations ; his eldest son, Frederick,
is giving a lesson to some of the little ones, in which amusement
and instruction are judiciously blended ; and the cher papa^
without desisting from his employment, frequently puts in a
word. He took me this morning into his workshop, where he
has a turner's lathe, a press, a complete set of carpenter's tools ;
also a printing-press, and one for book-binding. I assisted him
in colouring a quire of paper, which is intended for covers of
school-books. He gives scarcely anything to his people but what
has been, in some measure, prepared by his own or his children's
hands.
" He will never quit this place. A more lucrative living was
once offered him : ' No,' said he, * I have been ten years learning
every person in my parish, and obtaining an inventory of their
moral, intellectual, and domestic wants ; I have laid my plan.
I must have ten years to carry it into execution, and the ten
following to correct their faults and vices.'
" PnQtor Oberlin is too modest and generous not to bear
ioo GOOD SAMARITANS.
testimony to the worth of his predecessors who had begun to
clear this wilderness, and to raise the superstructure which he
has so beautifully completed.
** Yesterday I found him encircled by four or five families who
had been burnt out of their houses. He was dividing amongst
them articles of clothing, meat, assignats, books, knives, thimbles,
and coloured pictures for the children, whom he placed in a row
according to their ages, and then left them to take what they
preferred. Absolute equality reigns in his house ; children,
servants, boarders — all are treated alike; their places at table
change, that each in turn may sit next to him, with the exception
of Louisa, his housekeeper, who of course presides, and his two
maids, who sit at the bottom of the table. As it is his custom to
salute every member of his family, night and morning, these two
little maids come very respectfully curtseying to him, and he
always gives them his hand, and inquires after their health, or
wishes them good night. All are happy, and appear to owe much
of their happiness to him. They seem to be ready to sacrifice
their lives to save his. The following reply was made by one
of his servants, on his inquiring the cause of her downcast looks
during some slight indisposition : ' I fear, dear papa, there will be
no servants in heaven, and that I shall lose the happiness of
waiting upon you.'
" Oberlin appears to be looking forward to his Eternal Home
with holy confidence and joyful hope."
Late in the year 1793 Oberlin experienced his second domestic
affliction ; the loss of his eldest and well-beloved son, Frederick,
who had entered the army as a volunteer, and was killed in battle,
being then in his twenty-fourth year.
The idyllic life of Christian tranquillity which the good pastor
had nurtured in the Ban de la Roche was undisturbed by the
French Revolution. The storm which raged in every other part
of France passed over the Happy Valley without leaving behind
it a rifled blossom or a broken bough. Though the rulers of the
town had interdicted Christian worship, Oberlin ministered to his
people every Sunday according to wont, and none molested him.
It was as if the Angel of God watched at the portals of the valley,
and permitted no connd o^" di<;'^nH to break in upon its peace.
JJjS FAME SPREADS OVER EUROPE. lOJ
He was dtprived, however, of the income allowed by the State.
His people made an effort to supply its place by voluntary con-
tributions, and in 1789 raised a sum of; r,i.33 francs; but ,in
the three succeeding years it sunk to 400 fra'l^c.s, V/wjng t-o'fee
general poverty of the district. Upon this sm.all .annual stipend^
with such additions as he could derive fromthrt Jab'^iir^ b^tuiti'iiij,'
Oberlin contrived to maintain his household and exercise his
usual charities. The tithes of all he possessed his devoted
generosity yearly allotted to the service of God and the poor.
Continuing that work of organisation for which he had a special
genius, OberUn founded a Ladies' Bible Society, through the
medium of which a large number of copies of the New Testament
were circulated in France. The cause of Foreign Missions also
found in him an active helper.
For the material benefit of his flock, which from eighty or
a hundred families had increased to five or six hundred, he intro-
duced cotton-spinning, and fostered it by offering prizes to the best
spinners. He knew that agriculture could support but a limited
number, and was continually devising new resources for the
benefit of his augmenting population, such as straw-plaiting,
knitting, and the silk-manufactory. The good achieved by his
extraordinary efforts was recognised in 18 18 by the presentation
of a gold medal from the Royal Agricultural Society of Paris;
and all over Europe his name was mentioned with well-deserved
expressions of admiration. On a small scale, and in a confined
area, he had displayed all the qualities of a great statesman and
a leader of men ; and he had been more successful, perhaps,,
than any statesman could ever be, because he was the priest as
well as the teacher of his people, and laboured for their spiritual
as eagerly as for their national welfare. From Louis XVIIL he
received the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and it is certain
that it was never worn on a breast more nobly animated by the
highest and purest motives. No thought of self ever crossed the
mind of Oberlin. He lived for others ; for others he gave up all
his powers and opportunities and capabilities ; the general happi-
ness was his first and latest care. And his career carries with it
a valuable lesson, in showing, as it does most strikingly, how great
an influence for good may be exercised by each one of us in his
own sphere, if he will but take up the work in an unselfish spirit.
102 GOOD SAMARITANS.
It needs no extraordinary, no exceptional intellectual powers ; it
does not even demand the possession of extensive means ; the
desideratum is simply an earnest and intelligent mind, and a heart
that*,' filled with'the'loVe of God, necessarily bleeds and glows with
the love of man.
. '. Tiie 'reader -will "probabty desire to obtain some idea of Oberlin
as' the priest 'oT *his flock. Well, of the pure simplicity and
naturalness of his teaching, the following translation of a sermon
preached in November, 1819, may be given as an illustration.
He took for his text Luke xx. 34-36 : " The children of this world
marry and are given in marriage : but they which shall be accounted
worthy to obtain that world, and the resurrection from the dead,
neither marry nor are given in marriage ; neither can they die any
more : for they are equal unto the angels ; and are the children
of God, being the children of the resurrection."
" Our Lord here presents us with a delightful prospect, an ex-
tremely enchanting future for all who have no greater, no more
pressing anxiety than to become true disciples of Jesus Christ,
true members of His body.
" To understand fully this fine passage, I must explain some of
its terms :
" I. What does our Lord mean by ' this world ' and ' the world
to come ' ?
" By * this world ' our Lord means the present condition of the
'human race, since it has fallen from its originally glorious state.
"And by the 'world to come' He means the marvellously glorious
•condition of those in whom God shall perfectly restore His image,
^nd the original glorious state for which we were created,
" II. What does our Lord mean by ' the resurrection of the
dead ' ? Not the general awakening of the dead at the Last Day,
when all human creatures will be summoned to appear before the
tribunal of the Supreme Judge, but the perfect deliverance ol
the soul from all the ills which sin has brought upon us, and the
re-establishment of the primitive glory. This it is which our Lord
calls the resurrection of the dead.
" III. Who are they who will be esteemed worthy of this glorious
resurrection and of their perfect re-establishment in the image ot
God?
EXTRACTS FROM QBE RUN'S SERMONS. 103
"Those who give themselves up in heart, and soul, and mind to
our Lord Jesus Christ, and strive to enter in by the narrow gate,
and for this purpose carefully study and observe all our Lord's
commandments to His disciples ; who by continual prayer from
the depths of their heart, and by frequent attendance at the Holy
Table, endeavour to be more and more closely united to their
Saviour j who aspire to love God with all their heart, with all
their soul, with all their strength, and all their thoughts, and to
love their neighbours as themselves, and to be the faithful servants
and labourers of God in His vineyard.
" Those who travail to obtain those graces, not only for them-
selves, but also for all their families, and their friends and ac-
quaintances, so far as they can reach them by their prayers.
" When such servants of God as these, by their faithfulness,
humility, ardour, and charity, shall have arrived at the perfect
holiness and perfection of the saints, and shall be received into the
class and rank of the inhabitants of the Mount of Zion or Heavenly
Kingdom, then shall they receive the glorified body or resurrec-
tion of which our Lord speaks.
" IV. Then shall they no more die ; as our Lord expresses it in
Rev. xxi. 4, — ' There shall be no more death, neither sorrow,
nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain : for the former
things are passed away.'
*' You know, my dear friends, that all terrestrial nature is a re-
presentation of the spiritual. The caterpillars, and indeed all
insects, pass through different stages which have no resemblance
to one another. At first, on emerging from the ^g%^ they are but
tiny grubs, which from time to time strip off their outer integument
and issue forth as in a new attire.
" But at length they receive a completely novel form, that of the
chrysalis. This is quite a new animal, so to speak, differing from
the first in figure and in its properties or powers.
*' This, however, is not all. Under the form of this chrysalis, it
prepares to become yet another animal, perfect in itself, and yet.
wholly distinct from what it was in its two former stages ; this is
the butterfly, adorned with beautiful colours, and endowed with
aew tastes and qualities.
" It now disdains the coarser nutriment of its first stage, and
104 GOOD SAMARITANS.
feeds on one purer and more perfect, that is, on the honeyed juices
of the flowers.
" And so far as its motions are concerned, it has no longer any
need of its feet to transport itself from one place to another ; by
means of its wings it rises lightly, and soars rapidly above walls
and rivers and mountains.
** In like manner those who are in Jesus Christ, passing, in
proportion as they advance in humility, charity, and saintliness,
through the different changes of their inner selves, spiritual, visible
to the angels, but concealed from us under the earthly body.
"And these changes proceed from brightness to brightness,
from splendour to splendour, until their bodies have become
conformed and like unto the glorious body of our Lord Jesus
Christ.
" Ah, my dear friends, what an enchanting prospect, what a
delightful and amazing hope !
" O let us always love to pursue in Jesus Christ our sanctifica-
tion, and to knit closer our connexion with Ilim.
"It is through Him, our dear Lord, and it is only through
Him, that we can attain to this consummation. For it is.
He whom God hath given us that we may find in Him wisdom,
and justice, and sanctification, and glorious redemption, and
deliverance."
One other specimen, from a sermon preached on the Day of
Pentecost, 1822. Text, "I indeed baptize you with water unto
repentance, but He that cometh after me is mightier than I,
whose shoes I am not worthy to bear. He shall baptize you,
with the Holy Ghost and with fire" (Matt. iii. 1 1).
" Beloved friends ! In Holy Baptism we have been received
children of God, according to the original destination of the
human race.
" But does not a child who disobeys his father lose his right of
childhood ? And have you accomplished the orders of God ?
His orders, not only those of the New Testament, but also of the
Old, the Lord of which assures us that He will not allow us to
transgress a single iota? Have you fulfilled them all, and ful-
filled them perfectly? Have you loved God with all your heart
and all your soul ? and your neighbour, — do you love him, and:
THE SECOND BAPTISM. 105
have you always lo\e.d him, as yourself? Have you, in conse-
quence of this twofold love, constantly executed the will of God,
freely and fully in all things ? Have you made every possible effort
to enter through the strait gate ?
" Alas, alas ! will every rational man reply to me, * Oh, if the
Lord willed to enter into judgment with us, who could stand
against Him ? "
" And now, what is the object, the aim, of the Pentecost ? It
is to warn us that the first Baptism does not suffice; that we
must, by dint of instant prayer, lay hold on the second Baptism,
the Baptism of the Holy Spirit and of fire — that force and mar-
vellous virtue which vivifies in us the Word of God, which makes
it throw its roots into our heart, and bear fruit.
" Tell me, beloved friends ! when you sow your seeds, by
what marvellous and magical secret do you prevent these germs,
so delicate and tender, from rotting in the earth, so that instead
of multiplying, they may reward your pains with liberal largess ?
" Certainly no human power can work that miracle. No, it
is God, that tender and compassionate Father of all His beloved
creatures, through His goodness and His love for His children —
for it is like Him that He loves everything which He has
created — our beloved Heavenly Father, I say, communicates to
the germs of vegetation as it were a kind of baptism of fire and
of life ; who not only protects them from corruption, but endows
them with a marvellous virtue, almost creative and divine, the
virtue of producing others of the same species, and of multiplying,
them.
" And oh, friends ! it is this same divine and marvellous virtue,,
which, through our ardent and persistent but secret vows and
sighs, we should seek to obtain for the seed of the Word of God,
when we listen to it for our own good, or when we communicate
it to our children and household, either in the morning, or at
different times in the day, according to circumstances.
" And then He who multiplies the seeds which you entrust to
the earth will baptize you also with fire and the Holy Ghost,
and in you, and in your beloved ones, will bless the seeds ot
His Holy Word. And it will come to pass that you, and your
families, in spite of all the corruption of your hearts, and the
seductive examples of those who inhabit the earth, and in spite
7
io6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
of the temptations and assaults of the hosts of Satan, will become
the sacred plants of the Church, capable of being transferred
into the paradise of God, without fear or risk of- ever being
cast down from your ineffable felicity."
In these brief discourses theve is no special eloquence, it is
true ; no originality, no signs of rare intellectual power : but we
recognise a force and a sincerity which doubtless appealed to the
hearts of his simple-minded hearers. He spoke in faith, and in
faith they listened, and the sympathy between the teacher and
the taught ripened into precious fruit. A Bourdaloue or a
Massillon would have done infinitely less good in the Ban de
la Roche, with all his splendid gifts, than the unassuming
Oberlin : so true it is that God's instruments are always adapted
to God's work, and so true is it also that for the work which He
sets us to do we shall always be provided with the power to do
it, if we apply ourselves with earnestness and in hope. Men
-often shrink from the duty incumbent upon them in a timid
apprehension that it is beyond their strength : let them attack
it at once, and they will find themselves rising spontaneously,
as it were, to the required height. We cannot fail to grow to
fthe standard which God ordains for us.
Yet another side of Oberlin's character is shown in the practical
^catechism which he addressed to his people in writing, requiring
•a straightforward reply to each query. The relations between
pastor and congregation were of course absolutely exceptional,
which enabled the former to institute, and the latter to welcome,
so minute and curious an investigation, or, as in England it
would assuredly be called, inquisition.
1. Do you and your family regularly attend places of religious
instruction ?
2. Do you never pass a Sunday without employing yourself in
some charitable work ?
3. Do neither you nor your wife nor children ever wander in
the woods on a Sunday, in search of wild raspberries, strawberries,
whortle-berries, mulberries, or hazel nuts, instead of going to
church ? And if you have erred in this manner, will you solemnly
promise to do so no more ?
OBERLIN'S ''CATECHlSMr 107
4. Are you careful to provide yourself with clean and suitable
clothes to wear when you go to Church on the Sunday ?
5. Do those who are provided with the necessary clothes em-
ploy a regular part of their income in procuring such for their
destitute neighbours, or in the relief of their other necessities ?
6. Have your civil and ecclesiastical overseers reason to be
satisfied with your conduct, and with that of the other members
of your family ?
7. Do you so love and reverence our Lord and Saviour, Jesus
Christ, as to feel united in the bonds of Christian fellowship with
that flock of which He is the Pastor ?
8. Do the animals which belong to you cause no injury or
inconvenience to others ? — [Guard against this, for it would be as
fire in tow, and a source of mutual vexation.]
9. Do you give your creditors reason to be satisfied with your
honesty and punctuality? Or can they say of you that you are
more desirous of purchasing superfluous clothes than of dis-
charging your debts ?
10. Have you paid all that is due this quarter to the church-
warden, schoolmaster, and shepherd?
11. Do you punctually contribute your share towards the main-
tenance of the roads ? *
12. Have you, in order to contribute to the general good,
planted upon the common at least twice as many trees as there
are heads in your family ?
13. Have you planted them properly, or only as idle and igno-
rant people would do, to save themselves trouble ?
14. Do you, when the manager wishes to assemble the com-
munity, render him all the assistance that lies in your power?
and, if it be impossible for you to attend yourself, are you careful to
inform him of your absence, and to assign a proper reason for it ?
15. Do you send your children regularly to school?
16. Do you watch over them as God requires you should do?
And is your wife's and your own conduct towards them such a?
will ensure their afl"ection, respect, and obedience."
1 7. Are you frugal in the use of wood ? And do you contrive
to make your fires in as economical a manner as possible ?
A very important matter, as we have seen, in the Ban de la Roche.
io8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
i8. Do you keep a dog unless there be absolute necessity?
19. Have you proper drains to carry off the refuse water in
your yard ? [Observe : with Oberlin cleanliness was next to god-
liness. He anticipated Kingsley in combining the sanitary
reformer * with the priest.]
20. Are you and your sons acquainted with some little handi-
craft work to employ your leisure moments, instead of wastmg
them in idleness ?
Our sketch of Oberlin's career must draw to a close. Have we
not said enough to enable the reader to realize to himself this
extraordinary man, who, in a secluded corner of Europe, carried
out into principle not a few of the social and moral theories that
brighten the pages of Plato's " Republic " and Moore's
" Utopia " ? this man who was at once philanthropist, pastor,
statesman, legislator, and educational reformer, — whose organizing
capacity created everything, from a highway to an infants' school?
Well, let us take a final look at the worker and his works as they
appeared to a lady who visited them in 1820 : —
" I wish," she writes, "I had power to convey to you an idea of
our present interesting and serious situation. In the first place,
I must introduce you to the room I am sitting in. It is perfectly
unique — I should think the floor had never been really cleaned.
It is filled with old boxes, and bottles, and pictures, and medi-
cines, and books, but everything is in its place. Two little beds
are stuck up in each corner, and there are a few old chairs. The
* He was also a sumptuary reformer. On one occasion he addressed to the
mothers in his parish an animated remonstrance on the fashion they had
adopted of putting cambric or muslin frills to their children's shirts. " Do not
do so, dear friends. Unpick them, cut them off, and seek not to increase your
children's vanity, which is already too great by nature. Cut off all the finery
that does not correspond with your station in life, and employ yourselves in
clothing the poor families of this extensive parish, many of whom are in an
exceedingly miserable condition. Love your neighbours as yourselves. Re-
nounce every superfluity, that you may be the better able to procure necessaries
for those who are in want. Be their care-takers — their fathers and mothers —
inasmuch as it is for this purpose that God has blessed you with more temporal
wealth than He has given to them. Be merciful. The time may come when
you yourselves will stand in need of the Divine mercy." Can the reader
imagine many English clergymen addressing their flocks in this outspokea
manner ':
THE HOUSEKEEPER ''LOUISA." 109
window looks upon the tops of the mountains, near which we are,
—separated from the world." . .
After describing their journey to Waldbach, she continues : —
" We set off for Mr. Oberlin's, a mile and a half farther, — z.
romantic walk through the valley. On the way we met this most
venerable and striking man — the perfect picture of what an old
man and minister should be. He received us cordially, and we
soon felt quite at ease with him. We all proceeded together to-
wards his house, which stands on the top of a hill, surrounded by
trees and cottages. Owing to the fatigue of our journey, I felt
quite overdone on our first arrival. I could see nothing like a
mistress in the house ; but an old woman, called Louisa, dressed
in a long woollen jacket and black cotton cap, came to welcome us,
and we afterwards found that she is an important person at the
Ban de la Roche : she is mistress, housekeeper, intimate friend,
maid-of-all-work, schoolmistress, entertainer of guests, and, I
should think, assistant minister, though we have not yet heard her
in this capacity. Besides Louisa, the son-in-law and daughter
and their six children live here, two young girls, protegees^ and two
more maids out of the parish. Mr. Graff, the son-in-law, is a
minister, and a very excellent man. There is much religion and
simplicity both in him and his wife ; but the latter is so devoted to
the children that we seldom see her. We were ushered into the
salle-a-manger^ where stood the table, spread for supper ; a great
bowl of pottage, with a pewter plate and spoon for everybody : —
the luxuries of a common English cottage not being known in the
Ban de la Roche. . .
" Tuesday. — We have become better acquainted with this ex-
traordinary people, who are as interesting as they are uncommon.
I much regret that I cannot speak the language more fluently ;
yet I get on as well as I can; I have had a good deal of pleasing
communication with them.
" I never knew so well what the grace of courtesy was till I saw
this remarkable man. He treats the poorest people, and even
the children, with an affectionate respect. For instance, his
courtesy, kindness, and hospitahty to our postilion were quite
amusing. He pulled off his hat when he met him, took him by
the hand, and treated him with really tender consideration. He
is, I think, more than eighty — one of the handsomest old men I
[lO GOOD SAMARITANS.
ever remember to have seen — still vigorous in mind and spirit,
delighting in his parish, full of fervent charity. . . . The meals
are really amusing : — we all sit down to the same table, maids and
all, one great dish of pottage or boiled spinach, and a quantity of
salad and potatoes, upon which they chiefly live, being placed in
the middle. He shakes hands with all the little children as he
passes them in the street, speaking particularly to each of them.
The effect which such treatment has had in polishing these people,
uncivilized and uncultivated as they formerly were, is quite
wonderful They have been taught a variety of things which have
enlarged and refined their minds, besides religion — music,
geography, drawing, and botany. My sketching has been quite a
source of amusement in the parish. . . .
** If you go into a parish cottage they quite expect you will eat
and drink with them ; a clean cloth is laid upon a table, washed
almost as white as milk, and the new milk and the wine \kirschen
wassery distilled from the fruit of the wild cherry], and the great
loaf of bread, are brought out ; yet they are in reality exceedingly
poor. Their beds also look so clean and good that they would
astonish our poor people. In some respects I think they are
decidedly cleaner than our own peasantry. Their dress is simple
to the greatest degree. The women and girls all dress alike, even
down to the very little children. They wear caps of dark cotton,
with black ribbon, and the hair bound closely under. Everybody
—maids, children, poor and rich, call Mr. Oberlin their ' cher
papa,' and never was there a more complete father of a large
family. We breakfast at seven ; the family upon potatoes boiled
with milk and water — a little coffee is provided for us. We dine
at twelve, and sup at half-past seven. Everything is in the most
primitive style. I never met with such a disinterested people.
It is almost impossible to pay them for any service they do for
you. In our visits to the poor we have been afraid of offering
them money; but we feel anxious to throw in some assistance
towards the many important objects which Mr. Oberlin is carrying
on amongst them. It is almost past belief what he has done, and
with very limited means. Three poor dear women are noted for
their benevolence : one especially, who is a widow herself with
several children, has undertaken to support and bring up three
orphan children ; and she has lately taken another, from no other
•* THE SPIRIT OF GOOD-FELLOWSHIP AND KINDNESS:' in
principle than abounding Christian charity. One seldom meets
with such shining characters. Mr. Oberlin said the other day that
he did not know how to pay Louisa, for nothing hurt her so much
as offering her money. No one could be more devoted to his
service, and that in the most disinterested manner. Her cha
racter has impressed me very much. We had a delightful walk
to a church about two miles distant, on Sunday mornings the
numbers of poor, flocking from the distant villages, dressed in
their simple and neat costume, formed a striking object in the
scene. It happened to be the Sunday Mr. Oberlin goes to the
next parish, where his son requires his assistance in giving prizes
to the schoolchildren.
"Wednesday evening. — The poor charm me. I never met
with any like them ; so much spirituality, humility, and cultiva-
tion of mind, with manners that would do honour to a court;
yet the homeliness and the simplicity of the peasant are not
lost. The state of the schools, the children, and the poor in
general, is quite extraordinary, and as much exceeds our parish
as ours does the most neglected.
" We have spent our time in the following manner: since Sunday
the mornings have been very wet ; we have therefore been chiefly
shut up in our own room, reading, writing, and drawing ; the
eldest of the Graffs (Marie), a sweet girl, is a good deal with me,
to read and to talk to me. The children and young people in
the house are becoming fond of me; our being here is quite a
ga'ety and an amusement to them. About three o'clock Mr.
Legrand comes for us, to take us different excursions, etc. He
seems to us one of the kindest persons we ever met with, full oi
conversation ; nothing can exceed the torrent of words they all
have. The old gentleman delights in talking to F , and tells
him everything about himself, his family, his parishes. Our room
joins his library, and all the family are free to enter whenever
they like. The whole system is most amusing, interesting, and
useful. It is a capital example, and instructive for the minister
of a parish. There is a spirit of good fellowship and kindness
amongst all the people that is quite delightful. The longer we
have been here, the more we have been struck with the un-
common degree of virtue which exists among them. On Monday
evening, after sketching Legrand's house, we were taken to the
113 GOOD SAMARITANS,
cottage of Sophia Bernard, where we found the table spread in
the most complete manner for our tea — a luxury we had not
enjoyed since we left England. Here we passed some time,
eating, talking, and reading the Bible ; and it ended with prayer,
by Sophia Bernard, in a sweet and feeling manner. We then
had a charming walk through the valley home. Tuesday, in the
afternoon, we ascended towards the very top of the mountains,
to another of his villages, where we again found some delightful
women, and a capital school.
" Colmar, Friday evening. — Our scene is again quite changed,
we are returned to the common world; and I now find myself
by a comfortable fire at a good hotel, which is quite a luxury
after the primitive fare of the Ban de la Roche, where we found
but little indulgence for the body, though we were treated with
genuine hospitality. They live sadly in the clouds. The sun
does not appear very often to shine upon them. I never was so
struck with the difference of climate as I was to-day, in coming
down into the plains. It poured with rain for the last day or
two ; and all yesterday, in the mountains, everything was soaked
with wet; but on entering the plains the dust began to fly.
Delightful and uncommon as is this retreat, I must acknowledge
we have rather enjoyed the comforts of the town and the
conveniences of this place. It would be a trial to me to live
surrounded and buried by mountains. I could not help rather
feeling for Marie Graff, who is sensible of her privations. How-
ever, they are happy and contented, and highly blessed, and it is
a great privilege to have passed this time with them ; an event
which must always be valuable through life. We parted from
the excellent old man with many kisses, in the full spirit of
Christian love."
Old age, though it did not weaken Oberlin's Christian enthusiasm,
broke down his physical strength ; and he was at last compelled
to delegate the charge of his flock to his son-in-law, Mr. Graff.
He continued, however, instant in prayer on their behalf, and
devoted all his thoughts to the advancement of their spiritual and
material welfare. His last illness came upon him suddenly. On
Sunday, the 28th of May, 1826, he was seized with shiverings
and fainting fits, which prevailed until a late hour of the night.
During the next two days he was alternately conscious and
OBERLIN'S ILLNESS AND DEATH. 113
insensible ; exclaiming frequently, as his strength permitted.,
" Lord Jesus, take me speedily ! Nevertheless, Thy will be
done ! " He was much cheered and consoled, on Tuesday even-
ing, by a visit from his friend Legrand, embracing him warmly,
and saying, in a distinct voice, "The Lord bless you, and al
who are dear to you ! May He be with you day and night ! "
The day following, his weakness had so increased that he was
unable to speak, and had recourse to signs to express his feelings.
During the night between Wednesday and Thursday, the ist of
June, he uttered incessantly plaintive moans, as though in pain,
though probably they were the almost unconscious effects of
physical debility ; but at times he would seize the hand of either
of his children who happened to be nearest to him, and press
it to his heart. When Legrand visited him at six in the morning,
his arms and legs had become lifeless and cold ; but he gathered
up strength enough to take off his cap, join his palms, and lift
his eyes towards heaven, with a light on his countenance which
told of inward peace in the assurance of eternal life through a
risen Saviour. Then his eyes closed, to be opened no more in
this world ; though it was a quarter past eleven before his spirit
passed away, and the death bell, pealing slowly and sadly through
the valley, announced to his sorrowing people that their pastor,
teacher, philanthropist, and friend was no more.
His funeral took place on the 5th of June. Never before had
such a sense of mourning been seen in the Ban de la Roche.
The procession was nearly two miles long, and included the
mayors, elders, and magistrates, all the people, young and old,
with the most aged inhabitant leading the way, and bearing aloft
a simple wooden cross to be planted on the grave of " Papa
Oberlin." At the close of the ceremony an address was deUvered
by the Vice-President of the Consistory of Ban, from which, as an
appropriate peroration to our biographical sketch, we translate the
following passages : —
" My Christian brothers," he said, " we have just sustained a
great and sensible loss ; our good father Oberlin has quitted
us ; he has terminated in peace his earthly career. Around his
grave I see the faithful of the two parishes of the Ban de la Roche,
the faithful of Waldbach and Rothau, uniting their grief and their
I ears with those of the children and the many friends of the
114 GOOD SAMARITANS.
venerable deceased. If, moved with sentiments of love and
admiration for the venerable pastor of Waldbach, I speak on
this day of sorrow, I know well, my brethren, that it is impossible
for me to describe to you worthily the lofty virtues and the fine
qualities of the good and great man for whom we are now mourning.
" Our Consistorial Church loses in him one of her most
zealous pastors, a man distinguished by his talents and his virtues;
the parishes of Waldbach and the Ban de la Roche in general, a
benefactor, a father, of the utmost tenderness of heart ; his family
and friends, their model, and the source of their happiness;
humanity, one of its finest ornaments. What a pure and elevated
soul — what simplicity — what affability — what gentle tolerance —
what unswerving rectitude — what candour, have we not admired
in that thrice-happy old man 1 More than an octogenarian, the
venerable Oberlin made use of his failing energies for the glory
of God, and with his latest sigh implored the Divine mercy upon
that beloved parish in which he had centred all his affections.
" How tender the care he lavished on the cherished flock
which was confided to his charge ! A worthy servant of his
Divine Master, a zealous successor of the Apostles, he devoted
himself wholly to the welfare of his fellows. For nine-and-fifty
years he gave up all his energies, physical and intellectual, all the
hours of his laborious life, to the civilizing of this interesting
country; and with the noblest disinterestedness, with unshaken
firmness, with inexpugnable zeal, he voluntarily sacrificed all his
fortune in order that security, and ease, and prosperity might
inhabit your humble dweUings. . . It is Oberlin who trained your
teachers; it is he who covered your dry and naked rocks with
fertile soil ; it is he who transformed all these hamlets into
flourishing villages ; it is he who, working by your side, succeeded
in restoring and enlarging your roads ; it is he who showed a
noble compassion for your poor, and nourished them in seasons
of scarcity ; it is he who succoured the widow and the orphan,
and protected the deserted ; it is he — ^but let us pause ; your
grateful hearts can finish for themselves this feeble outline of
what he accomplished for your welfare. Oberlin did not allow
his humanity to be limited by any narrow views ; he made no
distinction of creed ; he was persuaded that intolerance dishonours
charity. ...
THE GENERAL MOURNING— FUNERAL EULOGIUM. 115
*• Oberlin rekindled the torch of the faith, and illustrated
religion in these districts. More urgently even than your well-
being in this world did he strive for the salvation of your immortal
souls. The glory of all his efforts, the prize of all his anxieties,
.was your spiritual welfare, O ye faithful of the parish of Waldbach t
" With what fire and force, what simplicity and perseverance,
he preached to you the gospel of the Christ, that precious gift of
heaven, those truths of religion engraved upon his heart ! He
taught you to discover in the Holy Bible, in the precepts of Jesus
Christ, the remedy for all your ills, the resource for all your
miseries, the true fountain of the purest pleasures, of the
happiness of this life and the life to come. It was he who,
Gospel in hand, purified, enlightened, consoled, sanctified you.
Was it not he who, by his speech and practice, fostered in your
hearts the love of God and man ? Was it not he who led you to
the feet of that Redeemer who has suffered for you ? — to that
Christian virtue, that fervent faith which makes the happiness of
the Christian ; who presented to you our adorable Saviour in the
heavenly abodes where He awaits you, whither He went to prepare
a place for you ? Was it not he who so frequently exhorted you
to labour for the meat which endureth unto everlasting life? *
" It is to your worthy patriarch that you owe this word of grace ;
it is he who distributed among you the manna which sustains
your souls ; it was he who carried the Gospel into your houses
and into the cottages of so many of the poor outside the borders
of his parish. Oh, my brothers, draw ye upon that treasure
which never diminishes, which enriches you in proportion as ye
draw upon it ! Bless the name of Oberlin, bless the memory
of that just man who might say in truth with St. Paul, the great
apostle : t * Ye know . . . after what manner I have been with
you at all seasons, serving the Lord with all humility of mind,
and with many tears and temptations . . . and how I kept back
nothing that was profitable unto you, but have showed you, and
have taught you publicly, and from house to house, . . . repen-
tance toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. . . .
None of those things move me, neither count I my life dear unto
myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the
* John vi. 27. f Acts xx. 18-33.
ci6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the
gospel of the grace of God ... I take you to record, that I am
pure from the blood of all men, for I have not shunned to
declare unto you all the counsel of God ... I have coveted no
man's silver, or gold, or apparel.'
" Do you not retrace in these details the image of your vene-
rable pastor Oberlin ?
" And, my brothers, what did he accomplish for the propaga
tion of the holy religion of Jesus Christ, for the propagation of
the sacred writings? Speak, Biblical Societies of Strasburg, of
Paris, of London ! Speak, Missionary Institutions of Basel and
Paris ! What moneys he contrived to collect, what donations
and gifts, for these pious Societies, in order that the Bible might
be diffused everywhere, that the teaching of Christ might pene-
trate even into the most savage climes, among the most bar-
barous nations, that God and the Saviour might be adored by
all the inhabitants of the earth. What a joy for him, when
perusing the reports of the Bible and Missionary Societies, to
see the blessing of God bestowed upon his work !
"His career, full of trials, privations, and dangers, his pro-
longed sufferings, revealed his soul in all its purity, and the
subUme virtues of which it was the seat. A patience which
nothing could overthrow, an eminently Christian resignation,
rendered him always superior to all misfortunes. He confronted
death with a steadfast eye, with the calmness and serenity of the
just. In taking leave of earth he commended his soul to God,
he prayed for his family, for his friends, for his parish ; and in
the midst of benedictions, his soul soared up to the heavens.
Oberlin has left us ; his death was the recompense of a life
crowded with good works, with just and generous actions.
"What a concourse at his funeral, what lamentations, what
'.ears ! Two parishes, eight communes, that crowd of friends,
■)f strangers, all say with one voice, it is to a good man we pay
he last sad homage ; it is Oberlin, our father, our benefactor,
whom we weep ; it is friendship, reverence, gratitude, which has
led us to this grave ! . . . His ashes will repose in your midst,
ye good people of the Ban de la Roche ; and that grave which
enshrines his mortal remains will be for all of us a sacred spot.
We shall show it to our children and say to them, * Here lies
*' FAREWELL, NOBLE FRIEND! FAREWELL I" 117
Oberlin our father.' He rendered us happy ; his image is en-
graved in our hearts ; love is stronger than death ; Waldbach
will be a permanent monument of his glory ; the names of
Oberlin and Waldbach will be for ever united in the memory t>f
' men.
" Let us adore the ways of Providence, my brothers ! In the
stead of the venerable father, the Lord has given you the worthy
husband of Oberlin's daughter, the friend of his heart, and one
who walks in God's ways. It was the good father himself who
made the choice, and this choice is a new sign of heaven's pro-
tection vouchsafed to this flock. It is with perfect confidence
that Oberlin has passed on to the hands of his successor the
sacred deposit of which the Divine Master had given him charge.
" Yes, Christians, let us adore that Providence which unites
and parts us, afflicts and consoles us ; let us enter into its views,
let us accomplish its designs upon us. Let us be united by the
bonds of that charity which is the most perfect of all the virtues
{les Mens) ; let us love one another in this mortal life, that we
may love one another in the world beyond. Let us love one
another in God, in whose bosom we shall one day find ourselves
to be united for ever, if here below we serve Him with fidelity.
Let us vow to this God of all goodness an absolute resignation,,
an unshaken faith. May the Father of all Mercy be the consoler
and supporter of the afflicted family and friends of the departed
saint, of this parish now filled with mourning !
" Farewell, venerable Oberlin ! in the heavenly region thou
gatherest what thou hast sown, thy works follow thee. Delivered
from all trials and sorrows, thy Lord shall say to thee : ' I know
thy works, thy charity, thy faith, thy patience' (Rev. ii. 19).
Farewell, noble friend I Farewell, venerated father I Never shall
thy image vanish from our soul ; always thou shalt be the object
of our reverence : thy memory, the memory of the just, shall
remain for ever as a benediction." *
* This sermon, in the original French, is given in the Appendix to.
"Memoirs of John Frederic Oberlin " (published in 1831), a little volume to
which ^t. have been much indebted. It contains information not accessible
elsewhere. The principal authority for the good pastor's life is, however, the
•'Notice sur Jean Frederic Oberlin," by M. Lutteroth. See also the Rev. J»
Conder's article in the Eclectic Review for October 1827.
Ii8 GOOD SAMARITANS,
We shall conclude this chapter with the life of a woman, who,
in her sphere, did work as noble as any done by Oberlin in his
Alsatian valley, labouring among a population not less ignorant
and infinitely more vicious.
Mary Carpenter was born at Exeter on April 3rd, 1807. She
was the daughter of Dr. Lant Carpenter, a Nonconformist divine,
who came of an old Nonconformist stock. At an early age she ^
showed herself keenly alive to the religious influences that sur-
rounded her, and would turn from playing with her dolls to
plunge into the metaphysical maze of necessity and freewill. Her
father removed to Bristol in 18 17, and before long Mary Car-
penter was allowed to take charge of a class in the Sunday-school.
Meanwhile, her education was of a very thorough and compre-
hensive character, including the study of Latin and Greek, of
Mathematics, with some of the elements of Physical Science and
Natural History. Wide as was the field over which her active
intellect ranged, the knowledge she acquired was exact and pro-
found. Her father discouraged superficial work ; all she did she
was required to do conscientiously, to plumb the bottom, not to
skim the surface. A schoolfellow bears witness to the fulness of
her acquirements : — " The Latin reading/' says this authority,
** which I seem to associate most with the * Agricola ' of Tacitus,
was marked by the same conscientious care which she evinced in
everything, securing accuracy but not escaping stiffness, unless,
at the appeal of some prophetic passage which softened more
than the outer voice, it assumed for the moment a higher charac-
ter, and admitted a gleam of poetic light. . . . Every Monday
morning we had a Greek Testament reading with Dr. Carpenter,
intended not less as a religious lesson than as an exercise in the
language and criticism of Scripture. . . . While translating her verses
with precision, and prepared with answers to questions of history
and analogy, she unconsciously betrayed, by voice, by eye, by the
very mode of holding her book, that she treated the text as sacred,
and in following its story felt a touch from which a divine virtue
went out"
In 1827 she accepted the charge of some young girls in the
Isle of Wight, where the love of natural scenery and her sympathy
with the beautiful found ample food. Thence she went to
MARY CARFENTER—HER PATIENCE. 119
Odsey, near Royston, vigilantly keeping up her own mental
culture, and losing no opportunity of adding to her stores of
knowledge. In 1829, she returned to Bristol, and, in conjunc-
tion with Anna, opened a school for girls. Happy pupils who had
Mary Carpenter for teacher ! Her vivid fancy played upon the
dry bones of facts, and made them live. She infused a new, fresh
interest into every study by comparing it and correlating it with
other studies. Her heart was in her work ; she did not take it
up as a dreary task that had to be accomplished and endured,
but as a real and genuine pleasure which could not be too fully
enjoyed. One of her pupils wrote : — " Miss Carpenter is quite
delightful; she understands Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and
every other language for anything I know to the contrary, for I
only know of these, hearing her teach them. She is fond of
poetry, geology, and conchology, which two latter she seems to
understand very well. In short, she seems to be universal.
She possesses the quality of great kindness, as do all the
family."
But as yet she had not discovered the mission which God had
sent her into the world to discharge, the great end for which her
powers had been given and matured. It was not until 183 1,
when she became Superintendent of the Sunday-school, that her
attention was directed to the wretched condition of the poor and
ignorant in our large English towns. There, wealth and poverty
seem almost to touch each other, and yet between them yawns a
gulf not less wide than that between Lazarus and Dives in the
parable. One half the world knows not how the other half suffers,
because, unfortunately, it does not care to know. The Bristol
riots, which fill so dark a chapter in the history of the time,
shocked her into a conviction that beneath the surface of social
life stormy currents raged uncontrolled, and she formed within
her mind a deep resolve to save as many as possible of the waifs
and strays which they tossed helplessly to and fro, to devote her
life and her gifts to the cause of God's poor. She did not at first
find the way, and she had the wisdom to wait until Heaven should
make it clear to her. So much well-meant effort is lost by unwise
haste ! Some persons seem in a hurry to anticipate the counsels
of God Himself! In 1833 the Rajah Raumshem Raj visited
Bristol, and so did Dr. Joseph Tuckerman, of Boston, U.S. ; and
120 GOOD SAMARITANS,
the first touched the springs of Mary Carpenter's sympathies by
his visions of a regenerated India, the second aroused her to the
sad lot of destitute children. These two influences determined
and shaped out her career. The impression made upon her mind
by the Brahman Theist we have in some verses which she wrote
on hearing of his death : —
** Thy nation sat in darkness, for the night
Of pagan gloom was o'er it. Thou wast bom
'Midst Superstition's ignorance forlorn,
Yet in thy breast there glowed a heavenly light
Of purest truth and love, and to thy sight
Appeared the day-star of approaching Morn.
What ardent zeal did then thy life adorn,
From deep degrading guilt to lead aright
Thy fallen people ! to direct their view
To that blessed Son of Righteousness, whence beams
Guidance to all that seek it — faithful, true ;
To call them to the Saviour's living streams.
The cities of the East have heard thy voice,
* Nations, behold your God ! Rejoice, rejoice ! '"
Mary Carpenter was one day accompanying Dr. Tuckerman in
his exploration of the poorer quarter of Bristol, when a ragged
boy, rushing out of a dark entry, dashed recklessly across their
path. " That child," remarked Dr. Tuckerman, *' should be
followed to his home and seen afte^." These few words were as
seed that falls on a fertile soil. They sank deep into Mary Car-
penter's mind, with a painful feeling that a duty was being
neglected. They opened to her the " way " — they pointed out
lue •' work " for which she had so long been waiting. With the
co-operation of her sister she began to lay her plans for future
action ; and at length, in 1835, they developed into the "Working
und Visiting Society " for visiting the homes of the poor of the
congregation, and of the Sunday-school. Mary Carpenter became
Its secretary, and took charge of the worst and poorest of the
districts over which the Society extended its range of operations.
The admirably thoughtful and prudent spirit in which she entered
on her task shows itself plainly in the entry in her journal, dated
Thursday, May 21st, 1835. "In the year 1832," she writes
" on occasion of the public fast, and also of the public thanks-
.;iving, I made a solemn determination to devote myself in any
THE MINISTRY TO THE POOR. 121
way that lay in my power to the good of my fellow-creatures. A
means appears to be now open to me to do this more efficiently
than heretofore, and I feel much gratitude to my Father for it. I
pray to Him to enable me to discharge these happy duties to His
glory ; never to allow them to interfere with my other duties, but
only with my hours of relaxation ; and to remember that, though
I give my goods to feed the poor and have not charity towards all
men, I am nothing."
She was under no delusion as to the character of the work she
had undertaken. She contemplated none of that fancy charity
so easily practised by young ladies, who, in trim attire, go from
cottage to cottage in a quiet village, without risk, without labour,
and flatter themselves that, while simply passing away an idle
hour, they are realizing the highest dreams of benevolence. From
the serene domesticities of a happy household, and the refined
pleasures of self-culture, she was prepared to penetrate into the
reeking courts and squalid alleys of a great commercial and sea-
faring town, and to experience the repulsion of the coarsest aspects
fof a foul and degraded life. Poverty in a woodbine-trellised
cottage, reading its Bible, and supported by the alms of the " great
houses," is not without a certain attractiveness ; but how different
is the poverty which struggles for a crust of bread in the byways
of London or Bristol, Liverpool or Birmingham, and in filthy
tenements crouches side by side with vice ! Mary Carpenter,
hoA^ever, had chosen her work deliberately, and executed it
patiently. Hers was no fugitive emotion of sham philanthropy,
but a real deep love for her fellow-creatures, flowing from, and
sustained by, her love for their Saviour. She soon discovered that
many of her fellow-workers were not animated by so lofty a courage
or so tenacious a purpose as herself ; that they shrank from con-
tact with the very lowest of the poor, and desired to base their
charitable eff'orts on a principle of selection. To meet the diffi-
culty she organised a new band of labourers, under the title of a
Ministry to the Poor ; and pressed forward on her path more
resolutely than ever. Yet not without much mental conflict, over
which she triumphed only through the severest self-discipline
Weariness and dejection, a sense of personal unworthiness, a ten-
dency to morbid analysis of every thought and feeling, constitu-
lional irritability, against which she strove continually, — these were
8
122 GOOD SAMARITANS.
trials which she was compelled to bear alone, until she found rest
and peace in her acceptance of the promises of God. The death
of her father, who was drowned on his way from Leghorn to Mar-
seilles, in 1840, was a shock beneath which her whole nature
reeled. She summoned up all her energy and all her fortitude to
bear it, and gradually recovered something of her brighter and
happier self; but it was long before the shadow it had cast upon
her life entirely disappeared.
The reader must not suppose that Mary Carpenter, amidst all
the stress of her philanthropic work, neglected the multiform
interests of daily life. She frequently indulged herself in the
practice of poetical composition ; her scientific studies were prose-
cuted with ardour ; and her reading was large and various. She
plunged into German literature with much zest, reading Schiller,
Wieland, and Herder, and pouring forth her love, as any true
German student must do, on the incomparable Jean Paul. Among
the later English poets Wordsworth commanded her warmest
sympathies ; but in Tennyson's " Idylls " she learned to take a
true delight. Her literary criticism, as I think is the case with
most women, was qualified by her moral instincts ; and she was
apt to judge a work of art by its meaning and motive rather than
by its purely technical merits. It was natural that a mind like
hers would turn to history with peculiar pleasure ; and we find
her studying D'Aubigne's " History of the Reformation " Dr.
Arnold's "Rome," and Lord Mahon's " Essai sur le Grand
Cond^," and similar works. Her love of art found abundant food
in the galleries and studios of London, on the occasions of her
metropolitan visits ; and her skilful pencil was called into frequent
requisition.
Of this side of her character the reader will find an interesting
illustration in the following letter, which she addressed to a friend
in February 1845. It will show that the highest and holiest
duties abroad are by no means incompatible with that other high
and holy duty, the duty of self-culture.
" Have you read," she writes, " ' The Vestiges of Creation ' ?
When it first came out people were very enthusiastic about it, and
the first review mamma saw made her buy the book, which we
thought a wonderful step on her part. But one soon began to
teel that the author was very superficial, and every one found par-
MISS CARPEA'TER'S CRITICISMS. 123
ticular fault with the branch of science with which he or she was
most acquainted. Altogether, it is an interesting booli as the
production of a mind aspiring after the grand, beautiful, and
universal, but not sufficiently acquainted with the height and
depth of nature to subject all her kingdoms to one great law.
1 have not much satisfaction in reading the book, not being able
to repose with security on the accuracy of his facts. For instance,
an important theory much depends for support on the fact that
Mr. Crosse's creatures, which made a sensation at the British
Association in 1836, appear in an infusion containing 'gelatinous
silex,' which this author supposes to be silex transformed into
gelatine, and thus exhibiting a transition from the mineral to the
animal kingdom. Now Mr. Crosse, whom I had the great plea-
sure of meeting the other day at Mr. Estlin's, told me that this
was a complete error, as gelatinous silex was a perfect mineral,
deriving its name not from its nature but from its appearance.
This was certainly a most careless assumption, which ought not to
have been made on so important a question.
" I quite agree with you in feeling that The Chimes gives one a
heartache, and do not v\'onder that you feel it often very painful
to witness the mass of evil in the metropolis which you can do
nothing to alleviate. 1 do not possess >our gaiety of heart to
help to remove the painfulness of the feeling ; and I believe it
was intended that we should suffer sympathetic pain, to stimulate
us to make efforts for our fellow-creatures ; but I feel the most
supporting view to take to be a firm conviction of the parental
character of the Deity, and of His infinite wisdom, love, and
power. He would not permit all these evils but for His own
benevolent purposes. . . .
" Last Saturday fortnight Anna and I breakfasted with Mrs.
Schimmelpenninck, a most fascinating woman, full of genius and
sentiment and religious feeling, and a keen sense of the ludicrous.
She asked me about Dannecker's * Christ,' and of the effect pro-
duced on us by it, and what Mrs. Jameson had said of Dannecker ;
and then she was quite satisfied because she had heard a corre-
sponding account from Mrs. , a missionary's wife. When
she saw this statue in a gallery, she remained for some time quite
transfixed with absorbing feeling, looking at ic ; at last she perceived
a gentleman attentively observing her ; and struck with her admi-
124 GOOD SAMARITANS.
radon, he said, 'That statue converted to Christianity the artist
w.io sculptured it — and I am he ! ' He Lold her that he had a
strong desire to have something that should immortalise him, and
after in vain attempting to satisfy himself, travelled in Italy, but
none of the splendid works of art he saw there seemed to reach
his ideal. Then he devoted himself to the study of the Gospels,
but at first he could see nothing but beautiful and sublime dis-
jointed fragments, until one text seemed a key-note to him, ' God
manifested in the flesh.' He became a devout Christian, but the
subject he had proposed to himself seemed too great for him :
after a time, however, he reflected that as others could preach
and write on Christianity, which he could not, he should do
something, and consequently determined to make the statue.
" Mrs. Schimmelpenninck allowed me to come to her house and
draw quietly (from her copy of David Roberts's ' Views in Egypt
and Palestme ') during the Easter week ; and seldom have I
enjoyed any view more than the view of Jerusalem from the road
to Bethany over the Mount of OUves, where I could better
imagine our Saviour walking than in almost any sketch I have
ever seen. I made a tolerable copy in colours of that, and of the
Desert of the Temptation, with the Dead Sea in the distance ; but
how oiten did I long for the privilege which I had at your house,
of having Mr. Roberts's own touches on my drawing ! "
The " Ministry to the Poor," or " Domestic Mission," which she
had established, continued, meanwhile, to prosecute its unpretend-
ing but useful labours. Even this, however, failed to hit the mark
at which Miss Carpenter aimed : it did not reach that latest
stratum of the social mass which it was most important of all to
penetrate. Another agency was wanted, to brmg within its scope
the boys and girls who filled the streets and roamed about the
quays. She found that agency in the " Ragged School " system
which John Pounds originated in Portsmouth. It had afterwards,
on a larger scale, been adopted at London and Aberdeen, Dundee
and Edmbui-gh and Glasgow ; and eventually the Ragged School
Union was formed. Miss Carpenter resolved on working it in
Bristol, and, with a few friends to assist her, hired a room, engaged
a master, and opened a "Ragged School" at Lewin's Mead, on
the ist of August, 1846. There were seven pupils at first ; and
on the following Tuesday nearly twenty assembled. Beginning
RAGGED SCHOOLS AND NIGHT SCHOOLS. 125
to be tired in the afternoon, one of them said, "Now let us fight,'"
and irx an instant they were all fighting. Peace, however, was
quickly restored ; and each week brought increased numbers and
improved order. It was literally a Ragged School : none of the
boys had shoes or stockings ; some had no shirt and no home,
sleeping in casks on the quay, or on steps, and living, possibly,
by petty depredations ; but all better fed, apparently, than the
children of the decent poor. The experiment proved so successful
that a larger room was soon required ; and one was accordingly
secured in St. James's Back, to which the school was transferred
early in December. It was the first of a series of Institutions
which owed their origin to the zeal and far-sighted charity of Mary
Jane Carpenter. Fixed in one of the lowest and most populous
quarters of Bristol, it speedily taxed all the energies of its managers^
and the opening of a Night School in connection with it brought
in a swarm of young men and women, whose habits and character
tested even the courage of the founder. Early in 1847, the
attendance, one Sunday evening, rose to 200 ; the attempt to
close the school with prayer was frustrated by disorder and shouts
of mockery, and the court beneath resounded with yells and
blows. The neighbours not unnaturally complained of the dis-
turbance, and it became necessary to obtain aid from the police.
Gradually, however, the master obtained a control which rendered
official vigilance unnecessary ; and the policeman who came to
protect remained for another purpose, — he was one day reported
to the magistrates by an unsympathetic inspector for " having been
two hours in the Ragged School, setting copies to the boys."
The secret of the success which crowned this institution must
be sought in the enthusiasm of the teachers, — an enthusiasm
which they caught from Miss Carpenter. " Week by week," we
are told, " and month by month, she was ever at hand to lighten
the burden, not only by ready counsel and sympathy, but by
taking a large share in the toil. The morning and evening of
Sunday were consecrated to her Scripture-class in St. James's Back,
— the afternoon being already pledged to the Sunday-school ; two
nights every week were regularly given, at no matter what social
sacrifice, to the evening school ; and day after day found her in
the same haunt, ready to take a class, to preside over the mid
day distribution of the soup to the most needy, or even bear tb
126 GOOD SAMARITANS.
sole charge of management if sickness kept the master away. By
this constancy she soon acquired a complete familiarity with the
ways of the scholars, and also with the habits of the neighbour-
hood. Strong in the power of a sacred purpose, she was perfectly
devoid of fear, and would traverse alone and at night courts into
which policemen only went by twos. The street quarrel was
hushed at her approach, as a guilty lad slunk away to avoid her
look of sorrowful reproof; and her approving word, with the gift
of a flower, a picture, or a Testament, often made sad homes
cheerful and renewed the courage of the wavering."
Her mode of teaching will best be understood from the follow-
ing entries in her journal : —
" I showed them the orrery, which greatly delighted them,
and they seemed quite to understand it, and to enter into the
idea of the inclination of the earth's axis producing a change of
seasons. . .
" This class had never seen a map, and had the greatest diffi-
culty in realizing it. T was delighted to see Bristol, Keynsham^
and Bath. I always begin with the * known,' carrying them on
afterwards to the * unknown.' . . .
" I had taken to my class in the preceding week some speci-
mens of ferns neatly gummed on white paper ; they were much
struck with their beauty, but none knew what they were, though
W thought he had seen them growing ; one thought they were
palm-trees. They seemed interested in the account of then
fructification I gave them. This time I took a piece of coal-shale,
with impressions of ferns, to show them. I explained that this
had once been in a liquid state, telling them that some things
could be proved to be certain, while others were doubtful ; that time
did not permit me to explain the proofs to them, nor would they
understand them if I did : but that I was careful to tell them nothing
as certain which could not be fully proved. I then told each to
examine the specimen and tell me what he thought it was. W
gave so bright a smile that I saw he knew ; none of the others
could tell ; he said they were ferns like those I showed them last
week, but he thought they were chiselled on the stone. Their
surprise and pleasure were great when I explained the matter to
them. . .
" The history of Joseph : They all found a difficulty in realizing
hER EFFECTIVE PLAN OF TEACHING. ii'i
that this had actually occurred. One asked if Egypt existed now,
and if people lived in it. When I told them that buildings now
stood which had been erected about the time of Joseph, one said
that it was impossible, as they must have fallen down ere this. I
showed them the form of a pyramid, and they were satisfied.
One asked if all books were true. . . .
" The story of Macbeth impressed them much. They knew the
name of Shakespeare, having seen his head over a public-house."
While Miss Carpenter anxiously strove to minister to the mental
improvement of her ragged scholars, she was even more soHcitous
for the development of their religious faculties. To teach them
the great truths of Christ's religion, to accustom them to self-
control and self-sacrifice, to nurture in them a love of purity and
truth, — these were her great, her dominant aims. She knew that
by an absolutely secular education she could not make them
useful or trustworthy members of society ; that only by inspiring
them with the love and fear of God could she bring them to
respect and observe our social laws. Every Sunday morning and
evening, and often on the week nights besides, she drew around
her a Bible-class, and told them that old, old story — which is
ever new — of the sacrifice of Calvary. Her religious teaching
was wonderfully effective, because it was so earnest. Speaking
from her heart, she went straight to the hearts of her listeners.
And, indeed, 1 think the wonderful narrative of the life and
death and resurrection of Jesus Christ will never fail in its influ-
ence so long as it is told by one who believes in it. Only when
it drops from the frigid lips of men who have never realized it
in their own natures does it cease to fertilise and brighten and bless.
In 1849 she published an interesting little volume entitled
" Ragged Schools, their Principles and Modes of Operation By
a Worker," which may be accepted as the standard text-book or
manual on the subject It contains a vigorous and well-reasoned
argument for Government aid, and some valuable particulars of
the condition of the destitute children whom she sought to be-
friend. It is written by a worker who feels the value and respon-
sibility of her work, is not ignorant of its anxieties, but loves it
profoundly — loves it because she believes in it and in the good
it does, and the warmth of human affection which it stimulates.
*' How I prize the love I receive in the school ! " SxxC exclaims
128 GOOD SAMARITANS,
in one of her letters ; " I must confess that it is not so attractive
to me from a mere sense of duty, for 1 might find duties elsewhere ;
but it is so delightful to me to gain so much love as I feel I have
from these young beings, and to help to kindle their souls by
mine." Thus it is that the work of the Good Samaritan is twice-
blessed ; blessing the worker, and those for whom he works.
It was not the nature of Mary Carpenter, however, to rest
content with a certain measure of accomplishment; from the
stage of one success she was always ready to mount up to another,
— always, however, with a clear perception of what she wanted
and how it might best be attained, — showing neither undue haste
nor unwise hesitancy — ohne hast, ohne rast. Her experience ot
Ragged Schools convinced her that something additional, some-
thing complementary, was wanted, by which the juvenile offender
might be separated from deteriorating influences and trained up
in a wholesome atmosphere. She saw that to thrust him into
prison, where he was exposed to the society of veteran criminals,
was to seal and consummate his ruin, and effectually prevent him
from retracing his misguided steps. We should not place a person,
showing symptoms of illness, in a plague-smitten hospital, if we
desired his recovery ! Such being her convictions, she published,
in 1 85 1, a book entitled "Reformatory Schools for the Children
of the Perishing and Dangerous Classes, and for Juvenile Offenders."
In this she indicated three kinds of schools as necessary for the
different grades of destitution, vagrancy, and criminality ;— good
B'ree Day Schools ; Feeding Industrial Schools, aided by the rates,
at which attendance should be compulsory; and, thirdly. Reforma-
tory Schools,* in lieu of the existing prison system. She brought
together a great number of facts to illustrate the total failure of
the gaols to reform juvenile criminals, and she put before the
I public four general propositions : —
First, That, as a general rule, all children, however apparently
vicious and degraded, are capable of being made useful members
of society, and beings acting on a religious principle, if placed under
right influences and subjected to judicious control and training.
Second, That the existing system adopted towards offending
children renders them almost certainly members for life of the
* These were originally tried at Mettrai.
FORMATION OF REtOKMATOKV SCHOOLS. 129
•criminal class, for it neither deters nor reforms them ; while, by
vchecking the development of their powers and branding them with
ignominy, it prevents them from gaining an honest livelihood.
Third, That good Penal Reformatory Schools, conducted on
Christian principles, with a wise union of kindness and restraint,
have been successful in converting the most corrupt and degraded
into useful members of society ; but that to secure their perma-
nency and efficiency it was essential they should be under the
authority and supported by the State.
And fourth, That the parents being in reality the guilty parties,
•rather than the children, inasmuch as parental neglect is usually
the source of juvenile delinquency, every parent should be charge-
,able for the maintenance of a child thrown by crime on the care of
the State, as much as if the child were under his own roof; and
-should be held responsible for the maintenance of his child in a
Reformatory School, or in some other way made to suffer for the
.non-discharge of his duty.
Miss Carpenter went on to say that if these four propositions
were accepted — as, indeed, they had been, by a Committee of the
iLords in 1847, ^^^d ^ Committee of the Commons in 1850 — legis-
lative enactments would be needed to carry them out. A sufficient
^number of Reformatory Schools, under Government inspection
.and supported by Government aid, must be established ; and
magistrates and judges empowered to send all convicted children
*to such schools, instead of committing them to prison.
The next step, while these propositions were slowly sinking into
fthe public mind, always slow to receive any idea which conflicts
with old traditions and prejudices, was to bring together a con-
ference of workers, so that some means might be adopted of
carrying them into action. The arrangements were laboriously
completed in the course of 1851 ; and on the 9th of December
the Conference held its first meeting, under the presidency of
Lord Lyttelton. Mr. M. D. Hill took a foremost part in its organ-
isation, and delivered a very important and solid address. A
Committee was appointed to "agitate" in the cause, and a memorial
submitted to the Government. But Governments are in no hurry
to move in new paths ; and Mary Carpenter determined to show
the practicability of her scheme, in the meantime, by establishing
..a Reformatory School at Bristol. There is nothing the English-
[JO GOOD SAMARITANS.
man so quickly understands as a fact ; there is nothing from which
he so instinctively shrinks as a theory. Premises at Kingswood
formerly occupied as a Wesleyan School, and containing accom-
modation for upwards of a hundred children, were purchased by a
Mr. Russell Scott. Liberal contributions flowed in from generous
friends, and the Kingswood Reformatory School was opened on
the nth of September.
Following up the good work, Miss Carpenter published in 1853
her "Juvenile Delinquents, their Condition and Treatment," which
supplied an interesting apergu of the treatment of juvenile delin-
quents in France, Wurtemberg, Prussia, Bavaria, Belgium, and
Switzerland. The moral of the book, which was also the burden
of her teaching, she stated thus : —
" The child must be placed where he will be gradually restored
to the true position of childhood. He must be brought to a sense
of dependence by reawakening in him new and healthy desires^
which he cannot himself gratify, and by finding that there is a
power far greater than his own to which he is indebted for the
gratification of these desires. He must perceive, by manifestations
which he cannot mistake, that this power, while controlhng him,
is guided by wisdom and love ; he must have his affections called
forth by the obvious personal interest felt in his own individual
well-being by those around him ; he must, in short, be placed in
a family. Faith in those around him being once thoroughly
established, he will soon yield his own will in ready submission to-
those who are working for his good j it will thus be gradually
subdued and trained, and he will work with them in effecting his
reformation, trusting, where he cannot perceive the reason of the
measures they adopt to correct or eradicate the evil in him. This,
it is apprehended, is the fundamental principle of all true refor-
matory action with the young ; and in every case where striking
success has followed such efforts, it will be traceable to the
greater development of this principle, to a more true and powerful
action on the soul of the child by those who have assumed
towards it the holy duties of a parent."
A second Conference on the subject of reformatory schools was-
held at Birmingham in December 1853; and public opinion now
pronounced itself so decidedly in favour of the movement that^
in the following session, the Government introduced and carried*
THE ''RED LODGE'' REF0RMA20RY. 13*
through Parliament what was known as the "Youthful Offenders'
Act." It authorised the establishment of Reformatory Schools by-
voluntary managers, and placed them under the control of the
Home Secretary.
Experience had proved to Miss Carpenter the undesirability of
including, as at Kingswood, boys and girls under the same roof ;
and she now sought very anxiously for some means of separating
the girls, so that her supervision over them might become more
direct. Assisted by Lady Byron and other friends, she succeeded
in purchasing a fine old Elizabethan building in Park Row,
Bristol, known as the Red Lodge, which was opened as a Re-
formatory School for girls on the loth of October, 1854. It was
entirely under her own control, and she threw herself into its
management with all the energy of her ardent nature, until over-
wrought nature gave way beneath the strain, and in the following
spring she was prostrated by a severe attack of rheumatic fever.
On her recovery, which for some time was doubtful, she was sent
by her physicians to the south coast of Devon, and in the mild air
of Torquay she gradually recruited her physical powers. Then
she resumed the threads of her many philanthropic labours, and
entered once more upon that life of practical enthusiasm which
was fraught with so many blessings for her fellow-creatures. For
it is not only in the work, but in the example of such a woman
that there lies a perpetual benediction for humanity.
In the opening pages of this chapter we have insisted on the
absolute necessity of making religion the basis of all education ;
we have argued that the religious spirit ought to permeate and
inspire our educational systems, and that the proper discipline
of the soul is at least as essential as the adequate culture of the
intellect. At the Red Lodge this fact was fully recognised by
Miss Carpenter. She did not conceive it possible that the work
of reformation could be accomplished without any appeal to those
higher aspirations and purer feelings which lie dormant in our
nature, until the springs are opened by the divining rod of God's
holy word. The following extracts from her journal show how
assiduously she sought to foster among the inmates of the Red
Lodge a deep and genuine love of religious feeling: —
"February, 1856. I have continued to give my lessons as
usual, and have increasing satisfaction in them, perceiving that
432 GOOD SAMARITANS.
they really take root in the girls, who show great capability of
intellectual culture. The Scripture lessons especially give me
most pleasure. At the interval of a week they can answer ac-
curately every fact of the previous lesson, with evident under-
standing and recollection of my explanations. The blank looks
of the new girls fully prove to me how much work has been already
done in preparing the soil to receive the good seed. My regular
lesson times are these : —
" Sunday afternoon from 2.30 to 4, generally longer. Review of
hymns, with remarks, which have been learnt during the week.
Gospel of Luke, with explanations and comments, after examina-
tion on the last Sunday's lesson. If there is time, I permit each
girl who can read to choose a text for herself, which much pleases
them, and fixes the attention on particular passages. When there
is time, I show them Scripture pictures.
" Monday evenings from 6 o'clock to bedtime, when I visit them
when in bed, which gives an opportunity for private communi-
cation with individuals. Hitherto I have read a story to the
younger ones while the older ones were writing, and then heard
the older ones read. I mean to vary this. Afterwards I read
the old Testament to them, being now engaged on the history of
Abraham, which rises in grand antique beauty before me every
time I realize it to present to these children. Indeed, the study
uf these ancient records gives me something of the same feeling
that seeing the disinterred Assyrian remains would do. When
the girls are in bed I visit each, and find an interchange of affec-
tion and occasional private word very useful in strengthening
the bond which I wish to exist between my children and
me."
Into this happy and useful life a great sorrow came in the
summer of 1856, — as great sorrows will come into the lives of
all of us, — the death of a beloved mother, who had shared her
thoughts and hopes and cares with broad and helpful sympathies.
It was some time before her mind recovered its elasticity, but the
healing influences of work gradually had their way, and in the
following year she was once more immersed in the activities of a
sagacious and comprehensive benevolence. The institution at
the Red Lodge was expanded through the liberality of Lady
Byron, and a home fitted up for eight or nine girls, under a
INTEREST SHOWN IN ADuLT OFFENDERS. 133,
matron, who were there traiaed for domestic service. The ex-
periment was entirely successful.
It was natural enough that from Reformatory Schools for the
benefit of juvenile delinquents she should be led on to the con-
sideration of agencies for the benefit of adult offenders. A visit
to Dublin, in 1861, to attend the annual congress of the Social
Science Association, introduced to her notice the admirable-
system of prison management devised and carried out by Sir
Walter Crofton ; and she convinced herself that a very large per-
centage of criminals could, by a system of reformatory training,
adopted towards the close of their terms of imprisonment, be^
restored to society as industrious and useful members. With
characteristic energy she took up this new subject, side by side,,
as it were, with her favourite topics of Reformatories and Ragged
and Industrial Schools. The results of incessant inquiry and
investigation were brought together in a book which she published
in 1864, under the title of "Our Convicts." It was a forcible,
and exhaustive indictment of the English convict system.*
* Of the general character of its contents we shall quote the following de-
scription : —
'• Borrowing from the records of prison officials, and the police narratives of
the daily papers, the author first described the actual moral condition of the
convict class, and then proceeded to inquire what were the influences which>.
produced the fearful moral degradation thus revealed, special stress being laid
upon the facilities afforded by imprisonment for corruption and training in-
crime. The third chapter was devoted to an exposition of the principles of
convict treatment, the chief of which was stated to be the necessity that' the
will of the individual should be brought into such a condition as to wish to-
reform, and lo exert itself to that end, in co-operation with the persons who.
are set over him.' This, it was urged, can never be done by mere force, or
by any mechanical appliance. But that reformation, even of the most hardened-
offenders, was possible, was proved by the remarkable results attained by
Colonel Montesinos of Valencia, by Herr von Obermaier at Munich, and by
Captain Maconochie in Norfolk Island. How far, then, did the English
convict system fulfil the conditions of true reformatory discipline ? The answer
was given in an elaborate inquiry, occupying the rest of the first volume, into-
the arrangements of various prisons, the disposal of criminals, tickets-of-leave,
and, finally, transportation.
*' From the English convict system the reader was carried to Ireland, where-
the treatment of prisoners was founded on the same Acts, but had been
carried out to very different results. Intermediate establishments ■were in-
stituted between the prisons and the world. The freedom of agency of tfcfo
«34 GOOD SAMARITANS,
True charity is many-sided; it does not confine itself to one
branch of Christian work, but readily responds to every demand
made upon it by suffering or sorrowing or sinning humanity. We
have seen that Mary Carpenter's large heart could find room for
the amelioration of the condition of the poor, the reformation of
juvenile offenders, the discipline and training of adult criminals.
She sympathized keenly with missionary effort abroad, and every
movement against slavery commanded her hearty assistance.
And it is to be noted that, enthusiast as she was, she was no
visionary theorist, no fanatic stricken with blind reverence for
impossible ideals ; her mind was eminently practical, and she
undertook nothing which could not be defended by sober and
rational arguments. Hence it is that her name is so happily
associated with achievement, instead, as has been the case with
■many would-be reformers, with intention only. At various times
inmates was gradually enlarged as they showed themselves deserving of trust,
and strict supervision was exercised over those who went out on licence. The
details of this method were exhibited with convincing wealth of illustration.
The history of the system was set forth ; and to the evidence of personal
observation, and the witness of official reports, there was added the testimony
of other critics from England, from the Continent, and from Canada, in its
support. Was the Irish system applicable to women as well as to men? The
question was discussed in a chapter on Female Convicts, and after a contrast
between the prison experiences on both sides of the Channel, it was unhesi-
tatingly answered in the affirmative. In conclusion, various suggestions for
improvement were laid down, including strict registration of criminals, greater
-certainty and uniformity of judicial sentences, cumulative sentences, and
changes in the county gaols in the direction of the principles of the Irish
system, such as were already being carried out at Winchester and Wakefield.
The next chapter, headed Prevention, afforded opportunity for a survey of the
principal agencies available for the diminution of the causes of crime ; such as
temperance, the diffusion of pure literature, the improvements of the dwellings
of the labouring classes. The most important, however, was education ; which
j gave occasion for a review of the progress of Reformatory and Industrial
J Schools since the Conference of 1851, a plea for the separation of pauper
children from workhouse management, and a renewed appeal on behalf of
Ragged Schools. Finally, in brief but earnest words, the co-operation of
society was invoked, and different channels for voluntary effort were marked
out. * Thus may all labour together, government and people, for the regene-
I ation of the misguided and neglected in our country, and for the restoration to
society of ** Our Convicts."'" — The Life and Work of Mary Carpenter, by
S. EsTLiN Carpenter, M.A., pp. 304-306. Upon this very valuable and
interesting book of Mr. Carpenter's our sketch is founded.
MISS CARPENTER GOES TO INDIA. 135
in her life the vast field of philanthropic effort afforded by British
India had arrested her imagination ; but, true to her principle of
doing the work which lay nearest at hand, she did not allow
herself to be involved in radiant dreams of which she could not
then anticipate the realization. But as the years passed by, and
her various undertakings grew in consolidation and security, she
allowed herself to consider the subject more seriously, and in
1864 her interest in it was re-kindled by conversations which
she had with a couple of native Hindu gentlemen. Into what
channel should she direct her energies ? At first she thought of
receiving Indian ladies into her house; but further inquiry and
reflection convinced her that the work to be done must be done
in India. So, on the 12th of January, she registered a solemn
resolution : —
" I here record," she writes, " my solemn resolve that hence-
forth I devote my heart and soul and strength to the elevation
of the women of India. In doing this I shall not suddenly
abandon my work here, which has long and deep claims on me,
nor will I give it up until I have put it, so far as in me lies, on a
firm and settled basis. I believe that it is come to a point at
which this can be done. But I shall obey the remarkable call
which has been given me so unexpectedly, which is in accordance
with former days' feelings and resolves. Without any present and
apparent change of plan, I shall watch openings, devote myself
to perfecting my present work, and bearing my testimony in my
proposed book, gain information, and prepare in every way for
my great object — going to India to promote the Christian work
for the women."
On the 14th of February she wrote : —
*' A month has passed since I made the foregoing entry. I
have closely questioned myself, — suspected myself of enthusiasm,
of weariness of work, etc., etc. ; but nothing has changed, but only
confirmed, my strong and settled conviction that a new field is
now about to open to me, one in which I shall seem especially
to be working with my beloved Father, and in which the gifts
which He gave me of mental culture will be especially useful ; one
m which my natural powers will have free scope. * Other sheep
I have, which are not of this fold.' Now that my poor little
forsaken ones are cared for here. I may go to the ' others ' and
136 GOOD SAMARITANS.
help them . . . Should I never return, heaven will be as near
to me trom that region as from here."*
It was not until 1866, however, that she could carry out her
resolve. Her friends had at first embarrassed her with warnings
and discouragements, but with her usual calm persistency she set
them aside, and as soon as she saw the way clear before her she
went. She felt it to be her duty ; and though in her sixtieth
year, — with her constitution strained by severe illnesses, — never
dreamed of shrinking froui it. To have neglected such an open-
ing for good would have been to have sinned against her con-
science and inner liglu. Her last work in England was to plan
the establishment of a Girls' Industrial School ; and then, com-
mending herself to God, she set out for India on the ist of
September. Six wetks later she was at Ahmedabad, and studying
its different Government institutions, prisons, hospitals, lunatic
asylums, schojls, normal training institutions, and embracing
every opportunity of becoming closely acquainted with the native
character and wants. From the varieties of Oriental life, her
imagination, with its keen sense of the picturesque, derived
inexhaustible delight ; but she allowed nothing to displace the
one thought, the one idea, which had possession of her mind.
The lamentable condition of the Hindu women, — fettered by the
restrictions of a narrow creed, cabined and confined by traditional
prejudices, — was always before her ; and she studied deeply and
anxiously the best method of attacking a problem which was
complicated by both social and religious customs. Her convic-
tion was, that it could be solved only through the development
of female education; and the first step in this direction she
perceived to be the introduction of trained female teachers into
the girls' schools. Her views, as soon as she had distinctly
formulated them, she laid before the Indian Government. A
* Miss Carpenter refers to the touching story of the Elizabethan navigator,
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who, when his little pioneer was almost overwhelmed
by the storm-tossed waters of the Arctic Sea, called out to his men, " Courage,
jny lads, we are as near to heaven by sea as by land" —
** He sat upon the deck.
The Book was in his hand :
* Do not fear : heaven is as near,
He said, ' by water as by land.' "
HER RECEPTION IN INDIA. 137
Calcutta she was welcomed by Keshub Chunder Sen, the well-
known leader of the Brahmo Soma], or new Hindu Theistic school,
and from him and the native gentlemen associated with him she
obtained a hearty and sympathetic support. The then Viceroy,
Sir John (afterwards Lord) Lawrence, was well disposed to afford
her every facility in maturing and carrying out her plans. Writing
from Government House, on the 23rd of December, she says : —
" Here I have been located for a fortnight. The Governor-
General most kindly sent and appointed an interview with m^
immediately after his return from Simla, and after introducing
me to Lady Lawrence, she wrote and invited me to take up my
abode here while in Calcutta. . . .
" I have beautiful large rooms here in one wing of the palace,
all to myself, where I am perfectly independent, and may receive
what visitors I please. At first I felt very like a state prisoner,
but soon got to understand the ways of things. A red-liveried
man keeps guard in the passage before my door, or rather spends
his days in calm repose, lying on the matting, unless I send him
on an errand, which I think very good for his health. He cannot,
or will not, speak a word of English, except * Tea,' which he gets
for me whenever I wish. The household is beautifully ordered^
and the servants most attentive. You would be rather frightened
at first to meet to many red-liveried soldiers and servants wherever
you go, but I get used to it and do not mind it. I have hadi
numerous visitors, and often have been in a constant state ofc:
levee when in the house. I have been getting such an insight:
into native homes and ways of thinking, as few people have.,
an opportunity of doing. The very bigoted ones keep out of/
my way. I have no sympathy with them, for it is not from any/
religious prejudice, but from the selfish wish to keep their wivesi
perfectly in thraldom, that they object to education for them/.
But there are many good enlightened men who deserve ever}'
sympathy. , . .
" The ladies I visit all receive me with the greatest enthusiasm.
They think it so wonderful that I should have taken such a
journey on their account. One greeted me with : ' I am very
glad you spent your own money to come and see us,' — of course
in Bengalee. The husband of another said that he could hardly
make his wife realize that I had come from such a distance to see
. 9
r
138 GOOD SAMARITANS,
them, and when he did make her understand, she said that * I
ought to be adored.' The effect of my coming is far greater than
I ever anticipated, and I feel inexpressibly thankful to have had
such a reward.
" You will perceive from the accompanying newspaper extracts
that I have had some valuable opportunities of stating principles,
and I am glad, in this case, of the disagreeable habit they have of
putting everything into the newspapers. I had another opportunity
on Friday, at Judge Phear's. He kindly invited me to dinner with
Mr. and Mrs. Tagore and Mr. Ghose, and afterwards about a
dozen or more of first-rate grand legal Hindus assembled. In
the drawing-room, Mr. Phear asked me to say something to
them, and I addressed them on the duty of society to criminals,
and particularly juveniles. I am glad to find that I can quite
trust myself to develop any subject logically and clearly with only
a few minutes' thought. To-morrow evening I have promised to
join native Christians at tea at Bhavasierpore, and then give an
address on Female Education to Hindus in general."
Under her auspices a free school for " the lowest of the low "'
■?s'as started at Calcutta. She originated the Bengal Social Science
Association, on the plan of the English Society. She prepared
for the Viceroy a statement on the condition of female education
in the Metropolitan district. The organisation of a female normal
training school sprang from her active brain. And after six weeks
of incessant labour at Calcutta, the indefatigable worker proceeded
to Madras on a similar mission of philanthropy. Thence she
went on to Bombay, everywhere making the mark of her well-
directed energy and singular tenacity of purpose. She returned
to England in April 1867, believing that she had sown much
good seed in a favourable soil, which, under the blessing of
Heaven, would one day ripen into an ample harvest. " India is
a great country," said Lord Dufferin, ''and the history of a great
country deals only with important events ; but I am certain that
when the history of that country is being written during the present
century, the visit of Miss Carpenter to the shores of India will
not remain unrecorded." The progress which female education
has made of recent years in India is unquestionably due to the
impulse communicated by the wise and vigorous philanthropy of
Miss Carpenter.
JPKOGRESS OF FEMALE EDUCATION IN INDIA. 139
In \868 she returned to India, to superintend the progress of
the work she had so happily begun. She took with her several,
lady assistants, besides such books, pictures, and apparatus as
might be of use for general purposes of culture, as well as the
specific needs of school education ; and on her arrival was grati-
fied to find that the Government, in order to promote the esta-
blishment of Female Normal Schools, had granted ;^i,2oo per
annum, for five years, to each of the three presidency towns,
Calcutta, Madras, and Bombay. Arriving at Bombay in November,
she at once undertook the organisation of a Normal School in
that city, and prospered greatly ; while giving her support and
advice to every other institution that aimed at promoting the
education of the Hindu women. The direct instruction of
native teachers in their own schools was begun. Scholarships
were offered by the Countess of Mayo, the Rani of Jumkhundi,
and other native ladies and gentlemen. A class of married ladies
was formed for studying English; and requests for trained teachers
came flowing in from various parts of the Presidency.
A dangerous illness, however, abruptly snapped the thread of
her work, and compelled her return to England. There she
recruited her strength, and conferred with her friends, and ex-
amined into the progress of the many institutions which owed
their existence to her combined zeal and prudence. When her
health was re-established, she made a third journey to India, and
was rewarded for all her toils and pains by finding that the good
cause was steadily making its way. So that when she left Bombay,
in the early spring of 1870, she was able to write : — " I know and
feel that while the worldly may scoff and disbelieve, there are
many spirits here which have felt its power and rejoiced in it; and
I beHeve that they will kindle others. The work will go on. In
faith and hope I can say, ' India, Farewell.' "
Having resumed her customary avocations at Bristol, Miss
Carpenter undertook the formation of a National Indian Associa-
tion with the following objects: " She wished," says her biographer,
" to enable native visitors to England to study its institutions, and
«nter into its society, to the best advantage. She sought to extend
a knowledge of India and its special social wants, the educa-
tion of the masses of the people, the education of women, the
improvement of prison discipline, and the establishment of
I40 GOOD SAMARITANS.
juvenile reformatories. And she desired to find some common
ground whereon the scattered endeavours put forth in India itself
should be brought into friendly relation, and gather strength by
feeling sympathy and support around them instead of isolation or
hostility." The association was '' inaugurated " at Bristol in Sep-
tember 1870.
In telling the story of Mary Carpenter's life we have no refer-
ence to make to those sweet episodes of love and marriage and
motherhood which fill so conspicuous a place in the lives of most
women. And this, not because she was wanting in the capacity
of deep and trusting affection, for upon her parents and her
brothers and her sisters she lavished a wonderful wealth of
tenderness, but because she voluntarily and consciously devoted
herself, her means, and her opportunities, her talents and her
time, to the welfare of humanity. She lived not for herself, but
others. At the age of sixty-five we find her, with all the vigour
of youth and wisdom of age, promoting the establishment of Day
Industrial Schools for the benefit of a class of children to whom
access to the Board Schools was virtually denied. The Inter-
national Prison Congress engaged her attention in July. Later
in the year she visited Germany. In 1873 she accomplished a
visit to the United States, where she addressed many large and
influential assemblies on the subjects dearest to her heart. She
passed on into Canada, to receive a hearty welcome from her old
friend. Lord Dufi'erin, then Governor-General of Canada.
In 1874 Miss Carpenter lent her powerful help to the move-
ment in favour of the Higher Education of Women ; of which,
indeed, she was herself an example and a type. " The systematic
study of language, of Hterature, of science, of philosophy, had
given her a variety of culture which had proved of the utmost
value to her in unexpected ways ; and every effort to supply a
lofiier guidance to capacities which had too long remained un-
developed, seemed to put in a positive claim upon her aid.
Rarely could she be induced to speak on any subject in which
she was not an active worker. But on this topic she possessed
a large store of observation and experience; and these were
always at the service of the leaders who were striving to carry
out on a larger scale principles of education with which she had
be'^n familiar since her earliest years." The temperance cause-
'' IN DUE TIME YE SHALL REAP' ETU 141
and the movement for the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act
also enlisted her sympathies. The " nihil humani alienum " prin-
ciple was the guiding motive and purpose of her nobly useful life.
In September 1875 she paid another and a final visit to India,
partly to further the work of female education, and partly to fetch
two children of a Hindu family, whose parents had consented that
they should share her lonely home and enjoy the advantage of
her loving care. She saw much to encourage her at Bombay, at
Madras, and at Calcutta ; the bread which she had cast upon the
waters had come home again, and in fewer days than she could
have hoped or anticipated. " In due time ye shall reap, if ye
faint not." To Mary Carpenter the promise was abundantly ful-
filled. Writing to the Marquis of Salisbury, on her return home,
she said: *'The general impression I have formed from my present
visit to India on the subject of female education is a hopeful one.
The idea of education seems increasingly to permeate the masses
from high to low. Native chiefs are thinking of the education of
their ladies, and a single instance in which they carry this into
effect is more valuable than any mere professions of interest.
Native gentlemen of position are in many cases anxious to obtain
for their ladies instruction from English ladies. The class of
women requiring to obtain a maintenance, find that they can do
so better by being educated. I have formed a much higher idea
than before of the capabilities of native ladies, both in acquiring
knowledge and in becoming teachers. There is not the great
dread of female education which formerly existed, and altogether
the way appears open to rapid progress, if only the conditions
necessary to this are provided. These conditions are, in the first
place, a good teaching power, with suitable premises and appli-
ances. These cannot be supplied by the natives, and without
these the schools for girls will continue as they have done, without
any sensible improvement."
In the spring of 1876 this noble woman once more took up hei
abode in Bristol. Her solitary home, no longer solitary, wa?
cheered by the presence of her Hindu boys and of an adopted
daughter ; and though she was close upon threescore years and
ten, her affections had not diminished in their strength, nor was
there any apparent diminution of her natural energy. She still
continued to give her best thoughts to the engrossing occupations
142 GOOD SAMARITAI^S.
of her useful life, and had the felicity of seeing her Day-Feeding
Industrial Schools recognized by the legislature and incorporated
into the educational system of the country. From the first she
had steadfastly held the sound opinion that there were three
classes to be dealt with : a class of habitual young criminals,
who could be treated only in reformatory schools ; a class ot
lesser criminals and vagrants, for whom certified industrial schools
were required ; and beneath these, and swelling their ranks by a
constant influx, a third class of truant and neglected children,
haunting the streets of every considerable town, and living in
an atmosphere of juvenile crime and vagrancy. For these she
recommended a separate class of schools, more of an educational
4:han of a penal character. We have seen that Reformatory
Schools were established ; Certified Industrial Schools followed ;
and, lastly, in 1876, a Parliamentary enactment was obtained for
the provision of Day-Feeding Industrial Schools. Thus her whole
programme was carried out after years of patient and enlightened
labour, — marked by a singular tenacity of purpose and an unusual
breadth of view, — and she could say, " Opus consummatum est"
We get an idea of her indomitable energy from the group of
institutions which she originated at Bristol, and over which she
maintained to the last an active supervision. We have, first, the
Boys' Reformatory School at Kingswood; second, the Girls
Reformatory in the Red Lodge ; third, the Certified Industrial
School for Boys in Park Row ; fourth, the Girls' Certified Indus-
trial School in the Fort ; fifth, the Day-Feeding Industrial School
in St. James's Back, which was also the centre of the Children's
Agency ; and, sixth, the Boys' Home. These various lines of
work she followed up with undiminished interest ; so that, as Miss
Nightingale said, one forgot her age in the eternal freshness of
her youthful activity. It is worth recording that in the spring of
1877 she delivered a course of six lectures at the Philosophical
Institution, speaking fluently on each occasion for an hour and
a quarter.
The 3rd of April, 1877, witnessed the completion of her seven-
tieth year. To a member of her family she wrote on this interest-
ing occasion with pathetic simplicity: —
** This day seems to mark a distinct era in my life, when the
great battles are over, and I have only to carry on the work
RETROSPECTION OF A NOBLE LIFE. 143
to its completion, always, however, watching and working quietly
to amend and perfect where required.
" I do not look back with sorrow on the past. There have
been many painful woundings, and sad bereavements, and great
struggles, and dark perplexities, but they have all blended to-
gether to make a calm whole of the past, very wonderfully calm
when I think of parts alone. As you say, there has been one
deep moving spirit running through all. I used often to desire
to have
" * A soul by force of sorrows high
Uplifted to the purest sky
Of undisturbed humanity.'
Now, 1 do not seek that, or anything, but thankfully take what-
ever is given. ' She hath done what she could,' I can truly say of
myself, whatever errors I have fallen into ; so I look very serenely
back from this boundary, and hopefully to what remains of life,
the brightest and best of all, and most full of blessings."
A few weeks later she received the distressing intelligence of
the death of her youngest brother. Dr. Philip Carpenter, at Mon
treal. " This is a great blow to me," she wrote, '* but there is no
bitterness ; it comes from the Father's hand." On the 6th of
June, she deHvered an address of more than an hour's length, in
a chapel at Kingswood, on the " Religious Aspects of India."
On the 14th, she wrote to her brother, Dr. W. B. Carpenter, of
London, proposing a visit in reference to her Indian work ; and '
on the same day she completed the revision of a volume of poetry,
"Spirit Voices." In the evening she met with one of the Parlia-
mentary friends who cordially assisted her benevolent efforts,
though separated from her by religious and political views. The
conversed upon public topics, and she expressed herself with her
usual earnestness of feeling and clearness of thought. Retiring
to her quiet study, she wrote until a later hour than usual. " The
nightly greetings were exchanged with her adopted daughter, anc^
when she was last seen it was with a smile upon her face. She
lay down to rest and slept; before the dawn she had passed
quietly away."
To her memory a monument has been erected in the north
transept of Bristol Cathedral- The inscription upon it was written
144 GOOD SAMARITANS.
by Dr. Martineau, and we quote it in full as an emphatic summarv
of her noble work, and a significant tribute to her noble life : —
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
MARY CARPENTER,
FOREMOST AMONG THE FOUNDERS
OF REFORMATORY AND INDUSTRIAL SCHOOLS
IN THIS CITY AND REALM.
NEITHER THE CLAIMS OF PRIVATE DUTY
NOR THE TASTES OF A CULTURED MIND
COULD WITHDRAW HER COMPASSIONATE EYE
FROM THE UNCARED-FOR CHILDREN OF THE STREETS.
LOVING THEM WHILE YET UNLOVELY,
SHE SO FORMED THEM TO THE FAIR AND GOOD
AS TO INSPIRE OTHERS WITH HER FAITH AND HOPE,
AND THUS LED THE WAY TO A NATIONAL SYSTEM
OF MORAL RESCUE AND PREVENTIVE DISCIPLINE.
TAKING ALSO TO HEART THE GRIEVOUS LOT
OF ORIENTAL WOMEN,
IN THE LAST DECADE OF HER LIFE
SHE FOUR TIMES WENT TO INDIA,
AND AWAKENED AN ACTIVE INTEREST
IN THEIR EDUCATION AND TRAINING FOR SERIOUS DUTIES.
NO HUMAN ILL ESCAPED HER PITY, OR CAST DOWN HER TRUST i
WITH TRUE SELF-SACRIFICE SHE FOLLOWED IN THE
TRAIN OF CHRIST,
TO SEEK AND TO SAVE THAT WHICH WAS LOST,
AND BRING IT HOME TO THE FATHER IN HEAVEN.
DESIRING TO EXTEND HER WORK OF PIETY AND LOVE,
MANY WHO HONOURED HER HAVE INSTITUTED IN HER NAME
SOME HOMES FOR THE HOUSELESS YOUNG,
AND NOW COMPLETE THEIR TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION
BY ERECTING THIS MEMORIAL.
BORN AT EXETER, APRIL 3rd, 1807 ;
MED AT BRISTOL, JUNE 15th, 187/.
BOOK II.
WORK ON BEHALF OF THE SLAVE
Abolition of the Slave Tradz.
William Wilberforce.
Emancipation of the Siaye.
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton.
i
WORK ON BEHALF OF THE SLA VE.
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, only son of Robert Wilber-
force, the descendant and representative of an old York-
shire family, and his wife Elizabeth, was born at Hull, on the
24th of August, 1759.
His childhood was not distinguished by any remarkable inci-
dents in prophecy or promise of future greatness. His frame was
feeble, his stature small, his eyes were weak ; but with these
physical defects were united a clear strong intellect, and a sweet
temper. At the age of seven he was sent to the Hull Grammar
School, then under the charge of Dr. Milner. Here he was
remarkable for his elocutionary gifts, so that his master would set
him upon a table, and make him read aloud as an example to the
other boys. The death of his father in 1768 transferred him to
the care of his uncle, with whom he lived at Wimbledon, and in
St. James's Place. His education at this time does not seem to
have made much progress ; but from his aunt, who was a Metlio-
dist, he received strong religious impressions. These were not
of a kind to please his mother, who was a moderate (or, as lier
son called her, an Archbishop Tillotson) churchwoman. She
recalled him to Hull, and surrounded him with the pleasures of
fashionable society, which, after awhile, produced their natural
effect upon a clever boy, and he plunged into a life of idleness
and amusement. His social talents and his musical skill rendered
him everywhere a welcome guest ; and there seemed little pros-
pect or promise of his entering upon any work of notable useful-
ness. But he cultivated a taste for literature, and graced his
leisure with reading and original composition. It was observed,
too, that he evinced a deep detestation of the slave trade, of the
enormities of which, it is probable, he would hear many stories in
a seaport like Hull ; and he addressed, when not more thaii
148 GOOD SAMARITANS,
fourteen, a letter to a York newspaper, in sharp condemnation of
the hateful traffic in human flesh.
Endowed with very considerable abilities, of which he had
made but little use, and with a great charm of manner, springing
from his geniality of disposition, he entered St. John's College,
Cambridge, in October 1778. At the age of seventeen, master of
an independent fortune, he was necessarily exposed to grave
temptation, and at first fell among " as licentious a set of men as
can well be conceived." But he was too sound at heart to be
drawn into profligate excess ; fond as he was of amusement, he
shook off" these dangerous companions, and became the centre of
a cultivated and agreeable circle. " There was no one at all like
him," writes a friend, " for powers of entertainment. Always fond
of repartee and discussion, he seemed entirely free from conceit
and vanity." He lived much at this time amongst the Fellows of
the College. ** But those with whom I was intimate," he says,
" did not act towards me the part of Christians, or even of honest
men. Their object seemed to be, to make and keep me idle.
If ever I appeared studious, they would say to me, * Why in the
world should a man of your fortune trouble himself with fagging.'
I was a good classic, and acquitted myself well in the college
examinations ; but mathematics, which my mind greatly needed,
I almost entirely neglected, and was told that I was too clever to
require them. Whilst my companions were reading hard and
attending lectures, card-parties and idle amusements consumed
my time. The tutors would often say within my hearing, that
* they were mere saps, but that I did all by talent' This was
poison to a mind constituted like mine." His biographers remark
that it was surely by God's especial goodness that in such a
course he was preserved from profligate excess. For though he
would say in after life, that upon the habits thus formed by evil
influence and unbounded licence " he could not look back with-
out unfeigned remorse," yet he had rather to deplore neglected
opportunities of moral and intellectual profit, than vicious practice
or abandoned principles. Still, such a life was no fitting prepara-
tion for a great or useful career; and it will be interesting to
observe how Wilberforce gradually rose to a higher moral stand-
ard, and to a loftier sense of the duties and responsibilities
which his social advantages imposed upon him.
THE EARLY YEARS OF WILBERFORCE. 149
Probably it was his election as Member of Parliament for Hull,
in 1780, which rescued him from the life of a fashionable idler
and " ornament of society." Not that it immediately broke the
spell of bad habits with which his self-indulgence or levity had
enthralled him. On his first entering into the London world he
ran no small risk of degenerating into a confirmed gamester. He
was weaned from the Faro-table in a characteristic manner. One
night he *' kept the bank," and rose the winner of jQdoo. Most
of this was lost by young men who were only heirs to future
fortunes, and who could not meet such a call without incon-
venience. The pain he felt at their annoyance cured him of
his dangerous taste.
He had already made the acquaintance of William Pitt, the
great son of a great father, and, while preserving his political
independence, became his friend and general supporter. They
spent much of their time together; and Pitt was a constant
visitor at Wilberforce's Wimbledon residence. The political
integrity of the austere young statesman probably exercised a
strengthening and elevating influence on Wilberforce's character;
and he took each year a deeper and more intelligent interest m
public affairs. In the House of Commons he spoke frequently
and always with effect. This, in the opinion of his filial
biographers, was the most critical period of his career. He had
entered in his earliest manhood upon the dissipated scenes of
fashionable life, with a large fortune and most acceptable manners.
His ready wit, his conversation continually sparkling with polished
raillery and courteous repartee, his chastened liveliness, his
generous and kindly feelings, — all secured him that hazardous
applause with which society rewards its ornaments and victims.
His rare accomplishment in singing tended to increase his
danger. " Wilberforce, we must have you again, — the Prince says
he will come at any time to hear you sing," was the flattery which
he received after his first meeting with the Prince of Wales, in
1782, at the luxurious soirees of Devonshire House.
On the i8th of December, 1783, Pitt, then only twenty-four
years of age, became Prime Minister, on the fall of the Coalition
cabinet of Fox and Lord North. He entered office with a great
majority against him in the House of Commons, but strong in
the confidence of the King, and believing that he could secure the
[50 GOOD SAMARITANS.
support of the country. For several weeks he bravely maintained
in Parliament an unequal struggle, warmly assisted by the counsels
and eloquence of Wilberforce. Gradually the majority declined,
and at length, in March 1784, Pitt seized an opportune moment
to appeal to the country. Few general elections have called forth
angrier feelings : and none, if we except that which occurred in
1880, have had a more decisive result. The Opposition was beaten
all along the line. Horace Walpole, writing on the nth of April,
remarks that the scene had wofully changed for the Whig party,
though not half the new Parliament was then chosen. " Though
they still," he says, " contest a very few counties and some
boroughs, they own themselves totally defeated. They reckoned
themselves sure of two hundred and forty members ; they pro-
bably will not have one hundred and fifty. In short, between the
industry of the Court and the India Company, and that momentary
frenzy that sometimes seizes a whole nation, as if it were a vast
animal, such aversion to the Coalition, and such a detestation of
Mr. Fox, have seized the country, that, even when omnipotent
gold retains its influence, the elected pass through an ordeal of
the most violent abuse."
Mr. Wilberforce, in spite of the vast influence of the Whig
aristocracy, was returned for Yorkshire. This was the turning-
point of his career. It placed him in a position of exceptional
power and responsibility, as the chosen representative of the middle
classes ; and he rose to his position, as a man of strong mind and
sound principles will always do. But something more was needed
to fit him for the discharge of the great " mission " which Provi-
dence devolved upon him, — the deepening and strengthening of
that spiritual life which in the world of fashion had almost faded
into nothingness. While travelling on the Continent with his
friend, Isaac Milner, afterwards Dean of Carlisle, his attention was
often turned upon religious topics, and by slow degrees he was
led to feel that the life he was leading, however blameless it might
appear in the eyes of society, was unworthy of a being endowed
with an immortal soul. His feelings did not immediately afi'ect
his conduct, but they were at work beneath the light and gay
■exterior. His conscience spoke to him, and would not be denied.
" I laughed," he writes, " I sang, I was apparently gay and
hnppy, but the thought would %\.t.d\. across me, 'What madness is
WILBERFORCE'S SPIRITUAL STRLGULES AND CONQUEST. 151
all this ! to continue easy in a state in which a sudden call out ol
the world would consign me to everlasting misery, and that when
eternal happiness is within my grasp ! ' For I had received into
my understanding the great truths of the Gospel, and believed that
its offers were free and universal ; and that God had promised to
give His Holy Spirit to them that asked for it. At length such
thoughts as these completely occupied my mind, and / began to
pray earnestly." The victory was won. With a new purpose in
his life, and a new spirit animating his conduct, he returned to
England in November, resolute to persevere in paths of truth and
righteousness.
We have said the victory was won ; but prayer and meditation
were needed to confirm it. Many of us climb the Hill of Diffi-
culty, but take no heed to make good our footing on the summit ;
then we slip and stumble and are hurried headlong down the
treacherous descent -, and of such the last stage is worse than the
first. In what manner and at what cost Wilberforce secured his
faith and hope in Christ and Christ's religion may be seen in the
following extracts from his private journal : —
'* November 24th. — Heard the Bible read two hours, Pascal
an hour and a quarter, meditation one hour and a quarter,
business the same. If ever I take myself from the immediate
consideration of serious things, I entirely lose sight of them ;
this must be a lesson to me to keep them constantly in view.
Pitt called, and commended Butler's ' Analogy ' — resolved to write
to him, and discover to him what I am occupied about : this will
save me much embarrassment, and I hope give me more command
both of my time and conduct."
" Sunday, 27th- — Up at six, devotions half-an-hour, Pasca)
three-quarters, Butler three-quarters, church, read the Bible, too
ramblingly, for an hour; heard Butler, but not attentively, two
hours ; meditated twenty minutes ; hope I was more attentive at
church than usual, but serious thoughts vanished the moment I
went out of it, and very insensible and cold in the evening ser-
vice ; some very strong feelings when I went to bed ; God turn
them to account, and in any way bring me to Himself! I have
been thinking I have been doing well by living alone and reading
generally on religious subjects ; I must awake to my dangerous
state, and never be at rest till I have made my peace with God.
152 GOOD SAMARITANS.
My heart is so hard, my bHndness so great, that I cannot get a
due hatred of sin, though I see I am all corrupt and blinded to
the perception of spiritual things."
*' November 28th. — I hope as long as I live to be the better
for the meditation of this evening ; it was on the sinfulness of my
own heart, and its blindness and weakness. True, Lord, I am
wretched, and miserable, and blind, and naked. What infinite
love that Christ should die to save such a sinner, and how neces-
sary is it He should save us altogether, that we may appear before
God with nothing of our own ! God grant I may not deceive
myself in thinking I feel the beginnings of Gospel comfort.
Began this night constant family prayer, and resolved to have
it every morning and evening, and to read a chapter when time."
" November 30th. — Was very fervent in prayer this morning,
and thought these warm impressions would never go off. Yet in
vain endeavoured in the evening to rouse myself. God grant it
may not all prove vain ; oh, if it does, how will my punishment
be deservedly increased ! The only way I find of moving myself,
is by thinking of my great transgressions, weakness, blindness ;
and of God's having promised to supply these defects. But
though I firmly believe them, yet I read of future judgment, and
think of God's wrath against sinners, with no great emotions.
What can so strongly show the stony heart ? O God, give me a
heart of flesh ! Nothing so convinces me of the dreadful state
of my own mind as the possibility, which, if I did not know it
Irom experience, I should believe impossible, of my being ashamed
of Christ. Ashamed of the Creator of all things One who has
received infinite pardon and mercy ashamed of the Dispenser of
it, and that in a country where His name is professed ! Oh, what
should I have done in persecuting times ? "
Though all of us must be the better for occasional intervals of
self-communion and meditation, we should not care to recommend
the habit of introspection and anxious mental inquiry revealed in
the preceding passages. It seems to us that, at all events to
many minds, it would prove dangerous by encouraging morbid
ideas of dissatisfaction and despondency. Wilberforce, however,
was of too firm and healthy a nature to linger long in such a
condition, and he gradually struggled out of it into a state of
tranquil faith and hope. He derived much help from the minis-
WILBERFORCE TAKES HIS STAND, 153
trations of Newton and Romaine, both of them leaders of the
evangeUcal school ; and the friendly counsels of Mr. Thornton.
To his old associates he frankly made known his change of views;
withdrew his name from the clubs of which he was a member;
sought the friendship of men of earnest religious views ; and
spent several hours dally in study of the Scriptures. But he had
no intention of withdrawing from his position in public life. He
felt that he had sacred duties to fulfil, and that their faithful
discharge would be more pleasing in the eyes of Heaven than
any ascetic seclusion in selfish solitariness. " If I were to fly/
he wrote, " from the post where Providence has placed me, 1
know not how I could look for the blessing of God upon my
retirement: and without this heavenly assistance, either in the
world or in solitude, our own endeavours will be equally in-
effectual. When I consider the particulars of my duty I blush
at the review ; but my shame is not occasioned by my thinking
that I am too studiously diligent in the business of life ; on the
contrary, I then feel that I am serving God best when from
proper motives I am most actively engaged in it."
Wilberforce's spiritual discipline and education were now com-
plete, and he was fitted to take up the work which God had
designed as the special work of his life. Like all work, it purified,
strengthened, and ennobled his character. The work which each
of us has to do is, in itself and its results, intended to train us to
take higher views of our responsibilities and lift us out of self-
indulgence and apathy; it benefits the worker no less than those
for whom he works. It may be trivial enough in the eyes of the
world, and perhaps in our own eyes ; or it may be hke that of
Wilberforce, true Samaritan-work — " work of noble note " — work
involving the happiness of millions ; but whatever it is, or great
or little, if done in a faithful and devout spirit, if done thoroughly
and conscientiously, it brings with it a Divine benediction.
In the spring of 1786, Wjlberforce, "an altered man," resumed
his attendance in the House of Commons, and attempted some
practical reforms. In the following year he took part in the
debates on Pitt's treaties with France and Portugal, and on the
impeachment of Warren Hastings. But at this time his labours
outside Parliament were of greater value and importance, for he
aimed at a reformation of the nation's morals, and the purification
10
1.54 GOOD SAMARITANS.
of the social atmosphere. Beginning with his friends, he sought
to inspire them with a resolution to resist the growing vices of the
times ; and, extending his operations, he then sought to obtain a
Royal Proclamation against vice and immorality, and to form an
influential association for carrying it into effect. It may be, and
is, true that nations are not made virtuous by royal proclamations
or by associations; but yet such agencies are by no means without
a salutary influence. It is a positive gain when, in the face ot
the nation, an open stand is made on behalf of the right. Through
his unceasing efforts the society was estabhshed, with the Duke
of Montagu as its first president, and many of the bishops as
members ; and during its existence it obtained several very useful
Acts of Parliament, and greatly checked the spread of indecent
and blasphemous publications. Was this no good? Was not
the result worth the effort ? Why, God and His angels rejoice
when any one brand is plucked from the burning, one soul saved
from pollution and death ; and many brands must have been
rescued, many souls delivered, through the charity of Wilberforce
and his friends.
It was at this time that Wilberforce began to feel his way, as it
were, towards what all the world will never cease to regard as his
special mission — the abolition of the slave-trade. We have seen
that the subject had occupied his thoughts when he was a school-
boy. After his religious change, he naturally took it up as one
that would be acceptable to the Saviour of mankind ; and there
seems no reason to believe that he was in any way guided by the
example or counsel of Lady Middleton or the venerable Clarkson,
though the friends of each have sought for them the merit of
having summoned the appointed champion to the lists. He him-
self remarks that as early as the year 1780 he had been strongly
interested for the West Indian slaves, and in a letter, asking a
faiend who was going to Antigua to collect information for him,
he expressed his determination, or at least his hope, that some
time or other he should redress the wrongs of those wretched and
degraded beings. It was not until the end of 1783 that Mr.
Ramsay published a book on the condition of the negroes, which
was the first trumpet-note of the coming battle. In 1786 Thomas
Clarkson published his pamphlet against the slave-trade, and
thenceforward the fight raged strenuously until the victory was won.
CONTESTS FOR ABOLITION OF SLAVERY. 155
Wilberforce possessed all the qualifications which could grace
the champion of such a cause, — glowing and persuasive eloquence,
simple and earnest piety, high poHtical influence, enthusiasm,
courage, and profound conviction. " God Almighty," he ex-
claimed, '* has set before me two great objects, the suppression
of the slave-trade and the reformation of manners." This
conviction enabled him to endure discouragements and delays
with patience, and to labour on, in calm assurance of eventual
success. He began by collecting the fullest possible information
respecting the African slave-trade and the condition of the slaves
in the West Indies. Then he discussed the all-important theme
with William Pitt and George Grenville. Pitt recommended him
to undertake the conduct of it in Parliament as one suited to his
character and talents. " At length," he writes, '* I well remember,
after a conversation in the open air at the root of an old tree at
Holwood, just above the steep descent into the vale of Keston,
I resolved to give notice on a fit occasion in the House of
Commons of my intention to bring the subject forward." At
♦Holwood* this " old tree " is still preserved, and an inscription on
a stone beneath it records the association that invests it with an
enduring interest.
At first everything seemed to promise a speedy success. But
great movements, like the tidal waters of a river, have their ebb
and flow, and it soon became apparent that the abolition of the
slave trade would be carried only in the face of a determined
opposition. A long delay was caused by Wilberforce's dangerous
illness (1788). Then came the King's first attack of insanity, and
the parliamentary contests which the Regency Bill provoked. In
1789 Wilberforce renewed his philanthropic efforts, assisted by
Granville Sharp, James Stephen, Thomas Clarkson, and other
"good men and true," whose hearts had been touched to the
quick by the miseries of the wretched negroes, torn from their
homes and families, and handed over to the overseer's brutal lash.
His opponents were not less active ; and by meetings and pam-
phlets and newspaper articles endeavoured to convince the public
that slavery lay at the very root of our colonial prosperity and
commercial existence. If Wilberforce and his friends were moved
* Holwood is about four miles from Bromley, in Kent
156 GOOD SAMARITANS.
in their hearts, the slave-trade advocates were moved in their
pockets ; and the reader needs not to be told how powerful a
motive to action is the fear of pecuniary loss. On the 12th of
May the question came before the House of Commons, and a
motion for the abolition of the slave-trade was made by Wilber-
force in a speech of great power and eloquence, which lasted
three hours and a half. Close and logical reasoning and clear
statements of facts were skilfully interwoven with fervent appeals
to the feelings ; and we can even yet perceive the graphic force
which describes the horrors of the sea-passage : — " So much
misery crowded into so little room, where the aggregate of suffer-
ing must be multiplied by every individual tale of woe ; " and the
impressive character of the peroration, in which, after disproving
the alleged comforts of the helpless victims, he summoned death
as his last witness, " whose infallible testimony to their unutterable
wrongs could neither be purchased nor repelled."
The effect of his speech was considerable, and it drew a com-
pliment from Mr. Burke, who declared that " the House, the
nation, and Europe were under great and serious obligations to
the honourable gentleman for having brought forward the subject
in a manner the most masterly, impressive, and eloquent. The
principles," he said, " were so well laid down, and supported with
so much force and order, that it equalled anything he had heard
in modern times, and was not perhaps to be surpassed in the
remains of Grecian eloquence."
Wilberforce's opponents, however, availed themselves of the
forms of the House to prevent anything from being done that
session. He again renewed the attack, and obtained a special
committee to examine witnesses in reference to the whole subject.
In 1790 he was re-elected for Yorkshire. Passing over successive
phases of the gallant struggle, we come to April 1792, when he
moved for a committee of the whole House to consider the
African slave-trade, with a view to its immediate abolition.
On this occasion he was supported by Pitt in one of his finest
speeches. In a very effective passage Pitt compared the early
condition of the Britons as slaves exported to the Roman market
with that of the African negroes exported to the West Indies : —
" Why might not some Roman senator," he said, " reasoning on
the principles of some honourable gentleman, and pointing to
BILL REJECTED BY THE LORDS. 157
British barbarians, have predicted with equal boldnesS; ' There is
a people that will never rise to civilisation ; there is a people
destined never to be free ; a people without the understanding
necessary for the attainment of useful arts ; depressed by the
hand of nature below the level of the human species ; and created
to form a supply of slaves for the rest of the world ? ' Might not
this have been said, in all respects, as fairly and as truly of Britain
herself, at that period of her history, as it can now be said by us
of the inhabitants of Africa ? "
It was decided that night, by a large majority — 238 to 85 — that
the slave-trade should be gradually abolished. "I am congratu-
lated on all hands," writes Wilberforce, " yet I cannot but feel
hurt and humiliated. We must endeavour to force the gradual
Abolitionists in their Bill (for I will never myself bring forward a
parliamentary license to rob and murder) to allow as short a time
as possible, and under as many limitations."
Mr. Dundas brought forward his resolutions for a gradual
abolition on the 23rd. "After a hard struggle," writes Wilber-
force, " we were last night defeated in our attempt to fix the
period of the Abolition for the ist of January, 1795 : the numbers
being 161 to 121. But we carried the ist of January, 1796 (Mr.
Dundas had proposed 1800), by a majority of 151 against 132.
On the whole, this is more than I expected two months ago, and I
have much cause for thankfulness. We are to contend about the
number of slaves to be imported ; and then for the House oj
Lords." The resolutions passed the Commons, but unhappily the
Peers rejected them \ and again the battle had to be renewed.
And renewed it was, in the following year, but not with the suc-
cess that had formerly attended the Abolitionists. By a majority
of eight votes the House of Commons refused to endorse its own
decision of the preceding year. In 1796 Wilberforce was more
fortunate. Then came a long interval of delay and discouragement,
marked by the stirring events of the war with Republican France,
and the fierce political struggle at home between the Government
and its adherents and the advocates of peace under Charles James
Fox. Notwithstanding his strong attachment to Pitt, and general
confidence in his policy, Wilberforce contemplated the continu-
ance of the war with anxiety, and used all his influence with the
Prime Minister to incline him towards a pacific setdement.
158 GOOD ^AAIARITAhS.
The year 1797 is memorable in VVilberforce's personal history
as that of the publication of his *' Practical View of Christianity" ;
a plain and earnest exposition of religious duty which was eagerly
welcomed by the public. In six months it ran through five
editions (7500 copies). It was reprinted immediately in America,
and was soon translated into the French, Italian, Spanish, Dutch,
and German languages. To this day it retains something of its
original popularity. "Its influence was proportionate to its
diffusion. It may be affirmed, beyond all question, that it gave
the first general impulse to that warmer and more earnest spring
of piety, which amongst all its many evils has happily distinguished
the last half-century." From a literary point of view, it is un-
doubtedly open to criticism; but as a manual of practical
devotion its merits are very considerable, and the evangelical
churchman will always find in it a welcome substitute for Thomas
k Kempis.
On the 30th of May in the same year, Wilberforce was married
to Barbara Ann, eldest daughter of Isaac Spooner, Esq., of Elm-
den Hall, Warwickshire.
The annual efforts made by our heroic Samaritan to induce the
House of Commons to put a stop to the iniquities of the slave-
trade, bear witness to his perseverance and to the moral apathy
of Parliament. Re-elected for Yorkshire in 1802, he seemed to
gain fresh energy from this proof of the continued confidence of
his countrymen ; and energy almost inexhaustible was needed to
maintain the struggle in the face of constant vicissitudes. Thus,
in 1804, he carried his Abolition Bill through the Commons by
large majorities at each stage ; but it was lost in the Lords. In
the following year it was lost in the Commons. Then, in t8o6,
under the ministry of Lord Grenville and Mr. Fox, a Bill, intro-
duced in the Peers to prohibit British subjects from engaging in
the slave-trade for supplying foreign settlements or the conquered
colonies, was successful. This encouraged Mr. Fox to move a
resolution in the Commons, " that this House, conceiving the
African slave-trade to be contrary to the principles of justice,
humanity, and sound policy, will, with all practical expedition,
proceed to take effectual measures for abolishing the said trade,
in such manner, and at such period, as may be deemed advisable;'"
and the resolution was carried by 114 against 15. This was
ABOLITION BILL TRIUMPHANTLY PASSED. 159
Fox's last effort in the House which had so often been charmed
by his eloquence. In the following September he was dead.
In 1807, the Abolition Bill was introduced in the House of
Lords, and carried through it with triumphant rapidity. On the
loth of February it was sent down to the Lower Chamber, which,
on the 23rd, decided, by the vast majority of 283 to 16 — so great
had been the change in public opinion — to go into committee upon
it. Sir Samuel Romilly, then Solicitor-General, broke out into a
burst of fervent oratory, contrasting the feelmgs with which Wilber-
force would that night lay his head on his pillow, as the preserver
of millions of his fellow-creatures, with those of the French
Emperor, who had waded to a throne through slaughter and
oppression. Surprised from its usual reserve, the House rang
with repeated acclamations : and Wilberforce might well feel him-
self repaid for the tenacity and patient labour and unwearied
effort of twenty years.
The debate proceeded, with slight show of opposition, except
from one West Indian planter, who gave him an opportunity of
replying in a speech distinguished for splendour of eloquence and
force of argument; and on the i8th of March the Bill was read
a third time by 283 to 16. On the 25th of March it received the
royal assent.
" To speak," wrote Sir James Mackintosh, "of fame and glory
to Mr. Wilberforce, would be to use a language far beneath him ;
but he will surely consider the effect of his triumph on the fruit-
fulness of his example. Who knows whether the greater part
of the benefit that he has conferred on the world, the greatest
that any individual has had the means of conferring, may not be
the encouraging example that the exertions of virtue may be
crowned by such splendid success ? We are apt petulantly to
express our wonder that so much exertion should be necessary to
suppress such flagrant injustice. The more just reflection will be,
hat a short period of the short life of one man is, well and wisely
directed, sufficient to remedy the miseries of millions for ages.
Benevolence has hitherto been too often disheartened by frequent
failures ; hundreds and thousands will be animated by Mr. Wilber-
force's example, by his success, and — let me use the word only in
the moral sense of preserving his example — by a renown that can
only perish with the world, to attack all the forms of corruption
i6o GOOD SAMARITANS.
and cruelty that scourge mankind. Oh, what twenty years in the
life of one man those were which abolished the slave-trade ! How
precious is time ! How valuable and dignified is human life,
which in general appears so base and miserable ! How noble and
sacred is human nature, made capable of achieving such truly
great exploits ! "
As for Wilberforce himself, all sense of personal triumph was
absent from his mind. The cause was too great ; he dared noi
measure his individual satisfaction against the thousands of lives
which its success had rescued. His heart overflowed with grati-
tude : " I have indeed," he wrote, " inexpressible reasons for
thankfulness in the glorious result of that struggle which, with s< >
many eminent fellow-labourers, I have so long maintained. 1
really cannot account for the fervour which, happily, has taken
the place of that fastidious, well-bred lukewarmness which useil
to display itself on this subject; except by supposing it to be
produced by that Almighty power which can influence at will the
judgments and afl'ections of men."
Parliament was dissolved shortly after the completion of thi>
noble work ; and Wilberforce again became a candidate for the
representation of his native county. He was confronted, on thi>
occasion, by a formidable opposition in the person of Lord
Milton, eldest son of Earl Fitzwilliam, who was prepared to expend
a fortune on the contest. His colleague, Mr. Lascelles, son of
Lord Harewood, was in a position to be similarly lavish ; but
Wilberforce's means, though not inconsiderable, were by no means
adequate to such a struggle. His supporters, however, came for-
ward immediately with a subscription of ;^ 18,000, and abundant
promises of voluntary help ; and the battle began and was fought
out with extraordinary enthusiasm. On the first and second days
of the polling, his chances seemed desperate ; but on the third, a
vast number of freeholders from the North Riding entered York,
and polled for their old representative. Another large body,
chiefly of the middle class, from Winsley Dale, was met on their
road by one of his committee — " For what parties, gentlemen, do
you come?" "Wilberforce, to a man," was their leader's reply.
" During the early stage of the poll, such parties arrived at York
at every given hour of time, both by day and by night, by land
and by water; such was the loyalty and independence of this
WILBERFORCE IS RE-ELECTED FOR YORK. i6i
-class of the Yorkshire freeholders, and such was their determina-
tion to support their old and favourite member, who had faithfully-
served them and their country during three-and-twenty years."
The poll was kept open for fifteen days, with the following
•result: — Wilberforce, ii, 806 votes; Lord Milton, 11,177; and
Mr. Lascelles, 10,989. The fund subscribed for Wilberforce's
expenses reached the large total of ;^64,455, — a striking proof of
his popularity; but only ;^28,6oo were expended, while the
election cost his two opponents no less than ^200,000. Writing
.in his private diary after this signal triumph, the humble-minded
Christian philanthropist says : — " Surely it calls for deep humilia-
tion, and warm acknowledgment, that God has given me favour
with man ; that after guiding me by His providence to that great
.cause, He crowned my efforts with success, and obtained for me
so much good-will and credit. Alas ! Thou knowest, Lord, all my
failings, errors, infirmities, and negligences in relation to this
.great cause : but Thou art all goodness and forbearance towards
me. If I do not feel grateful to Thee, oh how guilty must I be
brought in by my own judgment ! But, O Lord, I have found
■too fatally my own stupidity ; do Thou take charge of me, and
tune my heart to sing Thy praises, and make me wholly Thine."
His daily life at this time followed a tolerably regular routine.
The first hours of the morning, which were all so busy a man
•could really call his own, were spent in devotional exercises. ** In
'the calmness of the morning," he was wont to say, " before the
mind is heated and wearied by the toil of the day, you have a
season of unusual importance for communing with God and with
yourself." After this secret intercourse with his Divine Master,
he joined his assembled household for morning prayer, which he
always conducted himself, and with peculiar interest. Wiih break-
fast came his first batch of visitors, not a few of whom were
admitted as guests to the breakfast-table ; and his biographers tell
us that his great social powers were never seen to more advantage
ithan in drawing out and harmonizing all the shades of character
and feeling which were here brought suddenly together. Thus
while, on one occasion, he was seeking to relax the rigidity of "a
starched little fellow," whom he did not wish to disgust, Andrew
Fuller was announced ; a man of considerable mental gifts, but
bearing about him very plainly the vestigia curis. Not a moment
l62 GOOD SAMARITANii,
was to be lost, "So before he came in I said to my little friend,.
'You know Andrew Fuller?' 'No, I never heard his name.'
' Oh, then, you must know him ; he is an extraordinary man,
whose talents have raised him from a very low situation.' This
prepared the way, and Andrew Fuller did no harm, although he
walked in looking the very picture of a blacksmith."
When he had got rid of his visitors, his correspondence de- '
manded his attention, and this being cleared away, he took such
exercise as his scanty leisure enabled him to enjoy. At dinner he
again met his family and friends, and when the House was not
sitting, the evening was devoted to music, reading, and conversa-
tion. Some days were set apart, when in the country, for more-
entire devotion to prayer and meditation. His Sundays he invari-
ably gave up to religious exercises, wholly putting aside all secular
subjects. His children, after meeting him at prayers, accompanied
him to church, repeating to him in the carriage hymns or verses,
or passages from his favourite Cowper. Then they rambled witb
him in the garden, and each had the inestimable pleasure oi^
bringing him a Sunday nosegay, for which they had hoarded the
flowers of their own little plots all the week. At an early hour
the family dined together, in the midst of cheerful yet suitable
talL " 'Better,' " was one of his Sunday commonplaces, " ' better
is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred
therewith ; ' but, my children, how good is God to us ! He gives-
us the stalled ox and love too."
But with Sunday ended, at least in London, the sweet enjoy-
ments of domestic life. "While the House is sitting," he said,.
" I become almost a bachelor." The session at an end, and
Wilberforce again in his rural seclusion, it became his delight " to
live amongst his children ; " to take his meals with them so far as
possible ; to carry them out with him on agreeable little excur-
sions ; to share in their amusements. Every day, too, he read
aloud with them, allotting a certain portion of the afternoon tO'
light and entertaining literature, then selecting one of them to-
read more serious works to him while he dressed. " Happy was
the young performer who was chosen for this office. The early
and quiet intercourse which his dressing-room afforded, drew
forth all a father's tenderness, whilst the reading was continually
changed into the most instructive conversation. read to me
HIS HOME LIFE AND DUTIES. 163
Robertson's * America' whilst dressing, and we talked over it." All
his efforts were aimed at opening the mind, creating a spirit of
inquiry, and strengthening the powers ; while he was jealous of
such acquirements as yielded an immediate return, and so afforded
opportunities for gratifying vanity. . . . The practical character
of his personal piety was of the utmost moment in his treatment
of his children. He was always on his guard against forcing the.r
religious feelings, and shielded them carefully from the poison of
Antinomian teaching. After receiving a very promising account
of one amongst his children, he says, " I am afraid of 's
making him artificial by telling him it is God's work on the heart.
I fear above all his being led to affect more than he really feels. "^
Yet with all this careful watchfulness, tenderness was the distinc-
tive feature of his domestic character. Though he never weakly
withheld any necessary punishment, he did not attempt to dis-
semble the pain which its infliction cost him. " Alas ! " he sa) &
at such a time, " grieved me much to-day, discovering the
same utter want of self-government or self-denial when disappointed
of anything on which he had set his heart, as he had done before.
He behaved very ill. I talked with him plainly, and set him a
punishment. Poor fellow ! it made my heart heavy all the even
ing, and indeed ever since. But I hope he will mend. God will
grant much to prayer ; and I humbly trust it is our object to traii>
him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."
The later history of Wilberforce is necessarily less interesting
than the earlier, because the special object of his life having been
achieved, his efforts, thenceforth, though still animated by a wise
and genial spirit of benevolence, were diffused over various
channels, and lacked that definiteness and prominency which are
given by singleness of aim. His activity in the House of
Commons continued without abatement ; and though in strictly
political questions his views were sometimes less broad and
sympathetic than could be desired, on all moral points his
clearness and fineness of judgment were invariably conspicuous.
But on reaching middle age he began to feel the onerousness of
county representation, and "n desire a seat for some small borough
which would not involve hnn in the incessant consideration of
local interest. His consciousness of failing memory impelled
him to adopt this course. He felt, too that the education of his
464 GOOD SAMARITANS,
•children called for more attention than he had been able to give
to it, while his delicate health was a reason that could not be
overlooked. In October 1812 he carried out his intention, and
after twenty-eight years' honourable service retired from the re-
presentation of Yorkshire. He was almost immediately after-
wards elected for the " close borough " of Braintree, in Essex.
On two subjects that now came before Parliament, his opinions
■ were very distinctly expressed and energetically maintained. He
spoke and voted in favour of the admission of Roman Catholics
to the House of Commons, and with greater fervour and enthu
siasm in support of Christian missions in India. When the
renewal of the last India Charter took place, he contended
strenuously for the insertion in it of clauses for the protection of
our missionaries. He rightly felt that our civilization without
our Christianity was but a sorry gift, and, indeed, time has shown
that if ever the East accept our civilization it will be for the sake
of our Christianity. With all his characteristic vigour and per-
tinacity he pushed forward his motion ; gradually converted Lord
Liverpool's Cabinet to his views, and, on the 22nd of June, 18 13,
defeated his opponents by 89 to 36.
But the main object and work of his life was not forgotten.
He had struck down the slave-trade, but slavery still survived,
and in the West Indian colonies assumed some of its most odious
forms. To check these evils he proposed that there should be
a complete Registration of the slaves. The Bill for this purpose,
however, made but slow progress, and was eventually dropped.
Other points connected with the welfare of the negro race
incessantly occupied his attention, and to the last moment of
his public life he eloquently expounded their wrongs and defended
their rights, though, as years went on, he entrusted the leader-
ship of the campaign to Thomas Fowell Buxton, a man fully
worthy of the sacred charge.
His influence in the House and with the country was, during
all these years, unparalleled on the part of a man who held no
high official position, and had displayed no great qualities of
statesmanship. It was an influence of which, if pride could have
found a place in his gentle nature, he might well have been proud,
for it was an influence due to character, to spotless integrity, to
high-toneii conscientiousness, and to the closest harmony between
SUSTAINS GREAT LOSSES— HIS RESIGNATION THERETO. 165,
the practice and profession of religion ; it was an influence due
to a life unselfishly devoted to the welfare of humanity. Not
only the condition of the negro race and the political questions<
of the day received his attention ; but also such subjects as the
Bible Society, the building of new churches, the education and
more generous treatment of the poor, and the propagation of
Christianity by missionary eff"ort. His real position, as Sir James
Stephen said, was that of " a minister of public charity, holding his
office by popular acclamation."
In 1825, his bodily strength being visibly impaired, he with-
drew from Parliament, and took up his residence at Highwood
Hill, about ten miles to the north of London. There he re-
mained, enjoying a tranquil and dignified old age, until 1831,
when a heavy pecuniary loss compelled him to give up his
establishment. He bore his misfortune with noble resignation.
"I am bound," he writes, "to recognise in this dispensation the
gracious mitigation of the severity of the stroke. It was not
suffered to take place till all my children were educated, and.
nearly all of them placed out in one way or another; and by
the delay Mrs. Wilberforce and I are supplied with a delightful
asylum under the roofs of two of our own children. And what
better could we desire ? A kind Providence has enabled me
with truth to adopt the declaration of David, that goodness and
mercy have followed me all my days. And now, when the cup
presented to me has some bitter ingredients, yet surely no draught
can be deemed distasteful which comes from such a hand, and
contains such grateful infusions as those of social intercourse
and the sweet endearments of filial gratitude and affection. What
I shall most miss will be my books and my garden, though I
own I do feel a little the not being able to ask my friends to take-
a dinner or a bed with me, under my own roof. And as even
the great Apostle did not think the * having no certain dwelling-
place,' associated with his other far greater sufferings, unworthy
of mention, so I may feel this also to be some, though I grant:
not a great evil, to one who has so many kind friends who will
be happy to receive him."
Thenceforward he spent his time either with his son Samuel
(afterwards Bishop of Winchester), at his pleasant rectory-house
in the sunny village of Brightstone Isle of Wight • or with his
c66 ' GOOD SAMARITANS.
son Robert (Archdeacon of the East Riding) at East Farleigh,
near Maidstone. At both places some relics of the venerable
philanthropist are still shown — his favourite walk, the hedge he
planted. His last appearance in public was at Maidstone, on
the 1 2th of April, 1833, when at a large meeting he proposed
a petition against slavery. Thus his " ruling passion " — a glo-
rious one — prevailed with him in his declining days. And,
indeed, the sun was now sinking rapidly beneath the horizon ;
the shadows were lengthening fast ; night was at hand with its
silence and its solitude, and its promise of a new dawn in a
brighter world. He went to Bath on the 17th of May to drink
the waters, from which he had often derived much benefit ; but
his pain and languor increased, and there was no sign of rallying
•energies. On Saturday, the 6th of July, while at dinner, he was
taken ill quite suddenly. He was conveyed to bed, and medical
<iid was summoned. To his physician, " Thank God," he said,
■^^ I am not losing my faculties." *' Yes, but you could not easily
go through a problem in arithmetic or geometry." " I think,"
Ihe replied, " I could go through the Asses' Bridge. Let me see,"
and he began the fifth problem of Euclid's first book, correcting
himself if he omitted anything.
To his youngest son, who was in constant attendance upon
him, he spoke frequently on such religious subjects as his con-
dition suggested, and of the delisjht he had in the affection and
•care of his wife and children.
A friend who visited him on the nth thus describes the
interview : —
" I was introduced to an apartment upstairs, where I found
the veteran Christian reclining on a sofa, with his feet wrapped
in flannel, and his countenance bespeaking increased age since I
had last seen him, as well as much delicacy. He received me with
the warmest marks of affection, and seemed to be delighted by
the unexpected arrival of an old friend. I had scarcely taken
my seat beside him before ... it seemed given me to remind
him of the words of the Psalmist — ' Although ye have lain
among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered
with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold ; ' and I freely
spoke to him of the good and glorious things which, as I believed,
assuredly awaited him in the kingdom of rest and peace. In the
ins LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH, 167
meantime the illuminated expression of his furrowed countenance,
with his clasped and uplifted hands, were indicative of profound
■devotion and holy joy."
The severity of this attack having been to some extent
mitigated, Wilberforce was removed to London, that he might
consult the eminent physician, Dr. Chambers. On the 19th of
July, he arrived in Cadogan Place, Sloane Street. Parliament
was still sitting, and many of his old friends flocked around him,
bringing him the welcome intelligence (on the 26th) that the Bill
for the Abolition of Slavery in the West Indian Colonies had
passed its second reading in the House of Commons. After a
persistent struggle of fifty years, this great curse and shame was
finally removed from the conscience of England, and Wilberforce
lived to see the day of triumph. On the evening of the 27th he
was evidently weaker, and next day he experienced a succession of
fainting fits, which for a time suspended his power of recollection.
During an interval in the evening of Sunday, "I am in a very
distressed state," he said, alluding apparently to his physical
condition. " Yes," it was answered, ** but you have your feet
on the Rock." " I do not venture," he replied, " to speak so
positively; but I hope I have." After this utterance of humble
faith, with not a single groan, he passed away into the rest of
his Lord, — dying at three o'clock on the morning of Monday,
July 29th, aged seventy-three years and eleven months.
He was buried in Westminster Abbey on the 5th of August,
his funeral being attended by the Members of both Houses of
Parliament, by the Bishops of the Church, the Duke of Wel-
lington, and most of England's ablest and greatest sons.
We have spoken of Thomas Fowell Buxton as the Elisha of
the anti-slavery movement, upon whom the veteran Wilberforce
devolved his mantle. The biography of this thorough English
gentleman is worth studying, for it tells of a good and great life,
inspired by a really lofty sense of duty and by a wise and generous
philanthropy.
Thomas Fowell Buxton was the son of a respectable country
squire, of Castle Hedingham, in Essex, where he was born on
the ist of April, 1786. At the time of his father's death he was
but six years old ; a vigorous boy, however, with a singularly
168 GOOD SAMARITANS.
bold and determined character. As an illustration, it may be
mentioned that on one occasion, while walking with his uncle,
he was requested to give a message to a pig-driver who had
passed along the road. He immediately started in pursuit ; and
although one of his shoes was soon lost in the mud, he plodded
on through lonely and intricate lanes, tracking him by the foot-
marks of his pigs, for nearly three miles, into the town of Cogges-
hall ; nor was he contented until he had overtaken the man and
delivered his message.
He was educated by Dr. Charles Burney, of Greenwich, a
schoolmaster who turned out several useful and remarkable men.
His holidays he spent at home, where he derived great advan-
tages from the wise, affectionate, but energetic rule of his mother.
In his studies, however, his progress was not satisfactory ; he is
described as leading a desultory and aimless life, — sporting,
riding, fishing, reading amusing books, but incapable, as it
seemed, of systematic and continuous application. It was,
indeed, a critical time for his character. He stood in need of
the guidance of some kindly and noble nature, some man of
"light and leading;" and happily such he found in John, the
oldest son of the Quaker banker, Mr. Gurney of Earlham Hall,
near Norwich, whose acquaintance he formed in the autumn of 1 80 1.
" I know no blessing," he said in after years, " of a temporal
nature (and it is not only temporal) for which I ought to render
so many thanks as my connection with the Earlham family. It
has given a colour to my life. Its influence was most positive
and pregnant with good, at that critical period between school
and manhood. They were eager for improvement — I caught the
infection. I was resolved to please them ; and in the college of
Dublin, at a distance from all my friends, and all control, their
influence, and the desire to please them, kept me hard at my
books, and sweetened the toil they gave. The distinctions I
gained at college (little valuable as distinctions, but valuable
because habits of industry, perseverance, and reflection were
necessary to obtain them), these boyish distinctions were exclu-
sively the result of the animating passion in my mind, to carry
back to them the prizes which they prompted and enabled me
to win."
In October 1803, Buxton entered Trinity College, Dublin, as
BUXTON'S CAREER AT COLLEGE. 169
a fellow-commoner. His career there was eminently successful,
and surprised those who from the apathy and negligence of his
childhood had formed a poor opinion of his capacity. He
carried off the highest distinctions. His vacations were spent
at Earlham ; and thus it came to pass that an attachment, which
he dated from the first day they met, gradually ripened between
him and Mr. Gurney's fifth daughter, Hannah, until, in March
1805, the seal of a formal engagement was set upon it.
In the following year he made a tour through some of the
romantic scenery of Scotland, which the genius of Scott had just
revealed to Englishmen in all its picturesque beauty of mountain
and loch, and glen and waterfall. During this holiday ramble
his attention was directed with a good deal of earnestness to
religious subjects. He mentions in one of his letters that a great
change had been worked in his mind with respect to reading the
Holy Scriptures. " Formerly," he says, " I read generally rather
as a duty than as a pleasure, but now I read them with great
interest, and, I may say, happiness. I never before felt so assured
that the only means of being happy is from seeking the assistance
of a Superior Being, or so inclined to endeavour to submit myself
to the direction of principle." The impression was not a fugitive-
one, but strengthened and deepened with every year ; and the^
light and glow of an unaffected but earnest piety ennobled andi
glorified his whole life.
The gold medal, the highest honour bestowed by his Alma».
Mater, fell to his lot in April 1807, and marked the close of his..
collegiate career. A flattering distinction awaited him : he was-,
pressed by his fellow-graduates to come forward as a candidate-
for the representation of the University. A greater proof of their-
esteem and confidence could not well be afforded, as Buxton was;
without wealth or Irish connections ; in truth, without the slightest!
claim upon the consideration of the University other than his
personal character and conduct afforded. But he was on the
point of marriage ; and against those prospects of parliamentary
renown and influence which colour so brightly the dreams of
young politicians, he balanced the duties and responsibilities his
domestic life would soon involve; and finally, though not without
some natural reluctance, declined the honour of entering the
House of Commons under such favourable circumstances,
II
i?0 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Buxton was married on the 13th of May, 1807. A seriouj:
pecuniary loss compelled him to devote himself to a business
career; and in 1808 he entered the well-known establishment of
Hanbury and Truman's brewery, with the prospect of becoming
a partner in the firm after a probation of three years. With
intense energy and ardour and singleness of purpose he applied
himself to the discharge of his new duties, occupying a house
close to the brewery that he might do his work the more
thoroughly and promptly. Meanwhile, he devoted his leisure to
the study of English literature, and especially of political economy;
and keeping before his mind the possibility of entering Parliament
at some convenient time, he practised the art of public speaking in
a debating club of which he was a member. He laboured also
with philanthropic zeal for the improvement of the distressed
district in which the brewery was situated. He was no dilettante
philanthropist, flinging down his alms with lavish indifference, or
taking credit for charity by proxy : like the Good Samaritan,
when he saw the sufferer bleeding by the wayside, he crossed
over to him, and with his own hands bound up his wounds. His
benevolence was active and discriminating ; and thus it developed
into a true and genial beneficence.
In 181 1 he was admitted into the brewery as a partner; and
during the next seven years the management of so extensive a
•concern monopolised almost all his energies. His senior partners,
Tecognizing his force of character and strength of mind, devolved
upon him the difficult task of reorganizing the establishment ; a
task he performed with so much tact and judgment as largely to
increase the income of the firm, while, after a time, he was able
to leave the minor details to proper subordinates.
A dangerous illness with which he was afilicted in 18 13
deepened the seriousness of his religious views. " It was then,"
he said at a later period, " that some clouds in my mind were
dispersed ; and from that day to this, whatever reason I may have
had to mistrust my own salvation, I have never been harassed by
a doubt respecting our revealed religion." As his health improved,
and he recovered his strength, he gave an increased and a more
active support to the principal benevolent societies of the
metropolis, and especially to the Bible Society,* over the opera-
* The British and Foreign Bible Society was founded in 1803, and in the
STORY OF THE MAD DOG. 171
tions of which he watched with enlightened interest to the very
day of his death.
A remarkable example of his courage, decision, and presence of
mind occurred in July 18 16. As a valuable illustration of the
distinctive features of his character, we record it here, making use
of his own simple and unaffected narrative : —
*' As you must hear " — he is writing to his wife — " the story of
our dog Prince, I may as well tell it you. On Thursday morning,
when I got on my horse at Mr. Hoare's, David told me that there
was something the matter with Prince" (a favourite mastiff) — "that
he had killed the cat, and almost killed the new dog, and had bit
at him and Elizabeth. I ordered him to be tied up and taken care
of, and then rode off to town. When I got into Hampstead, I saw
Prince, covered with mud, and running furiously^ and biting at
everything. 1 saw him bite at least a dozen dogs, two boys, and a
man.
"Of course I was exceedingly alarmed, being persuaded he
was mad. I tried every effort to stop him or kill him, or to drive
him into some out-house, but in vain. At last he sprang up at a
boy, and seized him by the breast ; happily I was near him, and
knocked him off with my whip. He then set off towards London,
and I rode by his side, waiting for some opportunity of stopping
him. I continually spoke to him, but he paid no regard to
coaxing or scolding. You may suppose I was seriously alarmed,
dreading the immense mischief he might do, having seen him do
so much in the few preceding minutes. I was terrified at the
idea of his getting into Camden Town and London ; and, at
length, considering if ever there was an occasion that justified a
risk of life this was it, I determined to catch him myself.
Happily he ran up to Pryor's gate, and I threw myself from my
horse upon him, and caught him by the neck. He bit at me, and \
struggled, but without effect, and I succeeded in securing him.
without his biting me.
" When I seized the dog his struggles were so desperate that it
seemed at first almost impossible to hold him, till I lifted him up
m the air, when he was more easily managed, and I contrived to
following year completely organised, Wilberforce, Hughes, Reyun, Grant,
Bishops Porteus and Barrington, and others, were the promoters. It rests on an
undenominational basis.
172 GOOD SAMARITANS.
ring the bell. I was afraid that the foam, which was pouring
from his mouth in his furious efforts to bite me, might get into
some scratch and do me injury ; so with great difficulty I held
him with one hand, while I put the other into my pocket and
forced on my glove ; then I did the same with my other hand,
and at last the gardener opened the door, saying, ' What do you
want ? ' ' I've brought you a mad dog,' replied I ; and telling
him to get a strong chain, I walked into the yard, carrying the
dog by his neck. I was determined not to kill him, as I thought
if he should prove not to be mad, it would be such a satisfaction
to the three persons whom he had bitten. I made the gardener
(who was in a terrible fright) secure the collar round his neck, and
fix the other end of the chain to a tree, and then, walking to its
furthest range, with all my force, which was nearly exhausted by
his frantic struggles, I flung him away from me, and sprang back.
He made a desperate bound after me, but finding himself foiled,
he uttered the most fearful yell I ever heard. All that day he did
nothing but rush to and fro, champing the foam which gushed
from his jaws. We threw him meat, and he snatched at it with
fury, but instantly dropped it again.
" The next day, when I went to see him, I thought the chain
seemed worn, so I pinned him to the ground, between the prongs
of a pitchfork, and then fixed a much larger chain round his
neck. When I pulled off the fork, he sprang up and made a
dash at me, which snapped the old chain in two ! He died in
forty-eight hours from the time he went mad."
Mr. Buxton entered upon his parliamentary career in 1818,
when he was elected member for Weymouth. In his public as
in his private fife he relied for success not upon great mental
endowments — which he can hardly be said to have possessed —
but upon his lofty sense of duty and his tenacity of purpose. It
was Buxton's belief that the race is always to the swift and the
battle to the strong. He maintained that nothing was impossible to
extraordinary perseverance and ordinary capacity. In working out
his noble Samaritan-like schemes, he employed this extraordinary
perseverance with a successful result. What indeed but success
could result from labours undertaken with Buxton's solemn feeling
of responsibility ? '* Surely," he writes, " it is in the power of ali
BUXTON UNDERTAKES PRISON REFORM. 173
to do something in the service of their Master ; and surely I
among the rest, if I were now to begin and endeavour to the best
of my capacity to serve Him, might be the means of good to
some of my fellow-creatures."
It is interesting to see in what spirit he entered upon the cares
and responsibilities of public life. " Now that I am a Member of
Parliament," he writes, " I feel earnest for the honest, diligent,
and conscientious discharge of the duty I have undertaken. My
prayer is for the guidance of God's Holy Spirit, that, free from
views of gain or popularity, that careless of all things but fidelity
to my trust, I may be enabled to do some good to my country,
and something for mankind, especially in their most important
concerns. I feel the responsibility of the situation, and its many
temptations. On the other hand, I see the vast good which one
individual may do. May God preserve me from the snares which
may surround me ; keep me from the power of personal motives,
from interest, or passion, or prejudice, or ambition, and so enlarge
my heart to feel the sorrows of the wretched, the miserable con-
dition of the guilty and the ignorant, that I may ' never turn my
face from any poor man ' ; and so enlighten my understanding,
that I may be a capable and resolute champion for those who
want and deserve a friend."
One of the first subjects taken up by Buxton in public life was
the condition of our prisons, which, since the reforms of Howard,
had sunk again into disorder and anarchy, ill controlled by
tyrannical oppression. Buxton felt that though a man may be a
rogue and deserve punishment, it is neither wise nor just to con-
vert punishment into cruelty. He was led to doubt the wisdom
of a penal code which inflicted on the poor wretch who sought to
appease his hunger with a stolen loaf the same terrible sentence
of death it allotted to the murderer red with his victim's blood.
On the 2nd of March, 1819, a motion for the appointment of a
committee on the criminal laws was made by Sir James Mack-
intosh, and seconded by Mr. Buxton, whose speech was both
lucid and forcible. " There are persons living," he said, " at
whose wish the criminal code contained less than sixty offences,
and who have seen that number quadrupled, who have seen an
Act passed making offences capital by the dozen and by the
score ; and, what is worse, bundling up together offences trivial
174 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and atrocious, — some nothing short of murder in malignity of
intention, and others nothing beyond a civil trespass, — I say,
bundling together this ill-sorted and incongruous package, and
stamping upon it * Death without benefit of clergy.' " He added
that the law, by declaring that " certain crimes should be punished
with death, had declared that they should not be punished at all.
The bow had been bent till it snapped asunder. The Acts which
were intended to prevent evil had proved Acts of indemnity and
free pardon to the fraudulent and the thief, and Acts of ruin and
destruction to many a fair trader."
By his speeches in Parliament Buxton speedily secured a con-
siderable reputation. He was not an orator ; but he was a good
and steady debater, and his strong logical reasoning was always
set forth in a clear style and with appropriate illustration. He
was not one of those speakers who, in Bacon's phrase, " hunt
more after words than matter, and more after the choiceness of
the phrase, the sweet falling of the clauses, and the varying illus-
tration of their words, with tropes and figures, than after the weight
of matter, worth of subject, or soundness of argument." He
usually prepared his speeches with great care, not for the sake of
artifices of style, but to collect supplies of fact, and enforce the
different points of his statement. Speaking as he did from eager
conviction, and because he had something to say, — on subjects
which appealed to the feelings no less than to the judgment, — he
frequently rose above the general level of his manly and vigorous
style into passages of passionate declamation: these, however,
sprang from the rush and tumult of his emotions, and never smelt
of the midnight oil.
In 1820, Mr. Buxton's labours for the amendment of prison
discipline bore some good fruit, and he had the satisfaction of
seeing the solution of a difficult problem begun — how to reform
our criminals while we punish them. It must be admitted that
the solution even yet is not complete, but a great deal of satis-
factory progress has been made, and for this progress we are
indebted to the efforts of Buxton and his fellow-workers.
HithertG his life had been one unbroken flow of happiness, so
that, hke the ancient monarch, he began to be afraid of so much
prosperity. A heavy domestic affliction, however, came to remind
him that life must have its shadows as well as its sunshine. An
HIS GREAT DOMESTIC AFFLICTIONS. 175
inflammatory disorder carried off his eldest son, a boy of great
promise, ** the peculiar object of our anxious care ; a boy of great
life and animation ; of a most beautiful countenance; of a most
sweet disposition ; " and shortly afterwards his then infant
daughter died of measles. The blow was terrible ; but he bore it
with the fortitude of a Christian, though the keenness of his suffer-
ing is shown by the brief but pregnant inscription he placed upon
the four-fold grave — Eheu ! eheu ! (Alas ! alas !) " Thus, in little
more than a month," he writes, " have we lost the darlings and
delights of our life ; but they are in peace : and, for ourselves, we
know that this affliction may redound to our eternal benefit, if we
receive it aright. . . . How are all our most choice and comely
blossoms cut off ; how naked do we appear, how stripped of our
treasures ! Oh, my God ! my God ! Be Thou our consoler, and
comfort us, not with the joys of this world, but with faith, love,
obedience, patience, and resignation."
In the autumn of 1820, Mr. Buxton permanently took up his
residence, when Parliament was not sitting, at Cromer Hall, near
Cromer, in Norfolk. " It was situated," says his son, " about a
quarter of a mile from the sea, but sheltered from the north winds
by closely surrounding hills and woods ; and, with its old but-
tresses and porches, its clustering jessamine and its formal lawn,
where the pheasants came down to feed, it had a peculiar cha-
racter of picturesque simplicity. The interior corresponded with
its external appearance, and had little of the regularity of modern
buildings ; one room was walled up, with no entrance save through
the window; and, at different times, large pits were discovered
under the floor, or in the thickness of the walls, used, it was sup-
posed;, in old times, by the smugglers of the coast."
Here, in the enjoyment of domestic tranquillity and cultured
easej Buxton spent his leisure hours. The happiness of his home
was so great that it strongly moved the mind of Wilberforce, him-
self the head of a loving Christian household : — " I love to muse
about you all," he wrote ; " and form suitable wishes for the com-
fort and good of each member of your happy circle : for a happy
circle it is ; and surely there is nothing in the w^orld half so de-
lightftPi as mutual confidence, affection, and sympathy ; to feel
esteem as well as good-will towards every human being around
you, not only in your own house, but in the social circle that
170 GOOD SAMARITANS.
surrounds your dwelling ; and to be conscious that every
other being is turning with the same esteem and love toward
you.*'
Happy is it for the world that in every good cause, every move-
ment for the welfare of humanity, an Elijah's mantle always falls
upon an Elisha. The torch, once kindled, is passed from hand to
hand — passed through a long series of willing workers, until its
light is no longer needed ; so that in philanthropical efforts, at
least, we may well believe in the existence of a species of Apos-
tolical succession. We have seen how, for upwards of thirty
years, William Wilberforce lifted up his voice against the iniquities
of slavery and the horrors of the slave-trade, until he succeeded
in stirring up the popular indignation against the foul crime that
tarnished the name and fame of England. We have seen what
great things he accomplished in the face of a powerful and un-
scrupulous opposition, by dint of lofty eloquence, the influence of
a noble life, and the force of a strong character. Now (May, 1821),
the warrior was spent and worn with his prolonged struggle, and
looked around for some brave young knight, worthy to carry his
shield, and wear his sword. It was necessary that his successor
should be gifted with some at least of the qualities which he him-
self possessed : with the same equanimity, the same dauntless
perseverance, the same indifference to calumny, and the same
earnest belief in the righteousness of his cause. All this was
found in Buxton, and Wilberforce recognized in him also a
weight of moral influence, a power of lucid exposition, and a
capacity for hard work which well fitted him for the task of
advocating the claims of the slave.
It was thus that the veteran wrote to the young soldier: —
" For many, many years, I have been longing to bring forward
that great subject, the condition of the negro slaves in our Trans-
Atlantic colonies, and the best means of providing for their moral
and social improvement, and ultimately for their advancement to
the rank of a free peasantry ; a cause thus recommended to me,
or rather enforced on me, by every consideration of religion,
justice, and humanity.
"Under this impression I have been waiting, with no little
solicitude, for a proper time and suitable circumstances of the
country, for introducing this great business; and, latterly, for
WILBERFORCE SEEKS BUX TON'S HELP FOR THE SLA VE. 1 77
some Member of Parliament, who, if I were to retire or to be laid
by, would be an eligible leader in this holy enterprise.
" I have for some time been viewing you in this connection ;
and after what passed last night, I can no longer forbear resorting
to you, as I formerly did to Pitt, and earnestly conjuring you to
take most seriously into consideration the expediency of your
devoting yourself to this blessed service, so far as will be consistent
with the due discharge of the obligations you have already con-
tracted, and in part so admirably fulfilled, to war against the
abuses of our criminal law, both in its structure and its admini-
stration. Let me then entreat you to form an alliance with me,
that may truly be termed holy, and if I should be unable to com-
mence the war — and still more, if, when commenced, I should
(as certainly would, I fear, be the case) be unable to finish it, do
I entreat that you would continue to prosecute it. Your assurance
to this effect would give me the greatest pleasure — pleasure is a
bad term — let me rather say peace and consolation ; for alas ! my
friend, I feel but too deeply how little I have been duly as-
siduous and faithful in employing the talents committed to my
stewardship ; and in forming a partnership of this sort with you,
I cannot doubt that I should be doing an act highly pleasing to
God, and beneficial to my fellow-creatures."
It is difficult for us, in these days of general enlightenment,
when slavery is without a supporter, or, at least, an open advo-
cate, to understand the reckless abuse, the foul aspersion, the
shameful misrepresentation which were hurled at the friends of
the negro. The West India planters, whose enormous fortunes
had been gained with slave-labour, were active and power-
ful j their party in the House of Commons was numerous, strong,
and unscrupulous; while among the outside public were thou-
sands of the credulous who really believed that the abolition of
slavery would be followed by the downfall of our Colonial
Empire. And here let the reader remember the distinction be-
tween slavery and the slave-trade. We have seen that, after a
twenty years' struggle on the part of Wilberforce, Clarkson, and
their coadjutors, the importation of negroes from Africa to our
Colonies was declared illegal in 1807. And no sooner had Eng-
land thus rid herself of the shame, than, with her usual chivalry,
[78 GOOD SAMARITANS,
she endeavoured, by purchase or persuasion, to obtain a similar
measure from the other European powers. But though the
British slave-trade had been abolished, British slavery remained.
It was true that no more negroes could be imported into our
Colonies, but those who had already been imported were still in
bondage, and their children and their children's children were
doomed to the same unhappy fate.
The hostihty with which Buxton contended for many long and
anxious years was as determined as it was venomous; and to
persevere in the face of the storm that raged around him, in spite
of obloquy and misrepresentation, demanded all the highest
qualities of the Christian character. Powerfully supported, how-
ever, by Lord Brougham and Sir Francis Burdett, Sir James
Mackintosh and Dr. Lushington, he pressed upon the House of
Commons, year after year, the iniquity of the institution of slavery.
The facts which he brought forward gradually moved the con-
science of the nation. Thus, he told his hearers that in Jamaica,
for example, the amount of field labour allotted by law was
nineteen hours a day during crop time, and fourteen and a half
during the remainder of the year, with intervals of rest amounting
to two hours and a half per diem. This work, be it remembered,
had to be done under an almost vertical sun, and in the following
manner : — " The slaves were divided into gangs of from thirty to
fifty men, generally selected of a nearly equal degree of strength,
but many were often weak or diseased. They were placed in a line
in the field, with drivers armed with the whip at equal distances ;
and were obliged to maintain that line throughout the day, so
that those who were not so strong as the others were literally
flogged up by the drivers. The motion of the line was rapid and
constant." The effect of this atrocious cruelty, and of the severe
punishments constantly inflicted, was seen in the rapid diminution
of the slave population. In 1807, there were 800,000 slaves in
the West Indies; in 1830, only 700,000. So that in twenty-three
years, in spite of births, the slave population had diminished by
100,000.
Such facts as these told their own tale, and Buxton had the
satisfaction of seeing the number of his followers increase every
year. Year after year the truths he proclaimed secured a larger
audience. It was inevitable that success should crown his
THE SECRET OF BUXTON'S SUCCESS. 179
unselfish efforts in so noble a cause \ efforts made in a spirit of
the purest and sincerest devotion. It is well that the reader
should understand in what way he sustained and prepared himself
for the burden of his great task. From one of his private papers,
dated New Year's Day, 1832, we take the following extracts : —
'' Grant, O Lord, that I may begin the next year under the
guidance and influence of that blessed Spirit, which, if I grieve it
not, if I follow it implicitly, if I listen to its still small voice, if I
love it as my friend, and consult it as my counsellor, will surely
lead me in this life in the pleasant paths of peace and holiness,
and as surely conduct me hereafter to the habitations of unutter-
able joy.
" Novv am I sufficiently assiduous in the discharge of my duties?
My great duty is the deliverance of my brethren in the West
Indies from slavery both of body and soul. In the early part of
the year I did in some measure faithfully discharge this. I gave
my whole mind to it. I remember that I prayed for firmness
and resolution to persevere, and that in spite of some formid-
able obstructions I was enabled to go on; but, latterly, where
has my heart been ? Has the bondage of my brethren engrossed
my whole mind ? The plain and the painful truth is that it has
not. Pardon, O Lord, the neglect of this honourable service to
which Thou hast called me.
" Give me wisdom to devise, and ability to execute, and zeal
and perseverance and dedication of heart, for the task with which
Thou hast been pleased to honour me. 2 Chron. xx. 12-17.
" And now. Lord, hear and answer my prayer for myself ; my
first desire is, that this next year may not be thrown away upon
anything less than those hopes and interests which are greater
and better than any that this world can contain. May no sub-
ordinate cares or earthly interest? interrupt my progress. May I
act as one whose aim is heaven ; may my loins be girded, and
my lights burning, and myself like unto men who wait for their
Lord. Conscious of my own weakness, of my absolute inability
to do anything by my own strength, anything tending to my
own salvation, I earnestly pray for the light and the impulse of
Thy Holy Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in my heart by faith.
" Bless, O Lord God, my efforts for the extinction of that cruel
slavery ; or, rather, take the work into Thine own hands."
i8o GOOD SAMARITANS.
Those efforts were blessed. Some of Buxton's political friends
were in favour of gradual emancipation ; but he himself rightly
insisted that the only cure for the evil was imrnediate and total
abolition ; and he called upon England to declare that at one
blow the fetters should be struck off the mangled limbs of the
unhappy slave. " Deeply versed in the state of the West Indies,
it was to him a thing plain and undoubted that no policy could
be so pernicious as that of hesitation and delay. He thought
that the dangers of rapid emancipation were not nearly so great
as they were held to be. He believed that a good police and
kind treatment would suffice to prevent those * frightful calami-
ties ' (the result of such an act) which Sir Robert Peel 'shuddered
to contemplate.' He boldly stated his belief that the negroes
would go to work for wages as soon as they were released from
the terrors of the whip. And that at any rate the legislature
would find it the most hopeless task in the world to do what
Lord Althorp called * employing itself most usefully in bringing
the slaves to such a state of moral feeling as would be suitable to
the proposed alteration in their condition.' "
His disinterested labours finally prevailed. The country was
thoroughly roused at last to a full sense of the wrongs under
which the unfortunate negroes groaned, and made abundantly
clear its resolve that they should cease. It was proposed with
splendid generosity to compensate the slave-owners for the loss
of their "property" — their human property — their supposed
ownership of the thews and muscles of their fellow-men.
Crowded public meetings were held all over the kingdom; and
in 1833 the Government found themselves compelled to take
up the question, and introduce a Bill providing for the immediate
abolition of slavery on payment of ;£"20,ooo,ooo to the planters.
It passed the Lower House on the 7th of August ; was read a
third time in the House of Lords on the 20th ; and received the
royal assent on the 28th. In the West Indies the new Act was
received in a way which satisfactorily confuted the prognostica-
tions of evil in which its opponents had indulged. The planters
showed no signs of irritation, the negroes neither excitement nor
insubordination ; and the Colonial Legislatures immediately pre-
pared to carry it into effect on the following ist of August, when
770,280 slaves received that freedom which, according to one
FINAL EMANCIPATION OF THE SLAVE. i8i
of the commonplaces of moralists, is " man's inalienable birth-
right."
The following data in reference to the slave-trade may prove
convenient to the reader.
1. So far as England is concerned, the slave-trade was begun
1 by Sir John Hawkins, in October 1562.
2. It had grown to such terrible proportions in course of time
that, towards the close of the eighteenth century, no fewer than
one hundred thousand African negroes were annually thrown into
slavery. In 1786 the English slave-trade employed 160 ships.
3. The first debate upon the proposed abolition of the trade
took place in the House of Commons in April 1791.
4. In April 1798, Mr. Wilberforce's motion was defeated by Z^
to 83.
5. The English slave-trade was abolished March 25th, 1807.
6. Treaties for its suppression were concluded with Spain in
1817; the Netherlands, i8i8; Brazil, 1828; the United States^
1862 ; Zanzibar, 1873.
7. The Emancipation Act received the royal assent August 28th^
1833.
8. Death of Wilberforce, 1833 ; of Thomas Clarkson, Sep-
tember 1846 ; of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, February, 1845.
9. In the United States, the total abolition of slavery took
place in 1862.
Though this noble crusade against slavery was the chief labour
of Buxton's life, he found time and means to support every
project which was destined to promote the welfare of humanity ;
and the numerous charitable associations of the metropolis could
always calculate on his generous help and counsel. We have not
space, however, nor would it interest the reader, to record, month
by month and year by year, his exertions as a Good Samaritan.
We nave said enough to show that the motive which animated his
life, ihe ruling passion which informed and guided his career, was
a devotion to duty which no discouragement, no difficulty, no
temporary failure could weaken. He took up the cause of the
enslaved and oppressed negro as a duty, in the discharge of which
he brought to bear all the best qualities of a manly character.
Calm, resolute, self-controlled, he repelled with dignity the attacks
c82 GOOD SAMARITANS.
of unscrupulous adversaries. Prudent and moderate, he indulged
in none of those exaggerations by which over- zealous advocates
too often diminish the force of their own assertions. He made
no statements which were not capable of incontrovertible proof;
and his opponents soon discovered that if he was earnest and
direct in the attack, he was always ready and prompt in the
defence. Their utmost ingenuity failed to discover a weak point
in his armour. His character may be described as formed of a
" durable material ; " so that an impression once effectually made
seemed never to be effaced.
A letter which Buxton addressed to one of his sons on entering
Trinity College, Cambridge, will show the reader what manner of
man he was. It is the letter of a man who, in the highest sense,
knew how to make " the best of both worlds " : —
" It is always a disappointment to me to be absent, when my
boys are at home; but I particularly regretted being away last
week, as I think I might have done something for your shooting
before you went to College. I need not, I hope, tell you of the
extreme interest I take in the launch of your little skiff on the
ocean of life, and how ardently I desire that * soft airs and gentle
heavings of the wave ' may accompany your voyage ; and that you
may be safely piloted into the serene and lovely harbour prepared
by the love of God. It is not often that I trouble my children
with advice, and never, I believe, unless I have something par-
ticular to say. At the present time, I think I have that to say
which is deeply important to your success in the business of life ;
nay, its effects may extend beyond the grave. You are now a
man, and I am persuaded that you must be prepared to hold a
very inferior station in life to that which you might fill, unless you
resolve, with God's help, that whatever you do, you will do it
ivell ; unless you make up your mind, that it is better to accomplish
perfectly a very small amount of work than to half-do ten times
as much. What you do know, know thoroughly. There are it^
instances in modern times of a rise equal to that of Sir Edward
Sugden.* After one of the Weymouth elections, I was shut up
with him in a carriage for twenty-four hours. I ventured to ask
him what was the secret of his success ; his answer was, *I resolved
* Afterwards Lord St. Leonards, and Lord Chancellor ; died Jan. 29, 1875.
BUXTON'S ADVICE TO HIS SON, 183
when beginning to read law, to make everything I acquired
perfectly my own, and never to go to a second thing till I had
entirely accomplished the first. Many of my competitors read as
much in a day as T read in a week ; but, at the end of twelve
months, my knowledge was as fresh as on the day it was acquired,
while theirs had glided away from their recollection.'
" Let the same masculine determination to act to some purpose
go through your life. Do the day's work to-day. At college I
was extremely intimate with two young men, both of extraordinary
talents. The one was always ahead of his tutor ; he was doing
this year the work of next year, and although, upon many parts of
the subject, he knew more than his examiner, yet he contrived to
answer what was actually proposed to him most scandalously ; —
while the other, by knowing perfectly what it was his business to
know (though not confining himself to that), never, to the best of
my recollection, failed to answer any question that was put to him.
" Again, be punctual. I do not mean the merely being in time
for lectures, etc., but I mean that spirit out of which punctuality
grows, that love of accuracy, precision, and vigour which makes
the efficient man ; the determination that what you have to do,
shall be done, in spite of all petty obstacles, and finished off, at
once, and finally. I believe I have told you the story of Nelson
and his coachmaker, but you nmst hear it once more. When he
was on the eve of departure for one of his great expeditions, the
coachmaker said to him, 'The carriage shall be at the door punc-
tually at six o'clock. ' ' A quarter before,' said Nelson, — * I have
always been a quarter of an hour before my time, and it has made
a man of me.'
" How often have I seen persons who would have done well,
if they would but have acted up to their own sense of duty !
Thankful I am to believe that conscience is the established rule
•over your actions; but I want to enlarge its province, and to
make it condescend to these, which may appear to you minor
matters. Have a conscience to be fitting yourself for life, in what-
<iver you do, and in the management of your mind and powers.
In Scripture phrase, * Gird up the loins of your mind.' Sheridan
was an example of the want of this quaUty. In early life he goi
into a grand quarrel and duel, the circumstances of which were
to his credit (always excepting fighting the duel), but they were
I84 GOOD SAMARITANS.
misrepresented : he came to town, resolved to set the British
public right, and as Perry, the editor of the Morning Chronicle,
was his friend, he resolved to do so through the channel of that
paper. It was agreed between them that Sheridan, under a
fictitious name, should write a history of the affair, as it had
been misrepresented, and that he should subsequently reply to it
in his own name, giving the facts of the case. The first part he
accomplished, and there appeared in the Chronicle a bitter
article against him, written, in fact, by himself; but he could
never find time to write the answer, and it never was written :
*The slothful man roasteth not that which he took in hunting.'
" All the men who have done things well in life have been
remarkable for decision of character. Tacitus describes Julius
Caesar as * monstrum incredibilis celeritatis atque audaciae ' ; and
Bonaparte, having published to all the world the day on which he
should leave Paris to meet Wellington at Waterloo, did actually
start on that day ; but he had so arranged matters, and travelled
with such expedition, that he took the British army by surprise.
" The punctuality which I desire for you involves and compre-
hends the exact arrangement of your time. It is a matter on
which much depends ; fix how much time you will spend upon
?ach object, and adhere, all but obstinately, to your plan.
' Method,' says Cecil, ' is Hke packing things in a box ; a good
packer will get in half as much again as a bad one.' . . . Ponder
well what I have said, and call on God to help you in arraying
yourself in the qualities which I desire. If you mean to be the
effective man, you must set about it earnestly and at once. No
man ever yet * yawned it into being with a wish ; ' you must make
arrangements for it ; you must watch it ; you must notice where
you fail, and you must keep some kind of journal of your failures.
" But, whatever negligence may creep into your studies, or into
your pursuits of pleasure or of business, let there be one point,
at least, on which you are always watchful, always alive : I mean
in the performance of your religious duties. Let nothing induce
you, even for a day, to neglect the perusal of Scripture. You
know the value of prayer ; it is precious beyond all price. Never,
never neglect it."
The well-known lines of Sir William Jones touching the dis-
BUXTON CREATED A BARONET. 185
tribution of one's time, Mr. Buxton adapted to himself as
follows ;—
*• Secure six hours for thought, and one for prayer,
Four in the fields for exercise and air,
The rest let converse, sleep, and business share."
Such a division, of course, was impossible in London, and during
the parliamentary season ; but he seems to have kept to it with
some closeness in his rural retirement at Northrepps. He spent
his mornings in his study or with his gun j his afternoons in medi-
tation or correspondence ; and after dinner, when no guests were
present, he would lie upon the sofa while someone read aloud to
him from the passing literature of the day. He had a strong
liking for biography, perhaps even stronger for works of humour ;
but especially an insatiable thirst for military adventure. His love
of poetry was keen, and he endeavoured to cultivate a similar
taste in his family. Every Sunday evening his children were
expected to repeat a passage of poetry, and he always insisted on
the utmost fluency and accuracy in the repetition. When tea was
finished, he usually withdrew to his study \ returning after a time
with any letters or papers connected with his work which he might
have received or written in the course of the day, and the reading
of these, with the discussions upon them, which he encouraged,
usually occupied the remainder of the evening.
In 1840, Buxton, in acknowledgment of his philanthropic
labours, was created a baronet.
A man of almost gigantic stature, with a powerful frame, he
was nevertheless not endowed with robust health ; and the severity
of his labours broke him down before his time. He had scarcely
passed his fiftieth year when he began to suffer frequently from
serious attacks of illness, inducing a strange and excessive prostra-
tion. The decline was gradual ; but, towards the close of 1843,
when he was still but fifty-seven years of age, his condition became
such as to excite the alarm and anxiety of his friends. His bodily
weakness was pitiful to see ; oppression on the brain existed ; and
he suffered from a partial loss of memory. Early in the following
year he was blessed with a temporary recovery, which lasted for a
few happy months, and gave great hopes to his friends. Then, in
the sunny summer mornings, he would often rise at four or five
12
j86 good SAMARITANS.
o'clock and go into his dressing-room, where his voice could be
heard for an hour or two in earnest devotion. When he was
warned of the risk to his health, he would reply : " I have not
time enough for prayer ; I must have longer time for prayer."
One night, his voice being audible after he was in bed, he was
asked what he was saying. "Praying hard," was his reply; and
he added, — "I have been praying vehemently for myself, that I
may receive faith, that I may receive the grace of God in my
heart ; that I may have a clear vision of Christ, that I may per-
fectly obey Him, that I may have the supporting arm of the Lord
in every trial, and be admitted finally into His glorious kingdom."
After a long illness, endured with Christian patience, Sir
Thomas Fowell Buxton expired on February 19th, 1845, aged
fifty-eight. His remains were interred in the ruined chancel of
the little church at Overstrand. The old ivy-mantled walls, the
antique fane itself, with its near view of the sea, and the aspect of
the surrounding scenery, form an impressive picture.
One of Buxton's friends has said of him : — " I have seldom
known a mind of such determined industry, patience, and un-
daunted resolution in the pursuit of any object which it might
present to itself." In his vocabulary, as in Napoleon's, there
existed no such word as " impossible." What had to be done,
could ^.nd must be done ; obstacles vanished before his determined
will. " The race is not always to the swift," he would say, " nor
the battle to the strong, and there are some very few occasions in
which labour fails ; but labour unactuated by selfish considerations,
and solely fixing its eye on the goal of duty, and steadfastly
determined to reach it, is, I believe, never defeated.
* His way once clear, he forward shot outright.
Not turned aside by danger or delight.' "
It would be folly to speak of Buxton as a man of genius. He
was an admirable specimen of the English gentleman ; a man of
cultivated mind and refined taste, with a good deal of that mild
wisdom which comes of patient observation and reflection. The
thing that gave dignity and interest to his life was the perseverance
with which he maintained a great and sacred cause. The cause
raised the man ; it elevated his thoughts, — it broadened the
''MAXIMS FOR THE YOUNGS 1S7
horizon of his vision, — it lifted him out of the atmosphere ot
commonplace.
It must be owned that his judgment was sound and clear, and
that he kijew how to express himself in terse and vigorous language.
There is much excellent sense, pithily conveyed, in the following
^' Hints for Maxims for the Young " : —
" Mankind in general mistake difficulties for impossibilities.
That is the difference between those who effect, and those who
do not.
" People of weak judgment are the most timid, as horses half-
blind are most apt to start.
" Burke in a letter to Miss Shacklteon says :— ' Thus much in
favour of activity and occupation, that the more one has to do,
the more one is capable of doing, even beyond our direct task.'
" Plato, * better to err in acts than principles.*
*' Idleness the greatest prodigality.
" Two kinds of idleness, — a listless, and an active.
" If industrious, we should direct our efforts to right ends.
" Possibly it may require as much (industry) to be best billiard
player as to be senior wrangler.
" The endowments of nature we cannot command, but we can
cultivate those given.
" My experience, that men of great talents are apt to do nothing
for want of vigour.
" Vigour, — energy, — resolution, — firmness of purpose, — these
carry the day.
" Is there one whom difficulties dishearten, — who bends to the
storm ? — He will do little. Is there one who wi// conquer ? — That
kind of man never fails.
" Let it be your first study to teach the world that you are not
wood and straw — some iron in you.
" Let men know that what you say you will do ; that your deci-
sion made is final, — no wavering ; that, once resolved, you are
not to be allured or intimidated.
"Acquire and maintain that character."
*******
" Eloquence — the most useful talent ; one to be acquired, or
improved ; all the great speakers bad at first. — How to be ac-
quired.
iS8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
" Write your speeches, — no inspiration.
" Labour to put your thoughts in the clearest view.
" A bold, decided outline.
'* Read * multum, non multa, — homo unius libri.*
" Learn by heart everything which strikes you.
'* Thus ends my lecture ; nineteen out of twenty become good
or bad as they choose to make themselves.
" The most important part of your education is that which you.
now give yourselves."
BOOK III.
WORK AND WORKERS IN THE MISSION-FIELD.
JOHN ELIOT : A MISSIONARY AND A LEADER OF MEN»
DAVID BRAINERD.
HENRY MARTYN : TYPE OF THE MODERN MISSION ARY»
JOHN WILLIAMS, THE *' MARTYR OF ERROMANGA."
IVOR/^ AND WORKERS IN THE MISSION-FIELD.
JOHN ELIOT was born at Nasing, in Essex, in 1604. He
came of a good stock, and being bred up by pious parents,
who sympathized with the phase of Christian life and
practice already known as Puritanism, he was educated so that he
might do no dishonour to his ancestry. At Cambridge he won
distinction by his earnest application to his studies, and showed
much linguistic ability. He gave an eager attention to the
languages in which the Scriptures were written, and became a
fair scholar in Greek and Hebrew. While still a young man, he
obtained employment as an assistant to Mr. John Hooker,
master of the Grammar School at Litde Baddow, and under this
godly man the religious impressions he had derived from his
parents were deepened and confirmed. His zeal in the cause
of Christ was so ardent that he would fain have devoted himself
to the ministry; but the laws then prohibited an unordained
person from praying or preaching in public, and conscientious
scruples prevented him from accepting orders in the Church of
England. Except with a licence from the Bishop of the diocese,
even the instruction of youth was declared illegal, and as Hooker,
a Puritan of the strictest type, would not obey the prescribed
conditions, his school was suppressed, and he himself, as his
personal liberty was endangered, compelled to take refuge in
Holland.
Perceiving that freedom of thought was no longer possible in
England, John Eliot, in 1631, determined on following in the
path of the Pilgrim Fathers, and seeking a home in that New
England across the seas where no royal or episcopal tyranny
interfered with a man's liberty of conscience. He embarked on
the 3rd of November, in the ship Lyon^ with some sixty others,
driven from their native land by the same hateful cause, and
192 GOOD SAMARITANS
before the close of the year landed at the newly-planted but
already prosperous city of Boston. The congregation of '*the
faithful " which assembled there immediately sought his services,
as their pastor had been temporarily summoned to England to
arrange his affairs ; and he laboured among them with so much
earnestness and so much acceptance that, on their pastor's return,
they were anxious to retain him as assistant-minister. He de-
clined the engagement, however, as he knew that many friends
in England were preparing to form a new settlement ; and in the
course of the following year, a goodly company of East Anglians
arrived, and in the fresh forest-land near Boston founded the
town of Roxbury. They brought with them a young Puritan
maiden, named Anne, to whom Eliot was betrothed. There-
upon Eliot was married, elected pastor of the new congregation.
and ordained by the laying-on of the hands of his brother-
presbyters.
Eliot's great capacities as a leader of men were soon developed.
He became the priest, patriarch, ruler, and teacher of the little
community at Roxbury. In preaching and catechizing he was
assiduous, but he taught, perhaps, scarcely less effectually by his
example, his life being so ordered as to convey to all men a
lesson, and set before them an ideal. He walked in constant
and intimate communion with God, an atmosphere of devout
calm seemed to surround him always. He prayed often and
fasted often, keeping the body in subjection as well as the desires
and passions. Not that he found it an easy task ; he was far
removed from the Pharisaism felt and proclaimed by many of
"the elect." Life was to him a field of constant effort; the
human soul was for ever waging war against foes within and
without. One day, as he toiled up the hill on the summit of
which stood his church, he remarked that this was very like
the way to heaven. "'Tis up hill ! " he said. " The Lord in His
grace fetch us up. And surely there are thorns and briars in
the way also." He was a great enemy to all contention, and
would ring a loud " Curfew Bell " whenever he saw the fires of
animosity. When pastors complained in his hearing of troubles
among their flocks, he would say, " Brother, compress them ; "
and, *' Brother, learn the meaning of those three little words, bear,
forbear, forgive ! " At an assembly of ministers, a bundle of
JOHN ELIOT IN NEW ENGLAND. 193
^)apers relating to a dispute between two of them was laid on the
table ; Eliot suddenly rose and committed them to the flames.
""Brethren," he said, "wonder not at that which I have done;
I did it on my knees this morning before I came among you."
His Samaritanism was a very real and practical virtue. His
wife, who was an adept in medicine and in healing wounds,
bestowed her advice freely upon all who solicited it. It chanced
that a man who had taken offence at one of Eliot's sermons, and
had reviled him publicly, wounded himself severely. Eliot imme-
diately sent his wife to attend to him. On his recovery, the
man had the grace to offer his thanks and a gift ; Eliot would
take nothing, but detained him to a friendly meal, and by this
..gentle dealing "mollified and conquered the stomach of his
reviler."
At this time the English and others were scattered along the
•coast, and had made scarcely any attempt to occupy the great
plains inland. The country was inhabited by a branch of the
Iroquois nation, the Pequots, an athletic and active tribe, whose
men occupied themselves in hunting when they were not at war,
and imposed on their squaws, not only the duties of the house-
hold, but the labour of the fields. There was a touch of noble-
ness in this manly people, however, and as yet they had not been
contaminated by the vices of civilization, except in a few indivi-
dual cases. For some years a good feeling had existed between
the natives and the colonists, but as the latter began to encroach
on the wilderness, trust gave way to suspicion, and an angry
temper was awakened on both sides. In 1634, two English
•settlers, with their boat's crew, were killed on Connecticut River,
.and the feud was on the point of blazing out into open hostilities,
when the Pequots, who were at war with the Dutch, and the
Narragansetts, or River Indians, despatched a deputation to con-
clude, if possible, an alliance, offensive and defensive, with the
English. After due deliberation, a treaty was signed, on con-
dition that the murderers of the Englishmen were delivered up,
.and a fine paid down of forty beaver and thirty otter skins, besides
400 fathoms of wampum, that is, strings of the small whelks and
Venus-shells which passed as current coin, a fathom being worth
about five shillings.
The treaty, however, was not long observed by the Pequots,
194 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and at length their acts of aggression broke down the forbear-
ance of the colonists. Allying themselves with some friendly
tribes, and with the Mohicans and River Indians, a force of
seventy-five Englishmen invaded the country of the Pequots and
drove them from it. In 1637 a battle known as "the Great
Swamp Fight " was fought between the English, Dutch, and their
Indian auxiliaries, on the one hand, and the Pequots on the
other, in which the latter lost thirteen chiefs and seven hundred
men. A great number were taken prisoners and sent to the
West India islands as slaves; while the survivors were hunted
down by the Mohicans and Narragansetts, until the once-powerful
tribe was reduced to 200 " braves," who, suing for peace on any
terms, were deprived of their territories, and distributed among
the Mohicans and Narragansetts.
It was about this time, apparently, that Eliot resolved upon,
undertaking the conversion of the Red Men, incited thereto by
the noble example of the Romish missionaries, who were
labouring with much success among the Indians of Louisiana.
He began by collecting the necessary funds among the colonists,
and by mastering the Indian language, of which he afterwards
published a grammar. Cotton Mather, the biographer of Eliot,
refers with much contempt to the length of many of the Indian
words. "I am sure," he says, "the words it contains are long
enough to tire the patience of any scholar in the world ; they are
sesqiiipedalia verba, of which their lingua is composed. For
instance, if I were to translate our * loves ' it must be nothing
shorter than Noowomuntamoonkammonush. Or, to give my reader
a longer word, Krunmogokodonattootunimootiteaonganunnonash is,,
in English, our " question."
In 1646, being then in his forty-second year, John EUot
entered on his campaign of evangelization. On the 28th of
October, an assembly of Indians took place in the forest, under
the presidency of their chief, Waban, or the Wind, who was a
friend of the English, and had a son at the English school. Eliot
attended, with three companions —
•* Came the Black-robe chief, the Prophet,
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale Face • •
And he . .
Stammered in his speech a little,
HE BEGINS TO EVANGELISE HIE INDIAAS. 195
Speaking words yet unfamiliar. . ,
Then the generous Hiawatha,
Led the stranger to his wigwam , , »
All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets,
The magicians, the Wabonos,
And the medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome :
* It is well,' they said, * O brothers,
That you come so far to see us ! '
In a circle round the doorway,
With their pipes they sat in silence.
Mr. Eliot offered up a prayer in English, and then preached
in the Indian tongue, taking as his text the ninth and tenth verses
of the thirty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel, in which the prophet is
ordered to call the breath of God from the four winds of heaven
to give life to the dry bones around. The Indian word for
"breath" or "wind" was Waban, and this coincidence much
impressed the hearers, and was afterwards regarded as an omen.
♦* Then the Black-robe chief, the Prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Tol^l the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do ;
How He fasted, prayed, and laboured ;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked Him, scourged Him, crucified Him;
How He rose from where they laid Him,
Walked again with His disciples,
And ascended into heaven."
And the chiefs made answer, saying :
*We have listened to your message,
We have heard your words of wisdom,
We will think on what you tell us :
It is well for us, O brother.
That you come so far to see us I * "
A.bout once a fortnight Eliot repeated his visits, and had the
sadsfaction of seeing that many were much interested in his
teaching. There was not wanting opposition on the part of the
€96 GOOD ^AMAKIIANS.
Powaws, or priests ; but Eliot had a potent ally in Waban, who
went from one to the other, repeating the instruction he had
received, and teaching them how to pray ; for at first it had been
the belief of many that to the English God prayers must be
addressed in English. When it seemed to Eliot that the Indians
were ready for a settled life, he obtained for his congregation,
the '* praying Indians," as they were called, a grant of the site
of his first instructions. He named it " Rejoicing " — a word which
the Indians soon corrupted into Nonantum, — and set his people
to work to plant it, and cultivate it, and enclose it in various
allotments. Wigwams of an altogether better kind were built.
The women learned to spin. A manufacture of eel pots, baskets,
and brushes was vigorously carried on : these were sold to the
English settlers, together with fruit, vegetables, venison, fish, and
turkeys.
Before many months had passed by, a second settlement of
praying Indians was established at Neponset, the head of which
was a chief named Cutshamakin, in rank and influence superior
to Waban. He, too, was well disposed towards the English,
and had undertaken to observe the ten commandments. Un-
fortunately he had learned to love the "fire-water," that most
fatal gift of civilization, which has desolated the savage world.
While Mr. Eliot was teaching the rudiments of Christianity to
his family, one of his sons, a boy of fifteen, on coming to the
fifth commandment, refused to say more than "honour thy
mother," alleging that his father had given him fire-water and
made him ill, and moreover had treated him harshly. The boy
had always been rude and disobedient; and Mr. Eliot, ir
speaking of his faults to the Sachem, pointed out that the best
way to induce him to reform would be for himself to acknow-
ledge his sins, and amend his ways. The chief felt the force of
Eliot's remarks ; stood up, and made open confession of his tres-
passes ; whereat the boy was so moved that he in turn repented
openly, and entreated his father's forgiveness. All shed tears. For
the time Cutshamakin was wounded to the quick, but he knew well
the weakness of his character, and mistrusted the reality of his
penitence. " My heart," he said, "is but very little better than it
was, and I am afraid it will be as bad again as it was before. I
sometimes wish I might die before I be so bad again ! "
COTTON MATHER'S TESTIMONY. 197
The teaching of the Puritans was, in some respects, not well
adapted to the Indian character. It laid too much stress upon
trifles j took too close an account of anise and cummin, of the
letter rather than the spirit. The Indian preacher Mabaulia
once reproved Cutshamakin's squaw in public because she
fetched water on a Sunday. She replied, very pertinently, that he
had done more harm by exciting an angry debate than she by
fetching the water. The Scotch Presbyterians were never more
rigid in their views of Sabbath observance than the New England
Puritans. At Nonantum a man who, when his fire was nearly
out, had split a piece of dry wood with his axe, was publicly
lectured ; and a reprimand was addressed to Waban, because he
killed a capon to entertain two unexpected guests.
But it is only fair to admit that with weightier offences against
the law, the Christian missionaries contended in a spirit of equal
severity. They waged unceasing war against drunkenness, and
against the old Indian habit of ill-treating women, and the super-
stitious belief in the power of the priests and sorcerers. Here is.
a story told by Cotton Mather : —
"While Mr. Eliot was preaching of Christ unto the other
Indians, a demon appeared unto a Prince of the Eastern Indians
in a shape that had some resemblance of Mr. Eliot, or of an
English minister, pretending to be the Englishman's God. The
spectre commanded him ' to forbear the drinking of rum, and to
observe the Sabbath-day, and to deal justly with his neighbours ; '
all which things had been inculcated in Mr. Eliot's ministry, pro-
mising therewithal unto him that, if he did so, at his death his
soul should ascend into a happy place, otherwise descend unto
miseries ; but the apparition all the while never said one word
about Christ, which was the main subject of Mr. Eliot's ministry-
The Sachem received such an impression from the apparition that
he dealt justly with all men except in the bloody tragedies and
cruelties he afterwards committed on the English in our wars. He
kept the Sabbath-day like a fast, frequently attending in our con-
gregations ; he would not meddle with any rum, though usually
his countrymen had rather die than undergo such a piece of self-
denial. That liquor has merely enchanted them. At last, and
not long since, this demon appeared again unto this pagan,
requiring him to kill himself, and assuring him that he should
198 GOOD SAMARITANS.
revive in a day or two, never to die any more. He thereupon
divers times attempted it, but his friends very carefully prevented
it ; however, at length he found a fair opportunity for this foul
business, and hanged himself, — you may be sure without his
expected resurrection."
Eliot's great object was to realize the ideal he had formed of
an Indian city, which should be governed wholly on Scriptural
principles ; which should possess all the advantages of civilization
without its drawbacks ; which should be wholly independent of
English rule, and secured from the contagion of English vices ;
a city, in fact, after the pattern so earnestly meditated by the
zealous Puritans, the government to be in the hands of devout
men, and based upon a rigid interpretation of the Mosaic Law.
He was prevented, however, from carrying out his scheme by
want of funds ; and the same cause prevented him from printing
and publishing his translation of the Bible into the Indian lau:
guage. It is surprising how much, in spite of his poverty, he did
succeed in accomplishing : but his heart was in his work, and
under his zealous auspices, Christian order and industry began
to prevail in the wilderness. Acres of forest land were cleared,
and converted into smiling corn-fields ; happy villages sprang up
in quiet nooks and corners ; schools were established for the
instruction of the Indian children ; and the' Word of God was
preached with faithfulness and power, if in a somewhat austere
and narrow spirit.
In 1649 the cost of printing Eliot's Indian Bible was undertaken
by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in New England,
which had just been founded, with the direct sanction of Parlia-
ment ; and this society also supplied him with the necessary
funds for engaging and paying teachers, and furnishing the con-
verts with the tools and implements necessary for their industrial
■enterprises. Eliot's work thenceforward progressed more rapidly;
but every reformer raises up opposition as the primary condition
of reform, and Eliot found himself impeded by the contempt with
which the English settlers regarded the red men, —by the hostility
of the Powaws or " medicine-men," who strained every nerve to
iretain or recover their influence over their dupes, — and even by
the jealousy of the Sachems, who discovered that the spirit of
Christianity was inimical to every from of tyranny, and that
CHRISTIAN SETTLEMENT OF INDIANS. 199
men in becoming Christians ceased to be slaves. The calm
courageous soul of the great missionary-was wholly unmoved by
these demonstrations ; he felt that God had laid a mission upon
him from which he durst not allow the hostility of man to turn
him aside. He had in him much of the temper of Luther, who,
when his friends would have dissuaded him from going to Worms
lest he should lose his life, answered, that " he would repair
thither, though he should find there thrice as many devils as
there are tiles upon the housetops ! "
Even Cutshamakin turned round upon his benefactor. The
scheme for the erection of an independent Indian city so enraged
him that he broke out into furious howls, like those of a wild
beast ; but Eliot, subduing him with his calm grave eye, told him
that the work was of God, and no fear of him would frustrate it.
Afterwards the Sachem professed that his only objection to Eliot's
labours was that the praying Indians did not pay him his proper
dues. To render under Caesar the things that are Caesar's was a
Scriptural principle fully recognized by the missionary, and he
preached a sermon strongly enforcing it upon the members of his
congregation. To his great surprise they came to him after his
discourse, and expressing their mortification at the charge brought
against them, showed that they had fully discharged their obliga-
tions both by way of gifts and service ; each having paid the
Sachem twenty bushels of corn, six bushels of rye, fifteen deer,
and a certain number of days spent in hunting, in reclaiming
land, and in building a wigwam. Eliot, justly indignant at
Cutshamakin's conduct, preached, on the following lecture-day, on
the Saviour's rejection of the kingdoms of the world, and applied
the text to the avaricious chief, whom he reproached with his
greed and lust of power, and warned against the consequences of
backsliding. Cutshamakin was moved to repentance, and his
loud professions of sorrow obtained for him Eliot's forgiveness; but
to the last he remained a man who could not be trusted.
In 1 65 1 the missionary's plans came into actual fulfilment.
The Council of Government granted him a site for his Indian
town on the banks of Charles River, about eighteen miles south-
west of Boston. They called it *' Natich," or the place among the
hills, and Eliot believed it had been specially pointed out in answer
to prayer. Thither he removed his people from Nonantum, and
20O GOOD SAMARITANS.
the work of construction began. A bridge was thrown across the
river, 80 feet long and 9 feet wide : three broad straight streets
were laid out, two on one side of the river, and one on the other ;
to each Indian family a suitable allotment was made ; houses were
built, gardens planted, cornfields sown. A few of the houses were
built in the English fashion ; but most of them were bark wigwams
on an improved pattern. In the centre of the town stood a circular
fort, palisaded with trees ; and adjoining it a large house of two
storeys : the upper of which was used as a wardrobe and store-
house, with a room for Mr. Eliot known as " the prophet's
chamber," while the lower served as a schoolroom on week-days
and a place of worship on Sundays.
Eliot next proceeded to institute a form of government, of which
the Bible was to furnish the model and act as the foundation.
Taking up Jethro's advice to Moses, he divided his Indians into
hundreds and tens, with a ruler for each division, each tithing man
being responsible for the ten under him, and each chief of a
hundred for the ten tithings. " This was done on the 6th of August,
1651 ; and Eliot declared that it seemed to him as if he beheld
the scattered bones he had spoken of in his first sermon to the
Indians come bone to bone, and a civil political life begin. His
hundreds and tithings were as much suggested by the traditional
arrangements of K ing Alfred as by those of Moses in the wilder-
ness ; and his next step was, in like manner, partly founded on
Scripture, partly on English history, — namely, the binding his
Indians by a solemn covenant to serve the Lord, and ratifying it
on a fast day. His converts had often asked him why he held
none of the great fast days with them that they saw the English
held, and he had always replied that there was not a sufficient
occasion, but he regarded this as truly important enough. More-
over a ship containing some supplies, sent by the Society, in
England, had been wrecked, and the goods, though saved, were
damaged. This he regarded as a frown of Providence and a fruit
of sin. Poor Cutshamakin also was in trouble again, having been
drawn into a great revel, where much spirits had been drunk, and
his warm though unstable temper always made him ready to serve
as a public example of confession and humiliation. So when, on
the 24th of September, 165 1, Mr. Eliot had conducted the fast
day service, it began with Cutshamakin 's confession ; then three
THE PERSONAL INFLUENCE OF ELIOT. 201
Indians preached and prayed in turn, and Mr. Eliot finally
preached on Ezra's great fast. There was a pause for rest ; then
the assembly came together again, and before them Mr. Eliot
solemnly recited the terms of the Covenant, by which all were to
bind themselves to the service of the Lord, and which included
all their principal laws. He asked them whether they stood to
the Covenant. All the chiefs first bound themselves, then the
remainder of the people ; a collection was made for the poor ; and
so ended that ' blessed day,' as the happy apostle of the Indians
called it."
The prudent watchfulness with which Eliot carried out his
work of organisation is shown by the fact that he did not receive
a single Indian to baptism until 1660, or nine years after he
had first begun to preach, — a striking contrast to the impetuosity
of some present-day evangelists, who admit their converts without
even an hour's probation, requiring from them only some semi-
hysterical declarations of repentance and faith. From the firsts
it was his design to train up for the ministry some of his more
promising native scholars, rightly believing that native pastors
would be more successful in their labours than men alien to their
flocks in race and language, and unable to make a direct appeal
to their sympathies. One of the earliest of these red-skinned
messengers was a John Hiacoomes, who transfigured, as it were,
the natural bravery of the Indian people into a high force of
moral courage. On one occasion, while praying, he was rudely
assaulted by a Sachem, and but for the interposition of some
English who were present, would certainly have been killed.
Yet his only answer was, " I have two hands, one for injuries, and
the other for God. While I received wrong with the one, with
the other I laid hold more earnestly upon God." Two other
converts, Joel and Caleb, were sent to Harvard College, Cam-
bridge, where they earned distinction by their abilities and
perseverance.
It is considered that Eliot's greatest success as an apostle was
during the years 1660 to 1675, and towards the close of that
period the Christian Indian community numbered about eleven
hundred, with six regularly constituted " Churches," and fourteen
towns, of which seven were called old, and seven new. They
were exposed to frequent attacks from the hostile Redskins, and
13
202 GOOD SAMARITANS.
in 1676 they undertook a regular campaign against their enemies,
in which they proved victorious, but after such severe suffering
and heavy loss of life, that Eliot's mission received a fatal blow.
The aged Apostle, however, did not desist from his labours, and
preached and prayed with unabated fervour, while exercising all
his influence to put down the cruel custom of selling captive
Indians into slavery. The burden of years did not depress
his mental or physical energies. The immediate results of his
Christian toil were not wholly encouraging ; but he knew that the
spark he had kindled would one day expand into a glowing fire
of Gospel love, that the seed he had sown would one day ripen
into a glorious and an abundant harvest.
Eliot survived four of his children, and his loving and noble
wife, who died, full of years, in 1684. By this time his strength
had largely failed him, and when any questions were put to him
respecting his condition, he would humbly reply, " Alas ! I have
lost everything : my understanding leaves me, my memory fails
me, my utterance fails 'me, but, I thank God, my charity holds
out still; I find that rather grows than decreases." Daily ap
proaching nearer to the boundless ocean of God's love, its music
and its light more and more penetrated into his soul. To the
last he retained a profound interest in the great work of his life,
the evangelization of the Indians ; to the last he continued his
brave opposition to the cruel traffic in negro slaves ; to the last,
this Good Samaritan was engaged in binding up the wounds of
the distressed wayfarer, and directing his feet to the throne of
the Eternal Father.
Of old £ige, rather than of any definite disease, the great Apostle
of the Red Indians died in 1690. He was then in the eighty-
seventh year of his age. To few men has been granted so long
a life of such noble Christian work. His gocd deeds Hved afier
him ; and to this day their memory is green.*'
David Brainerd was born on the 20th of April, 17 18, at Had-
dam, in the county of Hartford, in Connecticut. His father, a
* Jabez Sparks, " Life of John Eliot," pub. 1836.
DAVID BRAINERD'S YOUTH. 203
member of the Colonial Council, died when he was only nine
years old ; his mother, Dorothy, a daughter of the Rev. Samuel
Whiting, minister of the Gospel, first at Boston in Lincolnshire,
and afterwards at Lynn in Massachusetts, was cut off when he was
about fourteen. The death of the parents did not plunge the
family into poverty ; but it was a heavy loss, for while they were
both of them self-denying earnest Christians, of the Calvinistic
school, they were gifted with sufficiently healthy and practical
minds to have kept under control, during his earlier years, the
mental and spiritual precocity of their son David.
David was, by birth, of a delicate temperament, and it was
probably a presentiment of premature death, as well as the effect
of the influences surrounding him, that led him, at seven or eight
years of age, to withdraw from play, and devote himself to prayer
and meditation as a preparation for the great change. It must
not be thought, however, that we would recommend Brainerd's
example as one to be followed entirely by my younger readers.
They are to live, indeed, as knowing that life is not everything ;
but they are to live so as to be fitted for the discharge of life's
daily duties. The best work is work lightened and invigorated by
intervals of wholesome recreation ; and Heaven does not desire
of us that we should, except under special circumstances, den
ourselves the enjoyment of pleasures which are innocent and
rational.
But here is Brainerd's own account of his early years : —
" I was, I think, from my youth," he says. " something sober,
-and inclined rather to melancholy than the contrary extreme ; but
do not remember anything of conviction of sin, worthy of remark,
till I was, I believe, about seven or eight years of age ; when I
became something concerned for my soul, and terrified at the
thoughts of death, and was driven to the performance of duties :
but it appeared a melancholy business, and destroyed my eager-
ness for play. And, alas ! this religious concern was but short-
lived. However, I sometimes attended secret prayer; and thus
lived at * ease in Zion, without God in the world,' and without
much concern, as I remember, till 1 was above thirteen years of
age. But some time in the winter of 1 732, 1 was something roused
out of carnal security by I scarce know what means at first ; but
was much excited by the prevailing of a mortal sickness in
204 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Haddam. I was frequent, constant, and something fervent in
duties, and took great delight in the performance of them ; and I
sometimes hoped that I was converted ; or at least in a good and
hopeful way for heaven and happiness, not knowing what conver-
sion was. The Spirit of God at this time proceeded far with me ;
I was remarkably dead to the world, and my thoughts were almost
wholly employed about my soul's concerns ; and I may indeed
say, 'Almost I was persuaded to be a Christian.' I was also
exceedingly distressed and melancholy at the death of my mother,
in March 1732. But afterwards my religious concern began to
decline, and I by degrees fell back into a considerable degree of
security, though I still attended secret prayer frequently."
At nineteen, young Brainerd felt a great desire to become a
preacher of the Gospel, and engaged in a laborious course of
theological reading ; and, in the following year, to carry out his
design, he went to reside with a Mr. Fiske, the minister of Haddam
(April 1738). In him he found, for the first time, a friend to
whom he could reveal the secret depths of his heart, all his
humility and self-distrust and anxiety. Fiske advised him to with-
draw entirely from " young company," and associate with " grave
elderly people." "Whether this were good advice," says Miss
Yonge," we do not know ; but a period of terrible agony had to
be struggled through." For our own part, we have not a shadow
of doubt that the advice was foolish and dangerous ; that it tended
to foster in Brainerd an unhealthy condition of religious feeling,
from which he did not escape until he found relief in constant and
active work. " It seems plain," remarks Miss Yonge, " from
comparison of different lives, that in the forms of religion which
make everything depend upon the individual person's own con-
sciousness of the state of his heart and feelings, instead of support-
ing this by any outward tokens for faith to rest upon, the more
humble and scrupulous spirits often undergo fearful misery before
they can attain to such security of their own faith as they believe
essential. Indeed, this state of wretchedness is almost deemed a
necessary stage in the Christian life, like the Slough of Despond
in the * Pilgrim's Progress;' and with such a temperament as
David Brainerd's, the horrors of the struggle for hope were dreadful,
and lasted tor months, before an almost physical perception of
light, glory, and grace shone out upon him ; although, even to the
HIS INTENSE SPIRITUALITY.
end of his life, hope and fear, spiritual joy and depression,
alternated, — no doubt, greatly in consequence of his constant ill-
health."
With some minds such a struggle may be necessary ; it is only
with the sweat of their brow, as it were, that they can wrestle their
way into a state of hope and faith. Like Bunyan, they must pass
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death before they can aspire
to the tablelands lighted up by the Sun of Righteousness. But
happily, most young souls are not called upon to undergo so
terrible a probation, which, indeed, they might prove unable to
bear.
Brainerd's description of the circumstances under which he was
reconciled to God will interest the reader : —
" On the Sabbath evening, July 12, 1739, I was walking again
in a solitary place where I was formerly brought to see myself lost
and helpless, and here, in a mournful, melancholy state, was
attempting to pray ; but found no heart to engage in that or any
other duty ; my former concern and exercise and religious affec-
tions were now gone. I thought the Spirit of God had quite left
me, but still was not distressed : yet disconsolate, as if there was
nothing in heaven or earth could make me happy. And having
been thus endeavouring to pray, through being, as I thought,
very stupid and senseless, for even half-an-hour, and by this time
the sun was about half-an-hour high, as I remember, then, as I
was walking in a dark thick grove, unspeakable glory seemed to
open to the view and apprehension of my soul : I do not mean
any external brightness, for I saw no such thing ; nor do I intend
any imagination of a body of light, somewhere away in the third
heavens, or anything of that nature ; but it was a new inward
apprehension or view that I had of God, such as I never had
before, nor anything which had the least resemblance of it. I
stood still and wondered and admired ! I knew that I never had
seen before anything comparable to it for excellency and beauty ;
it was widely different from all the conceptions that ever I had
had of God or things divine. I had no particular apprehension
of any one Person in the Trinity, either the Father, the Son, or
the Holy Ghost ; but it appeared to be divine glory that I then
beheld ; and my soul rejoiced ivith joy unspeakable to see such a
God, such a glorious Divine Being ; and I was inwardly pleased
200 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and satisfied that He should be God over all, for ever and ever.
My soul was so captivated and delighted with the excellency,
loveliness, greatness, and other perfections of God, that I was
even swallowed up in Him ; at least to that degree, that I had no
thought, as I remember, at first, about my own salvation, and
scarce reflected there was such a creature as myself."
In 1742, at the age of twenty-five, David Brainerd was examined
by a council or committee of ministers of Danbury, and licensed
to preach the Gospel. His zeal and self-devotion soon attracted
the notice of a Scottish Society for the Propagation of Christian
Knowledge ; and its delegates invited him to undertake a mission
to the Indians then settled at Kanaumeek, between Albany and
Stockbridge. The work was laborious and difficult : it would
have been a burthen for a man of strong constitution and vigorous
health : for Brainerd's weakly frame and nervous temperament it
would have proved intolerable, had he not been supported by his
devout enthusiasm, his zeal for the saving of souls, and his trust
in God. Devoting the whole of his little patrimony to the main-
tenance of a scholar at the University, he took up his Master's
cross and went forth into the wilderness.
With a young Indian to act as interpreter, for as yet he knew
nothing of the language of the people to whom he was appointed
to preach, he arrived at Kanaumeek. The first night he slept on
a heap of straw. Kanaumeek was a lonely, melancholy spot
where the Indians were herded together, jealously watched by
adventurers, who were always seeking to gain possession of their
lands, and sadly degenerated from the grave, free, and high-minded
race to whom Eliot, the great "Apostle of the Indians," had so
successfully ministered. He lodged at first in the log-house of a
poor Scotchman, who lived among the Indians ; a single room,
without so much as a floor, where he shared the hard fare of his
host. The family spoke Gaelic, only the master of the house
knowing any English ; and his English being more in, perfect than
even that of the Indian interpreter. Brainerd's lines had certainly
not fallen upon pleasant places.
In his diary, on the i8th of May, he writes with simple pathos :
'■ My circumstances are such that I have no comfort of any
kind, but what I have in God. I live in the most lonesome
HARDSHIPS AMONG THE INDIANS. 207
wilderness ; have but one single person to converse with, that can
speak English. Most of the talk I hear is either Highland Scotch
or Indian. I have no fellow-Christian to whom I might unbosom
myself, and lay open my spiritual sorrows ; or with whom I migvii
take sweet counsel in conversation about heavenly things and join
in social prayer. I live poorly with regard to the comforts of life :
most of my diet consists of boiled corn, hasty pudding, etc. I
lodge on a bundle of straw, and my labour is hard and extremely
difficult ; and I have little appearance of success to comfort me.
The Indians' affairs are very difficult ; having no land to live on
but what the Dutch people lay claim to, and threaten to drive
them off from ; they have no regard to the souls of the poor
Indians ; and, by what I can learn, they hate me, because I come
to preach to them."
On the 15th of August he writes : — "Spent most of the day in
labour, to procure something to keep my house on in the winter.
Enjoyed not much sweetness in the morning : was very weak in
body through the day, and thought this frail tabernacle would soon
drop into the dust ; had some realizing apprehensions of a speedy
entrance into another world. In this weak state of body I was
not a little distressed for want of suitable food. I had no bread,
nor could I get any. I am forced to go or send ten or fifteen
miles for the bread I eat ; and sometimes it is mouldy and sour
before I eat it, if I get any considerable quantity. Then, again,
I have none for some days together, for want of an opportunity
to send for it, and cannot find my horse in the woods to go
myself. This was my case now ; but through Divine goodness I
had some Indiati UiCal, of which I made little cakes, and fried
them. Yet I felt contented with my circumstances, and sweetly
resigned to God. In prayer I enjoyed great freedom, and
blessed God as usual for my present circumstances, as if I had
been a king, and thought I found a disposition to be contented
in any circumstances. Blessed be the Lord ! "
The Indians, after awhile, seem to have been pleased and
even affected by his earnest, simple addresses ; and much good
might have been done but for that serious obstacle which faces
the missionary in almost every quarter, — the animal habits and
blasphemous language of the whites. How were the Indians to
be assured of the merits of a religion which, apparently, produced
2o8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
such disgraceful interpreters? These men called themselves
Christians : their pastor also called himself a Christian. The
contrast between the two was so great, so surprising, that we can
well believe the Indians were unable to comprehend it.
One of his earliest efforts was to establish a school, of which his
interpreter was to act as master. To raise the necessary funds,
he was compelled to make a journey on horseback to New
Jersey. It proved successful, yet it cost him dear ; for. as he was
riding home, he was seized with acute pain in the face, and
violent shiverings in the limbs, which forced him to halt at the
first place of refuge he could find. God tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb 1 Brainerd fell in with kind and Christian friends,
who nursed him tenderly for a fortnight, until he could resume
his journey. He beUeved that, had his illness attacked him in
his log-house at Kanaumeek, he would certainly have died for
want of proper care and skilful attendance.
Even for a robust and vigorous man, with nerves like steel and
a frame like iron, this life in the wilderness would have been
exceptionally severe, but for Brainerd it was a prolonged martyr-
dom, under which he was sustained only by his deep sense of the
worthiness of his work. It was work done in Christ's name, that
souls might be brought to Christ ; and this knowledge supported
his failing limbs, and infused vitality into his enfeebled constitution.
When weak and sick for lack of sufficient food, he was compelled
with his own hands to gather a winter supply of fodder for his
horse. To get bread, he had to ride fourteen or fifteen miles.
If he returned with a stock beyond his immediate wants, it turned
sour and mouldy before he could eat it. If the quantity proved
insufficient, he could go for no more until he had caught his
horse, which was turned out to graze in the woods. Thus
he frequently found himself without any better food than cakes of
Indian meal, roasted in the ashes. But these physical hardships
caused him no annoyance, no sinking of the heart, or mental de-
ression : he wrote in his journal : *'I have a house, and many
of the comforts of Ufe to support me," and he blessed God as if
he had been a king.
The war between England and France, which raged in America,
necessitated, at last, the removal of Brainerd's small congregation
of Indians to the town of Stockbridge (April 1 744). There he made
CHRISTIAN VERSUS CHRISTIAJST.
209
•Up his mind to leave them \ and though suffering from bleeding at
the lungs, and in a consumptive condition, he resolved to pene-
trate farther into the wilderness, and visit the less civilized tribes.
(For this purpose he accepted a mission to the Delaware Indians,
.and on the loth of May arrived at a place called Minniosinks,
about one hundred and forty miles from Kanaumeek. Here he
fell in with a number of Indians, whose "king," or chief, he pro-
ceeded to address with his usual directness. " After some dis-
course, and attempts to contract a friendship with him, I told
ihim," says Brainerd, " I had a desire, for his benefit and happi-
(ness, to instruct them in Christianity. He laughed at it, turned
his back upon me, and went away. I then addressed another
^principal man in the same manner, who said he was willing to
'hear me. After some time I followed the king into his house,
.and renewed my discourse to him ; but he declined talking, and
left the affair to another, who appeared to be a rational man. He
began and talked very warmly near a quarter of an hour. He
(inquired why I desired the Indians to become Christians, seeing
the Christians were so much worse than the Indians. The
Christians, he said, would lie, steal, and drink, worse than the
Indians. It was they who first taught the Indians to be drunk ;
and they stole from one another to that degree that their rulers
were obliged to hang them for it; and yet it was not sufficient to
deter others from the like practice. But the Indians, he added,
were none of them ever hanged for stealing, and yet they did not
•steal half so much ; and he supposed that if the Indians should
become Christians, they would then be as bad as these. They
would live as their fathers lived, and go where their fathers were
when they died. I then freely owned, lamented, and joined with
him in condemning the ill conduct of some who are called Chris-
dans ; told him these were not Christians in heart; that I hated
such wicked practices, and did not desire the Indians to become
-such as these. When he appeared calmer, I asked him if he was
willing that I should come and see them again : he replied, he
should be willing to see me again as a friend, if I would not
•desire them to become Christians. I then bid them farewell, and
prosecuted my journey towards Delaware. On May 13th I
arrived at a place called, by the Indians, Sakhauwotung. within
•the Forks of Delaware, in Pennsylvania.
210 GOOD SAMARITANS.
" Here, also, when I came to the Indians, I saluted their king
and others in a manner I thought most engaging, and soon after
mformed the king of my desire to instruct them in the Christian
religion. After he had consulted a few minutes with two or three
old men, he told me he was willing to hear. I then preached to
the few that were present: they appeared very attentive, and'
»vell disposed. The king in particular seemed both to wonder,
and, at the same time, to be well pleased with what I taught them,
respecting the Divine Being, etc. Since that time he has ever
shown himself friendly, giving me free liberty to preach in his house,
whenever I think fit. Here therefore I have spent the greater part
of the summer past, preaching usually in the king's house.
" The number of Indians in this place is but small ; most of
those that formerly dwelt here are dispersed, and removed to-
places farther back in the country. There are not more than ten
houses that continue to be inhabited ; and some of them are
several miles distant from others, which makes it difficult for the
Indians to meet together so frequently as could be wished.
*' When I first began to preach here, the number of hearers-
was very small ; often not exceeding twenty or twenty-five ; but
towards the latter part of the summer their number increased, so-
that I have frequently had forty persons or more at once. The
effects of God's Word upon some of the Indians in this place are
somewhat encouraging. Several of them are brought to renounce
idolatry, and to decline partaking of those feasts which they used
to offer in sacrifice to certain unknown powers. Some few among
them have for a considerable time manifested a serious concern,
about their eternal welfare, and still continue to ' inquire the way
to Zion ' with such diligence, affection, and becoming solicitude,,
as gives me reason to hope that ' God who (I trust) has begun
this work in them ' will carry it on until it shall issue in their con^
version to Himself. They not only detest their old idolatrous
notions, but strive also to bring their friends off from them ; and:
as they are seeking salvation for their own souls, so they seem
desirous that others might be excited to do the same.
" In July last I heard of a number of Indians residing at a
place called Kauksesauchung, more than thirty miles westward)
from the place where I usually preach. I visited them, found
about thirty persons, and proposed to preach to them. Thejr
BRAINEKD BECOMES ORE A TL V BEL VED. 2 1 j
readily complied, and I preached to them only twice, they being
just then removing from this place, where they only lived for the
present, to Susquehannah River, where they belonged.
" While I was preaching they appeared sober and attentive,
and were somewhat surprised, having never before heard of those
things. Two or three, who suspected that I had some ill design
upon them, urged that the white people had abused them, and
taken their lands from them, and therefore they had no reason
to think that they were now concerned for their happiness ; but,
on the contrary, that they designed to make them slaves, or get
them on board their vessels, and make them fight with the
people over the water, as they expressed it, meaning the French
and Spaniards. However, most of them appeared very friendly,
and told me they were then going directly home to Susquehannah.
They desired I would make them a visit there, and manifested
a considerable desire of further instruction. This invitation gave
me some encouragement in my great work, and made me hope
that God designed to open an effectual door for spreading the
Gospel among the poor heathen farther westward."
It is a remarkable circumstance that Brainerd never learned
the Indian language, and all his earnest appeals, therefore, were
filtered through a medium, more or less unsympathetic, before
they reached those for whom they were intended. That a man
of so much enthusiasm and such vast energy made no attempt
to remove this obstacle we cannot but regard as surprising.
Perhaps he felt that his days were numbered, and that he had
barely time before him in which to accomplish his special work.
This ignorance of the Indian language, moreover, seems to
have been less of a difficulty than one might reasonably have
expected. We are told of a band of Indians at Crossweeksung,
who were so impressed by his teaching that, day after day, they
followed him, and from village to village, hardly caring to pro-
vide for their physical wants. The description of their conduct
reminds one of the narratives of the revivals effected by Wesley
among the Cornish miners — "They threw themselves on the
ground, wept bitterly, and prayed aloud, with the general
enthusiasm of excitement, though he expressly says, without
fainting or convulsions ; and even the white men around, who
came to scoff, were deeply impressed."
GOOD SAMARITANS.
After accomplishing much admirable work at Crossweeksung,
and gathering together a considerable congregation, Brainerd
again resumed the pilgrim's staff and wallet, and departed, in
September 1746, on a missionary expedition to the Indians of the
Susquehannah. Unfortunately, it was without result, or at least
result direct and visible. Brainerd writes in his journal : " Sep-
tember 8th. — Had proposed to tarry a considerable time longer
! among the Indians upon Susquehannah ; but was hindered from
pursuing my purpose by the sickness that prevailed there, the
weakly circumstances of my own people that were with me, and
especially my own extraordinary weakness, having been exercised
with great nocturnal sweats, and a coughing up of blood, in
almost the whole of the journey. Great part of the time I
was so feeble and faint that it seemed as though I never should
be able to reach home ; and at the same time destitute of the
comforts and even necessaries of life ; at least, what was neces-
sary for one in so weak a state. In this journey I was sometimes
enabled to speak the Word of God with power, and Divine truth
made some impression on divers that heard me. Several men
and women, both old and young, seemed to ' cleave to us,' and
to be well disposed towards Christianity ; but others mocked and
shouted, which damped some of those who before seemed
friendly. Yet God at times was evidently present, assisting me
and my interpreter, and other dear friends who were with me.
I sometimes had a good degree of freedom in prayer for the
ingathering of souls there, and could not but entertain a strong
hope that the journey would not be wholly fruitless. Whether
it will issue in the setting up Christ's Kingdom there, or only
the drawing of some few persons down to my congregation in
New Jersey, or whether they were now only preparing for some
further attempts that might be made among them, I did not
determine ; but I was persuaded the journey would not be lost.
Blessed be God that I had any encouragement and hope ! "
A vivid and pathetic picture of his condition he draws in his
journal of the 27th : —
" Spent this day, as well as the whole week past, under a great
degree of bodily weakness, attended with a violent cough and
fever. Had no appetite to any kind of food, and frequently
brought up what I ate, as soon as it was down ; and oftentimes
HE RETURNS TO CIVILIZED DISTRICTS, 213,
had little rest in my bed, by reason of pains in my breast and
back. I was able, however, to ride over to my people, about
two miles, every day, and take some care of those who were then
at work upon a small house for me to reside in amongst the
Indians. I was sometimes hardly able to walk, and never able
to sit up the whole day, through the week. Was calm and com-
posed, and but little exercised with melancholy, as in former
seasons of weakness. Whether I should ever recover or no,
seemed very doubtful; but this was many times a comfort to me
— that life and death did not depend upon 7ny choice. I was
pleased to think that He who is infinitely wise had the determina-
tion of this matter, and that I had no trouble to consider and
weigh things upon all sides, in order to make the choice whether
I would live or die. Thus my time was consumed. I had little
strength to pray, none to write or read, and scarcely any tO'
meditate; but, through Divine goodness, I could with great
composure look death in the face, and frequently with sensible
joy. Oh how blessed it is to be habitually prepared for death !"
The Lord grant that I may be actually ready also ! "
Brainerd's health was now very seriously affected ; he suffered
from nocturnal perspirations, bleeding from the lungs, cough,,
fever, and general pain. Yet, whenever he could mount his
horse, he rode fifteen miles to his flock at Cranberry, or preached
to them sitting in a chair before his tent, when they assembled
round him at Crossweeksung.
In the following year his strength utterly failed him, and he-
was compelled to seek the civilized districts, where medical aid
might be forthcoming. At Northampton he consulted Dr. Mather,,
who informed him that his lungs were incurably affected. Thence
he proceeded to Boston to see his fellow-ministers, and many
Christian friends ; but a week after his arrival, his illness suddenly
came to a crisis, so that he was for some time delirious, and
apparently on the point of death. Summer came ; its genial airs
revived for awhile his declining energies ; the flame shot up in
the socket, like that of a taper just before expiring, and he
resolved to avail himself of this partial restoration to return to-
Northaraf ton, where he found a home in the family of the cele-
brated Ca'vinist divine, Jonathan Edwards, afterwards President
of the College of New Jersey.
21 1 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Edwards bears a high tribute to his many excellences:—"!
found him," he says, " remarkably sociable, pleasant, and enter-
taining in his conversation, yet solid, savoury, spiritual, and very
profitable; appearing meek, modest, and humble, far from any
stiffness, moroseness, superstitious demureness, or affected singu-
larity in speech or behaviour, and seeming to nauseate all such
things. We enjoyed not only the benefit of his conversation,
but had the comfort and advantage of hearing him pray in the
family from time to time. His manner of praying was very
agreeable, most becoming a worm of the dust, and a disciple
of Christ ; addressing an infinitely great and holy God and the
Father of Mercies, not with florid expressions or a studied
eloquence, not with any intemperate vehemence or indecent
boldness, at the greatest distance from any appearance of ostenta-
tion, and from everything that might look as though he meant to
recommend himself to those who were about him, or set himself
off to their acceptance ; free too from vain repetitions, without
impertinent excursions, or needless multiplying of words. He
expressed himself with the strictest propriety, with weight and
pungency, and yet what his lips uttered seemed to flow from the
fulness of his heart, as deeply impressed with a great and solemn
sense of our necessities, unworthiness, and dependence, and of
God's infinite greatness, excellency, and sufficiency, rather than
merely from a warm and fruitful brain, pouring out good expres-
sions. And I know not that ever I heard him so much as ask
a blessing or return thanks at table but there was something
remarkable to be observed both in the matter and manner of
the performance. In his prayers he dwelt much on the prosperity
of Zion, the advancement of Christ's kingdom in the world, and
the propagation of religion among the Indians. He generally
made it one condition in his prayer, that * we might not outlive
our usefulness.' "
For some time after his domestication with the family of
Jonathan Edwards, he was able to ride out twice or thrice daily,
and sat much with his kind and attentive friends, writing or
conversing cheerfully when not engaged in prayer. His brother
John came from Cross weeksung to visit him, and cheered him with
a most hopeful account of his Indian flock. Learning that another
school was greatly needed, he wrote to his friends and coadjutors
HIS FRIENDS CHEER HIS LAST DA YS. 215
at Boston, and was gratified with an immediate contribution ot
;£'2oo for the purpose, besides a sum of ^75 for the establish-
ment of a mission to the Indian Six Nations. To their kindly
communications he rephed with his own hand ; but he had be-
come so much weaker that he felt it would be his last task. He
had been one who, in his short life, had sown in tears to reap
in joy.
As the chill winds of autumn began to blow, he sank more
rapidly. The 20th of August was the last day on which he was
able to ride out. In the same week he was removed to a room
on the ground floor, as his increasing debility prevented him from
going up and down stairs. The following Wednesday was the day
of the public lecture; and he seemed to derive much pleasure
from seeing the neighbouring ministers who came to attend it.
He expressed a great desire to repair to the house of God on that
day, and accordingly attended divine service, for, as it proved,
the last time.
At times his sufferings were hard to bear, and he would cry, —
•' Why is His chariot so long in coming ? why tarry the wheels of
His chariot ? " But, immediately recovering himself, he would
ask pardon for his impatient words. Being asked, one morning,
how he did, he answered, — " I am almost in eternity : I long to
be there. My work is done. I have done with all my friends : all
the world is nothing to me. I long to be in heaven, praising and
glorifying God with the holy angels: all my desire is to glorify
God."
During the last two weeks of his life, he continued in this
tranquil state of mind, loose from all the world, as having com-
pleted his work on earth ; having nothing to do but to die, and
resting meanwhile in earnest desire and expectation of the mani-
festation of the things of God. He had a smile for Jerusha — Mr.
Edwards's second daughter, and his devoted attendant — as she
came into his room on Sunday morning, October 4th. " Dear
Jerusha," he said, " are you wilUng to part with me ? I am quite
wiUing to part with you — I am willing to part with all my friends :
I am willing to part with my dear brother John, although I love
him the best of any creature living. I have committed him and
all my friends to God, and can leave them with Him. Though,
if I thought I should not see you, and be happy with you in
2i6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
another world, I could not bear to part with you. But we shall
spend a happy eternity together."
In the evening, as she entered the room with a Bible in her
hand, he exclaimed : " Oh, that dear Book ! that lovely Book !
I shall soon see it opened : the mysteries that are in it, and the
mysteries of God's providence, will be all unfolded."
He lingered in great agony at times, and on the 8th, the body
for awhile overcame the mind, and his reason was affected. In
the evening, however, he grew more composed, and recovered the
use of his faculties. The physical pain continued and increased,
and he told Mr. Edwards it was impossible for any one to conceive
of the distress he felt in his breast. His anxiety was great lest he
should dishonour God by impatience under his extreme sufferings,
which were such, he said, that the thought of enduring them one
minute longer was almost insupportable. He expressed his
belief that he should die that night, but seemed to fear a longer
delay. Notwithstanding the pains that racked him, he showed a
lively concern for the " interest of Zion," and held a considerable
discourse that evening with one of the neighbouring ministers on
the great importance of the work of the ministry. Afterwards, as
the night advanced, he had much profitable conversation with his
brother John concerning his congregation in New Jersey, and the
progress of Christ's religion among the Indians. In the latter
part of the night his physical distress was severe ; and to those
about him he remarked that " it was another thing to die than
people imagined," explaining himself to mean that they were not
aware what " bodily " pain and anguish are undergone before
death. Happily, however, this is not always the case. Towards
day there came a cessation of pain, and in the interval he passed
away, — Friday, October 9, 1747, wanting then six months of his
thirtieth birthday.*
*' David Brainerd's career," says Miss Yonge, "ended at an age
when Eliot's had not begun. It was a very wonderful struggle
between the frail suffering body and the devoted, resolute spirit,
both weighed down by the natural morbid temper, further
depressed by the peculiar tenets of the form of doctrine in which
he had been bred. The prudent, well-weighed measures of the ripe
* The foregoing sketch is taken from the " Life of the Rev. David Brainerd, "^
by Jonathan Edwards (edit. 1824).
THE TEACHING OF A WELL-SPENT LIFE. 217
scholar, studious theologian, and conscientious politician, formed
by forty-two years' experience of an old and a new country,
could not be looked for in the sickly, self-educated, enthusiastic
youth who had been debarred from the due amount of study, and
started with little system but that of * proclaiming the gospel,' even
though ignorant of the language of those to whom he preached.
And yet that heart-whole piety and patience was blessed with a full
measure of present success ; and David Brainerd's story, though
that of a short life, overclouded by mental distress, hardship, and
sickness, fills us with the joyful sense that there is One that giveth
the victory."
It teaches us something more, — the sacred power and potency
of enthusiasm ; what may be accomplished by an enthusiast, in
a holy cause, though without genius, health, or fortune. It may
be said that Brainerd did not accomplish much ; and this would
be true if we judged his work only by its visible results. But who
can estimate the good effected by his example ? How many a
young heart, touched by the simple pathetic narrative of his un-
selfish perseverance, has endeavoured to do likewise ; not, perhaps,
as a missionary among the heathen, but as a missionary in his
own home, his own household, his family circle, or his neighbour-
hood ! Seldom has the title of a " Good Samaritan " been better
deserved than by David Brainerd. He did not pass by " on the
other side," but went down among the heathen, and gave them oC
the manna of God's Word, and the balm of Christ's benediction, at:
the cost of his own life.
I have always felt that for young readers, or, indeed, for oldi
readers on whom the canker of worldliness has taken hold, the:
study of the records of missionary effort may strongly be com-
mended, as specially adapted to feed in them that holy fire of
enthusiasm which will warm and brighten and make glorious their
lives. Each of us, it is well to remember, can and should work
as a missionary in his own circle ; not as a preacher or priest, but
as a living example of the truths which it is the office of the priest
or preacher to proclaim. Yes, each of us can be a missionary in
his own circle; living purely, devoutly, charitably; honourable
and just in all his dealings ; generous, where generosity is possible
and likely to be fruitful ; tender towards the errors and weaknesses
of his fellows, but severe upon his own ; not sparing, on proper
2i8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
occasion, the word of counsel, reproof, or encouragement, b.
teaching rather by his actions, and the daily pattern of his
character, than by verbal profession and formal exposition. What a
Brainerd and a Martyn, a Heber and a Williams, have done, at the
cost of their very lives, in far-off lands and islands, and among the
savage races, we may do in our little households, our immediate
neighbourhoods, at no sacrifice whatever except that of selfishness,
pride, idleness, and indifference.
But is not the life of such a man as Henry Martyn worth living?
It had its flaws, but as a whole how pure, how bright it was !
How intense in its devotion ! How sublime in its enthusiasm !
How eager in its endeavour to do something in Christ's name for
the good of human souls ! He was no cold apathetic philosopher,
no languid man of the world, no busy seeker after wealth, passing
by *' on the other side " : he saw when humanity lay bleeding and
ailing in the darkness, and he went down to it like the Good
Samaritan, and bound up its wounds and bid it live !
Martyn's father was a miner and a self-educated man, who lived
as if he feared God ; lived, like one who apprehends that he may
;at any time entertain angels unawares, and, therefore, keeps his
rsoul pure and bright that he may be fit for such companionship.
By integrity, patient self-culture, and holy living, the common
miner raised himself to the position of head clerk in a merchant's
•office ; and he held that post when his son Henry was born to
him, on the 15th of February, 1781. A Wesleyan, he kept his
house in order, desiring that all about him should enjoy the
happiness which springs from a Christian life. The domestic
influences, therefore, that surrounded Henry Martyn's childhood
were of the very highest and purest. And he seems to have
needed such a training ; for a delicate frame, a susceptible tem-
perament, and a precocious brain, rendered him liable to sudden
accesses of violent irritability, though at most times he displayed
a tenderness of feeling and a softness of manner exceptional in
one of such early years. He received the rudiments of education
at the Truro Grammar School, where his great talents recom-
mended him to his masters, while his almost girlish gentleness
made him the butt of most of his rough companions. Happily,
he found, after awhile, a protector in one of the older lads, who
was of firm, manly, and honourable character. And it is pleasant
HENRY MARTYN'S EARLIER INFLUENCES. 219
to record that their school intimacy duly ripened into a lifelong
friendship.
In 1795, when only fourteen, Martyn had made such progress
in "the humanities " that he was sent up to compete for a scholar-
ship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. It is true he did not
gain the election, but he passed a surprisingly excellent examina-
tion. He returned to school for another two years' work, and in
1797 was entered a member of St. John's College, Cambridge; a
college illustrious for the number of missionaries it has produced.
It was here that the full extent of his intellectual gifts was first
understood : here, too, his thoughts were first determined towards
the things of God by the influence of a devout friend, confirmed
and strengthened by his intercourse with his sister, a woman of
gentle spirit and earnest piety. The sudden death of his father
helped to stay his feet in the path of righteousness, and he learned
to regard his Bible with a new interest, as a book which not less
closely concerned him in the next world than in this. *' I. attended
more diligently," he says, " to the words of our Saviour, and
devoured them with delight: where the offers of mercy and
forgiveness were made so freely, I supplicated to be made partaker
•of the covenant of grace with eagerness and hope ; and thanks be
to the ever-blessed Trinity for not leaving me without comfort."
In Martyn's day the spiritual life of Cambridge chiefly radiated,
so to speak, from the pulpit and rooms — that is, from the teaching
and example — of the Rev. Charles Simeon, the light and leader
of what is known as the " Evangelical party *' in the Church of
England. Martyn became one of his most earnest disciples, and
profited greatly by the new and higher views of religious duty
which he opened up to him. A fire of enthusiasm burned within
his heart ; and he longed to devote himself to the service of the
Saviour. His original intention had been to enter the legal pro-
fession ; but his newly-awakened repugnance to the things of the
world induced him to listen eagerly to Mr. Simeon when he spoke
of the lofty character and great opportunities of the Christian
ministry ; and he resolved to dedicate himself to it. He was led to
choose the most arduous, but certainly not the least noble, branch
of this vocation by hearing Mr. Simeon discourse on Dr. Carey's
signal success as a labourer in the Indian mission field; and
reading, at the same time, the Life of David Brainerd, **' the spark
220 GOOD SAMARITANS.
of missionary zeal was kindled in his ardent nature." Accordingly,
he offered himself to the " Society for Missions to Africa and the
East " (now known as the Church Missionary Society), which, in
1800, had been established by some members of the Church whose
religious views prevented them from co-operating with the older
" Society for the Propagation of the Gospel." But as he was only
twenty-one, and too young to take Holy Orders, he had to put a
curb upon his zeal, and to learn the great lesson of patience, while
prosecuting his studies in divinity, and acting as a tutor at Cam-
bridge.
At this time, and to the day of his death, he kept a journal of
his daily work and spiritual experience. Every page contains
striking evidence of the depth of his piety and the sincerity of his
character ; but also, as it seems to me, of an excessive self-con-
sciousness and unhealthy delight in self-introspection, which would
probably have developed into morbidness, had not God mercifully
arrested the tendency by calling him to a life of Christian action.
Of the slowness with which he passed judgment upon himself, an
example or two may be given : — " Pride shows itself every hour of
the day ; what long and undisturbed possession does self-compla-
cency hold of my heart ! what plans and dreams and visions of
futurity fill my imagination, in which self is the prominent
object. . . In my intercourse with some of my dear friends, the
workings of pride were but too plainly marked in my outward
demeanour ; in looking up to God for pardon for it, and
deliverance from it. I felt overwhelmed with guilt. . . . Mr.
Simeon's sermon this morning, on 2 Chron. xxxii. 36, discovered
,to me my corruption and vileness more than any sermon I had
ever heard. . . Oh that I had a more piercing sense of the Divine
presence ! How much sin in the purest services ! If I were sitting;
in heavenly places with Christ, or rather with my thoughts habit-
ually there, how would every duty, but especially this of social
prayer, become easy : — ' Memoriae tua sancta, et dulcedo tua
beatissima, possideat animam meam, atque in invisibilium amorem
capiat illam.' "
On the 23rd of October, 1803, when still within five months of
the full canonical age, he was admitted to deacon's orders, became
Mr. Simeon's curate, and, at the same time, took charge of the
n'='ilhbouring parish of Lutworth. His diary now affords more and
HE RESOLVES TO BECOME A MISSIONARY.
more frequent illustrations of the extent to which a habit of exces-
sive self-examination cramped his powers and narrowed his views.
He was attracted too strongly by the emotional side of Evangeli-
calism, and suffered himself to believe that it was a sin to cultivate,
even in a healthy and legitimate manner, the faculties which God
Himself had bestowed. " I read Mitford's History of Greece,"
he writes, "as I am to be classical examiner. To keep my
thoughts from wandering away to take pleasure in those studies,
required more watchfulness and earnestness in prayer than I can
account for. . . . Did I delight in reading the Retreat of the Ten
Thousand Greeks, and shall not my soul glory in the knowledge
of God, who created the Greeks, and the vast countries over which
they passed ? I examined in Butler and in Xenophon ; how much
pride and ostentatious display of learning was visible in my
conduct ; how that detestable spirit follows me whatever I do ! '^
Happily, the force of events opened out to him a wider sphere of
thought and action, which brought with it wiser judgments and
soberer opinions. A warm attachment which he formed to a
young Cornish lady, named Lydia Grenfell, awakened and fostered
a broader sympathy ; and the serene light of their mutual affection
dissipated the mental gloom in which he was beginning to be
involved.
His design of leaving England in the service of the Church
Missionary Society was frustrated by a pecuniary disaster, which
involved the loss not only of his own patrimony, but of that of his
younger sister, whom, to a great extent, it rendered dependent
upon his support. It became necessary for him to seek some
appointment to which a salary was attached. Application there-
fore was made for a chaplaincy under the East India Company,
as offering a double advantage, — a sufficient maintenance for his
sister, and an opportunity of missionary work for himself. The
application was successful ; he was promised the first vacancy.
He then went down to Cornwall to spend the long vacation, and
take leave of those he loved before setting out on his long and
lonely voyage. " The trial was severe ; especially in parting from
his sister and the )^oung lady in whom his hopes of earthly
happiness were fixed. For many days after the farewell had been
said the mental suffering was extreme, — scarcely inferior to that
which the poet Keats suffered in parting from Miss Fanny Bro^^n :
GOOD SAMARITANS.
but then, unlike Keats, he could turn to God and find in His Word
a strength and consolation. He could speak to God as to one
who knew the great conflict within him : he was convinced that,
as God willed his happiness, he was providing for it eventually by
that bitter separation : he resolved through grace to be His, though
it should be through much tribulation ; he experienced sweetly
and solemnly the excellence of serving Him faithfully, and of
following Christ and His Apostles ; he meditated with great joy
on the end of this world, and enjoyed the thought of walking here-
after with her, from whom he was removed, in the realms of glory."
On the 27th of August, 1804, he wrote in his journal : —
** Walked to Marazion, with my heart more delivered from its
idolatry, and enabled to look steadily and peacefully to God.
Reading in the afternoon to Lydia alone, from Dr. Watts, there
happened to be among other things a prayer on entire preference
of God to the creatures. Now, thought I, here am I in the
presence of God and my idol. So I used the prayer for myself,
and addressed it to God, who answered it, I think, for my love
was kindled to God and divine things, and I felt cheerfully resigned
to the will of God, to forego the earthly joy which I had just been
desiring with my whole heart. I continued conversing with her,
generally with my heart in heaven, but every now and then resting
on her. Parted with Lydia, perhaps for ever in this life, with a
sort of uncertain pain, which I knew would increase to greater
violence afterwards, on reflection. Walked to St. Hilary, deter-
mining in great tumult and inward pain to be the servant of God.
All the rest of the evening in company, or alone, I could think of
nothing but her excellences. My eff"orts were, however, through
mercy, not in vain, to feel the vanity of this attachment to the
creature. Read in Thomas k Kempis many chapters, directly to
the purpose ; the shortness of time, the awfulness of death, and its
consequences, rather settled my mind to prayer. I devoted my-
self unreservedly to the cause of the Lord, as to one who knew
the great conflict within, -tnd my firm resolve through His grace
of being His, though it should be with much tribulation."
Returning to Cambridge, he continued to work there until he
received his appointment in January 1805. In the following
March he was admitted to Priest's Orders at St. James's Chapel,
London ; after which the degree of B.D. was conferred upon him
EXPERIENCES ON BOARD THE *' UNION." 223
by mandate from the University. While preparing for the voyage
to India, he applied himself to the study of Hindustani, in which
he made considerable progress ; and attended several lectures on
elocution, in order to correct some defects in his speech. On the
1 7th of July he sailed from Portsmouth in the Union, which carried,
besides her crew and passengers, the 59th Regiment, some other
soldiers, and a number of cadets. An accident which befell a
sister-vessel — for the Union was one of a large fleet of mer-
chantmen — led to their putting into Falmouth Harbour, where
they remained for three weeks ; thus affording Marty n an oppor-
tunity for a brief visit to his friends, which comforted him greatly.
He found his sister engaged to a man of much worth, and was
encouraged to form a hope that after he was settled in India Miss
Grenfell would join him.
On the 1 8th of August, the U?iion put to sea ; but for two or
three days continued near the coast, where the sight of each well-
known scene and familiar landmark awoke in Martyn's heart a
tumult of conflicting emotions. Under the influence of continual
prayer and devout meditation the storm subsided ; and as soon as
he had overcome the physical discomfort attending his first expe-
rience of the sea, he zealously applied himself to his work on
board. While continuing his study of Hebrew and Hindustani he
acted as chaplain, though permitted only to hold one service every
Sunday ; and he toiled most anxiously to improve the spiritual
condition of those around him by private exhortation and Scrip-
tural reading. Scarcely a day passed but he went between decks ;
where, to all who chose to attend, he read and commented upon
some suitable religious book. Describing his congregation, he
writes : — " Some attend fixedly, — others are looking another way,
some women are employed about their children, attending for a
little while, and then heedless ; some rising up and going away —
others taking their place, and numbers, especially of those who
have been on watch, strewed all along upon the deck fast asleep —
one or two from the upper decks looking down and listening."
Nor did he find more encouragement among the officers and
better class of passengers, who resented the stern and uncompro-
mising character of his teaching, and marked their sense ot it by
drinking and smoking and jesting while he held his Sunday
service. His ignorance of mankind was proved by his supposing
224 GOOD SAMARITANS.
that persons so obdurate or apathetic could be brought to repent
by terror; could be converted by discourses which resounded with
the thunderbolts of Sinai. On the 22 nd of September he writes :
— ** Was more tried by the fear of man than I have ever been
since God has called me to the ministry. The threats and oppo-
sition of these men made me unwilling to set before them the
truths which they hated ; yet I had no species of hesitation about
doing it. They had let me know that if I would preach a sermon
like one of Blair's, they would be glad to hear it, but they would
not attend if so much of hell was preached. This morning again
Captain said, ' Mr. Martyn must not damn us to-day, or
none will come again.' I was a little disturbed ; but Luke x. i,
— above all, our Lord's last address to His disciples, John xiv. 16,
strengthened me. I took for my text Psalm ex. 17, ' The wicked
shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.' The
officers were all behind my back, in order to have an opportunity
of retiring in case of dislike. B attended the whole time.
H , as soon as he heard the text, went back, and said he
would hear no more about hell ; so he employed himself in feed-
ing the geese. said I had shut him up in hell, and the
universal cry was, * We are all to be damned.' However, God, I
trust, blessed the sermon to the good of many. Some of the
cadets, and many of the soldiers, were in tears. I felt an ardour
and a vehemence in some parts which are unusual with me."
We may admire this uncompromising Puritan-like sternness, while
at the same time feeling that Martyn would have been more likely
to have succeeded in his object if he had exercised more tact and
shown more geniality, — if, like St. Paul, he had been all things to
all men.
Putting in at the Cape, the Union disembarked the 59th Regi-
ment to assist Sir David Baird's in the campaign against the
Dutch, and it shared in the great victory which placed South
Africa iii the hands of the English (January 8, 1806). Martyn
went on shore next day to minister to the wounded, and accom-
panied a body of Indian troops to the battle-field. "Mournful
as the scene was," he writes, "I yet thanked God that He had
brought me to see a specimen, though a terrible one, of what men
by nature are. May the remembrance of this day ever excite me
to pray and labour more for the propagation of the Gospel of
ARRIVAL IN- CALCUTTA— NATIVE IDOLATRY. 225
Peace. Then shall men love one another. Nation shall not lift
up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.
The Blue Mountains, at a distance to the eastward, which formed
the boundary of the prospect, were a cheering counterpart to what
was immediately before me ; for there I conceived my beloved
and honoured fellow-servants, companions in the kingdom and
patience of Jesus Christ, to be passing the days of their pilgrimage
free from the world, imparting the truths of the precious Gospel
to benighted souls. May I receive grace to be a follower of their
faith and patience."
After a voyage of nearly ten months' duration, Martyn arrived,
ill and exhausted, at Calcutta. Almost immediately on landing,
he was seized with a violent attack of fever, through which he was
nursed with unselfish assiduity by a brother-missionary, the Rev.
David Brown. On his recovery, his friends — and his fine character
had already procured him many — would fain have kept him
among them at Calcutta; but his enthusiastic spirit burned for
labour among the heathen, and was constantly excited and renewed
by the sights and sounds of a hideous idolatry which met him in
every direction. In a sacred grove near Serampore, he heard the
clash of drums and cymbals summoning the poor natives to the
worship of monstrous images ; and before a black figure, enthroned
in a pagoda, with scores of lights blazing around it, he saw the
worshippers prostrate, prone, with foreheads touching the ground ;
a spectacle which filled his soul with large and liberal compassion,
and made him shiver as if he stood '* in the neighbourhood of
hell." In conjunction with Mr. Brown, Dr. Carey, and other
missionaries, he purchased a heathen pagoda, and appropriated it
for the purposes of Divine service. He still continued his Hebrew
and Hindustani studies, and began to work at Sanscrit, while
neglecting no opportunity of advancing the great cause he had at
heart. His stipend as chaplain was liberal enough to justify him
in inviting Miss Grenfell to come out to him that they might be
married. In those days communication between India and
England occupied a period of sixteen or eighteen months ; a
period during which he lived in a state of happy expectation,
allowing himself to enjoy some innocent dreams of domestic
sympathy and peace.
The station to which he was appointed chaplain was Dinapore ;
226 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and on the 15th of October he began his journey inland. So slow
was then the rate of travelling in India that he did not reach his
destination until the 26th of November. He then set before
himself three points of attainment, — the opening of native schools,
the acquisition of such fluency in Hindustani as would enable him
to preach the truths of God in that language, and the preparation
of translations of the Bible and religious tracts for distribution
among the people. With the assistance of his moonshee, or
munshie, he undertook to render the Parables into Hindustani ; 3
task of no small difficulty, as each district had its peculiar dialect.
At Dinapore the arrangements for public worship were very
inadequate ; and Martyn had to read prayers to the soldiers with
a long drum for his desk, and to omit the sermon because no
seats were available. Through his energetic remonstrances a
room was afterwards provided and decently fitted up ; and the
families of the English residents began to attend, though as they
manifested a dislike to the innovation of an extempore sermon,
he found it prudent to conciliate them by recurring to the old
practice. It must be owned that with all his wonderful ardour and
energetic Samaritanism he lacked " sweetness and light," that dis-
cretion and reasonable consideration for the small prejudices and
partialities of others which is included in the Pauline precept of
being all things to all men; and he was unquestionably better
fitted to succeed as a missionary among the heathen than as a priest
and pastor among his own people. He had been bred up in a
narrow school, and he never emancipated himself from its
narrowness. Thus he held strictly to the Judaic interpretation of
the Fourth Commandment ; and, one Sunday, having translated the
Prayer Book into Hindustani as far as the end of the "Te Deum,"
he abruptly terminated his labours from a fear " that they were
not in perfect harmony with the solemnity of the day." But these
minor deficiencies count for nothing when compared with the
transparent clearness of his character, his generous self-devotion,
his fervent piety. His courageous sympathy with the natives,
for whom he frequently interfered to protect from gross cruelty
and oppression, also calls for our admiration.
While at Dinapore, he became acquainted with an admirable
woman and an excellent writer, Mrs. Sherwood, to whom the
reading public are indebted for many graceful tales, as well as for
MARTY N MEETS MRS, SHERWOOD.
a touching memoir of her friend the missionary enthusiast. She
thus describes him as he appeared at their first interview : —
" He was dressed in white, and looked very pale, which, how-
ever, was nothing singular in India; his hair, a light-brown, was
raised firom his forehead, which was a remarkably fine one. His
features were not regular; but the expression was so luminous,
so intellectual, so affectionate, so beaming with divine charity,
that no one could have looked at his features and thought of
their shape or form ; the out-beaming of his soul would absorb
the attention of every observer. There was a very decided air,
too, of the gentleman about Mr. Martyn, and a perfection of
manners, which, from his extreme attention to all minute civilities,
might seem almost inconsistent with the general bent of his
thoughts to the most serious subjects. He was as remarkable for
ease as for cheerfulness. He did not appear like one who felt the
necessity of contending with the world and denying himself its
delights, but rather as one who was unconscious of the existence
of any attractions in the world, or of any delights which were
worthy of his notice. When he relaxed from his labours in the
presence of his friends, it was to play and laugh like an innocent
child, more especially if children were present to play and laugh
with him."
Is not this a charming protrait? the portrait of a man who-
lived in and for Christ, but felt that Christian zeal was not
incompatible with Christian courtesy ; while his love for children,
was it not a very sweet and pleasing aspect of character ?
For rest or relaxation, however, he allowed himself but little
time, much as he needed both. His labours were continuous
and continuously heavy ; and his strong sense of duty allowed no
suspension of them, no imperfect or half-hearted performance.
For baptisms, marriages, and burials he had often to travel great
distances ; he attended on the sick in the hospitals ; he taught in
the schools which he had established for the children both of
natives and the English; he preached frequently; he conversed
with Hindu and Mohammedan, with all who sought instruction or
counsel ; and he toiled at his versions of the Prayer Book into
Persian and Hindustani. Yet at this time he was experiencing
intense agony in having to abandon all hope of an union with
Miss Grenfell, who, for family reasons, had finally refused to join
228 GOOD SAMARITANS.
him in India. In his journal, November 23rd, 1807, he writes : —
** I am filled with grief. I cannot bear to part with Lydia, and she
seems more necessary to me than my life ; yet her letter was to
bid me a last farewell. Oh, how little have I been crossed from
childhood, and yet how little benefit have I received from the
chastisements of my God ? The Lord now sanctify this, that
since the last desire of my heart also is withheld, I may with
resignation turn away for ever from the world, and henceforth live
forgetful of all but God."
The year had also been overshadowed by the death of his
eldest sister, so that it passed away in a thick cloud and amid sore
tribulation ; brightened only by that faith in God, that love of
Christ, that resignation to the Divine Will, in which the young mis-
sionary never failed. On the ist of January, 1808, he writes : —
^* The events which have taken place in the past year most nearly
interesting to myself are, my sister's death, and my disappoint-
ment about Lydia; in both these afflictions I have seen love
inscribed, and that is enough. What I think I want, it is still
better to want ; but I am often wearied with this world of woe.
I set my affections on the creature, and am thus torn from it ;
and from various other causes, particularly the prevalence of sin
in my heart, I am often so full of melancholy that I hardly know
what to do for relief. Sometimes I say, ' Oh that I had wings
like a dove : then would I flee away and be at rest ! ' at other
times, in my sorrow about the creature, I have no wish left for
any heavenly rest. It is the grace and favour of God that have
saved me hitherto; my ignorance, waywardness, and wickedness
would long since have plunged me into misery ; but there seems
to be a mighty exertion of mercy and grace upon my sinful nature
every day, I to keep me from perishing at last. My attainments,
in the Divine life, in the last year, seem to be none at all ; I
appear, on the contrary, to be more self-willed and perverse, and
more like many of my countrymen, in arrogance and a domineer-
ing spirit over the natives. The Lord save me from my wicked-
ness ! Henceforth let my soul, humbly depending on the grace of
Christ, perfect holiness in the fear of God, and show towards all
Europeans and natives the mind that was in Christ Jesus ! "
The year 1808 was a year of quiet industry. Martyn continued
his ministrations at the hospital ; and, daily, when his feeble
TRANSLATION OF TESTAMENT INTO HINDUSTANI. 229
health permitted, received the more religious members of his
flock at his own house. He revised the sheets of his completed
Hindustani version of the New Testament, and carefully super-
vised the Persian translation, which he had entrusted to Sabat.
And he undertook the study of Arabic, that he might fit himself to-
prepare another rendering of the Testament into that tongue.
In the following year Martyn was removed to the station at
Cawnpore, where he again came in contact with the Sherwood
family. Forced to travel thither at a hot season of the year,,
when the wind, blowing over the hot breadths of sandy plain,
burns like the breath of a furnace, he found himself growing
weaker every day, and when he arrived at his destination, fainted
before he could be led into his bungalow. Describing this
terrible experience, he says : — " Two days and two nights " [from
Allahabad to Cawtr.pore] " was I travelling without intermission-
Expecting to arrive early on Saturday morning, I took no pro-
vision for that day. Thus I lay in my palanquin, faint, with a
headache, neither awake nor asleep, between dead and alive —
the wind blowing flames. The bearers were so unable to bear up,
that we were six hours coming the last six kos [twelve miles]^
. . . even now the motion of the palanquin is not out of my
brain, nor the heat out of my blood."
His acquaintance with the Sherwoods lent a certain brightness
to his life at Cawnpore. They conversed together and they sang
together ; and he delighted in petting and fondhng Mrs. Sher-
wood's baby-daughter. A welcome was always ready for him in
his moods of weariness and despondency — moods inseparable
from his physical condition ; and in his attacks of illness kind
hands supplied him with all needful comforts. Otherwise he
lived at Cawnpore as he had lived at Dinapore, studying labori-
ously, and discharging his pastoral duties with a solemn sense
of their sacredness and of the responsibilities they involved. A
glimpse of the moral courage which distinguished this Good
Samaritan is afforded in the following extract from a letter dated
September ist, 1809 : —
" To-morrow the Commander-in-Chief is to be here, and I must
let you know whether I can get the promise of a church from
him. His family are all at General S.'s, where I breakfasted
with them this morning, and baptized a child of Mrs. C, his
230 GOOD SAMARITANS.
daughter. Mrs. H. and her three daughters joined with exem-
plary piety in the baptismal and churching services ; and they
read the responses aloud, and knelt as if they were accustomed
to kneel in secret, from the manner in which they bow their
knees in public prayer. The Miss s are remarkably modest
and correct ; a great deal of pains seems to have been taken with
them by their mother. General has never been very cordial,
and now he is likely to be less so ; for while we were walking up
and down together, I reproved him for swearing ; though it was
done in the gentlest way, he did not seem to like it. It was the
first time he had been called to order for some years, I suppose.
'So you are giving me a private lecture,' said he. He then went
on in a very angry and confused manner defending the practice
of swearing — ' God judges of the heart, and sees there is no bad
intention,' etc. Against all this I urged Scripture."
Mrs. Sherwood records some interesting anecdotes in illustra-
tion of Martyn's simple-mindedness, and his ignorance of the
details of household management. One evening he observed,
■" The coolie" [a native porter and messenger] " does not come with
my money. I was thinking this morning how rich I should be,
and now I should not wonder in the least if he has run off and
taken my treasure with him." Upon inquiry, the Sherwoods
found that, not having drawn his stipend for some time, he had
sent a note to the collector requesting him to forward it by bearer.
It was sent accordingly, in silver coin, tied up in bags ; but no
one expected Martyn would ever see it. However, before the
evening was over, the coolie arrived with it in safety. Another
time, when both he and the Sherwoods had ordered a pine apple
cheese, it was remarked that " the cuts " in the two cheeses were
curiously similar — ^and no wonder ! For it appeared that the
servants made one cheese do duty for both tables, and this the
more easily because Martyn supped always on limes and other
fruits, and produced his cheese only when the Sherwoods came
to supper.
It was in the winter of 1809 that he made his first attempt at
preaching in the native language. Every Sunday evening he
threw open the gate of his garden, and admitted the devotees
and fakeers who thronged the neighbourhood, promising them a
pice per head. The appearance of the congregation thus brought
MARTYN'S FIRST SERMON IN HINDUSTANI. 231
together was very striking. We are told that no dreams suggested
by the delirium of a raging fever could surpass the reality. There
they stood, or crouched, clothed in abominable rags, or nearly
without clothes, or plastered with mud and cow-dung, or with
long matted locks streaming down to their heels ; every counte-
nance foul and frightful with evil passions ; the lips black with
tobacco or reeking with henna. One man, who arrived in a cart
drawn by a bullock, was so bloated as to resemble an enormous
frog; another had kept his arm above his head with hand clenched
until the nails had penetrated through the palm ; and one very
tall man had all his bones marked on his dark skin in white
chalk, so that he resembled a skeleton figure of ghastly Death.
To this strange and motley audience Martyn addressed himself.
After requesting their attention, he told them that he gave with
pleasure such alms as he could afford, but that he wished to give
them something better, namely, eternal riches, or the Word of
God, which revealed God to His creatures ; and then, producing
a Hindustani version of Genesis, he read the first verse, and ex-
plained it word by word : — " In the beginning there was nothing,
no heaven, no earth, but only God. He created, without help,
for His own pleasure. But who is God? One so great, so good,
so wise, so mighty, that none can know Him as he ought to know,
but yet we must know that He knows us. When we rise up, or
sit down, or go out. He is always with us. He created heaven
and earth ; therefore, everything in heaven, sun, moon, and stars.
Therefore how should the sun or the moon be God ? Everything
on earth, and therefore the Ganges also : how then should Ganga
be a god ? " In this strain he continued, and his hearers listened
always with interest, if not always with approval."
With burning enthusiasm he carried on these Sunday addresses,
condones ad populum^ — in spite of the anxiety and alarm of the
British authorities, and the howls and threats of a large section of
the natives, — until the number of his congregation increased to
nine hundred. But symptoms of pulmonary disease at length
developed themselves, and proved so serious that his physicians
ordered him to give up work, take a sea- voyage, and visit England. ^
His soul was in his work; and to accept and act upon such advice
as this was very hard. But hearing from critical authorities that
a translation he had made of the Gospels into Persian was scarcely
232 GOOD SAMARITANS.
simple enough in style for popular use, and too full of Arabic
idioms, he resolved to spend his leave of absence in travelling
through Arabia and Persia, in order to collect the opinions oi
learned natives, and improve himself in the languages of those
countries.
On the last day of September, 1810, he took leave of his con-
gregation at Cawnpore, after preaching for the first time in the
church which had been raised by his energetic efforts. " He
began," says Mrs. Sherwood, " in a weak and faint voice, being
at that time in a very bad state of health ; but gathering strength
as he proceeded, he seemed as one inspired from on high. Never
was audience more affected." After the morning service was over,
he returned home, nearly fainting, and was laid upon a couch in
the hall of his bungalow. As soon as he revived he begged his
friends to sing to him. The hymn they selected roused him like
the sound of a trumpet : —
" O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home."
After an early dinner, and an afternoon's rest, he preached again
in the evening, and this time to his wild, strange Hindu congrega-
tion. He preached with a sad heart, however, for of all the seed
he had flung abroad he found that not one grain had ripened.
Nothing is so discouraging to the earnest worker as the prospect
of no result from his work. But then he should remember that
all progress is slow and silent, and that the blossom may burst
from its enveloping sheath when he is not there to see it. More-
over, he is but one of a great army of workers, who are moving,
though unknown to themselves, on certain definite lines and
towards an appointed goal, and that the extent of the field they
cover prevents him from discovering the full reach of their mighty
march. Let him be assured that if his work be honest it will
not fail.
On the I St of October, 18 10, Mr. Martyn embarked on the
Ganges, and on the last day of the month arrived at the house
of his friend, Mr. Brown, at Aldun. He was still in a very feeble
condition : yet, so great was his devotion to his ministerial
HIS DEPARTURE TO PERSIA, A AD HIS TRIALS THERE. 233
office, that he preached every Sunday but one at Calcutta until
the 7th of January, 181 1. He then took final leave of his friends,
and departed alone on his adventurous journey to lands almost
entirely strange (at that time) even to his countrymen, in the hope
of rendering God's Word available for the study of the numerous
Hindus and Mohammedans who understood Persian better than
any other literary language.
He went by sea to Bombay, and there obtained a passage on
board an EngHsh ship intended to cruise in the Persian Gulf
against Arab pirates. On the 22nd of May he landed at Bushire.
As a protection against insult on his road to Shiraz, where the
British Ambassador, Sir Gore Ouseley, resided, he was advised to
assume an Oriental dress ; and accordingly attired himself in very
wide Zouave-like blue trousers, a chintz coat, and long red boots,
with a tall conical cap of black Tartar lambskin. He also allowed
his beard and moustache to grow, and learned how to eat rice
dexterously by handfuls from the common dish.
Accompanied by an English officer, he set out for Shiraz — a
terrible journey, under a glaring brazen sun, and up steep rugged
mountain paths ; no clouds softly tempering the fierce heat of
heaven, no verdure refreshing the parched barrenness of earth.
They travelled only by night, and encamped by day, sometimes
without even the shelter of a tree, wrapping the head in a wet
cloth, and the body in all the heavy clothing he had, to prevent
the waste of moisture ; but even thus, his condition, says Martyn,
"was a fire within my head, my skin like a cinder, the pulse violent.
At morn the thermometer rose as high as 126°; even at close of
day it did not sink lower than 100°.
On the 9th of June Martyn arrived at Shiraz, where he was
cordially received by the British Ambassador, and presented to
Prince Abbas Mirza, the heir to the throne. He thus describes
the ceremony —
" Early this morning I went with the Ambassador and his suite
to Court, wearing, agreeable to custom, a pair of red cloth stock-
ings, with green high-heeled shoes. When we entered the great
court of the palace, a hundred fountains began to play. The
Prince appeared at the opposite side, in his talar, or hall of
audience, seated on the ground. Here our first bow was made.
When we came in sight of him, we bowed a second time, and
15
234 GOOD SAMARITANS.
entered the room. He did not rise, nor take notice of any but
the Ambassador, with whom he conversed at the distance of the
breadth of the room. Two of his ministers stood in front of the
hall, outside ; the Ambassador's Mehmandar, and the Master of
the Ceremonies, within, at the door. We sat down in order, in a
line with the Ambassador, with our hats on. I never saw a more
sweet and engaging countenance than the Prince's ; there was
such an appearance of good nature and humility in all his demean-
our, that I could scarcely bring myself to believe that he would
be guilty of anything cruel or tyrannical."
With the energy and ardour of his nature, Martyn worked at his
Persian translation, deriving valuable assistance from the services
of an accompHshed Sufite. It was completed by the 24th of
February, 181 2, and in six weeks more he had translated the
Psalms. On the 14th of May, one year after entering Persia, he
set out, with another English clergyman, to lay his translation
before the Shah ; but finding that, without a letter of introduction
from the British Ambassador, he could not gain admission to the
royal presence, he determined to proceed to Tabriz, whither Sir
Gore Ouseley had removed. The journey occupied nearly two
months, including a six days' halt at Ispahan, and another delay
at the Shah's camp ; and the latter portion involved considerable
suffering and not a little danger. Both Martyn and his companion
were attacked with fever, and reduced almost to the extremities of
famine. On the 28th of June he writes : — " We have now eaten
nothing for two days. My mind is much disordered from head-
ache and giddiness, from which I am seldom free ; but my heart,
I trust, is with Christ and His saints. To live much longer in
this world of sickness and pain seems noway desirable ; the most
favourite prospects of my heart seem very poor and childish, and
cheerfully would I exchange them for the unfading inheritance."
He was in a wretched condition of health when he arrived at
Tabriz ; and an illness of nearly two months' duration baffled his
intention of presenting in person his translation to the Shah.
During his illness he received great kindness from Sir Gore
Ouseley, who, together with his wife, nursed the sick scholar with
assiduous attention ; and that nothing might be wanting to gain
the Shah's favourable acceptance of the result of his persevering
labours, undertook himself to present it at Court.
HENRY MARTYNS LAST JOURNEY. 235
On recovering from the fever, Martyn resolved to make his way
to Constantinople, and thence to England, where he hoped to
regain his health and strength, so that, accompanied, perhaps, by
his beloved Lydia, he might resume in the East his missionary
labours. To Miss Grenfell his last letter was written from Tabriz
on the 28th of August, and he refers in it to the possibility of their
meeting : — " Do I dream," he says, "that I venture to think and
write of such an event as that ? Is it possible that we shall ever
meet again below ? Though it is possible, I dare not indulge such
a pleasing hope yet. I am still at a tremendous distance ; and
the countries I have to pass through are many of them dangerous
to the traveller from the hordes of banditti, whom a feeble govern-
ment cannot chastise." He set out from Tabriz on the 2nd of
September ; on the loth he arrived at Erivan ; on the 25 th, at
Erzeroum. This last-named Armenian city he left on the afternoon
of the 29th, but immediately after he was attacked by his old
complaint of fever and ague, which he was in too feeble a state to
resist. He still pressed forward, however, though warned that the
plague prevailed in the country into which he was advancing. In
his journal he writes : — " Thus I am passing inevitably into
imminent danger. O Lord, Thy will be done ! living or dying,
remember me ! " He experienced much annoyance and discom-
fort from the insolence of Hasan Aga, a Tartar who had been en-
gaged to act as his escort; and he felt it the more as his weakness
hourly increased. The last entries in his journal bear date the
5th and 6th of October, and are very pathetic : —
" October 5 th. — Preserving mercy made me see the light of
another morning. The sleep had refreshed me, but I was feeble
and shaken. . . . The manzil, however, being not far distant, I
reached it without much difficulty. I expected to have found it
another strong fort at the end of the pass, but it is a poor little
village, within the jaws of the mountains. I was pretty well lodged,
and tolerably well till a little after sunset, when the ague came on
with a violence I never before experienced. I felt as if in a palsy,
my teeth chattering, and my whole frame violently shaken. Aga
Storzn and another Persian, on their way here from Constanti-
nople, going to Abbas Mirza, whom I had just before been visiting,
came hastily to render me assistance if they could. These
Persians appear quite brotherly, after the Turks. While they pitied,
236 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Hasan sat with perfect indifference, ruminating on tlie further delay
this was likely to occasion. The cold fit, after continuing two or
three hours, was followed by a fever, which lasted the whole night,
and prevented sleep.
'* October 6th. No horses being to be had, I had an unexpected
repose. I sat in the orchard, and thought, with secret comfort
and peace, of my God — in solitude my company, my friend, my
comforter. O, when shall Time give place to Eternity ? When
shall appear that new heaven and new earth wherein dwelleth
righteousness ? There — there shall in no wise enter in anything
that defiieth ; none of that wickedness that has made men worse
than wild beasts — none of those corruptions, that add still more to
the miseries of mortality, shall be seen or heard of any more."
Ten days later, Henry Martyn was dead. On the i6th of
October, at Tocat, the struggle was ended; but whether the final
stroke was death by fever, plague, or exhaustion, cannot be deter-
mined. He lies in an unknown grave, with no memorial to
record his enthusiasm in well-doing.
Does the reader ask what Henry Martyn accomplished ? Let
him consider a moment. Was his life misspent ? Did he nothing
for Christ's sake, and for the sake of his fellow- men ? To me it
seems that such a life, even with such an end, was infinitely better
worth living than is the life of the drawing-room idler, immersed in
frivolities; or of the man of business, steeped to his lips in the love
of lucre. It was a life spent in high endeavour, in Christian
effort ; and to me it seems that such a life, even with such an end,
can be no real failure. It might seem so to the world, but the
world's selfishness is never right in its judgments. For myself, I
would rather die as Martyn did, a soldier of the Cross, in the
throb and stress of his labours for men's eternal good, than like
the warrior on a victorious battle-field, purchased by the expendi-
ture of human suffering and human blood !
In Holme Lee's '* Title of Honour," which is founded on this
beautiful story of Martyn's devotion and self-sacrifice, two cha-
racters are introduced as conversing thus : —
"No man," says one, " ever more literally fulfilled the Divine
command to forsake all, take up the cross, and follow Christ."
"If self-renunciation," says another, " be the first of Christian
TIVO H^AYS OF LOOKING AT LIFE. 237
virtues, he practised it, and also he imposed it upon others. He
was holy, just, and true — but what profit was there in his life ?
You call him missionary — where are his witnesses ? He held dis-
putations with several learned Eastern doctors — did he convert
any ? With the help of native scholars he made translations from
Holy Writ. I believe he baptized one poor old Hindu woman.
I know he bore with much ridicule, scoffing, mockery ; I know he
suffered a martyrdom of sorrows ; I know he died — in a strange
land — alone. If God accepted his sacrifice, where is his witness ? "
" His witness," says the first interlocutor, "is the loving admi-
ration of all good men. His noble example has drawn many
after him. The seed he sowed is springing up an hundredfold.
His name will be a light to the world for many generations."
" Well, take them, take his journals — let the world know how
he laboured and sorrowed, and saw no fruits of his labours."
" It is not true," says the first, *' that success makes the hero.
Some day you will be satisfied that what Henry Martyn did was
well done ; you will not call his journals only a pathetic record of
a disappointed life. He was happier than you or I, for he fulfilled
more perfectly the will of his heavenly Father."
" The sweet peace in his Saviour that he felt when dying, worn
out in His service, is, I suppose, the moral of his story ? "
" It is a beautiful story," is the answer, " a noble story, look at
it as you will. Yes — take that for the moral of it. So God giveth
His beloved sleep."
In the annals of Missionary enterprise we know of few, if any,
names worthier of honour than that of John Williams, the
" Martyr of Erromanga." As Eliot has been called the " Apostle
of the North American Indians," and Boniface the " Apostle of
Germany," so may Williams be distinguished as the " Apostle of
Polynesia." It may be said, without exaggeration, that he was
the founder of a new system of missionary effort. He combined
^' civilization " with " conversion." He taught the savage races
among whom he laboured the arts of peace as well as the truths
of Christianity. He made them Christians, and he also made
them men. Not only was there this distinction in his work, but
his character marked him out for enduring honour and respect.
238 GOOD SAMAKITANS.
His sublime unselfishness, his deep piety, his devotion to his
Master's service, have been equalled by others ; but with them
he combined a rare energy, a remarkable fertility of resource, a
rich fund of invention, and a singular quality of influencing and
attracting his fellow-men. In truth, his gifts were very many.
He was not a scholar or a profound theologian ; but scholars and
theologians were not wanted in Polynesia. Yet was he by no
means deficient in intellectual power ; in any sphere of life he
would have been a remarkable man ; but circumstances directed
his mind towards practical and utilitarian objects. He was a
born administrator; had 2, faculty of governing which kings might
have envied ; and an almost intuitive grasp of the means by which
certain ends could best be attained, — a prompt and comprehensive
perception of what was fittest and most necessary in the circum-
stances by which he chanced to be surrounded or for the purposes
he desired to accomplish. The soundness and clearness of his
judgment cannot be disputed. Quick as he was in decision, he
rarely made a mistake ; and, as one of his biographers remarks,
he seldom found himself obliged to abandon his opinion or retrace
his steps, except on subjects which he had imperfectly considered
or which lay out of his usual rahge of thought and action. " It
may very safely be asserted that there was no leading principle,
nor design, nor plan of operations, which he ever found it requisite
to relinquish or revise. His judgments upon all points of personal
and practical importance had been thought out with too much
care, and tested by too long experience, to be open to serious cor-
rection." Such was John Williams, the Martyr of Erromanga.
John Williams was born at Tottenham High Cross, on ihe
29th of June, 1796. There he passed his childhood, and there
he was educated : though the tuition he received was imperfect
and unsatisfactory ; of the classics he learned but little, and of
mathematics less. His religious training was undertaken by his
mother, a devout and loving woman, like Monica of old, who
belonged to one of the stricter Nonconformist denominations.
Every morning and evening her children assembled in her
chamber for instruction and prayer; and if no strong religious
impression was produced on her son's mind, he learned at least
a scrupulous regard for truth. In his eleventh year the boy v\as
apprenticed to a London ironmonger, a man esteemed, we are
JOHN WILLIAMS— HIS EARLY LIFE. 239
told, for his consistent piety. Young Williams was to learn the
commercial part of the business only, but it soon appeared that
the workshop had a stronger attraction for him, and tliat he
studied with attention its tools and processes. When the men
left the place at the accustomed hour for meals, he would resort
to the forge or the bench in order to put his previous observations
to a practical test. We shall see to what good he afterwards
turned the knowledge and skill he thus obtained.
At this time John Williams, like too many lads, had grown
indifferent to Christ and His religion, and had forgotten or neg-
lected his mother's early teaching. He was an estimable youth,
faithful, industrious, and honest, against whose moral character
no imputation could be made ; but he was not fervent in spirit,
serving the Lord. The world was too much with him ; he lived
only for this life, and the things of this life. And as time went
on, for want of a noble aim and a fixed purpose, he rapidly
deteriorated. Not that he became what society would call '* a
bad young man ; " but he grew more and more indifferent to his
religious duties, and his favourite companions were young men
even more indifferent and thoughtless than himself. The prospect
was that he would sink into that slough of " respectability " which
avoids immorality simply because it has a bad name and does not
pay ; but that of any really good or useful work for the elevation
of himself or his fellow-men he would prove incapable. But at
this critical epoch he was induced, one Sunday evening, to
accompany his employer's wife to a dissenting place of worship,
the Tabernacle. A well-known Nonconformist pastor, the Rev.
Timothy East, chanced to preach that evening. He was a man
of some talent and eloquence, and his sermon in its power and
faithfulness went home to the heart and conscience of young
Williams. It was the " word in season " which gave the key-note
to his future career. Henceforth he studied the Scriptures with
fervent assiduity, and became a regular attendant at the house of
God. He daily grew more serious and earnest, and his mind
expanded as his sense of religious truth quickened. He learned
to think, to take new and higher views of life, to form a new
and higher conception of its duties.
In the Sunday-school connected with the Tabernacle he was an
industrious and a capable teacher. The addresses he delivered
240 GOOD SAMARITANS.
to his pupils accustomed him to public speaking, and he acquired
the habit of expressing himself with fluency, accuracy, and direct-
ness. A branch of the London Missionary Society was worked
from the Tabernacle, and thus it came to pass that John Williams's
attention was gradually directed to the wide rich field of mis-
sionary work. A conviction grew up in his mind that it was a
field in which he might do some service, and he made known his
feelings and wishes to the pastor of the Tabernacle. Under his
care he devoted what leisure he could command to the task of
preparation, and did his best to supply the deficiencies of his
early education. His improvement was so rapid that, in July
1816, he was able to pass the examination ordained by the
Directors of the London Missionary Society, and was unani-
mously received as a missionary.
His biographer justly observes that Williams's immature age
and imperfect education, at the time of his reception, clearly
indicated the propriety of additional instruction before he was
entrusted with the responsible charge of a missionary station.
But the directors were in urgent want of men, and in that early
period of missionary work the great importance of carefully-trained
and well-educated missionaries was scarcely recognized ; so that
they determined to send him forth at the earliest possible moment.
The subsequent success of John Williams must not be taken, how-
ever, as any argument in favour of such a conclusion. His case
was entirely exceptional : an unusual activity of mind and fertility
of resource compensated for the absence of educational advan-
tages; and it so happened that he was sent to a part of the
mission-field where that absence was of less serious import than
it might have been elsewhere.
Meanwhile, he continued the work of self-preparation, reading
and writing with great diligence, and accumulating such literary
and theological knowledge as lay within his reach. Moreover, he
devoted a portion of his time to a careful inspecuon of manufac-
tories and manufactures, of mechanical appliances and processes ;
for he had already formed for himself an ideal of what a mis-
sionary should be and should do, and it was his fixed purpose not
only to teach the great truths of Christ's religion to the Polynesian
races amongst whom he was to labour, but to introduce as exten-
sively as possible the arts and comforts of civilized society.
HIS ARRIVAL AT TAHITI. 241
On the 29th of October, he was married to Miss MaryChanner,
a woman in every way worthy of him ; in Christian heroism his
«qual, in patient endurance his superior. On the 1 7th of November,
the young couple embarked for Sydney on board the Harriet, after
taking an affectionate farewell of their families and friends. At
Rio de Janeiro they were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Threlkeld, who
were destined to be their fellow-labourers. They reached Sydney
in May 181 7, and through various causes were detained there until
the following September. It was not until the 17th of November,
exactly a year after their embarkation, that they landed at Eimeo,
fin Tahiti, which was at that time the centre of missionary effort in
Polynesia. Its beautiful scenery, so rich in colour and so graceful
an outline, its lofty hills clothed with luxuriant palm groves, its
coral strands washed by a sea as blue as the heaven above it, did
not fail to produce a strong impression on our missionary's mind,
'notwithstanding its eminently practical and sober cast. He was
more interested, however, in the appearance and manners of the
'natives. Attending the mission-chapel, he contemplated, with
onuch emotion, the spectacle of " seven or eight hundred people
who, not five years ago, were worshipping idols and wallowing in
Jthe most dreadful wickedness, now praying to and praising our
Lord and God. It was pleasing," he adds, *' to see so many fine-
looking females, dressed in white native cloth, and their heads
•decorated with white flowers, and cocoa-nut leaves plaited in the
rshape of a cottage bonnet, surrounding the preacher who occupied
the centre of the place."
Soon after his arrival at Eimeo, the missionaries resolved on
building a small ship as a means of communication with the
neighbouring islands and with New South Wales. " We set to
work immediately, every man to his post. My department was
the iron work. The others did the wood, and in eight or ten days
she was ready to be launched. A great concourse of natives was
gathered to see this extraordinary spectacle. Pomare (the king)
was requested to name the vessel as she went off. To effect this
we passed ropes across her stern, which were pulled by from two to
three hundred natives on either side. No sooner was the signal
^given, than the men at the ropes began to pull most furiously ; and
-at the same moment, Pomare, who stood on the left-hand side of
'the vessel, threw the bottle of wine against her bow. This so
242 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Startled those who held the ropes on the side of the ship where the
king stood, that they lost their hold ; and as those on the opposite
side continued to pull, she gave a lurch and fell upon her side.
The natives immediately raised the lamentation, Aue te pahi e /'
(O ! the poor ship !) and were dreadfully discouraged. Pomare
had always maintained that she could never be launched, but
must be broken in pieces when we should attempt it ; and now he
went away exclaiming that his word had come true. But not dis-
couraged, we set to work again, and by the afternoon had raised
her upon the stocks, and prepared everything for a second attempt
on the Monday, as it was Saturday when she fell. Monday
arrived. We drove in the wedges, placed a cable round her stern,,
stationed the natives as before, and had the satisfaction to see her
go off beautifully, amidst the shouts of the people. While this
was passing, there was an old warrior, called by the natives a taatct
faa ito ito {i.e.^ a man who puts life and energy into them during a
battle), who stood on a little eminence, exerting himself to animate
the men at the ropes. I was near him, and he did in reality * put
life into them.' His action was most inspiriting. There seemed
not a fibre of his frame which he did not exert ; and from merely
looking at the old man, I felt as though I was in the very act of
pulling."
During a residence of some months at Eimeo, Mr. WiUiams
made himself master of the Tahitian language. On the 7th of*
January, 18 18, a son was born to him ; six months later he started,
with two colleagues and their wives, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis and Mr.
and Mrs. Orsmond, with a Mr. Davies as interpreter, and accom-
panied by several chiefs, to establish a mission at Huahine, the
most windward of the Society Islands. Their welcome from the
natives was all that could be desired. Mr. and Mrs. Williams
were at once provided with a commodious hut, of which they had
scarcely taken possession when a hot baked pig and a large bowl
of yams were supplied to them. " We then made some tea,"
writes Mrs. Williams, "and ate a very hearty meal. Our next,
business was to fit up a lodging for the night, which was done
by putting a piece of native cloth across one end of a very large
house. Here we slept as soundly as if we had been in a palace^
The next day we removed to a neat little oval house, and fitted it
up 7/ith native cloth as comfortably as we could. As usual, my
MISSIONARY LIFE IN lOLYNES/A. 343
dear John made lime, and plastered the floors. In a few days,
the principal chief of the island sent each of us nine pigs, with a
roll of native cloth, and all kinds of their fruit. I wish you
could taste some of our breadfruit and arrowroot cakes. I dare-
say you frequently talk of us, and wonder what we have to eat.
I will tell you as nearly as I can. There are plenty of fowls here,
and we dress them in a variety of ways. Sometimes we have
fresh pork, and occasionally we kill a sucking pig, and get it
cooked as well as you can in England, who have large kitchen
fires. Our method is to run a long stick through it, and to
let the ends rest on two forked sticks, and, having kindled a fire
behind, a native sits to turn and baste it until it is well done.
We have also had some roast and boiled beef. I only wish we
had a cow; I should then be able to make butter, but we get
plenty of milk for our tea, as we have five goats."
Visitors from the other islands flocked to see these wonderful
white men ; among whom the most important was Tamatoa,
" King " of Raiatea, and the Ulitea of Captain Cook, — which is
the central and the largest island of the Society group. As this
became Mr. Williams's chief sphere of action for some years, a
brief description may prove acceptable. It measures nearly fifty
miles in circumference, and lies enclosed, along with Tahaa, a
smaller island, six miles to the north, within a noble reef of coral,
which forms a spacious and sheltered lagoon communicating with
the outer ocean by numerous wide deep channels. It is not only
the largest but the loftiest of the archipelago. With the exception
of a rich littoral belt of culturable soil, it consists of huge mountain-
masses, rising abruptly to a height of 1500 and even 2000 feet,
and intersected by some fertile glens and valleys; the scenery
is described as bolder and gloomier than that of its sister isles,
and to the voyager, until he approaches near enough to discern
the wild luxuriance that crowns its lowlands, its aspect is one of
"frowning majesty." But when he lands upon its shores, he sees
beauty and verdure everywhere around him. Like Prospero's
isle, it is full of music, the harmonious noises of streams falling
from rocky heights in shining waterfalls, and of murmuring
waves flinging their crests of foam against the coral reef. The
valleys bloom with the foliage of innumerable trees, the plantain,
the feathery palm, the bamna, and the precious bread-fruit tree.
244 GOOD SAMARITANS.
which, in shady groves and clusters, descend to the very margin
of the encompassing ocean.
Not only the size and fertility of Raiatea recommended it as a
prominent mission-station, but the fact that it enjoyed a kind ot
traditional supremacy over the other islands of the Society and
Georgian groups. Indeed, up to the date of the introduction of
Christianity, its principal chiefs, and among them Tamatoa,
received not only civil allegiance but divine honours, and were
worshipped as gods. There was yet another reason, as Mr.
Prout points out, in its influence upon the long-prevailing and
wide-spread superstitions of Polynesia. From time immemorial
it had been the focus and source of the abominable idolatries
which had darkened, demoralised, and destroyed the inhabitants
of its own and the surrounding shores. " Here were to be
found the types of the manifold usages, even the most debas-
ing and cruel, which had become the customs of the race ; here
were the archives of their religious legends ; the temple and
altar of Oro, the Mars and Moloch of the South Seas ; and this
had been the theatre of more sanguinary deeds than were to be
found in the dark records of all the other islands around it.
Hither hecatombs of human victims had been brought from near
and distant shores to be offered in the blood-stained marai of
Apoa. What Christian soldier would not have felt the spirit-
stirring prospect of assaulting such a citadel of his own and of
his great Captain's foe, and preferred a post in these high places
of the field beyond all other positions ? "
Tamatoa had gathered some knowledge of the blessings of
Christian civilization from a missionary named Wilson, who had
formerly visited Raiatea, and he had come to Huahine on
purpose to obtain the services of a teacher. Mr. Williams, with
his colleague, Mr. Threlkeld, eagerly responded to the invitation,
and with their families arrived at Raiatea on the nth of September,
t8i8. They met with a gratifying reception. "As soon as we
landed," writes Mr. Williams, " they made a feast for us, consisting
of five large hogs for myself, five for Mrs. Williams, and one for
our little Johnny. The same provision was made for Mr. Threl-
keld. Besides the ' feeding,' they brought us a roll of cloth, and
about twenty crates of yams, taro, cocoa-nuts, mountain plantains
and bananas. Those crates were a foot deep and three feet
CORDIAL WELCOME BY THE NATIVES. 243
square. Several persons of consequence were with us, and the
place was a complete market. Visitors are considered strangers
until they are fed, when they become taata tabre, 'neighbours.'
'* While getting our things on shore, I passed a house in which
they were eating, when my man slipped in, and having snatched
some food out of the hand of a person who was eating it, came
out again without saying a word. I asked him why he did so.
and whether the man from whom he had taken the food was not
angry? He said, ' No, it was a custom among them.' And we
now see it frequently. A man is eating his food, and anothei
comes up, wrenches it out of his hand, and walks away without
exchanging a syllable. When any of them come from othei
islands, or from distant parts of the same island, they walk into
any house they like, look about them, and, without consulting the
owner, say to one another, ' This is good, we'll stay here.'
" It is very delightful to see them on Sabbath morning, dressed
very neatly, and going to the house of prayer. After the service,
they return to their homes, and eat what had been prepared on.
the previous day. After the meal they again go to chapel,
assure you that you would be delighted to observe the attention
of many to the Word of God. They there inquired who sent me,,
and how I came to think of visiting them. 1 told them that the
thought grew in my mind, and I hoped God put it there. They
wished to know whether I should ever go home again. I told
them I should very much like to do so, and if it was as near as.
Tahiti, I could go and return to them ; but if I went to England^.
I should perhaps never get back again.*'
On examining into the moral condition of the natives, the
missionaries found much to discourage them. Their customs, or
at least many of them, were loathsome; their idleness was in-
veterate. They made a profession of Christianity without a single
effort to live up to that profession. And again, the scattered
state of the population was a serious hindrance to their mis-
sionary work. Williams remedied the latter evil with singular
boldness ; he induced the chiefs and their peoples to assemble
together and build a new settlement at Vairaaia, so that they
might live near their teachers. A temporary chapel and school-
house were quickly erected, and then Williams prepared to build
a ho'jse for himself and his family in the English style, so that it
:246 GOOD SASiARITANS.
might become a model for future native residences. He laid his
plans with forethought, and carried them out with resolution.
Necessarily, the bulk of the labour devolved upon himself; the
natives assisted him in procuring and placing the materials, but
the work had to be done by his own diligent and ingenious hands.
When finished, the house measured sixty feet by thirty, and con-
sisted of three front and four back rooms. The sitting-rooms,
which commanded a fine view of the harbour, were adorned with
French sashes, and shaded with a green verandah and Venetian
blinds. The framework of the building was of wood, but the walls,
iboth outside and inside, were wattled and plastered with coral
lime. From this time Mr. Williams made not only a whitewash,
but a grey and an orange colouring, with which he decorated the
interior. On either side, and in front, he laid out a spacious
garden in grass-plots, gravel-paths, and pastures, — in which
bloomed a variety of ornamental shrubs and plants, some of them
indigenous, and others exotics introduced by himself and his
brethren. A poultry-yard was well-stocked with turkeys, fowls,
and English and Muscovy ducks; while a large kitchen-garden
supplied them vdth several British roots and vegetables, including
•cabbages, beans, peas, cucumbers, pumpkins, onions, and pot-
herbs.
The furniture, Hke the house, was the missionary's handiwork.
Tables, chairs, sofas, and bedsteads, with turned and polished legs
and pillars, and carpeted floors, gave to the interior all the comfort
and convenience of an English home. The wonder of the natives
was excessive. Their imitative faculties were soon stimulated
into exercise, and the settlement, which had formerly been as
lethargic as if inhabited by lotus-eaters, rang from end to end with
the din of activity. Writing in September 1819, Mr. WiUiams
thus describes the progress that had been made: — "When we
came to this place," he says, " there were only two native habita-
tions, and it was difficult to walk along the beach for bushes. But
the former wilderness is now an open, clear, and pleasant place,
with a range of houses extending nearly two miles along the sea-
beach, in which reside about a thousand of the natives. We
earnestly desire to see the moral wilderness present the same
improved appearance. The king, who, we are happy to say, is
one of the most consistent characters, resides very near to us.
WILLIAMS AS MASTER-BUILDER AND CARPENTER. 247
He is a very constant attendant both at the chapel and the schools.
He will probably be one of the first whom we shall baptize in the
islands. We are happy in being able to state that his behaviour
is circumspect, and that he is very active in suppressing crime.
" We are glad to be able to inform you that many have built
themselves very neat little houses, and are now living in them
with their wives and children. The king, through seeing ours,
and by our advice, has had a house erected near to us. It con-
tains four rooms, wattled, and plastered inside and out, and
floored. He is the first native on these islands that ever had such
a house ; but many others are now following his example. Thus,
while teaching them the things which belong to their eternal
peace, we do not forget their temporal improvement, and desire
to remember the connexion between being fervent in spirit and
diligent in business.
" We have been constantly exhorting the people to abandon their
pernicious custom of living several families together in one dwell-
ing, and have advised their separation. Several have complied
with our request, and before six months more have elapsed, it is
probable that there will not be less than twenty houses, wattled,
plastered, with boarded floors, and divided into separate rooms
for meals and sleeping. Thus you see that, although our station
was the last formed, it is the first in these things. We think it a
great object gained, that many of the natives, with their wives
and children, are now living separately, in neat habitations of
their own, and that the people have been induced to engage
in preparing such habitations. . . .
" Upon the whole, our prospects are indeed very encouraging,
and we doubt not, if blessed with faith, patience, and perseverance,
we shall be made very useful. We shall give every possible
attention to the instruction of the natives in useful arts, and shall
urge them to works of industry, to which we ourselves devote as
much time as we can spare ; and perhaps the advocates of civiliza-
tion would not be less pleased than the friends of evangelization^
could they look upon these remote shores, and upon a portion of
the natives diligently employed in various useful arts; some sawi»—
some carpentering, some boat-building, some as blacksmiths, some
as plasterers, etc. They have lately constructed two long bridges,
which would do credit to any country village in England. But we
24S GOOD SAMARITANS.
cannot, we dare not, devote our time to temporal concerns, when
it is at the expense of the eternal interests of those whom we came
to instruct."
Into the various social reforms introduced by Williams, and
the gradual advance of the islanders in the path of law and order,
our limits will not permit us to enter. Sufficient be it to say that
on the basis of Christianity he raised the goodly structure of
civilization ; and that he did on a small scale much the same kind
of work, in addition to his spiritual labours, as Charlemagne of
old did on a large scale, to the immortal glory of his name. He
created an orderly and peaceable society, bound together by the
ties of justice and goodwill. Schools were established for the
education of the people, and copies of the Gospel of St. Luke,
besides elementary books, were freely distributed. It is difficult to
conceive of any nobler or more interesting achievement than that
which was wrought by the devoted missionary in the island of
Raiatea. He not only sowed the seed, but was permitted to gather
in the earliest harvest, as well as to see the fields brightening with
the promise of far more abundant harvests in the happy future.
During his second year's residence Mr. WilHams built a chapel
and court-house, capable of holding between 2000 and 3000
persons ; drew up a code of laws ; obtained the appointment of a
chief judge ; and still further instructed the natives in the pro-
cesses of mechanical industry. " The natives have learned to
work very well indeed, and some of them can saw, and adze,
and plane better than I can ; but any part that requires particular
care, or in which great exactness is necessary, such as turning
spindles, rollers, etc., I am obliged to do myself. Perhaps you
^ill wonder how we can do such things, having never before seen
anything of the kind. I think that a person, having tolerably
good mechanical genius, and a book that will give him general
outlines, will be able to accomplish almost anything (not extra-
ordinarily complicated) that he sets his mind to. We are going
to attempt a large clock and wooden smith's bellows almost
immediately. Our various Uttle works of this kind, our boats and
our houses, have given the natives many new and important ideas.
These they readily receive and act upon, and it is with delight I
observe them engaged in the difierent branches of carpentering,
some box-making, some bedstead-making, some making very neat
EXTENDED EFFORTS IN POLYNESIA. 249
sofas (which we have lately taught them), with turned legs, and
looking very respectable indeed; some, again, lime-burning, some
sawing, some boat-building; some working at the forge, and some
sugar-boiling; while the women are equally busy in making gowns,
plaiting bark, and working neat bonnets — all the effect of the
Gospel."
It is evident enough that the administrative or organizing
faculty was one of Mr. Williams's special gifts. He exercised
an influence over all with whom he came in contact, which
marked him out as a born ruler. Chiefs and natives yielded to
him immediately as a natural and proper and necessary thing
to do ; they recognised in him a man fitted to lead, and followed
him with implicit confidence. It may be observed that his
brother-missionaries just as readily and spontaneously gave to
him the first place. A mind so active and masterful, however,
animated by the impulses of religious zeal and faith, was sure to
weary of any single and limited field of operation. Mr. Williams
began to long for a fresh theatre of labour, and had applied to
the Directors of the London Missionary Society to remove him
to another station, when his thoughts were turned in another
direction by an accidental, or, rather, a providential circumstance.
This was the arrival of Auura, a chief of Rurutu, with thirty of
his people, driven from their own island by a desolating epidemic.
What they saw at Raiatea filled them with surprise and delight..
They were never weary of gazing at the wonders which had beeni
wrought by the Gospel and civilization. After a residence of three
months, actively employed in the acquisition of knowledge, Auura.
returned to his island home, accompanied by his people, some
Raiateans, and two native teachers, the " hght in his hand," with-
out which he refused to depart. From this circumstance Mr..
Williams conceived the idea of making Raiatea a missionary centre,,
in order that the Gospel radiance might be diffused over all the
islands of the South Pacific. But for this purpose he saw that
a missionary ship would be required, " a schooner of about twenty
or twenty-five tons," with which to keep up a frequent intercourse
with the adjacent islands.
While his enthusiasm was kindUng at the contemplation of the
great evangelizing work that lay before him, he was seized with a
severe and dangerous malady, which baffled all the skill of his
16
GOOD SAMARITANS.
fellow-missionary, Mr. Threlkeld, and apparently rendered neces-
sary a speedy return to England. But his earnest prayers, and those
of his attached followers and disciples, were heard ; the disease
diminished in severity, and his work Df usefulness went on its
happy course. The death of his mother, of which, at this critical
time, he received the intelligence, proved a heavy blow. He had
no leisure, however, for other than silent sorrow. A new project
engaged his attention : he would pay a visit to Sydney, partly to
obtain medical advice, but chiefly with a view, by the appointment
of an agent and the purchase of a ship, to open up a regular
communication between the colony and the Society Islands. On
the way he proposed to leave teachers at the island of Aitutaki.
Accompanied by Mrs. Williams, he sailed from Raiatea, left two
teachers at Aitutaki, and reached Sydney in safety. The agent
of the London Missionary Society at first declined to entertain
his scheme of the purchase of a ship ; but eventually advanced
one half the sum required, on Mr. Williams agreeing to advance the
other half from some property bequeathed to him by his mother.
The purchase was completed ; a new schooner of between eighty
and ninety tons, called the Endeavour, a name for which the
matives substituted the more appropriate one of Te Matatmia,
'*' The Beginning." Mr. Williams returned to Raiatea on the 6th
'Of June, 1822.
In conversation with an aged priest, the missionary had gained
•pmuch information relative to a large island called Rarotonga, the
ilongest and most fertile of the Hervey Islands, the group to
which Aitutaki belongs. When the illustrious navigator, Captain
Cook, discovered this beautiful archipelago, which he named after
Captain Hervey, one of the Lords of the Admiralty, and after-
wards Earl of Bristol, he visited Atiu, Hervey's Island, Aitutaki,
and Mangaia, but failed to meet with Rarotonga. The honour
of discovering this important island was reserved for Williams,
who, with a Mr. Bourne, left Raiatea in July 1823, and after
touching at Aitutaki, Mangaia, and Mauke, succeeded, after a
long search, in finding it, under circumstances which he thus
describes : —
" After leaving Atiu, we were bafiled and perplexed for several
days by contrary winds. Our provisions were nearly expended,
and our patience all but exJ» ousted, when, early in the morning
SEARCH FOR AND DISCOVERY OF RAROTONGA. 251
of the day on which we discovered the island, the captain came
to me, and said, ' We must, sir, give up the search, or we shall
all be starved.' I replied, that we would continue our course
till eight o'clock, and if we did not succeed by that time, we
would return home. This was an hour of great anxiety ; hope
and fear agitated my mind. I had sent a native to the top of
the mast four times, and he was now ascending for the fifthf
and when we were within half-an-hour of relinquishing our object,
the clouds which enveloped its towering heights having been
chased away by the heat of the ascending sun, he relieved us from
our anxiety by shouting, Teie, tete, taua^ fenua nei ! (Here,
here is the land we have been seeking). The transition of feeling
was so instantaneous and so great, that, although a number of
years have intervened, I have not forgotten the sensations which
that announcement occasioned. The brightened countenances,
the joyous expressions, and the lively congratulations of all on
board showed that they shared in the same emotions ; nor did
we fail to raise our voices in grateful acknowledgment to Him
who had graciously led us by a right way."
Rarotonga, situated in lat. 21° 20' S., and 160° W. long., is a
mass of rocky heights, green to the summit, and intersected by
leafy and luxuriant valleys. It measures about thirty miles in
circumference, and is surrounded by a ring of coral.
The missionaries were received here with a cordial welcome
from the king, but this flattering prospect was swiftly dissipated,
and it seemed at first as if their enterprise were doomed to failure
among a people false, debased, and cannibal. But an heroic
native teacher, Papeiha, offered to remain and brave every peril,
provided Mr. Williams sent him a coadjutor from Raiatea. His
offer was accepted, and the two men laboured with so much
earnestness and success that, a twelvemonth afterwards, the whole
population had renounced idolatry, and undertaken the erection
of a Christian place of worship, 600 feet in length. Thus it is
that God " gives the increase " when the husbandmen put their
hands to the plough, and scatter the seed in a spirit of loving
faith.
After his return to Raiatea, the indefatigable missionary visited
the stations at Rurutu and Rimatara, but a sudden and unantici-
pated check was given to his evangelizing labours by the prohibi-
253 GOOD SAMARITANS.
tory duties levied upon Polynesian produce by the government of
New South Wales. These duties almost annihilated the trade
which had grown up between the islands and Sydney, and involved
Mr. Williams in such serious pecuniary responsibilities that he
was obliged to dispose of his little mission-ship. This was an
affliction which he felt very deeply. ''Satan knows well," he
exclaimed, ''that this ship was the most fatal weapon ever formed
against his interests in the great South Sea ; and, therefore, as
soon as he felt the effects of its first blow, he has wrested it out
of our hands." But he continued to labour on at his twofold
work of evangelization and civilization, perfecting the organisation
which he had established, and confirming the islanders in the ways
of peace and order. On the 8th of February, 1826, a new and
spacious church was opened for Divine service. It measured
145 feet by 40, was thoroughly substantial, and finished in every
detail with anxious care, and the fagade presented to the natives
the novel and imposing features of two handsome folding-doors,
and nine windows arched and glazed.
On the 26th of April, 1827, leaving the work at Raiatea in
charge of Tuahine, a native deacon, Mr. and Mrs. Williams,
accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Pitman, proceeded to Rarotonga
on board a vessel engaged for the purpose. They landed on
the island on the 6th of May, and were immediately surrounded
by a multitude of converts, eager to welcome and embrace the
Apostle of Polynesia. His first care was to erect a church, and
acquire the Rarotongan dialect. He then began to organise the
settlement on the same plan as that of Raiatea. Translating the
Raiatean code of laws, he contrived, with his usual success, to
secure its adoption by the chiefs, and the work c»f social recon-
struction and renovation went on apace. I suppose the secret of
this man's extraordinary intluence lay in the conviction of his
sincerity which he never failed to produce. Certain it is that
at Rarotonga as at Raiatea he was "lawgiver, priest, and king."
But in due time the question pressed itself upon his mind.
How was he to return to Raiatea? Month followed month,
and no vessel approached the island-shores. As each morning
dawned he swept the horizon for a sail with as eager an eye as.
ever did the Solitary of Juan Fernandez, and always in vain.
Rarotonga lay out of the track of commerce, was scarcely knowa
WILLIAMS BUILDS A SHIP. 253
and seldom visited. At length he resolved on what must justly
be called one of the most remarkable achievements of his
wonderful career ; he resolved, as no ships came to the island,
to build a ship.
To appreciate the boldness of this idea the reader must
remember that Mr. Williams had no knowledge of the ship-
building craft, no tools, no workmen, and we might almost
say no materials. To carry out his purpose, he had to invent
some things and create others, and to teach his artificers before
he could employ them. The fertility of resource which he
displayed was not less surprising than his patience and perse-
verance. Some of my readers may be familiar with Mr. Long-
fellow's picturesque poem, " The Building of the Ship " ; side by
side should be placed Mr. Williams's simple narrative.
** Day by day the vessel grew,
With timbers fashioned strong and true,
Stemson and keelson and sternson-kneel,
Till, framed with perfect symmetry,
A skeleton ship rose up to view !
And around the bows and along the side
The heavy hammers and mallets plied,
Till after many a week, at length,
Wonderful for form and strength,
Sublime in its enormous bulk.
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk t "
So sings the poet. Let us now follow the missionary's plain
and unadorned tale in all its graphic truthfulness : " Although,"
he says, '* I knew little of ship-building, and had scarcely any
tools to work with, I succeeded, in about three months, in
completing a vessel between seventy and eighty tons burden,
with no other assistance than that which natives could render,
who were wholly unacquainted with any mechanical art."
His first step was to make a pair of smith's bellows, as little
could be done towards building a ship without a forge. There
were four goats on the island, but of these, only three could
be killed, as one was required for milk. With their skins,
as a substitute for leather, the bellows were manufactured after
three or four days' labour. These, however, did not prove
efficient: "indeed," he says, "I found bellows-making to be a
more diflfici\lt task than I had imagined, for I could not get the
254 GOOD SAMARITANS.
upper box to fill properly ; in addition to which my bellows drew
in the fire. I took my old English bellows to pieces ; not, as the
tale goes, to look for the wind, but to ascertain the reason why
mine did not blow as well as others. I had not proceeded far
when the mystery was explained, and I stood amazed at my own
ignorance ', for, instead of making the pipe communicate only
with the upper chamber, 1 had inserted it into the under as well,
by which the wind escaped, and the flame was drawn in." This
mattered little, however ; as, during the night, the rats penetrated
into the workshop, and, on the following morning, he discovered
nothing left of his bellows but the bare boards.
Mr. Williams was forced to draw again upon his inventive
powers. He could not construct another pair of bellows, for he
had no leather, but it occurred to him that if a pump could throw
water, a machine constructed on the same principles could throw
wind. He therefore made a box, about eighteen or twenty inches
square, and four feet high \ at the bottom he put a valve, and he
fitted in a damper, similar to the piston in the cylinder of a steam
engine. To force it down with sufficient velocity it was loaded
with stones, and a long lever was attached to it, by which it was
again raised. *' Before placing it near the fire we tried it, and
were delighted with our success ; but, on brmging it in contact
with that devouring element, its deficiencies were soon developed.
In the first place, we found that there was too great an interval
between the blasts, and, secondly, that, like its predecessor, it
sucked in the fire so fast that in a few minutes it was in a blaze.
We soon extinguished the flames, and remedied the evil by
making a valve at the back of the pipe which communicated
with the fire, and opened to let out the wind, and shut when the
machine was filling. To overcome the other inconvenience, we
concluded that, if one box would give us one blast, two would
double it, and we therefore made another of the same dimensions
and worked them alternately ; thus keeping up a continual blast,
or, rather, a succession of blasts. Eight or ten men were required
to blow them ; but labour was cheap, and the natives were de-
lighted with the employment."
With this ingenious machine Williams wrought all his iron
work, using a perforated stone for a fireiron, an anvil of the same
material, and a pair of carpenter's pincers for tongs. Charcoal
THE NATIVES HELP IN THE WORK, -z^^
made from the cocoa-nut, tamanu, and other trees, formed a sub-
stitute for coals. Great was the wonder of the natives at seeing
the first iron wrought, and especially the welding of two pieces
together ! Old and young, men and women, chief and peasant,
hastened to see the miracle, and when they saw with what facility
the heated iron could be manipulated, they exclaimed, " Why
did not we think of heating the hard stuff instead of beating it
with stones ? What a reign of dark hearts Satan's is !" Perhaps
they were not altogether wrong in regarding ignorance as an
invention of Satan !
The pumps gave profound delight to every spectator ; and as
for the king, he would cause his stool to be carried on board the
ship, and amuse himself for hours by pumping out the bilge-
water.
Having no saw, Mr. Williams split the trees in twain with
wedges ; after which the natives adzed them down with small
hatchets, which they tied to a crooked piece of wood as a handle,
and used as a substitute for the adze. When a bent or twisted
plank was required, they bent a piece of bamboo into the needed
shape, and despatched the natives into the woods to search out
a crooked tree, which was afterwards split in halves. The supply
of iron was small, and Mr. WiUiams was compelled to economize
it j accordingly, he bored large auger holes through the timbers,
and also the outer and inner planking of the vessel, and drove in
wooden pins (or binails), instead of iron, by which the structure
was held together with sufficient firmness. As a substitute for
oakum, he used cocoa-nut husk, native cloth, or dried banana
stumps. A rope machine was constructed by the ingenious ship-
wright, and excellent cordage manufactured out of the bark of the
hibiscus. Mats served instead of sails ; the sheaves of blocks were
wrought out of the aito, or iron-wood. Thus the work went on
to a successful consummation ; and after fifteen weeks of incessant
and anxious labour, the vessel, which measured 60 feet long by 18
feet broad, was safely launched. She was named, with obvious
appropriateness. The Messenger of Peace.
His first experience with her was not very fortunate. Thinking
it prudent to go on a trial-trip before he ventured to Tahiti, which
lay 700 or 800 miles distant, he resolved on a visit to Aitutaki,
which was only about 170 miles, and set out, accompanied by the
256 GOOD SAMARITANS.
king, Makea, and several natives. When some six miles from
the shore, the natives, in shifting the sails, not observing their
orders, let the foresail go, and as the wind was very strong, it
broke the foremast. Providentially, however, about twelve or
fifteen feet above the deck were left standing ; and having cleared
the wreck, and hoisted a portion of the sail on the wreck of the
mast, Mr. Williams turned back, and rejoiced to find that he
could reach the land, although several miles to leeward of the
harbour. By sunset he was safe in port. A new mast was shipped ;
damages were repaired ; and in a few days the undaunted mis-
sionary sailed again. This time the voyage was prosperous. He
reached Aitutaki, remained there for eight or ten days, and then
returned to Rarotonga with a cargo of pigs, cocoa-nuts, and cats,
— a curious cargo, but one of great value and acceptability to the
Rarotongans.
In February 1828, Mr. and Mrs. Buzacott arrived at Rarotonga,
and Mr. Williams was able to place them in charge of that in-
teresting settlement. He then set sail for Tahiti, where he made
arrangements for the extension of mission-work to the west, and
afterwards returned to Raiatea, — to receive a welcome such as a
king might have envied. There he remained until the end of the
following year. In the autumn of 1829 the island was visited by
the U. S. man-of-war Vincennes, whose chaplain has left on record
his impressions of the work effected by our great religious and
social reformer. He writes : —
" We are in the midst of another varied and beautiful panorama.
The ship lies within a short distance of the shore, which is richly
edged with groves and single trees, and a fine undergrowth of the
banana, sugar-cane, and various shrubbery, surrounding and over-
hanging the white cottages of the inhabitants. These stand
thickly, in regular, lines, along a single street two miles or more
in length.
" The landing is on a substantially-laid quay of coral, where we
met an intelligent lad of twelve years, the son of the Rev. Mr.
Williams, the missionary of the station. He informed us that his
father was at the chapel, delivering a customary weekly lecture ;
and, on directing our walk up the street, we met and returned
with him to the mission-house, and were introduced to Mrs.
Williams and her family. Their establishment is more neat and
I^RUITFUL RESULTS OF MISSIONARY LABOURS. 257
rural, and more comfortable in its whole arrangement, than any
we have before seen.
" The house is large and convenient, having three pleasant
rooms in front, opening by large folding-doors on a verandah ex-
tending the entire length of the building, and commands, across
an enclosure tilled with shrubbery, fruit, and flowers, a fine pros-
pect of the ocean. Everything around looked neat and prosperous ;
and on taking a walk through the village, we found the same
features marked, in a greater or less degree, on the habitations
and appearance of the people everywhere.
" September 5. — To-day has been the Sabbath on shore. The
chapel here, like all we saw at the Windward-group, is large, well-
bnilt, and a noble edifice for such a people. The number
assembled to-day amounted to about eleven hundred; all well
and neatly clad, and exhibiting in their whole appearance and
manner of attending the service, every characteristic of civilization,
respectability, and piety, found in any common congregation in
the United States. But for the colour of the audience, indeed,
it would have been difficult for any one to believe himself wor-
shipping with those who, till within a few years, had been lost in
all the gross vice, licentiousness, and wildness of paganism. The
sight was at once delightful and affecting.
" Captain Finch and a dozen of the officers attended the chapel
in the morning. Arrangements had been made to take the band
ashore, to play a few pieces of sacred music at intervals in the
service. The exercises began, as on shipboard, with the Portuguese
hymn. I was fearful that the novelty might occasion some con-
fusion ; but it did not in the least. There was not the slightest
unbecoming excitement ; not even among the children, who took
their seats together, as they entered in long procession from the
Sabbath-school.
'* It was the day of Communion ; and after the general con-
gregation had been dismissed, about three hundred of both sexes,
and of a variety of ages, with solemnity, and seemingly deep
interest, partook of the emblems of the broken body and shed
blood of Him who gave His life a ransom for many. Much as
the sincerity and piety of the Church members in the islands have
been doubted by the calumniators of missions, from all I have
observed and known, and from all passing before me on this
258 GOOD SAMARITANS.
occasion, I was led to the fervent prayer that I might myself, at
last, be equally worthy, with many of these, of a seat at the
marriage supper of the Lamb.
'* Mr. Hiebling and myself spent the evening with Mr. and
Mrs. Williams. This we invariably do ; and never without being
deeply impressed by hearing, in the stillness of the night, the
melody of the native hymn falling on the ear in various directions,
from the little cottages of the islanders, as they engage in their
evening devotions. Family worship, consisting of the reading of
a portion of Scripture, of a hymn, and of prayer, is generally
practised."
On the 24th of May, 1830, the Messenger of Peace weighed
anchor, carrying Mr. Williams as an "ambassador of mercy" to
the Navigator Islands. On the way she touched at Mangaia, at
Atui, and at Rarotonga, to find that at each island the good work
was prospering bravely. Savage Island and Tongatabu were also
included in this missionary circuit. After visiting Lefuga, the
mission-ship stood direct for the Samoan group, and in the month
of August sighted the cloud-capped mountains of the largest and
most imposing of the islands, the beautiful Savaii. She was
quickly surrounded by a multitude of canoes, and her deck
crowded with natives, who were so agile that they climbed like
monkeys over the boarding nettings, though these were ten feet
deep. When Mr. Williams and his companions landed, a remark-
able scene occurred. The natives had kindled a large beacon-fire,
and supplied themselves with torches of dry cocoa-nut and other
leaves to conduct their visitors to the chiefs dwelling. A passage
was maintained by a kind of native police, armed with spears and
clubs, and stationed all along the route ; while some of the
natives were busily employed in feeding the fire, some in con-
veying articles from the ship's boat, and others in conveying them
to the lodgings set apart for the use of the missionaries. The
majority, however, had enough to do to gaze upon the wonderful
strangers, and for this purpose they clustered on the stems and
branches of the palms and other trees, peeping with glistening
eyes from amongst the rich dark foliage which surrounded them.
As Mr. Williams walked along, he chanced to mention to a
young chief that he was exceedingly fatigued from labouring the
KIND WELCOME BY THE S A MOANS, 259
whole of the day in the boat. Immediately he spoke to his
people, and behold, a number of stalwart fellows seized the
missionary, some by his legs, and others by his arms ; one
placing his hand under his body, and another, unable to find so
large a space, poking a finger against him ; and thus, sprawling at
full length upon their extended arms and hands, he was carried a
distance of half a mile, and deposited safely and carefully in the
presence of the chief and his principal wife, who, seated on a fine
mat, received their strange visitors with all the etiquette of heathen
royalty.
A beautiful mat having been spread for them, they squatted
down upon it, and explained to the chief that they had not come
to transact business with him, but simply to pay their respects
before they retired to rest. He expressed himself well pleased to
to see them ; welcomed them cordially to the shores of Savaii ;
and requested them to take up their abode at his house, a
request, however, which they put aside with all due courtesy.
On their way from the chiefs house to that allotted for the
accommodation of the teachers, they passed a dancing-saloon, in
which a number of performers were entertaining a large gathering
of spectators. Two persons drummed away on an instrument
formed of a mat wound tightly round a framework of reeds ; and
six young men and two young women jumped about with great
violence, making motions with their hands and feet in time with
the musicians, while others swelled the rude harmony with a song
in honour of the arrival of " the two great English chiefs." In
their performance there was no indecency, but a good deal of
exertion, and the bodies of both the males and females were
bathed in perspiration.
Such was Mr. Williams's introduction to Savaii. On further
acquaintance with it, he formed a very favourable opinion of its
natural resources and of its inhabitants, whom he describes as
Polynesian Asiatics. Not so tall or robust as the Tahitians, they
were infinitely more agile and graceful; in truth, of all the island
races, they bore away the palm for physical as well as intellectual
qualities. Mr. Williams was present at a marriage ceremony, in
which the two principal performers were a chief named Malietoa,
and a handsome young woman, whom he had purchased from
her father for some axes and other useful articles. A group of
26o GOOD SAMARITANS.
women, sub tegmine fagi^ under the shade of a wide-spreading tiee,
which raised its crown of verdure near Malietoa's house, chanted,
to a lively air, a song commemorative of the great deeds of the
chief and his ancestors ; and opposite to them, shaded by the
foliage of a bread-fruit tree, sat the bride, a tall and beautiful
young woman, about eighteen years of age. Her dress was a fine
silky mat, hanging from her waist to her ankles, while a graceful
wreath of leaves and blossoms garlanded her head. The upper
part of her person was anointed with sweet-scented cocoa-nut
oil, and tinged partially with a red preparation of the turmeric
root ; two rows of large beads were twined around her neck. Her
demeanour was modest in the extreme.
"While listening to the chanters," says Mr. Williams, "and
looking upon the novel scene before us, our attention was at-
tracted by another company of women, who were following each
other in single file, and chanting as they came the praises of
their chief Sitting down with the company who had preceded
them, they united in one general chorus, which appeared to be a
recital of the valorous deeds of Malietoa and his progenitors.
This ended, a dance in honour of the marriage was commenced,
which was considered one of their grandest exhibitions, and held
in high estimation by the people. The performers were four young
women, the daughters of chiefs of the highest rank, who took their
stations at right angles on the fine mats with which the dancing-
house was spread for the occasion, and then interchanged positions
with slow and graceful movements both of their hands and feet,
while the bride recited some of the mighty doings of her forefathers.
To the motions of the dancers, and to the recital of the bride,
three or four elderly women were beating time upon the mat with
short sticks, and occasionally joining in chorus with the recitative.
We saw nothing in the performance worthy of admiration, except
the absence of everything indelicate — a rare omission in heathen
amusements."
Mr. Williams succe-eded in obtaining permission to settle
Christian teachers in the Samoas, and the mission started under
favourable and encouraging auspices. When he re-visited the
islands in 1836, he found that a most satisfactory progress had
been made ; the Word of God had had free course, and been
glorified. The settlement at Sapapalii had proved a centre of
NATIVE POEM IN WILLIAMS' HONOUR. 261
spiritual warmth and light, from which the blessed influences of
the truth of Christ had radiated over the whole of Savaii and
Upolu, and had extended even to the remoter islands of Mamea
and Tutuila. In his second visit Mr. Williams did much to con-
firm and strengthen the good work that had made so prosperous
a beginning. And here we must again allude to the characteristics
of his missionary genius. As Mr. Prout justly observes, his in-
fluence, like that of St. Paul, was personal rather than official.
He was loved more for his own than for his work's sake ; because,
as a Christian, he illustrated in himself the gifts and graces of
the religion he taught. Long before the natives appreciated his
labours as a minister of Christ, they rejoiced in him as their
benefactor and friend. He was fond of the proverb, and fre-
quently quoted it, " Kindness is the key to the human heart."
And it was the key which he persistently and successfully applied.
In his sweet and loving nature was a charm which the savages of
Polynesia instinctively felt, and to which they at once responded.
A very striking proof of the reality of his personal influence, of
the sway he exercised over their hearts, is to be found in the
songs, rude enough and simple enough, which the Samoans com-
posed in his honour, and would chant unweariedly for hours : —
"Let us talk of Viriamu,
Let cocoa-nuts grow for him in peace for months.
When strong the east wind blows, our thoughts forget him not.
Let us greatly love the Christian land of the great white chief.
All tnalo [conquerors] are we now, for we have all one God.
No food is sacred now. All kinds of fish we catch and eat :
Even the sting-ray.
The birds are crying for Viriamu,
His ship has sailed another way,
The birds are crying for Viriamu,
Long time is he in coming,
"Will he ever come again ?
Will he ever come again ?
Tired are we of the taunts of the insolent Samoans.
' Who knows,' say they, ' that white chiefs land ? *
Now our land is sacred made, and evil practices have ceased.
How we feel for the Cotea I Come ! let us sleep and dream of Viriamu,
iHstaulau [a star] has risen. Taulua [another star] has also risen,
But the war-star has ceased to rise,
For Suluclede [the king's daughter] and the king have embraced the sacred word,.
Vnd war has become an evil thing."
262 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Early in January 1833 M^- Williams was back at Rarotonga,
where for some months he busied himself in many useful labours,
preaching and teaching, and bringing to a happy close the trans-
lation of the New Testament into the native tongue. During this
period of comparative tranquillity the chapels at Arorangi and
Avaru were rebuilt, and new and noble mission premises erected ;
the Messenger of Peace was also refitted thoroughly. In July
he sailed for Tahiti, where he took much interest in the establish-
ment of Temperance Societies, to counteract the mischief done
by the wholesale importation from Europe of ardent liquors. He
visited Eimeo, Huahine, and Atui ; returned to Rarotonga in
October ; and soon afterwards sailed for England, with his wife
and family, arriving there on the 12th of June, 1834, after an
absence of nearly eighteen years.
It was not, however, with any thought of taking his hand from
the plough, of abandoning the work to which he had solemnly
devoted himself, that he had returned to England. He was not
insensible to the pleasure of seeing once more his native land, of
revisiting the scenes of his early youth and manhood, of renewing
the old associations ; but his chief object was to advocate the
cause of missionary effort, and interest the Christians of England
in the rising Christian settlements of the South Seas. As a
deputation from the London Missionary Society, he made a
laborious progress through the principal towns of England, ad-
dressing large public meetings, and wherever he went awakening
-enthusiasm by his transparent sincerity, and riveting attention by
the force of his natural eloquence. But this was not the only
means he took of promoting the prosperity of the South Sea
Missions. He obtained, after various conferences, the consent of
the Directors of the London Missionary Society to the establish-
ment of a self-supporting Theological College at Rarotonga, for
the education of native missionaries ; to the foundation of a school
at Tahiti, in which the sons of the chiefs and others might obtain
a superior education, while it also served the purpose of a Normal
Institution for the training of native schoolmasters ; and to the
■supply of adequate resources for strengthening existing missions
and planting the Cross of Christ in places where it was still
unknown. He also engaged the Bible Society to print the
*larotongan New Testament. Writing in 1835, he says: —
INTEREST/A G VISIT TO ENGLAND. 263
•"Superintending the press is very laborious work; I have, however,
10,000 tracts of various kinds completed. The journeys of the
Israelites, Banyan's Pilgrim, and other works are in hand. I am
also fully engaged in public. Within the last two months I have
preached and spoken between sixty and seventy times. I trust
great things may be accomplished for the mission, a deeper
interest awakened in the South Sea Islands, and the means ob-
tained of extending our labours as far as New Guinea." It was at
this time, too, that he prepared, with some needful literary assist-
ance, that most fascinating of books, his "Narrative of Missionary
Enterprise in the South Sea Islands." In April 1837 it was given
to the public, who at once received it with signal favour. The
copy which lies before us is one of the " fourth thousand " issued
in the same year. By September 1838, 7500 copies had been sold
of a book published at twelve shillings. A new edition was then
issued of 6,000 copies, which were quickly disposed of, and in
April 1840 a cheap edition appeared, which in three years reached
a sale of 24,000. The book is now a portion of the standard
literature of the Christian Church ; and the good it has effected,
the zeal it has stimulated, the energy it has sustained, who shall
pretend to estimate ? It has well been said of it that it contains
a history of Gospel propagation unequalled by any similar narrative
since the Acts of the Apostles.
A favourite scheme with Mr. Williams was to obtain a mis-
sionary ship in the place of the old and unseaworthy Messenger
of Peace^ which was unfitted for the longer voyages he contem-
plated on his return.* With the sanction of the Directors, an
appeal for the necessary funds was issued in December 1837,
and the response was so liberal and so prompt that in the
following spring he was able to purchase a beautiful brig, the
Camden, for ;^i,6oo. Her repairs and outfit cost about ;£"iooo,
all raised by voluntary contributions. It should be added that
the corporation of the city of London voted a gift of £s^o. As
soon as she was ready for sea, Mr. Williams prepared to embark,
for the scene of his Christian labours. Accompanied by his wife,
* While in England he visited the Carpenters, at Bristol, and Mary Ann
Carpenter writes of him as having "deep and enlarged religious convictions,
4jreat benevolence, a gift of tongues, handicraft-skill, and some of Brother
Martyn's way-wisdom and simplicity."
264 GOOD SAMARITANS.
his son, and his son''j wife, and a band of missionaries and their
wives, destined to '.ake up the work of evangelization in Raiatea,
Tahiti, Rarotonga, and Samoa, he set sail from Gravesend on
the nth of April, 1838. The voyage proved an eminently
agreeable one, and on the ist of July the missionary ship
anchored in Simon's Bay, Cape of Good Hope. She made no
long delay, resuming her voyage on the 19th, and on the loth
of September she entered Sydney Harbour. Here Mr. Williams
renewed old friendships, and established an Australian Auxiliary
of the London Missionary Society. But he was naturally eager
to reach his beloved islands, and on the 25th of October again
set sail, anchoring in the picturesquely beautiful bay of Pangopango,
in the island of Tukiila, on the 23rd of November. Afterwards
he proceeded to Upolu, where the Samoans received him with
an enthusiastic welcome. Having re-organised the missionary
settlements in the Samoa group, he directed his course to
Rarotonga, dropping anchor off Avarua on Monday, the 4th
of February.
"We had long been anxiously expecting his arrival," writes
Mr. Buzacott, " and when our patience was nearly exhausted, a
brig was seen off the island with strange colours flying, and the
natives immediately said, * It is Williams.' As soon as she had
dropped anchor, I hastened off to welcome our beloved brother's
return to a place to which he ever felt so peculiarly attached.
I will not attempt to describe my feelings on witnessing such a
cargo of missionaries and Testaments, and especially on finding
that some of them were to remain and assist us in this group.
As the morning was unfavourable, they would not all land
immediately, and therefore, taking our letters froxn dear absent
friends, only Mr. Williams and three others accompanied me
to the shore. By this time the beach was completely lined with
natives, their countenances expressive of the greatest joy,
anxiously waiting to give Williams a hearty welcome ; and it was
a considerable time ere we could squeeze our way through the
crowd, who appeared to be very happy in again shaking hands
with their old friends."
A week was spent at Rarotonga in incessant work, and then
Mr. Williams set out for Tahiti, with the missionaries intended
for that important station. On the 26th of March he left
WILLIAMS SAILS FOR THE NEW HEBRIDES, 265
Tahiti, on a visit to the various islands of the Friendly Group ;
and called, in succession, at Eimeo, Huahine, Raiatea, Borabora,
and other places, finding at each station abundant cause for
thankfulness to God. On the 2nd of May we find him back
at Upolu, where he continued to reside for several months,
superintending the labours of its Christian community, and
preparing for an evangelizing expedition to the western archi-
pelagoes of Polynesia. After a tender parting with his wife and
attached disciples, a parting not without sad forebodings — for it
was known that he was going amongst avage population — Mr.
Williams set sail on the 4th of November, and after touching
at Savaii and Rotuma steered for the New Hebrides.
On the 17 th, the Camden arrived off the island of Fatuna.
It appeared to be one great and rugged mountain mass, which
fronted the sea with perpendicular cliffs. No low land was seen
in any direction, and at first it was thought that the island was
uninhabited. On nearing the coast, however, the voyagers
discovered cultivated patches on the sides of the hills, and little
low huts grouped among the trees. At length a couple of canoes
approached, in one of which were four men, tolerably well-made
and well favoured. Their complexion was neither black like
that of the negro, nor brown like that of the Polynesian, but of
a sooty colour. Their faces were thickly smeared with a red
pigment, and a long white feather was stuck in the back of the
head. The lobe of the ear was pierced and rendered large by
the repeated introduction of a piece of wood, until it was suffi-
ciently extended to receive a piece of an inch or more in
diameter. Into this hole a number of tortoiseshell rings, from
two to six or eight, were introduced by way of ornament. The
cartilage also of the nose was pierced, and, in many instances,
having been stretched too much, was broken. One of the
islanders was induced to go on board the Cafnden, where
he was kindly treated, and attired in a gay red shirt, which
pleased him immensely. In the evening he was landed, and
the beginning made, as it was hoped, of a friendly intercourse
with the natives.
In Mr. Williams's journal occurs the following entry : —
" Monday morning, i8th. This is a memorable day, a day
which will be transmitted to posterity, and the record of the
17
206 GOOD SAMARITANS.
events which have this day transpired will exist after those who
have taken an active part in them have retired into the shades
of oblivion, and the results of this day will be . . . ."
This is the last entry in Mr. Williams's diary, and probably
these were the last words he ever wrote. The date " Monday
morning " appears, however, to be a slip for ** Monday evening"
and the entry refers to the day's auspicious work at the island of
Tauna, the chiefs of which had given him a very friendly reception,
and agreed to provide for a couple of Christian teachers. The
visit to Tauna extended over two days, and was marked by several
pleasing incidents, which encouraged Williams to hope that a
field had been found in the New Hebrides where the seed
of God's truth could be sown, and patiently watched and watered
in hope of harvest blessings.
About one o'clock on the 19th, the Camden set sail, and stood
northward to the island of Erromanga, reaching its southern side
sufficiently early in the evening to run along the coast for some
miles to the westward, until, as the darkness fell, the rocks and
bays could no longer be discerned, and the vessel was put about
to lie-to during the night.
At daylight, on the 20th, she ran down to the south side, and
before noon reached Dillon's Bay. Seeing a canoe paddling
along in shore, with three men in her, Mr. Williams ordered the
whale-boat to be lowered, and embarked in her with Captain
Morgan, Mr. Harris, and Mr. Cunningham, two missionaries,
and four hands. On speaking to the men in the canoe, they
found them to be a different race of people to those at Tauna,
shorter of stature, and darker of complexion ; they were wild in
appearance, and churlish in manner. Mr. Williams made them
some presents, and endeavoured to persuade them to come into
his boat, but in vain.
The missionaries then pulled up the bay, some of the natives
on the shore running along the rocks at a distance. Observing a
beautiful valley, brightened by a crystal stream, they drew towards
the beach to see if they could get some fresh water. Mr. Harris,
asked if he might land, and Mr. Williams assenting, he did so
and sitting down, the natives closed round him, and brought him
some cocoa-nuts. After a short interval, Mr. Williams landed,
accompanied by Mr. Cunningham, and divided a few pieces of
SAVAGE RECEPTION AT EKROMANGA. 267
coloured print among those nearest to him. They soon strolled
a short way inland, directing their course up the side of the brook.
The looks and manners of the savages, however, were far from
reassuring ; and Mr. Cunningham remarked to Mr. Williams that
probably they had to dread their revenge in consequence of a
former quarrel with strangers, in which, perhaps, some of their
friends had been killed. Mr. Williams did not reply, being at
the time engaged in repeating the Samoan numerals to a crowd of
boys, one of whom was saying them after him. Mr. Cunningham,
who was a few paces ahead, observed some shells of a species new
to him ; he picked them up, and was putting them in his pocket,
when he heard a yell, and almost simultaneously Mr. Harris
rushed out of the bushes about twenty yards in front of him. It
was a case of sauve qui petit. Mr. Cunningham shouted to
Mr. Williams to run, and sprang forward through the natives
gathered on the bank of the stream, who, staggered, perhaps, by
the suddenness of his onset, immediately gave way. Looking
round, he saw Mr. Harris fall in the brook, and the water dash
over him, while a number of savages were beating him with clubs.
Mr. Williams hesitated for a moment, — a moment only, but it was
too much to lose. Instead of making for the boat, he ran
directly down the beach into the water, pursued by a savage,
probably intending to swim off until the boat picked him up.
But the beach being steep and stony, he missed his footing and
fell backward, the savage dealing him several blows with a club
on the arms and over the head. He twice dashed his head under
water to avoid the club with which his fierce pursuer stood pre
pared to strike him the moment he arose. Mr. Cunningham, who
had reached the boat, threw a couple of stones, which for an in-
stant retarded the progress of another native, who was close behind ;
but he recovered himself immediately, rushed upon Mr. Williams,
and, some others coming up, all was over.
" Though every exertion was used," says Mr. Cunningham,
*'to get up the boat to his assistance, and though only about
eighty yards distant, before we got half the distance our friend
was dead, and about a dozen savages were dragging the body on
the beach, beating it in the most furious manner. A crowd of
boys surrounded the body as it lay in the ripple of the beach, and
beat it with stones, till the waves dashed red on the shore with the
268 GOOD SAMARITANS.
blood of their victim. Alas ! that moment of sorrow and agony,
I almost shrieked in distress. Several arrows were shot at us, and
one passing under the arm of one of the men, passed through
the lining of the boat and entered the timber. This alarmed the
men, who remonstrated that, having no firearms to frighten the
savages away, it would be madness to approach them, as Mr.
Williams was dead ; to this Captain Morgan reluctantly assented,
and pulled off out of reach of the arrows, where we lay for an
instant to consider what we should do, when it was proposed that
we should, if possible, bring up the brig, now about two miles
distant, and, under cover of two guns which she carried, to land^
and, if possible, to obtain the bodies, which the natives had left
on the beach, having stripped off the clothes. We hastened on
board and beat up for the fatal spot ; we could still perceive the
white body lying on the beach, and the natives had all left it,
which gave us hope of being able to rescue the remains of our
friend from the ferocious cannibals. Our two guns were loaded,
and one fired, in hopes that the savages might be alarmed, and
fly to a distance ; several were still seen on a distant part of the
beach. Shot we had none, but the sailors collected pieces of
iron, etc., to use if necessary. Our hopes were soon destroyed,
for a crowd of natives ran down the beach and carried away the
body, when we were within a mile of the spot. In grief we turned
our backs and stood from the fatal shores. We had all lost a friend^
and one we loved, for the love he bore to all, and the sincerity
with which he conveyed the tidings of peace to the benighted
heathen, by whose cruel hands he had now fallen."
Thus died John Williams : sealing with his blood that noble
and devoted testimony to the truth as it is in Christ which he
had borne for so many years with admirable constancy of purpose
and purity of motive. According to the teaching of the Church
there are three kinds of martyrdom : " The first, both in will and
deed, which is the highest ; the second, in will but not in deed ;.
he third, in deed but not in will." Or as Keble expresses.
it: —
** One presses on, and welcomes death ;
One calmly yields his willing breath,
Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith
Content to die or live :
THE WILLING MARTYR. 269
And some, the darlings of their Lord,
Play smiling with the flame and sword,
And, ere they speak, to His sure word
Unconscious witness give. "
Williams belonged to the first and highest order : he knew the
peril of his enterprise, and confronted it willingly, for the sake of
human souls and his love of the cross of Christ.
BOOK IV.
PRISON REFORM.
CONDITION OF OUR PRISONS IN THE i8tH CENTURY
JOHN HOWARD.
MRS. ELIZABETH FRY.
PRISON REFORM.
WHEN and where John Howard was born, biographers do
not seem able to determine; but it was probably at
Enfield, and some time in the year 1725.
His mother died while he was still an infant, and as he was of
a sickly constitution, he was sent to a cottager residing on his
father's estate at Cardington, near Bedford, to grow strong in the
pure country air. He took a great liking to the healthy, pic-
turesque village, and in after life it became his favourite place of
abode.
In due time he became old and robust enough for school, and
■was sent first to one academy, and then to another, going through
the superficial curriculum which was then in vogue, but acquiring
a very imperfect knowledge of his own language, and none of any
■other. At the age of sixteen or seventeen he was apprenticed to
a wholesale grocer in Watling Street, London. Probably his
father wished him to gain some spirit of order and acquaintance
with common affairs, for there was no need of his undertaking
anything in commerce or trade, and as he was allowed a servant,
a couple of saddle horses, and private apartments, it is certain
that his apprenticeship involved him neither in hard work nor
privation. Soon afterwards his father died, and Howard came
into the enjoyment of an ample estate. His natural prudence
and acquired habits of business now served him in good stead.
He plunged into none of the dissipations favoured by the young
men, \htjeunesse doree of his time; but, to improve his knowledge
of the world, and refine his taste, set out upon a tour through
France and Italy. On his return, he took lodgings at Stoke
Newington, for his health was still delicate, and devoted himself
to study, taking up the subjects of Medicine and Natural Philo-
sophy. The religious feeHngs which his father had cultivated in
him now took a more serious and decided form. Sprung from a
274 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Nonconformist family, he cherished Nonconformist principles^
and joined the denomination known as the Independents ; but at
no time in his life did he exhibit the prejudices or partialities of
sectarianism. When he had no opportunity of attending a place
of Dissenting worship, he freely joined in the service of the
Church of England ; and Dr. Aikin sententiously observes, that
" though he was warmly attached to the interests of the party he
espoused, yet he had that true spirit of Catholicism, which led
him to honour virtue and religion wherever he found them, and to-
regard the means only as they were subservient to the end.^'
buffering sometimes makes men hard and cruel ; in others, it
opens the source of human feeling. It has been said of the poet
that he learns in suffering what he teaches in song; and in like
manner the philanthropist is taught to sympathize with affliction'
by his own bitter experiences of pain or trouble. So it was with
John Howard : in his hours of anguish he learnt to feel for the
sorrows of his kind, and thenceforth endeavoured to relieve them. •
A pure and Hving spirit of charity was kindled in his heart, and
the religious convictions to which he tenaciously clung helped tb-
sustain and develop it. He not only extended his hand to those
who appealed to his benevolence, but sought out the stricken and
distressed in their obscurity ; remembering, as he distributed his-
alms, that " it is more blessed to give than to receive."
It would seem to have been in accordance with this principle
that, after recovering from his long and severe illness, he offered
his hand in marriage to his landlady, to whose care he believed
the preservation of his life was due. As he was only twenty-four,
and the lady, a widow, fifty-two, we may reasonably conclude that,,
in this instance, his benevolence was carried to an unwise extreme.
The marriage, however, proved happier than he deserved; and
for three years the oddly-assorted couple lived together in un-
clouded tranquillity. Mrs. Howard died in 1755; and the
bereaved husband sought a solace for his grief in foreign travel.
He embarked for Portugal in 1756, on board the Hanover
packet, but was captured by a French privateer, carried to Brest,
and, with the crew and the rest of the passengers, was flung inta
prison.
" In the castle at Brest," he says, '* I lay six nights upon straw ;.
and observing how cruelly my countrymen were used there, and
HOWARDS' PRACTICAL EXPERIENCE OF PRiSON LIFE. 275.
at Morlaix, whither I was carried next, during the two months
I was at Carpaix upon parole, I corresponded with the Engh'sh
prisoners at Brest, Morlaix, and Dinan ; at the last of those towns
were several of our ship's crew, and my servant. I had sufficient
evidence of their being treated with such barbarity that many
hundreds had perished ; and that thirty-six were buried in a hole
at Dinan in one day. When I came to England, still on parole.
I made known to the commissioners of sick and wounded seamen
the sundry particulars, which gained their attention and thanks.
Remonstrance was made to the French court \ our sailors had
redress ; and those that were in the three prisons mentioned
above were brought home in the first cartel ships. A lady from
Ireland, who married in France, had bequeathed in trust with
the magistrates of St. Maloes sundry charities, one of which was
a penny a day to every English prisoner of war at Dinan. This
was daily paid, and saved the lives of many brave and useful men.'^
On his return to England his attention was at first directed ta
Cardington, his paternal estate, upon the extension and improve-
ment of which he determined. He purchased an adjoining farm ;
and, residing upon his property, spent his days in supervising the
necessary alterations, promoting the welfare of his tenants, and
ministering to the wants of the poor and dependent. His leisure
he employed in literary pursuits ; and having been elected a
Fellow of the Royal Society (May 13, 1756), contributed three
papers to its " Transactions."
On the 25th of April, 1758, he married again, and this time
through affection rather than gratitude. This second Mrs.
Howard is described as possessing, in no ordinary degree, all the
softer virtues of her sex ; ** not deficient in personal attractions,
amiable in her disposition, and ardent in her affection ; ever con-
forming herself to her husband's wishes, and cheerfully seconding
the execution of all his plans. '^ But she was of a frail constitution,
and her health giving way, was ordered to try the more genial air
of the south coast. Howard accordingly purchased the estate oi
Watcombe, near Lymington, where he resided for three or four
years ; and then, the expected improvement in his wife's health
not having taken place, he returned to his beloved Cardington.
There he resumed his interrupted plans; he enlarged and
emoellished his house, re-arranged the grounds, and laid out the
^^6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
gardens in the new style which " Capability " Brown and other
reformers had recently introduced. A beautiful avenue of trees,
which encircled his whole demesne, was one of its most attractive
features. This still and shady grove was his favourite resort ;
and in its pleasant soHtude he spent many a lonely hour in
devising, and many a social one in communicating to his friends,
when devised, those "glorious schemes of benevolence, which
will never cease to impart to every spot his footsteps are known
to have traversed on so merciful an errand, a charm more
powerful than, without the magic influence of some such genius
of the place, can dwell in nature's loveliest or sublimest scenes."
This, however, was not his sole place of retirement. In a
sequestered part of the grounds he caused a rustic building to be
erected, a fabric made up of the roots and trunks of trees, with
a thatched roof. Its door and windows, we are told, were
" Gothic ; '* admitting light enough for studious reading, but
excluding all distracting glare. A monitory hour-glass occupied
a bracket in the interior; and places were also provided for a
model, some memorial of his former travels, and a female figure,
represented in a contemplative attitude. A small bookcase
enclosed some favourite volumes ; amongst them, the works of
Flavel, Hervey, Young, and Milton, and some popular treatises
on philosophical subjects. The following inscription faced the
visitor as he entered the door : —
** O solitude, blessed state of man below,
Friend to our thoughts and balm of all our woe ;
Far from thronged cities my abode remove
To realms of innocence and peace and love.
** That when the sable shades of death appear,
And life's clear light no more these eyes shall cheer,
Its work may be fulfilled — its prospects won —
By virtue measured, not a setting sun."
It must not be supposed that Howard led a solitary or ascetic
iife, for though his sobriety of manners and orderly habits unfitted
him for the riotous living then too common among the rural
gentry of England, he received his true friends with a hospitality
at once cordial and grateful. He always maintained a genial
intercourse with several of the first persons in his county who
HOWARD A MODEL LANDLORD. 277"
knew and respected his worth. ** Indeed," says Dr. Aikin, " how-
ever uncomplying he might be with the freedoms and irregularities
of polite life, he was by no means negligent of its received forms ;
and though he might be denominated a man of scruples and
singularities, no one would dispute his claim to the title of a
gentleman"
Howard seems to have been an exemplary landlord, though
with a disposition to exercise his authority somewhat arbitrarily,
or at least not in accordance with our modern ideas of the liberty
©f the subject Dr. Aikin represents it as the cardinal object of
his ambition, that the poor in his village should be the most
orderly in their manners, the neatest in their persons and habita-
tions, and possessed of the greatest share of the comforts of life,
that could be met with in any part of England. And as it was
his disposition to carry everything he undertook to the greatest
pitch of perfection, so he spared no pains or expense to effect his-
purpose. He began by building a number of neat cottages, to
each of which he allotted a small portion of garden ground and.
other conveniences. " In this project," says Dr. Aikin, " which,
might be considered as an object of taste, as well as of bene-
volence, he had the fuk concurrence of his excellent partner. I
remember his relating that once, having settled his accounts at
the close of a year, and found a balance in his favour, he pro-
posed to his wife to make use of it in a journey to London, or
any other gratification she chose. * What a pretty cottage it
would build ! ' was her answer, and the money was so employed.
He was careful to place in these comfortable abodes the soberest
and most industrious tenants he could find, over whom he ruled
with the directness of a paternal despot. He provided them with
employment, assisted them in distress and sickness, and educated
their children. In order to preserve their morals, he agreed with
them that they should regularly attend their several places of
worship, and abstain from public-houses and from such amuse-
ments as he considered pernicious. And obedience to these
rules he somewhat tyrannically enforced by making them tenants
at will. Patriarchal discipline of this type would hardly find
admirers or supporters in the present day ; but it appears to have
been attended with excellent results. Cardington, which at one-
time was infested with poverty and wretchedness, soon became
278 GOOD SAMARITANS.
one of the neatest and prettiest villages in the kingdom; exhibiting
all the gracious signs of competency and content, which are the
natural rewards of virtuous industry."
This life of peaceful and not unprofitable simplicity was darkly
overshadowed on the 31st of March, 1761, by the death of his
amiable wife Henrietta, a few weeks after the birth of a son. It
had been well if her offspring had died with her, for he lived only
to be a reproach and an affliction to the father whose mistaken
ideas of education crushed his young feelings, blighted his
sympathies, and forced his feet into that downward path which
leads the unhappy victim to destruction. Howard's theory ot
education was based upon a principle ; but then, unfortunately, it
was an erroneous one ; and if we argue from false premises, our
inferences will necessarily be false. Coleridge, in some exquisite
lines, has told us that if —
** O'er wayward childhood thou wouldst hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces,
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so
Do thou upbear the little world below
Of education — Patience, Love, and Hope."
Howard, on the other hand, thought that Fear was the leading
motive. He was of opinion that obedience was the first condition
on which the teacher must insist, and to secure it resorted to a
rigorous exercise of authority. Restraint, chastisement, compul-
sion — these were the methods of his rule. And with the natural
result, in his boyhood his son was slavishly submissive and com-
pliant, but in his youth, throwing off the yoke, he became a hopeless
profligate. No strong secret sympathies bound him to his father ;
no gracious associations endeared to him his home. He plunged
into the temptations which he had previously shunned, — not from
principle, but terror ; was hurried into gross sensualities ; an
mtellect never very strong broke down beneath the stress laid
upon it ; and his last years were passed under the fatal shadow
of insanity. The truth must be told, that Howard, in his domestic
•elations, permitted himself that benevolent despotism which he
practised in his relations towards his tenantry.
HIS CONTINENTAL TRAVELS AND THEIR RESULT. 27s
Howard's health again faiHng, he shut up his mansion at
Cardington, placed his son in a boarding-school at Cheshunt, and
started for the Continent in the summer of 1769. Landing at
Calais, he struck across France to the classic shores of Geneva,
and thence proceeded to Milan. There he was much shocked by
what he conceived to be the irreligious spirit of the Italians. In
his journal, under the date of November 26th, the following entry
occurs : —
" Having bought an Italian Almanack, I counted the Holy
days in Italy — thirty-one besides the fifty-two Sabbaths. Oh !
how is pure religion debased in these countries — preventing on so
many days the providing for a family by work, and allowing every
species of wickedness at little cabarets on the Sabbath-days !
How different to the primitive sacred Sabbath ! When men leave
the Holy Word and set up their own inventions, God often leaves
them — then how do they fall ! Blessed be God who has called us
Protestants out of darkness into His marvellous light ! Make me
more sensible, more thankful, O my God ! How much reason
have I to bless God for the Reformation I How is religion
debased into show and ceremony here in Italy ! Twenty saints'
days near together at Christmas ! poor creatures prevented from
getting their daily bread, thousands idling and miserable in the
streets."
Again, on the 30th, he writes from Turin : —
*' My return without seeing the southern parts of Italy was after
much deliberation. I found a misimprovement of a talent spent
fO" mere curiosity, at the loss of many Sabbaths; and as many
donations must be suspended for my pleasure, which would have
been, as I hope, contrary to the general conduct of my Hfe ; and
which, on a retrospective view on a death-bed, would cause pain
as unbecoming a disciple of Christ, whose mind should be formed
in my soul ; — these thoughts, with distance from my dear boy,
determine me to check my curiosity. Oh, why should vanity and
folly, pictures and baubles, or even the stupendous mountains,
beautiful hills, or rich valleys, which ere long will all be consumed,
engross the thoughts of a candidate for an everlasting kingdom !
A worm ever to crawl on earth, whom God has raised to the hope
of glory, which ere long will be revealed to them who are washed
and sanctified by faith in the blood of the Divine Redeemer !
28o GOOD SAMARITAI^S.
Look forward, O my soul ! How low, how mean, how little is
everythii g but what has a view to that glorious world of light, life,
and love ! The preparation of the heart is of God. Prepare the
heart, O God ! of Thy unworthy creature, and unto Thee be all
the glory through the boundless ages of Eternity !
" This night my trembling soul almost longs to take its flight,
to see and know the wonders of redeeming love, join the trium-
phant choir, sin and sorrow fled away, God my Redeemer all in
alL Oh, happy spirits that are safe in those mansions ! "
In spit of the exaggeration of this language, Howard's Christian
sincerity is not to be doubted; but the limitation of his views and
the narrowness of his intellectual scope are strikingly illustrated
by the act that his journals, which are full of those morbid self-
communions, contain no reference to the beauties of Nature, and
the masterpieces of Art, with all their rare grace and charm, which
everywhere surround the traveller in Italy. In truth, up to this
time Howard stands before us as simply an English country
gentleman, with warm religious feelings bordering upon Calvinism,
some slight amount of culture, a few very strong opinions and
rigid theories, much sobriety of temper, and practical common
sense. An excellent landlord, so long as his tenants do not
dispute his authority ; and an affectionate father, so long as his
son yields an implicit obedience. But as yet we find little to dis-
tinguish him, except his piety, from his brother squires ; and no
reason why he should have become known beyond his immediate
circle. He had found no special work in life to do ; and it
seemed probable that his career would be spent in alternate
residences at Cardington and visits to the Continent. For a man
to rise above his fellows, if he have not the impulse of genius, he
must have an object or a powerful motive. Howard as yet had
not discovered the object, or acknowledged the motive. His
mission had not devolved upon him ; and he groped his way
through the world with an almost Pharisaic conviction that he was
doing his best, and an occasional chant of humiliation, when he
remembered his faults, follies, and sins.
The work that was intended for him to do came to him in 1773,
when he was nominated High Sheriff of Bedfordshire. The office
was one which was generally held as conferring dignity rather than
imposing a duty, but Howard was too honest to accept the honour
HE TAKES UP HIS LIFE'S WORK, 281
without discharging the responsibilities. The county gaol was
under his jurisdiction, — that gaol of Bedford in which John
Bunyan had composed his wonderful allegory of " The Pilgrim's
Progress." He paid it a visit ; he observed the miserable condition
of its wretched inmates ; and then the aim and purpose of his
life rose suddenly upon him. Prison reform had been advocated
as early as 1701, when Dr. Bray, as representing the Society for
Promoting Christian Knowledge, had visited Newgate and other
prisons, and in a published essay described the crime and cruelty
and mismanagement which he found prevailing in them. But
nothing came of it. In 1729, a Parliamentary Committee inspected
the Metropolitan prisons, and brought to light a number of
atrocities, which temporarily shocked the public conscience. But
nothing came of it. The work was one which could be done only
by a man in earnest ; a man with the necessary leisure, with
adequate means; of a resolved and patient temper; and a
believer in the divine law of Charity. Such a man was Johj»
Howard, who—
" Touched with human woe, redressive searched
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ;
Unpitied and unheard where Misery moans ;
Where sickness pines ; where thirst and hunger burn.
And poor Misfortune feels the lash of Vice."
Howard himself has told us how he was led to embark upon
the enterprise which has invested his life with so pure and perma-
nent an interest, and rescued his name from the oblivion that
must otherwise have absorbed it.
" The distress of prisoners," he says, " of which there are few
who have not some imperfect idea, came more immediately under
my notice when I was sheriff of the county of Bedford, and the
circumstance which excited me to activity in their behalf, was the
seeing some, who, by the verdict of juries, were declared not
guilty ; some on whom the grand jury did not find such an ap-
pearance of guilt as subjected them to trial ; and some whose
prosecutors did not appear against them ; after having been
confined for months, dragged back to gaol and locked up again
till they should pay sundry fees to the gaoler, the clerk of
assize, etc.
18
282 GOOD SAMARITANS.
" In order to redress this hardship, I applied to the justices of
the county for a salary to the gaoler in lieu of his fees. The
Bench were properly affected with the grievance, and willing to
grant the relief desired, but they wanted a precedent for charging
the county with the expense. I therefore rode into several neigh-
bouring counties in search of one ; but I soon learned that the
same injustice was practised in them; and looking into the
prisons, beheld scenes of calamity which I grew daily more and
more anxious to alleviate. In order, therefore, to gain a more
perfect knowledge of the particulars and extent of it, by various
and accurate observation, I visited most of the county gaols in
England."
Howard began this tour of inspection in November. First he
visited the neighbouring prisons of Huntingdon and Cambridge,
then went farther afield, north, and south, and west, and east.
At Northampton the poor prisoners were allowed neither bedding
nor even straw. At Leicester the cells were damp, dark, and
offensive. At Nottingham, " down twenty-eight steps are three
rooms for criminals who can pay. Down twelve steps more are
deep dungeons cut in the sandy rock, very damp." Stafford,
Lichfield, Warwick, Worcester, — of all, the dreary record was the
same. At Gloucester he found that Robert Raikes had under-
taken the work of reform. He completed this, his first tour, at
Aylesbury, and returned to Cardington to rest. But what he
had seen preyed upon his generous spirit, and in ten days he
resumed his survey, resolved, when his facts were all marshalled
and prepared, to agitate for a redress of the existing evils.
At Salisbury, coal was allowed to the prisoners, but as they
had no chimneys in the wards, they kindled their fires on a raised
brick in the middle, and endured the smoke as best they could.
*' Just without the prison gate," says Howard, *' is a round staple
fixed in the wall ; through it is put a chain, at each end of which
a debtor, padlocked by the leg, stands, offering to those who pass
by, nets, laces, purses, etc., made in the prisons. At Christmas,
felons chained together are permitted to go about, one of them
carrying a sack or basket for food, another a box for money.'
Truly, we have in some things improved upon the usages of our
forefathers ! At Horsham was a prison with small rooms, but no
court for air or exercise. No straw was allowed ; the inmates
HOWARD BEGINS HIS TOUR OF INSPECTION. 283
slept Upon the boards. Howard adds that, when he and the
keeper entered, they saw a heap of rubbish. The prisoners had
been two or three days undermining, and had planned a general
escape for that night. "Our lives," he says, "were at their
mercy ; but, thank God, they did not attempt to murder us and
rush out."
At the inner door of the prison at York, Howard saw liquors
handed to those who seemed to have had enough before. Formerly
there was no water in this prison, except when there was too much,
that is, in a very high flood of the Ouse. " The felons' court,"
he says, '• is down five steps ; it is too small, and has no water ;
in it are three cells, in another place nine cells, and three in
another. The cells are in general about seven and a half feet by
six and a half, and eight and a half feet high, close and dark,
having only either a small hole over the door, or some perfora-
tions in it of about an inch in diameter, not any of them into the
open air, but into passages or entries. In most of these cells
three prisoners are locked up at night ; in winter for fourteen or
sixteen hours ; straw on the stone floors ; no bedsteads. There
are four condemned rooms, about seven feet square. A sewer
in one of the passages often makes these parts of the gaol very
offensive."
Is it to be wondered at that the young offender who passed
into one of these torture-chambers, half ashamed, half penitent,
emerged from it a hardened and desperate criminal ? Can one
imagine any process better adapted to fill the heart with rage
against all mankind, and to silence the faint whispers of an
uneasy conscience ?
After visiting Lincoln, Ely, Norwich, Ipswich, and Colchester,
Howard went to London. The county gaol at South wark he
describes as " having eighteen large rooms, yet not sufficient for
the number of prisoners. No bedding, no straw, no infirmary,
no chapel."
Through Devonshire the indefatigable philanthropist made his
way into Cornwall. The gaol at Lancaster he thus describes : —
" Though built on the large green belonging to the old ruinous
castle, it is very small. The prison is a room or passage, 2 7,^ feet
by 7^^, with only one window, 2 feet by i|^ : and three dungeons
or cages on the side opposite the window : these are about 6\ feet
284 GOOD SAMARITANS.
deep ; one 9 feet long ; one about 8 feet ; one not 5 feet : this
last for women. They are all very offensive. No chimney; no
water ; no sewers ; damp earth floors ; no infirmary. The court
not secure; and prisoners seldom permitted to go out to it.
Indeed, the whole prison is out of repair, and yet the gaoler
lives distant. I once found the prisoners chained two or three
together. Their provision was put down to them through a
hole (9 inches by 8) in the floor of the room above (used as a
chapel) ; and those who served them there often caught the
fatal fever. At my first visit I found the keeper, his assistant,
and all the prisoners but one sick of it, and heard that a few
years before many prisoners had died of it, and the keeper and
his wife in one night."
We need not go further. In each prison which Howard
visited he found the same great evils existing, and the result oi
his tour was the collection of a mass of evidence, which, when
brought before a committee of the House of Commons, excited
the greatest astonishment. Some measures were thereafter
enacted in 1774, which ensured the payment of prisoners'
charges out of the county rates, and provided more effectually
for the sanitary regulation of the gaols. These were the first
steps towards the Prison Reform on which Howard had set his
heart, and encouraged him to continue his well-directed labours.
The services which he had rendered to humanity were too
conspicuous to be overlooked ; and the thanks of the House of
Commons were unanimously voted.
With renewed activity, Howard took up his self-imposed
mission, in the discharge of which he manifested a remarkable
patience, and a power of endurance which is surprising, when we
consider how much he had suffered from ill-health. For in
Howard's time none of those facilities existed which now make
English travel so delightful. The highways were lamentably
ill-kept, and infested with robbers and mendicants ; and the
traveller's progress was slow and laborious. With an energy that
never tired, Howard proceeded from town to town, and gaol to
gaol, witnessing scenes of oppression and cruelty which shocked
his generous heart. In the noisome dungeon of Morpeth he found
three miserable creatures chained down, and deprived of every-
thing but just so much food as would sustain their wretched life.
/tA'IlTCHED condition of most of rnh rhlSONS. 285
At Newcastle, the prisoners confined there during the assizes,
men and women, were huddled together for four or five nights
in a dirty damp dungeon of the old Castle, in which, as it was
roofless, the water, in a wet season, stood some inches deep.
The county gaol at Chester was one of the worst in the
kingdom. " Down eighteen steps is a small court," says Howard,
" which was common to debtors and felons. It is lately divided ;
but the high close pales which separate the two courts, now so
very small, deprive both debtors and felons of the benefit of
fresh air : the former, in their free ward, the pope's kitchen ;
the latter in their day room, the king's kitchen. Both these are
six steps below the court : near the former is the condemned
room. Under the pope's kitchen is a dark room or passage :
the descent to it is by twenty-one steps from the court. No
window ; not a breath of fresh air ; only two apertures with
grates in the ceiling into the pope's kitchen above. On one
side of it are six cells {stalls), each about eight feet by three, with
a barrack bedstead, and an aperture over the door about eight
inches by four. In each of these are locked up at night some-
times three or four felons. They pitch these dungeons two or
three times a year : when I was in one of them, I ordered the
door to be shut, and my situation brought to mind what I had
heard of the Black Hole at Calcutta."
A great and pleasing contrast was presented at Maidstone.
There the gaoler received a salary, instead of making what
profit he could from bad liquor sold to the prisoners. The
fees of liberated criminals and of supposed culprits, when acquitted,
were discharged from the county funds. A comparatively liberal
allowance was made to felons, though Howard did not think it
was judiciously apportioned ; for each had a quart of beer and
eighteen ounces of bread a day, while no provision of the same
kind was made for the poor debtors. " The baker who serves
the felons," says Howard, "sells thirteen loaves to the dozen,
and debtors have amongst them every thirteenth loaf."
The work in which Howard was engaged made a large
demand on his humanity. He incurred no slight risk in visiting
these fever-haunted cells; and those for whom he exerted him-
self so bravely and patiently belonged to a class with which the
public have little sympathy. It seemed, indeed, almost a matter
286 GOOD SAMARITANS,
of course that harsh treatment should be meted out to the felon,
and it required all Howard's energy and perseverance to bring
about an improved state of public feeling. It was not then
accepted as a patent and obvious truism, that the very worst
thing you can do with a criminal is to place him in circumstances
and associations which absolutely preclude his amendment. As
for the poor debtors, the world regarded them with indifference,
if not with suspicion. They had failed, and the world has no
pity for failure. Some, perhaps, had failed through unavoidable
misfortunes ; but the prosperous are not prone to make distinc-
tions in their judgments. It is enough that you have not suc-
ceeded ; and nothing is so hard to be forgiven as want of success.
Thus Howard, in his benevolent crusade, met with little of that
encouragement which is derived from the approval and support
of your fellows, and by not a few he was regarded with a pity as
contemptuous as that which a wise world lavished upon Don
Quixote.
Even in the metropolis, the centre of the light and learning of
the country, under the very eyes of the Government, and within
sight of the educated, refined, and intelligent classes, the condi-
tion of the prisons was such that in our day it would provoke an
explosion of popular indignation. Something, indeed, had been
done in the way of amendment in 1729, as we have already
stated, but how much more remained to be done the reader may
infer from Howard's plain unvarnished description of the debtors'
prison, the Fleet. It was divided, he says, into four floors, or, as
they were called, galleries^ besides the cellar floor, which was
called Bartholomew Fair.
" On the first floor, the Hall Gallery, to which you ascend by
eight steps, are a chapel, a tap-room, a coffee-room (lately made
out of two rooms for debtors), a room for the turnkey, another
for the watchman, and eighteen rooms for prisoners. Besides the
coffee-room and tap-room, two of these eighteen rooms, and all
the cellar-floor, except a lock-up room to confine the disorderly,
and another room for the turnkey, were held by the tapster, who
bought the remainder of the lease 2X public auction.
" On the first gallery are twenty-five rooms for prisoners. On
the second twenty-seven : one of them, parting the staircase, is
their committee room. At the other end, in a large room over
LIFE ^N THE FLEET PRISON. 287
the chapel, is a dirty billiard table kept by the prisoner who
sleeps in that room. All the rooms I have mentioned are for
master-side debtors. The weekly rent of those not held by the
tapster is i^. 3^., unfurnished. They fall to the prisoners in
succession ; thus, when a room becomes vacant, the first prisoner
upon the list of such as have paid their entrance fees takes
possession of it. When the prison was built the warder gave
each prisoner his choice of a room according to his seniority as
prisoner. If all of them be occupied, a new comer must hire of
some tenant a part of his room, or shift as he can. Prisoners are
excluded from all right of succession to the rooms held by the
tapster, and let at the high rents aforesaid. The apartments for
common-side debtors are only part of the right wing of the prison.
Besides the cellar (which was intended for their kitchen, but
occupied with lumber and shut up) there are four floors. On
each floor is a room about 24 or 25 feet square, with a fire-place,
and on the sides seven closets or cabins to sleep in. Such of
those prisoners as swear in court that they are not worth ;^5, and
cannot subsist without charity (of them there were at one of my
visits sixteen, at other times not so many), have the donations
which are sent to the prison, the begging-box, and the grate.
*' I mentioned the billiard-table. They also play in the court
at skittles, mississippi, fives, tennis, etc. : and not only the
prisoners, but I saw among them several butchers, and others
from the market, who are admitted here as at any other public
house. The same may be seen in many other prisons, where
the gaoler keeps or lets the tap.
" Besides the inconvenience of this to prisoners, the frequenting
a prison lessens the dread of being confined in one. On Monday
night there was a wine club ; on Thursday night a beer club, each
lasting usually till one or two in the morning. I need not say
how much riot these occasion, and how the sober prisoners, and
those that are sick, are annoyed by them.
" Seeing the prison crowded with women and children, I pro-
cured an accurate list of them, and found that where there were
243 prisoners, their wives (including women of an appellation
not so honourable) and children were 475."
Howard's statement is fully borne out by contemporary evidence.
A few years prior to his visit, a poem, entitled " The Humours of
28S GOOD SAMARITANS.
the Fleet," was published by a debtor named Dance, the son of
the once-famous architect of Guy's Hospital. In its rude ryhmes
the author describes the various inmates of this " poor but merry
place," and the pastimes in which they find amusement; some
playing at rackets in the court, others at whist, billiards, or back-
gammon indoors ; while —
** Some, of low taste, ring hand-bells, direful noise !
And interrupt their fellows' harmless joys :
Disputes more noisy now a quarrel breeds.
And fools on both sides fall to loggerheads :
Till, wearied with persuasive thumps and blows,
They drink to friends, as if they ne'er were foes.'
No attempt seems to have been made by the authorities of the
prison to preserve peace or decorum, but the prisoners themselves
maintamed some semblance of order, by a rough-and-ready kind
of Ly«Ach law, offenders being forcibly carried to the common
y'V54. ind punished beneath the pump.
** Such the amusement of this merry jail.
Which you'll not reach, if friends or money fail ;
For ere its threefold gates it will unfold,
The destined captive must produce some gold.
Four guineas at the least for different fees
Completes your Habeas, and commands the keys ;
Which done and safely in, no more your bled.
If you have cash, you'll find a friend and bed ; —
But that deficient, you'll but ill betide, —
Lie in the hall, perhaps, or common-side."
As early as 169 1 an effort had been made to reform the
debtors' prisons of England by one Moses Pell, whose " Lives
of the Oppressed" is, he says, "a small book as full of tragedies
as pages ; they are not acted," he continues, " in foreign nations,
among Turks and infidels, papists and idolaters, but in this our
own country, by our own countrymen and relations to each
other ; not acted, time out of mind, by men many thousands or
hundred years agone, but now at this very day, by. men once
living in prosperity, wealth, and grandeur ; they are such
tragedies as no age or country can parallel." The contents of
this little volume, which include reports from sixty-five debtors*
prisons, fully bear out the truth of this announcement.
PRISONS A SCHOOL FOR CRIME. 289
Fielding, the novelist, in his "Amelia," draws a vivid sketch
of the condition of another great London goal. He represents
an ignorant Justice as committing '* Mr. Booth " to Bridewell,
upon a charge of assulting a watchman, when he had interfered
simply to prevent an outrage by two men of fortune, who bribed
the constable to let them escape. He goes to prison ; a number
of people surround him in the yard, and demand ** garnish,"
and the keeper explains to him that it is customary for every
new prisoner to treat the inmates with " something to drink," —
a phrase which seems to have been the great shibboleth of
•eighteenth-century England. But the young man has no money,
and the keeper looks on complacently while the vagabonds
strip him of his clothes. All persons sent to Bridewell, what-
•ever the character of their offences, were placed under exactly
the same discipline. There, street robbers, who were certain to
be hanged, were enjoying themselves over a pipe and a bottle
of wine ; the man without a shilling in his pocket had the
prison allowance of a penny loaf and a jug of water. Felons
and debtors were in a few cases separated; but, as a general
rule, prison discipline in those " good old times " made little,
if any, distinction between a burglar and a bankrupt.
In truth, a prison, as Howard's exertions proved conclusively,
was a scene of shameless extortion and barbarous oppression.
In such places as the Fleet, the King's Bench, and the Marshalsea,
and in not a few of the provincial gaols, drunkenness, lewdness,
and vice of every kind were permitted and even encouraged, for
the gaolers, profited by their prevalence. Gambling was coun-
tenanced in all its ruinous varieties. A prison, instead of being
a school of reform, was a den of iniquity. The duped there
learned to dupe and cheat in his turn, the knave grew more
skilful in his knavery ; and each, when released, went forth a
bolder and more unscrupulous proficient in the artifices of
•deception and the ways of crime.
Having inspected the most important prisons in England, the
"untiring philanthropist crossed the Welsh border. We find him
at Flint late in June, 1774, and before the end of July he had
visited Ruthin, Carnarvon, Doigelly, Montgomery, Presteign,
and Ludlow ; returning by way of Worcester and Oxford to his
GOOD SAMARITANS.
quiet retreat at Cardington. He resumed his chivalrous labours-
on the 28th, the special object of inquiry in this, his second
expedition, being the condition of the Bridewells or Houses of
Correction and the town as distinguished from the county gaols.
He found it as bad as the condition of the larger establishments-
At Taunton nearly one-half of the prisoners had recently been
swept away by the gaol fever, — a rough and expeditious modt
of gaol delivery, not very creditable to the humanity of Christian-
England. At Marlborough, "all the rooms," he says, "are oa
the ground floor ; and by a sewer within doors they are made
very offensive, especially the men's night room ; in which, when
I was there first, I saw one dying on the floor of the gaol fever.
The keeper told me that just before, one had died there, and
another soon after his discharge. Upstairs are the rooms for
those who pay. No court \ no water accessible to prisoners ;
no straw. Allowance to petty offenders, none ; felons twO'
pennyworth of bread a day." The greater a man's delinquencies
the larger seems to have been the allowance made him, and the
more generous his treatment; so that, in effect, a premium was
offered on crime.
The Bridewell at Hereford is " quite out of repair. Indeed^
it is not only ruinous, but dangerous. In the day-room there
was a large quantity of water from the roof. No fireplace;
offensive sewers ; no court ; no water ; no stated allowance ;
no employment; keeper's salary ;^io. Six prisoners, whom
I saw there at my first visit, complained of being almost
famished. They were sent hither from the assize a few days
before to hard labour (as the sentence usually runs) for six
months. The Justices had ordered the keeper to supply each
of them daily with a twopenny loaf : but he had neglected them.
They broke out soon after."
Passing over Bath, Hereford, Monmouth, Brecon, Cardigan,.
Haverfordwest, Carmarthen, Cambridge, Usk, Berkeley, Bristol,
Taunton, Bridgewater, Exeter, Bodmin, Lostwithiel — names
which indicate the great extent of country traversed by Howard —
we pause at Plymouth, where the town gaol almost literally
realized Milton's picture of Pandemonium as —
•* A dungeon horrible on all sides round :
No light J but rather darkness visible
HOWARD STANDS FOR THE BOROUGH OF BEDFORD, zuv
Served only to discover sights of woe.
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell."
We transcribe Howard's description of it : —
" Two rooms for felons ; and a large room above for debtors.
One of the former, the dink, seventeen feet by eight, about five
and a half feet high (so that its inmates could not stand upright),
with a wicket in the door seven inches by five, to admit light
and air. To this, as I was informed, those men who were
confined near two months under sentence of transportation, came
by turns for breath. The door had not been opened for five weeks-
when I with difficulty entered to see a pale inhabitant. He-
had been there ten weeks under sentence of transportation, and
he said he had much rather have been hanged than confined in
that noisome cell. No water ; no sewer ; no court. The gaolers,
live distant : they are the three Serjeants at mace. Fees 15.?. lod.,
no table. Allowance to debtors, none but on application ; felons,
two pennyworth of bread a day. No straw."
Through Dorsetshire and Hampshire Howard passed into-
Sussex, and thence retired to Cardington, to enjoy another brief
interval of repose, after traversing fifteen counties and painfully
inspecting fifty prisons. We are told that a prophet is not
honoured in his own country ; but Howard's philanthropy, in
its utter unselfishness, had moved the admiration of his neigh-
bours, and many of them desired to see him sent to Parliament
as their representative. Accordingly, he was induced (in 1755)
to stand candidate, in conjunction with Mr. Whitbread, to repre-
sent the borough of Bedford. Two worthier or more competent
representatives could not have been found ; but, after a sharp
and spirited contest, their two opponents were returned. Mr.
Whitbread and Mr. Howard petitioned the House to order an-
inquiry into the circumstances of the election ; and, in the
event, Mr. Whitbread and one of the sitting members were
declared duly elected. We think, with Dr. Aikin, that
Howard's failure on this occasion was a fortunate circumstance
for the good cause he had espoused ; for if he had obtained
a seat in the Commons, his plans of prison reform would have
necessarily been limited within a very great measure ; and the-
292 GOOD SAMARITANS.
collateral inquiries, which, to the signal gain of humanity, he
afterwards adopted, could never have existed.
He now resumed his travels through the counties of York,
Lancaster, and Warwick, visiting the Bridewells of Folkingham
and Huntingdon on his way, and inspecting that of Aylesbury
on his return. Between the 6th and i6th of December he
explored many of the prisons in Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Cam-
f bridgeshire, and Hertfordshire, and closed the record of charity
for 1774. Early in the following year he set off for Scotland;
then crossed the Channel to Ireland ; and having ascertained, by
close personal inspection, the condition of almost every prison
in the United Kingdom, he resolved upon giving to the world
the results of his long and various experience, and to suggest
what seemed to him necessary and essential reforms in the treat-
ment of criminals. But when he began to prepare his notes, it
occurred to him that much information useful to his purpose
might be collected abroad, and, laying aside his papers, he re-
solved upon travelling over France, Flanders, Holland, and
Belgium.
Leaving England in the middle of April, 1775, he speedily
arrived at Paris, where he made an unsuccessful effort to penetrate
into the interior of that fortress of tyranny, the Bastile, which,
within a few years, was to throw open its gates at the summons
of an infuriated populace and disgorge its victims. He gained
admission, however, to the Grand Chatelet, the Petit Chatelet,
and Fort I'Eveque. From France he crossed into Belgium, and
thence proceeded to Holland. He was much surprised and
highly delighted by the prisons of Brussels, in which the require-
ments of humanity had carefully been considered. The manage-
ment and discipline of the Maison de la Force, at Ghent,
surpassed, however, anything he had before seen, and earned
his unqualified praise. At Bruges, Antwerp, and Rotterdam he
was not less pleased.
At Delft he found some of his visions of prison reform antici-
pated. '' There were nearly ninety," he says, " in the House of
Correction ; men and women quite separate, all neat and clean,
and looking healthy. They told me their allowance was five stivers
a day. All employed on a woollen manufacture; women spin-
ning, carding, etc. ; some weaving, from coarse to very fine cloth ;
IMPROVED CONDITION OF FOREIGN PRISONS. 29J
their task, to earn thirty-five stivers a week. Some earn a small
surplus, but they have only half of it. A burgomaster, to whom
I mentioned that circumstance, said it was the truth. They do
not put more than eight or ten men to work in one room ; for
where large numbers are together one idle person corrupts more ;
and there is not generally so much work done. Here, also, if a
prisoner has behaved well for a few years, and given proofs of
amendment, the magistrates begin to abridge the time for which
he was sentenced. One whom I saw very cheerful told me the
cause of his joy was that a year had lately been taken from his term.""
Howard returned to England with his views on prison reform
confirmed, and in some directions enlarged. He could not
devote such prolonged and assiduous attention to the condition
of prisoners without being led to reflect upon the causes which
filled them with inmates. Foremost amongst these was the law
of imprisonment for debt, which inflicted upon the unfortunate,
the careless, and the fraudulent exactly the same punishment ;
and, when it was most needful that men should labour to retrieve
the past, doomed them to compulsory idleness. Next came the
Draconian character of the English statute-book, which might
almost be said to have been written in blood. "Death" was
inscribed upon every page. For the man who steals a purse,
death ; for the man who took his victim's life, death. Well might
Howard speak of them as " sanguinary laws," and express his
belief that their revisal and repeal would lead to the diminution
of crime. How could men be expected to regard the sanctity
of human life, when they saw the same value set on a man and
a rabbit? When poor wretches, guilty of nothing more than
some petty larceny, were hurried to " Tyburn tree," the spectator
could not but feel an emotion of pity. The design of the law
was counteracted, because, says Paley, it had a tendency which
sinks men's abhorrence of the crime in their commiseration of the
criminal. No axiom is more incontestable than that " crime thrives
upon severe penalties."
The appalling frequency of death punishments for even trifling
offences, and the large number of offenders who died of gaol
fever, may be understood from the following table, which is one
of Howard's : —
29+
GOOD SAMARITANS.
Shoplifting, riot, and twelve other
minor crimes .....
Defrauding creditors ....
Returning from transportation
Coining
Forgery
Horse-stealing
Highway robbery ....
Housebreaking
Murder
Sentenced
to death.
240
3
31
II
95
90
362
208
81
Pardoned, I
transported. Executed,
or died in
gaol.
131
9
I
24
68
90
9
443
109
3
22
10
71
22
251
118
72
678
Notwithstanding the protest of Howard, very little was effected
towards reform in our criminal laws until the subject was taken
up by Sir Samuel Romilly in 1808, who, in that year, carried a
Bill for the abolition of the punishment of death for privately
stealing from the person to the value of five shillings. He con-
tinued his exertions, supported by Wilberforce and Buxton, for
several years, and the work was afterwards taken up by Sir James
Mackintosh and Brougham. In 1833, the movement had so far
influenced public opinion, that a royal commission was appointed,
and, in 1837, the commissioners recommended the remission
of the death-penalty in twenty-one out of thirty-one cases in
which it could still be exacted. The Government adopted the
recommendation, and brought it before Parliament, when Mr.
Ewart moved an amendment confining the penalty of death to
deliberate murder only, but lost it by the narrow minority of one.
In 1 86 1, by the Criminal Law Consolidation Act, this object was
attained ; and capital punishment restricted to cases of treason
and murder. Let it be remembered that, in this work of wisdom
and mercy, John Howard was one of the first to put his hand to
the plough. Howard, too, was one of the first to deprecate
public executions, which, as Paley had already taught, had a direct
tendency to harden and deprave the public feelings. Commenting
upon the miserable scenes of bravado and ostentation which were
:::nacted at Tvhurn, he writes : — "An execution day is too much,
SECOND TOUR THROUGH ENGLAND. 295
with us, a day of riot and idleness ; and it is found, by experience,
that the minds of the populace are rather hardened by the spec-
tacle than affected in any salutary manner."
Howard returned from the Continent, with a rare wealth of facts
and experiences, in July 1775. After a short rest at Cardington,
he resolved on a second tour throughout the length and breadth
of England, in order to keep alive the growing feeling of public
indignation, and afford relief to the victims of misfortune or
oppression when suitable opportunities presented themselves.
Leaving home on the 8th of November, he revisited the gaols of
Huntingdon, Oakham, Leicester, Nottingham, Derby, and Stafford.
Thence he continued his explorations in the counties of Lancaster,
Chester, Salop, Montgomery, Radnor, Worcester, Hereford, and
Monmouth. Afterwards we find him going from Gloucestershire,
through Somersetshire and Devonshire, into Cornwall. From
Launceston his noble activity hurried him back to Dorchester, in
the prison of which he found an epidemic of small-pox raging.
The first day of 1776 found him at Reading, and the 6th at North-
ampton, so little time did he lose in the course of his benevolent
expeditions. And in succession, never growing disgusted or
discouraged by the monotony of his unwelcome task, he visited the
prisons at Daventry, Coventry, Chesterfield, Sheffield, and Thirsk.
Thence he struck northward to Berwick-upon-Tweed, and crossed
the breadth of England westward to merry Carlisle ; after which
he passed through Appleby and Kendal, Wakefield, Gainsborough,
and Spalding, Wisbeach, Ipswich, Woodbridge, and Beccies,
visiting the prison in each town.
On his way southward he took a day or two's rest at Cardington,
and, starting again on the 14th of February, traversed the shires of
Hereford, Kent, Sussex, Hants, and Dorset, before he made his
way to the Metropolis. There he carefully inspected Newgate,
the ^ Bridewell, the Savoy, and other places of ill repute, before
embarking on a second continental journey, which occupied the
months of June, July, and August. He observed at Geneva an
enlightened system of prison management in operation. "Felons,"
he says, " have each a room to themselves, that they may not,"
said the keeper, " tutor one another." None were in irons : they
were kept in rooms more or less strong and lightsome, according
to the crimes they were charged with. But the prisons are in
296 GOOD SAMARITANS.
general very strong. "The rooms are numbered, and the keys
marked with the same numbers. In most of them a German
stove. The common allowance sixpence a day."
In Holland, he says, the Government " do not transport convicts,
but men are put to labour in the rasp houses, and women to
proper work in the spin-houses, upon this professed maxim, Make
them diligent and they will be honest. The rasping logwood, which
was formerly the principal work done by the male convicts, is now
in many places performed at the mills much cheaper, and the
Dutch, finding woollen manufactures more profitable, have lately
set up several of them in those Houses of Correction. In some,
the work of the healthy prisoners does not only support them, but
they have a little extra time to earn somewhat for their better
living in prison, or for their benefit afterwards. Great care is taken
to give them moral and religious instruction, and to reform their
manners, for their own and the public good. The Chaplain (such
there is in every House of Correction) does not only perform public
worship, but privately instructs the prisoners, catechizes them
every week, and I am well informed that many come out sober
and honest."
Howard's reflections upon what he had seen abroad are well
worth quoting, in illustration of the calm judgment and strong
common sense which were his characteristic mental gifts.
" When I formerly made the tour of Europe," he says, "for the
benefit of my health, which I did some years ago, I seldom had
occasion to envy foreigners anything, either as it respected their
situation, religion, manners, or government. In my late journeys
to view their prisons, I was sometimes put to the blush for my
native country. The reader will scarcely feel, from my narration,
the same emotions of shame and regret as the comparisons excited
in me on beholding the difference with my own eyes ; but, from
the account I have given him of foreign prisons, he may judge
whether a desire of reforming our own be visionary ; whether
idleness, debauchery, disease, and famine be the necessary^
unavoidable attendants of a prison, or only connected with it in
our ideas, for want of a more perfect knowledge and more enlarged
views. I hope, too, that he will do me the justice to think that
neither an indiscriminate admiration of everything foreign, nor a
fondness of censuring everything at home, has influenced me to
HOWARD PUBLISHES HIS BOOK. 297
adopt the language of a panegyrist in this part of my work, or that
of a complainant in the rest. Where I have commended, I have
mentioned my reasons for so doing ; and I have dwelt, perhaps,
more minutely upon the management of foreign prisons because
it was more agreeable to me to praise than to condemn. Another
motive that induced me to be very particular in my account of
foreign Houses of Correction, was to counteract a prevailing opinion
among us, that compelling prisoners to work, especially in public,
is inconsistent with the principles of English liberty ; which, with
a strange absurdity, taking away the lives of numbers of our
countrymen, either by the hands of the executioner, or by diseases
which are almost inevitably the result of long confinement in our
close and damp prisons, seems to be little regarded. Of such
force is custom and prejudice in silencing the voice of good sense
and humanity ! I have only to add that, fully sensible of the
imperfections which must attend the cursory survey of a traveller,
it was my study to remedy that defect by a constant attention to
the one object of my pursuit alone, during the whole of my two.
last journeys abroad."
After another tour through a considerable portion of England,.
Howard betook himself, early in 1777, to Warrington, where his^
friend Dr. Aikin, a physician and a litterateur, — ^joint author with^
his sister, Mrs. Barbauld, of the once- famous ** Evenings at:
Home," — resided. He desired his assistance in preparing for the
press the materials he had so laboriously and conscientiously
collected. At Warrington he remained during the whole time
his book was in the printer's hands. His mode of living at this.-
time might have shamed many an anchorite. He rose at two,.,
and devoted five hours to the revision of his proof-sheets. At;
seven he dressed, finished breakfast by eight, betook himselft'
immediately to the printing-office, where he remained for severali
hours. Leaving with the workmen at one, he generally took a
stroll in the outskirts of the town, having first stored his pocket
with bread and dried fruit, which, with a glass of cold water,
formed his dinner-fare. The evening he spent with Dr. Aikin, or
some other friend, and returning to his lodgings, refreshed himself
with a little tea or coffee, and retired to rest.
The book so conscientiously prepared was at length finished ;
and, with a dedication to the House of Commons, was published
10
298 GOOD SAMARITANS.
in the month of April. Notwithstanding Dr. Aikin's labours of
revision, it exhibits little literary skill, but is a plain straightforward
record of Howard's actual experiences, — a description of what
he had seen and verified, — chiefly remarkable, apart from the
philanthropic bearings of its subject, for the extreme care with
which all the details are presented. The reader feels that every
statement is authentic ; that there is no exaggeration ; and per-
haps the thought crosses his mind that, in the hands of a practised
writer, the story might easily have been told in such a way as to
have lighted a flame of indignation from one end of England
to the other. But Howard deliberately sets aside his many
opportunities for sensational efl'ects ; he appeals to the judgment,
and not the imagination ; his case is so strong, that he thinks
it unnecessary to heighten it by any rhetorical graces, if such he
Ihad had at his command.
Howard's book was not without result. Its exposures attracted
the attention of the legislature, and some improvements were at
once introduced into the administration of our prisons, though
not that thorough reform which Howard had proved to be
^necessary. Feeling that the mind of the public must still be
•directed to the subject, he set out in April 1778 on another
•continental tour. At Amsterdam he met with an accident, which
disabled him for several weeks ; but as soon as he was declared
•convalescent, he resumed his mission of charity. For the works
of art and the memorials of antiquity which " renowned " many
of the cities he visited, the single-minded philanthropist seems
to have had no eyes ; all his thoughts centred in the prisons and
Bridewells, in which crime and misfortune found an asylum or a
place of punishment. Through Holland he passed into Germany,
which was then disturbed with rumours of war between the
Emperor and the King of Prussia. He visited Berlin, and the
famous fortress-prisons of Spandau, Prague, and Vienna. In the
great prison of the Austrian capital, La Maison de Bourreau, he
saw an affecting sight. " There are," he says, " many dungeons.
As usual, I inquired whether they had any putrid fever, and was
answered in the negative. But, in one of the dark dungeons
down twenty-five steps, I thought I had found a prisoner with
the gaol fever. He was loaded with heavy irons, and chained
to the wall ; anguish and misery appeared with clotted tears on
WHAT BURKE SAID OF HIM. 299
his face. He was not capable of speaking to me, but on ex-
amining his breast and feet for petechice^ or spots, and finding he
had a strong intermitting pulse, I was convinced that he was not
ill of that disorder. A prisoner in an opposite cell told me that
the poor creature had desired him to call out for assistance, and
he had done it, but was not heard."
This incident has been introduced by the amiable versifier,
Hayley, whom our forefathers elevated into a poet, in his curious
" Ode to Howard : "
•* When, in the dungeon's loathsome shade,
The speechless captive clanks his chain,
With heartless hope to raise that aid, —
His feeble cries have called in vain ;
Thine eye his dumb complaint explores ;
Thy voice his parting breath restores ;
Thy cares his ghastly visage clear
From death's chill dew, with many a clotted tear,
And to his thankful soul returning life endear."*
* The finest compliment ever paid to Howard was paid by Burke in his
speech at the Bristol election in 1780 : — *' I cannot name this gentleman," he
says, "without remarking that his labours and writings have done much to
open the eyes and hearts of mankind. He has visited all Europe, not to
survey the sumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to
make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to
form a scale of the curiosities of modern art ; not to collect medals, or
to collate manuscripts ; but to dive into- the depths of dungeons ; to plunge
into the infections of hospitals ; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain ;
and to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt ;
to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken,
and compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries. His plan
is original, and it is as full of genius as it is of humanity. It was a voyage
of discovery; a circumnavigation of charity. Already the benefit of his
labour is felt more or less in every country. I hope he will anticipate his final
reward, by seeing all its effects fully realized in his own. He will receive, not
by retail, but in gross, the reward of those who visit the prisoner ; and he has
so forestalled and monopolised this branch of charity, that there will be, I
trust, little room to assist by such acts of benevolence hereafter. "
In this anticipation Burke was sadly mistaken. That Howard's exertions
effected a considerable reform is undoubtedly true, and his is the glory of
having made the subject one of general and permanent interest. But the
buses in our debtors' prisons continued down to their abolition in 1844, as
Dickens has shown in his " Pickwick Papers ; " while the reader of Charles
ileade's *' Never too Late to Mend," which was based upon parliamentary
300 GOOD SAMARITANS.
At Vienna Howard dined with Sir R. Murray Keith, the
English ambassador. The conversation turned upon the torture,
when a German gentleman who was present observed that the
glory of abolishing it in his own dominions belonged to the
Emperor. " Pardon me," replied Howard, boldly ; " his Imperial
Majesty has abolished one kind of torture only to establish in its
place another more cruel ; for the torture which he abolished
lasted, at tlie most, but a few hours, while that which he has
appointed lasts many weeks, nay, sometimes years. The poor
wretches are plunged into a noisome dungeon as bad as the
Black Hole at Calcutta, from which they are taken out only if
they confess what is laid to their charge." "Hush!" said
the ambassador, " your words will be reported to His Majesty.""
" What ! " replied he, " shall my tongue be tied from speaking
truth by any king or emperor in the world ? I repeat what I
asserted, and maintain its veracity." A profound silence ensued ;.
but everyone present, we are assured, admired the courageous,
plain speaking of " the man of humanity."
papers, knows that our criminals were subjected to gross tyranny and cruel
oppression even to a very recent date.
A poet of a very different calibre to Hayley — the poet of " The Task '*"
--celebrates Howard in his poem on " Charity — "
** I fear the shame
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim),
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign,
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine ;
To quit the bliss that rural scenes bestow,
To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe ;
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge, such as only dungeons teach,
And only sympathy like thine could reach ;
That grief, sequestered from the public stage,
Might smooth her features and enjoy her cage ;— -
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriots might be proud to feel.
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
"Were hushed in favour of thy generous plea.
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy tee
CONDITION OF ITALIAN PRISONS. 301
Proceeding into Italy, Howard visited the celebrated Career i^
or dungeons, of Venice. There were between three and four
hundred prisoners, many of them confined for life in these dark
and loathsome cells. He asked some who had been imprisoned
for years whether they would prefer the galleys with all their
horrors, and was answered eagerly in the affirmative, because the
galley-slaves enjoyed light and air. The Careen were connected
by the famous Ponte dei Sospere, or Bridge of Sighs, with the prisons
of the Sotto Piombi^ i.e.^ " under the leads," situated at the top
of the Ducal Palace. Here, from 1820 to 1830, was confined
the Venetian Tyrtaeus, the patriotic poet Silvio Pellico, who, in his
book, Le Mie Prigione^ has revealed the secrets of his prison-
place. They are terrible enough, those dark, stifling, miserable
cells : but far more appalling are the Pozziy or dungeons, in the
lower stories, which can be reached only by obscure and intricate
passages. The lowermost tier are dark as Erebus, dark with
a darkness which can almost be felt ; so that one wonders if the
mind exposed to their unutterable horror could long retain its
balance. Each is square, with a kind of slab to serve for the
prisoner's bed ; and here, in a swampy cell, the walls of which
dripped with water, the unhappy captive, innocent, perhaps, of
every crime, except that of being unfortunate, — ignorant, very
often, of what offence he was accused, was doomed to linger
through the wretched years, until madness released him from the
power of memory, and the bitterness of regret ; or death mercifully
took him to its welcome repose. The modern apologists of the
Venetian oligarchy pretend that the poor wretches doomed to
these awful dungeons were all abandoned criminals ; but even if
their hypotheses were better founded than they can show them to
have been, what shall we think of the lenity of a government
which inflicted even on the vilest the torture of a slow and gradual
death !
From Venice Howard went to Florence, passing through
Padua, Ferarra, and Bologna ; thence to Leghorn and Loretto,
and next arrived at Rome, where the condition of the prisons
did no credit to the Papal Government. He says : —
'* There are eighteen strong rooms for the men, which are close
and offensive ; each of them having but one window for admitting
light and air. These rooms are never opened without an order
302 GOOD SAMARITANS.
from the governor of the city. There were thirty-six prisoners.
They are not permitted to go out of their rooms at any time but
for examination. Some, having been confined there many years,
appeared with pale sickly countenances, but none were in irons.
There is a chamber for distracted prisoners, in which were seven
i miserable objects. I wish I could say I had seen no torture
\ chamber.
"Besides the torture-chamber, at one corner of this building
were placed a pulley and rope, by which malefactors, with their
hands behind them, were pulled up ; and, after being suspended
for some time, were inhumanly let down part of the way, when,
by a sudden jerk, their arms were dislocated.
" The State prisoners are confined in the Castle of San Angelo,
the ancient Mausoleum HadrianV^
As to the galleys at Civita Vecchia, Howard writes : —
"The slaves condemned to them are confined for different
times, according to the nature of their crimes : but the shortest
time is three years, for vagabonds, who are generally employed on
board the pontoons in clearing the harbour. For theft, the term
is never under seven years. Persons convicted of forgery are
always confined for life ; and if found guilty of forging bank-notes
or any instruments by which large sums have been lost, they are
punished with an iron glove. Prisoners for life are chained two
and two together " [a circumstance of which Bulwer Lytton has
made effective use in his novel of " Lucretia"] ; "those for Imiited
terms have all a single chain, and, at their first arrival, of the same
weight ; but when they have no more than one or two years to
serve, they have only a ring round their leg, which is lessened as
the end of their time approaches. For escapes, they are obliged
to finish their first condemnation, and then receive a fresh one
for the same time as the former ; but if the first was for life, the
same is renewed, and they receive from a hundred to two hundred
lashes a day for three days after their arrival."*
* No improvement had taken place in the Roman prison system when Fowell
Buxton visited the Holy City half a century later. Writing of the prison of
Civita Vecchia, he says : — " It is an old and strong fortress close by the sea,
containing 1,364 desperate-looking criminals, all for the most aggravated
offences," — some rendered more brutal, if possible, by their enforced inter-
course and communication with one another. " We went, first, into a vaulted
BUXTON'S TESTIMONY REGARDING ROMAN PRISONS, 303
After revisiting the prisons in Switzerland, Howard rapidly
traversed Germany, and proceeded, by way of Frankfort, Cologne,
and Aix-la-Chapelle, to Liege, which, in the annals of inhumanity,
as recorded by our philanthropist, occupies an evilly conspicuous
place. Once more we must let Howard speak for himself, and in
his own simply expressive language describe the atrocities of its
prison system.
" The two prisons at Liege," he says, " the old and the new,
are on the ramparts. In two rooms of the old prison I saw six
cages, made very strong with iron hoops, four of which were
empty. These were dismal places of confinement, but I soon
found worse, in descending deep below ground from the gaoler's
apartments. I heard the moans of the miserable wretches in the
dark dungeons. The sides and roof were all stone. In wet
weather, water from the fosse gets into them, and has greatly
damaged the floors. Each of them had two small apertures, one
for admitting air, and the other with a shutter over it strongly
bolted, for putting in food to the prisoners. One dungeon larger
than the rest was appropriated to the sick. In looking into this
with a candle I discovered a stove, and felt some surprise at this
little escape of humanity from the men who constructed these
cells.
room, with a low ceiling, as I measured it, thirty-one yards long, twenty-one
broad. There was light, but obscure. A good deal of the room was taken up
by the buttresses which supported the arches. The noise on our entrance was
such as may be imagined at the entrance of hell itself. All were chained most
heavily, and fastened down. The murderers and desperate bandits are fixed tc^
that spot for the rest of their lives ; they are chained to a ring fastened to the
end of the platform, on which they lie side by side, but they can move the
length of their chain on a narrow gangway. Of this class, there were upwards
of 700 in the prison ; some of them famed for a multitude of murders ; many,
we are told, had committed six or seven ; and indeed, they were a ghastly
crew, — haggard, ferocious, reckless assassins. I do not think that the attendant
gaoler very much liked our being there. A sergeant, in uniform, was ordered
to keep close by me ; and I observed that he kept his hand upon his sword, as.
he walked up the alley between the adjacent platforms.
"There was a fourth room at some distance, and our guide employed many
expedients to divert us from going there. . . . This was worse than any of the
others : the room lower, damper, darker, and the prisoners with, if possible, a
more murderous look. . . . The mayor afterwards told us, that he, in his official
capacity, knew that there was a murder every month among the prisoners, 1
j04 GOOD SAMARITANS.
"The dungeons in the new prison are abodes of misery still
more shocking ; and confinement in them so overpowers human
nature, as sometimes irrevocably to take away the senses. I heard
the cries of the distracted as I went down to them. One woman,
however, I saw, who (as I was told) had sustained this horrid
confinement forty-seven years without becoming distracted. The
cries of the sufferers in the torture-chamber may be heard by
passengers without, and guards are placed to prevent them from
stopping and listening. A physician and surgeon always attend
when the torture is applied, and on a signal given by a bell, the
gaoler brings in wine, vinegar, and water, to prevent the sufferers
from expiring. *The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel'
Thus, in the Spanish inquisition, the physician and surgeon
attend to determine the utmost extremity of suffering without
expiring under the torture."
At Antwerp, he writes, " there are two rooms for citizens ; and
upstairs there is a cage, about six feet and a half square, into
which criminals are put before the torture. A criminal, while
he suffers the torture, is clothed in a long shirt, has his eyes
bound, and a physician and surgeon attend him, and when a
confession is forced from him, and wine has been given him, he
sjioke to a good many of them, and, with one exception, each said that he was
condemned for murder or stabbing. I will tell you one short conversation : —
' What are you here for?' said I, to a heavy-looking fellow, lying on his back
at the end of the room. He made no answer ; but a prisoner near him, with
the sharp features and dark complexion of an Italian, promptly said, * He is
here for stabbing ' (giving a thrust with his hand to show how it was done).
* And why is he in this part of the prison?' 'Because he is incorrigible.'
* And what were you condemned for ? ' ' For murder.' * And why placed
here?' ^ Sono incorrigibile'' {V 2SCi. incorrigible). In short, this prison com-
bines together, in excess, all the evils of which prisons are capable. It is, as
the mayor said, a sink of all the iniquity of the State. The Capuchins certainly
preach them a sermon on the Sunday, and afford them an opportunity of con-
fession ; of which, if the prisoners avail themselves, the priests must have
enough to do. The sight of it has kindled in my mind a very strong desire,
that the old Prison Discipline Society should make a great effort, and visit all
the prisons of the world. I had hoped that sound principles of prison disci-
pline had spread themselves more widely, but I now fear that there are places,
and many of them, in the world, in which it is horrible that human beings
should live, and still more horrible that they should die." — Memoirs of Sir
Thomas Fowell Buxton, pp. 496, 497.
PUBLICATION OF SECOND BOOK— THE BASTILE. 305
is required to sign his confession ; and about forty-eight hours
afterwards he is executed.
" In a small dungeon is a stone seat, like some I have seen in
old prison towers, in which it is said that formerly prisoners were
suffocated by brimstone when their families wished to avoid the
disgrace of a public execution. No person here remembers an
ixiStance of this kind, bat about thirty years ago there was a
private execution in the prison."
In the early part of 1779, Howard undertook another survey of
the prisons in Cornwall, Somerset, and Devon. A fortnight's
rest at Cardington, and then he was off to Oxfordshire and
Buckinghamshire. With brief intervals of rest, the spring was
occupied in visiting the prisons in various parts of England ;
June and July were devoted to Ireland and Scotland ; and the
i;est of the year this ubiquitous man, who almost emulated the
Wandering Jew in activity, spent in North Wales, in the eastern
bounties, and in Bedfordshire. The notes collected during these
and other expeditions, which in all had covered eleven thousand
miles, he prepared for the press, and proceeded to Warrington
to print them, as before, with Dr. Aikin's assistance. Under the
title of " An Appendix to the State of Prisons," and in the form
of a quarto volume of 220 pp., he published them in the early
part of 1780; and at the same time he gave to the world a
pamphlet descriptive of the horrors of the Bastile, translated from
the narrative of one who had experienced them.
Howard appears to have thought nothing done while anything
remained undone. His wanderings had not touched the north of
Europe, nor had the influence of his mission of charity extended
thither. In May, 1 78 1 , he resolved to remedy this omission ; crossed
to Ostend, then proceeded to Bremen and Hamburg, and in July
arrived at Copenhagen. In Denmark he found the whipping-
post recognized as one of the institutions of the country, and
ascertained that for some offences a curious punishment had
been instituted, that of the Spanish mantle, — a kind of band,
narrow at the top, which was placed over the delinquent's
head and shoulders, reaching down to his knees. Both at
Copenhagen and Stockholm he discovered that the prisons
were in a very unsatisfactory state. Proceeding into Russia, he
3o6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
witnessed at St. Petersburg the infliction of tiie punishment
of the knout.
"August loth, 1781. I saw two criminals, a man and a
woman, suffer the punishment of the knout. They were con-
ducted from prison by about fifteen hussars and ten soldiers.
When they arrived at the place of punishment, the hussars formed
themselves into a ring round the whipping-post, the drum beat
a minute or two, and then some prayers were read, the populace
taking off their hats. The woman was taken first, and after being
roughly stripped to the waist, her hands and feet were bound
with cords to a post made for the purpose, a man standing before
the post, and holding the cords to keep them tight. A servant
attended the executioner, and both were stout men. The ser-
vant first marked his ground and struck the woman five times-
on the back. Every stroke seemed to penetrate deep into the
flesh. But his master, thinking him too gentle, pushed him
aside, took his place, and gave all the remaining strokes himself,
which were evidently more severe. The woman received twenty-
five, and the man sixty. I passed through the hussars, and
counted the number as they were chalked on a board ; both
seemed but just alive, especially the man, who yet had strength
enough to receive a small donation with some signs of gratitude.
They were conducted back to prison in a little waggon. 1 saw
the woman in a very weak condition some days after, but could
not find the man any more."
The knout-whip was a formidable instrument ; fixed to a wooden
handle, one foot in length, were several thongs, about two feet
long, twisted together ; to the end of these was fastened a single
tough thong of about eighteen inches, tapering towards a pointy
and capable of being changed by the executioner for a fresh one
when too much softened by the victim's blood.
From St Petersburg, Howard, though suffering from ague,
hurried to Moscow. Thence he proceeded to Breslau, and from
Breslau to Berlin, and from Berlin to Hanover. On his way to
the latter city an incident occurred characteristic of Howard's
John BuUism. He came to a very narrow part of the highway,
where only one carriage could pass at a time ; and, to prevent a
collision, postilions entering at each end were required to blow
their horns by way of notice. Howard's postilion obeyed the
MAINTAINS THE PREROGATIVE OF AN ENGLISHMAN. 307
rule; but, after pushing forward a considerable distance, they
met a courier, travelling on the king's business, who had coolly
ignored it. The courier ordered Mr. Howard's postilion to turn
back ; but Mr. Howard remonstrated that he had complied with
the regulations while the other had violated it, and, therefore,
should insist on prosecuting his journey. Relying on an authority
which, in Prussia, was supreme above rules and regulations, the
courier indulged in high words and menaces, but in vain. As
neither was disposed to yield, they sat still for a long time in
their respective carriages ; until the courier at length gave up the
point to the imperturbable Englishman, who would on no account
renounce his rights.
Our humane traveller again made acquaintance with the prisons
of Holland and Flanders, and having accomplished a journey of
4,465 miles wholly in the cause of charity, returned to England
towards the close of the year 1781.
Having spent his Christmas at Cardington, and made arrange-
ments for the further education of his son, he began, on the 21st
of January, 1782, his third general inspection of English prisons.
It is unnecessary for us to follow his steps in this philanthropic
journey. Afterwards he went to Scotland ; then crossed to Ire-
land, where the University of Dublin honoured him with the
complimentary degree of D.C.L. ; returned through North Wales
to Shrewsbury ; thence to Birmingham ; and onwards to London.
He spent a few summer days at Cardington, and then struck into
the south-western counties. Still unwearied, the philanthropist
hastened away to Scotland, and re-inspected its principal gaols, —
the second visit in the same year. Again he visited Ireland, North
Wales, South Wales, Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, Hampshire,
and Bedfordshire. After a brief stay at Cardington he turned
his face northward, and revisited the Yorkshire gaols. We find
him^ later on, in Staffordshire ; towards the end of November, in
Kent and Sussex ; in December, in Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire^
and Berkshire, closing the exertions of a year, during which he
had travelled upwards of 8,000 miles, in London. Altogether
apart from the noble motives which actuated him, and the bene-
fits he conferred upon suffering humanity, one cannot but admire
the dauntless courage and surpassing energy which sustained him
during these extensive and prolonged journeys. If we bestow our
3o8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
praise on the traveller who accomplishes a voyage round the
world for scientific objects, or to gratify his love of novelty, shall
we not reserve some eulogium for him who, in the sweet name
of Charity, undergoes such extraordinary exertions and carries out
such laborious, continuous, and almost incredible expeditions ?
On the 31st of January, 1783, Howard embarked at Falmouth
in quest of " fresh fields and pastures new." As one of his
biographers puts it, Charity had now conducted her "chosen
servant" through all the European countries excepting Spain
and Portugal. To the latter he had long since directed his
•course, but it was not to labour or to disperse relief in the
sphere which had been determined ; his progress therefore was
arrested, and by the discipline of experience he learned to sym-
pathize with the special objects he had been selected to relieve.
Now his purpose is in accordance with that appointed, and shall
therefore be accomplished. He goes as the almoner of charity
to the prisoner and the captive, the messenger of mercy to the
outcast.
From Lisbon, crossing the Spanish frontier, Howard travelled,
by way of Badajoz and Toledo, to Madrid. At Valladolid he
endeavoured to obtain admission to the prisons of the Inquisition,
but while allowed to inspect the council chambers and offices,
into the more secret recesses was not allowed to set his heretical
feet. None but prisoners, he was told, passed their dreadful
threshold. "I would willingly become one for a month," said
Howard, " if the permission might be granted on that condition."
I'hree years, he learned, was the shortest space for which any
were consigned to the worse than sepulchral gloom of thofe awful
chambers. He was assured, moreover, that their wretched in-
mates were beyond the reach of compassion. Piteous wails might
be uttered within their walls, but no appeal disturbed the " death-
like stillness " around their doors.
His European tour, this year, included France, Holland, and
Belgium, and was conducted with characteristic energy and
alacrity. He returned to England on or about the 23rd of
June. In a journey through Ireland he was accompanied by
his son. About the middle of August he crossed over to Holy-
head, and thence made his way to his estate at Cardington. It
was at this period that his domestic peace was first clouded over
HE VISITS THE EUROPEAN lAZARETTOS. 309.
by the discovery of his son's profligate habits. To wean him
froii). them Howard sent him to Cambridge, entered him at
St. John's College, and placed him under the special care of
one of the Fellows.
A new mission of humanity was undertaken by the philan-
thropist — few have ever better deserved this exalted title ! — in
the course of 1785. He resolved to "confront death in its
most frightful form," and, at the risk of his life, to avert from,
his fellows the scourge by which so many thousands had perished.
In other words, he decided to enter upon a personal investigation
of the means, if any, by which the progress of that terrible epi-
demic, significantly known as " the plague," might be averted -y.
and, for that purpose, to visit the lazarettos of Europe.
The plague may be described as a singularly malignant epi-
demical fever, the seat of which appears to be the countries
bordering upon the eastern extremity of the Mediterranean. In
the 14th century we first hear of its introduction into England,
under the name of the Black Death. In the three following,
centuries it frequently visited Western Europe. In England its
last appearance was in 1665, when it ravaged London with awful
severity. In 1720 it swept away nearly half the population of
Marseilles; but since 1790 it has been almost unknown in the
western countries of Europe, and is now confined to Egypt, Syria,
Greece, and Turkey. The exact character of the disease defies
medical research. A subtle and mysterious poison is absorbed
into the blood, the composition of which and the condition of the
tissues it almost immediately alters. Few of those attacked by it
recover. It is one of the most fatal as well as disgusting of the
maladies which afflict mankind ; and the extent of its ravages may
be inferred from the number of victims who fell in London alone
during the visitation of 1665 : — in June, 590 ; in July, 4,129 ;.
in August, 20,046; in September, 26,230; in October, 14,373 ;
in November, 3,449 ; in December, about 950.*
* In Professor's Wilson's **City of the Plague" occurs an impressive
description of the outbreak of the pestilence : —
" Like a thunder-peal
Once more a rumour turned the city pale ;
And the tongues of men, wild-staring on each other
Uttered with faltering^ voice one little word,
310 GOOD SAMARITANS,
Armed with a list of queries, supplied by his medical friends,
Drs. Aikin and Jebb, Howard sailed for Holland in November
1785. It waf: his object to begin his inquiries at Marseilles, but
knowing how jealously the French watched over their Levantine
commerce, he foresaw that to gain access to the lazaretto of that
port would be a difficult task. He solicited, therefore, the good
offices of the Foreign Secretary, Lord Carmarthen. At Utrecht he
received a despatch informing him that his request was refused,
and that he was prohibited from entering France at all. But
Howard never abandoned a settled resolve; and considering that
any report of lazarettos which omitted a description of that of
Marseilles would resemble the play of " Hamlet " without Hamlet,
he determined on making a personal inspection, or sacrificing
himself in the attempt. Proceeding by way of Dort, Antwerp,
and Brussels, he reached Paris in a few days. To avoid detection
he retired to an obscure hotel, having taken his place by the Lyons
diligence which started on the following morning. At 'an early
hour he went to bed, and about midnight, was aroused by a violent
knocking. On throwing open the door, a servant entered, with ^
' The plague ! ' Then many heard within their dreams
At dead of night a voice foreboding woe,
And rose up in their terror, and forsook
Homes, in the haunted darkness of despair
No more endurable. As thunder quails
Th' inferior creatures of the air and earth,
So cowed the Plague at once all human souls,
Vnd the brave man beside the natural coward
A/'alked trembling. On the restless multitude,
Thoughtlessly toiling through a busy life,
Nor hearing in the tumult of their souls
The ordinary language of decay,
A voice came down that made itself be heard,
And they started from delusion when the touch
Of Death's benumbing fingers suddenly
Swept off whole crowded streets into the grave.
Then rose a direful struggle with the Pest !
Then the Plague
Stormed, raging like a barbarous conqueror ;
And hopeless to find mercy, every one
Fell on his face, and all who rose again
Crouched to the earth in suppliant agony."
(Pp. 145 - 147.)
VISITS DISCOURAGED BY FRENCH GOVERNMENT. 311
■candle in each hand, preceding a man in black clothes, with a
sword at his side, who in a voice of authority demanded if his
name were not Howard. " Yes ; and what of that ? " he replied.
" Did you come to Paris in the Brussels diligence, accompanied
by a man in a black wig ? " He paid no attention to such trifles,
was the answer ; and the intruder then withdrew. Howard was
not again disturbed, and at the appointed hour set off for Lyons,
travelling in the character of an English physician. From Lyons
he made his way to Marseilles, where his friend, the Rev. Mr.
Durrand, at once said to him. — " Mr. Howard, I have always
been glad to see you until now. Leave France as fast as you
can; I know they are searching for you in all directions." Here,
too, he ascertained that the man in a black wig, who travelled
with him to Paris, had been sent as a spy by the French ambassa-
dor at the Hague, and that his not being arrested was due to the
accidental circumstance that the prefect had left Paris for the day,
and had given orders that no arrests should be made until his
return. The timorous advice of his friend Howard rejected, and
he contrived to gain admission to the lazaretto, and all the
particulars he required.
Hearing of an interesting prisoner in the galleys at Toulon,
Howard set off to visit him. He says : — " Protestants are not
compelled to attend mass. The last person who was confined for
his religion was released about eight years ago. There is but one
slave here who now professes himself a Protestant, and his name
is Frangois Conde. He has been confined in the galleys forty-
two years, for being concerned with some boys in a quarrel with
a gentleman (who lost his gold-headed cane) in a private house
in Paris. The boys were apprehended, and this Cond^, though
■only fourteen years of age, and lame of one arm, was condemned
to the galleys for life. After four or five years he procured a
Bible and learned by himself to read ; and becoming, through
close application to the Scriptures, convinced that his religion
was anti-Christian, he publicly renounced it, and declared and
•defended his sentiments. Ever since he has continued a steady
Protestant, humble and modest, with a character irreproachable
and exemplary, respected and esteemed by his ofTficers and fellow-
prisoners. I brought away with me some musical pipes of his
turning and tuning. He was in the galley appropriated to the
312 GOOD SAMARITANS.
infirm and aged ; and these, besides the usual allowance of bread,
have an additional allowance from the king of nine sous a day."
Howard next visited the prisons and hospitals at Nice, Genoa,
and Leghorn, at Pisa and Florence. At Rome the Pope honoured
him with an interview, and on taking leave, clasped his hand,
uttering the well-known words : — " I know you Englishmen do
not value these things, but the blessing of an old man can do
you no harm."
From Malta Howard addressed a letter to a friend, which may
be quoted as a specimen of the plain and practical style of his
correspondence : —
" I have paid two visits to the Grand Master [of the Knights of
Malta]. Every place is flung open to me. He has sent me what
is thought a great present, a pound of nice butter, as we are here
all burnt up, yet peas and beans in plenty ; melons ripe, roses
and flowers in abundance ; but at night tormented with millions
of fleas, gnats, etc. . . . One effect I find during my visits to the
lazarettos, viz., a heavy headache, a pain across my forehead,
but it has always quite left me in one hour after I have come
from these places. As I am quite alone, I have need to summon
all my courage and resolution. You will say it is a great design,
and so liable to a fatal miscarriage. I must adopt the motto of a
Maltese baron, Non nisi per ardua. I will not think my friend
is amongst the many who treat every new attempt as wild and
chimerical, and as was first said of my former attempt, that it
would produce no real or lasting advantage ; but I persevere
' through good report and evil report.' I know I run the greatest
risk of my life. Permit me to declare the sense of my mind in
the expressive words of Dr. Doddridge — ' I have no hope in what
I have been or done.' Yet there is a hope set before me. In
Him, the Lord Jesus Christ, I trust. In Him I have strong
consolation. These days (Sundays) I go little out. I have the
notes of several sermons and my Bible with me. It is a pain to
see in almost all the churches, in large gold letters, ' Indulgentia
Plenaria,' and before the crucifixes, on canvas or stone, in the
street, with Qui elucidant me vitam eternam habebunt ; and poor
creatures, starved, and almost naked, putting into the bov strains,
five of which make one halfpenny.
" I am, I bless God, pretty well ; calm, steady spirits. A^l ^t
HOWARD'S SUCCESS AS A DOCTOR. 313
at the inns, etc., that I leave the mode of travelling, and try to
oblige me, but I inflexibly keep to my mode of living, with
regimen or low diet. The physicians in Turkey, I hear, are very
attentive at the time the plague is there.
*' In many instances, God has disappointed my fears, and
exceeded my hopes.
*' Remember me to any of our friends. A share in your
serious moments. Thanks for kindnesses shown to mind and
body."
By way of Zante and Smyrna, Howard proceeded to Con-
stantinople, where, with the courage of Christian benevolence,
he penetrated into hospitals in which the plague raged so destruc-
tively that even the physicians durst not enter them. The report
of his medical skill had reached one of the highest officials of
the Porte, whose daughter was afflicted with a disease which had
baffled the best Turkish doctors. He prescribed and restored
her ; and if the grateful father then looked upon her benefactor
with wonder, his refusal to accept of a purse of 2000 sequins
(about ;£'2,ooo) as compensation, and his determination to take
nothing more than a dish of grapes from his garden, did not
lessen his admiration.
From Constantinople to Scio, and thence to Smyrna, was
Howard's next course At Smyrna he embarked on board at.
vessel bound for \enice. Having touched at the Morea for
water, they had no sooner put to sea again than they were
attacked by a Tunisian privateer. A sharp engagement took
place, in which the Moors, as the stronger party, seemed likely
to prevail. There was a large cannon on board ; it was loadedi
to the muzzle with spikes, nails, and other missiles, pointed by-
Howard; and just as the corsair was about to close, was dis-
charged with such effect that she sheered off, and put about.
On his arrival at Venice, he was detained in the lazaretto for
upwards of forty days, his ship having arrived from a plague-
stricken port. While in this " city of the sea," once so proudly
entitled " The Queen of the Adriatic," he gained a good deal of
information in reference to its despotic form of government, and
he has put on record two very striking anecdotes.
A German merchant who had visited Venice on business
20
314 GOOD SAMARITANS.
supped every night at a small inn, in company with a few other
persons. One evening an officer of the State inquisition called
upon him, ordered him to follow, and to deliver up his trunk,
after having put his seal upon it. The merchant, to his inquiries
into the meaning of so strange a procedure, received no reply,
except that the officer put his hand to his lips as a signal for
silence. He then muffled his head in a cloak, and guided him
through different streets to a low gateway, through which he was
ordered to pass ; and, stooping down, he was conducted through
various subterranean passages to a small, dark apartment, in
which he was confined all night. The next day he was ushered
into a larger chamber hung with black, having a single wax-light
and a crucifix on its mantelpiece. After remaining for two days
in absolute soHtude, he suddenly saw a curtain drawn, and heard
a voice questioning him concerning his name, his business, his
companions, and particularly whether he had not, on a certain
day, been in the society of certain individuals, and heard an
Abbe, who was also named, make use of expressions which were
accurately repeated. At last he was asked whether he should
know the Abbe if he saw him, and on his replying in the affirma-
tive, a long curtain was drawn aside, and there was his body
dangling on a gibbet ! After this melodramatic business, wholly
mnworthy of a powerful government, the German merchant was
vdismissed.
Again : a senator of the republic was called up from his bed one
night by an officer of the inquisition, and commanded to follow
him. Obeying the summons, he found a gondola in waiting near
his door, and was rowed out of the harbour to a point where
another gondola was fastened to a post. Upon this he was
ordered to embark ; and, the door being open, was led into the
cabin, where a dead body with a rope round its neck was shown
him, and he was asked if he knew it. Shaking in every limb, he
answered that he did. He was then carried back to his house,
and nothing more was ever said to him upon the subject. The
body he had seen was that of his children's tutor, who had been
secretly removed from his house that very night and strangled.
The senator, delighted with this young man's conversation, was
accustomed to treat him with much familiarity, and in his un-
guarded moments communicated to him some political matters of
GOVERNMENT OF VENICE— THE INQUISITION. 315
no great importance, which he, thoughtlessly, repeated to others.
For this imprudence he paid with his life, while his patron's
indiscretion was punished with a significant warning.
Howard relates these stories, not upon his own authority, but
upon that of his friends. They have so romantic an air about
them that one is disposed to relegate them to the world of fiction.
Crossing the Adriatic to Trieste, Howard hurried on to Vienna.
where he was admitted to an interview with the emperor. With-
out pausing for rest or refreshment he traversed 500 miles, on his
way into Holland; and from Amsterdam sailed for London in the
early days of February, 1787.
In the following month he resumed his inspection of the
London prisons, and afterwards of those of Guildford and
Kingstoa On the 28th of May, as if rest were to him an im-
possibility and a curse, he crossed to Dublin, where he found
that no improvements had been effected in its prison-system.
The prisons of Scotland were next visited ; and the remainder
of the year was spent in desultory expeditions. Opposite Stafford
gaol were three ale-houses, which led Howard to make a remark
in his " Second Book on Prisons," which, mutatis mutandis, might
be applied to our own times : —
" The great and increasing number of ale-houses that I observe
in my tours through this kingdom I cannot but lament, as it is
one great and obvious reason why our prisons are so crowded
both with debtors and felons. Many magistrates are sensible of
this evil, yet so dreadfully supine and timid as to grant fresh
licences (often at the intercession of their interested clerks), in
which their conduct is highly culpable. It should be remembered
that it is the spirit of our laws, and therefore the duty of magis-
trates, by every means to prevent, if possible, the commission of
crimes."
For the sixth time Howard visited Ireland, on his mission 01
charity, in 1788. Afterwards the London prisons were again in-
spected, with the mortifying result that he could find no improve-
ment in their condition. It cannot, indeed, be said of Howard
that he initiated any decided or comprehensive reform, or was the
originator of any memorable legislative enactment. Perhaps his
signal merit was, that he kindled in the heart of the English
nation a spirit of humanity, a sentiment of compassion and
3i6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
benevolence, to which it had hitherto been a stranger. His
example was so noble and so singular that it drew the general
attention, and created in the minds of many a desire to imitate
it, a longing to walk in the path of charity which he had so
patiently and bravely trod. Such a man becomes, unconsciously
to himself, a leader, a pioneer, in whose steps thousands and ten
thousands follow. He is as a light shining in a dark place, the
rays of which are reflected in every direction. Who could behold
this man so undauntedly pursuing his philanthropic career, month
after month, and year after year, — seeking the squalidest and most
unwholesome dens, breathing the same atmosphere as the most
obdurate felons, travelling from land to land, and town to town,
without feeling that he presented a new, a striking, and a glorious
comment on that law of charity which the Christian religion sa
strongly enforces ?
His " Account of the Principal Lazarettos in Europe " appeared
in February 1789. It offers the same characteristics of accuracy
and plainness and earnestness as his former work. In it he
announced his intention of " revisiting Russia, Turkey, and some
other countries, and extending his tour in the East." He added :
** I am not insensible of the dangers that must attend such a
journey. Trusting, however, in the protection of that kind Provi-
dence which has hitherto preserved me, I calmly and cheerfully
commit myself to the disposal of unerring wisdom. Should it
please God to cut off my life in the prosecution of this design,,
let not my conduct be uncandidly imputed to rashness or enthu-
siasm, but to a serious, deliberate conviction that I am pursuing
the path of duty ; and to a sincere desire of being made an
instrument of more extensive usefulness to my fellow-creatures
than could be expected in the narrower circle of a retired life.
On this, his last journey, the issue of which he seems to have
anticipated, Howard set out early in July, 1789. From Amster-
dam, which he reached on the 7th, he proceeded to Utrecht,
entered Germany by way of Osnaburgh ; traversed Hanover and
Brunswick ; visited Berlin ; and through Memel and Mittau,
entered the empire of Russia at Riga. Next we find him at
St. Petersburg. He visited Cronstadt on the 9th of September,
and afterwards struck inland to Moscow, the "holy city." Hear-
ing painful accounts of the Russian military hospitals, and hopeful
HOWARD'S LAST ACT OF LOVE. 317
of alleviating the wretched condition of their inmates, he accom-
plished the long and dreary journey to Crementschuok, on the
banks of the Dnieper, and thence to Cherson, in Little Tartary.
While engaged there in his unremitting labours of benevolence,
and in daily attendance upon the sick, he was solicited to visit
a young lady, residing about sixteen miles from the town, who
had been attacked with an infectious fever. He complied, ordered
the appropriate remedies, and paid her another visit on an occa-
sion when the rain fell heavily and the cold was intense, and as
no vehicle could be obtained, he was compelled to ride the whole
distance on an old dray-horse. A day or two afterwards he him-
self was attacked with the fever, and to dispel it, had recourse to
that powerful but dangerous remedy known as James's powder.
His illness increased rapidly. A Russian physician was called in,
but his skill proved unavailing. Confronting his end with the
calm courage of a Christian, this martyr to charity passed away
in peace at eight o'clock in the morning of January 20th, 1790,
aged sixty-four.
In the record of his noble work, his alms, and all his good
endeavours, he being dead yet speaketh ; and his memory is still
green among us.
The fame of the warrior survives through many generations ;
that of the poet, as the minds of men daily become more fitted
to receive his teaching, will probably expand and deepen; the
artist and the musician are remembered by their works ; but the
philanthropist, however great and splendid his effort and his
self-denial, must not expect that his name will be cherished by
posterity. Little of what he does is seen by the public eye ; and
if it were, it would hardly attract the public attention, because it
is necessarily unpretentious and unadorned. Therefore, we can
well believe that many readers will fail to identify the noble
woman to whom Crabbe refers in the following lines : —
** One I beheld, a wife, a mother, go
To gloomy scenes of wickedness and woe ;
She sought her way through all things vile and base,
And made a prison a religious place :
3i8 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Fighting her way— the way that angels fight
With powers of darkness — to let in the light . . •
The look of scorn, the scowl, the insulting leer
Of shame, all fixed on her who ventures here ;
Yet all she braved ; she kept her steadfast eye
On the dear cause, and brushed the baseness by."
The reference here is to Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, the heroine of
Prison Reform, the " motive " of whose life of high benevolence
and Christian duty we find in the beautiful words she uttered on
her death-bed : —
" I can say one thing : since my heart was touched at the age
of seventeen, I believe I have never awakened from sleep,
in sickness or in health, by day or by night, without my first
waking thought being how best I might serve the Lord."
Elizabeth Fry was the third daughter of John Gurney, of
Earlham, Quaker, and of his wife Catherine, a lineal descendant
of the Quaker Apologist, Robert Barclay. She was born at
Norwich, on the 21st of May, 1780.
As a child she was very quiet and timid ; in look and manner
gentle, and as her mother said, "dove-like," but with a large
fund of tenacious pride at heart. It was easier to bend than
break her ; she would give way to a kind word, but if she silently
rebelled against a command, nothing could constrain her into
obedience. She was distinguished beyond most children by hci
insight, tact, and resolve to think for herself; altogether an
uncommon child, yet not one of any apparent ability, and s^
weak and physically ailing that she could not apply herself to
study. She had, however, her refined pleasures ; she was
passionately fond of flowers, and a born " collector," delighting
in accumulating little treasures of shells, butterflies, and other
natural curiosities. Her religious feelings were very profound in
childhood; and it was noticed that when her mother in the
evening read the usual portion of Scripture and a Psalm, she
would sit in a kind of rapt and solemn silence. For her mother,
a very fair and amiable woman, she cherished an extraordinary
affection. She never willingly left her side ; and at night she
would often wake and weep from a fear that this beloved mother
might die and leave her. She would watch her when asleep, with
an anxious dread lest she should cease to breathe, and awaken
GIRLHOOD OF ELIZABETH FRY. 319
no more from that slumber which she supposed to resemble
death. In this morbid apprehension there was something of a
presentiment or unconscious prophecy; for when she was only
twelve years old, her mother was taken from her, — a blow which
she felt even to the day of her own death. Thirty- six years after-
wards she spoke of it with evident pain.
Years passed away, and Elizabeth Gurney developed into a fair
tall maiden, of slender and graceful figure, and attractive coun-
tenance. She was a bold and skilful equestrian ; she sang well
and danced well ; was by no means averse to admiration, and
took a very unquakerlike interest in dress. The "meetings " of
the Friends she attended reluctantly, and as often as she could
pleaded ill- health as an excuse for absence. The religious im-
pressions of her childhood had yielded to worldly influences. By
degrees, however, her better nature began to struggle against
them. She was really of too true and noble a temper long to
delight in the trivial aims and amusements of society, though the
conflict was sharp enough while it lasted, and makes her record
of this period of her life an interesting psychological study. She
describes with graphic faithfulness her alternations between doubt
and belief, seriousness and levity, the desire for higher and purer
things, and the not unnatural contentment of youth with the
petty pleasures of the day. Most of us have gone through a
similar experience ; not all of us, perhaps, have emerged from it
so successfully as Elizabeth Gurney, — perhaps because we had
not the courage to make so uncompromising an analysis as she
did of her thoughts and feelings.
Let us take two or three extracts, which will give us an insight
into her mental condition : —
'* Monday, May 21st, 1797. I am seventeen to-day Am I a
happier or a better creature than I was this time twelvemonth ?
I know I am happier ; I think I am better. I hope I shall be
much better this day year than I am now. I hope to be quite
an altered person ; to have more knowledge, to have my mind in
greater order, and my heart too, — that wants to be put in oider as
much, if not more, than any part of me, it is in such a fly-away
state ; but I think, if ever it settled on one object, it would never,
no, never, fly away any more ; it would rest quietly and happily on
the heart that was open to receive it."
320 GOOD SAMARITANS.
" June 2oth. If I have long to live in this world, may I bear
misfortunes with fortitude ; do what I can to alleviate the sorrows
of others ; exert what power I have to increase happiness, try
to govern my passions by reason ; and strictly adhere to what I
think right."
" July 7th. I have seen several things in myself and others I
never before remarked ; but I have not tried to myself. I have
given way to my passions, and let them have command over me.
I have known my faults, and not corrected them ; and now I am
determined I will once more try, with redoubled ardour, to
overcome my wicked inclinations. I must not flirt, I must not
even be out of temper with the children ; I must not contradict
without a cause ; I must not mump when my sisters are liked,
and I am not ; I must not allow myself to be angry ; I must not
exaggerate, which I am inclined to do ; I must not give way to
luxury ; I must not be idle in mind ; I must try to give way to
every good feeling, and overcome every bad. I will see what I
can do ; if I had but perseverance, I could do all that I wish. I
will try. I have lately been too satirical, so as to hurt sometimes \
remember it is always a fault to hurt others."
"July nth. Company to dinner. I must beware of not being
a flirt : it is an abominable character ; I hope I shall never be
one, and yet I fear I am one now a little. Be careful not to
talk at random. Beware, and see how well I can get through
this day, without one foolish action. If I do pass this day
without one foolish action, it is the first I ever passed so. If I
pass a day with only a few foolish actions, I may think it a
good one."
*' August 6th. I have a cross to-night. I had very much set
my mind on going to the oratorio ; the Prince (William Frederick,
Duke of Gloucester) is to be there, and by all accounts it will
be quite a grand sight, and there will be the finest music ; but
if my father does not like me to go, much as I wish it, I will
give it up with pleasure, if it be in my power, without a murmur.
... I went to the oratorio ; I enjoyed it, but spoke sadly at
random : what a bad habit ! "
Self-knowledge is the first step to self-control. Elizabeth
Gurney, it is evident, was not ignorant of her faults, and in her
effort to overcome them required only some good influence to
IMPRESSION MADE BY A QUAKER SERMON. 321
Steady and support her. That influence she found in the teaching
of WilHam Savery, an American Quaker, who, early in 1798,
was on a visit to England, and on the 4th of February officiated
at the Friends' Meeting- House in Norwich. The impression
which he produced upon Elizabeth is thus described by her
sister Richenda : —
"On that day," she says, "we seven sisters sat as usual in
a row under the gallery. I sat by Betsy. William Savery was
there. We liked having yearly meeting friends come to preach \
it was a little change. Betsy was generally rather restless at
meeting, and on this day I remember her very smart boots were
a great amusement to me : they were purple, lined with scarlet.
** At last William Savery began to preach. His voice and
manner were arresting, and we all liked the sound; her atten-
tion became fixed ; at last I saw her begin to weep, and she
became a good deal agitated. As soon as meeting was over, I
have a remembrance of her making her way to the men's side
of the meeting, and having found my father, she begged him if
she might dine with William Savery at the Grove, to which he
soon consented, though rather surprised by the request. We
went home as usual, and, for a wonder, we wished to go again
in the afternoon. I have not the same clear remembrance of
this meeting; but the next scene that has fastened itself on
my memory is our return home in the carriage. Betsy sat in
the middle, and astonished us all by the great feeling she
showed. She wept most of the way home. The next morning
William Savery came to breakfast, and preached to our dear
sister after breakfast, prophesying of the high and important
calling she would be led into. What she went through in her
own mind I cannot say, but the results were most powerful and
most evident. From that day her love of pleasure and of the
world seemed gone."
This was not entirely the case ; Elizabeth's Gurney's spiritual
difficulties were not so easily got rid of. She herself was
conscious that the victory was not yet won. On the evening
of the day so memorable in her life-history she wrote : — " My
imagination has been worked upon, and I fear all that I have
felt will go off. I fear it now, though at first I was frightened
that a plain Quaker should have made so deep an impression
322 GOOD SAMARITANS.
upon me ; but how truly prejudiced in me to think that,
because good came from a Quaker, I should be led away by
■enthusiasm and folly. I wish the state of enthusiasm I am now
in may last, for to-day I have felt that there is a God^
The *' impression " was not very " deep." Two days after-
wards she went to Norwich, where the evident admiration of
some officers revived her not unnatural feeling of girlish vanity.
She returned home " as full of the world as she went to town
full of heaven ! " Much agitated by conflicting emotions, she
proceeded to London on a visit to a relative. Of course she
was taken to Drury Lane Theatre, and for the first time had
a glimpre of the magic world of the stage, with its picturesque
parodies rather than faithful representations of real life, its
exaggeration and its poetry. But whether her expectations had
been too highly raised, or whether her mind was not in a
condition to sympathize with mimic passions, certain it is that
she was disappointed ; and though the best actors and actresses
of the day played on this occasion, she actually wished the
performance over. Afterwards she saw " Hamlet " and " Blue-
beard," and was better pleased : but " I do not like plays,"
she frankly writes ; ** I think them so artificial, that they are to
me not interesting, and all seems so — so very far from pure
virtue and nature." But if the theatre did not engage her fancy,
she retained her partiality for the dance, and, as she frankly
owns, for a little pungent gossip.
** March 26th. This morning I went to Amelia Opie's (the
novelist), and had a pleasant time. I called on Mrs. Siddons,
who was not at home ; then on Dr. Batty ; then on Mrs. Twiss,
who gave me some paint for the evening. / was painted a little.
I had my hair dressed, and did look pretty, for me. Mr. Opie,
Amelia, and I went to the opera concert. / own I do love
grand compa?jy. The Prince of Wales was there; and I must
say I felt more pleasure in looking at him than in seeing the rest
of the company or hearing the music. I did nothing but admire
his Royal Highness ; but I had a very pleasant evening indeed.
"March 27th. I called with Mrs. H. and Amelia on Mrs.
Inchbald (the novelist and dramatist). I like her vastly j she
seems so clever and so interesting. I then went to Hampstead,
and stayed at our cousin Hoare's until the 12th of April. I
A CHANGE O'ER HER SPIRIT. 323.
returned to Clapham. My uncle Barclay, with great begging,
took us to the opera. The house is dazzUng, the company
animating, the music hardly at all so, the dancing delightful.
He came in, in the middle of the opera ; I was charmed to see
him — I was most merry — I just saw the Prince of Wales.
Tuesday, my dearest father came to London ! We dined at
the . . . and went to a rout in the evening. Friday, I had a
pleasant merry day with Peter Pindar (Dr. Walcot, the satirist).
Monday, I went with my father and the Barclays to Sir George
Staunton's (secretary in Lord Macartney's embassy to China)."
"April i6th. I arrived at home with my father, after paying
a few more visits."
This would seem to have been Elizabeth Gurney's last, as
well as her first, plunge into the gaieties of fashionable life.
William Savery's teaching had not been ineffectual, and her
heart, which was sound enough at the core, inclined more and
more towards the Christian practice. For a long time her rest
at night was disturbed by a singular and painful dream, as of a
stormy sea breaking upon her with angry billows that threatened,
to sweep her away. But when the long conflict was at an end,
and she triumphed in the consciousness of absolute peace of
mind, " a change came o'er the spirit of the scene." The sea
broke in loud waves as before, but she stood safe beyond its
fury, and thenceforth it ceased to harass her. Elizabeth Gurney
regarded the change as an omen from above, and a prefigurement
of her future fate ; devoutly hoping " not to be drowned in the
ocean of the world, but permitted to mount above its waves,
and remain a steady and faithful servant to the God whom she
worshipped."
She now began to visit the poor and sick in Earlham and
Norwich; she read the Bible to them, she taught the children.
A school at home, which began with one boy, increased to such
an extent that she had to accommodate the pupils in a vacant
laundry, and before long they numbered seventy^ whom she in-
structed and controlled without any assistance. Gradually she
gave up what had hitherto been her prmcipal amusements, music
and dancing ; adopted the quaint simplicity of Quaker dress ;.
and fell into the not less quaint usages of Quaker speech. Those
unnecessary sacrifices were not made without a struggle. When
324 GOOD SAMARITANS.
asked by her friends to sing or dance, she hesitated to refuse, yet
could not consent without a feeling that she was doing wrong.
On one occasion, meeting an old acquaintance, whom she felt
unable to address in the plain speech of the Friends, she actually
ran away. At last her sense of duty conquered ; and while we
think she was mistaken, we cannot but admire her steadfastness in
what seemed to her the path of right. Mistaken, we mean, in
regarding as sinful the innocent amusements which grace and
heighten daily life, and, in the case of music at least, elevate
the mind and purify the heart ; but not mistaken in withdrawing
from what her conscience condemned. Any occupation that
seems to us unlawful, we are unquestionably bound to relinquish,
however innocent it may be in itself or may appear to others.
In 1800 Elizabeth Gurney was married to Mr. Joseph Fry, a
London merchant, and, of course, one of the Friends. She then
removed to St. Mildred's Court, in the City, where her husband
and his brother conducted an extensive business. In her
domestic duties she realized a pure and constant happiness, and
in the course of nine years five children came to share her affection
and occupy her mind. In 1809 the family removed from the
turmoil of London to the rural tranquillity of Plashet, a quiet
Essex village ; and to one so keenly alive to the beauties of Nature
the change was very welcome. But she did not abandon herself
to sentimental enjoyment. She quickly interested herself in the
condition of the country people ; established a girls' school on
the Lancastrian system; distributed soup in the winter to the
deserving poor ; administered simple medicines when needed ;
and supplied them with good warm clothing at a very cheap rate.
A number of Irish had settled down about half a mile from
Plashet; and their quick emotional nature responded with the
deepest gratitude to her thoughtful benevolence. We are told
that she exercised a wonderful influence over them. " She had
in her nature a touch of poetry, and a quick sense of the droll ;
the Irish character furnished matter for both. Their powers of
deep love and bitter grief excited her sympathy; almost against
her judgment, she would grant the linen shirt and the boughs of
evergreen to array the departed, and ornament the bed of death.
She frequently visited Irish Row, never but to do good or ad-
minister consolation. Gathering her garments round her, she
MRS. FRY'S MARRIED LIFE— HER CHARITIES. 325
would thread her way through children and pigs, up broken
staircases and by narrow passages, to the apartments she sought ;
there she would listen to their tales of want or woe, or of their
difficulties with their children, or of the evil conduct of their
husbands. She persuaded many of them to adopt more orderly
habits, giving little presents of clothing as encouragements ; she
induced some to send their children to school, and, with the
consent of the priest, circulated the Bible amongst them. On
one occasion, when the weather was extremely cold, and great
distress prevailed, being at the time too delicate herself to walk,
she went alone in the carriage, literally piled with flannel petti-
coats for Irish Row ; the rest of the party walking to meet her,
to assist in the delightful task of distribution."
Her charity was extended with equal forethought and earnest-
ness to the gipsies who yearly visited the neighbourhood. More-
over, she had early recognised the benefits of vaccination, and
having learned how to perform the operation, she was accustomed
to visit the whole parish at stated intervals, for the purpose of
gratuitously vaccinating the children.
Admirable as was this work, however, it diff'ered in little from
the work undertaken and accomplished by hundreds of English
gentlewomen in their respective spheres of influence ; and had
Elizabeth Fry never gone beyond their boundaries, her name
would probably have remained unknown to the world at large.
She herself was conscious that something yet remained to be done,
though for awhile that something assumed no definite shape.
She was conscious of powers undeveloped, of gifts unused. At
last she began to grope her way towards the light, to feel that
she was called upon to deliver the " oracles of God " among her
co-religionists. She hesitated long ; apprehensive lest she should
be misled by a warm imagination; influenced probably by a
natural womanly reluctance; but, towards the close of i8io, the
death of her father finally determined her. By his bedside she
had poured forth her soul in eloquent utterances of prayer and
thanksgiving ; and on her return to Plashet, believing that the
work was not her own doing, nor at her own command, she
publicly took upon herself the office of the ministry. The fervour
of her thoughts, the copiousness and beauty of her language,
and the enthusiasm of her devotion, soon showed that she had
326 GOOD SAMARITANS.
not mistaken her calling. She held her audiences spell-bound ;
and men not of her own creed, men prejudiced against the public
ministrations of women, were constrained to own the power of her
eloquence and the contagion of her zeal.
In November, 1812, Mrs. Fry and her family removed to St.
Mildred's Court for the winter. Soon afterwards, she was induced
by some of her friends to visit the female prisoners in Newgate.
It was indeed time that someone took an interest in their
unhappy condition. In two wards and two cells, the entire
superficial area of which did not exceed 190 yards, three hundred
women and children were confined ; some tried and convicted,
others as yet untried ; but all showing the same misery, herding
together, in rags, without bedding or beds, cooking, washing,
living, sleeping, starving, grumbling, fighting, and blaspheming in
these four small rooms. The governor himself shrank from
entering the women's part of the prison ; it was an Alsatia of
filth, misery, and sin. Into this terrible scene passed Mrs. Fry,
accompanied by Miss Anna Buxton, like a ray of celestial light.
She paid three visits, — on each occasion distributing the much-
needed relief.
It was not, however, until Christmas, i8i6, that she entered
upon what we may call the real work of her life, — prison-reform.
She then began a regular series of visits to the female prisoners in
Newgate. Observing that the children were pining for want of
air and exercise, she addressed herself to the mothers, and so
stirred up their better feelings that they agreed to co-operate with
her in establishing a school. An unoccupied cell was granted for
the schoolroom ; Mary Connor, a young girl committed for theft,
was appointed schoolmistress ; and the school was opened for
children and young persons under twenty-five years of age. Many
applicants had to be refused for want of room. A friend who
accompanied Mrs. Fry on one of her visits writes : — " The
railing was crowded with half-naked women, struggling together
for the front situations with the most boisterous violence, and
begging with the utmost vociferation. She felt as if she were
going into a den of wild beasts, and she well recollects quite
shuddering when the door was closed upon her, and she was
locked in with such a herd of novel and desperate companions.
IN NEWGATE PRISON— REFORM AMONG THE WOMEN. 327
One of these desperate women rushed round the prison yard with
arms extended, tearing everything of the nature of a cap from the
heads of the other women, and 'yelling Hke a wild beast.' " Yet
she afterwards became a decent woman, and married respectably
— a brand snatched from the burning.
To a woman of Mrs. Fry's refined tastes and delicate nurture,
these prison-scenes must have been painfully repulsive. " It
was in our visits to the school," she writes, " where some of us
attended almost every day, that we were witnesses to the dreadful
proceedings that went forward on the female side of the prison, —
the begging, swearing, gaming, fighting, singing, dancing, dressing
up in men's clothes ; the scenes are too bad to be described, so
that we did not think it suitable to admit young persons with us."
But while conscious of a feeling of profound disgust, even of
loathing, Mrs. Fry resolutely persevered with the " work of noble
note " she had taken upon herself so chivalrously. She saw that
a reform was urgent, and felt that it was her mission to effect it ;
and she was too sagacious a woman to suppose that it could be
effected except at the cost of much self-sacrifice. If it be true
that revolutions cannot be made with rose-water, it is no less true
that reforms were never achieved by kid-glove philanthropists*
To carry healing to the sick, and comfort to the distressed, we
must go down into the pool, like the angel at Bethesda, andl
trouble the waters. " Do not stir Camarina " is the maxim of
the selfish or the ignorant; of the man who cries, *^ After me,.
the deluge," or of him who would sleep in apathy on a powder-
magazine.
With great perseverance, and in spite of many discouragements, ,
Mrs. Fry succeeded in forming "An Association for the Im-
provement of the Female Prisoners in Newgate," whose objects;
were : ** To provide for the clothing, the instruction, and the:
employment of the women ; to introduce them to a knowledge
of the Holy Scriptures, and to form in them, as much as possible,
those habits of order, sobriety, and industry, which may render
them docile and peaceable whilst in prison, and respectable when
they leave it." The members laboured under Mrs. Fry's direc-
tion with great good will, and with very considerable success.
At the end of ten months, Mrs. Fry thus sums up the result : —
" Our rules have certainly been occasionally broken, but very
21
328 GOOD SAMARITANS.
seldom ; order has been generally observed. I think I may say we
have full power amongst them, for one of them said it was more
terrible to be brought up before me than before the judge, though
we use nothing but kindness. I have never punished a woman
during the whole time, or even proposed a punishment to them ;
and yet I think it is impossible, in a well-regulated house, to have
rules more strictly attended to than they are, as far as I order
them, or our friends in general. With regard to our work, they
have made nearly twenty thousand articles of wearing apparel,
the generality of which are supplied by the slop-shops, which pay
very little. Excepting three out of this number of articles that
were missing, which we really do not think owing to the women,
we have never lost a single thing. They knit from about sixty
to a hundred pairs of stockings and socks every month ; they
spin a little. The earnings of work, we think, average about
eighteenpence per week for each person. This is generally spent
An assisting them to live, and helping to clothe them. For this
purpose they subscribe out of their small earnings of work about
four pounds a month, and we subscribe about eight, which keeps
them covered and decent. Another very important point is the
■excellent effect we have found to result from religious education ;
our habit is constantly to read the Scriptures to them twice a
day ; many of them are taught, and some of them have been
enabled to read a little themselves. It has had an astonishing
effect ; I never saw the Scriptures received in the same way, and
to many of them they have been entirely new, both the great
systems of religion and of morality contained in them ; and it
has been very satisfactory to observe the effect upon their minds.
When 1 have sometimes gone and said it was my intention to
read, they would flock upstairs after me, as if it were a great
pleasure I had to afford them."
To find employment for so many idle hands was no light task.
It occurred to one of Mrs. Fry's coadjutors that they might supply
the convict settlement of Botany Bay with stockings and other
articles of clothing. She called on a large export firm in Fen-
church Street, and stating her desire to carry off from them this
branch of their trade, she asked their advice. With noble
generosity they entered heartily into her object, and undertook
to supply the work.
IMMEDIATE GOOD EFFECTS ON THE WOMEN. 329
A gentleman who visited Newgate after Mrs. Fry had begun
her philanthropic labour, speaks warmly of the almost miraculous
transformation that had taken place. "I was conducted," he
says, " by a turnkey to the entrance of the women's wards. On
my approach, no loud or dissonant sounds or angry voices
indicated that I was about to enter a place which, I was credibly
assured, had long had for one of its titles that of * hell above
ground.' The courtyard into which I was admitted, instead of
being peopled with beings scarcely human, blaspheming, fighting,
tearing each others' hair, or gaming with a filthy pack of cards
for the very clothes they wore, which often did not suffice even
for decency, presented a scene where stillness and propriety
reigned. I was conducted by a decently-dressed person, the
newly-appointed yards-woman, to the door of a ward, where, at
the head of a long table, sat a lady, belonging to the Society of
Friends. She was reading aloud to about sixteen women, pri-
soners, who were engaged in needlework around it. Each wore
a clean-looking blue apron and bib, with a ticket, having a number
on it, suspended from her neck by a red tape. They all rose on
my entrance, curtsied respectfully, and then, at a signal given,
resumed their seats and employments. Instead of a scowl, leer,
or ill-suppressed laugh, I observed upon their countenances an
air of self-respect and gravity, — a sort of consciousness of their
improved character, and the altered position in which they were
placed. I afterwards visited the other wards, which were the
counterparts of the first."
This reform was, in a great measure, due to the magnetism of
Mrs. Fry's personal influence. In her way, she had something
of that power over her fellows which the world has seen in a
Pericles, a Julius Caesar, a Charlemagne, a Bruce, a Napoleon ; a
power springing, perhaps, from the confidence of the individual
in himself or in his mission. Being apprised on one occasion
that some gambling was still carried on, she called the offenders
before her, and desired them, little thinking they would consent,
to give up their cards. To her surprise, five packs were at once
surrendered, with earnest expressions of contrition. But while
this reform, like every reform, owed much to the reformer, we
must not forget that she was aided largely by the reformed, who
were quick to understand that the new system contributed greatly
330 GOOD SAMARITANS,
to their comfort. It is a mistake, we believe, to suppose that
any considerable number of people take an interest in disorder
and anarchy. The instincts of the many are always in favour of
a settled rule, because only under such a rule are individual
interests secure.
Before this happy epoch, it had been the ** use and wont " of
the female convicts, on the eve of their departure for Botany Bay,
to tear down, burn, and destroy everything. But now they left
the prison like people clothed, and in their right mind. Mrs. Fry
and her associates accompanied them to Deptford, saw them
embark, divided them into classes, superintended the election of
monitors, distributed Bibles, supplied working materials, and
arranged a school for the children. The working materials were
a little difficult. There were one hundred and twenty-eight con-
victs, and what could they be set to do ? At last, patchwork was
suggested. Application was made to the Manchester houses in
London, and a large quantity of coloured prints was freely con-
tributed. Some of the quilts " created " by the ingenuity of the
convicts sold for a guinea each at Rio de Janeiro. For five weeks
the transport ship lay in the river. Then came the moment of
departure. Mrs. Fry stood at the cabin door, attended by her
friends and the captain ; the women on the quarter-deck, opposite
to them. The sailors, anxious to see all that took place, crowded
into the rigging, climbed upon the capstan, or mingled in the
outskirts of the group. The silence was profound, while, in her
clear musical voice, Mrs. Fry read a chapter from the Bible. The
crews of the neighbouring vessels, attracted by the novel scene,
bent over the bulwarks, and listened, apparently with attention.
She closed the holy Book, knelt down on the deck, and implored
a benediction on the work from that God who, though one
may sow and another water, can alone give the increase. Many
of the women wept bitterly, all seemed touched ; and when this
Good Samaritan left the ship, they followed her with tear-filled
eyes and fervent blessings, until her boat passed up the crowded
river, and was lost to sight.
For some years Mrs. Fry continued her philanthropic exertions,
but not, let us admit, to the neglect of her domestic duties. The
double burden was heavy, but in her Christian enthusiasm she
found the strength to bear it. And it seems to us that when God
GOOD EXAMPLE IS CONTAGIOUS. 33,
gives US work to do, He also gives us the needful energy to do it.
The beauty and unselfishness of Mrs. Fry's motives were shown
very strikingly by the modesty with which she bore the great
reputation that accrued to her. Whether Queen Charlotte spoke
to her in public at the Mansion House, or her name was men-
tioned in Parliament with praise and honour, or the most dis-
tinguished personages of the day attended her addresses to the
women in Newgate, she was still the same unassuming, calm, and
retiring Christian gentlewoman. It was not in England only that
her work was known and valued. It lent an impetus to prison
reform in Paris, Tunis, Berlin, Amsterdam, St. Petersburg. The
Russian Czarina, in a transport of admiration, exclaimed : " How
much I should like to see that admirable woman, Madame Fry,
in Russia ! " There is a wonderful fertility in a good deed.
We shall not dwell on Mrs. Fry's wise efforts to procure the
abolition of capital punishment for crimes affecting property, or
on her untiring exertions to promote the religious education of
the poor. The special work of her life was the reform, on
rational and humane principles, of the interior administration of
our prisons ; and in this direction she was not inferior to John
Howard. She devoted to it her talents, energies, and her
means : happier than many workers, she was permitted to
witness the successful result of her labours. As w« have hinted,
her influence was felt both at home and abroad ; her example
encouraged many noble women to follow in the same path of
well-doing, and, as ragged-school teachers and district visitors, to
help forward the amelioration of the condition of the " lower
orders." She herself was indefatigable : accompanied by her
brother, Joseph John Gurney, she personally visited and ex-
amined the prisons, lunatic asylums, penitentiaries, and refuges
of the United Kingdom, and, afterwards, the most important
institutions of a similar kind on the Continent. Her experience
enabled her to recommend many beneficial changes in the con-
struction and internal arrangement of prisons, as well as in the
transportation and treatment of convicts.
But wherever distress, or poverty, or ignorance was to be found,
Elizabeth Fry saw a motive for exertion. She did not pass by on
the other side ; she waited upon the sufferer, and with her own
hands bound up his wounds. No case of wretchedness came to
332 GOOD SAMARITANS.
her notice that she did not attempt to relieve. No poor suppli-
cant ever poured his sorrows into her ear in vain. She seemed
to live only for others ; her career was one lofty epic of well-doing.
Thus, during a visit to Jersey in 1833, rendered necessary by
domestic affairs, she contrived to reform the prison and hospital,
and establish a district society. A day at Freshwater, in the Isle
of Wight, in the neighbourhood of the Coast Guard Station, sug-
gested to her the great and good undertaking of providing libraries
for all the Coast Guard Stations in Great Britain, — an undertaking
bristling with difficulties, but in which she abated not one jot of
perseverance until it had been successfully accomplished. The
reader will observe that in all her schemes Mrs. Fry was eminently
practical. She was no believer in Utopia, moral or political ;
her plans were always considered carefully, and involved neither
impossibilities nor improbabilities ; her attention to details was
worthy of a great administrator. Her courage was wonderful,
and so was her tact. She never yielded to prejudices, but she did
not unnecessarily excite them. Hence it happened that all her
reforms were carried to a successful issue with the cordial co-ope
ration of the authorities whom they concerned. Nor did she go
out of her way in search of a vocation : she did the duty which
lay close to her hand, and she entertained no romantic or
exaggerated theories of " woman's mission." A woman's primary
duties she regarded as centred in her home and household ; bui
she was not the less convinced that for all a wider field of useful
ness lay open. She appreciated, and practised, the usual charities
of gentlewomen : their visits to the sick, the destitute, and the
aged, their supervision of the village school; but she deeply
regretted that so few carried their Samaritanism no further, — that
they did not follow the widow and disabled when driven by neces-
sity to the workhouse, or take charge of the workhouse school,
that resort of the orphaned and forsaken \ less attractive, perhaps,
than the school of the village, but even more requiring oversight
and attention.
Many scenes in Mrs. Fry's varied career have a special and
attractive interest. Our limits, however, will allow us to put only
one before the reader, but that will sufficiently illustrate her
admirable qualities of moral intrepidity, enthusiasm, and humility.
On the 31st of January, 1842, the King of Prussia met Mrs.
MRS. FRY MEETS THE KING OF PRUSSIA. 333
Fry at Newgate, and afterwards lunched with her at Mr. Fry's
country house at Upton. The account of the day's proceedings
runs as follows : —
" We set off about eleven o'clock, my sister Gurney and my-
self, to meet the King of Prussia at Newgate. I proceeded with
the Lady Mayoress to Newgate, where we were met by many
gentlemen. My dear brother and sister Gurney and Susannah
Corder being with me was a great comfort. We waited so long
for the king that I feared he would not come ; however, at last
he arrived, and the Lady Mayoress and I, accompanied by the
sheriffs, went to meet the king at the door of the prison. He
appeared much pleased to meet our little party ; and after taking
a little refreshment, he gave me his arm, and we proceeded into
the prison and up to one of the long wards, where everything was
prepared \ the poor women round the table, about sixty of them,
many of our ladies' committee, and some others ; also numbers
of gentlemen following the king, sheriffs, etc. I felt deeply, but
quiet in spirit — fear of man much removed. After we were seated,
the king on my right hand, the Lady Mayoress on my left, I ex-
pressed my desire that the attention of some, particularly the poor
prisoners, might not be diverted from attending to me reading by the
company there, however interesting, but that we should remember
that the King of kings and Lord of lords was present, in whose
fear we should abide, and seek to profit by what we heard. I then
read the twelfth chapter of Romans. I dwelt on the mercies of
God being the strong inducements to serve Him, and no longer to
be conformed to this world. Then I finished the chapter, after-
wards impressing our all being members of one body, poor and
rich, high and low, all one in Christ, and members one of another.
I then related the case of a poor prisoner, who appeared truly
converted, and who became such a holy example ; then I en-
larged on love and forgiving one another, showing how Christians
must love their enemies.
*' After a solemn pause, to my deep humiliation and in the
cross, I believed it my duty to kneel down before this most
curious, interesting, and mixed company ; for I felt my God must
be served the same everywhere and amongst all people, whatever
reproach it brcyght me into. I first prayed for the conversion ot
prisoners and sinners generally, that a blessing might rest on the
334 GOOD iiAAIAKITAN6.
labours of those in authority, as well as the more humble labourers
for their conversion ; next I prayed for the King of Prussia, his
Queen, his kingdom, that it might be more and more as the city
set on the hill that could not be hid; that true religion in its
purity, simplicity, and power might more and more break forth,
and that every cloud that obscured it might be removed ; then
for us all, that we might be of the number of the redeemed, and
eventually unite with them in heaven in a never-ending song of
praise. All this prayer was truly offered in the name and for the
sake of the dear Saviour, that it might be heard and answered.
I only mention the subject, but by no means the words.
" The king then gave me his arm, and we walked down to-
gether ; there were difficulties raised about his going to Upton,
but he chose to persevere. I went with the Lady Mayoress and
the sheriffs, and the king with his own people. We arrived first.
I had to hasten to take off my cloak, and then went down to meet
him at his carriage door, with my husband and some of our sons
and sons-in-law. I then walked with him into the drawing-room,
where all was in beautiful order, neat, and adorned with flowers.
I presented to the king our eight daughters and daughters-in-law,
our seven sons and eldest grandson, my brothers and sisters, . . .
and afterwards presented twenty-five of our grandchildren. We
had a solemn silence before our meal, which was handsome and
fit for a king, yet not extravagant — everything most complete and
nice. I sat by the king, who appeared to enjoy his dinner per-
fectly at his ease, and very happy with us. We went into the
drawing-room after another solemn silence and a few words which
I uttered in prayer for the king and queen. . . . We had then to
part. The king expressed his desire that blessings might continue
to rest on our house/'
We have alluded to Mrs. Fry's continental journeys. She visited
France in 1836 ; Paris in 1838 ; France and Switzerland in the
following year; Holland, Northern Germany, and Denmark in
1 841. We find her at Paris in 1843, when she visited the great
women's prison at Clermont-en-Oise. On her return she fell ill,
and thenceforward a deep shadow of physical pain and mental
sorrows afflicted her. Her old friends passed away, and she lost
some of her grandchildren, her kith and kin, and finally a beloved
HER LAST DAYS ON EARTH. 335
son. Her last public appearance was on the 3rd of June, 1845 ;
but she was not able to stand ; she could only address the meeting
seated. Growing feebler and feebler, she was removed in July to
Ramsgate, for the benefit of the sea-air ; but it was impossible to
arrest the rapid decline both of mind and body. On the j 3th of
October it was evident that the great change was close at hand.
One of her daughters, who sat reading Isaiah to her, heard her mur-
muring, in a low but distinct voice : — " Oh, my dear Lord, help
and keep Thy servant!" These were her last words. She sank
into a state of unconsciousness, and so remained, until on the
following morning she peacefully expired.*
* *' All that was mortal of Elizabeth Fry," says Miss Kavanagh, ** now rests
by the side of her little child, in the Friends' burying-ground at Barking ; but
her name, her deeds, her spirit are with us still. Who shall estimate not only
the good which she did, but that to which her example led ? How noble, how
generous, was the use she made of the personal beauty, exquisite voice, ready
eloquence, and many talents with which she was gifted ? The extremes which
met in her character gave her greater power. Timid, daring, prudent, en-
thusiastic, practical, equally alive to the beautiful and the humorous, Elizabeth
Fry was eminently fitted for her task. She possessed an insight into character
and a power of control which enabled her to influence almost every one who
came within her sphere." We have drawn the materials of our sketch from the
**Life of Mrs. Elizabeth Fry," by Mrs. F. Creswell, edit. 1868.
BOOK V.
'THE POOR ARE ALWAYS WITH US.
VINCENT DE PAUL : HIS LAEOTJRS ON BEHALF OF THF POOR.
ENGLISH SISTERS OF MERC* • MISS SlTFV.KiCING; MRS. MOMPESSwN
AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN AMONG THE POOR: EDWARD DENISON.
AMONG THE SICK : '* SISTEk DOkA.*'
""THE POOR ARE ALWAYS WITH US."
IN a peasant's cottage at Pouy, near Dax, a small village situ-
ated on the high open ground that lies at the foot of the
Pyrenees, was born, on the 24th of April, 1576, to Jean de Paul,
and his wife Bertranda, a male child, whom they christened
Vincent.
Jean de Paul was a peasant farmer, of the type so dear to Irish
land reformers ; the few acres of ground were his own which he
laboriously cultivated, with the assistance of his wife, and, as
they grew up, of his six children. Of the four boys, Vincent was the
third, and as soon as his years permitted he was engaged like the
others in the work of the little farm. His special duty was to
take charge of his father's sheep, and lead them to the pasture.
The solitary hours which thus fell to his lot he improved by
meditating upon the pious lessons inculcated by a devout mother.
A venerable oak grew on the grassy plain where the sheep
wandered ; its hollow trunk he converted into a little oratory,
where much of his time was spent in prayer ; its branches sheltered
him from the summer sun and the autumnal rains.
His father was quick to detect in him, not only his early piety,
but signs of a more than ordinary intelligence ; and feeling that
it would not be right for such qualities to be wasted in the farm
and pasture, — hoping, perhaps, that they might prove of pecuniary
benefit to the family, — he sent him, at the age of eleven, to the
Franciscan convent at Dax. Here his mental gifts were rapidly
developed ; and his progress was so rapid that, four years later,
the chief magistrate of Pouy received him into his house as tutor
to his children ; a position which enabled him to continue his
studies without being a burden on his parents. To the great
satisfaction of his patron, and to his own signal gain, he remained
in it for five years, years of intellectual growth and contented
usefulness. Then, in December, 1596, acting on the advice 0/
340 GOOD SAMARITANS.
his friend and employer, he separated himself from the world by
receiving the tonsure and the four minor orders. Resolving to
devote himself wholly to the service of God in His Church, he
repaired to Toulouse, in order to master the science of theology.
In December, 1598, the young student was ordained deacon ;
and on the 23rd of December, 1600, being then in his twenty-
fifth year, he was admitted to the priesthood. It is worth noting
that he discharged the duties of this high office for ^i'xfy years, his
death taking place on the 27th of September, 1660.
I have spoken of it as a " high office;" and indeed, to expound
the " oracles of God " to his fellow-men, to deliver to them the
great message with which our Lord entrusts His chosen ambas-
sadors, is a solemn responsibility, which none should lightly under-
take or carelessly discharge. Each of us, it is true, has, in his sphere
of life, and according to the measure of his powers, a duty to fulfil
towards the community of which he is a member ; but that which
falls upon the priest, or pastor, has, at all times and among all
peoples, been rightly regarded as of supreme weight and sacredness.
Such it was considered by Vincent de Paul. Writing, in after
years, to a friend, he says of the priesthood : — " It is the most
exalted condition that there can be upon this earth, and that
which it was our Lord's will to choose and to exercise. For
myself, if^ when I had the rashness to enter it, I had known what
it was, as I do now, I had much rather have been a labourer and
tilled the ground, than have engaged myself in so awful a pro-
fession ; and this I have said more than a hundred times to pooi
■country people, when, in order to encourage them to be contented,
and live as they ought, I have told them that I considered they
were happy to be in that state of Hfe ; and indeed, the older I
grow, the more I am confirmed in this opinion, because I discover
every day how far I am from the perfection to which I ought to
have attained."
After his admission to the priesthood, Vincent did not imme-
diately secure a charge, and to provide for his support he again
accepted a situation as tutor at Buzet. Here he gathered round
him a number of pupils, children of good families ; and by his
conscientious devotion to their mental and moral education, so
■won the confidence of their parents, that when he returned to
Toulouse to continue his theological studies, they desired him to
VINCENT DE PAUL IS TAKEN CAPTIVE. 341
take their children with him. That his educational work might
not interfere with the work of self-culture, he deprived himself of
many hours usually given to sleep and recreation.
So far his life had given no promise of special distinction, and
had it continued in the same groove, his biographer would have
has no story to relate, however signal might have been its influence
for good in the circle of which he was the centre. In 1605, he
had occasion to visit Marseilles, and then the first noteworthy
event in his career occurred ; an event which, disastrous as it was
in itself, proved to be the door that opened up to him his true
work in the world. Returning from Marseilles by sea, he was
captured by Turkish pirates, despoiled of all he possessed, and
carried with his fellow- passengers to Tunis to be sold into slavery.
" After they had stripped us," he writes, " they gave to each a
pair of drawers and a linen coat and cap, and walked us about the
town, whither they had come for the express purpose of sellmg us.
Having paraded us through the streets with chains on our necks,
they led us back to the ship, in order that purchasers might see
;vho ate heartily and who did not, and to show them, moreover,
that our wounds were not mortal." [Vincent had been wounded
by an arrow.] " This done, we were taken back to the market-
place, where merchants came to inspect us, exactly as men do
who want to buy a horse or an ox. We had to open our mouths
and show our teeth ; they felt our sides, examined our wounds,
made us walk, trot, run, lift heavy weights, and wrestle, that they
might judge of our individual strength, and they subjected us to a
thousand other indignities."
Vincent was sold to a fisherman, who, however, soon disposed
of him to a pretended physician and alchymist. At the end of ten
or eleven months this man died, bequeathing his slave, with his
other property, to a nephew, who sold him to a renegade Christian,
from Nice. As he was carried away to labour on an inland farm,
where the tropical heat caused him severe suffering, and the
heavy toil overtasked his energies, it seemed, at first, as if his fate
in life were permanently fixed ; but every man's future is a problem
the solution of which must be left to time. One of the renegade's
wives (he had three) observed, with a feeling of compassion, this
patient and gentle labourer, so evidently superior to his unfortu-
nate condition. S^e began to talk to hha, and it was inevitable
342 GOOD SAMARITANS.
but that their conversation should turn upon Vincent's favourite
theme, the love of Christ. One day she asked him to sing some
of the Christian songs of praise. The remembrance of the captive
Israelites in their Babylonian exile pressed upon him, and he
began, through his tears, the psalm, "By the waters of Babylon ;"
after which he sang or chanted the " Salve, regina," and many
others, which gave her wonderful pleasure. That evening she
told her husband he had done wrong in abandoning his religion,
of the excellence of which she had been persuaded by Vincent's
account of his God, and by the hymns he had sung in her
presence. In these, she said, she so delighted that she could not
believe that the Paradise of her fathers, the Paradise of the Koran,
coulu '=*qual, in its glory and joy, the sweet calm and satisfaction
of soul she had felt while listening to the Christian's praises of his
Lord and Savioui.
Her simple speeches went home to her husband's heart, and
thenceforth he looked eagerly for an opportunity to escape to
France, where he might resume his profession of the Christian
faith. It was not until June, 1607, that the opportunity presented
itself; then he and his family, accompanied by Vincent, crossed
the Mediterranean in a small boat, and on the 28th landed safely
at Aigues-Mortes. They repaired without delay to Avig.Ton, and
the apostate was publicly received back into the communion ot
the Church. Vincent afterwards accompanied the pro-legate to
Rome, and was introduced to the dignitaries of the Pontifical
Curia, who formed so high an opinion of his prudence and
judgment that they entrusted him with a confidential mission to
Henry IV. He was thus on the road to high preferment, but the
profligacy of the French Court so shocked the simple-minded
Christian priest that he quickly withdrew into retirement, and
sought the tranquil shelter of the oratory. He appears at this
time to have gone through that terrible trial of doubt and
despondency which so many souls have suffered like a baptism of
fire. But he emerged from it victorious, and hastened to busy
himself with the cure of souls in the little suburban village ot
Clichy. There his poor and humble flock soon learned to regard
him as a friend and father, and Clichy became a kind of " model
parish," where the people, it was said, " lived like angels " — so
great is the influence of one earnest, devoted Christian spirit >
UNWEARIED LOVE AND LABOUR— THEIR REWARD. 343
Years afterwards Vincent himself bore witness to their pious
living. " The good people of Clichy," he said, " were so obedient
to me, that when I recommended them to attend confession on
the first Sunday of every month, to ray great joy none were
missing. Ah, I used to say to myself, how happy thou art to
have such good people ; the Pope is not so happy as I am ! One
day the first Cardinal de Retz inquired, * Well, Monsieur, how do
you progress ? ' * My lord,' I replied, ' I am more happy than I
can say.' ' Why so ? ' * Because I have such good people, and
so obedient to everything that I tell them, that I say to myself
that neither the Pope, nor you, my lord, are so happy as I.' "
At the urgent request of his ecclesiastical superior, Vincent
reluctantly left this pleasant sphere of labour, and undertook the
duties of chaplain and tutor in the family of the Count de Joigny,
a scion of the illustrious house of De Retz. He continued to
discharge them for a period of about twelve years, until his pupils
had grown up from boyhood into manhood, and under his wise and
prudent care had been thoroughly fitted to play their parts on the
world's stage with dignity. It is easy to understand, from what
we have already seen of his character, with its happy combination
of modesty, tenderness, and gentle wisdom, that he would secure
the affectionate and trustful regard of all who came under his
influence. His, indeed, was one of those natures-^ not, alas ! toa
common, — in the sunshine of which others seem spontaneously ta
put forth their better qualities. There was about him a singular
personal charm and attractiveness, that was felt by men of the
highest rank as well as of the lowest, by the cultured not less,
than by the ignorant. This charm arose in part from his Christian
humility, from his absolute forgetfulness of self; in part, from the-
exquisite refinement of manner due to a cultured mind and a
sympathetic temper.
Not only was he " unwearied " in all the duties of his chaplain cy,
and in his work as a tutor, but he watched with tender vigilance
over the welfare of the servants of the Count's large household.
In sickness he waited upon them, in health he instructed them ;
he catechised them, he composed their differences, he gave them
opportune and prudent counsel. The little leisure that remained
to him after all these labours were accomplished he devoted to
the care of the peasants and workmen round about ; and in this
22
344 GOOD SAMARITANS.
way he was led to the organization of that special system of
religious enlightenment which under the name of *' Missions " has
recently been introduced into the English Church. One day he
was sent for to attend a poor man living in one of the Count de
Joigny's villages ; he was dangerously ill, and according to the
custom of the Catholic communion, wished to make his con-
fession. His neighbours described him as a man of good
character, religious habits, and irreproachable life. Vincent,
however, soon discovered that all this fine seeming did but
conceal " a heavy load of deadly sin " upon his conscience ; a
load which, but for Vincent's knowledge of the human heart, and
his power of gaining the full and entire confidence of all who
consulted him, he would have carried, unconfessed, and un-
repented of, into the Eternal Presence.
Vincent was led by this occurrence to meditate on the apathetic
condition of the masses, and to devise some means of awakening
them to a sense of their religious duty. As a first step in this
•direction, he held, on the 25th of January, 1607, a special service
:in the parish church of Folleville ; and so great was the effect of
.his address, such were the numbers who sought spiritual consola-
^tion and advice, that he was obliged to send to Amiens for
.assistance. 1?? the work of preaching, teaching, and catechizing,
three priests and himself were busily engaged for several days, and
in all the villages round about they reaped an abundant harvest
Such was the origin of the evangelizing agency of *' Missions,"
which has so often been beneficial in infusing new vigour and
vitality into the Church.
With the exception of four months in 161 7, which he spent in
Christian work at Chatillon, Vincent remained an honoured
member of the family of De Joigny until the death of the Countess
in 1625. By her will this admirable lady devised an annual sum
of 16,000 livres for the establishment of a Society of Mission
Priests, whose special responsibility should be, the evangelization
of the peasantry and general population of rural France. Not
long before her decease, she and her husband had obtained from
the Archbishop of Paris, brother of the Count, an old disused col-
legiate building, called the College des Bons Enfans, which they
fitted up as a liome and centre for this Society. The foundation
MISSION COLLEGE OF PRIESTS FOUNDED. 345
and endowment were both made over to Vincent de Paul, who was
appointed Superior ; and in him was vested the power of choosing
and electing every year as many ecclesiastics as the revenues of
the foundation would bear. The conditions attached to the deed
of endowment were : — That these ecclesiastics should devote them-
selves exclusively to the care of the poor in rural districts, and to
this end should bind themselves not to preach, nor to administer
the Sacrament, in any town where there was a bishop or arch-
bishop, or a civil court of justice, except in cases of manifest
necessity ; that they should live in common, under the obedience
of Jean Vincent de Paul, and after his decease, of their S.^oerior,
under the name of the Company or Congregation of Priests of the
Mission ; and that they should hold a mission every five > ^a.^
throughout the demesnes of the Count and Countess de Joigny
and also afford spiritual assistance to convicts.
Along with the post of Superior of the Mission College, Vincmt
held that of spiritual director to the Convent of the Visitation,
which had recently been estabUshed by Madame de Chautal at Paris,
and also that of Chaplain-General of convicts and galley-slaves.
In the last-named capacity he visited Marseilles, in order to inspect
the galleys and inquire into the condition of the wretches confined
on board of them ; it was probably much worse than that of the
inmates of the very worst prisons in Europe, and this, too, at a
time when prison administration was but another word for cruei
oppression. " Pitiable beyond words," we are told, " was the state
of things which he found there. Reckless misery, blank despaix,
and blasphemy combined, seemed to make of the Bagne a hell
upon earth." Moved with feelings of the deepest compassion for
these unhappy creatures, Vincent addressed all his energies to the
task of ameliorating their condition. Hitherto, the sole though
of those entrusted with the administration of the criminal law had
been punishment ; of the reformation of the criminal no idea had
crossed their minds. So long as he underwent the chastisement
ordained for his offence they were satisfied : that he could be
restored to society as a penitent and a useful member, they had
never regarded as possible or within their purview. It is the glory
of Vincent de Paul that he anticipated the prison reformers of the
next century. He endeavoured to revive in the heart of the
criminal a consciousness of right and wrong, while he secured
346 GOOD SAMARITANS.
their confidence by his evident compassion for their sufferings and
his patient hearing of their complaints. Patience and Sympathy !
Ah, these are the golden keys that unlock the most obdurate
bosom ! It was not that Vincent de Paul was a man of genius, —
though, unquestionably, he was largely endowed with the faculty
of organisation,— but he possessed those two grand sweet virtues,
which are as powerful as genius, and without which genius loses
its command of the hearts and minds of men.
An extraordinary illustration of this patience and sympathy,
approaching even to the sublime, is recorded by the good man's
biographer. I know not whether we can accept it as authentic,
though the Abbe Maynard seems to entertain no doubt. Among
the inmates of the galleys at Marseilles was a young man, stricken
almost to death by the agonizing reflection that his wife and
children were utterly destitute, and by his consciousness that he
was innocent of the crime with which he was charged. Vincent
de Paul was satisfied of his innocence, and prevailed upon the
officer of the gang to set him free, offering himself as a substitute.
That his inquiries into the state of the galleys might be the fuller
and the more independent, he had concealed from everybody his
real name and position ; so that none knew who it was that rose
to such a height of self-sacrifice. For several weeks, it is said,
Vincent worked in chains with the rest of the gang, until the
Count de Joigny, surprised at his long silence, made inquiries
which led to his discovery and release. During this period of
voluntary humiliation he contracted, we are told, a disease which,
for many years of his life, proved a terrible torture ; and his ankles
bore to the day of his death the marks of the pressure of his self-
imposed chains.
Returning from Marseilles, after his release, Vincent de Paul
passed through the town of Ma9on on his way to Paris. He had
no sooner entered it than he was surrounded by a crowd of clamo-
rous beggars, who, at that time, held the town practically at their
disposal, and levied blackmail upon the orderly portion of the
population. They were so numerous and so audacious that the
authorities feared to repress their outrages, lest they should break
out into open rebellion, and involve the town in anarchy. Vincent
de Paul, as we have hinted, was one of those rare men who
possess the gift of organization . "»rc of th"»*-» at who>f^ I^Duch
POWERS OF ORGANISATION— THE BEGGARS. 347
disorder magically melts into order, and at whose voice the
most mutinous are brought back under the influence of law.
Though he was but a passing traveller, he could not see such a
state of things without an immediate effort to remedy it. First
securing the support of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities, be
proceeded to collect the most reputable inhabitants of the town
and to form them into an association, pledged to restore order.
A list was then made out of all the beggars ; their circumstances
were investigated, and they were divided into two classes — the
professional mendicants, who lived by ruffianism, and the suffering
poor, whom their necessities constrained to ask for alms. For the
latter, assistance was provided suitable to their different needs ; to
the former a regular distribution was made, contingent on their
observance of various simple rules; such as that they should
present themselves every Sundafy at one particular church, and
that they absolutely refrained from public or private begging.
The arrangement of all the details of his plan occupied Vincent
for three weeks, and then he went on his way, followed by the
grateful praises of the inhabitants of Magon. Happy would it
be if for every Augean stable in the world such a Hercules could
be found as Vincent de Paul !
Resigning the place which he had happily held for so many
years in the Count de Joigny's family, Vincent took up his
residence as Principal in the College des Bons Enfans. At thisj
time he was about forty-nine years of age, and he is described
as a man of average stature, well-knit, with a large head, and
rather bald. His forehead was high, broad, and commanding;
his eye keen ; his demeanour grave, but gentle. By constant
self discipline he had so conquered a natural austerity of manner,
and so acquired an attractive grace and mildness, that it was
scarce possible, men said, to find any who could make religion
more comely in the eyes of the world, or more easily gain souls
to Christ. He was not a man of great intellectual force, of an
original and creative mind ; but he was capable of conceiving
lofty ideas, and possessed the faculty of developing them into
Action. He was slow in deliberation and cautious in judgment ;
never committed himself to an enterprise every detail of which
lad not been carefully considered ; nor offered a* opinion on 2
34« GOOD SAMARITANS,
subject until he had examined it from every point of view. Like
Marlborough, he never lost his serenity; his resources were always
and entirely at his command j and his patience was as inexhaust-
ible as his energy. He was a man of few words ; speech to him
was silvern, and silence golden; but when he spoke it was
always with firmness, distinctness, and a natural eloquence.
Innovations in religion, and, in fact, changes of all kinds, he
strongly disliked; and unconsciously he acted on the principle
of the old Latin saying, " Quieta non movere."
If I were to adopt the plan of writers who compile books upon
Representative Men, and label each with a particular virtue or
mental qualification, I should put Vincent de Paul before the
reader as a type of Charity. This was the dominant inspiration
of his life, his guiding motive, the principle underlying all his
thoughts and actions. The majority of men undoubtedly con-
sider themselves charitable, and, perhaps, in a limited way, are
really so; that is, they will fling a penny to a beggar, or contribute
some small sum to a ** deserving case." Bat Vincent de Paul's
charity reached a far higher standard, expanded in a much
broader development. To the poor, the distressed, the feeble,
he gave himself. His conception of Charity is embodied in the
following passage from an address he delivered to the members
of his Community : " Let us love God, my brethren," he said,
" but let it be at the cost of the labour of our arms and of the
sweat of our brow ; for very often these frequent acts of the love
of God, of delighting in Him and longing for Him, and other
such affections of a fervent heart, though in themselves very good
and desirable, are nevertheless to be regarded with suspicion
when they do not lead us to the practice of an active love.
' Herein,' our Lord says, * is my Father glorified, that ye bear
much fruit' It is to this we must look: there are many who,
having attained to a composed and well-regulated exterior, and to
an inner man filled with great thoughts of God, rest there,
but when it comes to deeds, or there is occasion for them lo
act, they stop short. They pride themselves upon their warm
feelings ; they content themselves with the sweetness of their
communion with God in prayer ; they can speak of these things
with the tongues of angels ; but if there be occasion to work foi
God, to suffer, to mortify themselves, to instruct the poor, to
VINCENT DR PAWS WORLD-WIDE CHARITY. 349
seek the lost sheep, to dispense with some comfort, to welcome
sickness or any other misfortune, alas ! they are no longer there,
their courage fails them. No, no, let us not deceive ourselves :
all our work consists in doing (latum opus nostrtmt in operatione
cons is tit).'"
But Vincent de Paul's charity went still further. He carried
it into his judgment of man's character and motives. He put the
best construction upon all that was said and done. His philan-
thropy was so fervent, so real, that he desired to render to
every one the duties and services of charity. And this, because
he constantly bore in mind the fact that men are all children of
the same Father, and saw Him in them, whosoever and whatso-
ever they might be. King or noble, bishop or priest, merchant
or artisan, Dives or Lazarus, — in each he saw the image ol our
Lord ; and, therefore, each had a claim upon his honour, his love,
and his duty.
On the growth of his association of Mission Priests, on the
increase of their members and the extension of their sphere of
labour, it is unnecessary for me to dwell. Enthusiasm, in a good
cause, when sustained and guided by what one may call the
practical faculty, almost invariably does something more than
" deserve *' success ; it accomplishes the results it desires, and
even grander results than its most sanguine visions had antici-
pated. The old College des Bons Enfans soon proved inadequate
to the accommodation of Vincent's little army of Christian
workers ; and in 1632 he transferred them to the large disused
conventual buildings which had at one time served as the lazar
or leper house of Paris. From this date to 1660, the last year
of the founder's earthly career, no fewer than seven hundred ^
"missions" were held by priests from S. Lazarus alone, while
branches of the Society were established in as many as six-and-
twenty of the French dioceses.
The next important work undertaken and carried out by
Vincent was the establishment of a system for the better training
and preparation of candidates for holy orders ; the necessity for
such a system having been impressed upon him by his own
observations of clerical apathy and negligence. " He used to sai-
that as a conquering general, if he would keep possession of the
350 GOOD SAMARITANS.
towns which he has taken, must leave strong garrisons behind
him ; so, after Satan had been driven from his strongholds, it was
very necessary for faithful soldiers of Christ to occupy the ground :
and that, unless good and earnest priests could be provided to
care for and help on the souls which had been won for God, it
was almost certain that they would fall back again, and their last
state be worse than the first ; and yet he was well aware, from his
own acquaintance with the clergy in country places throughout
the length and breadth of the land, as well as from the complaints
which reached him from all sides, how few such were to be
found." With Vincent de Paul, to recognise an evil was to
devise a remedy for it. He perceived clearly that he could not
depend upon the existing generation of clergy, who had grown
accustomed to the old groove, and were wedded to the ancient
traditions ; his work must be prospective ; he must seize upon the
young men then coming forward as candidates for the ministry,
and endeavour to breathe into them a loftier spirit, to animate
them with a higher sense of the sacredness and solemnity of their
duties. His plan was, to require that all who desired to receive
holy orders should be carefully instructed in the necessary studies
should make a spiritual retreat for some days before ordination,
and go through a course of moral theology. It was taken up at
once by the Bishop of Beauvais and the Archbishop of Paris;
and as it extended, Vincent established Retreats for Ordinants at
S. Lazarus, receiving five times a year, for a period of eleven
days, as many as from seventy to ninety men, who were enter-
tained as welcome guests, and lodged and boarded free of
expense.
The happy influence exe.Msed by these "Retreats" Vincent
acknowledged with a grateful heart ; but he had a keen perception
of the weakness of human nature, and apprehending that the
good impressions and resolutions acquired and made in the calm
retirement of S. Lazarus might only too readiir glide away in
rude contact with the world, he sought for some means of sus-
taining and confirming them until they assumed a character of
permanency. After much reflection, he instituted for this purpose
a weekly conference ; and every Tuesday the young priests assem-
bled at S. I>azarus to discuss the nature of their solemn duties,
and the graces necessary for a faithful discharge of them. Out
FIRST INSTITUTION OF ''SISTERS OF CHARnV. 3;,.
of these gatherings grew a confraternity or guild, the members ot
which were bound to assist one another under certain fixed con-
ditions ; thus, they visited those who were sick, and in case of
the death of any one of their number, the survivors followed him
to the grave. They were required to rise at a certain hour, to
spend at least half-an-hour a day in silent prayer, and daily to
'ead, kneeling and bare-headed, a chapter of the New Testament
We now arrive at the third, and perhaps the greatest, of
Vincent de Paul's philanthropic achievements, the one in right
of which he finds a place among our " Good Samaritans " — the
institution of " Sisters Of Charity." His first movement in this
direction was made as early as 161 7, during his brief residence at
Chatillon. Deeply moved by the mass of poverty and indigence
around him, and struck by the want of all order and definite
effort in the attempts to relieve it, he collected a body of workers,
whom he called a " Confraternity of Charity," for the purpose of
providing the sick poor, at their own houses, with proper care and
nursing. Any devout women, married or unmarried, were ad-
mitted into this Confraternity, who, for the love of God and His
poor, were willing to enter upon the work, and to pledge them-
selves to a regular and systematic discharge of it. By degrees,
these charitable Sisterhoods spread over all the land, as they
almost invariably sprang up in places where Vincent and his
lazarists had held a Mission; a proof of the eminently /r^r/Zr^/
character of Vincent's religious teaching ; of the manner in which
he insisted that Faith should confirm itself by Works. Their
^ supervision, therefore, assumed the proportions of an onerous
charge, and Vincent, who had already too many burdens to sus-
tain, looked around him for some capable assistant to whom he
could entrust it. At last he found the helper he needed in a
Madame Louise Legras, an affluent widow, who desired to dedi-
cate herself wholly to God's service.
"From her youth," says her English biographer, "she had been
of a serious and philosophic turn of mind : so much so, that her
father gave her a classical education, as the only one worthy of
her gravity and intellect. But her soul soared beyond the things
human learning professes to teach : she longed to enter a religious
order ; and she would have done so, but that her health proved
352 XJUOD SAMARITANS,
too delicate for the austerities of the cloistCi Even in the world
she led a life of retirement, charity, and self-deiiial ; and from the
first years of her marriage she belonged to the poor and to the sick
of her parish. She visited them in their illnesses, gave them medi-
cines and relief, attended on them, made their beds, consoled or
exhorted the sorrow-stricken or the dying, and shrank from no
task, not even from the laying out of the dead. In the fervour of
her zeal, Madame Legras wished, in placing herself under the
spiritual guidance of Vincent, to take a vow of devoting herself
henceforth to the poor ; but, with his cautious dislike of anything
resembling precipitation, he forbade her to do so for four years -
during which he put her zeal and charity to repeated trials."
The Romish clergy are not generally credited with any special
scrupulousness in their efforts to make converts or gain adherents ;
out nothing is more remarkable about Vincent de Paul than his
absolute straightforwardness, and his anxiety at all times that
none should join him who had not measured the full extent of
the responsibilities they undertook. It was owing to this wise
honesty that few, if any, of his helpers, when once they had put
their hand to the plough, drew it back again ; that few, if any, fell
out of the ranks, disgusted with or overborne by the hardness of
the service. Not until he had thoroughly tested the constancy of
purpose of Madanie Legras did he offer her the supervision of his
Confraternities of Charity. She accepted it gladly, and in an
earnest spirit; and thenceforth, every summer, she visited the
different villages where they were established, examining into
their progress, and mstructing and encouraging their members. At
first they had been limited to the rural districts ; but in a country
where no Poor Law existed, no government or national organization
for dealing with pauperism, the need for them was quite as urgent
in the towns, and especially in the capital itself. Several Parisian
ladies, therefore, obtained Vincent's permission to form them-
selves into an association under the same rules and regulations as
those which governed his Sisterhoods. But it was soon found,
as evidently Vincent had anticipated, that full reliance could not
be placed upon ladies of rank and position ; in some cases their
husbands objected to the work they had undertaken; in others
the ladies themselves grew weary of its monotony ot unpleasant-
ness. Then they began to devolve their duties upon their
SPREAD OF THE GOOD WORK OVER THE WORLD. 353
servants, who did not always attend very strictly to the orders
they had received, or, at all events, failed to show — as that class
of individuals so very generally fail to show — the love, the
sympathy, and the tenderness more eagerly coveted by the poor,
and more keenly appreciated by them, than any material relief.
To meet this difficulty Vincent looked around him for pious
women who would give up their whole lives to the care of the
sick; who would accept it as an honourable vocation and a
service unto God : women whom no social ties would distract
in the performance of their duties, and in whose intelligence and
fidelity a reasonable confidence might always be placed. It was
in 1635 that his search first proved successful; and he had then
the good fortune to meet three or four " Sceurs de la Charite,"
under the general superintendence of Madame Legras. He
required of them that they should undergo a careful training in
nursing the sick, in preparing and administering medicines,
and other useful and necessary details ; and, further, he accus-
tomed them to habits of obedience and devotion. The work
grew rapidly, because it met a "felt want," and met it in a
practical and reasonable manner. The seed sown by Vincent
ripened into a noble harvest which has spread over many lands.
His ** Sisters of Charity " were the direct ancestresses of our
Sisters of Mercy, Sisters of the Poor, District Visitors, and the
like. Madame Legras was the first of a long line of noble
women, of whom, in our own day, we have seen such bright and
beautiful examples as Miss Aikenhead, Sister Dora, and Florence
Nightingale. To women,^such women as felt no vocation for a
married life, but were nevertheless disinclined to immure them-
selves in the unprofitable life of the cloister, — women with a
capacity for usefulness and a talent for administration, if they
could but find appropriate fields for their exercise, — this new
organization proved scarcely less beneficial than to the rich and
poor for whose benefit it was called into existence. This is the
advantage of all good and noble work : it entails a benediction
upon the workers as well as upon those for whom they work.
In the following century, as I have elsewhere written, no fewer
than four-and-thirty establishments of Sisters of Charity existed
in Paris alone ; and they were also to be found in Italy, Spain,
Poland, and the Netherlands, in America, and even in India.
354 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Neither Vincent nor Madame Legras had at the outset any con-
ception of the grandeur of the enterprise they had, with so rare
a sagacity and so chivalrous a benevolence, initiated. And, in
truth, no reformer can ever see the full extent of his reform, or
estimate aright its abundant possibilities. Could Columbus,
when he revealed the Western World to the eager eyes of Europe,
have anticipated, even in his wildest dreams, the vast issues of his
■discovery ? In every " work of noble note " the increase comes
from God. As for Vincent de Paul, he did what all of us ought
to do — the task that lay close at hand to be done, without thought
of the future ; and he did it admirably, with rare prudence and
good sense, and a careful adaptation of the means to the end.
He did not attempt too much, nor did he ask too much . f the
agents he employed. Gradually he enlarged his design and
•extended his sphere of action, until almost every branch of
philanthropic effort fell within the range of his Sisterhoods ; but
nothing was done hastily, nor without mature consideration.
The regulations which he laid down for the observance of the
Sisterhoods bore the stamp of his practical turn of mind. The
Sisters were subjected to a probation, a preliminary trial, of five
years ; after which they took the vows of obedience, chastity, and
poverty ; but they took them for one year only, so that if they
repented of the weight of the burden, they might be at liberty
to get rid of it. Nor could they renew them without the per-
mission of the Superior, who took every opportunity of reminding
them of the nobleness of the vocation to which these vows were
the solemn and sacred introduction. "A Sister of Charity,"
he would say, " has need of a higher degree of virtue than the
members of the austerest religious order. There is no order of
religious women which has so many and such arduous duties
to perform ; inasmuch as the Sisters of Charity must in them
selves discharge almost all the offices of other Orders. In the
first place, they must labour after their owi? perfection, with as
much earnestness as the Carmelites ; next, they nurse the sick
like the nurses of the Hotel Dieu and other hospital sisters ; and
lastly, they undertake the education of young girls, like the
Ursulines. . . . They must remember," he would add, '*that
although they are not nuns, that condition not being suitable
for the works of their vocation, for that very reason, because
RULES FOR THE SISTERHOODS. 355
they are more exposed than those who are cloistered and shut
out from the world, they require a loftier and severer virtue.
Their monasteries are the homes of the sick ; their cells are hired
rooms; their cloisters, the streets of the city or the wards of
I the hospital ; instead of a barred gate to protect them, they have
the fear of God ; and for a veil, holy modesty. Hence, they
must in all places endeavour to behave with at least as much
reserve, self-control, and edification, as regular nuns use in their
convents ; and to obtain of God this grace, they must labour ta
acquire all the virtues commended to them by their rules, and
particularly a deep humility, a perfect obedience, and a great
detachment or separation from their fellow-creatures. And,
specially, they must exercise any possible precaution to preserve
perfect purity of body and soul."
To some ears a ring of Romanism will be perceptible in this
advice, but, nevertheless, it is, on the whole, very broad and
generous and wise. Vincent continued, in the instructions which
he addressed to the Sisters : —
"Lest the spiritual offices they render should interfere with
the bodily services they are bound to give, — a thing which might
easily happen, if by too long staying with one patient they allowed
others to suffer through neglecting to give them their food or
medicine at the proper hour, they must be very careful in the
management of their time, and the arrangement of their work^
according to the number and needs of their patients, great or
small. And since in the evening their duties are not generally
so urgent as in the morning, they may choose that time for the
instruction and exhortation of their patients, particularly when
administering to them their medicines.
*' In their attendance upon the sick they must make God their
sole thought and object, and thus they will become indifferent
alike to the praises they may receive or the hard words that may
he dealt out to them, except that they will turn both to good
account, inwardly rejecting the former, and humbUng themselves
in the knowledge of their own nothingness ; and welcoming the
latter, in honour of the reviHngs of the Son of God upon the
Cross by those very men who had received of Him so many
favours and graces.
" No gift, however small, must they accept from the poor whom
356 GOOD SAMARITANS.
they assist. They must beware of thinking that the poor are in
any way obliged to them for the services they render ; seeing that
in very truth, it is they themselves who are indebted to the poor.
For through that small charity which they bestow not of their
substance, but only of a little care, they make to themselves
friends, who shall one day have a right to receive them into
everlasting habitations. And even in this life they receive, through
the poor on whom they wait, greater honour and truer satisfaction
than they could have dared to hope for in the world : of this they
must be careful to make no improper use, but rather to abase
themselves in the consciousness of their own unworthiness.
" They will remember that they are called Sisters of Charity, —
that is, sisters whose profession it is to love God and their neigh-
bour; and that, therefore, besides the sovereign and supreme
love they must have for God, they ought to excel in the love of
their neighbours, and especially of their companions. Accord-
ingly, they will avoid all coolness and dislike towards any, and,
at the same time, all special friendships and attachments to some
above others ; since these two vicious extremes are sources of
division, both in communities and among private persons, if they
dwell upon and entertain them. And should it happen that they
have quarrelled among themselves, they must ask pardon of one
another, at the very latest before they retire to rest
"Moreover, they will bear in mind that they are called * ser-
vants of the poor,* which, in the eyes of the world, is one of the
lowest conditions, to the end that they may always have a low
opinion of themselves, and reject immediately the least thought
of vain-glory which might arise in their minds, if they hear any
good said of their works, remembering that it is to God that all
the glory is due, because He alone is the author of them.
" They will be very faithful and exact in following their Rule,
and all the laudable customs which have hitherto been observed
in their mode of life, particularly those which concern the perfect-
ing of their own happiness.
" But not the less must they remember that, whenever necessity
or obedience requires it, they must always prefer the service of
the poor to their devotional practices, inasmuch as, in so doing,
they are leaving God for God."
Vincent was too wisely liberal to enforce upon the Sisters a
SELF-SACRIFICE AND DISREGARD OF DANGER. 357
rule as rigid as that which prevails in the cloister. The obliga-
tions imposed upon them were of a different order : namely, to
rise all the year round at four in the morning ; to pray twice a day ;
to live with extreme frugality ; to drink no wine, except in illness ;
to minister to the sick even in the loathsomest diseases ; to watch
throughout the night by the bed of the dying ; to live shut up
within the dull walls of an hospital \ to breathe air heavy with
infection ; to endure with calmness, and even to welcome with
rejoicing, fatigue and danger, sickness and death. It will be seen
that the Sisters took upon themselves a burden of no light weight,
but it was one which God gave them strength to bear, and in
the bearing of it there was joy and blessing and honour.
To Vincent de Paul the heroism which was thus quietly mani-
fested was a constant source of wonder and loving admiration,
though it was he himself who had called it into being. His
feelings are best described in his own words, which he addressed
to the Mission Priests in 1658. At the request of the French
queen, Anne of Austria, he had sent four Sisters to attend upon
the wounded soldiers at Calais, and two of them had succumbed to
fatigue : — "I recommend to your prayers," he said, "the Sisters of
Charity whom we sent to Calais to assist the wounded. Four went,
and two — the strongest — have sunk beneath the burden. Imagine
what four poor girls can do for five or six hundred sick and
wounded soldiers ! Is it not affecting? Do you not consider it an
action of great merit before God, that women should, with so much
courage and resolution, go amongst soldiers to relieve them in their
need ; that they should voluntarily subject themselves to so much
fatigue, and even to disease and death, for the sake of those who
braved the perils of war for the good of the State ? We see how
these women were filled with zeal for the glory of God and the
succour of their fellow-creatures ! The queen has honoured us by
writing and asking for more Sisters to be sent to Calais, and four
leave to-day for that purpose. One of them, about fifty years of
age, came to me last Friday at the Hotel Dieu, where I was then
staying. She said that, having learned that two of her Sisters had
died at Calais, she came to offer herself to go in their place, if
1 would allow it. 'Sister,' I replied, *I will think about it.'
See, my brethren, the courage of these women, thus to come
forward like victims, glad and willing to render up their lives for
358 GOOD SAMARITANS,
the love of Jesus Christ and the good of their neighbour. Is not
this admirable? In truth, I know not what to say, except that
they will judge us on the great day of the Lord. Yea, they will
be our judges, unless we are as ready as they to expose our lives
for the love of God."
From the beginning of 1649 the infirmities of old age began to
press heavily upon our indefatigable philanthropist, whose charity
was so broad and so true because it was a charity inspired by a
profoundly religious feeling. He was no longer able to move
about on foot or on horseback, but was compelled to use a little
carriage. He grieved deeply at being constrained to yield himself
this indulgence, but a still greater grief was his inability to kneel.
No failure of energy, however, no abatement of zeal, could be
detected in his discharge of the multifarious works of mercy,
charity, and religion that devolved upon him. Never was there
greater need of his spirit of enthusiastic benevolence and his
power of organization ; for the war had desolated the provinces
of Champagne and Picardy ; and the Mission priests, under his
direction, were severely taxed in their heroic endeavours to feed
the hungry and clothe the naked, to shelter the homeless and
bury the dead. For more than three years this colossal work fell
almost entirely upon Vincent and his disciples. And when it was
happily ended, for this apostle of Christian charity yet remained
another loving and charitable task. In 1653 a wealthy Parisian
citizen consulted him on the best means of employing a large sum
of money which he desired to devote to God's service. It was to
be placed entirely at Vincent's disposal : the sole condition being
that the donor's name was never to be revealed. The trust was
one he could not refuse; and after meditation and prayer, he
proposed to expend it in founding a Hospital or Almshouse for
aged and necessitous artisans. The donor approved of the sug-
gestion ; and accordingly Vincent purchased and fitted up suitable
premises for the accommodation of twenty men and as many
women, under the title of the Hospital of the Name of Jesus.
His weakness continued to increase as year after year was
added to his record. Before his end came he experienced the
hard trial of losing three of his dearest friends — a M. Porlail, who
had been his life-long helper, his secretary, and assistant-superior ;
a certain Abbe de Chandenier, whose Christian fellowship he had
THE MESSENGER OF DEATH IN SLEEP. 359
held as a very precious thing; and Madame Legras, his right
hand in carrying out the organisation of the sisterhoods of charity.
With eighty-four winters on his head, the venerable Superior
might well long to follow his beloved friends to their rest, and he
was often heard to sigh, — " For how many years, O Lord, have I
abused Thy grace ! Alas ! I live too long, since there is no
amendment in my life, and my sins are multiplied according to
the long procession of my years." And again, on hearing of the
departure of any of his mission-priests, he would say : — " Thou
leavest me^ O God, and callest to Thyself Thy servants. I am
one of those tares that spoil the good grain Thou gatherest, and
here am I still, uselessly cumbering the ground. Well, well, my
God, Thy will be done, not mine."
However long deferred, the summons of death must come at
last About noon, on the 25th of September, 1660, the aged
Father fell suddenly into a deep sleep. For some time he had
suffered attacks of drowsiness ; but this one was so profound and
calm that, on his awaking, an attendant remarked upon it.
" Ay," said Vincent, "it is the brother who has come beforehand,,
while we are waiting for the sister."^ On the day following,.
Sunday, after hearing mass in the chapel, and communicating, as.
was his custom, he was seized with a stupor and lethargy, from,
which it was impossible to rouse him, except for brief intervals.
The physician acknowledged that no remedies could further avail,
and advised that the last rites of the Church should be adminis-
tered. Vincent revived sufficiently, however, to utter a few words-
of benediction on the members of the congregation, absent as well
as present. In the evening, the last Sacrament was administered*.
His feebleness was so great that it was thought safer not to undress;
him, and he spent the night in his chair, in sweet and tranquii
communion with his heavenly Father. Of the various ejaculations;
repeated to him, the one which seemed to please him most was;
the " Deus adjutorium meum intende ; " and whenever he hei A
it he would respond, " Domine ad adjuvandum me festina." A
Retreat was at this time being held in the Home, and the priest
• We are reminded of the poet Shelley's lines : —
** How wonderful is Death,
Death and his brother Sleep I *
23
(JOOD SAMARITANS.
who conducted it obtained permission to take leave of the aged
saint, for whom he had always cherished a deep affection. He
asked his blessing oh all the associates of the weekly Conferences,
and his intercession to obtain them grace ; so that the fire of holy
zeal which his words and example had kindled and kept alive
might not be quenched after his departure. Vincent answered,
"Qui ccepit opus bonum, ipse perficiet." These were his last
words, and they explained the motive of his life — an absolute
forgetfulness of self, and an entire devotion to the glory of his
Divine Master.
A few minutes later, at half-past four o'clock on the morning of
Monday the 27th of September, 1660, he passed away, bequeath-
ing to posterity that most precious of all legacies, a glorious
example.
It was the distinctive merit of Vincent de Paul, whose life we
have thus briefly sketched, to open up to women a new and
adequate vocation, one particularly adapted to their special gifts,
one in which all their graces of character could fitly be utilised.
Many lives, which might otherwise have been wasted, have thus
/been made profitable to themselves and to others. The womanly
"virtues — meekness, obedience, purity, tenderness, patience — are
just those which are most necessary to the successful accomplish-
iment of the work of charity ; and women succeed so much more
ifuUy than men in labours among the sick and distressed, because
they are so much more sympathetic. Even their physical quali-
fications are an advantage — the light tread, the delicate touch, the
soft voice. Again, they have a wonderful power of endurance, and
night after night they will watch by the bedside of the invalid,
always on the alert, always attentive, always patient and gentle ;
when men would have succumbed to fatigue, and in their weari-
ness grown irritable or negligent. It was a happy day for the
poor and suffering when a new sphere of duty was revealed to
women as the active agents of organised charity.
Commenting upon the career and character of Amelia Sieveking,
her biographer justly remarks that, though all women cannot be,
aor is it necessary that they should be, exactly what she was, yet
can they strive to imitate her in her truthfulness, her faithful per-
MISS SIEV EKING AT HAMBURG. 361
formance of duty, her conscientiousness and self-control, the earnest-
nes3 which she carried into the smallest matters, the diligence with
which she followed every good work, her severity towards herself,
hei mildness and discretion towards others. She was possessed
with the spirit of Vincent de Paul ; her life, like his, was a grand
illustration of compassionate and ministering love, of the highest
and purest charity ; and in the Protestant Church she sought to
found such an association of women, devoted to benevolent work,
as he had founded in the Roman. In the history of female effort
and endeavour we know of no more stirring chapter than that
which records her long labours in the Cholera Hospital of Ham-
burg. It was in October 1831 that the plague of Asiatic cholera
swooped down, in fearful severity, upon the city of Hamburg.
Unterrified by its ghastly concomitants, she immediately tendered
her services to the hospital authorities. They were accepted, and
for eight weeks she waited upon the sufferers with indefatigable
vigilance, soothing them in their agonies, and receiving their dying
injunctions and wishes. The entire superintendence of the men's
wards, as well as of the female ward, and the general supervision
of the attendants, were placed in her hands. We may gather
some idea of the onerous nature of her daily duties from a letter
she wrote to her mother : —
" In the morning," she says, " I have to see that, before the
physician's visit, all the wards are cleaned, the beds made, and
that everything is in proper order. Three times a day — morning,
afternoon, and evening — I visit the sick-beds in company with the
physician, the surgeon, and the apothecary, when Dr. Siemssen
gives to each the directions belonging to our respective depart-
ments. In the women's ward, of course, I have to pay particular
attention to all the medical orders, as I am responsible there for
their exact fulfilment. In the men's wards my special duty is only
to observe what diet is prescribed, according to which I draw up
the daily bill of fare for the housekeeper. Not unfrequently, too,
J have to read the necessary notice of his admission to the re-
latives of the sick man, as the patients are often brought in un-
known to their family. The linen of the wards is also under my
charge. At present I also occasionally take part, when I see any
need for it, in the actual nursing of the men ; but if the number
of our patients should greatly increase, I should be obliged to do
362 GOOD SAMARITANS.
less of this even in the women's ward, as the general superin-
tendence would be of more importance, and would give me full
occupation ; but it would then be of great use to me that I have
thus acquired experience in the treatment of patients."
Only those who know something of hospital life, and something
1 00 of the terrible character of choleraic disease, can fully appre-
ciate the courage, resolution, and truly heroic patience displayed in
the performance of such delicate and difficult duties. What was
very striking in Miss Sieveking's character was her thorough simpli-
city of mind, her entire unconsciousness that she was doing a good
and a great work. It seemed to her the work she was called upon
to do, and as a matter of ordinary duty she did it, and did it with
all her powers. " On the whole," she writes, '* I am certainly at
present called to the work of Martha rather than Mary ; but this is
quite right. It is enough if the Lord will but employ me in His
service; the mode I leave entirely to Him. If I could but perform
the labours of Martha with the quiet mind of Mary ! but I am
far from attaining this at present. Now and then, too, I find an
opportunity for practising something of Mary's work, when it is
suitable, which certainly happens very rarely. I read aloud
portions of some religious book to my nurses and patients, and in
the convalescents' wards I have been requested by some to pro-
cure them something to read. I gave them various little selections
of prayers, and sent to the Christian Circulating Library for some
other works of a more entertaining character. The following day
I was greatly pleased at being voluntarily asked by some of the
readers for a Bible, that they might look out the text referred to,
and I immediately procured two for them."
The following extract illustrates her surprising energy and
vij^our : — *' I continue very well in health, and it is really remark-
able what a degree of physical strength is given me from above.
Thus, last night, when a sick woman was brought in who re-
quired close attendance, I did not get to bed until four o'clock in
the morning ; at half-past six I had to rise again, and at seven
my coffee was brought, but at eleven I had never yet found a
moment in which I could drink it ; and with the exception of the
time when I was writing out the list of diets, half-an-hour at
dinner, half-an-hour in the afternoon, when I had a cup of tea in
my own room, and half-an-hour in the evening, when I read aloud
FOUNDATION OF ENGLISH SISTERS OF MERCY. 363
from a devotional work in my own ward, I have never sat down
ten minutes together in the whole day; and yet I feel no trace of
fatigue. And my dear mother must not imagine this to be the
result only of excitement ; my mind is perfectly quiet and com-
posed ; indeed, I feel better when there is a great deal to do ; an
inactive life in an hospital would be indeed something terrible."
In later years she spoke with much frankness of her motives
and experiences during this episode of her career : — " While in
the hospital," she said, " I received many letters telling me of the
judgment pronounced by various people on my conduct, and
though a few praised me, for the most part I was blamed. I was
particularly sensitive to blame in this case, for though I certainly
did seek the glory of God in the first place, yet I cannot deny
that sometimes the thought had glided into my mind that people
would admire my self-sacrifice. Instead of that, it was, * She
wants to do something remarkable ; she wants to set up for a
martyr,' and all this was very good for me. But if I was humbled
by the answer of men, I was but confirmed in my resolve to per-
severe until I had overcome all hindrances and fairly solved the
problem before me. I was called an enthusiast, but it was by
prayer that I conquered, and never have I regretted the step I
then took. From that time, too, I determined never in future to
stand in dread of the opinions of men, or to allow them to destroy
my peace."
The great work of Miss Sieveking's life was the foundation of
an order of Sisters of Mercy in the Protestant Church. With
pain and regret she had observed that the Protestant system
offered no such employment for the charitable energies of women
as the Roman ; and that they were thus deprived of what for
themselves could not be other than a valuable spiritual training,
while the poor and destitute were left without the aid and counsel
they so sorely needed. She saw that in hundreds of instances
unmarried females were debarred from doing the good to which
their hearts inclined them, because they had not the assured
position and official sanction which a definite organization, under
the sanction of the Church, would provide. And it was her con-
viction that many a soul, struggling anxiously towards the pure
and the true, but let and hindered by external or internal
influences, would, in such a vocation, find the strength and
364 GOOD SAMARITANS.
support it needed, and be prevented from sliding back into the
slough of worldliness. What society required was, in her belief, an
organization for the relief of the poor and destitute ; and she held
that such an organization could be worked more beneficially and
effectively by her own sex than by men. Such, indeed, was the
case in the Primitive Church ; in which women of good repute
were encouraged to devote themselves to the Church's service,
to visit the poor, nurse the sick, and teach the female catechumens.
Stolberg says of Vincent de Paul, that he had one noteworthy
custom. "This man, who undertook and executed such a
colossal mass of work, used to begin very slowly ; slowly laid his
foundations, examined long what the will of God might be ;
but when once convinced what it was, he went forward with
irresistible power, and God granted him results as speedy as they
were fruitful." Miss Sieveking was of the same mind as Vincent
de Paul. Her scheme of a Protestant Sisterhood she meditated
with devout care, pondering every detail, and anticipating every
objection ; and in 1832 it took actual form and shape. Started
at first by her individual energy, the Association was soon rein-
forced by the energy and goodwill of kindred spirits ; so that
in one year the number of working members increased from
fourteen to twenty-five. The rules of the Sieveking Association
were gradually adopted by the numerous guilds and sisterhoods
that sprang out of it, and those now operating in connection with
the various Protestant Churches must all be traced back to this
one original.
Without the purest courage, without the loftiest enthusiasm,
and that faith and hope which are its main elements, Miss
Sieveking could never have accomplished the work she did. The
reader, we think, will feel a blush of shame as he reads her
simple account of the labours of a single day. " I get up," she
writes, "at half-past four, and am busy for the school-children
until six. I take my breakfast while I am at work. At six I
start for the city, arriving at the Town Hall about a quarter after
seven. Here there are generally about twenty or more poor
people waiting to speak to me. This lasts till half-past eight,
when I go to our own house and look through any notes that
have come for me, or prepare something more for my school, and
if there is any time left before lessons begin, I take another walk,
A BUSY DAY'S WORK 365
either to call on some of the poor people, or go on their errands
to the doctor for the poor, and guardians, and the like. At ten
o'clock my little ones come to me, and stay until nearly two. At
half-past two I go to the Free School, where I give religious
instruction till half-past three. The time from half-past three till
five is filled up with errands or writing for the Association. At
five some of my former scholars assemble, and first I hold a
regular Bible lesson with them ; then we drink tea and converse,
and towards the end of our time I generally tell them anything
likely to interest them in the way of literature or general subjects.
At eight o'clock they separate. Meantime the visiting reports
from the ladies of the Association have been sent in. These
reports, upwards of a hundred in number, have to be looked
through, many things to be taken note of, and the visits newly
apportioned. This work employs me as long as I can keep
awake, but I cannot finish it for bed-time."
Such was a day in Miss Sieveking's busy life. But of course
it signifies an amount of labour which few persons would be
justified in undertaking, because few would have the physical or
mental energy requisite to carry it out. Moreover, it leaves no
time for self-culture, or private devotion, or kindly intercourse
with friends. We may work, however, in Miss Sieveking's spirit
without implicitly or servilely adopting her method.
Among her later achievements were the building of a model
lodging-house, and the establishment of a children's hospital.
Both were eminently successful, as were all Miss Sieveking's
projects ; partly because they were always so thoroughly matured^
and partly because everything she did was done at the right time.
Much good work is ruined by over-haste, and much by inoppor-
tuneness. It is useless to sow the seed until the field is ready.
Meanwhile her Association prospered largely, and she lived to
celebrate its twenty-fifth anniversary ; when the great idea which
had filled her whole soul and animated her whole life, the devotion
and consecration of her sex by works of love and living charity^
had ripened into a great fact, into a blessed reality.
" Every great and commanding movement in the annals of the
world," says Emerson, "is the triumph of enthusiasm." But in the
present time enthusiasm is greatly sneered at and depreciated.
366 GOOD SAMARITANS.
This new departure is a pitiful and discouraging sign. For what
is enthusiasm but an earnest devotedness towards some high
purpose? — an eager belief in the value of some special object, a
constant effort to attain the heights of spiritual and intellectual
endeavour ? What is it but an emotion of the heart, a passion
of the soul ? What is it but the life and force and power which
make men and nations capable of doing great things, or of suffer-
ing and waiting ? In the eyes of the Pharisees our Lord was an
enthusiast : so was St. Paul in the eyes of Festus. And were not
the Christians of the first two centuries enthusiasts, amid the fires
and wild beasts of Rome ? Are not all men enthusiasts who, at
the risk of their hearts' blood, and in despite of the bitterest
suffering, strive to purify, to better the world ? How all such
reformers and philanthropists are laughed at by the cynical philo-
sophers of these latter days, when a cold and self-satisfied indiffer-
ence to all unselfish exertions or generous impulses is represented
as the highest phase of a wise man's wisdom ! The old shibboleths
of loyalty and truth and patriotism and self-sacrifice, — in a
word, every phase and form of enthusiasm, — are derided and
dishonoured by the disciples of the new philosophy. Yet let us
not shrink back ashamed from the worship of the pure and
beautiful. Let us not shut our hearts against those sweet
purifying influences which flow from a desire to live a noble and
an upright life. Let us not fail to keep before our eyes an Ideal,
to which it shall be our constant effort and yearning to attain.
Let us never refuse to share in any work which has for its object
the elevation of humanity. Where would this world be but for
the enthusiasm of its reformers, philanthropists, teachers ? What
but enthusiasm has set up the cross of Christ in the islands of the
wide southern seas ? What but enthusiasm has consolidated the
fabric of our constitutional freedom ? What but enthusiasm has
covered our and with schools and raised the common people out
of a slough of apathetic ignorance and degradation ? And it is
this same enthusiasm, with all its cleansing and ennobling vitality,
that each one of us should carry into his daily life, so that it may
give breadth and height to our thoughts, an inspiration to our
industry, and dignity to our manhood.
It must have been enthusiasm, the highest, purest enthusiasm,
which strengthened and supported Mompesson during his experi-
TRUE HEROISM OF MR, AND MRS. MOMPESSON, 367
ences of the plague at Eyam. Most of us have read of St. Carlo
Borromeo's heroic devotion when the pestilence ravaged Milan,
how he bent over the beds of the death-stricken, and administered
food and medicine and the consolations of religion while breathing
the fatal air of infection ; but few, perhaps, have heard of the
humble English pastor, who played as noble a part, though on a
less conspicuous stage. William Mompesson was Rector of Eyam,
a picturesque Derbyshire village, between Chatsworth and Buxton,
when the plague last visited England (1665). He had been
married only a few years, and by his wife, a beautiful young
creature of twenty-seven, had two lovely children, a boy of
three and a girl of four years of age. When the terrible pestilence
showed itself in the village, he at once sent away his little ones ;
but his wife would not leave him, and the two remained to share
the dangers and trials of their people. Mompesson was a brave
and thoughtful man ; he fully appreciated the peril of the situa-
tion, and set to work with calm resolution to confront it. To
London he sent for the remedies most in vogue ; and to the
Earl of Devonshire at Chatsworth he wrote, to promise that the
villagers should not cross the boundaries of their parish, so as to
spread the contagion, if he would provide that food, provisions,
and other necessaries should, at regular times, be deposited at
certain points on the hills around, whence they might fetch them,
and leave the proper payment. Further, all letters should be
placed on a stone, and duly fumigated, or passed through vinegar,
before they were sent into circulation. The Earl readily assented
to these propositions, and for seven dreary months Eyam was thus
fenced off from the outer world — remote and alone, like some
island in the far-off melancholy main.
The Eyamites, inspired by their pastor's example, behaved
heroically. They submitted without a murmur to this rigid
seclusion ; and though among the rocks and dales of that part of
Derbyshire escape would have been easy, not one of them, it is
believed, made an attempt to pass the prescribed boundary.
Mr. Mompesson, as a sanitary precaution, held his services out
of doors. The spot which he selected for this purpose is still
pointed out. A torrent in the winter dashes down a cleft in the
rugged hill-side in the middle of the village ; in the summer its
bed is dry. Towards the village the ascent is clothed with sof^
368 GOOD SAMARITANS,
velvety turf, and sprinkled with rowan and hazel and elder, and
made musical by the songs of birds. On the other side the slope
is steep, and broken with sharp rocks, which here start up into
uncouth columns and spires, there form into irregular archways^
hung with ivy and leafy growth. One of these rocks, which was
hollow, and could be entered from above like a gallery, served
Mr. Mompesson as pulpit and reading-desk, and his congregation
seated themselves on the green banks opposite. Twice on
Sundays Mr. Mompesson read prayers and preached ; he read
prayers also on Wednesdays and Fridays ; and every day, on a
hill above the village, he read the funeral service over the victims
of the plague, allowing no obstacle or hindrance to interfere with
his performance of these sacred and solemn duties.
His wonderful faith supported him ; and though, in addition to
those services, he paid continual visits to the sick, and nursed and
fed them, and prayed with them and cheered them, he preserved
his health unshaken. Four-fifths of his parishioners, in spite of all
his cares and precautions, were carried to the silent hill-sid'e
cemetery, but he still retained his energy and vitality. It was
not until his wife was taken that he lost heart. Her illness was
very brief; for fatigue and anxiety had so reduced her strength
that she could offer no long resistance to the enemy. She was
often delirious ; but when she was too much exhausted to endure
the exertion of taking cordials, her husband would implore her to
try for their children's sake, and she Hfted herself up and made the
effort. She bore her agonies with a serene patience, and died
calmly, repeating the responses to her husband's prayers with her
latest breath. To Mompesson her departure was like the going
out of a great light. Left alone amongst the dead and dying, he
felt as if his own end were close at hand, and in writing to his patron,
Sir George Savile, spoke of himself as his "dying chaplain," and
commended to his generosity his " distressed orphans." But he
was quite resigned and peaceful. ** I thank God," he wrote, " that
I am willing to shake hands in peace with all the world ; and I
have comfortable assurances that He will accept me for the sike
of His Son ; and I find God more good than ever I imagined, and
wish that His goodness were not so much abused and contemned."
It was in August that Mrs. Mompesson died. For two months
longer the pestilence prevailed, and the bereaved servant of God,
HIS LABOURS IN HIS PLAGUE-STRICKEN PARISH. 369
supported by his devout enthusiasm, continued his ministrations
among the sick and discharged his pastoral duties towards the
living. Gradually the extreme violence of the scourge abated ;
the victims grew fewer daily ; and at last there came a day when
the hand of the destroyer ceased to smite. After the nth of
October there were no fresh cases ; and Mr. Mompesson set to
work to burn all woollen stuffs in the place, lest the infection
should linger among them. Writing on the 20th of November,
he states some particulars of the terrible character of the visitation.
" The condition of this place," he says, " hath been so dreadful,
that I persuade myself it exceedeth all history and example. I
may truly say our town has become a Golgotha, a place of skulls ;
and had there not been a small remnant of us left, we had been
as Sodom, and like unto Gomorrah. My ears never heard such
doleful lamentations, my nose never smelt such noisome smells,
and my eyes never beheld such ghastly spectacles. Here have
been seventy-six families visited within my parish, out of which
died 259 persons."
Who can doubt but that it was his holy enthusiasm which
strengthened and sustained William Mompesson through the full
course of his dreadful, arduous labours ? It is a notable fact that
their severity did not permanently affect his health ; he lived to a
ripe old age, dying, full of years and honours, in 1708.
Miss Kavanagh has preserved for us the record of a noble
woman, whose labours among the sick and poor were not less
worthy than those of our Derbyshire pastor. In or about 1752,
Anne Marie Gilbert Auverger was born at Chateau-Giron, a little
town of Brittany. Her philanthropic tendencies — if I may use so
big a phrase in association with one so simple and unassuming —
manifested themselves at an exceptionally early age ; she was only
fifteen when her parents, at her urgent request, placed her as
boarder with the Sisters of Mercy who ministered to the sick of
Vitre. It was understood that she desired to devote her life to
this holy work. She remained at Vitrd for a year, patiently
availing herself of every opportunity of learning, so to speak, her
profession, and accustoming herself to face the most loathsome
forms of disease, — and only those accustomed to hospitals know
what loathsome forms disease sometimes assumes ! On returning
370 GOOD SAMARITANS.
home she petitioned that, as most in accordance with her tastes
and her future calling, she might wear plain brown gowns ; and
when some persons objected to this simplicity, and to her caps,
which were not becoming, they said, for so young a maiden, she
answered with a smile, — " I wish to save up all my charms for
heaven. The fashions here do not please me ; I hope to be
better adorned there than you are now." This speech savours a
little, perhaps, of exaggeration ; but there was true wisdom in her
reply to a sister who censured her habitual liveliness, and told her
" she was very merry for a girl so devout." " Religion,'' said she,
^' is not melancholy ; one cannot but feel happy in the service of
so good a master as God."
At all events, her service was cheerfully and constantly rendered.
After morning prayer, she daily distributed bread and gave out
work to a large number of the poor. She spent the afternoon in
visiting the sick, disregarding all obstacles of weather or distance ;
carrying the sunshine of her presence into the remotest cottages,
and into the squalidest stables, where wretched peasants, men,
women, and children, less valued than cattle, perished of cold and
hunger. In the evening she taught four pauper children.
The repute of her good works brought her the means of accom-
plishing and extending them. Liberal givers poured their dona-
tions freely into her hands ; made her their almoner : they gave
the money, she the time, the labour, and the thought. In the
years 1769 and 1770 Brittany suffered severely from a treble
visitation of scarcity, severity of weather, and contagious disease.
The Marquis de Chateau-Giron, a nobleman of wealth and bene-
volence, employed this young girl, then only in her seventeenth
year, as the steward of his charities : he had heard of her enthu-
siasm, her energy, her sympathy with the suffering, and felt well
assured that the moneys entrusted to her would be prudently
employed.
Anne Au verger did not limit her zealous exertions to cases of
physical distress. Her compassion for the sinner was even greater
than her pity for the sufferer ; and towards the weak and erring
of her own sex her charity was boundless. With the courage of a
transparently pure soul, to whom all things were pure, she visited
them in their abodes, boldly penetrating into the very haunts of
vice ; she spoke to them with pathetic candour; and though her
ANNE AUVERGER—A SISTER OF CHARITY. yj\
warnings were not always heeded, she was never insulted, — the
most abandoned were constrained into silence in her presence.
She wisely aimed at prevention as well as cure, and to do away
with the temptations of poverty and idleness, hired a house for
the reception of friendless young girls, boarding and lodging them,
• providing them with employment, and carefully superintending
^ their conduct. One of them, by some clandestine agency, was
beguiled into a place of evil repute. As soon as she was apprised
of the circumstance, she hastened to the den, boldly entered it,
smote its owners with brave pitiless words of reproach, and rescued
her protegee^ for whom she immediately procured a situation in
the country. When this incident became known, some fastidious
natures professed to be horrified, and informed Anne Auverger
that the world disapproved of her conduct. "The world! " she
exclaimed ; " we must let the world speak : it condemns every-
thing which seems to censure its own selfish maxims."
In 1 77 1, a contagious fever ravaged Chateau -Giron, and Anne
multiplied her noble labours. Day after day she waited upon the
sick with her usual fearlessness and zeal. But the effort proved
too much for her strength. In her weakened condition the fever
seized upon her; she was unable to resist it ; and after an illness
of only five days she departed, leaving behind her a memory
of singular beauty and brightness, and the name, which at so
early an age she had gloriously won, of " The Mother of the
Poor."
It is now universally admitted tliat the "Open Sesame" by
which one may hope to get at the hearts of the poor is sympathy.
. A sympathetic word or look is more prized by the distressed and
suffering than any alms. It is an acknowledgment of the tie
which binds all humanity together. The poor feel no gratitude
for the gift that is bestowed by the cold and indifferent hand
that tells of a cold and indifferent nature ; they feel no gratitude
for that mechanical charity, that system of grants and doles, by
which society too often endeavours to compound with its con-
science and dispense with the necessity of individual exertion^
No, what the poor crave and appreciate is sympathy ; but there
can be no sympathy where there is no knowledge. And how is.
this knowledge to be obtained ? Between the rich and the poor-
372 GOOD SAMARITANS.
in England yawns a gulf almost as impassable as that which in
the parable separates Dives and Lazarus. They form "two
woilds," wholly distinct and apart from each other in their
feelings, tastes, ideas, sentiments, and needs ; having no points
of attraction, but rather of repulsion. Writers upon India tell
us that the great difficulty of the British Government is its in-
ability to get at the real opinions of its Indian subjects ; between
the Hindoo and the Englishman rises a barrier of ignorance which
prevents the growth of an intelligent and practical sympathy.
We know nothing of the millions whom it is our lot to govern.
Such, in England, is, on the whole, the position of the " upper
■classes " towards the lower. They have little, if any, knowledge,
and certainly only a superficial knowledge, of the currents of
thought and feeling by which they are swayed.
Upon this lamentable fact hinges the plot of a striking novel
recently published, "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," in
which the hero and heroine are represented as conscious of its
existence, and as chivalrously bent upon obtaining a real and
thorough acquaintance with the lower orders by the expedient
of living among them. They abandon their social habitat, and
in fictitious characters descend from the one world to the other ;
submit themselves to entirely new conditions of life ; and divest
themselves as far as possible of their old associations. What
is here so ingeniously portrayed as a romantic enterprise was, to
a certain extent, actually undertaken and carried out, less than
twenty years ago, by a philanthropic member of the " privileged
class : " and his heroic work was done in the very part of
London, — Stepney, the east-end, — in which the authors of the
novel referred to place the scene of their ingenious inventions.
" Two millions of people, or thereabouts," as they remark, " live
in the east-end of London." Yet "they have no institutions
of their own to speak of, no public buildings of any importance,
no municipality, no gentry, no carriages, no soldiers, no picture-
galleries, no theatres, no opera, — they have nothing." There is
no grace or beauty to brighten their lives and refine their tastes.
The " respectable " streets are dull and monotonous, narrow
thoroughfares, with rows of small brick houses on each side,
distinguished by their uniformity of ugliness. As for the poorer
and less reputable highways and byways, their unloveliness, theii
WILLIAM DENISON'S LIFE AMONG THE LONDON POOR. 373
squalor, is almost beyond belief. An artist condemned to spend
his whole life in this miserable region would, we think, soon go
mad — mad with disgust and despair — mad with a sense of the
depths to which humanity degrades itself.
It was, however, in the centre, or almost the centre, of this
strange region that Edward Denison took up his abode in the
autumn of 1866. The spot he chose is called Philpot Street,
and it Hes between the din and dinginess of the Commercial
Road and Mile-end Road. For the son of a Bishop, a scholar
who had gained high University honours, a man of culture and
refinement, an athlete who had rowed in '* the eight " of his
college, was a good shot and a skilful horseman, no more un-
promising residence could apparently be selected. But he went
there voluntarily, and he went there on " a mission," a self-
imposed mission, characteristic of the generosity of his temper
and the enthusiasm of his character. For some years his atten-
tion had been gravely directed to the condition of the lower
classes. He had studied them abroad, during his travels in
France, Italy, and Switzerland; and at home he had sought to
grapple with many of the problems which their habits and
manners involve. He was no theorist or sentimentalist, how-
ever, and would not advance a step without some knowledge of
the ground which he was treading. He soon arrived at the
conclusion that to know the poor you must live among them ;
and as one of the visitors or almoners of the Society for the
Rehef of Distress, he resolved to live among those who inhabited
the Stepney district of East London.
Here is his own account of his field of labour : —
"Stepney is in the Whitechapel Road, and the Whitechapel
Road is at the east end of Leadenhall Street, and Leadenhall
Street is east of Cornhill ; so it is a good way from fashionable
and even from business London. I imagine that the evil con-
dition of the population is rather owing to the total absence
of residents of a better class — to the dead level of labour which
prevails over that wide region, than to anything else. There is,
I fancy, less of absolute destitution than in the Newport Market
region ; but there is no one to give a push to struggling energy,
to guide aspiring intelligence, or to break the fall of unavoidable
misfortune. ... It is this unbroken level of poverty which is tlu
374 GOOD SAMARITANS,
blight over East London ; which makes any temporary distress
so severely felt, and any sustained effort to better its condition
so difficult to bring to a successful issue. The lever has to be
applied from a distance, and sympathy is not strong enough to
bear the strain. It was as a visitor for the Society for the Relief
of Distress that I first began my connection with this spot,
which I shall not sever till some visible change is effected in
its condition. What a monstrous thing it is that in the richest
country in the world large masses of the population should be
condemned by an ordinary operation of nature annually to
starvation and death ! It is all very well to say, How can it be
helped ? Why, it was not so in our grandfathers' time. Behind
us as they were in many ways, they were not met every winter
with the spectacle of starving thousands. The fact is, we have
accepted the marvellous prosperity which has in the last twenty
years been granted us, without reflecting on the conditions
attached to it, and without nerving ourselves to the exertion
and the sacrifices which their fulfilment demands."
Denison undertook a two-fold duty, — he was a helper and a
teacher. He carried to the distressed and suffering the assistance
they needed in food, medicine, and clothing ; he advised them on
the better ventilation of their houses ; he gave to some of the
most deserving a start in life. But besides and above this, he
laboured to raise the intellectual status of the community and to
awaken their spiritual nature. All that he did had the religion
of Christ as its basis ; the Bible was the book from which his
teaching was mainly drawn. He felt that a man was immeasurably
elevated in the scale of humanity when he became a Christian.
One of his schemes was the establishment of an evening class of
instruction for working-men, and it proved very successful. His
hearers hung delightedly on his lips while he traced to them the
course of the Gospel history, illustrating it from his large stores
of miscellaneous knowledge. " Why," he said, — " why don't the
clergy go to the people as I propose to go ? What is the use of
telling people to come to church, when they know of no rational
reason why they should ; when, if they go, they find themselves
among people using a form of words which has never been ex-
plained to them ; ceremonies performed which, to them, arc
c ntirely without meaning ; sermons preached which, as often as
HE BRINGS THE CHURCH TO THE PEOPLE. 375
not, have no meaning, or, when they have, a meaning intelligible
only to those who have studied theology all their lives ? "
The interest excited by these weekly scriptural lectures was not
ephemeral : it extended and deepened. Of one of the later he
writes : — " I am warming to my work here. I gave them fifty
minutes last night on the text, ' Not forsaking the assembling of
ourselves together ; ' and though I am confident they understood
nearly all I said, it might perfectly well have been addressed, with
some modifications, to an educated audience. I preached Chris-
tianity as a society, investigated the origin of societies, the family,
the tribe, the nation, with the attendant expanded ideas of rights
and duties ; the common meal the bond of union; rising from the
family dinner-table to the sacrificial rites of the national gods;
drew parallels with trades unions and benefit clubs, and told them
flatly they would not be Christians till they were communicants."
He flavoured his lectures with plentiful quotations from Words-
worth, Tennyson, and the poets generally, believing that, if his
hearers did not wholly understand them, they would catch here
and there a beautiful image or thought, and be pleased by the
melody of the verse. While he infused so true a religious spirit
into his teaching, he was far from being an advocate of voluntary,
that is, denominational, education. In truth, his experience con-
vinced him of the complete inadequacy of the system to meet the
national wants. And thus, some years before the Elementary-
Education Act was passed, which has covered England withi
Board Schools, he wrote : — " I comfort myself with the confident
hope that we are even at the threshold of State secular education..
Elementary mental training is but making the jar ; it is no argu-
ment against the jar that you don't know what may get into it;
unless you are allowed also to fill and solder it up. People must:
have a very queer notion of human nature who fancy that a mindl
which has been taught to think will be a less fit receptacle of
Divine Truth than one which is incapable of thinking. I am
inchned to say with the Roman Emperor, when he was told the
Christians were about to destroy a temple, ' Let the gods defend
themselves.' I feel it a blasphemy even to think that God's truth
can suffer by the extension of man's truth."
Indiscriminate charity was one of the evils against which our
reformer resolutely set his face. " If we could but get one honest
24
376 GOOD SAMARITANS.
newspaper," he says, "to write down this promiscuous charity and
write up sweeping changes, not so rauch in our poor-law theory
as in our poor-law practice, something might be done. . . . Things
are so bad down here, and that giving of money only makes them
worse. I am beginning seriously to believe that all pecuniary aid
to the poor is a mistake, and that the real thing is to let things
work themselves straight ; whereas by giving alms you keep them
permanently crooked. Build school-houses, pay teachers, give
prizes, frame workmen's clubs, help them to help themselves, lend
them your brains ; but give them no money except what you sink
in such undertakings as these.
" The remedy is, to bring the poor-law back to the spirit of its
institution — to organise a sufficiently elastic labour test, without
which no out-door relief can be given. Make the few alterations
which altered times demand, and impose every possible discourage-
ment on private benevolence. Universal administration of poor
law on these principles for one generation would almost extirpate
pauperism."
But it is a question whether this arbitrary drying-up of the
.'springs and sources of private charity would not have an in-
jurious moral effect. Charity is twice blessed; it blesses the
.giver as well as the recipient; it expands his sympathies and
spiritualises its aim. To interfere with it would be to favour the
igrowth of individual selfishness ; and we cannot but believe that
ihe morality of the nation would eventually suffer. Promiscuous
charity no doubt deserves the severest censure: in truth, it is not
charity, but laziness ; to inquire into the merits of every case
would be a serious trouble, and it is easier to satisfy one's con-
science by a general bestowal of alms. But private benevolence
need not be, and very often is not, promiscuous charity ; and we
may encourage the former, the true Samaritanism, without en-
couraging the latter, which is simply its counterfeit.
For several months Mr. Denison continued to labour in the
field he had chosen, though at times he felt very profoundly the
depression arising from its unchanging unloveliness. *' My wits,"
he writes on one occasion, " are getting blunted by the monotony
and ugliness of this place. I can almost imagine — difficult as it
is — the awful effect upon a human mind of never seeing anything
but the meanest and vilest of men and man's works, and of
^'SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACED 377
complete exclusion from the sight of God and His works — a
position in which the villager never is, and freedom from which
ought to give him a higher moral starting-point than the Gibeonite
of a large town." He carried on his weekly lectures with in-
creased enthusiasm as he perceived that they grew in popularity.
He visited the sick, he organised schools, he taught the children,
he " interviewed " the local authorities, he promoted the sanitary
improvements of the neighbourhood. All this was good and
useful work ; but no doubt the best work was done by the mere
fact of his presence — the presence of a refined, cultivated, God-
fearing gentleman — in such a district. In Spenserian phrase —
he made a sunshine in a shady place. He was an example, of
which everybody could recognise the significance and beauty ;
an ideal to which many, we can well believe, were fain to make
their little efforts to rise. If there is anything of good in the
practice of the Christian virtues, his self-denial, his active bene-
volence, his generous devotion, his purity of life and speech,
could not but exercise a happy influence. We can well believe
that if his chivalrous conduct found any considerable number of
imitators, the gulf of which we have spoken as separating almost
hopelessly the rich and the poor would soon be bridged.
It was not possible, perhaps, that a man of Mr. Denison's
social position, with his many duties and responsibilities, should
always be able to isolate himself among the poor of East London;
and yet we can hardly help regretting that his singular and
beautiful experiment was not of longer duration. But his friends
and relatives, and among them his uncle, the Speaker of the
House of Commons, were urgent that he should enter into
Parliamentary life, and he at length consented to become a
candidate for Newark. He was elected; but he made no con-
spicuous figure in the House of Commons, notwithstanding his
unquestionable mental power. And this because his interest in
political questions was merely speculative, while in social questions
it was active. "The problems of the time," he wrote, "are
social, and to social problems must the mind of the Legislature
be bent for some time to come." It was to these his own mind
was given. He cared very little for the strife of parties, for the
fierce contentions between the "ins" and the "outs." He had no
political ambition ; what he wanted was to see the condition of
378 GOOD SAMARITANS.
the poor ameliorated, and the national life of England made purer
and happier.
Into what special channel his activity would have finally been
directed it is impossible to say. With his large views and broad
sympathies, his abilities, force of character, and wide experience,
we cannot doubt but that he would have made his mark in his
time had he lived long enough. One would have supposed that
for a man of such exceptional gifts God would have had some
exceptional work to do ; but His ways are not as our ways, and
for all we know, Denison's work was, by his life in that East-End
London district, to set an example and a pattern. However this
may be, his physical strength gave way beneath repeated attacks
of congestion of the lungs, and in the autumn of 1869 his
illness assumed so serious a character that he was ordered to
winter at Cannes, or take a voyage to Australia. As the latter
alternative seemed to offer the fuller opportunities for the ac-
quisition of knowledge, it was accepted. But during the outward
voyage he sank very rapidly, and on January 26th, 1878, within
a fortnight of his landing at Melbourne, he passed away, in his
thirtieth year. To a man of such brilliant promise, so prema-
turely cut short, we may say —
" Thy leaf has perished in the green,
And, while we breathe beneath the sun,
The world, which credits what is done,
Is cold to all that might have been."
At the village of Hauxwell, near Richmond, in Yorkshire, was
born, on the i6th of January, 1832, Dorothy Wyndlow Pattison,
the daughter of the Rev. Mark Pattison, rector of Hauxwell. As
a child she was very delicate, but was distinguished by the sweet
equableness of her temper, and by her love of fun and mischief.
Her faculty of observation was very fully developed, and in her
tenacious memory she accumulated a constantly increasing number
of facts and particulars to be made use of in after life. There
seemed no reason to suppose at that time that her career would
have in it anything extraordinary ; yet a judge of character, taking
note of her strong will, her fortitude, her self-control, her quiet
reserve of power, would have seen that for an extraordinary career
she was m every way fitted. Her devotion of herself to others
"SISTER DORA'S'' STRENGTH OF PURPOSE. 370
was early manifested. As she grew in years, she grew in strength:
became a good and daring horsewoman, riding across country
and following the hounds with true Yorkshire zest ; and gradually
developed into a tall, strong, and very handsome creature, with a
great capacity for humour, a merry laugh, and an incessant activity.
In height she was about five feet seven inches; she was beautifully
proportioned, with small and finely-formed hands. Her features
were almost Greek in their regularity ; the forehead was wide and
high ; the mouth small, with exquisite red lips, which, when they
parted, disclosed a perfect set of pearly teeth ; her dark-brown
eyes, somewhat widely apart, shone with eloquent expression ;
and her hair, of the same colour as her eyes, waved all over her
head in crisp curls. A more fascinating woman one seldom meets
with ; for in addition to this rare personal beauty, she possessed a
wonderful charm of manner, — that almost magnetic influence which
is virtually irresistible.
The finer faculties of her nature seem to have been first
awakened by Miss Florence Nightingale's work during the
Crimean War ; and if her father had consented, she would have
joined the band of devoted women who went out as nurses. Her
longing, however, for a more stirring and more useful career than
the home-life afforded did not subside ; and after her mother's
death, in 1861, she was left free to gratify it, Mr. Pattison refrain-
ing from further opposition. The first essay was as a village
schoolmistress at Little Woolston, near Bletchley, where she re-
mained for three years. But the post did not bring out all her
capabilities ; she felt, to use her own expression, that she was not
doing her utmost, — and on her recovery from a severe illness,
induced by daily toil and night nursing, she entered the Sisterhood
of the Good Samaritans, whose head quarters were at Coatham,
near Redcar, in Yorkshire. This was in the autumn of 1864.
The training to which she was immediately subjected tested with
sufficient harshness her sincerity of purpose. She made beds
cleaned and scoured floors and grates, swept and dusted, and
finally *' did the cooking" in the kitchen at Coatham. But it was
coarse work, and, as it seems to us, useless work, which could
have been done as well, or perhaps better, by a hired " help " ;
and was, at all events, wholly unworthy of Dorothy Pattison's fine
intellect and many gifts. We rejoice when she was finally esta-
38o GOOD SAMARITANS.
blished in the Cottage Hospital at Walsall ; for we feel that then
she had at last discovered her true sphere of labour (1865).
She had a great deal to learn, for she had had no regular train-
ing in the art of nursing, but she had the will and the capacity.
Her special ambition was to prove a good surgical nurse ; and her
tenacious memory and keen faculty of observation assisted her in
discerning the character of wounds and the exact position of
fractures. Her coolness, courage, and talent gave her an imme-
diate command over the rough men, coUiers and operatives, who
were her principal patients, while her beauty and her charm of
manner and her ready sympathy drew their hearts towards her, so
that they became her willing slaves. Constitutionally able to
bear, without disgust or shrinking, the terrible details of loathsome
diseases and ghastly accidents, her profound pity for human
suffering gave a lighter touch to her skilful hand and a warmer
light to her beaming eye. She moved to and fro in the hospital
wards like an angel sent down from Heaven to bless and to save.
The wounded bore their agony more patiently when she looked
upon them ; the dying yielded their last breath more calmly if she
sat by their side. A beautiful and a fascinating woman, to whom
was open the path of wedded life, with its fair prospects of
domestic happiness, she deliberately chose a lot which brought her
into hourly contact with pain and affliction in their most repellent
aspects, because she felt that in such a L. she could best exercise
her varied powers, and lift up others to her own moral height.
x\nd she accepted it with so much enthusiasm, and with so fine
an aptitude, that " Sister Dora " soon became a household word
in Walsall, and a type of self-sacrifice and ardent Christian zeal.
Walsall, as everybody knows, is a large and populous town
situated on the borders of "the Black Country," amid a labyrinth
of tall chimneys, which vomit forth clouds of smoke and tongues
of flame, darkening the heavens with a pall of lurid gloom, and
filling the atmosphere with a pungent odour. Here, on the brow
of a hill, a new hospital was erected in 1867, and placed under
the charge of Sister Dora, who, out of her private means, had
given liberally towards its erection. It contained twenty-eight beds,
but, at need, could accommodate a larger number ; and was so
arranged that the entire nursing could be done by one person, if
that person possessed Sister Dora's activity of mind and bodv.
HOSPITAL WORK AT WALSALL. 381
The three wards into which it was divided opened upon one another
in such a manner that when she read prayers she could be heard
distinctly by the inmates of all. The out-patient department was
connected with it by a glass passage, which Sister Dora's taste
converted into a greenhouse. The hospital windows overlooked a
garden, and a breadth of green turf, and clusters of trees and
shrubs, which defied the smoke. At the bottom of the hill ran
the South Staffordshire railway, and the passage of the trains
afforded a constant amusement to the patients, especially to those
connected with the railway, who were able to recognise the driver
of each passing engine by his peculiar and characteristic whistle.
In 1868 the hospital was opened, under the personal superin-
tendence of Sister Dora. The same year was marked by an oat-
break of small-pox in Walsall, which added greatly to her labours,
as, after her hospital-work was done, she sped from house to
house to tend the unhappy sufferers. "One night," says her
biographer, " she was sent for by a poor man who was much
attached to her, and who was dying of what she called 'black-pox,'
a violent form of small-pox. She went at once, and found him
almost in the last extremity. All his relations had fled, and a
neighbour alone was with him, doing what she could for him.
When Sister Dora found that only one small piece of candle was
left in the house, she gave the woman some money, begging her
to go and find some means of light, while she stayed with the man.
She sat on by his bed, but the woman, who had probably spent
the money at the public-house, never returned ; and after some
little while, the dying man raised himself up in bed with a last
effort, saying, 'Sister, kiss me before I die.' She took him all
covered as he was with the loathsome disease, into her arms, and
kissed him, the candle going out almost as she did so, leaving
them in total darkness. He implored her not to leave him while
he lived, although he might have known she would never do that.
It was then past midnight, and she sat on, for how long she knew
not, until he died. Even then she waited, fancying, as she could
not see him, that he might be still aUve, till in the early dawn she
groped her way to the door, and went to find some neighbours. "
Than this the annals of heroism present few finer instances of
generous and self-sacrificing courage. Is it wonderful that a
woman capable of such deeds became the idol of the poorer
382 GOOD SAMARITANS.
classes of Walsall, — that the rough, rude men who wrought in;
its coal-pits and iron-works would have died for her, as she would
have died for them ? No doubt there was some slight alloy of
baser metal in the gold. Sister Dora was proud of her power,,
and not insensible to the homage she received. But against this
admixture of human weakness she strove very resolutely ; and after
all, it does but bring her nearer to our sympathies. Otherwise she
had been something too perfect, too pure and good for human
nature's daily food ; whereas it is as a woman, with a woman's
tenderness and devotion, and something of a woman's foibles,
that we love to regard her.
To what is known as conservative surgery, a surgery that seeks
to save rather than to cut away the diseased or broken limb^
Sister Dora paid special attention, and in this department she
attained a remarkable degree of success, owing, I think, to her
patience and tenacity, and womanly dexterity and delicacy of
manipulation. A fine vigorous young man was brought into the
hospital one night, whose arm had been torn and twisted by a
machine. The doctor pronounced immediate amputation indis-
pensable. Observing the sufferer's look of despair, and moved
by his agonized lamentation. Sister Dora scrutinized the wounded
limb very carefully. " Oh, Sister ! " exclaimed the man ; " save
my arm for me, it's my right arm ! " She turned to the surgeon.
" I believe I can save it if you will let me try." " Are you mad ?
I tell you it's an impossibility ; mortification will set in in a few
hours; nothing but amputation can save his life." To the anxious
patient she said, simply : " Are you willing for me to try and save
your arm, my man ? " His consent was rapturously given. The
doctor walked angrily away, saying : *' Well, Sister, remember it's
your arm : if you choose to have the young man's death upon
your conscience, I shall not interfere ; but I wash my hands of
him. Don't think I am going to help you." Heavy as the
responsibility was, she accepted it, encouraged by the patient's
evident confidence in her ; and for three weeks she watched and
tended his arm, and prayed over it, day and night. At the end
of that time, catching the doctor in one of his most amiable
moods, she asked him to examine the limb ; and with no little
reluctance, for no professional man likes to be proved in the
wrong, he complied. There it was, straight, firm, and healthy \
SISTER DORA'S GREAT TACT AND SURGICAL SKILL. 383
*'Why, you have saved it!" cried the doctor, '* and it will be a
useful arm to him for many a long year."
We shall not attempt to describe Sister Dora's feelings, in which
a sense of triumph was not unnaturally mixed with thankfulness ;
or those of the patient, who thenceforth became one of her
loyalest admirers. He went by the name of " Sister's Arm," and
after he ceased to be an in-patient, constantly came to have his
limb looked at, — that is, to gaze on the noble and devoted woman
who had done him so great a service.
Not the least remarkable of her qualifications was her tact. She
managed her patients with as much address as the most experi-
enced diplomatist could handle the Powers on the political chess-
board. A man who had been brought into the hospital seriously
hurt, swore all the time she was dressing his wounds. " Stop
that!" said she, abruptly; and the man did stop, only to begin
again when the pain returned. " What's the good of it ? " said
Sister Dora; ^^ that won't make it any easier to bear." "No>
but I must say something when it comes so bad on me. Sister."
" Very well, then, say ' poker and tongs.' " And " poker and
tongs " was adopted by the ward in place of unseemly oaths.
Her genial humour and love of fun diffused a pleasant atmo-
sphere through the Hospital. She would invent games for the
boys, and sometimes sit down with a patient at chess or draughts.
Men of the working classes have very little genuine amusement in
their lives ; hard work and dull homes weigh upon them with a
constant pressure; and the monotony of dulness which surrounds
them is, I think, one of the painfuUest results of nineteenth-cen-
tury civilisation. Judge then of the freshness and novelty of' the
scene which that Hospital presented ! A beautiful and cultivated
woman, who knew how to preserve her dignity, whom they
instinctively felt to be immeasurably above them, could yet
joke and laugh with them every day, could raise their spirits by
her delightful humour, had always a ready answer to their
questions, and inspired them with a pure and wholesome merri-
ment of which previously they had had no conception. " Make
you laugh ! " said a big Irishman ; " she'd make you laugh when
you were dying I " Truly, she realized the graceful words of the
ward, and made a sunshine in a shady place !
From Miss Lonsdale's admirable biography of *' Sister Dora"
.;84 GOOD SAMARITANS.
we borrow the following account of an average day's work at
Walsall Hospital, as recorded by one of Sister Dora's lady-
pupils : —
Sister Dora used to come down into the wards at half-past six
in the morning, make the beds of all the patients who were able
to get up, and give them their breakfasts, until half-past seven,
when it was time for her own breakfast. The bright, sunshiny
way she always worked, with a smile and a pleasant word for
every one, was in itself a medicine of the best kind. She would
quote proverbs or apt pithy sayings, and she often asked questions
which would set all the men thinking — such as " What is a
gentleman ? " By the time she came back into the wards, they
would have their answers ready. ** To go to church with a gold
watch in your pocket " constituted a gentleman, according to one
man. ** To be rich and well-dressed, and have a lot of fellows
under you," was another answer. Some men were m.ore thought-
ful, and said, " Nay ; that won't make a gentleman." But
although most of them knew what a gentleman was not, they
found a great difficulty in defining what he was. Then would
Sister Dora, while she was dressing the wounds, or going about
her work, give them her own views on the subject, and show how
a man could be rich and well dressed, and yet be no gentleman.
She told me once that she often cried when she went to bed at
night to think how many good words she might have spoken in
season to her men. She used generally to invent some queer
nickname for each of them, in order that they might (as she
said) the sooner forget their former lives and associations, if
those had been bad. Thus one man would always be spoken of
as "King Charles" (even having it written upon his eg!? for
breakfast), because his face suggested Charles the First to Sister
Dora. " Darkey," and " Cockney," and " Pat," and " Stumpy,"
would answer to no other names. Rude, rough fellows, of course,
constantly came in \ nobody had ever seen such a woman as this
before, so beautiful, so good, so tender-hearted, so strong and so
gentle, so full of fun and humour, and of sympathy for broken
hearts as well as for every other kind of fracture, and the best
friend that many of these poor maimed men had ever known.
She was the personification of goodness and unselfishness to
them ; skilful and rapid in her work, — a great matter where wounds
ONE DAY'S HOSPITAL WORK. 385
are concerned, and in a place where there was much to be done
and few people to do it. After her own breakfast she read
prayers on the staircase, so that all the patients in the three
wards could hear and join. Then came the daily ward work —
the washing of breakfast-things and of patients, and the dressing
of wounds. At half-past ten o'clock there were usually several
out-patients, who came regularly to have their wounds poulticed
or lanced, or otherwise attended to. The doctor generally
appeared about eleven, and went his rounds. At twelve came
the patients' dinner, at which Sister Dora attended minutely to
every detail, and always carved herself. Then she read prayers
in the little general sitting-room, the lady-pupils, if there were any,,
and the servants only attending.
" Then followed dinner for the nurses, a very movable feast ;
sometimes put off for an hour or more, and sometimes omitted
altogether, as far as Sister Dora herself was concerned, if any
visitors whom she was obliged to see or ...ly accidents came in, at
that time. Out-patients, who were treated every day, began tO'
arrive at two o'clock, and truly their ' name was legion,' when it
was no uncommon event for sixty or a hundred persons to pass
through the little rooms in the course of an afternoon. It was a
most interesting sight to watch Sister Dora with her out-patients.
They had the greatest confidence in her skill, and with good
reason. All faces brightened whenever she approached ; she
generally knew all about them and their circumstances — had
perhaps nursed some of the family before as in-patients, and she
always had a word of sympathy and advice for each. The doctors
got through their part of the work quickly, for they passed on to her
such minor operations and dressings as are entrusted to experienced
dressers in large hospitals. The setting of fractures, and even
the drawing of teeth, when no surgeon was present, were common
operations to her. Her bandaging was so good that a surgeon at
Birmingham called upon all his students to admire, and to study
as a model of excellence, the bandaging of a man's head, which
was her handiwork. The treatment of the out-patients often
took between two and three hours, so that the in-patients' tea at
five o'clock had sometimes to be prepared by the servants, when
neither Sister Dora nor her pupils could be spared. About half-
past five or six the nurses had their own tea ; but it was rarelv
3B6 GOOD SAMARITANS.
that Sister Dora got a quiet meal, for either some one would
come tapping at the door, saying 'she was wanted/ or the'
surgery bell would ring, as, indeed, it often did all day long.
' There is no peace for the wicked,' she would say, as she got up
to do whatever was needed After tea she went into the wards
again, and this was the time to which her patients looked forward
all day. She would go and talk to them individually, or a
probationer would play the harmonium, and they would sing
hymns, she joining with her strong, cheery voice, while she
washed up the tea-things. Some of the patients would play at
games, in which she occasionally took part. She had a way of
inducing the men to wait on each other, and many of them did
this, besides a great deal of work in the wards. She always
had a devoted slave in some boy, whose ailments kept him
a long while in the hospital. A poor diseased boy called Sam,
who was about ten years old when he came, served her with
preternatural quickness and intelligence. One morning his arm
was so painful that, instead of getting up as usual, he covered
his face with the bed-clothes, and sobbed as noiselessly as he
could underneath them. Sister Dora was obliged that morning
to fetch the various articles she needed herself — cotton wool,
syringes, bandages, ointment, old linen, etc., which Sam usually
looked out, and put in order ready for her use. ' Tell Sam I do
miss him,' she said. Hoiv his tears ceased, and his face beamed
all over with delight, when her words were repeated to him ! He
instantly dressed himself, and ran to fulfil his daily office. He
followed her about like her shadow, and was never so happy as
when doing something for her. She used to amuse herself by
consulting him occasionally, saying, * Now, Doctor ! ' (such was
his nickname), * what would you do in this case ? ' Sam would
promptly reply, ' Iodine paint,' or ' Zinc ointment,' or whatever
he thought he had observed that she used in similar cases.
** A boy about seventeen years of age, whom Sister Dora called
Cockney,' because he had been ' dragged up,' as he expressed it,
in London, came in with an injury to his leg from a coal-pit
accident. He seemed to have no one belonging to him, and his
leg was long in healing, partly because, short of strapping him
down, it was impossible to keep him from hopping continually
out of bed, when he ought to have been quiet. He was possessed
LOVE AND A DO RAJ ION OF THE PATIENTS. 387
with a spirit of fun and mischief, and would have made a capital
clown in a pantomime or a circus. Jests and jokes flowed from
him spontaneously on all occasions. He gave a great deal of
trouble, but everybody liked him. One of the nurses whom he
plagued most remarked, ' I wonder Sister Dora has not had more
influence for good over him.' After he had left the hospital, he
came up one day to the out-patients' ward, and waited long for a
sight of * Sister,' saying afterwards, ^ Isn't she beautiful ! That is
what I call a real lady.' How could any one, indeed, live with
her without realizing how much there was to love and admire?
and will not the recollection of her beautiful Ufe and ministry
prevent many a man from falling into ' that worst of scepticisms,
a disbelief in human goodness ' ? ' Cockney,' probably, will often
look back with regret on the ' Christian tent,' as he called the
hospital where it was his good fortune to be taken. By eight
o'clock wounds had been dressed tor the night, and the patients
supper was served. Sister Dora read prayer always, even when.
IS sometimes happened, her many duties and labours had sc
delayed her that most of the patients were asleep, for she said.
* The prayers go up for them all the same.' Just before bedtime
came her own supper, when she would often be very merry, and
would relate her many remarkable experiences with intense fun
and drollery. Her keen sense of the ridiculous must have
preserved her from much weariness of spirit. This was the time
to which the lady-pupils looked forward, and when they expected
to enjoy themselves, but they were not unfrequently disappointed.
Sister Dora would just look in at the door and say, ' I am going
to bed ; I don't want any supper to-night.' This often happened
on Fridays or during Lent, and how she managed to get through
such constant hard work upon the very meagre diet she allowed
herself was a marvel. Her life was one long self-sacrifice. ' We
mtght to give up our lives for the brethren,' she said, and she
acted upon her convictions."*
We have already hinted that Sistei Dora was not a *' perfect cha-
racter," but a life which was one long self-sacrifice may be allowed
to counterbalance many imperfections. I wonder whether the
Good Samaritan was a ''perfect character"? Maybe that at
* ** Sister Dora." A Biography, by Margaret Lonsdale, pp. 93-100.
GOOD SAMARITANS.
home he displayed, to the criiical eyes of his own household^
some glaring weaknesses, — infirmities of temper and of purpose,
arrogance, self-will, or indecision ; but for all that he kept alive
in his heart the flame of charity, and when he fell in with the
poor and afflicted, he did not pass by on the other side. And,
therefore, we may believe that much was forgiven to him. Shall
we not forgive something to Sister Dora ? She was, we are told,
a person of strong, almost violent prejudices, as a woman of such
strength of character assuredly would be, — robust in her failings
and foibles as in her virtues. She grudged others a proper share
of work \ she was over-impatient of feebleness or hesitancy ; she
loved her own way, and took care to have it ; she was a little too
fond of showing her physical strength, and a little too conscious of
her superior capacities. Let all this be granted, and she remains
a noble woman, of a type peculiar, I think, to England. Shrewd
common-sense she combined with a highly imaginative tempera-
ment. Her piety was sincere, deep, and unostentatious. Her
charity was boundless; her self-abnegation immense. She was
a glutton of work, that is, of work in a good cause ; and every
unoccupied minute she regarded as a minute lost. Let us take
her, then, as she was — a woman of rare gifts and powers, but not
without some flaws of character, and yet thank God that He gave
us such a pattern to live by.
A pattern and an example ! It is the peculiar felicity of men
and women of the type of Sister Dora that they help their fellow-
creatures, not only by their own efforts, but by the efforts of those
whom their life and teaching have inspired. Sister Dora's sphere
of individual action and direct personal influence was compara-
tively limited ; it did not extend, in her lifetime, beyond Walsall ;
but who shall pretend to compute the range of her indirect influ-
ence ? How many have been inspired by her example ? In how
many hearts has the seed ripened which fell, day after day, from
her lavish hands ? Well, she lived for us as well as for others ;
and cannot we profit by her life ? The reader shrugs her shoulders
contemptuously ; she replies, " We can't all be Sister Doras ; we
can't all superintend a Cottage Hospital, and tend the sick, and
dress the wounded, and straighten the limbs of the dying." True ;.
but we can all take of her spirit of pure philanthropy, her
Christian charity, her deep devotion, and with these high graces.
THE DUTY THAT LIES NEAREST, 389
adorn our own little lives. We can be Good Samaritans in our
own small circles, in our neighbourhoods, by our own firesides.
There is no greater mistake than to believe no work good unless
it is done on a large scale. Mary Magdalene's pot of ointment
is as precious in the Master's eyes as St. Paul's prison-chains.
Sister Dora herself was too sagacious not to see that her way
could not be, and ought not to be, every woman's way. To a
friend who had asked her opinion of woman's work, she said : —
" I feel pretty much like Balaam of old, as if I should give quite
the contrary advice to what you wanted of me ; to wit — you
would like me to urge women working in hospitals, etc. I feel
more inclined to harangue about women doing their work at
home^ being the helpmeet for man, which God ordained, and not
doing man's work. Then, when they have faithfully fulfilled their
home duties, instead of spending their time in dressing, novel-
reading, gossiping, let them spend and be spent."
In our experience we have frequently noticed the dangerous
delusion possessing young minds, that work to be good work
must be heroic ; that one must follow in the missionary's steps,
and carry the Gospel of Christ into savage lands, or take charge
of a hospital, — or at the least assume the robes and rules of a Sister-
hood, — if one would merit and receive the Saviour's commenda-
tion, " Well done, thou good and faithful servant ! " We have
called it a dangerous delusion, because those overmastered by it:
are prone to sink into apathetic indolence, — to do nothing,,
because the work which lies close at hand is not grand enough for
their lofty ideas. Ah, friends, let us take hold of that which lies.
close to our feet; let us do it in our best way; and finish,
it off as best we can, assured that the benediction of heaven willi
descend upon it. Those are fine hopeful words of Joubert's : — -
"Whether one is an eagle or an ant in the intellectual world!
matters little ; what is essential is to have one's place markedi
there, one's station fixed, to belong decidedly to a wholesome
and regular order. A small talent, if it keep within its limits, and
rightly discharge its task, may reach the goal just as well as a
greater one." And the spirit in which we should address ourselves
to our labour has been well described by Archbishop Trench : —
"* Not as though we thought we could do much.
Or claimed large sphere of action for ourselves :
25
390 GOOD SAMARITANS.
Not in this thought — since rather it be ours,
Both thine and mine, to ask for that calm frame
Of spirit, in which we know and deeply feel
How little we can do, and yet do that."
In February, 1875, a fresh visitation of small-pox afflicted the
town of Walsall ; and to induce the poor to send their cases to
the Epidemic Hospital, erected for that purpose, Sister Dora
volunteered to take charge of it. Thence, in the following month,
she wrote to a friend the following characteristic letter : —
" My darling ....
" Your letter, which I received last night, made me cry :
It was so long, so full of affection, and I had never seen anyone
all day beyond my patients to speak to. My darling, you must
not come ; if anything should happen. You are a very likely
•subject to take it, and this place smells of pox from the moment
you open the door. You must not fret. I rejoice that He has
permitted one so unworthy to work for Him ; and oh, if He
should think me fit to lay down my life for Him, rejoice, rejoice,
at so great a privilege ! My heart is running over with thankful-
;ness, and as I toil on I seem to hear the still, small voice, ' Ye
'did it unto Me.* . . . Oh, don't talk about my life. If you knew
it, you would be down on your knees crying for mercy for me,
a sinner. How God keeps silence so long is my wonder. Re-
member me at Holy Communion . . .
** If things were only going on well at the Hospital I should
not mind, but .... is so naughty again. . . . The text and verse
for to-day are so beautiful — ' I will allure her, and bring her into
the wilderness, and speak comfortably to her.'
'Once more He speaks— no stem rebuke.
No anger in the word —
** Is it so hard to turn from all,
And walk with Me, thy Lord ?
Come ; thou hast never heard My voice
As thou shalt hear it now ;
I have no words for brighter days
Like those the dark ones know ! '* *
Now, is not that beautiful? One man is blind with the pox.
Another, a woman, is very delirious; she tried to escape last night ;
LIFE IN A SMALL-FOX HOSPITAL. 391
it took myself and the porter to hold her down. That fellow is
very good ; he scrubbed the kitchen floor only this morning to
save me. You would laugh to see me washing my babies. Poor
things ! they are smothered in pox. I am obliged to put them
into a warm bath. . . . They are getting quite fond of me ; but
they do make washing. We have all that to do besides the night
nursing, so you may fancy !
" I am writing this while waiting for my potatoes to boil. My
bedroom and sitting-room is getting to look quite gay with flowers.
I find time to read to my patients. They have scarcely ever
heard of Jesus, and they are so ill they cannot attend to much.
You must write again. I have no one to speak to, no time to
read, and my letters are company at meal-times. I really wish
you could take a peep at me; I am very bright and happy, and
like this hospital better than the other. I have also much under
my eye. Of course there is not the change of work, and no time
for breathing a mouthful of fresh air. Faithful Murray comes
every evening, and does my messages, etc I believe he would
not mind taking the small-pox for me to nurse him ! Remember
me most kindly to your husband. Kiss all my darling children.
" Believe me your affectionate
" Sister Dora."
To me, the most remarkable episode in Sister Dora's career
seems her ministration to the sufferers by the Burchells explosion
in October, 1875. Eleven men, one Friday afternoon, were
seated underneath the furnace, when an explosion took place, and
a cataract of molten metal, seething and glowing, dashed down
over them. In their agony and sudden alarm, they leaped into
the neighbouring canal ; but being, with some difficulty, rescued,
they were conveyed to the hospital. The spectacle presented by
their charred bodies was singularly awful. They were so burnt
and disfigured as scarcely to retain the semblance of humanity.
Some, in their deadly thirst, cried out, " Water ! water ! " A few
were dying painlessly, their wounds having literally annihilated
sensation ; others moaned or shrieked, *•' Sister, come and dress
me ! " **Z>^ dress me ! " "Oh, you don't know how bad I am ! "
She answered, — " Oh, my poor men ! I'll dress you all, if you'll
give me time." To each she administered a glass of brandy, and
392 GOOD SAMARITANS.
then endeavoured to undress them ; but the flesh was so burnt
away that it was almost impossible to cut off their clothes.
So frightful were both sight and smell that the medical men of
the town, who were promptly on the scene, suffered from constant
sickness, and could hardly stay in the ward. Ladies who had
proffered their assistance were driven away, overcome by their
sensations; but Sister Dora, true to herself and her mission,
never flinched. For ten days she tended the sufferers with un-
flinching fortitude, and did her best to alleviate their miserable
condition, and to smooth for them the path to the grave. Only
two recovered. One of these, named Cassity, describes her as
going from bed to bed, talking, laughing, and even joking with
the victims ; sitting by their bedsides, and seeking to divert their
thoughts from themselves by telling them stories. '' She was
with us," he said, ** almost night and day ; " and after all had
died, except himself and a man named Ward, she would still
come down twice or thrice in the night to see that these two were
doing well. Cassity described her as, in cap and slippers, silently
going round at two in the morning, from bed to bed, with a soft
smile on her face. " It did you good only to look at her."
Cassity, as he related his simple tale, would bare his burnt and
shrivelled arms in testimony to the wonderful skill and patient
attention of his nurse. Every time he mentioned " Sister Dora "
he stood up, and reverently pulled his forelock, as if he had
pronounced the name of a saint or an angel, which he was
scarcely worthy to utter. " What we felt for her I couldn't tell
you ; my tongue won't say it."
Cassity went by the name of ** Burnty." His feet were so
much injured that he never expected to walk again ; but Sister
Dora assured him that he would certainly be able to do so, and,
accordingly, before he left the hospital, sent him to be measured
for a pair of boots, which was to be her parting gift. " Well,"
said the woman at the boot-shop, " I wouldn't be such a softy
as to think you'll ever be able to wear a pair of boots with those
feet." Greatly discouraged, Cassity returned to the hospital.
"You'll wear out; many pairs of boots, my Burnty," said Sister
Dora. "And so I have," said Cassity; "she was right enough.
But it was all along of her^ who never left my burns a day all
those months, without looking to them with her own hands."
A HAIR OF THE DOG THAI BIT YOU. ' 393
Our first impression, on reading Miss Lonsdale's biography of
this remarkable woman, was, we confess, that it was greatly
exaggerated in colouring and tone; but a medical friend, who
resided at Walsall daring the period of Sister Dora's reign, assures
us that it nowhere exceeds the literal truth. He speaks of Sister
Dora as fascinating in the extreme ; and as distinguished by the
highest quahties of womanhood, as well as by those which men
are apt to regard as almost exclusively belonging to their own
sex. Courage and tenderness were fairly blended in her heroic
nature. Of her generosity one must speak as highly as of her
fortitude; of her brightness of disposition as of her patience;
while her capacity for self-sacrifice was deepened and strengthened
by her profound and unaffected piety. That she was " a clever
woman " goes without saying ; she had a natural gift of organiza
tion, a remarkable quickness of perception, and an extraordinary
fertility of resource. In society she must have achieved quite a
brilliant reputation ; but a more lasting and a purer fame will be
hers as "Sister Dora," of the Walsall Cottage Hospital.
We gather a few more anecdotes from Miss Lonsdale's pages.
Sister Dora, like most sunny and sanguine natures, was sin-
gularly successful in extracting amusements from what the world
calls trifles, and in an hour's walk in the streets would find matter
enough for the diversion of her patients for many a day. She
had a great spontaneity of spirit, and loved to share her pleasures
with others. One day, she fetched her lady-pupil to see a case
in the out-patients' ward ; and, with laughing eyes, exclaimed, " I
have often heard the old saying, ' a hair of the dog that bit you,'
but never before saw the remedy applied." She pointed to a dog-
bite, on which a mass of hairs had been plastered, whether of the
offending animal, or of some other dog, did not clearly appear.
On another occasion, a woman, who had been roughly handled
by her brutal husband, came up to the hospital with a severe cut
on her head. While she dressed it. Sister Dora listened with
keen sympathy to the woman's simple narrative of her troubles,
and her determination to go before the magistrates on the follow-
ing morning, and prefer a charge against her husband. '*Are
you quite sure now to go ? " asked the Sister. " Yes ; I can
bear such treatment no longer." Thereupon Sister Dora began to
bandage the head much more elaborately than the wound required.
394 GOOD SAMARITANS.
and, observing her lady-pupil's look of surprise, remarked aside,
with a look of keen enjoyment, ** I think the husband will get an
extra week for my beautiful second bandage."
A clerical eye-witness of Sister Dora's work for three years
(187 1 to 1874) has put on record his views of her character, all
I confirming the impression that she was a woman of extraordinary
\ gifts and graces. " She had," he says, "a bright, ready wit, and
a playful irony that never wounded, but often had the effect of
stirring up some poor, feeble-spirited patient, bracing him like a
tonic. . . . There was a man whom she induced to become quite
a leader of the responses at prayers, by saying that his very name,
Clarke, ought to make him help the parson. Poor fellow ! Clarke
had to lie many weary weeks with a shattered leg, and often he grew
desponding. Fragments of bone used to work through the skin
to the surface, and Clarke used to keep these splinters in a box.
She used to rally him about his boneSy and many a time made
all in the ward laugh by asking Clarke * to show his bones to
some visitor.' She always tried to make Sunday a day of extra
brightness, and the same at Christmas and Easter. (On these
days there used to be full choral services held in the hospital).
On the evening of New Year's Day she used to give an enter-
tainment to the inmates, and as many old patients as she could
accommodate. These festivals were most enjoyable. There was
first a kind of * People's evening,' or 'Penny readings entertain-
ment,' and the patients seemed to forget their pains ; and good
humour and bright faces filled the great ward where it was held.
Before it was ended, some one generally gave an address to the
patients. Then came supper, to which all who could move off
their beds sat down, and those who could not were well cared
for. Many a poor fellow now at work in coal-pit and work-shop
will long remember those evenings of bright and innocent mirth.
" She sometimes had patients who were utter sceptics. She
soon found them out, and was always very careful, and used
much tact in dealing with them. She knew that they were
scanning her conduct, and w^ould judge of Christianity more or
less by the way she presented it to them in her daily actions.
Many who came in scoffers went out convinced that Jesus was
the Christ. I know none who were not convinced that she, at
least, was true and good. One hard sarcastic Scotchman spoke
SPECIAL ''MISSION" AT WALSALL, 395
to me about her just before he left the hospital. He was one ot
those working-men who are not uncommon in towns — men who
have imbibed Tom Paine and Voltaire through secondary sources,
and are bitterly prejudiced against Christianity and its professors,
especially parsons. He told me he had watched her carefully
while he lay there, and gave as his emphatic verdict, * She's a
noble woman ; but she'd have been that without her Christianity !'"
He forgot that, at all events, her Christianity made her nobler.
But was it true ? Would she have been what she was " without
her Christianity " ? Was it not her Christianity which taught her
to sympathize with the poor and suffering, with the feeble and
distressed? The ancient world produced no such women as
Sister Dora ; because its creeds did not teach the beauty and
sublimity of a life of self-sacrifice, of that *' Altruism " which
spends and is spent for the sake of those who fall in life's battle,
and would perish of their wounds by the wayside, if the " Good
Samaritan " did not perceive and bind them. While the keynote
of the old philosophy is Endurance, that of the Christian teaching
is Self-sacrifice ; and Sister Dora, in her short but beautiful career,
elevated the heathen virtue by blending it with the Christian.
One grand example of her faithful heroism must not be omitted.
She took an active part in one of those admirable religious move-
ments which the Church calls "missions," held in Walsall, in
November, 1876, and conducted a special effort organised for the
rescue of the wretched women who crowd the streets of a great
town at night, — a class from whom the happier and purer of their
sex generally shrink with loathing and disgust. In the course of
her work she passed, with two companions, into a " slum,'' or
narrow court of particularly evil repute. Pausing before a small
house, which was brilliantly lighted, they looked in at the window^
and saw a circle of women gathered round a table, and evidently
receiving orders from an ill-looking man, apparently their master.
She knocked at the door ; no answer. She knocked a second
time ; and a man's voice growled, " Who's there ? " " Sister
Dora," was the reply. Then came a volley of oaths, and the
question, " What do you mean by coming here at this time of
night ? " " Open the door," she replied ; " it's Sister ; I want to
speak to you." Still swearing, the man obeyed. She paused on
the threshold, and addressed him with much compassion in her
396 GOOD SAMARITANS.
iook and tones. " Why, Bill, what possesses you to treat me like
this ? Don't you remember what you told me the last time you
came up to have that head seen to ? " Growls and oaths were
the only reply, with orders to "Be quick, and say what she
wanted/'
" I'll tell you what I want," answered Sister Dora, advancing
into the room, and holding out her hand, first to one woman and
then to another ; and as they crowded round her, she addressed
them severally. " Well, Lizzie," or " Mary, how are you ? " and
*' I've seen you before — did up your arm last winter twelvemonth
— but I can't put a name to you ;" or '* You came up to see me
two months ago." Then, speaking to them all, " I want you to go
down on your knees with me now, this moment, and say a prayer
to God." To the astonishment of the two clergymen, the whole
party knelt with Sister Dora, while from a full heart she appealed
to the Divine Father on behalf of her "brothers and sisters." As
the man rose from his knees, he turned to her in a shamefaced
manner, saying, — *' I'm very sorry. Sister, I was so rude to you.
I didn't mean it : you've been good to me." " Then," was the
quick reply, "if you're sorry, will you do what I ask you ? " "That
I will." *' I want you, and all these women here, to come with me
into a room we've got hard by, and to listen to something some
friends of mine have to say to you there." The man at once
complied, and all repaired to the little mission-room, which was
quickly filled.
Night after night, the waifs and strays, the fallen and the miser-
able, of Walsall assembled in this temporary place of worship.
As many as thirty-five of the fallen women of the town were some-
times assembled : all gathered in by Sister Dora's unassisted
exertions. They dropped in by twos and threes, most of them
very quiet, and were received by Sister Dora with a few words of
encouragement and sympathy. '* There was something very
touching," says an eye-witness, "in her treatment and attitude
towards them. No condescension, no 'stand apart, for I am
holier than thou ; ' but yet, though she was so gracious and sisterly,
they seemed to feel that she was rather a pitying angel than one
of their own sex. It seemed to me that she knew them nearly all
by name; and she told me that she had doctored nearly all of
them at different times. Many of them used to seek her only
DISREGARD OF PERSONAL RISK. 397
after nightfall, but she was ever ready to help, and never scorned
them. I know not whether I need dwell on the service. There
were three clergymen present The service began with a hymn,
which many of them joined in. Prayer followed. Then two shor.
addresses were given, and were listened to intently, and not with-
out evident emotion on the part of some. Earnest appeals were
made to them to forsake their present courses, and offers of
guidance and assistance to such as should resolve to do so. When
the service was over Sister Dora spoke to each of them as they
left, and obtained promises that they would come again. A second
service was held, and seemed even more successful than the first.
Several stayed behind at its close to speak with the clergy and
Sister Dora. Three, I believe, were eventually rescued (I can
only speak of one myself). Many of them seemed to feel them-
selves ' tied and bound with the chain of their sins,' but yet they
had no strength to get free. Some of them were little better than
slaves to some tyrant — some * Bill Sikes,' who treated them like
a dog, and whom yet they clung to with dog-like fidelity.
" For some weeks after the mission Sister Dora still continued
her labours amongst these poor sinners. Every Sunday night
there was a late service held, and, braving no small risks amidst
the drunken and dissolute. Sister Dora indefatigably visited their
homes, and compelled them to come in. Sister Dora always paid
these visits alone. One visit she described to me. It was a much
better house than any she had been in before — most of them being
mere cottages— and the occupant was evidently superior to most
of her neighbours in education. She was well-dressed, and when
she asked in a stately manner, * To what am I indebted for the
pleasure of your visit ? ' Sister Dora owned that she felt almost in-
clined to leave without delivering her soul. She began her difficult
task, and was met at first with quiet, civil-spoken contempt ; but her
heart warmed as she reasoned and pleaded, and her words became
inspired, and before she left the woman broke out into sobs, and
they knelt together in prayer.
"It was work at times not unaccompanied by personal risk, but
I have met few persons more utterly fearless. She cariie back to
where I was waiting for her after diving into one of the rookeries,
and told me she had had a narrow escape. She had encountered
a ruffian inflamed with drink, who burst out into a torrent of wild
39« GOOD SAMARITANS.
blasphemy, and threatened to have her life. He was quieted at
once by his partner in sin, who said, ' Shut up, you fool ! it's Sister
Dora.' He even muttered some apology. Two of the women
who had attended some of the services at the room were seized
soon after by the police on a charge of robbery, and locked up.
Sister Dora visited them frequently in the cells. Like her Master,
she seemed never to despair of a human soul. The ' lost ' were
those whom she knew that He came to seek and save."
Sister Dora's death was not less remarkable than her life. In
her last hours she displayed the fortitude and reticence of Emily
Bronte, accompanied by that Christian faith which, unhappily,
Emily Bronte lacked. It was in the course of the winter of
1876-77 that she first became aware of the existence of a disease
which must ultimately, and at no distant date, prove fatal. Her
medical adviser thought it possible that surgical aid might post-
pone the result for awhile ; but she knew too much of the un-
certainty attending all such measures to be willing to submit to
the necessary treatment. Imposing absolute silence on her
physician, she resolved to let the disease take its natural course,
her desire being to continue her work as long as possible. Into
that work she threw herself with redoubled ardour. It seemed
her determination to get out of her body and mind their utmost
capacity. Sternly repressing all signs of suffering, which none who
looked upon her mature beauty and fine form suspected, she
addressed herself to her various tasks with an energy and an
ardour such as even she had never before exhibited. She was
unwilling that a single opportunity should be lost, a single duty
set aside, a single responsibility neglected. " I grudge every
moment," she would say, " I must spend in taking care of this
body." Necessarily her friends could not understand this apparent
impetuosity, this unresting fervour, and frequently remonstrated
with her, fearing lest the sword should wear out its sheath. She
visited all the towns and villages withm ten miles of Walsall, until
she was recognized by all as a " ministering angel," who brought
with her help and a balm for the sin-laden soul as well as the
disease-stricken frame.
One night, the hospital doctor hastily summoned her to the
case of a child in the last stage of diphtheria. As a last chance
SISTER DORA NOT EASILY FRIGHTENED, 39t>
he performed the operation of tracheotomy, making an incision in
the child's throat, and inserting a tube in the hope of relieving the
suffocation. Sister Dora knelt down by the bed, put her mouth
to the incision, and deliberately drew from the child's throat the
poisonous membrane which was choking it. The child recovered ;
and Sister Dora suffered for three weeks from diphtheritic sore
throat.
One night, Sister Dora, who had retired to bed much earlier
than usual, was aroused from a sound sleep by the night-nurse : —
" Sister, Sister, do get up ! there's a man in the house, and I can't
get him out ! We shall all be killed ! " Sister Dora hastily threw
on her clothes and ran downstairs, where she found a flashy-looking
man, with conspicuous rings and watch-chain, standing in the hall.
Was not that, he enquired, the Cottage Hospital? "Yes," she
replied, " and will you tell me your business here ? " He thought,
was the answer, he could be accommodated with a bed. " Oh,
dear, no ! we only give sick people beds here." " Well, anyhow,
I've come," rejoined the fellow, " and I mean to stay." " Two
people," said the Sister, "have to be consulted about that, and I,
for one, do not mean to let you."
He advanced towards her, and she hoped that, in the dim light,
he could not see how her trembling frame gave the lie to her bold
words. "Do you think," said he, ^^ you're going to prevent me
from spending the night here if I choose ? " " Of course I can't
prevent you from staying in the passage ; but you will have to
force your way past me before you get any farther ; " and there,
on the last step of the staircase, she extended her arms across as
a barrier. The man coolly seated himself on a bench in the hall.
Meanwhile, their dialogue was disturbed by a series of frantic cries
from the night-nurse : — " Sister, do leave him and come upstairs ;
we shall all be murdered — we shall indeed ! " to which she
received for answer, " Hold your tongue, you goose I " (" I could
have beaten the woman," said Sister Dora afterwards, when telling
the story).
For some considerable time she and her unwelcome visitor
watched each other ; and she was beginning to fear that he really
meant to carry out his threat of spending the night in the hospital,
when he made " a sudden dart down the passage " towards the
kitchen. But her alertness foiled him, and in a moment her taU
400 GOOD SAMARITANS.
form barred the way. Then he turned round with the remark, —
" You're a brave one — I've accomplished what I came for ; I
wish you good evening," and so departed, leaving Dora to bolt the
door behind him, and assail the night-nurse with reproaches for
her indiscretion in admitting the man, and displaying afterwards
such a nervous spirit. A few weeks after this strange incident,
Sister Dora received an anonymous letter of apology, enclosing a
donation of one pound for the hospital funds. The committee
made every possible effort to detect the offender, but in vain;
probably he was some reckless fellow who had made a bet to try
an experiment on Sister Dora's reputed courage.
Her courage was shown much more strikingly in the silence
with which she endured the torture of the cancer that was slowly
killing her. She dressed the wound, which daily grew larger, her-
self. In the closing days of September, 1878, she went to London
with a view of studying Professor Lister's method of treating
wounds ; but the visit was cut short by her illness. She hastily
returned to Birmingham, and thence was carefully removed to
Walsall, as she had expressed a desire to die " among her own
people." Her doctor consented to preserve her secret, and it was
made known only to an old servant, when, from increasing weak-
ness, she was no longer able to dress the wound with her own
hands. Why she insisted upon this mystery is not very clear,
unless we ascribe it to an excessive sensitiveness, or some morbid
■dislike to have it known that she, Sister Dora, suffered from such
a disease. Even her own sisters she would not allow to nurse her.
On her deathbed she derived great pleasure from the repetition
of some of Faber's hymns, saying, that " often, when her heart
had felt cold, she had sat down on the floor before she went to
bed at night, to repeat and refresh herself with them, and that they
had been the dearest companions of her solitary life."
Towards the end of November her condition grew much worse,
though her extraordinary vitaUty still struggled against the disease,
and supported her under its tortures. On the 27th she wrote, or
rather dictated, to a friend, — " My cough is terrible ; it will not
■cease, and I am so troubled with sickness. . . . Do pray for me,
■dearest, that I may have patience to endure unto the end what-
ever He shall lay upon me, and that, when I pass through the
HER ILLNESS AND SUFFERINGS, 40X
dark valley, He may fold me in His arms. Write to me when you
can, for I do like a letter, to feel that I am not cut off from the
outer world." Again, on the 30th : — " How can I thank you for
the sweet, loving letters which find their way so continually to
cheer my sick-bed ! And they do cheer it, for they speak of such
true heart-sympathy, entering into, and thinking of, all my pains
and sufferings. Pray that my patience may not fail. . . . My
nights are most distressing, owing to the cough, and now I care
for nothing except water, which is my one cry all day long ; so I
think I cannot live long upon that."
A clergyman who frequently visited her writes : — " On two
occasions she put a word in my mouth. One Sunday afternoon
she asked me what my evening sermon was to be about. I told
her. She said, ' Tell them to work while it is called to-day, for
the night cometh, when no man can work.' It was the day when
the annual collections were made for the Cottage Hospital, and in
the course of my appeal on its behalf, I gave her message. The
other occasion was a Sunday evening, when all the cabmen in the
town had promised, at Sister Dora's request, to attend our mission-
room service. Before evening service I was with her, and she
said, * Oh, speak to them on this text, "What think ye of Christ?*
Make it ring in their ears."
" They all came except two, who were unavoidably away on
duty, and I preached from the text suggested. She had great
sympathy with 'poor Cabby.' Every year she used to give them
all some small present — a warm muffler, a pair of driving -gloves,
or something of the kind. Before her illness, she had ordered
about thirty pairs of warmly-lined gloves, intending them for a
Christmas-box; but when it became evident that she would
scarcely live till Christmas, she asked me to call the men together
and present the gloves, with a few words from her. They were
much affected, and in their rough but hearty way tried to express
their feelings, giving me messages of affection to convey to her,
and in every way showing their sorrow at the thought that she
would never be amongst them again."
A friend who was very frequently with her writes : — •
" I shall never forget the unselfishness, brightness, and patience
with which she bore her long trial. (The last stage of her illness
lasted eleven weeks.) Often, when she was suffering so much
26
402 GOOD SAMARITANS.
that 1 was afraid to do anything but watch her silently, she would
ask some question about my home concerns, and go on talking
of them with as much interest as though she were perfectly free
from pain. One of her greatest pleasures was reading letters
from her friends, and dictating answers to them, in which she
would make as little as she truthfully could of her own sufferings,
and show the liveliest interest in any little thing that concerned
her friends. Her sufferings were sad to see ; but even when
she was moaning with pain which, she said, was like the cutting
of a knife, she would go on dictating, as best she could, between
her moans. At other times she was so drowsy that she would
fall asleep before the letter was finished, or while I was reading
to her ; this distressed her even more than the pain, and she
would beg me most earnestly to keep her awake. I do not
think she had the times of extreme happiness which some people
have felt when near death, for she said, ' The suffering is so real,
so present, I seem scarcely able to think of the future happiness.'
- . . Her sorrow was, that she could not realize God's presence
more, and her fear was lest she should seem impatient. She
spoke most decidedly against the idea that we need any one to
go between the soul and Christ, and I shall never forgot her
bright, beautiful smile as she listened to the words, ' He that
belie veth on Me hath everlasting life,' saying, with the deepest
earnestness, 'That is just what I want.' ... I feel that I cannot
give you any true idea of those last hours that I spent with her,
or of the vivid remembrance I have of her, as her brave and
loving spirit waited for the moment when God would call her
to the full, unclouded daylight of eternity, into the dawn of
which she seemed already to have entered."
But we will linger no longer over these death-bed details. It
is evident that Sister Dora's Christian courage did not desert
her in her last hours, though she had her occasional fits of
depression, due, no doubt, to her growing weakness ; and that
she faced the inevitable future with the stern resolution which
was part of her character. That the end was very near all saw
on Saturday, December 21st, and her old servant came to
wait upon her dear mistress through the last sad hours. Sister
Dora repeatedly said, " Oh, I hope I shall sing my Christmas
carol in heaven," and her hope was fulfilled.
SHE PASSES THROUGH THE DARK VALLEY. 403
On Monday night the pain was almost more than she could
bear; and early on the following morning, the 23rd, she said,
"I am dying; run for Sister Ellen." Her servant endeavoured
to soothe her : " Our Blessed Lord," she said, " is standing at
the gates of heaven to open them for you." She was no longer
in want of consolation ; all the dread and darkness of the future
had vanished. " I see Him there," she answered ; " the gates
are opened wide." When the physician had exhausted all the
remedies for her relief that science could afford, she said to her
attendants, " I have lived alone, let me die alone ; " and she
repeated the words, " Let me die alone," until they were com-
pelled to leave her, one friend remaining outside to watch through
the open door. She lingered for some hours, apparently without
pain. And about two p.m. the anxious watcher knew, by a
sudden and slight change of position, that the long struggle was
over — the battle at an end — and that the brave, puie spirit of
Sister Dora had passed "behind the veil."
O mystery of life and death ! How it would smite our hearts,
and weigh down our souls, but for such examples of faith and
hope as we find in those servants of the Cross who live and die
like Sister Dora i
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