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LETTERS TO A FRIEND ON HELPING
THE POOR.
BY MRS. SEWELL,
Author of " HOMELY BALLADS," " MOTHER'S LAST WORDS,"
"PATIENCE HART," &c.
i
" If thou draw out thy sou/ to the hungry, and satisfy
the afflicted soul, then shall thy light rise in obscurity,
and thy darkness be as the noon day."
Isaiah Iviii. 10.
SECOND E.DIT1ON.
LONDON :
JARROLD AND SONS,, 12, PATERNOSTER ROW.
's fnfrue.
IN bringing the following Letters before the Public, the
Author confesses that she does it with fear and trembling.
She is deeply sensible of the vast importance of the
subject upon which she has attempted to write, and not
less of its extreme difficulty and delicacy. She is well
aware that a wide experience, wisely gathered, and a pen
of commanding talent, are required to do it adequate
justice ; and to enforce, with practical efficacy, its high
obligation and privilege.
From a very secluded position, and with, comparatively,
a limited experience, the Author has ventured only to
touch the subject here and there, as it has impressed itself
upon her in the common daily round of life and duty.
She trusts that her feeble offering to the cause of humanity,
may not be a stumbling-block in the way, but that it may
induce others, who have obtained a higher stand-point of
experience, to give to the multitude of waiting workers,
wider, wiser, and more profitable thoughts.
1G74C9;
' A POOR wayfaring man of grief,
Hath often crossed me on my way ;
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer, ' Nay :'
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came ;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered ; not a word he spake ;
Just perishing for want of bread:
I gave him all ; he bless'd it, brake,
And ate ; but gave me part again :
Mine was an angel's portion then ;
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone ;
The heedless water mocked his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on :
I ran to raise the sufferer up ;
Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o'er ;
I drank, and never thirsted more.
vi INTRODUCTORY.
'Twas night the floods were out ; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest ;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side ;
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment he was healed :
I had myself a wound concealed ;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemn'd
To meet a traitor's doom at morn ;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honour'd him 'midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He ask'd if I for him would die?
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, ' I will.'
Then in a moment to my view,
The stranger darted from disguise ;
The tokens in His hands I knew,
My Saviour stood before my eyes ;
He spake and my poor name He named ;
' Of Me 'thou hast not been ashamed :
These deeds shall thy memorial be ;
Fear not, thou didst them unto Me !' "
Montgomery.
LETTER I.
SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS TO CHARITY.
Counsel requested Retrospect Need of labourers
Work and reward The author's creed Scrip-
ture passages ..... I
LETTER II.
THE LABOUR OF LOVE.
The District Visitor John Rawlings Th poor
dram drinker Sympathy The Bilboa and Tu-
dela railway The English home . . 13
LETTER III.
THE PAUPER SPIRIT.
Difficulties in District visiting The pauper spirit
Influence The spirit of the world . . 27
viii CONTENTS.
LETTER IV.
A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
The nature of true help The District lady Hard
thoughts A touch from heaven Children's
aid A friend indeed ... 37
LETTER V.
SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
The sick man Mutual benefit Itinerant easy
chair Strawberries Education of children
The nursery The little wren ... . 49
LETTER VI.
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
Who should visit the poor Mary Servants Effect
of discouragement upon servants and children
The new-married couple The bereaved
mother . . . ." . . 59
LETTER VII.
THE NURSERY.
Nursery misrule Nervous mother Her visit to
the lady's house Difficulties in the way of
doing good The old beggar Riches increased
by giving ...... 73
CONTENTS. ix
LETTER VHI.
NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
Morning in the country Reminiscences of three
city dwellings The wild ducks . . 89
LETTER IX.
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
A drunkard's family The sick child The sipo
matador The Workhouse The hopeless ward
The Irishwoman .... 99
LETTER X.
MOTHER'S LOVE.
The crazed mother Lunatic asylum A friend in
need The happy poor A pitiful story . . 113
LETTER XI.
PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES.
Extracts from Dr. George Johnson's Lecture on
"Over-work, Distress, and Anxiety, as Causes
of Mental and Bodily Disease " . . .125
LETTER XII.
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR.
Gratitude Woman in Shoreditch Mrs. Greatheart
Generosity of the Poor A collier The poor
man's cloud . . . . 135
X CONTENTS.
LETTER XIII.
THE GUIDING HAND.
Our own place and duty Obedience and faith, a
narrative The dyspeptic pauper . .149
LETTER XIV.
THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
The happy widow Selfish charity Income and
management Old traditions Hard words
Anecdotes . . . . .163
LETTER XV.
COMPLAINTS.
Imitation Dress Sunday scholars Order and
cleanliness Inconvenient dwellings Disadvan-
tages of the poor in sickness Food Contrasts
Encouragements . . . , . 175
LETTER XVI.
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
Miss Winter and Miss Noble A Yorkshire woman 191
CONTENTS. Xl
LETTER XVII.
WORKHOUSES.
The aged labourer What is due to him A
plan for his comfort Supposed objections
Desirableness of visiting Workhouses A plan
to supply the sick poor with meat Anecdote of
two children . . . . .210
LETTER XVIII.
GIVING AWAY.
Practice amongst the Jews The miller Funds
for charitable objects A dinner party John
Wesley . . . . . 227
LETTER XIX.
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
The two death-beds and the two widows . . 239
LETTER XX.
THE MONSTER EVIL.
The dark side of the picture Work for all
Intemperance Successful workers A village
Sober refreshment houses Work in Bristol
Visit to the gin palaces Extract from Grelette's
memoirs Gentlemen's work An illustration . 253
xii CONTENTS.
LETTER XXI.
THE CONCLUSION.
Christian liberty Discouragements Encourage-
ments Mothers' meetings Young girls How
to befriend them Penitentiaries Married men
Young men Conclusion . . .277
APPENDIX.
AN OUTSTRETCHED HAND TO THE FALLEN . 30!
THE MINISTRY OF LOVE TO THE FALLEN . 307
LETTER FROM MRS. SHEPPARD TO THE AUTHORESS 315
LETTER I,
torarapimts to
"The more worthy any soul is, the larger is its
compassion."
Lord Bacon.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I am glad to find you were interested
and encouraged by the scripture quotations I sent
you. They were written for our encouragement.
In truth, I do not wonder that you had become dis-
heartened in your district work, and found it a heavy
business, having learned that your best motive
for undertaking it was over-persuasion, and because
good people thought it was your duty to do it.
For a work of this nature, we at least require to be
fully persuaded in our own minds that it is our
duty. I know something of the class of workers
which is made by these barren unsustained motives,
and I can scarcely tell, which is most to be pitied,
the district visitor, or the district people ; they are
both in evil case, and likely soon to be weary and
hopeless of each other. It is well, that under such
circumstances, you retained a hope of better things,
and did not abandon your work in despair.
You wish me to give you some good rules to
assist you in carrying out your work. I have been
4 SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS
reflecting on my past relations to the poor, there
are some feelings that often deeply affect me ; and
principally thankfulness, that my inclination and
position in life, have brought me into frequent and
easy contact with them. Then comes sorrow
remorseful sorrow, that my opportunities to help
and comfort them have to a great extent been
wasted, through selfishness, ignorance, and care-
lessness ; and now that my days are fast shortening,
an ardent desire takes possession of my mind, to
use more diligently and faithfully the opportunities
which may remain. The harvest was never more
plenteous than now the call for willing, wise-
hearted labourers never sounded louder from many
a district, some solitary over-tasked worker is crying
for help. The seed lies smothered beneath heavy
clods, the springing corn is trodden down in the
furrows, and the sheaves are not gathered in ; the
enemy is bold, strong, and subtle, and those who
should help, are too many of them taking their
pleasure, or seeking their own. Another conviction
that deepens daily on my mind, in connexion with
helping the poor, is the necessity of it for our own
sakes, fully as much as for theirs ; we need it as a
school, wherein to gain a true and enlarged expe-
rience of life, and as a means for the growth and
development of our own Christian character. No
deputy can perform the ministry of love for us, and
TO CHARITY. 5
hand over to us, either the experience or reward
attached to it.
Were we to search the Scriptures, to find in
which path of Christian duty the precious pearls of
promise were the most thickly scattered, I believe
we should discover them in those rough ways,
where the free servant, following in the steps of his
dear Master, brings himself into helpful contact
with his helpless fellow-creatures. So abundant,
indeed, are the encouragements to do good to the
poor, so attractive are the rewards promised to the
work, that one might almost think the reluctant
heart, even for very selfishness, might be drawn
towards it.
My attention has recently been turned to those
portions of the Scriptures, which connect temporal
rewards, with works of mercy to the poor ; and
though love to Him, who hath loved us and love
to our brother for His sake, should ever be our
chief constraining motive, yet, seeing that He, who
knows us altogether, has in His Word, connected
rich rewards with this self-denying service, how
gratefully should we, poor, duH-hearted, slow-
paced followers, accept the animation and hope
thus provided for us !
Perhaps you may never have fully considered,
the fair ground of advantage upon which the
merciful man stands in the Scriptures ; perhaps
B
6 SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS
you may have been disposed to think, as many
evidently do, that the receiver of charity, is the only
person benefitted, and that the donor loses, what
the receiver gains. Look, with me at a few pas-
sages that speak a language diametrically opposite,
and which prove the great weight of blessing, to lie
on the side of the benefactor. It will not be
difficult to make a selection, as, throughout both
the Old and New Testaments, the same truth, in
varied language, is continually brought out : thus
" He that hath mercy on the poor, happy is he ; "
and " It is more blessed to give than to receive."
Some of these promises of compensation, appear
so lavishly rich, that were the terms of the agree-
ment between man and man, we might be inclined
to suspect bribery ; but our God is a rich rewarder
of those, who walk in His ways and keep His
commandments.
In the course of my life, I have met with not a
few excellent persons, who shrink back, almost
horrified, at the idea of rewards being connected
with good works, and stand prepared, and ready
to clap the terrible brand of " tinsound" upon any
unfortunate individual, who brings prominently
forward the necessity of good works. I doubt not
this arises, from a jealous fear lest works of charity
should be unduly exalted, and be made to occupy
the place of a means, or condition of salvation.
TO CHARITY. 7
Far be it from me, to put them in that place, but,
as Good Works will be a principal subject in our
correspondence, it would be unfortunate, if you
had any suspicion of my orthodoxy ; let me there-
fore briefly give you my creed upon this point.
I dream of no such thing, as works of merit,
before God. I believe, that The one atonement for
sin, once made by Jesus Christ, is the only ground of
a sinner's hope of acceptance ; and, that where this
great fact, of God's free love and pardon through
Christ, is received into the heart by a living faith, it
then becomes the soul's salvation ; and, that good
works do naturally flow from it, as its genuine fruit
and effect ; and being performed through the help
of the Holy Spirit, they are acceptable to God, for
Christ's sake.
Having said thus much, let us turn to the Scrip-
tures, to prove the personal gain and privilege,
which fall to the Christian's portion, when uprightly
performing " good works " or the ministry of love,
to his poorer brethren. I will take first a portion
from the 58th chapter of Isaiah, rich enough to
satisfy the soul's deepest cravings.
" If thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and
satisfy the afflicted soul ; then shall thy light rise in
obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday :
and the Lord shall guide thee continually, and
satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy
8 SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS
bones : and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and
like a spring of water, whose waters fail not"
In the I5th chapter of Deuteronomy is the
following command and encouragement :
" If there be among you a poor man of one of
thy brethren within any of thy gates, in thy land
which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not
harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand from thy
poor brother ; but thou shalt open thine hand wide
unto him, and shalt surely lend him sufficient for
his need, in that which he wanteth." " Thou shalt
surely give him, and thine heart shall not be
grieved when thou givest unto him : because that
for this thing the Lord thy God shall bless thee in
all thy works, and in all that thou puttest thine
hand unto. For the poor shall never cease out of
the land : therefore I command thee, saying, Thou
shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother, to thy
poor, and to thy needy, in thy land."
There is something striking in the expression
"thy poor." We are accustomed to say "the
poor," putting them at a greater distance from us,
and not appropriating them as our own.
David says, in the 4ist Psalm, "Blessed is he
that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver
him in time of trouble. The Lord will preserve
him, and keep him alive ; and he shall be blessed
upon the earth : and thou wilt not deliver him unto
TO CHARITY. 9
the will of his enemies. The Lord will strengthen
him upon the bed of languishing : thou wilt make
all his bed in his sickness."
Again " He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth
unto the Lord ; and that which he hath given will
He pay him again."
" He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack."
Our Saviour says " Give, and it shall be given
unto you, good measure, pressed down, and shaken
together, and running over, shall men give into
your bosom ; for with the same measure that ye mete
withal it shall be measured to you again." And,
" Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy." He warns his followers against giving
alms ostentatiously, lest they lose the open reward
of their Father in heaven.
The apostles do not recognize as true religion,
that, which has not true charity as its evidence. In
writing to Titus, St. Paul says, " This is a faithful
saying, and these things I will that thou affirm
constantly, that they which have believed in God
might be careful to maintain good works. These
things are good and profitable unto men."
St. John says, "Whoso hath this world's good,
and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up
his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth
the love of God in him ? My little children, let us
10 SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS
not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and
in truth."
St. James declares what the Spirit teaches him
on this subject, thus : " Pure religion and undefiled
before God and the Father is this, to visit the
fatherless and the widow in their affliction, and to
keep himself unspotted from the world."
I do not know if any other rendering has been
found, for any part of the following charge of St.
Paul to Timothy. " Charge them that are rich in
this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust
in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who
giveth us richly all things to enjoy ; that they do
good, that they be rich in good works, ready to
distribute, willing to communicate ; laying up in
store for themselves a good foundation against the
time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal
life."
I might multiply quotations to any extent, but
these few are clear and conclusive, as to the duty
of exercising brotherly kindness to the poor, and
to the promise of abundant temporal blessing
connected with its fulfilment I will only add that
sublime parable in the 25th chapter of St. Matthew's
Gospel, where our Lord draws the picture of the
judgment of the " Great Day," when all the nations
of the earth shall be assembled before the throne
of His glory to receive their final award. Silently,
TO CHARITY. 1 1
passing by the great heroes and heroines in the
world's history, with their mighty achievements,
and marvellous attainments taking no notice of
the miracles of asceticism, or the pyramids of
formal religious observances He stoops to notice
with divine complacency, and to reward as done
unto Himself, the simplest offices of self-denying
love. " Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of
the world. For I was an hungered, and ye gave
me meat ; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink ; I
was a stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, and ye
clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me ; I was
in prison, and ye came unto me. Verily I say
unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it
unto me." Whatever might have been the guilt of
that lost company, who were consigned to everlast-
ing destruction from the presence of the Lord, it
was their failure in these simple exercises of self-
denying love, that was declared to be their crowning
sin ; they had no charity ; and thus, were unfitted
for companionship with Jesus, and His holy ones.
If the truth contained in these passages impresses
you, as it does me, you will feel that you cannot
afford to cut yourself off from the blessings, which
are so closely coupled with a labour of love to the
poor.
12 SCRIPTURE ENCOURAGEMENTS TO CHARITY.
I rejoice, that now, before your family cares have
become heavy, you have determined to train your-
self in this important department of a Christian
woman's duty. I rejoice that you cannot be satis-
fied with surface charity, or with doing by proxy,
what you can do yourself. I am thankful that you
have thus chosen ; it is not the case with all. I
would earnestly advise you to learn the higher, and
deeper branches of this work ; expound to yourself
the full meaning, of that often misused word, charity ;
and at the feet of Him, "who though He was rich,
yet for our sakes became poor," may you learn how
to feel, and how to minister to your poor brother.
Expecting your next letter,
I am,
Yours sincerely,
LETTER II.
t abowr 0f
" Nothing is true but love, nor ought of worth ;
Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth."
" O merchant ! at heaven's mart for heavenly ware,
Love is the only coin which passes there."
" The wine of love can be obtained of none,
Save Him who trod the winepress all alone."
Trench.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Your earnest request that I would give
you a few hints on visiting the poor, drawn from
my own experience, has led me to cast a thought-
ful glance over the last forty years of my life, to
judge, whether any knowledge I may have gained,
could be of practical value to you. I can assure
you, this retrospect has not been made without
pain. In looking at my poor scanty work, I have
thought, that it might more fitly stand as a warning,
than as an example for others ; yet, I feel the
justice of your remark, that, "with the experience
of so many years, I ought to have both instruction
and encouragement, to give to those, who are just
entering this field of labour ; and some definite ideas
as to the best and wisest way, to befriend ' our poor
brother.'" I have been a slow learner, and have
still attained to no proficiency ; but my heart is
truly in the work ; and if you will tell me some of
your difficulties, I will endeavour to help you, as
far as I have any capacity.
I am now far advanced in life's journey, and in
1 6 THE LABOUR OF LOVE.
thinking the subject over with a view to do so ; but
have come to the conclusion that you will make
them much better for yourself, when experience
shall have shown you what you require. What I
think you need most at the present time, is, to have
your own principles settled, not only to be satisfied
that it is right to help the poor, but to have a clear
understanding of the nature of the assistance which,
may deservedly claim to be called " help," and then,
to learn how to render it, so that it calls forth,
both in the giver and receiver, generous and grate-
ful emotions. If your footing be slippery on these
foundation stones, the best system of rules will do
you little good. It is not uncommon for us to be
more tenacious of our rules, than our principles ;
but it should not be so, if our principles be sound.
Our poor brothers and sisters are not like foreigners.
When we know them intimately, we find them much
more nearly related, than at a distance we had
fancied. Except in property and education, I believe
we are much alike. In the more important features
of character, such as religion, morality, worth, and
affection, the rich and the poor stand upon a level.
We need to be more fully persuaded of this, to mix
with them advantageously.
An amiable and vivacious young lady was recently
amusing a company of her friends, with an account
of a visitation she had made through a town district
THE LABOUR OF LOVE. I/
to ascertain the place of worship every family at-
tended, and the school at which every child was
educated ; which information she duly noted, to be
reported. She related, with animated indignation,
that she found many of the people very impertinent
Some of us, who had a little more knowledge of
human nature, were not surprised at this ; but we
certainly did wonder that, any committee should
appoint to such an inquisitorial office, a deputy so
unfitted for it ; an angel, or a government officer,
being the only individuals likely to make that
scrutiny without giving offence. We should do
many things differently, and better, if we remem-
bered that, the conditions of riches and poverty did
not materially alter the nature of men. I have
heard some young district visitors take up a lamen-
tation, that they really did not know what to say
to poor people ; it was so difficult to say anything
profitable. I have sometimes advised them to go
without any prepared composition of this kind,
without even a text or exhortation upon their
minds ; and pay a visit to their poor neighbour,
naturally, as they would to a neighbour in their
own class of life, to whom they wished to be kind
and helpful ; and that they need not fear but a
way would open easily for them, to be, and do, all
they desired.
Amongst the great number of excellent ladies
1 8 THE LABOUR OF LOVE
who devote themselves to the difficult and self-
denying work of district visiting, there must of
necessity be some, who, from different causes, make
mistakes. I have heard of some, who domineer and
usurp authority, as if they had a right to rule in a
poor man's house ; of others, who inquisitively pry
into their private history, and slender means of
subsistence ; of others, who find fault without reason,
and pretend to teach without knowledge it re-
quires practical experience to teach wisdom to the
poor of others, who form hasty judgments upon
insufficient grounds ; and of others who lecture and
.scold. Of course all these mistakes do mischief.
With regard to lecturing and scolding, it is both
unlovely and unjustifiable. Calm expostulation
and affectionate entreaty, are the harshest language
we are warranted to use, when we introduce our-
selves into our poor neighbours' houses. " I beseech
you," says the apostle ; how suitable, how comely,
this sounds, and how beautifully in accordance with
the apostle's spirit, is the touching account Mrs.
Whiteman gives of her visit to poor deaf, drunken,
hopeless, John Rawlins. In the earnestness of her
faith and love, she entreated him, she declared, " You
shall not be lost, you shall be saved, I will not let
you go to ruin and misery." She says, " He cried,
and I cried too," and she prevailed. Are there
many amongst us who beseech with tears, and will
THE LABOUR OF LOVE. 19
not give up ? But, oh ! what fountains of power,
life, and healing are in such tears, such earnestness !
Hasty, and especially harsh judgments on the
conduct of the lower classes, we should never allow
ourselves to form ; so often is it, all but impossible
for those in different circumstances, to appreciate
their difficulties and temptations. I could give you
an illustration, that would form a sad contrast to
Mrs. Whiteman's conduct. It occurred many years
since, but I never think of it without shame and
distress, as an opportunity worse than lost for
helping a poor tempted sister. We then lived in
London, and nearly opposite our house stood a
gin-shop (it was before the time of gin-palaces) ; it
was a dirty disgusting looking place, and often
resounded with oaths, songs, and quarrels. On the
edge of the pavement, before the door, sat an apple
woman by her little stall ; a tall, haggard, white-
faced woman she was, with black straggling hair,
and a careworn countenance. In all seasons of the
year there she sat ; in the summer with her little
bunches of cherries tied to sticks, and her small
heaps of strawberries, gooseberries, and currants
piled up on leaves. In the autumn, her stall was
covered with pears, apples, and plums ; in winter
with apples, nuts, oranges, and slices of cocoa nut.
Hot or cold, wet or dry, there she was, often sitting
in the rain, with her battered umbrella, partially
2O THE LABOUR OF LOVE.
sheltering herself and the fruit. Sometimes in the
depth of winter, I have watched her walk to and
fro on the pavement for a little while, and then go
into the gin-shop, presently coming out, and sitting
down again, with her hopeless haggard face. In
my mind, I used to blame her severely for this
immoral practice, as I considered it. At that time,
I had many sinkings myself, both mental and
physical, and as a temporary stimulant, I often had
recourse to a strong cup of coffee. I did not
perceive that I, and the poor woman, were acting
on the same principle, impelled by the same neces-
sity ; I was trying to raise my spirits, and make
myself feel more comfortable ; she was trying to do
the same, and to keep out the cold. My remedy
was good, hers was bad, but they produced the
same temporary effect ; mine, happily, produced no
after craving hers, unhappily, did ; and she some-
times went home at night nearly tipsy from her
often repeated turns into the ginshop. Many a
lady who drinks her glass or glasses of wine, to
dispel languor or depression ; many a gentleman
who exhilirates his spirits with wine and ale from
his own cellar, will, like me, fail to discover through
the external difference, any likeness to themselves,
in the poor degraded dram drinker, and may self-
righteously cast a stone at her. Sometimes I have
seen two or three little children come to her,
THE LABOUR OF LOVE. 21
evidently her own ; one of them, a baby, was
brought in the arms of a little, lank, light-haired
girl about eight years old. She would take the
infant, kiss it, and give it suck ; if it cried violently,
she would go into the ginshop with it, and presently
bring it out pacified. I have said to myself, " That
wicked woman has been giving that poor little
creature gin how monstrous, how dreadful ! " Then
she would send the little things away alone, to
make their way through the crowded streets ; and
she sat on hour after hour, in order to take them
home a piece of bread. I had my nurse and
nursery, my soothing syrups and other comfortable
things for my little ones, and I did not understand
her difficulties, or sympathise with her temptations.
From education and experience, I knew what was
wholesome, and what deleterious. Our knowledge
saves us from many dangers ; but alas ! for the
very poor, and very ignorant ! Under the pressure
of the present need, they take the thing that comes
easiest to hand, and seems to do its work, regard-
less of future consequences. I judged this poor
woman, and condemned her harshly and ignorantly,
and so, I left her. Had I sent her a cup of coffee,
had I supplied her with something better for her
infant, had she felt that the eye of a friend was
watching her with a kind interest, she might have
been comforted, helped, and elevated ; I might
C
22 THE LABOUR OF LOVE.
have led her to the Fountain of all help and com-
fort but I did not ; I looked on and cried out upon
her. Poor troubled, tempted, toiling woman ! I hope
she will not point her finger at me, in the day when
the searching light will reveal all the kind things
we have left undone, that we might have done.
Now I am sure you do not wish to domineer,
judge, or scold in your district, nor even to satisfy
yourself with saying good things ; you wish to help
your poor neighbours, and to make them better
and happier, for your visits ; may I then advise
you as the most effectual way, to exercise your
heart and imagination diligently in the heavenly
art of sympathy ? We often hear it said that,
sympathy is a natural gift ; it is so ; but it is an
attainment also, and it must be gained, if we would
ever do our Master's work, in His spirit. If
sympathy be only put on, as an external dress
of speech and manner, our poor friends will see
through it, for they are quick to discern reality.
May I advise you also not lightly to give way to
discouragement ? The higher we aim, the more sure
are we to find it, both in ourselves and in others.
The labour of love can never be a light or trifling
work. It is sure to be crowned with some good
measure of success, but it may be earned, as it
were, in the sweat of the brow in fearfulness, and
painful ness.
THE LABOUR OF LOVE. 23
A short time since I had a letter from a gentleman,
who was engaged in the construction of the Bilboa
and Tudela railway in Spain. In order to obtain the
most desirable route for the line, it was found
needful in one part, to divert the Ebro from its
course, and form a new channel for it. It was a
work of great labour and difficulty, as immense
masses of rock had to be displaced by the process
of blasting ; but as difficulty and danger never
daunt the spirit of the engineer or " navvy," they
laboured on vigorously during the heat of summer,
when the bed of the river was dry, in order that the
new channel might be completed, before the periodi-
cal floods came down from the mountains. As the
time drew near, the labour was incessant. At last it
was finished ; they had done their part ; and the
constructors lay down to rest that night content
and hopeful ; and whilst they slept, "He who water-
eth the hills from His chambers, and sendeth the
fountains into the vallies to run amongst the hills,"
loosened the mountain floods, and when they looked
forth in the morning, the channel of yesternight
was no longer dry, the waters that were to gladden
the waste places were already flowing through it
My correspondent told me, that in blasting these
rocks, the workmen sometimes found the honey of
the wild bee stored away in the crevices.
I thought there was instruction in this little
24 THE LABOUR OF LOVE.
incident of railway labour, to encourage us to work
diligently and hopefully having faith that streams
of blessing, from the eternal Fountain, are waiting
to flow into the channels we prepare for them ; and
that still, there is honey hidden in the secret fissures
of the rock, to surprise the faith, and gladden the
heart of the faithful labourer.
" Dig channels for the streams of love,
Where they may broadly run ;
And love has overflowing streams,
To fill them every one."
We, women, often need to remind ourselves, and to
be reminded, that, we are never so likely to be
honoured, beloved, useful, and happy, as when we
are faithful to the instincts implanted in our
woman's nature ; which, by their secret instigations,
prompt us to the cheerful discharge of the self-
denying and pleasing duties of domestic life ; and
lead us also to supply liberally the silent streams
of unobtrusive charity. If there be cause for the
fear, not unfrequently expressed, that our English
home, (so long boasted of, as the bit of paradise
still left in the world), is now gradually deterio-
rating, through the loss of its fairest feature of
domesticity how anxiously should every woman,
who is jealous for the honour of her sex, and the
true glory of her country, strive to avert an evil
THE LABOUR OF LOVE. 2$
so incalculably and deplorably mischievous in its
effects. Oh ! I do trust that the honourable matron,
the devoted mother, the modest domestic daughter,
may never cease to be the grace and ornament of
the homes of old England. Nevertheless, from my
heart, I could cordially welcome amongst us a
venerable company of ancient matrons, descended
in a right line, from the excellent woman of the
3 1st chapter of Proverbs. And if they could be
persuaded to go through the length and breadth of
the land, to teach our ladies, some of their ancient
principles of domestic management, we might all
be able to take a higher position, both in wisdom
and dignity. I always have a rejoicing sense of the
beauty and goodness of the female character, when
I read of that virtuous woman, whose children rose
up and called her blessed ; whose husband praised
her ; and had no need to take spoils, because of her
industrious, careful, and comfortable management ;
whose household feared not for the snow, being
clothed with double garments ; and who stretched
forth her hands to the poor, while the law of kind-
ness and wisdom dwelt upon her tongue. Is she
not worthy of our imitation ?
Yours sincerely,
LETTER III,
$attp*r
Trifles, lighter than straws, are levers in the building
up of character."
Tupper.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I am sorry to find you making
the old common complaint, that indolence, imposi-
tion, and jealousy abound in your district. I fear
whether our present system of relief, and regular
inspection, may not have a tendency to foster
these evils, by weakening the true independence
and self-respect of the working classes ; were it
not so, we should scarcely hear from so many
visitors the same complaint that the poor are
continually becoming more wasteful, imposing,
ungrateful, deceitful, and jealous ; and that the
charity, they are content to receive, is doing
them more harm morally, than physically it does
them good. I have long observed that com-
plaints of this kind, come the loudest from parishes
where the most completely systematized chain of
relief societies exist ; where the poor, in fact, are
completely undertaken, their wants provided for,
and their responsibilities,, to a considerable extent,
lifted from them.
30 THE PAUPER SPIRIT.
I once lived in a large town where the inspection
was so universal, and gift charity so abundant, that
indolent mothers might almost support their fami-
lies by begging, whilst their husbands spent their
earnings in drinking. The inhabitants of a district,
know, that the lady comes on purpose to discover
and relieve want ; she enters every house with a
sort of authority to do so ; she holds an office
which empowers her to give gifts why should not
they get something from her ? and why not quite
as much as any of their neighbours ? If the lady
do not come to help them, why does she intrude
herself at all ? They will naturally argue thus, and
use their best skill to make a good tale for them-
selves. They will hide their means and helps, and
display their wants ; they will slip the piece of
meat into the cupboard, and place the " beautiful
tract " upon the table ; they will privately slander
their neighbours for their own advantage, and im-
pose upon the credulity, or good nature of their
visitor. It is in human nature to do all this, and
much more, under the temptation of such circum-
stances ; and what is to prevent the character of
the poor being lowered by it, unless the visitor be
able to weave the warp of her material charity with
a wisdom so truly high-hearted and beneficent, that
it should have power, at least to neutralise the evils
of alms-giving ? Bare alms-giving, neither satisfies
THE PAUPER SPIRIT. 31
God nor man ; the heart has cravings far keener
than the body, which no soup kitchen, no money
fund, no ticket system can possibly appease ; but,
" draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the
afflicted soul," then, both will be nourished together.
In the town just named, the inhabitants in some
of the districts, mentioned it almost boastingly,
that, they did not neighbour with any one. I knew
it, and that they did not help each other in sickness,
or render any of the gratuitous assistance, which
poor people are so ready to give under natural
circumstances ; they were in truth afraid of each
other, lest any disadvantageous report of them
might be made to the district lady, from whom
they designed to obtain relief. One of these
women, who spent her mornings in begging, came
to me one day, and offered her child for my accep-
tance ; she wished I would bring him up for my
own ; she would not care to see him any more
he was a beautiful little fellow. This offer would
never have been made by any industrious woman,
who worked hard for her family. My experience
in this place, I found to agree with that of the
most reflective visitors.
To originate anything like the pauper spirit in a
district, is the most cruel and dangerous thing we
can do, because of its perilous power in under-
mining manly, self-reliant character yet, in going
32 THE PAUPER SPIRIT.
regularly from house to house, on the business of
giving help, it would seem to require all but the
wisdom of an angel, to avoid it ; especially as,
under such circumstances, we are so liable our-
selves, to slip into the routine spirit of mass work ;
in which, we fail to discern the delicate lines of
separate individualities ; and doing so, weaken
character in its strongest support of self-respect :
thus, for instance if a man discover, that his
visitor's interest in him, is confined only to those
circumstances which connect him in a mass, with
poverty and charity, his character will probably be
lowered by it. There is a natural desire in every
man to have himself acknowledged, apart from his
lowest conditions, and especially by those, whose
opinion he values. Perhaps, more or less, we are
all apt to think of ourselves, as we know others
think of us, and commonly remain at about the
level their opinion assigns to us. What is expected
from us, is generally produced, and the poor man
forms no exception to this rule ; if we honour him,
he will respect himself his energy, his ambition,
his hope, his faith will come into exercise, he will
find his powers ; if we despise, or neglect him, he
will sink lower, or remain patiently under the dull
load of his inferior condition a word, a look, an
action, may, humanly speaking, under some cir-
cumstances, almost save or ruin a man so slight,
THE PAUPER SPIRIT. 33
so delicate, yet so irresistible are the influences we
exert on each other ; and I am sure, it is quite as
easy, without great wisdom, to pauperise the spirit
of people dwelling in their own houses, as if they
were really the inmates of a Union.
In this great country of ours, overlaid with
prosperity, underlaid by adversity, we doubtless
must have societies, institutions, combinations mani-
fold, to prevent the rising of the under currents to
swamp the whole ; but the finer, more delicate,
more heavenly work of Christian charity, is not
often done by these. It is not great power that is
required, but the electric touch of love, of self-
denying help, and sympathy.
It should be a very serious reflection to those
who occupy the higher ranks of life, that their
influence and example, by a natural tendency,
descend to the lower ranks, thus making them to
an untold extent, responsible for the character and
habits of those beneath them. This is a hateful
burthensome thought to the proud and selfish
nature, which would gladly spurn from it such
a mean restraint To the upright thoughtful Chris-
tian, it is a solemn consideration, but mingled with
hope.
Is it not wonderful how little at present, we seem
to comprehend the true working principles of our
common nature? Thus, in judging of the class
34 THE PAUPER SPIRIT.
beneath us, how apt we are to imagine them,
influenced by motives, and in ways altogether
different from ourselves ; and to perplex ourselves
to devise schemes to produce upon them the effects
we desire. We may be safely assured, that we
never get so far refined away from the original
stock, but that we may use our own key to unlock
our poor neighbour's heart, and find that, " What-
soever ye would that men should do unto you, do
ye the same unto them," is a language and practice,
that he is quite able to comprehend and appreciate.
We need, dear friend, to redeem our daily life
from its selfishness and commonplace, by dwelling
under a nobler inspiration, by which we might prac-
tically evidence, that we have a high vocation and a
holy calling. How can the soul grow heavenward,
that has its deepest interests taken up with the little
shows, vanities, and pleasures, which begin and
terminate in self ? but who has not found it hard
work to rise entirely superior to them ? The dog-
matic voice of fashion, the multiplied refinements
of life, and the perplexing conventionalities of
artificial society, too often act as a choke-damp
upon the spiritual life of the soul, and make it all
but impossible to maintain a simple, honest integ-
rity of purpose and action, within the sphere of
their influence. " The lust of the flesh, the lust of
the eye, and the pride of life," are as dangerous
THE PAUPER SPIRIT. 35
to the Christian's piety, as the whirling vortex of
the Maelstrom to the bark of the unwary mariner.
We must daily strive to find a stronger attraction
which draws heavenward, away from the world's
bondage, into the holy liberty of Christ
Yours truly,
LETTER IV.
, 0mi in ijj* gisirin.
"Train up a child in the way he should go, and
when he is old he will not depart from it."
Proverbs xxii. 6.
"When is the human heart found to be so ductile
to the motives of religion, as in the simple, ingenuous
age of childhood ? How easy is it then, as compared
with the stubbornness of adult years, to make all wrong
seem odious all good, lovely and desirable ! "
Bushnell.
I)
MY DEAR FRIEND,
You wish to have my hints placed
before you more in detail, that you might practi-
cally transfer them to your district You would
find that plan both difficult and profitless. Every
visitor will carry out the minutiae of her work,
according to her own peculiar gifts, and nature ;
and though you and I, might start with the same
principles, we should probably work very differently ;
just because, we should act like ourselves ; and it
makes but poor tame work to be copying another,
when we come in contact with suffering human
nature ; the stream must then flow from our own
fountain.
Our most anxious endeavour in visiting the poor,
should be, to meet appropriately, and very conside-
rately, the real need of each varying case ; this is
the true help which is sure to give satisfaction ;
but, if when a woman wants sympathy, she receives
money ; or when requiring food, receives advice ; we
need not be surprised that she is dissatisfied, or
that she is jealously suspicious that her neighbour
has managed to get something better from the lady.
40 A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
Patient sympathy, and discriminating aid, have
the true essence of help in them ; and they bring
forth in the receiver, an honest, healthy feeling of
gratitude, which, is of itself, antagonistic to the
pauper spirit. This work is not rapid ; neither
does it carry with it much show, or sound ; but, it
is the slow and sure labour of love, that tells in the
end.
I doubt not we may both have seen, and perhaps
pursued a line of conduct the opposite to this for
instance when a poor man's long history of dis-
tress, may have been impatiently cut short by a
dive into the pocket, for a shilling or sixpence,
which is expected to meet every want, and heal
every wound. If the man is not satisfied, he is an
undeserving, ungrateful fellow.
I met recently with the following remarks, which
I thought could scarcely be pondered without profit.
"With all our activity and boldness of movement, there
is a certain hardness and rudeness, a want of sensibility to
things that do not lie in action, which cannot be too much
deplored, or too soon rectified. We hold a piety of conquest,
rather than of love. A kind of public piety, that is strenuous
and fiery on great occasions, but wants the beauty of holi-
ness, wants constancy, singleness of aim, loveliness, purity,
richness, blamelessness, and if I may add another term not
so immediately religious, but one that carries, by association,
a thousand religious qualities wants domesticity of cha-
racter."
A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 41
You wish I could take a round with you in your
District, and give you advice in some of your diffi-
cult cases. I cannot do that, but we can readily
suppose some cases ; therefore let us follow if you
please, an imaginary lady, and observe her conduct
in various circumstances, and make our remarks
upon it. We will not suppose her to be perfect,
only a common woman ; but earnest, simple, and
kind-hearted ; one, who loves her Master, and her
neighbour, and wishes to love and serve both
better.
We will imagine her in her home, reading an
interesting book, and feeling no inclination to leave
the fireside. The district work looks dull, discou-
raging, onerous, and her thoughts rest rather
impatiently upon one family in particular; they
flow in a disjointed train, somewhat after this
manner "All I do for these people is swallowed
up, and they are no better off; I am getting quite
out of heart about them ; the husband seems to be
always out of work, I can hardly tell why ; the
wife is a poor sickly thing, and a bad manager I
am sure. The house is always in confusion ; the
children are always ragged and dirty, and are never
kept to school regularly. Surely she might keep
them clean if they are ragged, there is no excuse
for dirt. I remember the doctor said, the woman
ought to have meat ; I did give her a ticket for
42 A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
some ; but no doubt she spoilt it in the cooking,
she is such a bad manager, and there seems nothing
in the house to manage with ; and I hear now, that
her biggest boy has got himself into trouble has
been caught with bad companions, thieving ; I
really think the best thing for them, would be to
go into the workhouse, they must come to it at
last I almost think I must scold her a little
to-day."
Arrived so far in her mental soliloquy, the lady
discovers, or is shown, the cold unsympathising
state of her heart, and before she goes abroad,
she retires to her own room ; and with a humbled
spirit, she asks for the mind of her Master, and for
wisdom, and love for her work. She sits down, and
tries to " draw out her soul," and bring herself into
sympathy with that poor sickly woman, by taking
her position, and feeling down into her circum-
stances. She fancies herself the weary occupant of
that comfortless room in the alley ; she gives her
imagination play, and finds herself intending to
wash the clothes that look so dirty, (she has just
said, there is no excuse for dirt), she gathers to-
gether a few of the children's clothes, only a few of
them can be spared, as they have no change ; the
rest must be washed when they are in bed. She
pulls off one of the sheets, but feels that she has not
the strength to wash it, and if she had, how can it
A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 43
be dried ? there is no place to hang it up out of
doors ; and with the children all about, how can it
be dried in that little room ? Besides, there is only
a shovel full of coals left, and who knows where
the next are to come from ? She will give up the
washing to-day, for the piece of soap is grown very
thin, and will not hold out. She will clean the
house instead, the floor is so very dirty ! But here
again, difficulties meet her there is neither broom,
house-cloth, nor scrubbing brush (brushes are so
dear ! quite beyond a poor woman's means to buy
them), the handle, too, is off the water bucket, and
the water has to be brought from a distance. She
would like to polish up that dull stove a bit, to
make a neat fireside, but there has not been a
penny to spare for blacklead for a long time, and
the hair of the brush is worn down to the wood
it is of no use. Oh ! how tired and discouraged she
begins to feel ! how she would like some nice little
thing to eat, or better than all, a cup of tea to
refresh herself with ; but since her husband has
been out of work, she has not had any tea is so
expensive, and they have no credit, and there is
only a little piece of bread in the house, and the
children must have that. She will leave cleaning
the house to-day, and mend the children's clothes ;
but the baby is teething, and very fretful ; well it
must fret, she cannot nurse it now ; but oh ! how it
44 A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
worries her to hear it cry ! It can't be helped ; if
these biggest holes are not drawn together, the
things will be quite gone ; but how the rags tear
like a cobweb ! they have been patched all over,
and now she has nothing to patch them with ; and
the flannel petticoats are completely worn out, and
flannel is so expensive ! where will the next come
from ? She cannot find a bit of tape or a button,
she is out of everything. Her husband's rheu-
matism came on from taking cold flannel would
be a good thing for him, poor fellow ! he used to
wear flannel waistcoats when they were better off ;
she wishes he was in regular work again, for he
does not like to come home and hear the children
cry, he cannot bear it, it makes him cross ; and he
is getting into the habit of sitting down in the
public-house in the evening, it is warmer there, and
one or other treat him with a little drink she is
afraid about it ; and there's her poor boy he was
too good-natured, poor fellow ! and the naughty
boys enticed him away, and imposed upon him ; if
he is sent to prison, it will break her heart ; she
wishes she had a friend who would speak for her
to the gentleman who had him taken up, he might
look over it, as it was the first offence but she has
no friend to intercede for her ; if the district lady
would sit down, she would ask her about it, and
tell her all the truth, but Oh dear !
A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 45
At the sight of this picture, the district lady's
heart and conscience are smitten and awakened,
and she exclaims aloud, " Poor dear woman ! how
can she endure her life how can she hold on so
patiently ? "
She now leaves her room, she calls her own
children round her, and draws this picture before
them : she says, " Here is an opportunity for you
to be kind, my children which of you will give
your nice meat dinner, once in the week, to
this poor woman, that she may get strong again,
and be able to help her little children ? " and
almost before the words are spoken, they spring
forward, one, and all, and say, " I will, I will ! " for
a well-trained child delights in pitiful kindness.
Several dinners are thus provided for the poor
mother; then she asks her little boy, "Will you
spare one of your pretty toys for these poor little
children, who have nothing to play with, and no
nice garden to run about in ? " and the little fellow,
fired with a kindred generosity, brings an armfull
of his toys, as a willing offering.
It is a great injustice to children not to cultivate
into self-denial, their spontaneous benevolence.
Now, the visitor's heart is filled with humble
thankfulness and human sympathy, and she goes
forth, not hopeless, to that before hopeless family ;
she now knows what to say to them. Directly she
46 A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
speaks, the poor woman sees that the lady under-
stands her difficulties, and has measured her distress.
She can open her heart to her that poor oppressed
sinking heart ; and the words the lady speaks, are
fit words ; and the help she offers, will not go wide
of the mark, for she knows very nearly what is
wanted. She speaks to the husband also, as to a
man who has a heart, and a hope, a duty, and a
difficulty. She will help him if she can ; if she do
not, he will know she cannot. She speaks to the
boy's master, who relents at her intercession, and is
glad not to prosecute the lad. Oh ! she is much
more than a District lady to them now they call
her by her own name Mrs. So-and-so, she belongs
to them, not to the district. A connection of
mutual blessing and mutual benefit is established
between them yes, between her family and their
family ; both, are richer, better, happier ; and the
lady feels it to be so, and goes to her room
again, and thanks God, and does not blaze
abroad the matter. How much more thankfully
does she appreciate the advantages of her own
lot, the comforts of her home, the plenty of her
table. We only know the fullest relish of the fat
and the sweet, when we send portions to those for
whom nothing is prepared. It is God's appointment
that it should be so, and that our happiness, is in
proportion to that, which we impart
A VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 47
Poor people, are sure to judge of our religion by
our deeds, and not by our creed. This family now
believes in the visitor's religion, because she is
so very kind and pitiful ; and the next time she
visits them, they will be prepared to listen with
respectful attention, if her careful anxiety extend
to their soul's welfare also ; which undoubtedly it
will do. I do not say it would be so, if the relief
had been simply alms-giving, without this drawing
out of the soul. They would have thought them-
selves lucky to get something, and would hope to
get more of the same kind. Poor people, always
think those above them are rich, and easily able to
afford them aid ; and as to advice, that is never
supposed to cost anything ; but, thoughtful heart
sympathy, every one feels it to be the costliest
thing, both to give and to receive.
I shall make my letter too long if we go into
another house to-day ; and this may be sufficient
to suggest some thoughts.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER V.
in tl* istrut
" Virtue is not only seen to be right, it is felt to be
delicious. There is happiness in the very wish to make
others happy. There is heart's ease, or heart's enjoy-
ment, even in the first purposes of kindness, as well as
in its subsequent performances."
Chalmers.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
We will now follow our good District
lady into another house, where she has herself
learned many lessons, from the cheerful submission,
and patient endurance of its inmates ; and the fact,
that they have benefitted her, by their example, she
does not conceal, but gratefully acknowledges it to
them ; and to hear, that they have conferred a
benefit upon her, whilst they imagined themselves
only barren sufferers, goes with comfort to their
hearts ; and gives a certain value to their existence,
and a satisfaction in their allotment, not realized
before.
"To honour all men," to acknowledge cordially
the talent committed to another, is an exercise of
justice and benevolence in which, we are very apt to
be defective. We forget that different talents are
given to different persons, for the benefit of the
family at large, and should be thankfully accepted,
and honoured as such.
In this house, the husband is slowly recovering
from a severe illness. The doctor has advised him
52 SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
to sit up two or three hours in the day, that he
may regain his strength faster ; but his back is
so weak, that he cannot sit upon his own hard, un-
easy chairs. The lady sits down by his bedside,
not anxious to speak herself, but willing to hear
patiently everything he has to say. It brings a
change to an invalid, to speak to a kind friend ; it
does him good like a medicine ; and when he stops,
she knows what to say ; and she speaks to him in
a sweet and cheerful voice, (not too cheerful) as if
she were sitting by one of her own friends. Refine-
ment and gentleness, have a great charm in a poor
man's house ; gentleness is contagious ; it is almost
impossible to speak roughly, to one who speaks
softly who has not remarked the involuntary way
in which the voices of two speakers, rise or fall into
the same key? When she has endeavoured to
amuse and encourage him, she selects a short por-
tion of scripture, or asks him to select one ; she
reads it, intelligently and slowly ; she speaks a
little, and leads him to speak, but it is evident there
is no routine in this part of her visit ; and when she
takes her departure, she leaves behind her a hopeful
confidence, that a kind Providence, and not a blind
chance, is ordering the poor man's lot for good.
Immediately she enters her own house, she looks
round upon all her easy chairs, (most houses in the
present day, are provided with one or two more
SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 53
than are needed), and she dedicates one of them to
be an itinerant invalid chair amongst her poor sick
neighbours. She sends it to the man's house, with
the addition of a little pillow to 'put in at the back,
and a small blanket to wrap the invalid in ; and she
intends to keep her healthy young people out of the
easy chairs for the future. The man, and his wife, are
struck with a great surprise, that the gentlewoman
has discovered that their backs, are like her back.
This chair, knits between them, the tie of confidence
and friendship ; she is their friend, they could not
impose upon her ; they feel themselves now of more
importance not set up, but their hearts are warmed
they have received a kindness proceeding from
the heart, and one, which they know has cost some
self denial. The extent of the sacrifice, they would
be likely greatly to overrate ; but it helps them
somehow, to believe in better times ; she has raised
them by her tenderness. "Thy gentleness," says
the Psalmist, " has made me great." Their hearts
wait upon her for counsel ; she sees her influence
for good ; and she thanks God, and does not blaze
abroad the matter. The sweetness of our Master's
"Well done," is often lost in the clamour of the
world's "Well done."
As we are not fully acquainted with this lady's
pecuniary resources, nor her more legitimate claims,
we cannot decide whether she should do anything
54 SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
more for these people, whom she finds entirely desti-
tute of luxuries, and very short of comforts but this
is what happened. After dinner, when helping her
children from a dish of delicious strawberries, she
told them about this poor man how weak he was,
and how parched his mouth was with fever and
thirst. Her little boy at once pushed his plate
away from him, and said, " Mamma ! don't you
think that poor man would like my strawberries ?
He shall have them if you like" and then they all
talked together ; and the children begged their
mamma not to buy them any more fruit till the
poor man was well ; but to buy something for him
with the money ; and they calculated how much
money there would be saved, and were delighted to
find how many little comforts might be procured
for him, through giving up this luxury.
No one who has not made the experiment, would
believe, how many lessons of practical wisdom and
humanity, children may learn in helping the poor,
nor how much happiness they will gain by it them-
selves ; so true it is, that " happiness is a road-side
flower, growing on the highway of usefulness." We
may train our children to a large-hearted benevo-
lence, or to engrossing selfishness.
If the common diet of our children, were more
like that of the noble youths of the captivity in
Babylon, I believe they would not only be fatter,
SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 55
fairer, and more robust in their bodies, but better
tempered, kinder hearted, and clearer headed. If
there be one thing more than another, directly cal-
culated to make " happy childhood " miserable and
selfish, it is to allow them an unrestrained, over full,
rich, and stimulating diet. Look at the joyous
child who jumps down from his simple breakfast of
bread-and-milk, and runs away, ready for anything.
Look at another child, who drags himself off his
seat, after partaking largely of coffee, hot rolls,
ham, or potted meat, looking back to the table
again with lingering eyes.
We cannot keep children's tastes too simple, both
in diet, dress, and habits. The metal of the child's
character must be formed early ; the soul must be
trained to govern the body, and not to be its slave.
A noble life of truth, humanity, and reverence
should be lived before him, and its influence will
fall upon the ductile nature, that is gathering in its
character, and moulding itself, after the pattern of
all its surroundings. How frequently we hear the
expression from a delighted parent, "He imitates
everything he sees." What an awful responsibility
rests with her, that he should see, and hear, only
what is good and lovely. By constant repetition, im-
pressions of goodness and beauty become indelible,
and they are most congenial to the nature of a
young child. I love little children, and I must
56 SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
confess that I have no sympathy with persons, who
speak of them only as hopeless little sinners, who
must come to a considerable development of sin-
fulness, before they can be converted. I know that
a child's conversion, like that of an adult, is the
effect of God's love in Christ Jesus, received into the
heart ; but, as God Himself declares, that out of the
mouth of babes and sucklings, He has perfected
praise ; why should we esteem our children ever
too young, to be drawn into this new and blessed
life. I believe there is no period of life, when,
humanly speaking, it is so easy, and so much in
accordance with the will of God, that conversion
should take place, as in youth ; but, if we hold to
the doctrine, that, " they must sow their wild oats
first," we shall not labour hopefully, to make room
for the " Tree of life." Where, a wise and heavenly
training is commenced early and prayerfully, as
" the nurture and admonition of the Lord," I feel
well assured, that we should not unfrequently see
our little children choosing the good, and refusing
the evil, and might say, as our blessed Lord did, in
looking at the little ones in Jerusalem, " Of such is
the kingdom of heaven." The education of chil-
dren in some families, is careless, even to cruelty
evil, is not only suffered to surround them, but is
thrust upon them. A gardener, would never expose
the tender plants in his conservatory, to the perils
SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 57
to which some parents expose their tender little
plants ; he would never give them in charge to an
ignorant, ill-conditioned boy, as children are con-
signed to ignorant, ill-conditioned nursemaids ; he
prepares the soil, measures the heat, regulates the
moisture, watches every symptom of blight, and
with diligent care, developes every leaf, flower, and
fruit to its most beautiful state of perfection. Oh !
how exquisite are the unblemished plants that
grow up in conservatories under such care ; and
what a contrast are they to some of our nursery
plants, exposed to almost every fortuity of evil
influence.
I think I hear you say, " But our little human
plants are not like those in the conservatory ; they
have the taint and root of sin in them." They
have, dear friend ; therefore, the more need of care
to check its development, and to nourish the
heavenly affinities of the soul, by keeping them
constantly under the gracious influences of the
waiting Spirit, ever, I believe, watching to draw
little ones into the ways of love and peace.
The following simple anecdote was related to me
a short time since : A happy little girl was walking
with her mother on the borders of a wood. A
wren flew across the path, and perching on a larch
tree, began to sing ; the child stopped, and ex-
claimed, "Oh, mamma, look at that little dear!"
'58 SECOND VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
" Pretty creature ! " said her mamma ; " it is God's
little dear, Mary ; listen, how sweetly it sings."
" Yes," cried the child, clapping her hands together,
" it is God's little dear, it will always have plenty
to eat." I thought how easily this faith in God's
kind providence to the bird, might be trained into
a personal faith ; and remain as a conscious, happy
fact, in the soul of that young child : and we may
thankfully remember, in training our children, that
the Holy Spirit can teach them through God's
gracious works, as well as through His gracious
word.
We have been straying a long way from the
district, but not far out of the circle of a mother's
duty, and I cannot forget your two dear children,
whilst I write about your poor neighbours it is all
one work, only in different fields.
Yours sincerely,
LETTEE VI.
Wuil in tt istritt
' Many a father hath erred, in that he hath withheld
reproof,
But more have mostly sinned, in withholding praise
where it was due ;
There be many such as Eli among men ; but these be
more culpable than Eli,
Who chill the fountain of exertion by the freezing
looks of indifference."
Tupper.
BEFORE we pay our next visit in the district, I
will answer your two questions. " Do I think that
only religious persons are adapted to visit the
poor ? " Far from it ; for whilst those should be pre-
eminently qualified for this labour of love, who have
learned in their own experience, something of the
Divine love, still, humanity and kindness, are the
obligation and privilege of all men ; and not un-
frequently, I believe, does the Holy Spirit attract
into this lowly, self-denying path of usefulness,
those, who shall eventually come to know of the ful-
ness of the love of God to themselves. There are
many parts of this work, for which young persons
are admirably qualified, if they are but simple and
kind, and do not take upon themselves to teach,
what they do not understand. The distribution of
tracts, the collection of club money, and Bible
subscriptions, visiting children, or reading to those
who cannot read themselves, properly belong to
them ; and if any young lady did know how to
make cheap soup, or nice gruel, or to cut out
articles of clothing neatly, and economically, it
might indeed be a great advantage to all parties.
62 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
In that remarkable description of the spiritual
body, united to its Head, it is said to be, by that,
which every joint supplieth, and according to the
effectual working in the measure of every part, that
increase of the whole body is made, to the edifying
of itself in love. This example is very instructive
and suggestive in all combinations for useful work.
Your other remark is this " If so much thought
and time are given to the poor, would not our
more immediate duties be neglected ? " I have
always found that one helps the other ; but, if
there be any danger, that our strictly individual
and family duties be neglected, by ministering to
the poor, then certainly, the ministration of the
poor is not our duty; but I incline to the belief,
that, when our time is held as a talent, and when
want of health, or providential arrangements do
not interfere to prevent, we should seldom find it
needful to neglect our poor neighbours altogether ;
and those who do it, would, in many ways, be
great losers themselves. Our beloved queen finds
opportunities, and I have no doubt would acknow-
ledge that, she gains, more than she gives. To
visit the poor, is on all hands acknowledged to be
a Christian duty ; and as no one can judge for
another, every one must have his conscience clear
in the sight of God about it.
You say truly, " There are needs in all classes
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 63
which require a self-denying service from us"
which service, I would reply, as truly forms a part
of the Christian's duty. I had not entered these
fields of charity, because our subject confined us to
the poor, but, I am well aware, there is want every-
where often a bitter hunger of soul, where the
table groans with plenty ; nakedness and deformity,
where taste reigns triumphant ; dungeon imprison-
ment, where no bonds appear ; and a lack of all
things in the lap of luxury. Ah ! yes, the world is
full of needs, but God in His love can supply them
all ; so in hope and faith, let all work ; and we will
go again into the alley, for that is our present
business.
The lady is this time met by a very common
occurrence : a respectable and thoughtful woman,
has a pretty young daughter about fourteen years
old, and she is wanting to find a place of service
for her ; she wishes she could get her into a gentle-
man's house, but Mary knows nothing more than
she has been taught at home, and ladies do not
like the trouble of girls ; she has heard of a place
at the " Jolly Companions," in Low Lane, where the
mistress wants a girl to look after her children, and
has taken a great fancy to Mary ; but the mother
does not like young girls to be dragging about the
streets with children ; and beside that, she would
be wanted to go into the bar in the evening, and
64 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
would be sure to hear and see things, not fitting for
girls, and she is afraid of the exposure and tempta-
tion for her young daughter ; but is sure she does
not know what to do ; her husband has now but
little work, and Mary is old enough to go into
service, and earn her own living " what would the
lady advise ? " Now, what can, what may the lady
do ? She scarcely sees yet ; she advises the woman,
at any rate, not to let Mary go to the " Jolly Com-
panions," and she will think about it She knows
the girl has been well brought up at home. She
walks home meditating and perplexed ; but pre-
sently, hears down in some secret recess of her
heart or conscience this whisper, " Whatsoever ye
would that men should do unto you, do ye even
the same unto them," and her thoughts naturally
turn to her own sweet daughter about the same
age. Thoughtfully, she reverses their position in
life ; and speedily finds her heart enlarging with
tender compassion, and motherly interest for poor
Mary, now entering the trial of life, without expe-
rience, and with feelings pliable to every impression.
She might certainly take her into her own house
for a short time, and put her under the care of her
servants, to teach her a few of the plain and com-
mon things that belong to house service, and if she
seemed likely to turn out well, she might be able
to recommend her to a safe and suitable place
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 65
but girls are such a trouble ! Then, she remembers
for whose sake she might do a kindness to this
little one ; and her mind is made up. She always
has her husband's free consent, to any simple
Christian work ; but she must speak to her servants.
A mistress is prevented from doing many things,
which have the vital spirit of Christian charity in
them, unless her servants are fellow-workers with
her, partakers of the same blessing ; but with a
reasonable, and kind mistress, this is not often the
greatest difficulty. Pity for the destitute, is natural
both to servants and children, unless it be, those
who have been spoiled, and made altogether selfish.
We, reason upon the causes of destitution ; they,
generally do not ; where we blame, they pity, and
with the present fact of want, connect present
relief ; they are pleased to have the ministration of
charity pass through their hands, and thus, in some
sort, to become benefactors. The lady knows this,
and has faith in the fact now. She describes this
case to her servants, and finds it is the very thing
they can understand, and sympathise with ; they
remember how it was with themselves, in their first
service ; and they are more than willing to unite
with their mistress to help this young girl ; they
know her, and if they had grown a little negligent
in any of their duties before, at any rate they will
teach Mary, how to do things as they should be
66 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
done. They feel elevated, with the power acknow-
ledged in them, to render an unpaid service ; they
are helpers with their mistress ; and the unselfish
points of interest, are increased between them.
I believe we need seldom despair of the aid of
respectable servants, when the subject is rightly
and generously placed before them, and they are
allowed to be partakers in the sweetness of the
reward. It redeems their life from a little of its
commonplace routine of paid duty and service. A
kind cook, will gladly make broth for a poor invalid,
and will take care of odds and ends, to furnish
little delicacies for them ; a housemaid will be glad
to take a garment she has made in her leisure hours
to some orphan child ; she will be more contented
in her own mind, and her crochet work will lose a
charm ; for charity repays itself all the way round.
" The liberal soul shall be made fat."
The lady is now in a situation, to take poor Mary
into her house for a short time, or, if not quite con-
venient to lodge her, she can come every day ; it
will be better if she can be lodged. The girl has now
the opportunity to see the spirit and routine of a
well-ordered house, to learn to do common things in
the right way, so that she may start fair, and not
have to unlearn bad habits. Her friend seeks to
imbue and fortify her mind with the sound principles
of domestic morality, and by a generous kindness,
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 67
she attaches the young creature to herself, and thus
obtains a permanent influence over her, of which
she takes advantage, and does not suffer the child
to leave her house, without taking her precious soul
into the account also, as the most important end of
all. With this little training, the difficulty of get-
ting a desirable place is much decreased ; Mary is
not quite ignorant now, and her general temper
and character, can be recommended. A situation
is found, and she goes to it sufficiently, and credit-
ably clothed, especially with shoes and under
garments ; her dress externally, is appropriately
neat, and becoming.
Now, Mary starts in life with a bright horizon
before her, she is certain that she has a true friend,
who is interested in her welfare, and expecting she
will do well ; and the girl is determined she will do
well, and not disappoint the expectations formed of
her. The underlying thought, and strength of her
mind, in her little difficulties and temptations is,
that she may prove herself worthy of the confidence
placed in her.
Oh ! my dear friend, is it not more blessed to give,
than to receive, even now ? But, when the time for
giving is ended, when the naked soul flits away, to
give in the account of the deeds done in the body
of talents increased, or squandered of influence
used for good or for evil ; how unspeakably welcome
68 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
will be the greeting of those, who hail you as friend
and benefactor, for whom you have denied yourself
for Christ's sake. But who can imagine, how that
welcome will sound, high above these, " Come, ye
blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom : "
" Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto
me : " " They cannot recompense thee, for thou
shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just ! "
I am convinced there is no more potent influence
for good, than taking literally the injunction of
Charity, to hope all things, and to believe all
possible good things, especially as regards servants
and children. It acts upon them, as the sunshine
upon flowers, which draws out, and almost creates
their beautiful colour and fragrance. Look at the
poor trembling creature, dwelling under repressing
influences ; under the death damps of fear, dis-
paragement, and discouragement. She is sullen
and stupid ; the external weight and darkness have
killed in her the vital power for anything good ot
great ; she feels powerless, and is powerless ; it is
no fancy ; she stumbles, and blunders, and forgets ;
she does not know what she is doing, and she does
not much care ; nobody loves her, and she loves
nobody. Remove her now into opposite circum-
stances ; let in the light of love and hope upon her,
and let a cheerful expectation reign. Can this be
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 69
the same girl ? Her fettered powers have burst
away out of the darkness ; the poor down-pressed
nature springs forth into life and energy ; the healthy
current of blood flows, and glows in her cheeks ;
her eyes beam and sparkle ; there is cheerfulness in
her voice, and buoyancy in every step and move-
ment ; the poor blundering thing has become
nimble, almost graceful, in the grateful freedom of
her unbound heart. Oh ! we should never depress
or discourage each other ; it is a serious and cruel
thing to wither the beautiful buds of the soul's
increase. In more senses than one, " all things are
possible to him that believeth," and impossible to
the faithless and depressed.
Of all the sorrowful sights this world affords, the
one which affects me the most painfully is, to see
the power of expansion crushed out of the life of a
little child, by continual harshness and discourage-
ment. Poor little creature ! what shall release the
spring of joy that lies naturally coiled up in its
heart ? shall it be destroyed for ever ? This thought
is too much for me, I cannot bear it ; for I know
well, it is no fiction, but a dreadful reality, which,
day by day, is bringing forth its evil fruit, poisoning
the very well-springs of happiness. Yes, my dear
friend, we must try to hope all things. So, let us
go into the next house.
Here, the lady finds a young married couple,
F
70 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
both, at home. The furthest thing from her
thought, and tongue, is the light pleasantry so
common on these occasions ; and just as far from
her is it, to sit down and preach a sermon on
" holy matrimony ; " but with a warm sympathy
she freely enters into conversation with them ; and
so describes, and elevates the duties and felicities
of the married state, that the young people listen
with delight, and can scarcely believe that such a
dignified and happy lot has fallen to them ; her
lively interest and cheerful hope for them, raises
them in each other's eyes, and sets them thinking
how they may ensure and maintain this blest
estate.
Oh ! how welcome will her weekly visits be here,
as the varied duties of husband and wife, father and
mother, grow upon them. If she gain their affection
and confidence, there will be no end to her influ-
ence for good.
The present day is one, when we need to use all
means in our power to uphold the dignity and
purity of the marriage tie ; and, I believe we must
not leave the young women who have tarnished
their virtue before marriage, to neglect and con-
tempt, as we have done, with the view of shewing
our disapprobation of such conduct ; this number
is now so very great, and continually increasing,
that to restore the fallen, to raise them for the
THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. J\
future of the wedded life, so inauspiciously begun,
will be a needful and wise policy.
Leaving this house, the lady enters the next ;
and here she finds a mother, who has just lost one
of her children.
The district visitor has often to pass suddenly
from smiles to tears, from rejoicing to weeping ;
and if her heart be truly tuned to sympathy, she
will neglect neither, and will be sure to gain a far
higher influence in dispensing this precious gift,
than if she gave any amount of money. But, as I
have said before, what she offers, must be genuine,
must spring from a deep root in herself. If her
sympathy be only donned, as bridal or mourning
attire, she had better be silent, and not attempt the
duty. If she attempt it in this case, let the grate-
ful ejaculation of the poor heart-stricken mother be,
" How that dear lady did feel for me ! " and not,
" Oh ! she never lost one of her own ! "
How great is the variety, which even one short
street presents of human nature, human circum-
stance, and human evil not forming a chaos of
misery, only because of the providential watchful
care of the kind, unwearied, condescending Parent
of all. In this view, how deeply taught in the
school and mind of Christ, should that individual
be, who is continually brought into influential con-
tact with these varieties ; how purified from selfish-
72 THIRD VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
ness, and established in wisdom and love ; ready
also, to move freely in the teaching of the Spirit,
unfettered by the practice and judgments of the
world.
Excuse this long letter, and believe me,
Truly yours,
LETTER VII.
"Children, like flowers, require a calm and sunshiny
atmosphere to open in ; not one, deformed by storms
and foul weather."
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Shall I say I am sorry that the
remarks I made upon ignorant nursemaids, have
given you anxious thoughts about your own nursery?
No rather I would say I am glad as now you may
remedy what is amiss, and use precautions for the
future. In many things we may be over-careful,
but we can scarcely be so in the choice of the
persons we allow to train the minds of our children.
It is universally admitted that, the charge of im-
mortal souls, is the most important of all charges
that can be undertaken ; and that a parent's duties
yield to none in responsibility ; but whilst con-
fessing this, are there not many fathers, all but
thoughtless about it, and too many mothers, who
excuse their neglect, somewhat like the man in the
prophet's parable, "Whilst thy servant was busy
here and there, he was gone ? " Oh ! there are many
precious charges which are suffered to escape from
their mother, even in the nursery. Nursery misrule
is unfortunately such an every-day occurrence, that
it scarcely needs illustration ; but as you wish
76 THE NURSERY.
for a specimen of the kind of dangers to which
children's morals and tempers are so recklessly ex-
posed, I will give you a little condensed sketch of
three or four children, an ignorant good-natured
nursemaid, and the mother " here and there."
Nurse. " Don't do that, master Alfred How
can you do so ? Can't you be still ? Don't touch
my scissors What a naughty boy you are Now,
what have you got hold of next ? I'll tell your
mamma, as sure as you are born Hark ! I hear her
coming."
Alfred begins to cry ; " I don't know what to do,
nurse what shall I do ? "
Nurse. " Why, go and play, like a good boy."
Alfred. "What shall I play with, nurse?"
Nurse. " Oh ! I don't know don't tease me
what a cry-baby you are, I should be ashamed to
be such a cry-baby. Now, master Henry, what are
you quarrelling with your sister for ? Give her your
bricks, I say ; do you hear me ? You won't you
naughty boy ! Then she won't give you her ball,
that she won't will you, miss Jane? And I won't
give you such a pretty thing I have I shall give
it to her, and not give anything to you. Such a
pretty thing ! "
Henry. " Here are the bricks, Jane, you may
have them ; now give me the pretty thing, nurse
where is it ? "
THE NURSERY. 77
Nurse. "Oh! not just now by and bye you'll
see."
Henry. " But you said you would give it to me
now!"
Nttrse. "Well, don't tease I'll give it to you
some day. What are you doing there, miss Jane ?
see, you have dirtied your pinafore I shall tell your
mamma, and she won't give you any fruit after
dinner ; she won't have such an ugly little girl go
into the dining-room ; nobody will call you a pretty
little girl now.
Jane. " I could not help it, nurse don't tell
mamma."
Nurse. "Oh, yes, but I shall and you won't
have any fruit, and all the others will have such a
beautiful plateful ! "
Jane. " Oh nurse ! don't tell mamma, please
don't."
Nurse. " Well, come and kiss me, and be a good
girl, and I won't tell mamma."
Jane puts up her mouJi to kiss; "And shall I
have some fruit now ? "
Nurse. " Yes, yes, you shall have some fruit ;
and we'll hide away the pinafore, so that mamma
does not see it. Now, who do you love best,
mamma, or nurse ? "
Jane. " Nurse."
Nurse. " Oh ! naughty table, to knock poor little
78 THE NURSERY.
Fanny's head ; naughty table! we'll beat the table."
Thump, thump. "Now, master Alfred, I declare
you have spilt the ink I am sure there never was
such a child as you are in all the world. I shall put
you in the dark closet."
Alfred. " I don't care if you do, nurse."
Nurse. " Oh, don't you, though ? The old man
will come and carry you away, and you'll never
come back again. Hark ! I hear him in the
chimney now."
Alfred. " I don't hear him, nurse."
Nurse. " Oh ! but I did ; and if he doesn't come
now, he'll come when you are in bed, all in the
dark."
Alfred. "Will you wipe the ink up, nurse, and I
tvill be a good boy will you, nurse ? "
Nurse. "Well, just this once, and I'll tell the
old man not to come."
A If red. " Are you sure, quite sure the old man
won't come, nurse?"
Nurse. " I shall tell him just this once but do
you take care about another time. Goodness ! me !
what are you about, miss Jane? You little thief!
I saw you take the sugar out of the basin I did
how dare you steal, miss ? "
Jane. "I did not steal, nurse ; I only took one
piece."
Nurse. " You only took it ! and what's the
THE NURSERY. 79
difference I wonder, between taking and stealing
you little hypocrite ! I wonder you dare tell such
stories ; we shall call you a naughty thief."
I think this will be quite enough to show how,
even in a beautiful nursery, filled with toys, and
every appliance for infantine luxury, the fair promise
of childhood may be dwarfed, blighted, and demor-
alized, by injudicious untrained nurses, who are left
to rule in it
I feel very strongly upon the wicked cruelty of
coercing children by fear. As a little child I suf-
fered much from it myself. Young children only
know what they are told ; they expect, poor little
dears, that those, whom they look up to, will tell
them the truth ; and they are ready to believe the
most foolish and monstrous things. Many a night
have I laid trembling in my bed, fearing that an old
beggar-man, who occasionally came to my father's
house, would come down the chimney, and take me
away to cut me up into matches ; indeed, I am not
not quite sure that an indefinite fear of old John
Sprags, does not creep over me now sometimes,
when I am going about the house in the dark.
Terrible fear endured in childhood, is often scarcely
eradicated through life. But I am delaying you
too long in the nursery, and will conclude the
subject with some remarks on the importance of
the early impressions of childhood.
80 THE NURSERY.
" Observe, how very quick the child's eye is in
the passive age of infancy, to catch impressions, and
receive the meaning of looks, voices, and motions.
It peruses all faces, colours, and sounds. Every
sentiment that looks into its eyes, looks back out of
its eyes, and plays in miniature on its countenance.
The tear that steals down the cheek of a mother's
suppressed grief, gathers the little infantile face into
a responsive sob. With a kind of wondering silence,
it studies the mother in her prayer, and looks up
piously with her, in that exploring watch, that sig-
nifies unspoken prayer. If the child is handled
fretfully, scolded, jerked, or simply laid aside, not
affectionately, in no warmth of motherly gentleness,
it feels the sting of just that, which is felt towards
it ; and so it is angered by anger, irritated by irri-
tation, fretted by fretfulness ; having thus impressed
upon it, just that kind of impatience or illnature
which is felt towards it, and growing faithfully into
the bad mould, as by a fixed law. There is great
importance in manner, even in the handling of
infancy. If it is unchristian, it will beget unchris-
tian states or impressions. If it is gentle, even,
patient, and loving, it prepares a mood and temper
like its own.- There is scarcely room to doubt, that
all most crabbed, hateful, resentful, passionate, ill-
natured characters all, most even, lovely, firm, and
true ones, are prepared, in a great degree, by the
THE NURSERY. 8 1
handling of the nursery. To these, and all such
modes of treatment and feeling, as make up the
element of the infant's life, it is passive as wax to
the seal. How important then, the first chapter
in a child's life the age of impressions."
We will now go to our District work, but instead
of an imaginary case, I will relate to you a
narrative, the facts of which, occurred, as I shall
tell them.
A lady found in one of the houses she was
accustomed to visit, a highly nervous little woman,
just recovering from her confinement. She had had
a child nearly every year since she was married.
Now, she had eight ; the baby was a month old.
Four of the children were sitting on the hearth, close
to the fire there was no fender. Their amuse-
ment was poking the fire with sticks, then snatching
them out of each other's hands, followed by slap-
ping and crying. The mother sitting amongst
them with her infant, scolded, remonstrated,
threatened them in the usual way. " You naughty
boy I'll tell your father he'll beat you, sir, he
will ; here he comes. Now, Sarah, what do you
tease Billy for? you are the worst girl that ever
was ; I can't think what you'll come to. Lay that
knife down, Ann, you'll cut your fingers off; put
it on the table, I say don't you hear me, you little
rebel ! John ! get up, your frock will be on fire.
82 THE NURSERY.
I expect we shall all be burnt up some day, and
you'll craze me, I know you will."
Whilst she is thus ruling her children, the perspi-
ration runs down her face, and her hands tremble
so much, that she can scarcely hold the infant ; and
truly, she looks as if her expectation of being crazy,
was not distant from its fulfilment.
The facts of her case were these. She had once
been deranged, from distress of mind, occasioned
by the seizure of her furniture for rent. The debt
had been incurred during a long illness, which
kept her husband from his work ; and the landlord,
seeing little chance of being paid as the man in
health, earned only ten shillings a week, in order
to secure himself from loss, laid his hand upon the
furniture, and with the sale of it, paid himself.
This precious furniture had been purchased with
twenty pounds, saved by the poor woman in long
service before her marriage, and furnished and
ornamented a very pretty cottage. When the
cruel swoop came, that deprived her of all, and left
her a naked dwelling, her reason refused to submit
to it, and fled away. It was many months before
she recovered sufficiently to take the charge of her
family again, and she always remained highly
nervous and excitable " flighty," as her neighbours
called it. Her mind is again nearly off the balance ;
the doctor has said, nothing can save her reason, but
THE NURSERY. 83
a complete change, and removal from the fatigue
and worry of her family. The lady enquires
anxiously if she have any relation to whom she
could go for change. She has not few poor people
have ; their houses are generally full, and they
cannot afford to increase their expenses. Has she
any friends, who would take her if they were paid
for it ? No, she has none no one would like to
take her, for she is sure she is going out of her
mind again she cannot bear the noise of the chil-
dren she has such queer feelings in her head, and
all her neighbours tell her she is just as she was,
when she went out of her mind before.
The lady endeavours to cheer her by hope, and
kindness. She gives her a little money with which
to buy some necessary articles, and promises to help
her. The lady was right to give her the money to
spend, instead of spending it for her. Poor women
like to choose for themselves, and to pay money
themselves ; they feel more independent and
respectable. This woman needed now, every
comfortable feeling to stay her mind.
The lady walks away, pondering in what form the
help she has promised can possibly come. She has
no idea ; but the woman's reason must be saved at
any sacrifice. With this idea of sacrifice, springs
up a sudden thought what change could be more
complete and more effectual, than to remove her
84 THE NURSERY.
from the burden of her family, and her little
cramped dwelling, into the repose and luxury of
her own home ? At first, the idea seemed strange
and startling, perhaps impracticable ; but as she
dwelt upon it, it gradually appeared to be a most
natural, rational, and practicable thing to do ; how
could she in any other way so effectually help her
poor neighbour ? And she determined, if she found
the woman willing, to carry the idea into execution.
On the following day, having arranged with a
suitable person to take a temporary charge of the
little family, she proposed her plan to the mother,
and found it thankfully accepted. Later in the day,
the lady sent her own little carriage for her, with a
supply of suitable clothing to wear on her visit, that
her external appearance might furnish no associa-
tion with the days of her misery. When dressed
for her short journey, the woman remarked, that
she did not know herself. She brought her infant
with her, and both were comfortably installed in
the kitchen, under the special care of kind and
considerate servants. She had every personal
comfort, with plenty of rest and nourishment. Her
child was laid in the family cradle, and was an
object of general interest. She worked at her
needle when she chose, read to herself, or was read
to, was conversed with, and chatted with ; she
understood the meaning of the word " leisure ; "
THE NURSERY. 8$
she rode out, and enjoyed the country, and the air
she walked in the garden, and gathered the flowers
and as she expressed it herself felt as if she was
in paradise. At the end of a few weeks, she
returned home, her health restored, her nerves
braced, her hope and self-esteem raised ; and sup-
ported by the sustaining consciousness that she
had a true and tried personal friend, deeply inter-
ested in her welfare, she resumed her arduous
duties, with a cheerful and competent courage ; and
at the conclusion of her labour of love, the lady
said, " Of a truth, it is more blessed to give than
to receive;" and felt, that the good measure,
pressed down, shaken together, and running over,
had been given into her own bosom.
This visit of the poor neighbour to the rich one,
caused quite a sensation amongst the residents in
the immediate vicinity, making it painfully evident,
that it is a strange and unexpected thing, when
those in the upper classes, go much out of the
routine line of gift charity, to confer a benefit on
poor neighhbours.
You say, that I seem to forget, that few persons
comparatively are able to give, and to act after the
manner I have described. I believe the number is
very large indeed, who could do it, if the thought,
and the will for it, became possible to them ; it is
much more frequently, the little annoyance and
G
86 THE NURSERY.
inconvenience, than the real expense, that stands in
the way of this twice blessed charity. The dis-
turbance of the regular domestic routine, putting
things a little out of order, that is the trouble ;
there is a heavenly order that might not be at all
disarranged by these things. It is humiliating to
think, how small an inconvenience will prevent our
loving our neighbour as ourself. We are willing to
take any amount of trouble, to incur considerable
expense, to put up with great inconvenience, that
we may entertain or assist our wealthy friends and
neighbours, who might readily dispense with our
hospitality or assistance ; but when we turn to our
poor neighbours, who really do need it that is a
different matter it cannot be expected we must
see that we do not over-do ourselves.
The Macedonian churches afford us the most
beautiful example of benevolence and generosity.
They abounded out of their deep poverty, and
beyond their power in the riches of their liberality ;
they spared out of their want, not out of their
abundance.
From my own small experience I would say, that
charity supports itself; and that scriptural, self-
sacrificing charity, never made any one really poor.
The Lord has so many ways of fulfilling His
promise of repayment ; and I believe that where
one person becomes poor through giving away too
THE NURSERY. 8/
much, a thousand remain so (or unblessed in what
they possess), through withholding more than is
meet. " There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth ;
and there is that withholdeth more than is meet,
but it tendeth to poverty." " He that watereth,
shall be watered also himself." " He which soweth
bountifully shall reap also bountifully." I believe
there are no promises in the Scriptures more
literally fulfilled than these, to those who have
faith to act upon them.
" For we must share, if we would keep,
That good thing from above ;
Ceasing to give, we cease to have
Such is the law of love."
I remember a little incident so much in point,
that I must give it you.
A little boy, a child of a gardener I knew, was
standing by his father's gate, when a poor old
beggar-man came by. The child was a tender-
hearted little fellow, and in a tone of genuine
compassion, he said, "Poor old man! poor old man!"
He thus unconsciously touched the chord in the
old beggar's heart, that vibrates love for love ; and
with a fervent " God bless you, my little man," he
put his trembling hand in his pocket and gave the
child a halfpenny.
I will conclude this long letter with an extract
from a favourite little book of mine, by an old
8fc THE NURSERY.
writer, entitled " Riches Increased by Giving."
The author fully vindicates and establishes the
truth of the title he choses for his book.
" What better use can you make of your riches than by
bestowing a part of them upon God and His cause ? It being
the chief end of His giving more of this world's goods to some
than to others, that they who have the greater store, should
give of the same to them who are in want. This was typically
signified by the Israelites gathering of manna ; for although
it was rained down from heaven, yet the Lord would not
allow, that they who had gathered more than was needful for
themselves and their household, should hoard up their super-
fluity, but enjoined upon them to communicate of their
abundance to such as had need ; that so, he that had the
most, should have nothing over, and he that had the least,
should have no lack." Thomas Gouge.
All that was laid by, we read, became putrid
and useless like those hoarded bags of precious
stores, that become rusty and motheaten.
Heartily desiring for you and myself, a spirit
ready to distribute, and willing to communicate,
I am, sincerely,
LETTER VIII.
" All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord ; and thy
saints shall bless thee."
Psalm cxlv. 10.
" There are many lives amongst the poor, that rise
sadly, that go on without the sun, and are extinguished
without a glow."
Madame de Gasparin.
MY DEAR FRIENL*
When I awoke this morning from a
refreshing night's rest, undisturbed by fear, pain, or
anxiety, my first thought was How many of my
fellow-creatures have passed this night, homeless
and sleepless, or crowded together in holes like
beasts, where night brings little comfort, and day
little hope !
I looked from my chamber window the dew-
drops were sparkling on the lawn ; a thrush that
built in the garden, was seeking a breakfast for her
young ones ; the voice of the cuckoo came from the
larch copse, and the blackbird's from the acacia tree ;
and far in the distant meadow, I heard the plaintive
cry of the lapwing. The bees were humming round
my window amongst the fairy blossoms of the
Banksia rose ; and the breeze as it passed by, was
sweet with the scent of wallflower and lilac. They all
spoke of beauty and love. A forecast of prosperity
radiated, as it were from everything, and fell with
a glow of animation on the coming occupations of
the day. Greeted by such happy surroundings,
92 NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
how could one feel other than happy ? I caught
the glad inspiration, and joined in the praise that
rose up from the works of my Father in heaven.
Again, my thoughts turned to the care-worn, and
weary ; to whom joy like this, was nought but a
fiction ; and memory caught me away to a dwelling
I well remembered, in one of our populous cities.
Rarely did the sun look in at its window ; the air
was fetid around it, with the pestilential odour of
slaughter houses ; its music was the song of the
drunkard, and the bellowing of imprisoned cattle ;
and there amongst beer-shops, and public-houses
the traps of the weary, and unwary, the resorts of
the vicious and profligate, stood the home of this
human family. The husband was corrupted with
the corruption no wonder and the natural conse-
quences followed. My thoughts entered the one
sleeping apartment night drives the household
together ; seven people are there assembled the
man, and the victim, called "a partner," a young
girl disabled by sickness, a son, and three smaller
children. Kind sleep comes to all weary creatures,
and there they lie huddled together, with the
clothes they have worn in the day-time, spread out
for the night's bed-covering. Ah ! the scent of that
dirty old clothing ! it poisons the air to suffocation ;
but still they are sleeping the man, and his son,
and the three little children ; it is sickness and
NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 93
sorrow only, that keep on a weary vigil the girl
in her restless tossing, the wife in her hopeless
forecasting.
Then comes the morning the putting on again of
those ragged, offensive garments looking through
that dull window, with that noxious air to breathe ;
there is the man's coarse language the complaint
of the weary daughter the quarrels of the pent-up
children, and the joyless future before them. " Oh ! "
I thought, "how should I bear it? How should I
acquit myself under similar circumstances ? What
would become of my complacent tranquillity, of my
hopeful energy, my grateful praise ? How should
I retain refinement, industry, faith, hope? How,
even natural affection? And losing these how
low should I sink ? " I trembled to think how low
it might be.
And still looking into my garden, basking in
sunshine and beauty ; memory again flew off to
another city dwelling to an apartment about ten
feet square, that contained the all of a married
couple ; all their worldly goods, all their joy and
sorrow, but only the last was left there. In one
corner was piled up a heap of something, which
spread out at night on the floor, formed the bed
for the wife and her husband, who boasted, that
for three months together, he had not gone home
to her sober ; and expected that she would main-
94 NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
tain him. In the centre of the room stood a small
round table ; and stretched from wall to wall, were
cords for the drying of linen she took in washing ;
and there, this wonderful woman worked perse-
veringly desperately, to keep soul and body
together. She was tidy in her person ; and the
wall on one side of the room was almost covered
with tiny pictures, the reminiscences of better days,
when she had a better husband touching relics of
woman's natural instinct for ornament. Her one
child had died there was no time to attend to it,
no air, no food ; and this uncomforted creature,
without hope, and without affection, toiled on.
Could I have done it ? My heart sickened at the
thought, and said, Impossible !
The blackbird went on with his song, and the
stock dove was cooing in the fir tree ; and again
memory took me away to another poor man's
dwelling, to a room a little bigger than the other
the home of a reformed drunkard. The bed occu-
pied the larger portion of the room, and served for
the parents and three children there had once
been twice that number ; but fever had come to the
house, and of course, infection with it ; and three of
the little ones were taken. In the first blank leaf
of the Bible their names were fairly written. The
woman was a hopeless invalid, but they had faith
in God, and trusted that He would make a way for
NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 95
them through all their difficulties, and receive them
into rest for ever even into mansions of glory.
And as I thought of those mansions, and the power
of that all-sustaining faith, the glory faded from my
garden, by reason of the glory that excelleth ; and
a humble supplication arose in my heart, that I
might learn the sympathy of Jesus, and practise
the Christian's self-denial, and judge kindly, and
work patiently, amongst my poor suffering brothers
and sisters ; and thus, working humbly and lovingly,
might become a co-worker with Him, who came
from the glory of heaven, to redeem us from sin,
and from sorrow.
But again, to return to my garden, in which I
spend so many pleasant, and refreshing hours, and
say, I could not do without it. I often think, whilst
enjoying its beauty, how many persons there are,
who are deprived of the teaching to be derived
from God's manifold and beautiful works, especially
those poor persons, who are by necessity, confined
to great cities, and perhaps never get beyond them
I have no doubt there are thousands of persons in
London, who never saw a flower grow out of the
ground. Some minds are much more open, and
susceptible to this kind of teaching than others.
From my childhood, the birds of the air, and the
beasts of the field, the dew and the sunshine, the
bees and the flowers, have been my pleasant
96 NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
teachers ; and many a time have my faith and
hope been renewed by their attractive and per-
suasive lessons, by their friendly reproofs and
warnings.
Many years ago, when we lived in B , it
was my habit to take an early morning walk upon
the end of the chain pier, and at that hour, I was
commonly the only occupant, and had the lessons
of the winds and the waves all to myself. One
morning, I especially remember, I had risen earlier
than usual, for I had many troubles on my mind,
and I wanted to be alone. A thick gloom was
spread over the whole face of nature ; the wind
was wild and cold, the sky a leaden grey, and the
sea rolled its heavy discoloured waves with an
angry growl upon the shore ; the jarring creak of the
chains beneath the pier, and the cold dash of waves
round the buttresses, were all in harmony with
each other, and in harmony with my oppressed
spirit Nothing spoke of hope ; all spoke of dis-
couragement, and my thoughts grew heavier, and
my heart sunk lower ; but, whilst I turned, and
returned upon my path, I observed a large flock of
wild ducks leaving the land ; and regardless of
frowning sky, stormy wind, and surging sea, without
chart or compass to direct them on their untrodden
way, with the wind directly ahead, they boldly
steered off for the land, to which faith, or instinct,
NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 97
drew them. I watched them with intense interest,
as in a compact squadron, their wings cleft the air ;
presently, I observed one of them lagging behind
further and further behind it must have been a
feeble one further and further and then I saw it
suddenly fall to the surface of the waters. " Oh ! "
I exclaimed, " it will be left behind, it will never
overtake those strong flyers." Presently, however,
I observed it, flying along just above the crest of
the billows, and there, out of the force of the wind,
it made rapid progress. Again I lost it. Had it
given up the journey ? No ! I discerned it again
far ahead, and soon, it rose into the air, and, as if
invigorated by its lowly solitary travel, it darted
forward with increased speed, and gained rapidly
upon its disappearing companions ; and though I
did not see it overtake them, I felt sure that it
would do so. I turned my steps homeward, my
faith confirmed, that He who guided these trustful
voyagers across the billows to their haven of rest,
would, assuredly guide His children also across the
rough billows of their life's journey, and not suffer
the feeblest amongst them to fail, or be over-
whelmed.
When I began my letter, I intended only to take
a short turn with you, before paying our last visit
in the district ; but I find I have been rambling so
far, that I shall weary you if we proceed any
98 NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
further at this time. If this little detour bring us
into nearer sympathy with our poor brethren in
their hindrances, and increase our thankfulness for
our own greater privileges, it will not be altogether
out of our way.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER IX.
<f0urilr %mt in ilj* Jistritt.
" In a service which Thy love appoints,
There are no bonds for me,
For my secret heart is taught ' the truth,'
That makes Thy children ' free ; '
And a life of self-renouncing love,
Is a life of liberty."
A. L. Waring.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
The District lady has just discovered
that a new family has come to reside in the street.
The neighbours describe them, as disreputable, and
disorderly, and they do not mean to have anything
to do with them. The lady enquires, what has led
them to form such a harsh, unneighbourly determi-
nation, and learns, that the man beats his wife,
that he came home intoxicated the previous night,
and turned her, with the youngest child, into the
street they believe she was there till the morning.
She next enquires what the woman's appearance
is : they have seen but little of her, but describe
her as looking ragged and half-starved, and the
children, as nearly naked there are several of
them. The lady asks herself what is to be done
here are they to be given up, and left in this
wretched condition ? Then came to her mind the
argument, that sometimes suggests itself with a
sort of relief " It is no use trying to do anything
for a drunkard's family ; what you do for them, is
like giving a premium for drunkenness, and is a
H
IO2 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
discouragement to decent, industrious people."
This argument, however, did not prove in every
way satisfactory, and she walked down two or
three streets, to think the subject quietly over at
any rate, she would not go into the house, without
some preparation of mind for it ; she felt that she
had no business no right, to intrude herself upon
the poor woman, in this dark day of her distress
and dishonour, unless she could help her ; she had
no right to pry in curiously upon the deep wounds
of her heart, unless she had some hope to bind
them up ; and so she walked on, and found her
mind taking its way to the old starting point the
universal brotherhood the one Father the com-
mon salvation the great, needy family the
" Whatsoever ye would." Then, she said to her-
self, "The lines have fallen to me in pleasant
places, I have a goodly heritage." Who has made
me to differ from these poor people, sunk down so
low in the dirt, in sin, misery, and destitution ?
Then came another text to help her, " I came not
to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance ; "
" to seek and to save that which was lost." There
was a wonderful fitness in these texts just now to
encourage her, and she was encouraged by them ;
and turning back, determined to go to the house,
hoping that some way would offer for her to intro-
duce herself not as a reprover, not as an interro-
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. IO3
gator, not even calling herself a District lady, but
simply a friend, who makes a call upon a stranger
newly come to the place. Yes, she thought that
will do ; and whilst this plan was settling in her
mind, she had been asking the spirit of love and
wisdom from the Good Shepherd, who seeks after
the lost sheep, and will help His disciples to do the
same.
She knocked gently at the door, there was no
reply ; again, and again she knocked no one came ;
but she heard the hoarse screams of a child up
stairs, and the voice of a woman, alternately coax-
ing and scolding. She opened the door upon a
bare room ; three little half-clad children were
sitting on the floor ; they stared at her with a look
of surprise, as she asked, if their mother was at home.
" She is upstairs with Robert," said one.
" Robert is very bad," said another.
The lady goes to the foot of the stairs, and with
a voice of gentle entreaty asks, if she may come up
stairs and give some help ; as there was no reply,
she goes up. On the bed, she sees a child about
three years old, his face flushed with fever, and
coughing with a short hoarse cough, almost gasping
for breath. She perceives directly that it is inflam-
mation. " I am come to help you," she said, " I
am sure you must need a friend to help you."
" The nasty leeches ! " said the woman, " they are
IO4 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
all creeping about I can't get them on nohow he
won't let me put them on the doctor said they
should go on to his chest just here but they have
all got away nasty things ! and I don't know what
to do."
The lady began a hearty search for the wander-
ing leeches, and cheerfully said, " I will put them
on for you, I am quite used to manage leeches."
" God bless you, ma'am," said the poor mother ;
" the doctor said, if these didn't bite, there would
be no chance for him poor little fellow ! "
Finding it impossible to put the leeches on the
child in bed, the lady took him on her lap, soothing
him with tender, coaxing words, such as she used
to her own little ones ; and softly washing the skin,
she confined the errant leeches to the part, by
holding a footless wine glass over them. They
quickly fastened themselves, and the exhausted
child fell into a dose ; and these two women, so
suddenly brought into friendly contact, begin to
converse. The poor mother could only say, she
could fall down upon her knees to thank the lady
for her goodness ; and the lady could only thank
God, who had given her an introduction so hopeful
for future influence. She did not use this quiet
time to bring her poor sister to a confession of her
sad family secrets ; she felt that their short ac-
quaintance must be cemented into something like
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 1 05
friendship by kind offices, before she was warranted
to expect her confidence ; and when the woman
said, her husband was very fond of this child, and
said no more about him, she felt a growing respect
for the delicacy, that screened from disgrace, the
man, who had treated her with brutal cruelty, and
through whose wanton exposure, the child's life
was brought into such imminent peril. She saw in
this silence, the true heart of a faithful wife, and
she tried to comfort and encourage her, as only
a feeling woman knows how to do.
When the leeches had done their duty, and the
child was again placed in bed, the lady took a friendly
leave, promising to call again in the evening to see
how he was going on ; she might then, possibly,
meet the husband ; and, as a friend who had come
to them in the day of their adversity, she might
obtain an influence over him for good, she might
draw him from the ginshop, she might induce him
to send his children to the ragged school ; she
could not tell what, by love and perseverance, she
might not be able to do at least, she would try.
The following day, she called upon a kind mother-
ly woman in the District, and enlisted her sympathy
and help. She spoke also to a worthy man a tee-
totaler, and interested him for the poor drunkard,
and thus they mutually stirred each other up, to
love and good works.
!06 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
The drunkard and the drunkard's family must be
helped up ; they cannot raise themselves, when they
are fairly down. But to help a drunkard up, is not
quite so impossible a thing as some persons imagine
it to be ; many of them are wishing for a helper ;
they detest themselves for their conduct ; and often
bitterly repent in the morning the excesses of the
evening. Under the power of strong temptation,
they are helpless ; and at last, beginning to despair,
they cease to struggle. If they are not plucked
out of the fire by another hand, they must sink
into the fire that is everlasting. It is eminently a
work, calling for the labour of love, and the patience
of hope ; for until the demon of drink is expelled
from the house, it will inevitably pull all down with
it, and keep it down. I have known many re-
claimed drunkards and who can describe the joy
which thrills the heart, when you see such an one,
clothed, and in his right mind, sometimes sitting at
the feet of Jesus ?
I read recently the account of a plant very com-
mon in the forests of Brazil. It is called the sipo
matador, or murderer. One might look, and think
you saw in it the impersonation of Drunkenness,
murdering a man. " Its stem is at first, so ex-
tremely slender, that it has no natural support in
itself. It twines and creeps along the ground, until
it reaches some lofty vigorous tree then its mode
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 1 07
of growth is most peculiar. It lays hold of it with
a clinging grasp, and spreads itself like a flattened
bark-like stem over one side of the trunk, cleaving
to it with the greatest tenacity ; from both the
edges of this bark, it sends out very delicate arm-
like tendrils, exactly opposite to each other. They
grow on, till they meet, encircling the tree, round
which, they become a solid ligature, never to be
removed. These arms are sent forth at regular
intervals, as the murderer mounts upwards, until
the trunk of its supporter is clasped by numberless
inflexible rings. These rings grow larger, and
clasp tighter, as the parasite ascends ; up, up, it
climbs, one hundred feet, one hundred and fifty,
one hundred and eighty ; at last it mounts to the
very top, and then, as in triumph, forms a vast
flowering head above all the surrounding forestry,
opens its blossoms to the sun, ripens its seeds, and
scatters them over the soil below. The supporter
by this time is strangled and dead ; and the
strange spectacle remains of the strangler clasping
in its arms the lifeless and decaying body of its
victim, in which wood-boring beetles have already
commenced their operations. It soon crumbles in
rapid decay ; and the parasite which destroyed it,
having flowered, fruited, and continued its kind,
falls to the ground a shapeless mass, involved in
one common ruin with its supporter."
108 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
Is it not worth our while to take some pains to
prevent this stealthy murderer from laying hold of
the tree ?
I would advise you not to be afraid of cir-
cumstances that apparently, offer but little hope ;
especially if, unsought, they are brought before
you. We are not living in a world of accident, but
of providence ; and you may be the very person
appointed to be the helper.
Many years since, a young girl came to me,
begging I would get her into a penitentiary. On
conversing with her, I learned, that she had just
come out of the workhouse, and that several other
young persons of the same character were now
there, who, when their health was restored, would
probably return to their former sinful course of life.
I learned from her, that the ward they were ii\
was the general receptacle for the miscellaneous
cases of sin and poverty, which could not readily be
classified, and admitted into the other wards. It
was looked upon as an ignominious place of punish-
ment The chaplain did not often visit it, and
there were frequent cases of insubordination, which
terminated in the correction of the black hole a
little bare cell underground, not entirely dark.
Upon hearing this relation, I applied to the
chaplain for permission to visit this ward ; he dis-
suaded me from it ; he did not think it would be
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 1 09
safe for me to do so ; he hardly thought it safe for
himself; he would be glad to have my help in any
other part of the House, where there would be
some hope of doing good, and being gratefully
received. He gave me alarming accounts of
window-smashing, of fighting and swearing in this
ward, and the governor and matron fully corrobo-
rated his statements, and advised me not to adven-
ture myself into it. But I was not discouraged ; I
had faith in the help of God, and believed that
love could make its way, all but everywhere ; and
I at last obtained the chaplain's consent, and an
offer to introduce me ; which I declined.
I went quietly up the stairs, and walked into the
middle of the room. It was a large, bare, barn-like
looking place, with no furniture, but two rows of
beds. "Dear friends," I said, "I have heard
that many of you are in trouble and difficulty
I have come to see if I can help, or comfort any
of you ; I have been advised not to come ; it
was thought you would not receive me well ; but I
did not believe that." An old woman instantly
interrupted me " Oh dear ! my lady, we would
not mislist you upon no account, we are very glad
to see you." " Come, then," I said, " let us sit
down, and talk together ; tell me your troubles,
and let me see if I can help you." They made a
cluster round me in the centre of the room, sitting
1 10 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
on the beds ; and many a perplexed and sorrowful
story did I learn from them, requiring indeed a
friendly helper. After a long conversation, I read
to them a portion of the Scriptures, and then they
knelt down with me, whilst we prayed God to help
us all ; and at their earnest solicitation, I promised
to come again.
I visited this place regularly once a week for a
long time ; and by degrees became acquainted with
the individual cases of trouble. Some poor girls
were assisted to go to a penitentiary. Others were
prevailed on to return to their parents, or their
parents to receive them. Some required to have
letters written to their friends. Some wanted to
have explanations made for them to the overseers
in distant parishes ; all wanted something, and
many could be effectually helped. There was one
Irishwoman, who long withheld her confidence
from me her tale was too sad to be told in public.
I noticed her always listening with earnest atten-
tion to what I said, and especially when I read and
explained the Scriptures then, she would sit, and
rock herself to and fro. At last, she drew me
away into a corner of the room, and told me she
was a Roman Catholic ; that she had been a
widow some months ; that her poor husband's soul
was in purgatory, and she had no money to give to
the priest to get it out this evidently preyed upon
FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT. 1 1 1
her mind. Her only child, a boy, was now in prison,
having been led into crime by a band of young
thieves. Her intense love and commiseration for
this poor entrapped boy were most touching she
was truly a widow and desolate. She had no
parish from which she could claim relief; and she
would not return to Ireland, till her boy was dis-
missed from prison. She had been a servant, and
thought she could take a cook's place, with a little
more instruction. Perhaps you will think me rash,
but this poor destitute mother threw herself upon
my sympathy, and I could not leave her there. I
knew there was help stored away for the widow,
which some one might be privileged to render ; and
as I was changing my cook, I gained permission to
take her home with me, and not being a bad cook
myself, I determined to instruct her ; and never
was a more apt or grateful scholar. When her boy
came out of prison, some kind friends obtained a
service for him on board a ship, as he wished to go
to sea ; and I found a place for her, as cook in a
clergyman's family. I had every reason to believe
that she became a sincere Christian.
I visited all the wards in the workhouse after-
wards, but my deepest interest lay in the bad one.
More than once have I sat upon the floor, with a
culprit, in the black hole, and found penitence more
apt to follow upon kindness, than upon correction.
1 1 2 FOURTH VISIT IN THE DISTRICT.
After reading this workhouse experience, you will
not be surprised that I advise you not to be readily
discouraged by unfavourable appearances.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER X.
" Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle ; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of being slow."
Tennyson.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
In your reply to my last letter, I
noticed your remark, that I probably over-rate the
sensibility and sufferings of the lower, as compared
with those of the upper classes. " Habit," you say,
"makes that easy to the one, which would be a
severe hardship to the other." This, happily, to a
considerable extent, is true. The educated classes
frequently possess an intellectual and imaginative
refinement of feeling and association, the pleasures
of which, are balanced by proportionate pains ; from
these, the uneducated are comparatively free ; they
deal with the present and actual, and the constant
needful occupation of their busy lives, does not
often permit them to concentrate their thoughts
intensely, upon any one evil. As a rule, they do
not suffer so much from atmospheric changes ;
heat and cold, are not the burthen of the day to
them. Habit also, has much to do in regulating
the amount of clothing required ; and whilst the
children of the wealthy, confront the frost, wrapped
in furs and flannels, many a little half-clothed
ii6 MOTHER'S LOVE.
urchin, will run scatheless to school, come home
wet, go out again damp, and apparently not suffer
from it. They are not however impervious, and
frequently contract, from exposure to wet and cold,
the cramp of life-long rheumatism, and consump-
tive tendencies, from which they suffer like our-
selves, only without our alleviations.
The statistics of mortality amply prove this, I
believe.
I am continually admiring the self-denying
affection of the poor for their children, when living
under natural domestic conditions. I exempt from
natural conditions, such as exist in some of the
manufacturing districts, where the labour of the
mill, robs the child of its mother, the husband of
his wife, and the woman of herself; leaving the
home, little better than a lodging for night shelter.
But under natural conditions, there is a devoted
energy of exertion and self sacrifice, that is some-
times truly astonishing often heroical. Though
every increase to the family of the poor man,
increases the burthen upon its limited resources,
yet the little stranger is always cheerfully wel-
comed, with that trustful axiom, universal amongst
the poor, " That God never sends a mouth, but He
sends something to put into it." Still, we do not
wonder, that, whilst the children of the well-to-do
classes, are commonly accounted like the Old
MOTHER'S LOVE. 117
Testament children, an inheritance of riches and
honour, and that, " Happy is the man that hath his
quiver full of them," a more submissive acquies-
cence is sometimes expressed by the poor in these
words, " It must be as God pleases."
I think you would be interested in hearing the
particulars of two cases of strong parental affection,
which have come to my knowledge.
The first narrative relates to one of the most
excellent poor women I have ever known. She
was nursemaid in a gentleman's family for many
years ; she married from it, and had a family of
her own. Her house and person were always
exquisitely neat ; and the husband's tidy cheerful
appearance, without words, plainly said, that com-
fort reigned at home. As for the children, they
might have set to a painter, for pictures of health,
beauty, and cleanliness. She had an infant, and
like most poor women, did not possess too many
clothes for it, and one day took its little frock off
to wash, when she laid it down in the cradle to
sleep. It so happened that the child took cold
whether from that cause, was quite uncertain but
it increased to inflammation, and in a short time
the infant died. She was a most devoted mother,
and now, no argument could convince her, that her
carelessness, as she termed it, was not the cause of
her child's death ; she accused herself as its mur-
I
n8 MOTHER'S LOVE.
derer. This thought took complete possession of
her mind ; she could hear of no comfort, bear no
sympathy, and at length, the grief and anguish of
her heart, rose to the dethronement of her reason.
The tender love she had formerly felt for her
husband and children, was turned into hatred ; she
sometimes attempted their lives in fact, she was a
maniac ; haunted by the crime of murder. She
was sent to a lunatic asylum in London, and was
confined there for a long time. Gradually, she
became sufficiently self-possessed, to feign herself
well, in order to regain her liberty ; and ap-
peared to be so much better, that she was allowed
to return to her family. When she entered her
own house the sight of the familiar cradle her
murdered child's cradle and its little cap lying in
a drawer, brought back all the old associations, and
again her reason left her. Her state of despair and
desperation, under the second attack, was even
worse than the first ; neither her husband nor
children were safe with her, her feelings seemed to
be maddened against them ; her neighbours were
afraid to enter her house ; and she shut the door
upon herself, looking like a wild beast in a cage.
Another order for the lunatic asylum was obtained
there was a delay of a few days in taking her
there, of which, she availed herself in the following
manner. She took the money which had been laid
MOTHER'S LOVE. 1 19
by in a drawer for the rent ; and proceeding to the
railway station, took a ticket to a place about
twenty miles distant, where a lady resided, whom
she had formerly known as a friend. She arrived
there safely, though she had to change trains ; and
finding her way to the house, requested at once to
see the mistress.
The lady felt greatly alarmed, as she had learned
the state she was in, and especially as the servants
said, she looked mad. She went, however, into the
kitchen, and found the account of her appearance
not exaggerated. There stood the poor creature,
looking wild and melancholy in the extreme ; a
picture of gloom and woe. She immediately ad-
dressed the lady thus " I am come here, for you
to pray for me, I believe you can make me well."
The lady instantly replied, " Come into my cham-
ber with me, and we will kneel down together."
They did so, side by side ; and whilst the lady
lifted up her heart and voice in prayer to God, for
this poor sufferer, God gave her the faith to believe,
that He had heard her supplication, and that she
might be made instrumental in the restoration of
this poor creature. So strong was this impression
on her mind, that when the woman's husband
having traced her came in the latter part of the
day to take her back, she proposed to him that his
wife should remain with her a proposition he
i2o MOTHER'S LOVE.
most thankfully accepted ; and thus, the woman
became an inmate of the family.
Every plan that ingenuity and thoughtful inte-
rest could devise, were tried, to wean her from the
melancholy, unnatural ideas that had taken posses-
sion of her mind ; to restore her physical powers ;
to feed her spirit with gentle thoughts, and precious,
cheering heavenly truths ; at the same time, to give
her easy occupation in assisting the servants.
Many a time did her watchful friend hear her
low moaning in the night, from the little room she
occupied next to her own ; and it was only the
assurance, she had received in her prayer, that
gave her courage to continue her work in hope.
Finding the dislike to her children continue, she
adopted the following expedient She made some
pretty little articles of children's clothing, the
servants assisting her with much interest. When
they were completed, she arranged them before the
poor mother, quietly saying, "This is for Fanny,
this for William, and that is for Robert, and this
handkerchief is for your husband." This device,
seemed to turn her thoughts immediately into
another channel ; and the former pleasure she had
enjoyed in seeing her children nicely dressed, kindled
up again ; she sat down industriously to make some
more things, and as she worked at them, the wild
gloom gradually departed from her countenance,
MOTHER'S LOVE. 121
the old, sweet, humble expression came back to it,
the poor wavering mind found its equilibrium, her
estranged affections returned in their full natural
current to her family, and she went home, perfectly
restored in mind and body, to her wondering,
grateful husband and friends ; and she continued
so ; and spiritually, I believe, was another woman.
This lady has ever considered it amongst the
sweetest privileges of her life, that she was allowed
to perform this little act of Christian kindness. Do
we enquire how she could afford the time and the
expense? rather let us ask, how can any of us
afford to exist upon this earth, without the luxury
of doing good ? If we are truly in the spirit of our
heavenly Father's work, faith sees no difficulties ;
and if love finds them, still, as faith and love press
on together, obstacles clear away, the mists gather
up, and the patient, hopeful worker achieves, if not
all she desires, as much, it may be, as He, who
works by her, has ordained.
The other instance which I shall give to show
the intensity of a poor woman's love for her chil-
dren, has, in some of its minutia, escaped my
memory ; I recall the general facts. I often saw
this poor woman in a hospital, where she told me
her sad story.
An industrious labouring man's family happy in
themselves, and just above the pressure of want, is
122 MOTHER'S LOVE.
I believe, as much to be envied, as any family
upon the earth ; there is always a cheerful motive
for industry, and every additional comfort gained,
has about it, the relish and sweetness of a conquest.
Such a family I should suppose this poor
woman's to have been. She had a perfect hus-
band, who brought her all the money to spend ;
a large comfortable cottage ; a fruitful garden,
regular employment under a good master, and a
flock of little ones, whose flesh, as she explained to
me, was always as sweet as a rose. She was a
very fine woman, and must have looked a queen in
her little palace.
I cannot recall the exact particulars ; but illness
came to the house (fever I think). The husband
died of it ; she was herself attacked, and laid
prostrate, and could do nothing for her family. A
married sister took her to her own house to nurse,
but could not accommodate the children. The
overseer of the parish sent them to the workhouse.
It nearly broke the mother's heart to have her
little ones sent amongst strangers, who could not
feel for them as she did ; but there was no help for
it. No one went out of their way, to care for the
little orphans in the day of their adversity ; and so
they were taken from the house of mourning, 1 o the
workhouse. As soon as the mother gained suffi-
cient strength to walk, she went to see them, and
MOTHER'S LOVE. 123
found, as she told me, the beautiful little heads,
that used to be so clean and glossy full of vermin ;
and their poor bodies covered with that loathsome
disease, which used to be so common in workhouses.
Her whole maternal nature outraged, rose up in
wild rebellion, and anguish of spirit. She was still
too weak to work for them ; she would have done
it on her knees, she said, but she was compelled in
this state to leave them there. It was too much
for her poor heart ; she could not endure the
ignominy, the injustice, the cruelty, the spoliation
of her pretty flock, and her reason gave way,
and she became insane. How long she remained
so I do not know, but when her reason returned,
her body was so much enfeebled, that she was
unable to take charge of her children. They re-
mained in the workhouse, and for some reason she
came to the hospital, where her nervous anxiety
evidently prevented her from getting well. She
told me that, sometimes she felt as if she must
spring out of the window, and fly away to her
children.
I cannot, at this distance of time, sufficiently
remember how these painful circumstances could
have been avoided ; but I am sure, if there had
been as much sacrifice and sympathy in that
village as there should have been, the most painful
part of this tale, need never have been told.
124 MOTHER'S LOVE.
I have recently learned from a physician in a
lunatic asylum, that the larger proportion of his
cases at the present time, are those of over-worked,
over-anxious, ill-fed wives and mothers.
If you have not read that valuable work, " Prac-
tical Lectures to Ladies," I will, in my next, make
a few extracts from it on the subject of " Over-
work and anxiety as causes of mental and bodily
disease." These lectures are very interesting,
especially to those who wish to benefit the lower
classes.
I am,
Sincerely yours,
LETTER XI,
India! future t0
" Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord,
Largely Thy gifts should be restored ;
Freely Thou givest, and Thy word
Is, ' Freely give.'
He only, who forgets to hoard,
Has learned to live."
The Christian Year.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
As you wish for the extracts I
mentioned from Dr. George Johnson's Lecture on
"Overwork, Anxiety, and Distress, as Causes of
Mental and Bodily Disease," I will give them first
in my letter. After alluding to the great and
increasing amount of insanity in London, he
describes the nervous symptoms, by which the
medical practitioner at the dispensary, almost
immediately detects this class of sufferers, who are
singled out by the expression of their countenance,
from the multitude of other applicants. What a
volume does this fact reveal, as to the evident
undermining effect of distress ! He says " There
is a remarkable appearance observable in the eyes
of these patients an appearance not easily de-
scribed, and not soon forgotten, when it has once
been carefully observed. The eye loses its bril-
liancy and liveliness, upon which so much of its
beauty depends, and assumes a dull and inanimate
appearance. In cases of long standing, the pupil
is sometimes unnaturally small, and in most cases
128 PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES.
its size is but little influenced by the amount of
light which falls upon it.
" This ' anxious eye,' as we call it, indicates to us
at once the general character of the case with
which we have to deal ; and by this simple sign,
we can generally detect the nervous patients who
are mingled with the crowd in the 'out patients'
room.' In almost all these cases of nervous
disease, it will be found that there is a mental and
bodily element some form of mental distress or
anxiety, combined with more or less of bodily
weariness or exhaustion."
" A woman comes in widow's mourning ; she has
a pallid anxious face, and the substance of her
history is this : Her husband died three months
ago, leaving her with four young children. She
has been struggling to support herself and them by
needle work. She tells us, since her husband's
death, she has not had one night's refreshing sleep ;
she lies awake, and thinks either of her past
sorrow, or of her present and future cares and
anxieties. If she falls asleep, she is harassed by
spectral visions of deceased relations and friends,
or she imagines herself pursued by some fierce
animal, or she is falling from a precipice, or is
sinking into deep water, and she awakes with a
scream of terror. After a time, perhaps, she again
sleeps, and is again disturbed by the same terrible
PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES. I2Q
dreams and spectral visions ; and so she rises in
the morning, not only unrefreshed, but feeling even
more tired and exhausted than when she went to
bed. She then goes about her work, feeling lan-
guid, miserable, desponding. Her scanty earnings
are insufficient to support herself and her children ;
she has stinted herself to feed them ; and now,
exhausted in body, and distracted in mind, with a
terrible dread that she is losing her senses, or that
she has some serious, and perhaps incurable bodily
disease, she comes and tells her tale of misery to
the hospital or dispensary physician. He at once
perceives, unless he can afford some effectual relief,
this poor widow will soon become an inmate of a
lunatic asylum ; and after supplying her with the
means which he deems the best calculated to avert
the catastrophe, and dismissing her with a few
words of comfort and encouragement, he soon finds
himself listening to another anxious patient
" This patient perhaps is a man a tailor, with a
wife and six children, all of whom he tells us are in
good health ; he has had no great loss or trouble,
and yet he appears as sad and anxious as the poor
widow who has just left us. He too, like her,
complains of sleepless nights, of frightful dreams,
of a gradual increase of weakness of body, and
depression of spirits, and above all things, he has
been distressed by a continual palpitation of the
I3O PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES.
heart, which has convinced him that he has a
serious disease of that organ, and this conviction
brings him to a physician.
"The physician examines the heart, and finds
there, no indication of disease ; but a glance at the
patient's face, suffices to convince him that, whether
the patient chooses to acknowledge it or not, he
must be suffering from intense mental anxiety.
Accordingly, he finds on further enquiry, that this
tailor, in order to support a wife and six children,
has for some months past, been working eighteen
hours a day. Even with this amount of labour,
his earnings have only been sufficient to keep him
just free from debt; and unfortunately, the long
hours of work, and the want of time for exercise
out of doors, have so much diminished his bodily
strength, that sometime since he began to fear he
should be unable to continue his work.
" Here, then, we have arrived at the source of
this man's mental anxiety. How is it possible for
him to keep free from debt, if he is compelled by
loss of strength, to shorten his day's labour ; and
above all, what is to keep him and his family from
the Union house, if the failure of his health compels
him to desist entirely from his work ; and so, this
overtasked tailor grows rapidly weaker, under the
paralysing influence of fear and anxiety."
" It happens to us almost daily to meet with these
PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES. 131
nervous symptoms in needlewomen, who frequently
work the whole day, and half the night, in hot, and
ill ventilated rooms, who rarely have the opportu-
nity to take exercise in the open air, and whose
earnings are often so small, as barely to suffice for
the maintenance of themselves, and others who
may be dependent on them. In such circum-
stances, an apparently trifling cause some slight
illness, which partially unfits them for work, and
an inability to execute an order in a certain time,
or a temporary lack of employment, with its
attendant anxieties any one of these sources of
mental disturbance, may become the exciting
cause of a long train of nervous symptoms, which
will continue and increase, unless checked by a
mode of treatment which is based upon a right
apprehension of their nature and origin.
"But when we, as medical men, have done all
that we have it in our power to do, for these over-
worked, anxious, sorrowful, nervous patients, we
often feel that there are certain facts and features
in their history, with which we have the means of
dealing but very unsatisfactorily. It is quite
impossible for us to give a medicine which will be
a substitute for food ; yet we clearly see, that
wholesome nutritious food is the thing required for
many of the diseases which we are called upon to
cure with drugs. But I am convinced, by long and
132 PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES.
careful examination, that the mental anguish of
many of these poor men and women, is, out of all
proportion, greater than any amount of physical
sufferings they may have to endure.
"True it is, that their bodies are often worn
down by hard labour, poisoned by impure air, and
exhausted by the want of proper food ; but worse
than all this, is the blank despair which settles
upon them, when they find themselves beneath a
thick cloud of sorrow, or surrounded by a hopeless
entanglement of debt and difficulties, from which
they see no way of escape, with perhaps no one to
lend them a helping hand, or give them a word of
encouragement or sympathy ; what wonder is it, in
circumstances so cheerless and desperate, that men
and alas ! women too many of whom have
grown up in utter ignorance of the very rudiments
of Christianity, should fly to the gin-shop to escape
from their wretched homes, to drown, in the
oblivion of drunkenness, the cares and troubles
that daily become more intolerable ; or that others
should seek in them a temporary relief from the
physical exhaustion occasioned by excessive labour
in an impure and over-heated atmosphere ?
" It appears to me, that in this state of things,
we have a sufficient explanation of the necessity of
an increase of prisons and lunatic asylums insti-
tutions, that it would be well we should all learn to
PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES. 133
look upon, as monuments of neglected duty. We
may be well assured, that if we were more diligent
in our efforts to educate the young, and to visit
and relieve the sick and distressed, we should less
frequently be called upon, to erect costly buildings,
for the reception and maintenance of criminals and
lunatics. Crime and sickness are very expensive,
and the principles of economy, no less than the
precepts of Christianity, instruct us, that we should
act wisely, if we did more to prevent these evils."
" Doubtless, many a sorrowful poverty-stricken
widow, and bereaved mother, may be rescued from
a life-long residence in a pauper lunatic asylum, by
the aid of ladies, who will leave their comfortable
homes, in order to visit these mourners in their
extremity of misery, thus convincing them, by the
most persuasive testimony, that they sympathize
with their sufferings. They can also speak words
of friendly comfort and encouragement, which go
to the hearts of those who hear them, with a power
to calm the perturbed spirit, and to ward off the
worst forms of mental disease, far exceeding that
of any drug which the physician can prescribe."
When reading a testimony like this, from a man
who knows what he says, because he speaks from
experience, I feel, there is no school like the Poor
School, where the wealthy may learn thankful
contentment with their own better lot ; and I do
K
134 PRACTICAL LECTURES TO LADIES.
not wonder, that in the mercy of God, it is ap-
pointed for them ; but, I often do wonder, that, as
His all-pitying eye looks down in sympathy with
the suffering, that He does not turn it away from
some of us full-fed, well-dressed, comfortable
people, and rest it only on those who know the
want of all things.
I have made longer extracts than I intended
from this lecture, but I felt sure I could write
nothing so much to the purpose, or so convincing
and I will not add more of my own at this time.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XII.
" Wherefore dost thou despise thy ignorant and poor
brother? Is he not a man like thee? Was he not
redeemed as thou art ? Has he not the battle of life
to fight like thee, with little knowledge, and less
advantage ?
" Hail him as a man ; love him as a brother ; cheer
him up the hill ; put thy shoulder to his wheel if it
drag heavily he will give thee double service, and
never grudge it ; and He, that is above all, will record
thy deed in the book of His remembrance."
Anon.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I know the ingratitude of the poor,
is a very favourite subject of complaint with some
persons, and a frequent excuse for not relieving
them. Is not the truth this that we are wont
to require disproportionate gratitude for trifling
benefactions ? My own experience separates me
entirely from these complainers, for if there be one
good quality before another, that I would claim
confidently for my poor neighbours, it is their grati-
tude and fine generosity when unpauperized it is
that which makes all the difference. Their hearty,
vigorous help is quite refreshing, and often shames
me by its unselfishness.
You will say, perhaps, I have been very fortu-
nate in meeting with such people. I do not think
I have had any peculiar good fortune ; I have lived
in many places, and have always found my expe-
rience the same, when, as I have said before, the
pauper spirit had not been begotten by too much
bare gift charity.
138 TPIE UNPAUPERIZED POOR.
During the long period of my acquaintance with
the labouring classes, I cannot recall to memory
more than two or three cases of deliberate ingrati-
tude ; but, countless touching instances of over-
flowing gratitude, altogether disproportioned to the
benefit conferred. '
Poor people understand the value of our crusts
of bread, and worn-out garments ; they can calcu-
late pretty well, the sacrifice we make in giving
them away ; and yet, they mostly receive very old
things, as new ones. To us, it is often a relief to
get such things out of the house, especially in a
way, that looks like charity. You will think I am
throwing stones ; if I do, every one of them hits
myself first. I know all about the little mean
deceptions we practise upon ourselves, when our
hearts are very small.
To a very poor woman in London, I feel that I
owe an everlasting debt of gratitude, for lessons of
cheerful contentment, she unconsciously taught me
many years ago. I was a young married woman
then, and had come to live in London, in the very
heart of the great city. I was taking my first
lessons in fog, dirt, noise, and distraction. Till
then, I had lived in the country, and loved it with
the ardent love of childhood and youth. I was a
most rebellious scholar ; I loathed, and hated the
place, and I was nearly a stranger in it ; I thought
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR. 139
it would be impossible for me, to bring up my
little girl amongst black houses, and dirty streets,
with never a flower for her little hand to gather,
nor a bird's song for her to hear ; I used to sit, and
look over the roofs of the opposite houses, at the
floating clouds, and the bits of blue sky, and cry
like a child. Great London, was to me like a huge
cage, with iron bars so did I torment myself, and
was almost wickedly discontented with my lot.
In this state of mind, I became acquainted with
a very poor woman, who lived with her family in
one room, in a small court in Shoreditch. On my
first visit, I found her washing ; she had been
confined only four days, and could not afford to
pay anyone to do it for her, and she said, she could
not bear to be dirty. She had several children,
and her husband, who worked on the wharfs, had
not regular employment. I never met with a
person more richly endowed with Christian cheer-
fulness and contentment She was over grateful
for the smallest thing, and would always say, " A
thousand thanks to God, and you, ma'am." She
never begged, she never complained yet, as I left
her house, I used to feel that she had nothing to
be grateful for. I often returned from hers, to my
own comfortable home, utterly ashamed of myself,
and determined to number my mercies. When my
worst fits of misery came upon me, I used to pay
140 THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR
her a visit, to take a fresh lesson of content, if not
of thankfulness. Good woman ! she died in the
first visitation of the cholera to this country, leav-
ing her little motherless family to feel her irrepa-
rable loss. I had a pleasure in helping them, for
her sake, and have a pleasure in the thought that I
may one day meet her again not in that Shore-
ditch court, but in the courts above, to thank her
for the good works she did to me. Talk of the
poor being ungrateful ! only yesterday, I was
passing a woman's house, with whom I was not
well acquainted, but during a long illness, I had
sent her two little puddings nothing more. She
lived at some distance from me, and I did not go
to see her myself ; but her gratitude for these little
puddings was quite touching. First, she sent her
thanks to me by the clergyman who visited her ;
then she begged her daughter, if she should meet
me, to return her most grateful thanks ; and
yesterday, she came out of her house when she saw
me passing, to say it all over again. I really felt
grieved I had done no more for her, and ashamed
to receive so many thanks for such a little kind-
ness, and I said, " Oh, don't mention it, it was very
little." " Oh ! " she said, " it was so beautiful ; I
am so much obliged to you."
Now I call this gratitude ; she was very ill,
and very poor ; and she might more reasonably
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR. 14!
have thought me, selfish and neglectful, not to give
her more assistance ; and I might have done it,
had I been more thoughtful.
I have a neighbour now, who is always putting
me to shame by her generosity. The only name
that properly represents her, is Mrs. Greatheart.
She is poor, always ailing, has bad legs, and bad
head-aches, and seldom knows the pleasure of
living in a comfortable body. Her husband is
deaf, and suffers acutely from a cruel disease, but
his spirit appears to dwell continually in the atmos-
phere of praise " Praise the Lord," are the words
most frequently upon his lips, and not upon his
lips only, for he truly does praise Him in his life.
Whilst contending with all these difficulties, she pre-
serves the most delicate cleanliness in her person,
and in her crazy dwelling, where every article of
metal shines with a polish that vies with the little
bit of looking-glass on the wall. Neither her daily
labour nor her infirmities, prevent her often sitting up
at night with an old sick, deaf neighbour, for whom
she washes gratuitously, and spares from her own
little comforts, to add to hers ; and all this, without
compensation, talk, or display, all springing from
the fountain of her large-hearted charity. She has
had many troubles, and in the school of suffering,
she has learned the secret of sympathy. As for
myself, I should always be found on the debtor's
142 THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR.
side of the book, if she kept an account. Her first
fruit is sure to come to me ; basins and baskets
full, are smuggled in by contrivance ; and I have
to manage a kind of payment, with as much
delicacy as if she were a duchess, lest I should
wound her feelings. I can never repay her ade-
quately, because I cannot make the sacrifices for
her, that she makes for me ; she gives out of her
poverty, I give out of my comparative abundance ;
but we are friends, and that is the payment in full
to her.
I was ill, as you know, some time since for many
weeks ; this good neighbour wanted to send me
every nice thing she had in her garden ; three little
chickens she had reared, were brought for me at
different times, all beautifully dressed for cooking ;
to offer payment for them, would have been to cut
her to the heart ; she had fatted them on purpose
for me she must have the pleasure of giving them.
I can never regret that illness, were it only that,
it so abundantly confirmed my opinion of the
noble nature of the independent, unpauperized
poor. But few days passed, during several weeks,
without some present being sent me, from one or
other of my poor neighbours.
The best fruit and vegetables which their
gardens produced, little cakes of home-made bread,
new-laid eggs, watercresses, flowers for although
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR. 143
I had plenty of flowers in my own garden, and
they knew I had, yet their kind hearts could not
be satisfied, without nipping off their prettiest buds
for me. I feel it to be a great happiness and
privilege to learn from my poor friends, and the
more intimately we become acquainted, the more
fully am I persuaded, that far beyond our gifts,
they value our sympathy, counsel, and friendship,
by which, they consciously attain an elevation, that
lifts them above the dreariest heartsick pressure of
their difficulties. It is truly a sweet pleasure, and a
great advantage, to live amongst your poor neigh-
bours as amongst friends to know that a kind
welcome, a good word, and ready help are always
waiting for you. I am sure you do the poor more
good, by letting them help you gratuitously, than
if you were to give them double payment. They
of course, seem bound to smile, and thank you for
the money in their hand, but their hearts could be
paid in richer coin ; and with a little skill, we can
always manage to compensate them in a way that
does not feel like a compensation ; but it is not so
easy, perhaps, as discharging our debt immediately
out of our purses : and so, money is made the
medium to pay for all things, and grudging on
one side, and grasping on the other, are the
consequence.
We make a great mistake, if we suppose the
144 THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR.
daily struggle, for daily bread, has a natural
tendency in itself, to harden the heart ; on the
contrary, it brings into action some of the finest
principles of human nature. Hard labour may
destroy external grace and refinement, but rough-
ness of manner is not synonymous with coarseness
of nature ; and perhaps we all know, that a base
coarseness of nature, does not unfrequently exist,
beneath a fine external polish. The toil for need-
ful bread, is not so likely to harden the heart, as
the toil to be rich, because, one is unselfish, and
the other selfish.
Look at the life of a collier : I am able to form
some idea of the general self-denial of this occupa-
tion, as many colliers live in our neighbourhood.
I will give you a little sketch of the common life
of a friend of mine. His home is about four miles
distant from his work in the pit ; about three
o'clock in the morning, his wife creeps down stairs,
and makes him a cup of tea, that he may set out
warm. She goes to bed again ; and av/ay he goes
rain, wind, or snow, all the same plunging, in
the dark of winter, through miry roads, and over
ill-trodden tenacious field paths, till in the dark, or
early dawn, he arrives at his post of labour. He is
then lowered down into the close atmosphere of
the pit, and makes his way along the subterranean
path to his place of work, and there lies down, half
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR. 145
naked, in some often wet seam of coal, to pick it
out his eyes, nose, and mouth exposed to the
dust, and his skin covered with it. Here, hour
after hour, he lies in his black sepulchre, quarrying
out our comfortable fires, by which we cozily sit,
rarely thinking of the brother through whose
patient -labour they have been obtained. The
allotted hours of toil finished, he walks his four
miles home again. He is not a young man, and
I have often noticed his weary step, as he ascends
the hill to his own house. Then he must wash all
over, to avoid the injurious effect of coal dust on
the skin. We, who are accustomed to find the
bath a luxury, with our comfortable provisions for
it, can hardly appreciate the disturbance and
inconvenience in the one room, where the great
pan of warm water, has to be prepared, for the
man to wash in, and the children and young people
have to be put away if there be a place to put
them in, which is not always the case. After a
supper of potatoes, and a scrap of bacon to relish
it, my friend goes early to bed, that he may gain
sufficient rest for the next day's early toil. One
day's work lost, is one day's food lost ; upon an
average, he does not earn more than fourteen shil-
lings a week many colliers, I believe, earn more.
Here is a life, that calls for a sacrifice of all
personal comfort, and yet is sustained cheerfully,
146 THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR.
by the strength of an independent spirit, and by
the duty which he owes to his home and family.
Day after day, year after year no change, no rest,
except illness, or a failure of work occur, which is
considered the worst misfortune of all.
This is the life generally of the lower labouring
classes, with no resource but daily continuous toil, to
keep them from beggary or the Union. Well,
is it for those, who belong to a well regulated
Temperance club, to smooth their difficulties, when
illness or accidents throw them out of work.
Poets are prone to write sweet fictions about our
" rustic hinds," as though they might live upon the
breath of morning always rosy ; and the perfume
of flowers, always in blossom. These illusions have
long been dispelled from my mind, as I have seen
them combating with all states of the atmosphere,
and with all states of the earth following the slow
plough, soaked through with drizzling rain, spread-
ing the manure, with the wind cutting through them,
or baking under the sultry heat of the sun often
crippled with rheumatism, the effect of wet, or in-
sufficient clothing ; but still steadily sticking to their
work through fear of dismissal, and the possibility
then, of being compelled to apply to the parish. It
is not fear of work, but the fear of the Union, that
hangs as a cloud over the poor man ; and, whether
actually acknowledged, or not, it always lies in the
THE UNPAUPERIZED POOR. 147
dark before him. A debt incurred in illness, how
difficult is it for him to pay, as frequently, the
daily labour only earns the daily bread. The
mother must then leave her home and her children,
and go out washing, charing, to work in the fields,
or to anything else that will bring in pence. The
home is thus neglected, and all things suffer with
it ; and it brings about that condition of things, of
which we make such constant complaints.
While I have pondered upon the present diffi-
culties, and the future prospects of the poor man,
when labour fails, and age comes on, the thought
often comes over me Oh, dear people ! how can
we do you good, without doing you hurt ; how
lessen your difficulties, and not your virtues ; how
remove your temptations, or give you strength to
resist them ? It is not enough to say, " The back
is fitted to the burden, and they will get on, as
they always have done ; " no things are always
changing, and always requiring fresh experiments
of wisdom, and new sacrifices of love.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XIII.
janfr.
" Mine be the rev'rent listening love,
That waits all day on Thee,
With the service of a watchful heart,
Which no one else can see ;
The faith that, in a hidden way,
No other eye may know,
Which finds its daily work prepared,
And loves to have it so."
A. L. Waring.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
From my own experience, I well
understand your remark that it is extremely
difficult, in the variety of work, and demand made
upon you, to decide which has the most legiti-
mate claim. As a general principle, I think we
should work gradually out from our own centre,
in our own circle, enlarging it according to our
opportunity and ability, but always having the
strongest part nearest home. Something like the
spider's web, that affords upon its close central
lines, a strong foothold and foundation, for its
further extension.
It is encouraging to see how one benevolent
man will invigorate the benevolence of those
around him how one wisely ordered family will
produce another, in some degree like it how
one generous, self-denying community, provokes
another to love and good works. Therefore it
would seem that we need, before all things, these
healthy, luminous centres of influence this right
life at home, which sets us to cultivate our own
152 THE GUIDING HAND.
garden, before we go to weed our neighbour's plot,
and to mend the holes in our own house, before we
repair his wall. Charles Dickens' satirical descrip-
tion of the lady, who left her own family in ruinous
neglect, whilst she was arranging plans for the con-
version of the natives of Booriobolargar though,
for the most part, unjust, and unwarranted, is a
hint in point, to those who prefer the excitement
and eclat of public charity, to the exact conscien-
tious performance of home and social duties.
I heard lately of a lady, who preferred visiting
the poor in an adjoining parish, to visiting those in
her own. I did not learn the reasons for it, but I
thought there was something unsound in it as a
principle.
There is much instruction in the prophet
Nehemiah's description of the repairers, who built
up the walls of Jerusalem that were broken down.
Of many of them, it is mentioned, that they built
the piece of the wall by their own house ; others
undertook more distant and greater labours ; but
each built his piece according to his ability, until
the city was girded with strength, and set at rest
from the attacks of its enemies. To build by their
own house, was evidently the duty of those who
had a house near the wall, before they went forth
to build the gates, or repair the sepulchres of
David.
THE GUIDING HAND. 153
But, to turn to your remark, it is difficult
to know, in the abundance of work lying around
us, which part of it is ours. It requires not only
knowledge and judgment, but above all, a spirit
open to instruction, that we may occupy our right
place in the great field of labour. Solomon says,
the "preparation of the heart in man is of the
Lord." How wise, therefore, to dwell under the
influence of His divine counsel and wisdom, assured
that " light is sown for the upright," and that an
overruling Providence is directing the thoughts,
words, and ways of men, making his servants, not
only willing, but wise hearted. The Christian's
way is not in the clouds, though it may often be
under a cloud ; the ground he stands upon is rock,
and not sliding sand ; and though he may be led
as the blind, by a way that he knows not, he is
not left to wander about at hap-hazard ; there is
light at some point of the way. A little instance
came to my knowledge a few days since, which
will interest you in this connexion.
An excellent young man held a public office,
which required him to make a good appearance,
with a very limited salary. He had come to a
time, when his clothes were nearly worn out, and
an excellent suit was offered to him at about half
their value. He had no money in hand to pay for
them, and would not borrow ; still, not liking to
1 54 THE GUIDING HAND.
lose the bargain, he detained them in his house one
day, for prayer, and further consideration. On
that day, a thought was suddenly flashed into the
mind of a lady who knew him, that he might be
wanting a little help, and without delay, she sent
him a sovereign, requesting him to accept it for
any present requirement. The price of the clothes
was eighteen shillings, which this unexpected assis-
tance enabled him to pay.
Shall we call this a happy chance or an encou-
raging instance of the condescending watchful care
and guidance of the great Father of the family ?
I doubt not, but there is for those who abide
closest under the shadow of the Almighty, a
minute, and secret teaching regarded by many as
a delusion which, like the name on the white
stone, no man knows, saving he that receives it ;
but he knows, that his judgment is sometimes
cleared, his will inclined, and his way directed,
after a manner different from that, in which his
own will or wisdom would probably have led him.
In the present day of dogmatic reasoning, it is
difficult for the providential, and supernatural, as it
is called, to maintain its place. We are almost
afraid to tell, except in whispered confidence to an
intimate friend, that we have been truly guided on
our way by wisdom not our own.
I am in possession of two interesting circum-
THE GUIDING HAND. 155
stances, which have a bearing on this point, and
may be encouraging to you. The first relation, is
from the lady's own pen ; and, suppressing her
name, I will only say that she was a member of
the benevolent and practical " Society of Friends,"
amongst whose rather distinctive principles it is, to
believe in the direct guidance of the Holy Spirit.
She is one of those frank and friendly natures,
which, by a natural attraction, draws to it, all that
is good, and all that needs good ; and so it was,
that one day, travelling in an omnibus from
London to her own residence in its vicinity, she
entered into conversation with a gentleman, who
sat opposite to her. He related the case of a poor
woman in most painfully afflictive circumstances.
She took down the address, proposing to visit her,
which she did many times.
From this point, I will take her own words.
" It was some weeks since I had seen poor A. J.,
and one bright day in February, I found my
thoughts unusually turned towards her ; so, putting
a little tea, butter, and ham into my basket, I de-
termined to make an effort, to reach her lodgings."
(I should say, that this lady is rather deaf, and
lives a few miles on the north side of London ; the
person she visited, lived near Drury Lane, which
made it rather a long journey.) "The day was
clear and fine, when I left my own house, but as
1 56 THE GUIDING HAND.
we drew near Islington, the appearance of a thick
fog coming on, discouraged me, fearing that, with
my deafness, I might find it dangerous in the
streets, if I could not see the way before me.
Thicker and darker the fog became ; we had
recourse to lamps, and the driver of the omnibus
dare not go beyond a walking pace. I might have
got into another omnibus, and returned home ; but
the feeling on my mind was so strong that I
must go forward if possible, that I determined, if
the omnibus could proceed, I would proceed with
it. When we reached the Strand, we could not see
the houses on either side the street, but were
encircled by a thick gloom. Still I thought, if I
were put down on the pavement, on the right side
of the street, I might be able to make my way
along it. But then, another difficulty presented
itself how should I find the right court, which,
even in fairer weather, had often puzzled me ? At
last the omnibus stopped, and the conductor kindly
guided me to the foot-path ; and as I was groping
my way along most unexpectedly, the fog cleared
up, just at the entrance of Drury Lane, and I
could see even the blue sky above the houses. I
readily found the narrow court, rang the No. 5 bell,
and ascended to the fifth storey. I knocked at the
door, which was opened by a little girl. ' How is
grandmother?' I said, but was answered by the
THE GUIDING HAND. 157
invalid herself, who, recognising my voice, said,
' Come in, Mrs. A. ; how did you get here ? we
have been in thick darkness all the day.' My
attention was attracted by the extreme neatness of
the apartment, and the brightness of the kettle,
which was standing boiling by a small clear fire.
Every thing was in perfect order ; on the table
stood the little tea-tray ready for use. The
daughter of the invalid was sitting at work in one
corner of the room ; the invalid herself was in bed,
helpless as ever, and with the usual calm resigned
expression on her countenance. ' I see you are
ready for tea,' I said ; ' I have brought something
more to place upon the table ; the water boils, so
I shall not stay long to prevent your enjoying it.'
With clasped hands and uplifted eyes, the poor
woman ejaculated a thanksgiving and prayer ; then
turning to me, she said, ' Oh ! Mrs. A., you are
indeed God's raven, sent by Him to bring us food
to-day, for we have not tasted any yet ; I felt sure
He would care for us.' I turned enquiringly to the
daughter ' But you have the kettle ready for tea ! '
'Yes, ma'am,' said she, 'it is so ; my mother would
have me set it on the fire, and when I said, " What
is the use of doing so you know we have nothing
in the house ? " she still urged me to do it, adding,
" My child, God will provide ; thirty years He has
already provided for me, through all my pain and
158 THE GUIDING HAND.
helplessness, and He will not leave me to starve at
last ; He will send us help, though we do not yet
see how ; " and in this expectation, mother has
been waiting all day, quite sure that some one
would come to supply our need ; but we did not
think of the possibility of your coming from such a
distance, and in such a day : indeed, indeed, it
must be God who sent you to us, and who has
taken care of you also.' I saw at once, why I had
felt so strongly that I must proceed, and with a
full heart, I could but unite in the poor woman's
prayer and thanksgiving, that I had been made an
instrument, in God's hand, to supply at that
moment, the need of His confiding, dependent
children. Upon enquiry, I found the present
rather unusual destitution proceeded from the
illness of the daughter, which had prevented her
following her usual occupation of dress-making.
" I took my leave, and reached my home in
safety, although the fog came on again soon after
I had left the court. Upon another occasion,
calling on this excellent woman and her daughter,
I found the latter, with an attack of bronchitis, and
whilst gasping for breath, she was finishing a white
satin ball dress. What a contrast presented itself
to my mind, between the maker, and the wearer of
this shining apparel ; and yet, in the view of the
heavenly watchers, which looked the brightest
THE GUIDING HAND. 159
the fair young dancer, in her shining raiment, or
the poor young seamstress, toiling in her attic ? "
The other instance alluded to, was the expe-
rience of a lady, who was in the practice of visiting
regularly one of the old workhouses, at the time
when the one building contained all characters and
classes of the poor. One part of this house was an
infirmary, one was used for the old bed-ridden
people, another part for a nursery, another for the
school, another for the able-bodied people, Sec., &c.,
and in the court, were several small rooms, appro-
priated to peculiar cases. In one of these was a
bed-ridden lunatic, in another, a woman with her
two idiot children, and in a third, lived a person
who had seen much better days. The workhouse
fare agreed badly with her; she was suffering
continually under the depressing influence ot
dyspepsia, and her bodily afflictions, being in no
way alleviated by Christian resignation, she passed
her time in constant complaints against the food,
the governor, the matron, and indeed, against
every thing connected with the establishment.
Often did the lady exert her powers of reason and
consolation, but with short-lived effect " the hard
pudding" was the continued grievance, which
admitted of no comfort. The lady had appointed
regular days for visiting different parts of the
House, and was careful not to let trifles hinder
I6o THE GUIDING HAND.
her, and disappoint the inmates, from whom she
always received a cheerful welcome.
One day, the weather was so unusually stormy,
that it seemed scarcely prudent to venture out, and
she thought the people would not expect her ; but
the more her reason argued against the reasonable-
ness of not going, the more strongly her feeling
impelled her to go ; and not being quite a stranger
to this sort of conflict, she determined to proceed
as usual. On her way she was much in prayer,
that she might do her Master's own work. Arrived
at the House, she went to the apartments she was
accustomed to visit on that day, and was surprised
to find all the people otherwise occupied, and no
one disengaged. At last, she went to the room of
her dyspeptic friend, feeling sure she should meet
with her ; but this also was vacant : placing a tract
on the table, she left the House, thinking to
herself, that, as regarded the good she had done,
she might as well have remained at home. The
following week, on going as usual, and entering
this room, the woman immediately enquired if
she had left a tract upon the table the previous
week. Being answered in the affirmative, she said
solemnly, " Then you saved my life, ma'am ; I had
some poison mixed in a cup, intending to drink it,
and to end my misery ; but just before you came
in, I was called away, and I put the cup in the
THE GUIDING HAND. l6l
closet, that it might not be seen ; when I came
back, I saw the tract, and thought you had been
here ; I took it up, not intending to read it ; but I
did, and then, I could not drink the poison, but
threw it under the grate amongst the ashes."
Now, the mystery was clear, why the rain was
not to be heeded, on her way to save this poor
soul, in the hour of her strong temptation, We
know that these are not solitary instances, but
only make part of the great volume of evidence,
which proves, that there is in reality, no random or
accidental work so to speak, and that where the
servant's eye is habitually turned to his Master, He
will direct his steps in the right way. The main
thing is to have the heart humble and upright, with
no selfish or vainglorious motives or projects ; then,
our Heavenly Father can give us His work to do,
and the needful help for it.
I will conclude this letter, anxious for any
remarks from you, that may lead us into wiser, and
more practical thoughts, on this subject, so in-*
teresting to us both, and not to us only, but to how
many thousands beside in our country.
Yours truly,
LETTER XIV
f jt gfln&s 0f
" The storms of vice and passion break from the
clouds of error and falsehood."
Lord Bacon.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I remember, many years ago, a dear
old widow, who, with another old deaf woman,
occupied two clean rooms in a village street. They
had both a small allowance from the parish, upon
which they somehow managed to subsist. It was
almost impossible to look into that dear old
widow's face, and not be the better for it The
bright cheerful serenity which beamed from her
clear eyes, said, without words, that her happiness
had a source independent of worldly springs. A
short conversation with her, convinced you that her
spirit dwelt in green pastures, near the fountain of
life ; and also, that a precious little stream of daily
strength and comfort, flowed into her heart from
the friendship of a kind and excellent young lady,
who often visited her. This friend brought another
element into the little room ; for, beside refreshing
their hearts together in the word of God, new
thoughts and new associations were added to the
old widow's store, by intercourse with a pious and
educated mind. The possession of a friend in a
M
1 66 THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
higher and more influential walk of life, gave to
her also, a sense of strength and security. " O !
miss," she said one day, " what a back you are to
me " not a bank ; I believe the impauperized poor
(I must always repeat that word) generally, would
feel more safely supported by a back, than a bank
by warm heart sympathy, than by money aid. I
often think of that old widow's expression, and
feel that we all need the back of mutual friendly
support. I have sometimes looked upon a corn
field, waving and rustling in its summer beauty,
and fancied it the type of what we need from each
other in this world. Those slender individual
stems alone so feeble, that the slightest blast
would bring them to the ground backed by each
other, so buoyant, active, and mutually helpful,
that the sweeping blast only moves them to sing
together a louder chorus of universal confidence
how erect and gracefully they stand, supporting
and supported ; their heads now raised, now gently
bowed the cloud and sun, the dew and rain, the
night and day, bring to them only health and
beauty. Oh ! I have thought, there is nothing in
common troubles that would hurt us much, if we
stood together in the sight of God, with our
friendly arms supported, and supporting each
other. And how have I longed, that the living
Spirit would breathe upon the churches in our land,
THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE. ib/
that the plants which live, might stand firmly as a
support, and a back to the feeble plants around
them ; that all might grow, and ripen together, till
the great Reaper come forth with His sickle, to
gather them one by one into the heavenly garner
I am conscious and thankful that many, very
many, are thus standing in their places ; but oh !
how many feeble stems are broken, and piteously
trodden down by the road side, because there is no
back, no friendly human arm, to stay upon.
The lady I have mentioned told me, that one
day, when she went to see her old friend, she had
on a new handsome dress ; the old woman stroked
it down, and with a delighted countenance, said,
" I like to see you dressed in nice clothes." There
was no envious comparison of the rich silk and the
brown stuff; she rejoiced in her friend's well-
being ; and if the wealthy were generally just and
generous, I believe the poor would rejoice, and not
grudge, at their prosperity.
I feel the justice of your remark, "That we are
apt to go 'about the poor} as we go about any
other kind of business." It must be done ; and the
sooner it is done, the better, that we may get it off
our minds. "I must do my District," if not a
common expression, is not an uncommon feeling.
If our visit in the District is to do good, we must
get rid of the must.
1 68 THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
In looking back, I have been ashamed to think
how hastily and flippantly I have often given
advice, without mature consideration ; how often
made a general dash at consolation, not unlikely
to make the wound feel deeper ; how often ex-
pressed a persuasion, that things were not so bad
as they took them to be, and would soon be all
right again, without even opening a window
towards the light. Oh, it is easy to advise, and
comfort, and hope for others, and to find fault also,
when our own shoulders are quite clear of their
burdens ; and yet, we women do, some of us, know
what burdens are, and how often, when we wish to
do our best, we fall short of our intentions, through
ignorance, inability, discouragement, or opposition ;
have we not then, kind feelings, and tender words,
for our poor sisters, scuffling with their difficulties,
distractions, and temptations ?
Some of our little charities, so called, are direct
selfishness, though we think not so ; for instance
we may be sitting very comfortably by our fire
side, with our friends ; a servant enters, to say,
that a man in distress wishes to speak with us.
We do not wish to be disturbed, and anticipate his
dismissal, by supposing him a common beggar;
and we rally our principle that beggars ought not
to be relieved, and the man is to be refused ; but
as the door is closing, we feel that we should sit
THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 169
more comfortably in our easy chair, if we had grati-
fied our benevolence by an act of charity, and a
few pence are accordingly sent to the suppliant
expecting boundless gratitude, of course ; the man
goes away, congratulating himself, that he came to
the house on a lucky day. The house, is the thing
he sees ; his thought has not reached yoti, as yours
has not reached him ; no good fruit has been pro-
duced by this interchange rather the contrary, as
the gift, which should have produced a feeling of
brotherhood, has failed for that purpose.
I have sometimes sat confounded, to hear ladies,
dressed in purple and fine linen, and possessing
"all things," cry out upon the extravagance and
mismanagement of poor women, whose weekly
receipts may not be much more than ten or twelve
shillings. If a woman with that sum, is able to
keep herself and family from starvation and naked-
ness, with the rent paid, and a bit of fire upon the
hearth, it is, because she has served somewhere, an
apprenticeship to domestic management, that
ladies know nothing about. I always think there
must be some hidden spring from beneath, or
shower from above, to make the thing practicable ;
and I doubt not, there is often the latter. But,
supposing there is bad management did we never
see, or hear of a gentlewoman's house, that was
badly managed, when appliances of every kind
I/O THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
servants, time, money, knowledge, all pre
pared the way for perfection ? Oh ! poor, toiling,
patient, unpraised women, how often has my spirit
risen with indignation, when I have heard these
unjust, and heartless criticisms ; and I have felt
inclined to say, " Go thou, and do better ; go and
help if not, be silent." A poor woman, with a
large family to manage for, and few shillings to
manage with, and who does it well, and cheerfully,
is, in my estimation the wonder of the world.*
How often, again, <lo we cry out upon their
ignorance and stupidity, and cannot imagine it
possible, that under any circumstances, we could
have been so unreasonable. We cannot unclothe
ourselves from our advantages, nor remember
how our superior wisdom has gradually been
accumulated through our surroundings ; from our
education, books, and society ; from seeing, and
hearing, and from all the manifold opportunities of
development, which, by inheritance, fall to those
who stand upon the middle and higher steps of
the social ladder ; and who have not, from youth
to age, been harnessed into the same small mill of
unvaried circumstance, with labour, often so exact-
ing, as to preclude even the advantage of reading.
My experience has been gained chiefly amongst the
poor working people, and not amongst the rich ones I
conclude it is not witnout reason, that the domestic manage-
ment of the latter is so universally condemned.
THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE. i;i
It need not, I think, be a matter of surprise to
us, that, whilst the traditions of our forefathers, as
standards of wisdom and knowledge, are gradually
losing weight and authority amongst the educated
classes, they retain nearly their full power with
those, whose circumstances confine them within the
old narrow circle of traditional experience. We
may sometimes see their judgment giving way
before our reasons ; yet in a little while, when the
sound of our voice is out of their ears, and the
chain of our argument is lost to their mind, the old
habit and associations return ; they know the old
ways, and it is easier, if not safer, to keep to them ;
and thus to crush a living snail, and make a
plaister of it for a sprain, seems fraught with
wisdom, in comparison to a cold water bandage, or
any other modern application.
There are not many men amongst the lower
classes, and very rarely a woman, who dare venture
out of the old beaten track, to make an experi-
ment ; they can ill afford to make mistakes, and
do not like to be laughed at ; and habit with them,
is so much stronger than reason, that you con-
tinually find your arguments put out of the field
by a laugh, or a rejoinder quite beside the mark.
We have a multitude of books, written purposely
to make hard things easy to the ignorant ; but on
looking through most of them, we find such
172 THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
difficult words, involved expressions, and far-
fetched arguments, that we either put them away,
or give them up in despair. Educated persons
generally prefer a slight telling sketch, or sugges-
tive hints, to long explanations, or weary detail,
which their own minds can supply. The first direc-
tion, to "catch your hare," in Mrs. Glass's receipt
to cook one, would not appear at all ridiculous
or needless to an uneducated mind ; they like a
picture, or description, to be delineated in all its
minutia ; it can scarcely be too full ; their know-
ledge is so limited, and their associations are so
few, that little help is supplied from their own
minds. I often think it would be a good plan, if
persons who write expressly for the uneducated,
would read their works to the uneducated before
they are published ; they would soon discover
where they were unintelligible or uninteresting, and
might then improve them. It would be a great
advantage to ignorant hearers, for instance, if such
a thing could be conceded to them, to have bodies,
instead of physical systems and structures; and
thoughts and feelings, instead of mental, and senti-
mental emotions. The way of understanding
would be more surely kept open for them. A
little while ago, a very good, but uneducated man,
who liked to use words a little beyond the reach of
the commonality, was addressing a "Band of
THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 173
Hope," in our neighbourhood, and was telling the
children of a place, where the people were very
much given to drink which, he described to his
young auditors, as a "locality, where the inhabi-
tants were much addicted to intemperance;" and
then, relating an anecdote of a little boy, who was
so nearly drowned, that it was difficult to bring
him to life again, he said, " It was very difficult to
restore him to conscientiousness." Can we wonder
that the little auditors yawn sometimes, or whisper
something more intelligible to each other? A
friend of mine was asking a nice little Sunday
school girl, what was the matter with her father.
The child hesitated a good while, and then said,
the doctor said, her father had a "rheumatic
saviour." My friend, much perplexed, enquired
afterwards of the mother, who said it was a
" perlatic sazure," by which she understood it to
be a paralytic stroke.
I often wonder what ideas the uneducated
hearers carry away from some of our polished
pulpit discourses. Sometimes, when I have induced
a poor man or woman to come to church for their
souls' good, my ears have almost tingled, with
listening for some plain explanation of precious
gospel truth, level to their capacity. No doubt,
you have often remarked, as I have done, the
pleasure which a child, or uneducated person,
174 THE BONDS OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
manifests, in the possession of a new fact or idea.
You may hear them repeating it upon every
occasion ; and though wiser people may be more
silent, I suppose we all feel that our definite and
practical ideas, are the pleasant and profitable
riches of our minds. Would then, that we could
condescend to make knowledge pleasant and
attainable to those, who have such a hard struggle
to lay hold of it ; and to speak to, and write for,
them in as simple a style, as our good Saxon
language will permit. But my letter is long
enough.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XV.
Cfgflxiiis,
"Ignorance will blame, where wisdom ponders, and
where pity weeps."
" Scorn not thy neighbour's burden as a trifle, till thou
hast tried to bear it."
Anon.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
In my last letter, I mentioned some
of the complaints we are wont to make of the
lower classes, but as I did not exhaust them, I will
now instance a few more, and see if there is no
excuse to be made for our poor neighbours.
First, and especially, we complain of their absurd
ambition to imitate the dress of their superiors
this is an offence, hardly to be forgiven ; we call
them ridiculous, presumptuous, conceited, and
many other hard names, and we evidently forget,
that to imitate those above us in station, is an
ambition, all but universal, and by no means con-
fined to the lower classes.
Imitation, is not a graft upon our nature, but a
ground-root principle. We see a little child's
life continually growing by means of it, as by an
instinct ; and we need not be astonished, to see a
little maiden, as I have done, extend her ragged
petticoat over a wooden hoop, that she might
felicitate herself in the breadth of crinoline it
was so natural to imitate those around her. We
178 COMPLAINTS.
might remember also, that independent of this
natural propensity to imitation, the lower classes
have little motive to adopt, or invent for them-
selves, a peculiar, distinctive dress, as all the
arrangements of trade, make it so much more easy,
as well as more pleasant for them, to go in the
same track as their betters. An old-fashioned
person, who wishes to linger a little behind the
mode of the day, is quite a trouble to shop-keepers,
who have made provision to pack every head into
the same shaped bonnet, regardless of its being
comfortable or becoming, and the same all the way
round ; and if ladies remonstrate in vain, what
success would the remonstrance of the poor have,
even if they tried it ? So much, by way of excuse
but I have often been ready to wish, that, like
some other countries, we had a fixed costume, that
we might be delivered from some of the startling
surprises encountered in the streets, not only from
the gorgeous and extravagant dress of the ladies,
but from the burlesque and pitiful imitations of the
lower class, who, following as fast as they can
through the distempered caprices of fashion, sacri-
fice not only propriety and modesty, but too
frequently their honesty also.
So grievous and injurious in its baleful ramifica-
tions, is the subject of dress in the present day,
that in passing occasionally through some of our
COMPLAINTS. 179
thronged thoroughfares of fashion, and seeing the
young girls and women the wives and mothers of
the next generation, I have understood somewhat
of the prophet's feeling, when he exclaimed, " Oh
that my head were waters, and mine eyes a
fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night
for the slain of the daughter of my people ! "
Surely, amongst religious people, this subject
should engage more serious attention than it
generally does ; and perhaps especially, as it
affects the influence of the Sunday school teacher.
What, we may ask, will be the natural effect of a
gaily-dressed teacher upon the minds of the little
group whom she has gathered round her? She
may diligently and orthodoxly expound to them,
the "sermon on the mount," or the "scheme of
redemption ; " but they will be admiring her arti-
ficial flowers, be twisting an imaginary ribbon into
tasteful bows like hers, or be counting her flounces,
her fringes, or her buttons ; or they may be wish-
ing, like a little girl I have heard of, that she was a
" grown-up woman, to wear a dress like the ladies,
to draggle." Round the tea-table at home, the
young scholars will describe with interest, the
exact minutia of the teacher's dress ; but, alas ! for
the " scheme of redemption " that will have gone
in at one ear, and out at the other.
I know there are many teachers, who, for
ISO COMPLAINTS.
conscience' sake, dress simply, and do not periodi-
cally startle the eyes of their young pupils, into
surprise or speculation, but leave their minds at
liberty to receive from her, both scriptural instruc-
tion, and moral influence. In after years, I have
little doubt these children would acknowledge, that
their teachers' example, was the instruction that
sunk the deepest into their minds.
Leaving the subject of dress, I will take another
common complaint the absence of order and
cleanliness in poor people's houses ; and though I
must grant there is often sufficient ground for it,
yet may we not well divide our blame, when we
look at the incommodious houses in which many of
them are compelled to live ? As a rule, I think,
that builders and landlords put as little accommo-
dation into small houses as they possibly can, to
make them tenantable. I have sometimes said to
a woman, when I have seen all sorts of things
lying upon the chairs, " I am surprised you do not
put up two or three shelves, you would find them
very useful," and have been met by this reply, " If
we did, the landlord would not pay us for it, and
carpenters charge a good deal for little jobs, and
we could not afford it ; beside, we may not stop
long in this house." Thus, they get the habit of
doing without, and living in a state of disorder and
confusion, and the children naturally grow up in
COMPLAINTS. I Si
the same habits. Sometimes, I have said to a
woman, in a close offensive room, " I think I should
set the door or window open, if I lived here," and
should perhaps be met with this reply, "Our
windows are not made to open," or, " The hinge of
the window is worn out," or, " The pulley is gone
if we open it, we shall not be able to close it again ;
the landlord has been spoken to several times, but
he will not have it repaired ; he says we must do it
ourselves, if we want it done." Again I have said,
"Your room is always full of smoke do you not
think a chimney-pot would remedy the evil ? Your
landlord should do something for you, this room is
scarcely habitable." The woman replies, " The land-
lord has been spoken to many times, but he will
hear nothing about it ; he says we can leave the
house, if we do not like it. We would leave it, if we
could find another house near my husband's work,
for we have often to sit with the door open in a
cold winter's day, and never can be clean, because
of the smoke." A case like this has been going on
for two or three years in a dwelling not far from
my own. One day, going into this house, and
seeing all the smoke as usual coming down, instead
of going up the chimney, I sent for a bricklayer,
and a chimney pot ; and directly the pot was
placed on the chimney, the smoke ascended in its
right direction, and the room has been clear from it
N
1 82 COMPLAINTS.
ever since. The whole expense was but a few
shillings ; but for a few shillings, landlords will
very commonly allow their tenants to dwell in
great discomfort. A few shelves and pegs, would
often add materially to the comfort of a poor man's
dwelling ; but, it is nearly as difficult to wring
these little accommodations from landlords, as to
induce them to provide pumps, or proper drainage.
I have known landlords, for very shame, attend
to the remonstrances of ladies, on behalf of their
tenants ; therefore, do not despair of doing a little
good in this way. Our poor people's dwellings are
often a disgrace to us, and act as a paralysis upon
their exertions to improve themselves.
There are several cottages built in our imme-
diate neighbourhood, which are unprovided either
with pumps or wells. The women in these families
have, in all weather, to cross two or three fields,
down a steep meadow, to a shallow brook, from
which they have to scoop the water with a basin
into their pails. Every drop of water for the
washing, and for the daily use of the family, has to
be obtained in this laborious manner. Does it
look romantic this running brook, this rustic
bucket, this picturesque peasant woman, in the
dewy meadows, at the early dawn ? Ah ! there is
a deeper romance in it than is visible one, which
makes it intelligible, to those who consider, why
COMPLAINTS. 183
the house and garments are not always so clean as
we think they ought to be, and why the elder
children are not always sent regularly to school.
We need give ourselves time to think of these
things these little things, as we are apt to call
them, before we pronounce hasty judgments. It is
not a new idea, but one always true, that "it is
easier to see what is right, than to do it."
Persons who have the happiness to dwell always
in light and airy dwellings, can scarcely imagine
the pressure, the weariness, the irritability, that
unconsciously settle on the nerves and spirits of
people, dwelling continually in a dark, close, or
offensive atmosphere, with no outlet but the street
door, and no thorough ventilation. We do not
know what these things mean ; we do not know
how these things feel ; when we hear of them, they
seem like exaggerated tales, or rare cases, over
which, we console our sympathy, with that semi-
selfish expression, " Poor things ! " Our general
circumstances are so different When our spirits
are oppressed, or our cheek becomes paler than
usual, we seek the fresh restorative air ; we walk,
we drive, we look upon the green earth, and the
blue sky, we divert our thoughts with an interest-
ing book, or pay a visit to a friend, or we take a
journey to the sea, or to the mountains there are
so many helps for some of us, that we scarcely
184 COMPLAINTS.
know which to choose. The invalid leaves home ;
and, after a sufficient release from care and exer-
tion, returns, welcomed by her friends, to resume
the business, the duties, or the pleasures of her home.
The nervous, dispirited, invalid, poor woman, has
to drag through; she has neither the time, nor
money for recreation ; she must endure, and get
well as best she can ; she has no choice.
We, who can choose our shops and markets, and
select according to our taste and fancy, what we
shall eat, and what we shall drink, and complain
grievously, if we do not get the very best we,
perhaps, have never seen the anxious faces of
women, at a butcher's stall, on a Saturday night,
turning over, and examining with care, the little
offal odds and ends of meat, which only are
available for their pence. Oh ! it is a pitiful sight
those little black, bony, skinny, bits ! so care-
fully examined, so dearly paid for !
I was told by a gentleman in London, that the
nearest way to his business led him through some
of the lowest and poorest streets, where he saw
continually exposed for sale, the refuse of the
markets bad meat, old fish, decaying vegetables,
damaged fruit, rancid butter, rusty bacon all
things refuse and vile. Did we ever think of this,
and of the class of persons, whose poverty com-
pelled them to select from such things ?
COMPLAINTS. 185
Again, we who have our family doctor and
chemist, ever at hand, only too happy to help in
any failure of our health, how can we estimate
properly, the sorrows and sufferings of those, who
find it so difficult to procure either? who often
see their loved ones fade away before their eyes,
for want of suitable food and medicine. Medicine
is very expensive ; doctors must be paid ; dispen-
sary letters are not always to be had ; an order
upon the parish doctor is often very difficult to be
obtained ; and when sickness comes into a poor
man's house, shorter means have to meet increased
expense.
The poor are often great sufferers in sickness,
and they are frequently sick. Accidents and
casualties are more frequent amongst labouring
men, than in the upper classes sometimes from
the hard and hazardous work, to which they are
exposed ; sometimes, from the sudden changes in
our fickle climate, from which they cannot protect
themselves.
Just contrast the condition of a rich man and a
poor man, with a broken leg supposing the latter
does not go to an hospital. The gentleman has
the best surgical assistance ; he is surrounded by
every solace and advantage that art and science,
supported by wealth, can procure. His friends and
relatives nay, the whole neighbourhood, is astir
1 86 COMPLAINTS.
with interest and sympathy ; he must surely get
well. Now, look at the poor labourer, with his
broken leg cramped by poverty, fretted by fear,
with the barest appliances to secure a chance of
healing, maintained with his family upon seven or
eight shillings a week from his club how can he
get well ? Look again at the wealthy man, racked
with rheumatism cased in new flannel, sitting or
lying by his own fireside, amusing himself with the
newspaper, or amused by kind friends, who vary
and beguile the tedious hours of pain. He will
surely get well. Now, look at the poor man,
bowed together by the same gnawing cramp
scantily clad, no bodily easement in his furniture ;
counting the hours, and measuring his pains, to
judge when he may be able to return to his labour.
How can he get well ? Look at the gentlewoman,
tenderly, delicately attended by doctor and nurse,
spared every exertion, soothed by every attention,
watched over, waited on, her wishes anticipated.
Look at the poor sister, with her bad leg or broken
breast ! How can she do her washing, shake her
bed, sweep her room, dress the baby, and make
as we are so fond of saying she ought to do a
comfortable home for her husband, when he returns
from his work ? Oh ! this " ought " of hers, upon
which we are apt to pronounce judgment with such
a flippant confidence, it is often more like the
COMPLAINTS. 187
labour of Hercules, than the trivial task, which our
words would represent.
In the day when all things shall be revealed,
I believe the greatest company of heroes and
martyrs will be found to have risen from the ranks
of the poor.
I think I have said it before, but I must say it
again, as the longer I live, the more am I con-
vinced, that the great secret of help, is encourage-
ment. The course generally adopted, is to blame
and advise first ; and then, if we have hope or
benevolence enough, to encourage afterwards.
Whereas, if the encouragement came first, it would
set the pulses of hope and complacency beating,
and very probably, the individual himself, would
seek counsel, or even blame, for the sake of
improvement
I will illustrate what I mean more clearly.
A little child is learning to write, and brings you
a slateful of pot-hooks, with a laborious portion of
deformity about them. An unthinking person would
probably say, " Oh ! these are very bad indeed ;
rub them all out, and try again ; " and pointing
at one in particular "Did you ever see such a
figure as this ? I am sure you could not have
tried." The child rubs out his ugly pot-hooks, and
sits down again, with his writing prospects rather
damped. Another person would take the same
1 88 COMPLAINTS.
slate, and looking it carefully over, would single
out the best little hook, and would draw special
attention to it " This is a very nice one ; I see
you will soon manage them ; nobody can write
well at first ; we will rub out the others, and let
this good one remain on the slate, and show it to
papa ; if you are not tired, you can make some
more like it." The child, hopeful and complacent,
is sure not to be tired, and that little one will
become a thousand.
With the poor, as well as with children and
servants, we should be very careful not to deal out
general blame and discouragement ; it is likely to
destroy hope and courage, or to rouse an indig-
nant sense of injustice. So let me conclude this
letter by saying, " Do not let us complain so often,
but let 'wisdom dwell with prudence, and find out
knowledge of witty inventions,' that we may better
help our poor brothers and sisters."
Yours sincerely,
P.S. I shall copy for you South ey's pretty lines
on " The Complaints of the Poor."
COMPLAINTS. 189
"THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR.
"'And wherefore do the poor complain?'
The rich man asked of me :
' Come walk abroad with me,' I said,
' And I will answer thee.'
" Twas evening, and the frozen streets
Were cheerless to behold ;
And we were wrapt and coated well,
And yet we were a-cold.
" We met an old bareheaded man
His locks were few and white ;
I asked him what he did abroad,
In that cold winter's night.
" 'Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he,
And therefore he had come abroad
To ask for charity.
" We met a young barefooted child,
And she begged loud and bold ;
I asked her what she did abroad,
When the wind it blew so cold.
" She said her father was at home,
And he lay sick in bed,
And therefore was it she was sent
Abroad, to beg for bread.
COMPLAINTS.
" We saw a woman sitting down
Upon a stone to rest ;
She had a baby at her back,
And another at her breast.
" I asked her why she loitered there,
When the night wind was so chill ;
She turned her head, and bade the child,
That screamed behind, be still.
" She told us that her husband served
A soldier, far away,
And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.
" We met a girl her dress was loose,
And sunken was her eye,
Who, with the wanton's hollow voice,
Addressed the passers by.
" I asked her what there was in guilt,
That could her heart allure
To shame, disease, and late remorse :
She answered, she was poor.
" I turned me to the rich man then,
For silently stood he
' You asked me why the poor complain,
And these have answered thee ! ' "
LETTER XVI.
Mfisfeiuss
" I have a private method which others observe
not. I take the opportunity of myself, to do good. I
borrow occasion of Charity from mine own necessities,
and supply the wants of others, when I am in most
need myself."
Sir Thomas Browne,
Religio Medici.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I have no doubt we have both been
surprised to see what marvels of goodness and
helpfulness some persons will perform, whose
circumstances, apparently, shut them out from the
possibility of doing ought, but suffer ; and on the
other hand, how many, cast away boundless oppor-
tunities to do good, simply from the lack of
inclination.
Sickness, is a sore trial to our selfish nature ;
and needs the most vigilant watchfulness, lest it
ensnare all thought and sympathy to itself, and
make the sufferer a wearisome burden to others.
Some facts, and traits of character, under this head,
have recently come to my knowledge, which tempt
me to weave them into a little fiction, as a practical
illustration, that True charity may bear abundant
and beautiful fruit under the most barren circum-
stances; and that where the heart is barren, no
advantage of outward circumstance can produce it.
My story has two heroines, unmarried ladies.
Miss Winter, lives in a house of her own, and
194 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
enjoys all the comfort and luxury which ample
means can procure. She has bodily infirmity
which confines her to the house, except when she
takes a carriage airing. Miss Noble, hires two
rooms in a small house, and to use the common
phraseology, "is done for" by the mistress. It
needs the most exact economy to keep her ex-
penses within her income. She also, is a confirmed
invalid. These ladies are occasionally visited by
Mrs. Gladden, a cheerful, friendly neighbour, wel-
come everywhere, on account of her kind heart
and amusing conversation. She will call upon
Miss Winter first, because that lady is very
particular as to the time she receives callers.
Before introducing her at " Laurel Mount," I
ought to explain that, Miss Winter and Miss Noble
are both professors of religion. Miss Winter regu-
larly attended the Parish Church when she was
able, and partook of the sacrament. She was very
fond of discoursing upon doctrine, and considered
that her own faith, came exactly up to the statute
measure. She might be said to belong to that
warlike class of Christians, who frequent the
" Passages of Jordan," with a pronouncing dic-
tionary in one hand, and a sword in the other, ready
to slay those unfortunates, who cannot "frame
to pronounce Shibboleth." It is long, since Miss
Noble has been able to attend a place of worship,
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY'. 195
but she finds great comfort in those words of her
Saviour, " If any man will do My will, he shall
know of the doctrine."
Mrs. Gladden is introduced, and after a long
prefatory conversation, in which, Miss Winter gives
her visitor a minute description of her pain to-day,
as compared with the pain of yesterday, Mrs.
Gladden finds an interval, and asks,
Mrs. G. "Have you heard that James Stone,
the mason, has broken his leg, and been taken to
the hospital ? He fell from the scaffolding on one of
the new houses. I learn that he is not in a club,
and I fear his family will be badly off whilst he is
out of work. You know he is the man who taught
himself to read and "
Miss W. "Oh, yes, I know all about him. It
is a good thing he has the hospital to go to ; I
daresay he will not be very long recovering.
When I heard of the accident yesterday, it
brought back to my memory the time when I
sprained my ancle ; I have been living it all over
again, and I can assure you, it seems as fresh as
if it had happened only yesterday. I suffered
dreadfully ; and I have heard clever surgeons say,
that it is a more difficult thing to cure a sprain,
than a fracture I feel it now, sometimes."
Mrs. G. " Indeed ! Did you hear anything of the
stir, and alarm of fire last night, at old Mr. Welsh's ?
196 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
The servant threw down a lucifer match, which set
a curtain on fire ; but it did not blaze out till the
family had retired to rest fortunately, it was soon
extinguished ; but it has been such a shock to old
Mrs. Welsh, who, you know is bedridden, that it is
feared whether the poor old lady will recover it ; I
suppose, at such a distance, the noise would hardly
wake you ? "
Miss W. "Oh, yes, indeed, I heard it I felt
sure something was going on wrong you see I
never sleep soundly ; last night, I counted one,
two, three o'clock ; and I do not think I had been
asleep before that ; the nights are so long ! I often
envy those who can lie down and sleep till the
morning. I don't know what it is myself. Mrs.
Welsh is an old woman we must all die perhaps
her time is come ; it is to be hoped, she is prepared
for it. I am always nervous about these lucifer
matches ; I caution Susan about them every day."
Mrs. G. "As I came in, I thought Susan looked
very pale ; perhaps this long close confinement has
been a little too much for her."
Miss W. " Oh ! no, she is quite well ; I have
not observed anything amiss ; she has made no
complaint, except of a little headache now and
then ; she fancies my room is warm to sleep in
but that is nothing but a fancy ; and of course I
could not have her sleep in another room, I am so
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 1 97
nervous, you know. Susan is not of a strong
family, and never looks healthy like some people.
I am sure, when I look at myself in the glass, I
can hardly believe I am the same person that I
was this time twelvemonth it will be just a
twelvemonth to-morrow, since I found this attack
coming on ; what a long year it has been but
affliction is our lot in this vale of tears."
Mrs. G. " On my way here, I just called in on
Mrs. Goodman. She is a broken-hearted woman ;
the loss of this only daughter has put the crown
upon her sorrows ; she says, the loneliness she feels
is past words to describe."
Miss W. " Ah, poor woman, I can feel for her ;
you see I am always lonely lonely, from morning
to night no change, except when a kind friencJ
like you comes in, to talk the news over ; it is so
pleasant to hear about one's neighbours ; your visit
has done me a great deal of good, I shall feel so
much better for it"
Mrs. Gladden, after a little more conversation,
takes her leave, and a benevolent lady calls, who
knows that the stores of silver and gold are laid up
with Miss Winter, and that it would be a great
benefit to her, as well as to others, if some of it
were dispersed abroad. After giving Miss Winter
all the pity she felt for her truly unhappy condi-
tion, she mentioned that, she had received a letter
O
198 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
from a friend in London, who asked if she could
find a cheap lodging for an excellent overworked
Bible woman, who needed change and relaxation
for a week or two.
Mrs. Friend. " I wish I could take her into my
own house, but just now, I have not a single bed
vacant ; I should have felt it both a pleasure and
privilege. I fancy there may be others, who can
do it, and would be as glad of the opportunity."
Miss Winter. " I hope you are not proposing
this privilege for me ; I can assure you the fatigue
of such a person would be more than I could
bear."
Mrs. F. " She is only a poor woman, you
know, and would be more than satisfied, to sit in
your beautiful kitchen with your servants, or even
in her bedroom, when she was not walking out, or
visiting ; I am sure many persons like myself,
would be glad to hear of the great work going on
in London, and to show her kindness, as one of the
workers."
Miss W. " But, my dear Mrs. Friend, it would
be the most imprudent thing possible for me, to
admit a person into my house who has been
amongst all sorts of contagions and fevers, and she
might fill my beds too, with those unmentionable
insects, or she might even be taken ill here, and
one sick person is quite enough in a house and it
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 199
would be too much for Susan to nurse her and me
too ; and as to sitting in the kitchen with my
servants, there is no knowing what sort of notions
she might not put into their heads these sort of
people always think you have nothing to do but to
give ; but I couldn't think of it it would make me
so exceedingly nervous to have a stranger in the
house ; I have quite enough to do, to bear my own
troubles ; people must not lay their burdens upon
me."
Mrs. Friend dropped that subject, and resumed.
Mrs. F. " I went yesterday to see that poor
girl * Bailie,' you know she came home from her
service very ill ; she has got over the worst of it, I
hope, and will do well ; but the doctor tells her
mother to get her as much nourishment as she can,
or it will be long before she is fit for service again."
Miss W. " Ah ! Mrs. Friend, what a privilege
you have in visiting the poor I had a District
cnce such nice people ! I could make them do
just as I liked ; but you see, I am quite laid by
now it is the will of Providence, and I must
submit."
Mrs. F. " I was going to say you have known
Bailie's family so long, and they live so near you,
that I thought if I mentioned it, you would occa-
sionally send the poor girl something nourishing.
The mother seems to me a very worthy woman."
2OO SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
Miss W. "Yes, I have known the family, as
you say, a long time ; but I assure you, I do not
think they are very good people that girl's grand-
mother, was not at all a woman that I liked the
aunt, was certainly a bad character. The man, I
believe, is often at the public-house ; as for the
mother, she seems to be a poor hardworking
thing ; but upon the whole, I do not think they
are a family to be encouraged there are many so
much more deserving, and we should be careful
not to neglect them, for disreputable people like
these."
Mrs. Friend dropped that subject also, and went
to another.
Mrs. F. " Mrs. Clarke, our school-mistress, has
got nicely over her confinement, but the infant
does not thrive, and I fear her attention is a good
deal distracted from the sewing school by it ; I
thought if one or two of the ladies on the Com-
mittee, would fit a little of the sewing-work for the
children, just now, it would be a great relief to the
mistress ; I do not know whether you like needle
work but I thought if you did it might be an
amusement to you, to place a little of the patch-
work for them."
Miss W. "Thank you, Mrs. Friend, I assure
you I do not want any work found for me I
scarcely know how to do my own little jobs and
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 2OI
as to putting patchwork together, it would fidget
me to death ; beside I think that people who
engage to fill a place, as Mrs. Clarke has done, and
is well paid for it, ought to do it ; and as one of the
Committee, I could not approve of the work being
taken out of the school."
Mrs. Friend drops this subject also, but not
being easily discouraged, she takes another.
Mrs. F. " It is just come into my mind to tell
you that, the private subscription which has been
making to keep old Bridget Faithful out of the
workhouse, is completed, except sixpence a week ;
if you would like to add that sum, it would make
this kindness to the old woman, a very easy burden
to all of us."
Miss W. " No, I really must decline that ; my
hand is always in my pocket for one object or
another ; I expect I shall have to go to the work-
house myself one day people seem to think you
have no bottom to your purse."
Mrs. F. " Old Bridget belongs to the household
of faith, you know, and thus, has peculiar claims
upon us."
Miss W. "Ah! yes, certainly but still, I
think old people who are past work, are much
better off in the workhouse, and more comfortable
too ; they know they shall be taken care of, and
they have all they want."
202 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
Mrs. Friend rises to go, but before leaving the
room, asks if Miss Winter would not like to see
"The Book and its Mission," which gives the
account of the Bible Women's work in London ;
she thought she might find it interesting.
Miss W. "No, thank you, I have very little
time for reading, I have so many home matters to
attend to, and I see the newspapers every day ;
they are very interesting just now I read this
morning, of two dreadful murders most myste-
rious ! and there is another frightful collision on
the railway I don't know how many people are
killed and wounded ; and another tremendous ex-
plosion in a colliery people blown to pieces ! very
interesting accounts indeed they are Poor things!"
Mrs. Friend leaves, saying to herself, " Inasmuch
as ye did it not unto one of the least of these, ye
did it not to me ; " and Miss Winter exclaiming,
" What an unreasonable, unfeeling woman that is
quite a beggar."
Friendly Mrs. Gladden now goes to call on Miss
Noble.
Mrs. Gladden. "Well, I suppose you know all
about your neighbours' troubles ; one might almost
think you paid spies to bring you the earliest
information."
Miss Noble. " I don't know how it is, I am sure,
but people do come very often to tell me about
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 203
their own, or other people's sorrows. You see, I
have no family of my own, and nothing to care for
but this poor body, so I have much leisure, and I
feel it such a comfort, that my bodily infirmity,
though it confines me to the house, does not chain
either my head or hands ; and it really is a great
relief, to take some of my neighbours' troubles,
they divert me from my own ; I often think it is
the purest selfishness we can practice."
Mrs. G. " Then, will you tell me how you have
managed to take poor Stone's, the mason's, trouble
upon you ? I daresay you have been trying."
Miss N. " Oh ! indeed, I have done nothing I
wrote his wife a little note this morning, poor
woman, to express my sympathy for her. I know
by experience, how sweet sympathy is in the hour
of affliction ; and I, above all people, who have
received so much kindness myself, ought to show
it to others. It is not enough to feel it only, if you
can possibly express it ; the heart is so lonely
under affliction. Poor man ! what a trial it will be
to him to be lying at the hospital, thinking of his
destitute family ; I have sent him a few of my
books he is very fond of reading, you know ; and
they may help to beguile the time."
Mrs. G. " Of course you have heard about the
fire at Mr. Welsh's last night ; the noise must have
disturbed and alarmed you."
204 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
Miss N. " I really am almost ashamed to say,
I slept so soundly, that I heard nothing of it ; it is
such a mercy to sleep so well as I do; I seldom
have a sleepless night not like the numberless
poor creatures who lie tossing wearily all the night
through. I am so grieved to hear about the dear
old lady I fear at her age it will be difficult to
recover from the shock ; it is a great comfort to
know, that Death, is not the King of Terrors to
her. I am sure you will be glad to hear I had a
note from Mrs. Goodman this morning, saying she
would come and take a cup of tea with me ; she
would like to sit and talk to me about poor Mary ;
she knows I loved her, and shall not be tired of
hearing her talk ; she will bring her own tea with
her she is so considerate, and I must not be
ashamed of my poverty. I really cannot tell how
she will get over this loss, except she lay fast hold
of the consolations that are in the Lord for her.
She has always had her daughter with her, and will
miss her every hour of the day ; so different to me
I have become used to loneliness now, and do not
think of it ; but I remember what it was at first,
well enough to make me feel for others."
Mrs. Gladden went away, saying, "Blessed are
the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." At the
door she met Mrs. Friend, intending also to pay a
visit to Miss Noble.
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 2O5
After a few remarks on health, weather, &c.,
Miss Noble said, "Thank you dear Mrs. Friend,
very much, for the loan of "The Book and its
Mission." I will tell you what I have been thinking
about. I see that the good Bible Women some-
times want a little change and relaxation as of
course they must. In a humble way, I could
take one of them in to lodge with me, without
incurring any expense to either of us. The little
dressing-room through mine, has a bed in it ; I
have the use of it now for my things, which I
could easily manage to put away for a time ; and
I should feel it the greatest pleasure to do some-
thing for one of these good women. You know,
I cannot board her, the lodging is all I have to
bestow; that, must be the pleasure of some
one else."
"You are the exact helper I want," said Mrs.
Friend. And when the matter was arranged to the
satisfaction of both ladies, Mrs. Friend continued.
Mrs. Friend. "Have you a -little time to spare
to give a helping hand to the schoolmistress ? "
Miss N. " To be sure I have, if not, I can
always manage to make a little ; I seldom live at
the full stretch of even my small powers ; and I
see what you are going to say but I ought to take
shame to myself, that I had not thought of it
before. I heard Mrs. Clarke's infant was not well,
206 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
and of course she has not time to fit all the sewing
work I see pray let me have some, and especially
patchwork, if there be any in the school now. Few
people like it, it is so troublesome to place, but
that is exactly the reason why it suits me ; the
little fidgetty corners divert my attention from
pain. I sometimes indulge myself in embroidery,
for the same reason there is always some little
spot or hole to take the attention I used to like
long seams and hems, when I had my health ; but
not so, now it was very kind of you to think of
me, it is so pleasant to help people."
Mrs. F. " I must find a little fault with you,
Miss Noble we are told to love our neighbour as
ourself it does not say better. I have been
calling upon that young girl ' Bailie,' who is now at
home ill, and I find you spare your tea for her ;
now, with your headaches, I know this must be a
great sacrifice for you to make."
Miss N. " I am sorry she mentioned it ; such
little things should not be talked about ; and I can
assure you my head has not been the worse for it ;
indeed, I am getting to like milk and water very
much the poor girl suffers so sadly from exhaus-
tion, that I felt sure she would find the tea
refreshing."
Mrs. F. " Do you think well of that family ?
you have known them a long time."
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 2O/
Miss N, "Yes, I have known them from a
child ; they have been a very unfortunate family,
and more sinned against, than sinning. The grand-
mother was a fine old woman, who spoke her mind,
and used her judgment ; and some people, who
like ruling, did not take a fancy to her. The aunt
poor woman was badly used, and cruelly de-
ceived ; she was much blamed by people, who took
up reports at second hand. I enquired fully into
the matter, and I know what I say to be true.
The girl's mother, is a most industrious, worthy
woman, with very poor health. I don't know
much about the man ; but I think, if you were to
speak to him seriously and kindly, he would not
be likely to go so often to the public-house. ' A
word spoken in season, how good it is ! ' "
Mrs. F. " I will seek for an opportunity to do
so. I was surprised to see old Bridget Faithful at
church twice last Sunday ; I thought she could not
manage the walk more than once in the day. It
was a treat to see her listening to the sermon ; she
looked as if she were drinking in the waters of life."
Miss N. " Bridget and I, have made an agree-
ment together she stops between the services,
and eats her dinner in my room ; and then, she
tells me the substance of the sermon. In this way,
she gains the privilege of attending both services,
which she so greatly enjoys ; and I have the
208 SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY.
advantage of hearing her sensible, experimental
remarks, which are very instructive ; for truly her
ear is open to hear instruction ! She thinks herself
the greater gainer by the arrangement, and I, think
I am."
Mrs. Friend left, saying to herself, "Truly,
' Blessed is she that considereth the poor, the Lord
will remember her in time of trouble.' "
I need not make this sketch any longer ; you
can fill it up to any extent, and with any variety.
In every class of society, there is a little business
of love to do, or to leave undone, making the soul
like a watered garden, or " like the heath in the
desert, that shall not see when good cometh."
I will conclude this letter with an anecdote from
a pamphlet I have just read, which shows, how
comparatively unimportant is the possession of
wealth or talent, in order to accomplish great
good. The gold and silver are in the Lord's hand,
and He can put them into any hand that requires
them. He also can make "the tongue of the
stammerer to speak eloquently." The illustration
of this truth, is supplied by a poor woman, in a
manufacturing town in Yorkshire. She had been
deeply taught in the school of affliction, having
been left a widow with six children, the eldest not
more than fourteen or fifteen years of age, and all
dependent on their exertions, in the meanest
SELFISHNESS AND SYMPATHY. 209
branch of the trade of that town. In her ex-
tremity, she was drawn to read the Scriptures.
Her education had been very limited, and many
hours had to be spent in spelling out a compara-
tively small portion ; but she found the way of
salvation ; and the Lord soon entrusted her with a
peculiar gift for instructing others, to find that way
also. She became a missionary on her own
account, amongst her neighbours ; and in the
course of a few weeks, could number seven persons,
who died in the faith and hope of the Gospel,
through her instrumentality. Her Master, having
thus qualified her to minister to those in spiritual
need, opened the purses of some other of His
servants, to supply her temporal need. There is
no difficulty with Him. He can work by the
many, or the few ; by the poor, or the rich ; by
the learned, or unlearned ; therefore, all may take
courage.
I hope you will not find my story too long.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XVII.
" Here the good pauper, losing all the praise,
By worthy deeds acquired in better days,
Breathes a few months, then to his chamber led,
Expires, while strangers prattle round his bed.
o o o 3 o o
Grant, that the guardians of the place attend,
And ready ear to each petition lend ;
That they desire, the grieving poor to shew
What ills they feel, what partial acts they know,
Not without promise nay desire, to heal
Each wrong they suffer, and each woe they feeL
Alas ! their sorrows in their bosoms dwell,
They've much to suffer, but have nought to tell ;
They have no evil in the place to state,
And dare not say it is the house they hate ;
They own there's granted all such place can give,
But live repining, for 'tis there they live."
Crabbe.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Several times, when taking up my
pen, I have intended, before laying it down, to
give you a few of my thoughts, upon our Work-
houses and Unions, but something else has come
first I will this time, begin with the subject, as it
is, in one way or other, continually before my
mind.
I suppose we ought to feel very cheerful and
thankful to see these great establishments for our
destitute poor ; but, I must confess, that so many
choking feelings rise up in my heart, when I con-
sider their occupants, that I am continually wishing
to enlarge private benevolence, and devise plans,
by which the number of these occupants might be
reduced.
I see no objection whatever, to kind-hearted
ladies having their working parties, and sending
"frocks, handkerchiefs, and flannel petticoats to
the black populations," but let them first see, that
our poor old neighbour has not to end his days in
a workhouse, and that his children are not barefoot
p
214 THE WORKHOUSE.
in the street. We know the old adage " Charity
begins at home."
I have long felt an anxious desire, to keep our
old respectable labourers out of the pauper's home ;
and leave the workhouses for those persons, whose
previous character and conduct, compel them to
come under the strict law of pauper maintenance.
There are, unfortunately, multitudes of this de-
scription, in all parts of our country. But, for our
old respectable labourer, who has maintained him-
self, and brought up his family independently, but
unfortunately failed to secure a competence for his
old age have we nothing better for him than the
Union ? It does seem hard, to say the least of it,
when his arms grow stiff, and his knees tremble,
and the light becomes dim in his eye ; when the
thoughts of his childhood come back on his memory,
and the old chair, the old friend, the old talk, are the
dearest to him ; when the tender calls of the body
increase, and the pleasures of life depart it does
seem hard, to be obliged to leave old friends, old
habits, old associations, and to find his last refuge
in the Poor-house, amongst new faces, new habits,
new things all new, and all unwelcome ! It does
seem hard for him, who has earned his own sweet
bread, to have a slice of a certain weight, cut for
him from the pauper's loaf: to have no liberty to
go out, and come in, at his pleasure ; no freedom
THE WORKHOUSE. 215
to indulge his own little fancies ; no one to speak
to, of his own better past ; no one to care how
soon he may die. A pauper is a riddance, and he,
and all his aged companions, are waiting there, till
tardy Death clears them out of the way, to make
room for other worn-out labourers. Yes, it does
seem hard ; and if it could be avoided, it ought
to be.
The government of this country probably, does
all it can be expected to do. It provides a home,
if needed, for the destitute, aged, and friendless ;
and leaves it to Christian charity to do the rest.
There is no wish, on the part of the English nation
collectively, that the English labourer should die a
pauper. It is not the thing we like ; it does not
sound well ; there is a sort of discrepancy between
our boast of English prosperity, and our burden of
pauperism. But when an old man's power to work
fails, and younger men push him off the stage, and
he has no property stored away for his main-
tenance what can he do, but go to the Union ?
and yet, does it seem fair and friendly to let him
go there ? is it the thing we should choose for
ourselves ? No certainly not ; then let us see,
how, in a multitude of cases, it could be avoided.
Do not think me chimerical. My plan is very
easy ; it only wants to be laid to heart, like many
other easy things.
2l6 THE WORKHOUSE.
I believe I am not wrong in saying, that the
Board of Parish Guardians, usually prefer to make
an allowance to aged people, out of the Union,
rather than take them into it (it is cheaper) ; and it
is a miracle, how the poor old people will contrive
to subsist on this pittance. But, it is an anxious,
faltering, fearful life they live ; and the thought of
the Union at the end, is ever staring them in the
face. Two or three shillings more in the week,
would make all the difference ; it would make
them a competence. Suppose then, that one or
two friends, or more, would unite to contribute
this little sum, the whole thing would be accom-
plished. I have frequently found, that the children
of the poor, would be glad to take their parents to
their own homes, if they had not the whole burden
of their maintenance. I have seen many beautiful
instances of this filial piety.
The first time I tried this plan myself, was when
we lived at . There was an old couple
living very near to us : the man was a complete
cripple from the rheumatic gout ; his wife had a
bad leg, and many ailments. He had always been
a hard-working, honest, upright man, and his
children were very respectable, but very poor. It
was a pleasure to look at his face integrity and
cheerfulness beamed from it ; and spiritually, he
had a " good hope." They had an allowance from
THE WORKHOUSE. 2 1/
the parish I think it was four shillings a week,
and some bread : this was for both of them. The
rent of the house was two shillings a week ; it had
a little bit of garden attached to it ; he had lived
in it the greater part of his life ; he could not bear
to leave it, to go into the town. The old man
liked to sit by his own door, to look into his own
garden, and hobble with his two sticks along the
path to the wicket gate ; but since they had both
become unable to work, this rent could not be
managed. Every one advised them to go into the
Workhouse how could they live upon that allow-
ance ? The old man did not complain to me, but
I saw there was a cloud upon his brow, and that
his spirit was sorely tried. At last, I found out
that they could not pay the rent. They must
starve if they did pay it ; if they did not, they
must give up their home, and go into the Work-
house. "And that," said the old man, "would kill
me ; I know it would ; I never reckoned to come
to it, and I could not bear it" I thankfully
undertook the charge of the rent, in which I was
after a while assisted by a friend. One of the
daughters did their washing, another cleaned their
house weekly, and a little grand-daughter went on
their errands. Now, their happy days began ;
their fear was come to an end, and their gratitude
flowed forth in perpetual streams. That dear old
2l8 THE WORKHOUSE.
man richly paid back my gift of money, by his
fervent prayers for me ; I am sure they did me
good, and that I was the greater gainer. We
always met as friends, and mutual helpers. He
died a glorious and triumphant death. I saw him
a few hours before he departed, and his love to me
held out to the last ; and when he was gone, I felt
that I had lost a true friend. I followed him to
his humble grave not a pauper's grave ; and when
I had arranged for the old woman to live with her
daughter, wearing a mourning gown, and widow's
cap, I thanked God for the blessing he had given
me, in helping His poor.
I have said more than once, that true scriptural
charity, in some way supports itself. The fact is,
that God's hand is with it ; and help often comes
when needed, in ways upon which we cannot
definitely calculate. We often make the discovery,
that we can do without a thing, which we before
thought essential. With sufficient motive, we can
often save in trifles, and the trifles of the wealthy,
are riches to the poor. For example, what a
difference does an additional shilling in the week
make to a poor woman perhaps her tea, butter,
and sugar all her little luxuries.
There are many thousands of persons in our
country, who could keep an old neighbour out of
the Union, and never be sensible of any diminution
THE WORKHOUSE. 2 19
in their own income or comforts ; and if this were
done in privacy and love oh ! what songs of
grateful thanksgiving would rise up from one end
of our land to the other ! what cementing of hearts
there would be ! what showers of blessing would
descend ! what dew, and fields of increase ! what
sweet outgoings ! what rich incomings !
The thing, that would spoil this plan, would be
to make it public. It should always be an act of
private, individual friendship, proceeding from
esteem and sympathy ; and there should be the
kindliness of friendship about it. The friend's
foot and voice, should often be found in the
humble home, as well as her money. Her hand
should, if possible, bring it privately. It should
not be sent by an indifferent person, who would
talk about it. It might often be arranged, that
two or three friends united together, for the relief
of one aged person ; "but in any case, the principal
thing would be to maintain its character as an act
of private friendship, and hedge it in with pleasant
words and deeds. Never think of having com-
mittees, or societies, for the relief of poor old
people ! We do not want societies for this ; we
want individual kindness and thought set at liberty,
to give freshness and scope to the sweet exercises
of love, and thus, while doing good to others, we
should assuredly find good ourselves.
220 THE WORKHOUSE.
Do we know no one particiilarly deserving of
such help ? Let us consider a little while let us
look at ourselves, and we shall not long find this
difficulty stand in our way ; but shall probably find
one or two, who deserve nearly as much as we do
ourselves. It is also important, in regard to this
plan, that the relief should be fixed, and regular ;
not a desultory matter, coming one week, and not
the next. The poor man especially, needs to
know what resources he may depend upon, that he
may not overspend his income. The aged should,
if possible, be free from this anxiety.
I believe casual charity, is seldom the best kind,
even though a larger sum be given it settles
nothing, gives no stability, relieves permanently no
anxiety ; and thus, obtains and gives less satis-
faction. Instead of scattering a little seed broad
cast, without knowing what ground it may fall
into, it would be better as a rule, to plant, and
cultivate a certain part diligently.
I have proposed to many persons, my plan for
supporting the respectable aged poor, outside the
Unions. Sometimes I have been met with this
argument " The poor-rates are raised on purpose
to provide these people a comfortable home in their
old age ; they have a lawful claim to it ; they will
have far more comforts in the Union, than they
can possibly have in a poor place of their own,
THE WORKHOUSE. Ill
&c., &c." This may be all quite true ; but the
poor old people are perverse enough to fancy the
contrary ; it is their idea, that any place of their
own, with liberty to live amongst their children
and neighbours, even upon the barest subsistence,
would be more comfortable to them, than the
great Union ; and all our winning descriptions of
nice clean beds, and fine airy rooms, and plenty of
food, will not avail to beat it out of them. Under
these circumstances, even allowing personal liberty
to be a fancy, and family affection a sentimen-
talism, could we not find it in our hearts to humour
the poor people in these myths, and assist them to
remain, for the rest of their days, in the home,
where their hearts and habits nestle ?
Others have met my plan in this way " Yes, if
people would do it, it would be easy enough ; but
it will only be one, here and there, that would
attempt such a thing. The maintenance of an old
person is a trifle, compared with what most of us
waste thoughtlessly ; and with the parish allowance,
it would hurt very few people, in a respectable
position of life ; and doubtless, would do a great
deal of good in many ways, but" It is this
selfish, ignorant "but" that frustrates so much
good, and confirms so much evil.
The sick and the aged, especially, have legiti-
mate claims upon us ; and we may visit and relieve
222 THE WORKHOUSE.
them, without danger of being intrusive. Their
time for rest and consideration has come ; and
Christian charity is the means, scripturally ap-
pointed, to comfort and relieve them.
When residing at , we were within a
mile of a large Union, which contained the paupers
from seven parishes. A large number of these
were old people. I wished very much to be per-
mitted to visit them ; but the men in office at the
time, would not allow any persons to enter the
House, except the clergyman, and the friends of
the inmates, on certain days. The clergyman had
the duties of his parish to attend to, and strongly
felt, how welcome and comforting, the visits of an
un-official person would be to the poor old people,
especially to those, who came from the most distant
parishes, and rarely had a chance to see a
friend or relative, or even to hear from them ; for
the writing of letters, is not even yet, an easy thing
to the poor.
Just imagine to yourself, a number of old
persons assembled together each, with her own
engrossing bodily infirmity, her own family be-
reavement, or secret trouble ; her own little
crotchet of temper and habit, and the weariness of
the days without a change ; the same unvaried
round of food ; the same subjects to talk over, and
over again ; the same complaints to make ; and no
THE WORKHOUSE. 22$
prospect of any change before them, but the one
change of Death. Imagine this, and think of the
pleasure, (to say the least of it,) a sensible, kind-
hearted person might be to them bringing with
her some stirring interests from the outer world, to
divert their minds from the old worn-out track,
and furnish new subjects for them to talk about.
From the lips of such a kind friend, how welcome,
and sweet to the poor old people, would sound the
words of pardon and reconciliation, and the
promises of joy and rest, at the end of the journey.
In reference to supplying the wants of the sick
poor, I could suggest a plan, as easy, as useful, as
mutually advantageous, and less expensive than
my other plan, but, alas ! alike open to the selfish,
calculating " but" I believe I do not err, in saying,
that in cases of sickness amongst the poor, the
majority of them require nutritious food, to assist,
and expedite their restoration to health ; whilst
amongst the well-to-do classes, a spare diet is
often the prescription. Meat, is the thing before
all others, that the doctor prescribes for his poor
patients ; but, from its high price, it is the thing
which they cannot afford to buy ; and if they do,
the little morsel loses the greater part of its
nourishment in the cooking. Our broths and
boilings, by common consent, are appropriated as
the proper restorative for the poor invalid ; jellies,
224 THE WORKHOUSE.
and delicate chops, with all the juices contained in
them, for the wealthy invalid. If there were a
mistake made sometimes in the serving out, much
harm might not accrue to either party. But, it is
not my wish to lay the wealthy invalid under any
contribution ; let him enjoy whatever a kind
Providence places in his power: it is the healthy,
I would call into the service, and especially
our children (ourselves if we please) and in
this way.
Very few children require a meat dinner seven
days in the week ; most of them would be better,
with farinaceous food and vegetables, for one or
two days at least. We will suppose then, a family
with three children ; and we will give them meat
five days, instead of seven ; and this would set at
liberty six portions of meat, to invigorate some
poor invalid for six days out of the seven. Many
sick persons have a dinner sent them once or twice
a week, by some kind neighbour ; but a more
systematic building up is required, in order to do
much good. A daily supply, would effect in a few
weeks, or much less time, more good than the
random meal has a chance of doing at all. I have
known children joyfully assent to this arrangement,
and have seen its beneficent operation on them-
selves, as well as upon those for whom they spared
their meat
THE WORKHOUSE. 22 5
If you think your children would suffer, from
not having meat every day, consider, that the
majority of poor children have not meat more than
once or twice in the week ; and under favourable
circumstances, they are, at least, as hardy and
healthy as their rich neighbours.
I have said it before, and repeat it again, that we
cannot too soon accustom children to consider and
assist their fellow creatures in the affectionate,
helpful way of self-denial ; and they will often
cheerfully volunteer more aid themselves, than we
have the heart to ask of them. It is a duty we
owe children, to cultivate and guide their gene-
rosity, that it may become a fixed principle of
their mind and habit of their life how much
sweeter to them, in the genuine fruit of happiness,
than almost any other pleasure we could give
them.
I remember, in that terrible famine in Ireland,
when so many of the inhabitants died from starva-
tion, and collections were made through this
country for their relief hearing of two children,
who voluntarily, and thoughtfully, gave up a visit
to the sea side, which had long been anticipated as
a great enjoyment, in order that the money, which
would have been expended, might be given to the
Irish sufferers. The sacrifice was accepted, and
the money was sent by their shall I say hard-
226 THE WORKHOUSE.
hearted mother ? No, we may not say that, when
we know how deep the root of selfishness strikes in
the human heart, and how often it smothers in its
growth, every fair and generous plant
In this, as in many other cases of hearty self-
sacrifice, the children had both the pleasures. An
opportunity, altogether unexpected, occurred, by
which they went to the same place, without any
expense, and without the cause being known, why
the original plan had been abandoned. The Lord
loveth a cheerful giver, and well knows how to
prepare a recompense.
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XVIII.
" He is rich, who hath enough to be charitable, and
it is hard to be so poor, that a noble mind may not
finde a way to this piece of goodnesse. He that
giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord; there is
more rhetorick in that one sentence than in a library
of sermons."
Sir Thomas Browne.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
You think I over-rate the capacity
of persons to help in charitable works ; and, that a
large number have the heart for it, who have not
the power. For such, dear friend, the texts might
have been written, " It is well that it was in thy
heart," and " If, there be first a willing mind, it ia
accepted, according to what a man hath, and not
according to what he hath not."
" Give, if thou canst, an alms, if not, afford
Instead of this, a sweet and gentle word
God crowns our goodness, whensoe'er He sees
On our part wanting the abilities."*
But the Divine spirit of charity has so many, and
various modes of operation, that where it is truly
dwelling in the heart, it will be sure to find for
itself some way of expression. We are too apt to
think that money is the truest representation of
charity, whereas, it may not represent it at all ; or
be only its eaTiest exercise calling for little more
effort than drawing out the purse ; or it may be
Herrick.
Q
230 GIVING AWAY.
precious as the widow's mite. The apostle Paul,
when counting over the beautiful pearls on the
string of heavenly charity, declared of his property,
that he might give it all to feed the poor and yet,
without the grace of love, it would profit him
nothing.
Under the Jewish dispensation, every person was
able to give, even to the tenth part of his income,
for the Lord's service. The Jew did not reckon
that part, as his own property ; and he arranged- the
style of his living and expense accordingly ; and,
what was the promise connected with his obedient
fulfilment of this law ? " Bring all the tithes into
my storehouse, that there may be meat in mine
house, and prove me now herewith ; saith the Lord
of Hosts ; if I will not open you the windows of
heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there
shall not be room enough to receive it."
Has not our Master's service as strong a claim
upon the property of the Christian now ? Or, shall
liberality diminish, as privileges increase ? Were
we statedly, to set aside a certain portion of our
income for charity, we should always have some-
thing to give ; we should be able to carry out
definite plans ; which often fail, having only the
precarious support of desultory aid.
I knew a gentleman a miller, Vho deducted
weekly, a certain small amount I think it was a
GIVING AWAY. 231
half-penny, or penny a sack, from all the flour he
sold ; and according as he prospered in business,
these free-will offerings increased. The charity
purse was always ready with a supply, for his own
hand, or that of his wife, to meet the need of their
poor neighbours. When I heard of it, there was
seldom less than ten shillings weekly added to the
fund think where a " shilling is a shilling," as it
is in a poor man's house, how many little seeds,
fruitful in varied blessing might be sown, with this
small sum. You need only to look in the faces of
this generous couple, to be assured that the liberal
soul is made fat, and that the blessing of the Lord
is in the house of the righteous. If a man has oil
in his can, every drop he pours out makes his
supply one drop less. There is no springing up
from the bottom to prevent diminution in the
supply. It is not so with the soul ; the nature of
that, is to renew its supply ; so, that the more you
draw from it, the more there is to draw, the more
it gives, the more it has to give. I do not believe
there would be so many persons in business, com-
plaining that "ends do not meet," if, like the widow
of Sarepta, they had faith to make a little cake for
the Lord's servants, before spending much, on the
" bravery of tinkling ornaments."
If an invisible hand were to register all our
charitable works, and lay the account before us at
232 GIVING AWAY.
the year's end, I think we should, many of us, be
surprised, and frightened to see how short it was in
quantity, and ashamed to see how poor it was in
quality.
Many persons excuse themselves from giving to
charitable objects, by saying, " They cannot afford
it they must be just, before they are generous."
This is strictly true and if we give a subscription
to a charity, and withhold the payment due to our
laundress or dressmaker, we perform an act of
injustice, and not of charity. The Scripture order
is, " Do justly, love mercy." But, as the virtues
and graces are linked together in a beautiful chain,
so justice and liberality attach themselves together
in harmonious progression ; and those who are
strictly just, frequently find the way to be generous
also.
From the practice of some persons, it might seem,
that the Christian exhortation had been to self-pleas-
ing rather than self-denial show, ease, pleasure,
appear to be the business of life ; charity the
strange work. The one, has the pounds, the other
the pence ; one, the fixed interested attention the
other, a cold desultory thought ; one, takes the
willing hours the other, hardly ensnares the
moments. Am I writing harshly? But, who has
not seen, and felt, the crust of ice and suspicion that
immediately encases some persons when a demand
GIVING AWAY. 233
is made upon their pocket, time, influence, or
sympathy? Unfortunately, you find them bankrupt
in all these. But let some motive of gain, or
pleasure be proposed the ice thaws directly you
are a welcome visitor they find out all their
capacities.
Those who have to raise the money for the sup-
port of charitable objects, know well what it is to
be both foot-sore and heart-sick so difficult do
they find it to arrest the tide of selfishness, and
turn a little stream into the channels of benevo-
lence. Sometimes, utterly failing of success, they
have recourse to means, they would not so will-
ingly adopt. For instance the funds of a hospital
are low ; the humane, as well as the religious,
ought to help in this ; it is a debt every one owes to
humanity. A general appeal must be made. The
preachers exert their talents from the pulpit ; they
exhort and entreat. The collectors go their rounds
from house to house, to make individual appeals ;
and find almost every purse short, and every
tongue prepared with an excuse. The preachers
and collectors count up the aggregate sum it is
insufficient something else must be devised and
a splendid Ball is announced, under the highest
patronage. Ah ! now, these people can find
another purse. Let them dance, and dress, and
hear fine music, they can easily find the money
234 GIVING AWAY.
for the ticket, and all the expensive etceteras
beside. The money is raised now, unless, as it
often happens, the friends to the hospital have
been compelled to spend too much on brilliant
attractions and decorations. Conversing with an
old friend, whom I had not seen for some years, I
enquired after a family with whom I knew she
used to be intimate. She said they called upon
each other now, but had ceased to visit, as she
could not afford to give parties, or entertain them
as they entertained their friends. She then gave
me a description of their parties, after which, I
could readily understand, as this family was not
wealthy, why, they never had anything to give to
the poor, and were almost affronted if they were
appealed to.
Mr. Smedley, in writing upon diet, as connected
with health, and the injurious effect of luxurious
living, gives a humourous account of a dinner
party, at which he was a guest, and making
allowance for some change in the fashion, which
has introduced a more refined epicurism, it is so
like those described by my friend, that I am
tempted to make extracts from it.
He says, "The party was at a gentleman's
house, in the country. It was on a cold winter's
evening, about ten years ago (probably more
than twenty now) ; snow on the ground, and
GIVING AWAY. 235
a severe frost, provisions and work scarce, and
a time of unusual suffering among the poor.
After we had assembled in the drawing-room,
before dinner, the conversation turned on the topics
of the day, and amongst other matters, on the great
distress of the people around. The gentleman
said, that he had that afternoon visited the house
of an old man, who lived near him. He saw a pot
on the fire, with something boiling in it. He knew
the old man was very destitute, and he asked him
what he had in the pot. He replied he should not
tell him. The gentleman went to the fire, lifted up
the cover, and saw the pot filled with turnip tops,
or leaves, which the old man was cooking for his
only meal that day. This, of course, was heard
with some expressions of sympathy by the as-
sembled party, especially by the ladies. It was,
however, too disagreeable for us to dwell upon, and
so, after a little chat, on more agreeable subjects,
the servant announced the welcome summons to
dinner ; and away we went, each gentleman with a
lady on his arm, into a large and well-lighted
dining-room. A tureen of soup and very fine cod-
fish were on the table, with various sparkling
decanters and long-necked bottles of wine, which
annihilated every recollection of the turnip tops.
After a short grace, we fell to in earnest. Some
chose the rich white soup made principally of
236 GIVING AWAY.
cream, stewed veal, and fowl, almonds, vermicelli,
onions, sweet herbs, &c., and some, the cod-fish and
oyster sauce, dispatching one or two glasses of wine
with them. Next followed roast beef and boiled
turkey, with rich white cream sauce, and delicate
entremets of all kinds, and all varieties of vege-
tables, except turnip tops. Sherry and sparkling
Moselle wine gave quite a zest to this course.
Many a pleasant sally of wit, and interchange of
pledges heightened the pleasure of good-fellow-
ship ; and as it was at the house of a religious
professor, and some highly reputed religious per-
sons being present, I believe all felt as I did,
heartily satisfied with ourselves and the entertain-
ment. It was now about seven o'clock we had
entered the room about six ; there was much to do
yet. After the beef and turkey were removed, a
pheasant, a hare, and a brace of partridges were
uncovered, with all their varied accompaniments.
Wine, of course, was from time to time supplied by
the servants, who kept a sharp look out on empty
glasses, making it rather difficult to remember how
often they had been emptied. The next course
consisted of rich plum-pudding, brought on blazing,
custards, delicious tarts, creams, trifles, jellies in
pyramids, and sweets in various ornamental forms,
according to the extent of the hostess's talent for
invention. Champagne was now served, and I
GIVING AWAY. 237
well remember, from the butler not having guarded
his bottles from the severe cold, several of them
were opened, and taken away, not being found
"up" these cost 6/6 a bottle. Again the table
was cleared, and celery, cold and toasted cheese,
with macaroni, and tankards of spiced ale were
introduced ; and then again a short grace was said.
But we had not done yet. Fresh decanters of the
best wine were now brought on, with fruits of
various kinds, brandy cherries, biscuits, guava jelly,
preserved pines, walnuts, almonds, &c. After the
first round of the bottle, the ladies retired, and we
sat chatting on various topics, sipping our wine,
and helping ourselves to fruit as fancy inclined ; the
feast and fellowship, with so many good people
present, and the nicely-warmed room, made us
quite forgetful of the man with his turnip tops for
his dinner and supper ; and when after a cup of
coffee and a small glass of liqueur, we went into
the drawing-room, to the ladies, we found all still
couleur de rose. We sipped our tea, enjoyed the
usual amusements of the evening, and took our
leave about eleven o'clock to our homes ; there
arrived, we said our prayers, asking God to ' give
us day by day our daily bread ; lead us not into
temptation, but deliver us from evil' and those
slept, who could."
I will conclude this letter with two very
238 GIVING AWAY.
suggestive contrasts. It is recorded that, when the
yearly income of that devoted Christian, John
Wesley, was only 30, he lived upon 28, and
gave away ,2 ; when it increased to 40, he gave
away 12 ; when to 60, he gave .32 ; and when
it continued advancing to 100, 120, his own wants
were still satisfied with 28, and all the superfluity
went to the cause of his Master and his Master's
people. It has been calculated that he gave away
during his lifetime, ^30,000. His record is on
high, and his praise is still in the Churches.
And there was " Katy, the old coloured woman,
who earned her own livelihood, who sold cakes
from day to day ; who in her lifetime took forty
children out of the poorhouse, and taught them
trades, and bound them out in places of prosperity ;
who took no airs upon herself; but lived on the
abundance of her poverty." Oh ! noble king's
daughter. Thy works shall follow thee ! and
" Thou, that art doing noble things, and asking
no praise ; thou, that art living to do good, and be
like Christ, and bear His cross, and walk with
Him in sorrow go up Christ waits for thee."
Of him who fared sumptuously every day, it is
said, he died and was buried, and
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XIX.
" One dieth in his full strength, being wholly at ease
and quiet. His breasts are full of milk, and his bones
are moistened with marrow. And another dieth in the
bitterness of his soul, and never eateth with pleasure.
They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms
shall cover them."
Job xxi. 23 26.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I have recently heard of some very
sad cases of sickness and poverty, and I thought I
would picture out a case in some of its minuter
detail, that we might consider more thoughtfully
what sickness is, when linked with extreme
poverty. It is a fancy picture, but not fanciful a
faint outline only, of daily occurring realities.
I have pictured two scenes, for the sake of
contrast : the first, in one of the princely mansions
of our metropolis ; the other, in a small room in
one of its lowest districts. The foot of Death has
entered both, with commission to take away the
husband stealing in at first, unsuspected, softly,
and silently. I will take the scene in the square
first.
The husband is indisposed he rests himself; a
little worse he has recourse to his well approved
domestic medicine ; the illness increases, and the
doctor is summoned the family doctor^ who knows
his constitution ; he hastens to his patient, and
speaks hopefully ; but the quick affection of the
242 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
wife, detects somewhere a shadow of apprehension,
and her heart is astir with lively emotion, long
before any one else catches a hint of fear. She
makes domestic arrangements, and provides men-
tally against every probable emergency. The
doctor looks more serious, and speaks more
thoughtfully. An experienced, and well-recom-
mended nurse is immediately engaged, and the
devoted wife puts aside every duty and engage-
ment, that her beloved husband may have her
undivided attention. The children are confined to
the nursery, with strict injunctions to be good, and
quiet, and not disturb " dear papa." As the illness
increases, the interest and efforts of the house
centre in the sick room ; friends and neighbours
vie with each other in sympathetic enquiries, and
offers of assistance. Game, wine, ice, grapes
everything the most fastidious appetite can require,
are procured at any cost, or are sent by friends, for
kind acceptance. Dangerous symptoms appear ;
another physician, or a consultation of physicians,
is procured, regardless of the fees straw is thickly
spread before the house, to prevent a sound from
the outer world reaching the love-encircled patient ;
passengers tread softly, and look up at the cur-
tained windows, their hearts touched with sorrow
for the imagined sufferers within. The knocker is
tied up ; and as danger increases, and enquiries
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY. 243
multiply, a bulletin is placed on the door, or in the
window, to give the desired information, and not
disturb the house, or distract hand or foot from
the central service.
We will look into the sick room : it is spacious
and airy ; the temperature is regulated by a
thermometer ; there are down pillows for the
aching head, spring mattresses for the restless
weary limbs ; plenty of sweet clean linen from the
country, with the smell of daisies upon it ; all
inventions of science, for the relief of the body ; all
things most tempting to the palate ; the moderated
light, most pleasant to the eye ; the perfect venti-
lation ; the noiseless tread ; the indefatigable
watch ; the inventions of ingenious affection ; the
want, understood before it is expressed, by the
electric apprehensiveness of love all are there,
enduring, untiring but all in vain ; human skill,
human love, avail not ; the last day, the last hour,
the last minute has come, the last look of love has
been taken, the last living word has been spoken,
and the wife, is a widow ah ! how desolate ! She
leaves the apartment of Death, and the last offices
of humanity are performed by careful tender
hands, whose delicate skill would even give to the
lifeless features " the rapture of repose ; " and the
widow, in her retirement, resigns herself to the
bitterness of her grief. Her nearest and dearest
244 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
friends come to her in this day of her calamity, to
sympathise and soothe to undertake her respon-
sibilities, and lighten her cares ; meanwhile, from
every side come flowing in, the sable-bordered
messengers of sympathy.
Next, comes the opportunity most congenial to
her feelings, to gratify her mournful affection by
the deepest style of mourning ; and heavy silk,
and sombre crape, do their utmost to give the
outward expression to the inward woe.
An expensive funeral, with a long train of
carriages, and sable plumes, proclaim along the
streets, that a great man has fallen ; and the foot
passengers stand silent, and think of the widow
and the orphans ; and the widow calls it a mourn-
ful consolation, thus to manifest her woe and grief.
The friends of the departed remember only his
finest qualities, and dwell upon them with affec-
tionate admiration ; and this gentle under current
of sympathy sustains her through the .first dark
days of widowhood.
Her position in life, as regards property, may
not be altered ; her personal and domestic comforts
may remain the same ; and in due time, she
returns into the bosom of her family, walking
softly, with saddened countenance, and undertakes
with trembling heart her increased responsibili-
ties we would hope, with a quiet faith, and
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY. 245
strengthened resolution, to cast all her care upon
the widow's Friend.
Let us turn to our poor sister. Her husband is
now confined to his bed. He had taken cold upon
cold, by going to his work in all weather, not
sufficiently protected by flannel clothing ; and,
wanting a change, he had often put on his coat
damp in the morning. At length, he paid the
penalty of his imprudence, or his poverty the cold
settled on his lungs, and he is now in a consump-
tion. He continued his work as long as he had
strength for it, attending the dispensary at the
same time. He is past work now, and the doctor
from the dispensary occasionally visits him ; but it
is a hopeless case, and he tells the wife so plainly ;
he will call, but he can do him no good ; he may
take all the nourishment she can get for him, to
keep up his strength, and the more the better.
Oh ! this heart-rending advice, to one, who has
neither money nor friends, and whose only support
is now gradually sinking away before her eyes.
She has been a servant in good families, and knows
what the sick require.
They had once a comfortable house ; but this
long illness, has gradually sunk them down lower
and lower now, they are reduced to one small
room, and that, unfortunately, smokes ; and there
are noisy disreputable lodgers in the room beneath
R
246 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
she is in the attic. She is comparatively young,
and has four small children, the youngest an infant.
She has made a bed for the children on the floor
their father cannot bear them now in the bed with
him. When she rests herself, it is in a chair, and
she places the infant on one corner of the bed ; it is
often fretful, and its cry disturbs its father.
Since her husband's wages were stopped, she has
succeeded in getting a little plain work from a
shop ; she is quick and clever at her needle ; and
she must keep a piece of bread in the house, and
pay the rent. The landlord is impatient, and
threatens to turn them out, if they get behind.
Her work has been found fault with it is soiled,
and she is told she can have no more, unless it
be returned perfectly clean. How can this be
done? She has to put it down continually, to
attend to her husband and the baby ; and there
is the chimney smoke beside. She will work in
the night. The work is her only dependance to
keep them from starving ; but the candle costs
more than she knows how to afford. She racks
her brain to think of some way of relief; she
contrives plan after plan, but all fruitless, through
her utter helplessness. Her last mistress might
assist her, but she lives a long way off, and she
cannot leave her husband, or spare the time to go,
and she dare not make so bold as to write to her.
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY. 247
The husband lies patiently suffering the want of
all things. He knows that his wife can do no
more ; but his haggard face, his anxious look, his
hollow cough, continually cut her to the heart.
One thing after another has gone to the pawn-
broker's ; the children's cry for bread is irresistible ;
she offers the sick man a piece of toasted bread ;
but his mouth is dry, his lips are cracked, and he
turns from it ; Oh ! she thinks, how he would like
an orange, some grapes, a little raspberry vinegar
Oh ! that she could get him something, just to re-
fresh his mouth.
Once, she went to the relieving officer of the
parish, to entreat a little assistance. He said he
would give her an order to come into "The
House." No, she cannot take him there ; she must
nurse him herself ; and she goes back, and watches,
and works, and starves. She feels her strength
failing, but she must not think of it ; she must hold
on and she does.
The little furniture, the domestic utensils, the
clothing, still keep flitting away to the pawnshop.
A neighbour did her washing, whilst she could pay
her for it ; but the woman is poor herself, and
cannot work for nothing. Her husband cannot
bear the steam of wet clothes in the little room
how shall she keep him clean ? how shall she wash
the sheets ? they have only two. She would like
248 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
to see him nice she had always kept him so
before ; she cannot bear to see the children dirty
she is troubled on every side, and has no helper.
Daily, the precious life is sinking away ; he
cannot lift himself in the bed now, and she cannot
lift him ; his bones have come through his skin
what can she do ? She does not know what should
be done ; she has no soft linen. The bed has
grown hard for want of shaking, and he cannot get
out of the hole in the middle. The air of the room
is close, with so many in it, and he gasps for
breath, but cannot bear a draught.
At such a point as this, would not a lady of
experience and sympathy, coming in upon this
scene of desolation, be as an angel of God, sent
down straight from heaven ? But to this low
district no ladies come, and there is no Bible
woman.
Something must be done ; and the affectionate
wife and mother, the patient heroic woman, makes
a desperate effort to see her late mistress. She
had married from her house, and was respected by
the family. She takes her infant in her arms, and
hastens through the thronged streets, to one of the
genteel suburbs of the great city. Oh ! those
thronged streets, full of living human creatures !
Not one of them saw her not one recognized a
sister in distress ; for her, the streets she was
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY. 249
traversing, might have been a desolate unpeopled
wilderness.
What an unnatural solitary life do we often live
here ! isolated individuals in a moving chaos of
lives needy, feeble, weary all; yet, in the great
battle and struggle of existence, how many are
unhelping and unhelped, save by the good God,
whose infinite pity and mysterious providence, will
one day, through all, and in despite of all, bring
out of this enigma of life, a beautiful and glorious
consummation, worthy of Himself, and of the poor
creatures He has created and redeemed.
She arrives at her mistress's house. The ser-
vants, who are strangers, inform her, that their
mistress has company, and cannot be spoken to.
She pleads and explains her case. They have
often heard such tales at the door, and doubt the
truth of her story ; but her distress and importu-
nity, prevail upon them at last, to mention to their
mistress, that she would be thankful to speak to
her for a few minutes. The answer brought is,
that the person must call again, she is very particu-
larly engaged with friends, and cannot possibly be
interrupted.
I fear this lady by no means represents a solitary
instance of trifling with the time and feelings of the
working classes, by thoughtless delay, especially
by compelling them to call more than once for
250 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
many things, but especially for money that is due
to them. A great sin lies with many in the upper
classes, who withhold from the labourer, the laun-
dress, the needle-woman, the shop-keeper, the
money that is justly due at an appointed time, and
which, from its non-payment, compels them to get
\nto debt.
In despair, she hurries back again over the
weary miles, her heart sinking within her, and
frightened to think how faint she feels ; but she
will not think of it, she must keep up, and she will
keep up, for the sake of her husband and the
children. Oh ! brave heart of woman ! And the
nights and days pass on in deepening distress ; the
lamp of life is going out more rapidly ; the gasping
breath, the torturing cough, are succeeded by
exhaustion and torpor ; but still the spark rises up
and flickers again now, it is going ; will the
candle last out to see the end of him ? He is gone
Where ? Who pointed him who drew him to
the sinner's Friend ? Nobody knows in that street
nobody cares. There is a man dead there is a
pauper's funeral, and that is the end of it out of
doors and what is the end, indoors ? What is the
next of that widow, and those orphans ? the
widow, who cannot afford herself even the poor
comfort of appearing a mourner.
Are we surprised to hear of the " anxious eye ? "
AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY. 25!
or that multitudes of over-taxed women, end their
days in a mad-house, and leave their friendless chil-
dren to be reared in the Union ? These friendless
orphan paupers ! Let but the thoughts of pitiful
women rest upon them for a little while ; and
surely they would bestir themselves, till some plan
was found to bring the warm tide of helpful
sympathy into their young, desolate hearts.
Some time since, having heard that a large
number of orphans were collected in the Union,
belonging to the district I lived in, and wishing if
possible, to bring a ray of sunshine upon them at
Christmas, I spoke to one of the persons who
composed its Board of Management (a man with
plenty of money), and asked him if the orphan
children ever had any little treat at Christmas, or
at any other time of the year. " No," he said, " we
never acknowledge them." (A large number were
illegitimate children.) Was there not a volume of
revelations in that answer ? and does it leave any
mystery in the fact, that these unacknowledged,
friendless pauper orphans, generally turn out
badly, when they are thrown out into the world,
mostly into the lowest kinds of service ?
There is very much that might be done by ladies
for the comfort and welfare of nearly all classes in
the Unions, if it were allowed ; for, except to the
indolent and disorderly, they ought not to be
252 AFFLUENCE AND POVERTY.
places of punishment. The sick, the aged, and the
children, might derive the greatest advantage and
comfort from friendly visiting. I think young
women would generally be better adapted to this
kind of work, than to district visiting, which,
properly requires more experience, than is com-
monly possessed by young people ; but in the
Workhouse, if they be kind-hearted, intelligent,
and good, they must do good, and scarcely can do
harm, as the general rules of the House would
bind them to certain lines of conduct
I will not add more, than that
I am,
Sincerely yours,
LETTER XX,
" This is a people robbed and spoiled ; all of them
snared in holes, and they are hid in prison houses ;
they are for a prey, and none delivereth ; for a spoil,
and none saith, Restore."
Isaiah xlii. 22.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
You think my pictures of the poor
would, by many persons, be considered too highly
tinted with couleur de rose; and you remind me of
the great radical defects of the lower classes of
the "awful drunkenness" of the "dreadful im-
morality." Ah ! dear friend, I know there is a
dark side, a very dark side to the picture ; clouds
and darkness rest upon it ; thick moral darkness
which may be felt. In looking at it from a dis-
tance, one sees no light ; and my heart has often
failed within me ; I have been ready to say,
" There is no hope, there is no way." Then I have
looked up, where Jesus sits the Friend of the poor,
and the Friend of sinners, and hope dwells there.
I have come into contact with the wretched ; and
I know not exactly how it is, but with contact,
comes hope, rather than despair. I think it must
be, that human nature detects its own nature, even
under the most unlovely forms ; and the soul that
is redeemed, begins to yearn over the brother or
256 THE MONSTER EVIL.
sister still walking in the miserable ways of de-
struction ; feels them to be human still, capable
of gratitude, of moral advancement, of spiritual
elevation.
There is a dark and heavy curtain dropped down
over some of the lower classes, which they cannot
lift for themselves ; they cannot find the cord or
the pulley ; they hardly know there is light.
In " Our Moral Wastes," by Mr. Wilson, we read
of the darkness, the degradation, the lost condition,
as we should say, of some districts in Aberdeen ;
and of the wondrous transforming influence of light
and love, when brought in upon them. The dark-
ness waits for the light, and groans for it, bound
hand and foot It is for the children of light to go
in, draw up the curtain, and tell the strange good
news of a Saviour's love, and confirm it to them,
by the love of a brother.
In that beautiful work, "Royal Thoughts," by
the Rev. H. W. Beecher, my meaning is so
touchingly exprest, that I am tempted to copy a
few lines for you. After saying that we never
know how accessible men are till we try to reach
them, the author goes on
" It is said that at the battle of Solferino, what with the
fear of being crushed, what with the mortal fear of the bar-
barity of the French soldiers, of which they had heard,
hundreds of wounded men crept out of the fields into
THE MONSTER EVIL. 257
ravines, and coppices, and thickets ; that after three days
had been passed in searching for them, many were still
lying unfound. Many were found so far spent, that they
died ere they could be taken to the hospital. There are
hundreds of men hiding themselves in ravines, coppices, and
thickets on the battle-field of life, who need medicament,
healing care, and consolation ; and if you were to go out
searching for them, you should every day find men, here and
there, crying out in their distress, and asking for sympathy
and help."
Yes there is a work for any one to do, who can
believe in a possible good result a work great
enough to pJ ove, and exhaust all natural capacity ;
a work so various, that every quality of talent may
find employment in it. No one by compulsion
need be idle there is work for all to do, and
precious gifts for all to give. The cup of cold
water in the hand of one the widow's mite in the
hand of another and still something like that
storied box of precious ointment, for the hand, that
has the heart to break, and pour it forth.
"To raise the masses," that gigantic task, so
lightly put in words, requires many things for its
accomplishment, beside those which we commonly
suggest as specifics but that is not our business.
We have not the capacity to deal with the masses ;
our work lies with a few of the atoms, where the
little leaven works secretly making its great
258 THE MONSTER EVIL.
changes and transformations. This work amongst
the atoms, is now particularly full of encourage-
ment, from the numerous examples we see of its
success ; and it appears to be remarkably suited
to the genius and capacity of women, because, like
the work of that never enough to be praised little
coral insect, it is secret and small in its beginning,
gradual in its extension, and it challenges no
observation, till its solid foundations are laid, the
walls reared up, and the surface rises into sun-
shine ; then it cannot be hidden.
I have sometimes thought, that with the great
privileges and advantages of education which
women in England now enjoy, there ought to be
a very large number of very superior characters
and truly, there are multitudes ; but are there not
multitudes also, who, possessing the full capacity
for superiority, choose to travel upon a low line of
things, unworthy of them, and thus do not come
into contact with the purifying elevating influences
of high and holy inspirations ? Young ladies, for
instance, who, with plenty of health, and leisure,
devote it to dressing, making fashionable calls,
going to gay parties, reading light literature, or to
an endless variety of fancy-work, "thus, lowering
their dimensions, shortening in their souls, making
blank spaces of all the highest and divinest talents
of their nature." Whatever their stations in life
THE MONSTER EVIL. 259
may be, how can they become really superior ?
for as the poet says
" Pigmies are pigmies still, though placed on Alps
And pyramids, are pyramids in vales."
It was not high position, or extraordinary genius,
or "accomplishments," that made a Florence
Nightingale, and a Sarah Martin those honoured
names, which will go down to posterity to be
admired and imitated but it was a firm and
faithful devotion of the talents they possessed,
to objects worthy of women, and of Christians.
I fear there is an evil thing at work in our
present system of school education, which is
insidiously tending to supplant the substantial
character of man and woman, and substitute for it,
the mere gentleman and lady. To sit in some
companies, and hear people "talked over," one
might suppose that, proficiency in manners, was
the only talent by which it was possible to
graduate, or qualify for " society ; " and nothing
is more evident, than, that to be "a perfect gen-
tleman," or " a perfect lady," will cover a multitude
of peccadillos and shortcomings.
Naturally, one might have thought, that the
unsettled journeying tent-life of Abraham, the
" Father of the Faithful," would have been very
unfavourable for the cultivation of gentlemanly
200 THE MONSTER EVIL.
politeness ; yet, nowhere, do we find examples of
more graceful courtesy, than those we read of in
the 1 8th chapter of Genesis, where he entertained
the three strangers, or in his business transactions
with the Children of Heth, chap. 23. I have
sometimes believed that Abraham learned his
perfect manners, as, The "Friend of God" and
that the most proficient training could never have
taught him such graceful hospitality, or such
dignified humility. But, I will return to my sub-
ject, where, so many victories are being won, in so
many directions, that the feeblest aspirant may
have courage to say, " What can I do ? " and look
round, to see what needs to be done.
May I express, my strong conviction, that the
increase of Committees and Societies is not now,
our most pressing want, but the much wider exten-
sion of personal, private effort? yes, private that
very silent kind, that keeps a secret between the
right hand and the left ; and only steals forth like
"the ointment that bewrayeth itself," because of
its fragrance.
It is true, that in all ages of the world, there
have been female leaders like Deborah, because
there have also been Baraks, who would not, or
could not, go forth without them ; but a public,
or conspicuous position, is not that, which an
English woman chooses for herself.
THE MONSTER EVIL. 26 1
Perhaps you will say, these remarks are all beside
our present purpose, and, do not answer your ques-
tion " What can we do for the drunkard ? "
I should feel it to be needless presumption in me
to write much to you upon that subject. It has
already been fully written upon. The remedy for
drunkenness has been found, and been proved a
specific. You will say, I allude to "Total Absti-
nence." I do, and yet, not to that alone. The poor
drunkard may be drawn from the gutter of the
public-house, to sign the pledge, but unless he have
a patient friend to sustain, to guide, to protect him,
until he has come fully to his senses, he will most
probably fall back again into the gutter ; as with
the feebleness of a child, he has to contend with
new difficulties, both from within and without. The
grasping fiend of drink, does not readily relinquish
its hold ; and it is not an easy matter, for a man,
who has long degraded himself amongst the lowest
companions, to break away from them, and take a
better position in society. The system and spirit of
the Temperance Societies, is calculated to afford
just the kind of help he requires. Were they to
become universal, and were the Government to do
its part in removing temptations and stumbling
blocks out of the way of the people, the disgraceful
brand of "a nation of drunkards" might be
obliterated from the English name.
262 THE MONSTER EVIL.
The interesting works of Mrs. Whiteman, Mrs.
Bayly, and others, on the subject of Temperance,
fully show, in their experiments, the working of the
system, and its success, and can scarcely leave a
candid mind unconvinced, that "Total Abstinence"
is the remedy for the drunkard, the safe-guard for
the sober man, and the happy enclosure for little
children. These works also show very clearly, that
in order to obtain the highest moral and spiritual
ends, this labour must eminently be a labour of
Christian love, richly embroidered with courage,
patience, hope, and tenderness. All gratitude, and
honour, to these excellent ladies, not only for their
work's sake, but for the encouragement they have
given to many timid labourers, who, seeing in their
example, no appearance of high-flown, or over-
strained effort, but only the diligent self-denying
work of Christian faith and love, are almost sur-
prised to find themselves enquiring, if they cannot
attempt something of the same kind.
It certainly is very encouraging to see the good
which a few persons may do, when their hearts are
filled with love to God, and through that, with love
to man. If there were only one person in every
town in England, whose heart was stirred up, like
the hearts of these ladies, and other labourers like
them, the country would soon hardly know itself
the aspect of things would be changed, the traffic
THE MONSTER EVIL. 263
would flow in different channels the wilderness
would blossom as the rose and not, because
they have brought into their work very high in-
tellectual attainments, very great accomplishments,
or large pecuniary resourses for whatever they
may possess of these, their victories have not been
won by them, but through the Holy Ghost, and
love unfeigned.
We are all delighted to hear of the fine Work-
men's Halls, built, I was going to say, by Mrs.
Bayly, Mrs. Whiteman, and others, for the comfort
and improvement of the noble ranks of sober
working men, at Shrewsbury, Netting Hill, and
elsewhere. May their numbers multiply a thou-
sand fold !
There is another description of house, which I
should be glad to see generally provided, for the
accommodation of the men who would not by pre-
ference go to public houses, but are obliged to do
so, because there is no other place, which offers them
the accommodation and refreshment they require.
The village I live in, would, I have no doubt,
represent thousands in our country. There are
three public-houses, and three beer-shops ; and not
a room of any kind, where a sober man, if his home
be not near at hand, can sit down to rest himself,
to eat his dinner, protect himself from the weather,
spend an evening, or transact business.
264 THE MONSTER EVIL.
For all these necessities, he is obliged to go to
the public-house, and then, as a matter of course,
he must drink for the good of the house. Thus
our labouring men are compelled to drink, whether
they would or not. In our village, there are mills
of different kinds, which sometimes draw men from
a distance. The public-house must be their home,
unless they can meet with a comfortable lodging.
There is also a considerable traffic through our
village, in the conveyance of goods to large
adjacent towns. The roads are hilly, and the
horses often require to stop. In the distance of
eight or ten miles, there is not a place where a
man can sit down, or get a drink of water for his
horses, except at the public-houses. There are
very many of these along the road. I heard of a
carter, the other day, who had stopped twelve
times in the space of eight miles, and spent four
shillings in drink. Another carter told me, that he
was refused water for his horses at public-houses,
when they found he would not drink beer himself,
although he offered to pay for the water. He
assured me, that he knew many men who would
accept it as the greatest boon to themselves, if
places of sober refreshment could be provided
along the roads, and in villages ; and he felt sure,
after a while, they would pay, if well managed.
To show how beneficial this plan has proved
THE MONSTER EVIL. 265
itself in two cases where it has been tried in
Bristol, I will make an extract from an interesting
pamphlet, published by the Society of Friends, in
1862. The pamphlet contains the substance of
speeches, delivered at a meeting, appointed, "To
consider the best means to promote the moral and
religious welfare of the ignorant and depraved
amongst our neighbours." The speech of Mr. C.,
of Bristol, gives the following account of the success
of a sober refreshment house, opened by a few
gentlemen, in Bristol, to benefit a large number of
navvies, or railway labourers, on the Bristol and
South Wales Union Railway. He says " A small
building was erected close to the railway excava-
tion, with a boiler for making cocoa. In the course
of about six months, the labourers bought twenty
thousand pints of it, which he calculates would
have prevented the consumption of at least from
forty to fifty thousand pints of beer. Men drink
cocoa, for the purpose only of quenching thirst ; in
drinking beer, they too frequently add drunkenness
to thirst." By this simple means, not only was
drunkenness avoided, but so great a change took
place in the tastes and habits of the men, that
swearing was a rare occurrence ; and evening
schools, which were opened for religious instruction,
were well attended ; a marked improvement in the
appearance and conduct of the men was the result
266 THE MONSTER EVIL.
of these schools, and Mr. C. says, there was good
reason to believe that, many of these poor men
were led, through them, to see their condition as
sinners, and also to find the " Sinner's Friend."
Another admirable effort, for the advantage of
the Railway men, who worked upon another
part of the line, was made by a lady, who had a
wooden shed erected for them about twenty feet
long, and furnished with forms (fixtures) and a
stove. Upon this stove was placed a large vessel,
containing many gallons of cocoa, which the men
were glad to purchase. The shed was open to
them for their breakfast and dinner, and also a
retreat when unfavourable weather obliged them to
discontinue their work usually, a perilous time for
labouring men, when the score at the public-house
is allowed to run up in expectation of the Saturday
night's wages. When the men assembled at the
mid-day meal, sometimes as many as forty or fifty
of them, this lady read to them, a narrative tract,
and a short portion of scripture ; and before leaving
at two o'clock, they knelt down together for a few
words of prayer. She says, she was not a little
surprised and pleased, when she first proposed this
to them, to see them all turn round and kneel,
dirty as they looked, and wicked as she knew some
of them to be ; and she adds, that she has spent
many happy hours in that wooden shed, and looks
THE MONSTER EVIL. 267
back to it with feelings of deep thankfulness, as it
had pleased God to make it the birth-place of
several souls, who are now pressing on towards the
mark with steady perseverance, fixing their eyes on
the Lord Jesus. One of these men has already
been the means of leading three or four of his
relatives to the same Saviour. Truly, we may say,
" Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,
It will not fail until
Thou failest vessels to provide
Which it may largely fill."
Encouraged by the success of their benevolent
enterprize on behalf of the railway labourers, the
Bristol " Friends " made a more extended effort for
the advantage of labourers generally, who find the
public-house so attractive on a Saturday night,
when they have their wages in their pockets. For
this purpose, they opened a room from seven till
nine o'clock, where the men could go in, as freely
as into a public-house. A plentiful supply of cocoa
and biscuits was provided, which were sold to them
at a very moderate rate. In the course of a short
time, about one hundred and seventy men availed
themselves of the accommodation, and it was found
needful to open another room, which was imme-
diately filled ; the average attendance varying from
two to three hundred men. Instruction and amuse-
268 THE MONSTER EVIL.
ment was provided, in having books read to them
lively and interesting books, as well as the
Scriptures time was also allowed for conversation,
exhortation, and prayer, which, not unfrequently
was offered up by the poor men. Mr. C. gives a
little anecdote of one of the men who frequented
these rooms. In expressing his lively gratitude to
the gentlemen who had provided this resort for
them, he said, " When I come here with my wages
(sixteen shillings) in my pocket, I spend twopence
in cocoa and biscuits, and take home fifteen-and-
tenpence to my wife ; but when last week I went
into the 'Spread Eagle,' with my wages in my
pocket, I had not a farthing left when I came out,
and we had, none of us, any dinner on the Sunday."
How clearly and encouragingly do these facts
show, that whenever, and however, we give our
poor brothers a chance to do better, that a large
number of them will gratefully accept and profit
by it, and that the Lord will give His blessing to
His servants.
My anxious desire for houses of sober refresh-
ment, and relaxation, for our labouring men, was
greatly strengthened last winter, when I passed an
evening, in company with an excellent Public-
house Missionary, who visited the gin-palaces and
public-houses in a large district in London. I
wished to see the monster, face to face, that I
THE MONSTER EVIL. 269
might know better how to sling my little stone at
him. The rain poured down the whole evening.
No one would remain in the street, who could find
a shelter and without disturbing one's self by
thinking of the consequences ; how inviting, how
cheerful, did those great Palaces look, both without
and within ! how warm, how bright they were ! how
savoury with the scent of spirits and tobacco
scents, not abhorrent to every one, and certainly
preferable to some scents, in some small rooms.
Whilst my excellent companion was giving tracts,
and speaking to clusters of men, I looked on, into
those dull, half-alive faces, at those half-stupified
bodies, which had crept from the cold and wet
outside, into a warm, dry, and cheerful place the
like of which, they could not find in their own
homes. They were not all talkative, nor intoxi-
cated ; the larger number of those I saw, looked
under a spell, stupid, apathetic, drowsy ; some few
were noisy and argumentative. If they could
find the money for one dram, I was told they
might remain as long as they pleased ; but, that
one pernicious thirst-creating potion, soon called
for another, and another. As I stood there in the
warmth, and light, and thought of the rain outside,
and of the miserable homes, in alleys, and attics, I
said to myself, "I should come here, and do as they
do, if I did not know better ; or was not possessed
270 THE MONSTER EVIL.
by a great heroic power of endurance. The vivid
impression left on my mind, was the necessity of
opposition houses, if I might call them so com-
fortable places, where working-men might spend
their evenings, or at least a part of them.
That, was a night much to be remembered by
me, for the revelations it made of this monster
evil. We may hear these things read, and talked
about, and perhaps be able to bear it but to stand
by, and see little girls coming in for drams, or two
or three little boys together, or a young man and
woman, or a mother with her infant it is difficult
afterwards, to use language about these places, that
does not in the ears of cool people, sound some-
what exasperated, or exaggerated.
The great brewers and distillers, or those who live
by this trade, can obtain, almost at will, any place
they desire for the erection of these barefaced,
body and soul destroying houses these prepara-
tory schools, for the madhouse and the jail.
Cannot wealthy and patriotic men obtain these
sites ? and cannot Temperance, by any means, be
made as profitable to the Exchequer of our
country, as Drunkenness ?
I am tempted, whilst on the subject of public
drinking houses, to make an extract from the
interesting memoirs of that excellent man, Stephen
Grelette. Being at St. Petersburg, on one of his
THE MONSTER EVIL. 27 1
Missionary tours, in Europe, he makes this record
in his journal.
"The Governor, Count Miloradowitch, has considerably
reduced the number of places where strong drink is sold,
confining these, as formerly, to cellars, where no seats are
allowed. No kind of gaming is permitted, nor anything that
can induce the poor objects resorting there, to remain longer,
than to swallow the fiery water. During the absence of the
Emperor (Alexander), the Minister of Finance, in order to
increase the revenue arising from the consumption of strong
drink, had allowed the sale of it in upper rooms, coffee-
houses, &c., to the great demoralization of those people, who
would have been ashamed to go into the cellars. The very
day of the Emperor's return to St. Petersburg, the Governor
said to him, 'Which do you prefer, the increase of your
revenue, at the expense of the morals of your subjects or
their well-being, in not being enticed to evil?' The Emperor
readily replied, 'that the well-being of his people was far
more dear to him than his revenues.' On which the
Governor said, ' In your absence, they have considerably
increased the consumption of ardent spirits, by allowing them
to be sold out of the cellars, and thereby drunkenness and
vice have proportionably increased ; but if it be agreeable to
you, I will have those places shut up.' ' Do so,' said the
Emperor. That very evening the Governor had it done."
We shall need much more pity, faith, and
patriotism in England, on this subject, before we
accomplish the great things we sometimes hope,
and talk about. We may thank God that we have
a noble army of men now in the field, working
2/2 THE MONSTER EVIL.
both on the walls and in the trenches, and that
many are persuaded, and many rescued, through
their exertions ; but the number of workers is
altogether disproportioned to the work to be done,
and it is greatly to be feared, that some of
these, will fail under the burden and heat of the
day, having so few to relieve them. How is the
number of these great and good men to be in-
creased ? Only, by many more, opening out their
souls as these have done, to receive the full love
of God to themselves, and thus become unselfish.
" Then," as says a late excellent writer, " that love
would come in, not as some rill or ripple of our
human love, changing nothing in us, but would
pour in, as a tide with mighty floods of joy and
peace, and set the whole nature beating with it, as
the shores give answer to the ocean roll and roar.
Then, the man acts out of love, and from it."
Then he runs in the way of the commandments
with an enlarged heart.
I cannot doubt, that much benefit would be
gained to the community generally, if gentlemen,
and employers, were often to visit in a friendly
way, the houses of their poorer neighbours and
workpeople. They would understand each other
better, sympathise with each other more readily,
and their mutual connection would be more solid
and less selfish. I may be wrong, but I cannot think
THE MONSTER EVIL. 273
that suspicious feeling of antagonism would exist
those lamentable " Strikes " so often take place, if
the employers were more frequently found in a
friendly, may I say, respectful way, in the homes of
their workpeople not only in the mutual relation
of master and man, but in that of fellow-man and
fellow-sinner ; conversing upon other subjects than
the mill, the farm, or the colliery, or if conversing
on these, not confined to their labour aspect. Do
you think that a workman, who knew his esteemed
master, or any gentleman intended to pay him a
friendly visit in the evening, would go off to the
public-house ? Do you think, after that friendly
visit, the man would go to the public-house the next
evening ? No ! his master has left him a book
to read, or something better to do, or think about ;
and the man's wife, the mother, who would make
the house, the children, and herself, so neat for this
visit, would it leave no influence upon her, beyond
that evening? Yes, surely it would. An intelli-
gent, benevolent master, would be sure to bring
into the homes of his workmen, a manly satisfac-
tion, a higher ambition, and probably, something
much better still. On the mind of the master him-
self, daily engrossed in the perplexing strain of
business, how beneficial would be the variety,
interest, and knowledge thus afforded. At present,
the Minister, and Scripture Reader, are the only
274 THE MONSTER EVIL.
men who visit the house of the labouring man. I
hear you say, there are but few gentlemen engaged
in business who will do this. Yes, that is the
difficulty, and it induces me to quote again, from
that same pamphlet, of the " Friend's," which shows
what a good man may do for his poor neighbours,
though he employs but one hour in the week.
The relation is given by a gentleman who lived
in a remote agricultural district, and who employed
upon his farm, about twelve labourers. For some
months, he says, these words of our Lord had been
deeply impressed upon his mind, " Behold, I say
unto you, lift up your eyes and look upon the fields,
for they are white already to harvest," and "Pray
ye the Lord of the harvest that he would send forth
labourers into His harvest." This deep impression
of the Word of God, by the Spirit of Truth, even-
tually resulted in his inviting his farm labourers to
his family reading on the Sabbath evening ; nine of
the men came on the first night. He then enlarged
his invitation to others, and by degrees, the num-
bers greatly increased, sometimes amounting to as
many as seventy or eighty ; the apartment being
quite filled. This gentleman observes that the
solemnity with which these poor men heard, and
the earnestness with which they appeared to drink
in the truths of Scripture, was very striking. He
did not confine the reading entirely to the Scrip-
THE MONSTER EVIL. 2/5
tures ; sometimes varying it by a tract, or the
" Pilgrim's Progress," and at the close, adding
words of encouragement or counsel. To how many
of these poor people might not this evening hour
have been as a brook by the way? to how many,
as the seedtime, or harvest of their souls ? and the
gentleman himself how would the remembrance
of that one hour of faithful loving labour, sweeten
all the other hours of the week, and how much
higher in every way, would his position for good, be
likely to become amongst his neighbours.
I must conclude this very long letter, and am,
Yours sincerely,
LETTER XXL
" Give me, I said, a heart that beats,
In all its pulses, with the common heart
Of human kind, with the same things make glad,
The same make sorry ; give me grace enough,
Even in their first beginnings, to detect
Endeavours, which the proud heart still is making,
To cut itself from off the common root,
To set itself upon a private base,
To have wherein to glory of its own,
Beside the common glory of the kind ;
Each such attempt, in all its hateful pride
And meanness, give me to detect and loathe ;
A man and claiming fellowship with men."
Trench.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I find I am drawing near not to
the end of this subject, but to the end of my
ability to write more upon it Its various points
of interest, and the encouragement you have given
me to proceed, have led me much further than I
expected, when we began our correspondence ;
and still, I would have a few parting words a few,
with especial relation to ourselves ; for I believe,
we are not yet arrived at the time, which may
liberate those, who profess to be followers of the
lowly Saviour, from being, to some extent, a
separate people. Far be it from me, to make
walls of division, or to abridge our true Christian
liberty. " He " only " is the freeman, whom the
truth makes free ; " my anxiety is, that we
should not lose our Christian liberty, by coming
into bondage with the spirit of the world. We
must acknowledge, that, as professed Christians,
we are now taking a very wide sweep into its
external practice ; and if some who do so, are
able to maintain steadfastly, their humility and
280 CONCLUSION.
integrity, as disciples, very many more are so griev-
ously entangled, hindered, and spiritually dwarfed
by it, that probably they may never attain to
the full growth of Christian manhood. I know the
"narrow way," the "Be not conformed to this
world," have rather a pitiful and contracted sound ;
and that, " He giveth us all things richly to enjoy,"
and " All things are clean, to him that believeth,"
have a show of much greater expansion of mind,
and advance in Christian liberty. In reality, there
is a beautiful connexion in these passages ; " The
paths of pleasantness and peace" lie through the
strait gate; and the richest enjoyment of the "all
things," is tasted, and can only be tasted, by those,
who, with an undivided heart, and in the liberty
of the Spirit, are "walking in the ways of the
commandments." How many Christians could tell,
if they would speak, of the unworthy bondage in
which they have been held, by a compromise with
the practice of the world ; how slippery they found
the middle path ; and how often, when their souls
were hungering and thirsting after righteousness,
longing for more conformity to their Master the
lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride
of life, have acted, like a cramp upon their heart,
and a clog upon their feet, to hinder their running
in the ways of holy obedience. There are no
minute rules laid down for us ; it is for the free
CONCLUSION. 28l
heart, which prays, "Turn away mine eyes from
beholding vanity, and quicken Thou me in Thy
way," to make them for itself.
Some years since, I was going into mourning for
a near relation, and sent for a dressmaker, to take
the order for my dress. She was a pious woman,
and she frequently congratulated herself, that
almost all the families she worked for, were
religious people. She was speaking of the crape
trimming on the skirt of my dress, and I asked,
how deep she proposed to make it She put her
finger to my waist, and said, "Worldly people
have it brought up quite to the waist ; " then,
bringing her finger two inches lower, she said, " In
Christian mourning it comes so far." There was
no irony in this remark ; she was quite serious, she
knew what she said. I have often thought, that
about two inches, might divide the church from the
world, in many things beside crape trimming. But
we will leave this difficult and perplexing subject,
not forgetting, that we are enjoined, to "Let our
moderation appear unto all men."
And now I will say a few words upon two
remarks in your last letter, which I cannot pass
over in silence.
You feel discouraged in your work, because you
are not able to do anything well ; and discouraged
in yourself, because you find that you often act
282 CONCLUSION.
from mixed and unworthy motives. My dear
friend, I could readily take up this lamentation
with you ; but I know it would be wiser, and more
profitable for us both, to accept, in its fullest
meaning, the declaration of our Saviour, " Without
me ye can do nothing ; " and then, with the
Psalmist say, " My soul, wait thou only upon God,
for my expectation is from Him." I have often
found, that to live in a confused and hurried state
of mind, leaves a wide door open for the entrance
of mixed motives, and false arguments ; and if our
time be too fully occupied with other things, to
admit of our waiting upon the* Lord, to renew our
strength, and for the Comforter to bring freshly to
our minds the words and works of our dear Master,
it must needs be, that we are both down-hearted
and very feeble. But, " They who wait upon the
Lord, shall renew their strength." In this promise
is our constant source of encouragement.
From your other remark, I see that you have
been taking a few steps on the road to " Doubting
Castle ; " that you fear, if you do undertake any
work, which appears to be good and right for
you to do, you shall not find in yourself the
needful qualification to carry it out, and may break
down in the middle, or fail altogether. Do not be
discouraged ; unassisted human capacity never yet
was equal to the performance of any good work ;
CONCLUSION. 283
but do not shrink despairingly within the compass
of your felt ability ; use your talents diligently ;
and make the best preparation you can ; and then,
be assured, if your cause be the Lord's cause, He
will let down ability upon you, and will furnish
you with thoughts, words, and arguments, when
you want them, and give you a blessing beside.
It is such a comfort to know, when we are feeling
empty and helpless, that God can say unto the
weak, " Be strong."
There is nothing like work, to show us our own
weakness ; nothing like work, to convince us of
God's help ; nothing like our most perfect work, to
convince us of our imperfection, and to make the
perfect, all-sufficient Saviour, and the great salva-
tion, increasingly dear and important to us.
And now in connexion with undertaking some of
those difficult works, before which, natural ability
stands trembling with fear let us look at that
noble rank of good women, who are trying to
make our " poor mothers " wiser and better. What
a halo of hope is round these " mothers' meetings I s "
To my mind, they offer the fairest prospect we
have, for the elevation of the lower classes. It is
acknowledged by all thoughtful people, I believe,
that the education of the home, is more powerful
than that of the school, or pulpit, in forming the
character of children and the children are our
284 CONCLUSION.
hope for the future. That this hope may not be
changed into despair, is the grand object of these
meetings ; and they appear to fit, with a peculiar
nicety, to the present requirement, by affording
to mothers, instruction and comfort, and helping
them to help themselves. I trust their present
high aim, thus to benefit the whole nature body,
soul, and spirit, may be fully upheld, and that they
may never become, simply clubs, or working, or
reading meetings, but, that full of love and help,
they may spread over our country, and fill it with
healing and happiness. I need not take up your
time, or my own, in writing upon this subject ; we
have " Ragged Homes," and " Mended Homes,"
and the exquisite work of " The Bible Women in
London," with many other works of the same
character, and they are sufficient to inform and
encourage workers, and to silence or convince
gainsayers, if there were any.
There is another work in the same direction, of
almost equal importance. The women who attend
these mothers' meetings, will soon be gone from
the stage. Whatever their account may be, it is
the next to be rendered in. Who will fill their
places ? Not the little children, who, we hope, will
be benefited by what their mothers are now
learning no, but by the young girls, who have just
slipped from their mothers' hands and influence.
CONCLUSION. 285
What is our present hope of them ? Do we not
hear, from one end of the country to the other,
complaints of the want of principle in servants, and
of the light character of young girls generally ? I
met with a remark the other day, which struck me
as containing much truth that " Freedom cannot
long subsist in a country, where the youth have
lost modesty and respect." I fear, if this be true,
that our freedom is sliding ; for certainly, obedience
and respect to parents, is at a very low ebb, and
modesty as low. It is no uncommon thing, to
hear a mother confess, that she cannot manage a
child under ten years old ; and at fourteen or
fifteen, they are quite out of her power. In whose
hands are these young girls now ? these expectant
wives and mothers of the next generation ? We
can only say, they are in their own hands, submit-
ting to no control, or authority, they can possibly
avoid. The young things are all afloat trying the
world for themselves, determined to gather some
pleasure out of life ; and, without the conventional
restraints, which make liberty comparatively safe
for young girls in the upper classes, can we wonder
that, in their rash courage, they often get into
danger, stumble, and fall ?
The patriarchal times are gone by, when the
servant remained in the family from father to son.
The tie between the mistress and servant now, is
286 CONCLUSION.
little more than a compact for service and wages ;
and the full heart of youth, for want of being met,
in its truest and deepest outgoings, is left wander-
ing about, to lay hold of somebody or something,
which has the power to attract and engross it
It is a very serious question with those, who
come into contact with the lower classes, what is
to be done for these young girls. I say, "with
those, who come into contact," because many
ladies, who have not done so, imagine an impro-
priety or indelicacy, in forewarning and informing
young girls of the dangers and temptations which
are lying in wait for them. They think we had
better wait, till they are young women, and till the
temptations come. Unfortunately, the young girls
of the present day, are prematurely mature ;
directly they leave school, they think of being
women, without being put up to it. To dress
gaily, to show themselves when dressed, and to
walk with a young lad, may, without uncharitable-
ness, describe the ambition of a large number of
our young girls. Can we wonder that so many of
them fall ? The stream they are upon, sets in that
way ; they are sailing towards the fall they have
but to slip over, and then, " it is a misfortune "
"no worse than others" "they will be steadier
afterward." Oh ! instead of disgust, or complaint,
or a too fastidious delicacy, should not a wail of
CONCLUSION. 287
grief run from one end of the country to the other,
at such a sad and pitiful state of things ? and
should not every modest Englishwoman, instead of
hiding her face, and blinding her eyes, rise up to
the occasion, and stretch out her hand to catch
hold of the slipping, sinking young sisters ?
Do you ask, " What can we do ? " A great deal
may be done we can try to stem the tide which is
floating them away, if we will ah ! if we will !
but, " Oh ! we are so busy about our own little
concerns ! " " We cannot do it ourselves " " We
hope some one else will." Do let us begin and,
in this way who amongst us does not know three,
four, five any number of young girls, from fifteen
years old and upward, whom she could not occa-
sionally gather together, and become to them, a
mother, a friend, a help, an influence, in any way
that her heart or wisdom might suggest, but
especially for conversation ? Young girls like to be
talked to about themselves (who does not ?) Con-
vince them of their individual importance, of the
deep and beautiful interest of their position, of the
good and happy work they might do, of the fair
esteem they might gain, and of the happiness they
might enjoy. Do not allow them to look at them-
selves, only as poor girls, of no account ; make
them see, that not only their own, but the welfare
of their neighbourhood and in part, of their
288 CONCLUSION.
country, depends upon them. Strive to make
them patriots ; strive to make them Christians ;
strive to make them good, true-hearted women,
kindled with a high ambition ; and so delineate
goodness, purity, beauty before them, that they
may confidingly, and earnestly, cleave to you, for
help to become, what appears to be so lovely and
so worthy. The hearts of young girls are tender
and enthusiastic ; do not put them away, but carry
them along with you, in the sweet flow of a noble,
loving influence. It would be impossible to say,
how many devices would suggest themselves to the
heart and head of any one, who thoroughly
engaged her feelings in a work of this kind.
Routine (my bugbear) would be out of the ques-
tion. The bread you would set before them, must
have its own special blessing ; the flowers you
would place in their bosoms, must be sprinkled
with the dew of heaven ; you must have your own
fresh anointing, that the spirit of a gracious in-
fluence may rest upon you.
Is it too much to expect of yourself, or of them ?
too much to hope too much to aim at ? " To
him that hath, shall be given." Grace may be
poured into your lips ; your pen may become that
of a ready-writer. The care of souls, is God's
work for every one, who has tasted of the love of
Christ ; and though, of ourselves alone, we can do
CONCLUSION. 289
nothing, yet, through His effectual grace and
power sustaining us, we may be able to beat down,
even the strongholds of the enemy. Power also
grows by exercise, and knowledge, through expe-
rience ; and affection and sympathy is sure to
increase for young people, if we are trying to do
them good. How much better might our young
servants become, if their hearts had been melted,
moulded, and fortified, under such human and
heavenly influences.
Perhaps you will say, the classes of young
women in our Sunday schools, might answer the
end I have in view. In some instances, I believe
this has been done ; but generally, it would not be
easy to keep girls in the Sunday school, up to the
age I contemplate ; and it is in a social and private
way, not in a public place, that I would prefer to
meet them ; neither is the conversation strictly
religious it would embrace the private, every-day,
common affairs of life ; but, though not what is
called religious expressed, or unexpressed, religion
is the beginning, middle, and end of the effort.
Do you not think, a cheerful, affectionate labour
of this kind, might, under the blessing of God, do
much good ? I say " cheerful," because young
people do not like to be preached to ; but they
like to be talked to ; they are delighted to find
themselves objects of interest, and they love to be
290 CONCLUSION.
loved. Poor young creatures ! Have we no love
for them ? How many of those, now in the lowest
depths of degradation, may truly say, "No man
cared for my soul."
Speaking to a lady a short time since, on this
subject, she told me, it was the practice of her
daughters, to keep a few young girls under their
special watchful care visiting, corresponding, as-
sisting them, and thus obtaining an affectionate
and friendly influence over them. How many
young ladies there are, who, in their own circle,
might do a work, so unobtrusive and so useful.
With regard to young girls, who have slipped
aside, the work of Mrs. R., at Glasgow, described
in the " Omnipotence of Lovingkindness," can
scarcely leave any one, like-minded, despairing of
success. Our great Magdalens, are most impor-
tant and useful institutions at present ; but when a
wise and self-denying Christianity becomes more
general, we shall have a larger number of private
homes, under private care, similar to those of
Mrs. R., at Glasgow, and Mrs. S., at Frome.* I
will send you the interesting reports of Mrs. S.,
with a letter I have recently received from her,
containing some further explanations, which I had
desired. Her plans appear to me peculiarly prac-
tical and suggestive.
See Appendix.
CONCLUSION. 291
There was no Penitentiary at , when I
lived there ; but a small committee of ladies had
made an arrangement with one of the Magdalens
in London, to take such cases as required prolonged
care ; and an apartment was engaged in the town,
where the girls were kept on probation for a month,
before sending them. During this time, the peni-
tent was visited by the ladies, and supplied with
needlework and books. The room was in the
house of a good motherly woman, who took charge
of the girl ; and it was often proved, that a little
care, a little help, a little love, was what these poor
children required, and not a year or two of con-
finement, and expense, in a penitentiary. Those
of the ladies, whose family arrangements would
admit of it, took the most hopeful ones into their
houses, to instruct them, and to fortify them in
their resolutions ; or they found other safe situa-
tions for them. Of the number who came under
our care, comparatively few were sent to the
penitentiary some of them became very valuable
servants. It is just when the prodigal, naked and
hungry, is longing to return to his father's house,
that a private home, with close personal influence,
is more speedily effectual, than the public asylum
proving again, that the safest, and most fruitful
charity, springs from a deep and hidden root, that
makes no show. I heard lately from a friend, a
CONCLUSION.
beautiful instance of this hidden fruitful work. My
friend's housemaid was, for a short time, in an
infirmary. In the bed adjoining that which she
occupied, a young girl was dying of consumption,
who gave this history of a good Samaritan. The
girl had been leading an evil course of life, for a
year or two, and then became sensible of her sin,
and very anxious to leave it, and amend. No way
presented itself to her, but going to a penitentiary,
and she shrunk from the long confinement. Whilst
hesitating, and distressed, a poor washerwoman
heard of her, who becoming deeply interested, and
convinced of the girl's sincerity, without delay, or
calculation, opened her own door, and took her in,
as she would have done her own wandering child.
She fed, clothed, and cared for her, in every respect
as she would have done for her own. This con-
tinued for two years, the poor girl assisting in the
washing, as far as her shattered health would
permit. At the end of that time, becoming much
worse, her foster-mother thought she would be
much better off in the infirmary. The poor girl
spoke as one, who had found more than morality,
even rich streams of blessing, through the generous
kindness of this noble-hearted laundress, who
opened her heart, and stretched out her hand, at
the moment when it was needed and made
no talk.
CONCLUSION. 293
To these benevolent enterprizes, now upon trial,
might well be added, if it were possible, some
instruction for married men not of the kind
generally communicated in the mechanics' insti-
tutes but something more homely, and yet much
higher a more complete knowledge of their duties
as husbands and fathers. To bring home his
wages on a Saturday night, is now looked upon, as
embracing the centre and widest circle of a work-
ing man's duty to his family ; and it earns from
his wife, the commendatory title of "a good
partner."
It is often grievous to me to see how little help
men give to their wives not from unkindness, I
well believe, but from the usual practice of doing
nothing, except in their common hours of daily
labour. Were men more generally " handy," how
many little jobs could they do in the evening for
their wives and children, and find " change of work
as good as play," and far more profitable every
way, than lounging about, or sitting at the public-
house.
Any one would deserve well of their country,
who could contrive attractive practical instruction
for young men, between the periods of their leaving
school, and marrying those precious years, now
chiefly occupied in " sowing wild oats," and gaining
the habits which unfit them for the happy, holy
a
2Q4 CONCLUSION.
duties of domestic life. I know a lady, who has
had a class of this kind for seven years ; the ages
of her scholars varied from fifteen upwards. She
tells me that her aim has been, to develop their
characters and capacities generally ; and above all,
to make them true and earnest. She has seen
much good fruit produced by this means, and says,
the influence of a lady has a wonderful effect upon
young lads of this age. These classes might
naturally spring out of the Sunday schools, gather-
ing them in when apprentices and labourers. It is
lamentably true, that, the education which boys
receive in our schools, is often all but thrown away,
unless it be in some way continued after they leave
school, or be renewed, when they begin to think
for themselves.
The sons of labourers are so generally taken
from school, before knowledge has gone deeper
than the surface, that, although they may have
been famous in their school lessons, these lessons,
having taken no root in the mind, are soon lost
from the memory. An intelligent man, who had
been a schoolmaster for many years, in a first-rate
British school, mentioned this fact to me, as his
experience ; and he gave me an illustration, which
had just presented itself to him. An old scholar
came to him, to deposit some money in a savings
bank, of which he was the manager. The man
CONCLUSION. 295
had to write his name ; but, instead of doing this,
he said, "Will you be good enough to write it for
me, sir, and I will put my mark against it?"
" How is that ? " said the old master, " you used to
be one of our best writers at school." " Ah ! yes,
sir," was the man's reply, "but I've forgot that
now, and 'most all of what you teached us." Of
course, I do not mention this, as a rule, but I fear
it would be found, that the boys who leave school
at eight, ten, or even twelve years old, as they
often do in the country, would be found at
eighteen, to have retained little of their learning,
unless they were more studious, and solicitous of
self-improvement, than lads usually are, or had
come under an animating influence, from some one
mentally superior to themselves.
Let me not say one word to discourage religious
instruction that is essential for us all ; but it is
not all the instruction which we need, to enable us
to fulfil with credit, or efficiency, the multiplied
and varied duties of our daily life ; through
ignorance of which, even a good man is but a
blunderer. It may be said, that if the great prin-
ciples of Christianity were attended to, all such
rules, suggestions, and observations as these, would
be needless.
" True enough ! great principles are at the bottom
of all things; but to apply them to daily life,
296 CONCLUSION.
many little rules, precautions, and insights, are
needed. Such things hold a middle place, between
real life and principles, as form does, between
matter and spirit, moulding the one, and expressing
the other ; " and it is this unobtrusive, middle-place
ministry, for which workers are so peculiarly needed.
These meetings for fathers and mothers, for young
men and young women, need not be large only
small friendly gatherings round our own homes.
Oh, this central work ! this luminous centre !
how it grows ! how it would shine ! the scholars
are everywhere where are the teachers ? The
harvest is white where are the reapers ? Lord,
send forth more labourers !
And now, dear friend, I will conclude. I am
deeply conscious that my thoughts and feelings
are very inadequate to the importance of the
subject, upon which I have attempted to write,
and that my power of expression, has been lower
than my thoughts. I have only touched upon
the great field of labour here and there, and hinted
at some of our duties in it. I have probably
expressed crude opinions, and made mistakes,
which a wider circuit of knowledge and experience
might have corrected. Mine, has been limited, as
you will perceive, though gathered through many
years, and in many places ; but every place, and
every passing year, only say more urgently to me,
CONCLUSION. 297
that the Lord's servants must not in anywise
neglect His poor. Therefore, I will end, as I
began, with our scriptural encouragement "If
thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy
the afflicted soul ; then shall thy light rise in
obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday ;
and the Lord shall guide thee continually, and
satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy
bones : and thou shalt be like a watered garden,
and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not."
Then shall be poured into thy bosom, "good
measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and
running over." And the Lord shall make all thy
bed in thy sickness. " Therefore I command thee,
saying, Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy
brother, to thy poor, and to thy needy, in thy
land." "And thine heart shall not be grieved
when thou givest unto him : because that for this
thing the Lord thy God shall bless thee in all thy
works, and in all that thou puttest thine hand
unto." And at that Great Day, when the books
are opened, the King shall say, " Come, ye blessed
of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for
you from the foundation of the world. For I was
an hungered, and ye gave me meat ; I was thirsty,
and ye gave me drink ; I was a stranger, and ye
took me in ; naked, and ye clothed me ; I was
sick, and ye visited me ; I was in prison, and ye
298 CONCLUSION.
came unto me ; " and, " Inasmuch as ye have done
it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye
have done it unto me."
Yours sincerely,
APPENDIX,
t0 ifce
BY MRS. G. W. SHEPPARD.
" And Jesus said unto her : Go, and sin no more."
" Oh ! it was pitiful !
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none."
FOR many years past my sympathies have been drawn out
to the class of " unfortunate girls," who are becoming the
pests of our large towns, who, often driven, by sad necessity,
for a time to the Black Ward of the Union Workhouse, re-
turn again to their evil ways, and at last, worn out with sin,
die uncared for, because no hand is ever stretched out
mercifully to save them, or one word spoken, to give them
assurance that even after their terrible lives of sin, there
may be some who look " pitifully " on them. God blessed
my first endeavours to help them, some seven years ago at
the Workhouse ; three or four since then, I have been able
to get into Penitentiaries, but had exhausted my claims on
Bath, Clewer, and Pentonville, and still my heart ached
over these uncared-for ones hearing how many of them
were yearning to be cared for by me. Encouraged by some
kindly donations, I determined, with God's blessing, to see
how the following simple scheme would work, unlike as it
might be to the more elaborate machinery of the large
Penitentaries of England.
I took a house in the town at 6 per annum not a very
ruinous rent ! I bought some second-hand beds and bed-
ding ; a little needful furniture of chairs, tables, crockery,
302 APPENDIX.
&c. : some new coarse sheets, blankets, and counterpanes,
costing me altogether about 20. Then I placed an old
woman, whom I could depend upon, over all ; and last No-
vember, (1859,) I was at the Refuge at seven P.M., having
sent out invitations to all of that class to come and meet me
there. I had a bright fire, the table laid out with tea, coffee,
cake, &c. I welcomed them as they dropped in by twos
and threes, till fourteen or fifteen sat round my tiny room.
I was quite alone, only a loving old servant with me, who
made tea for them. Such hollow coughs met my ear ; such
hectic cheeks and feverish eyes. Some of them pretty
young creatures others seemingly hardened in long-in-
dulged sin. I heard them say, sotto voce : " This is kind
what a good tea haven't had such a meal this long time.
Mrs. S. don't do kindness by halves."
When they were satisfied I took my chair among them,
saying : " Now I am going to talk to you about myself first,
and then about you." I told them how I had longed for
many years past to do something for them, of my visits
to the Black Ward of the Workhouse. ("Please Ma'am,
you visited me there ;" or, '"twere my sister you do speak
of") ; then of my successful efforts for several of their class,
getting them, after long, long years of abandoned wicked-
ness, into the Penitentiaries above named ; and how all,
even the notorious M.H., the plague of magistrates and
prison authorities, seemed now becoming "clothed," and
in their " right mind."
By this time the sobbing and weeping had become almost
universal. I told them of my present attempt to save some
of them how I had begged for pecuniary assistance to
establish this little Home, and how I longed to gather in
some, that very night, but that I must have entire obedience
to my rules ; that as mine was only a simple Refuge, I could
not bolt and bar them in, but I should forbid any going out
after five in the evening. No beer to be allowed, but plenty
of coffee, tea, &c., and meat as I could afford to give them.
APPENDIX. 303
That I was going to trust to their honour, for I believed
there was still a tiny corner of right good womanly feeling
left in all their sin-degraded natures, which would keep them
from disobeying one who was trying thus to befriend them.
Amidst the convulsive sobs (like the heart-felt sob of a
little child under corporal punishment), I heard "Thank'ee,
Ma'am for trusting us; we couldn't do a dirty thing by
such a lady, and we won't neither." I then opened my
Bible, reading them the wonderful parable of the Prodigal
Son, showing them how they had been living among filthy
words and deeds, as with " the swine ; " how God had
made woman to be loved, and honoured and respected ;
and how they had forfeited all love, all honour, and all re-
spect. When I came to the touching question which I
addressed to them. "Will any of you now this very
night arise and come to the Heavenly Father you have
so long forsaken?" the room became like the valley of
Bochim truly a place of weeping. I said ; " Now, my
girls, kneel down with me, as you may have learnt to kneel
at your mother's knee, when she little thought you were to
become as you are now. Kneel down, and let us pray that
this evening may be the beginning of a new life to many of
you." Instantly they knelt round me, while in the simplest
words possible, I tried to lead them to follow my prayer.
I was overpowered myself, and my voice faltered, when the
sobbing redoubled. Then I sent them upstairs to see how
simple were the arrangements I had made ; that I could
receive six of them at once, and told them I should be in
the little inner room ready to see any who wished to speak
to me. four at once, and unhesitatingly, enrolled them-
selves as grateful candidates for my Refuge. Oh ! what
tales of woe and sadness came out to me. No home no
friends early temptation not a soul to say " Come back,
come back," to them. Such sweet young faces, two of them
not 19, and had been two years on the town clinging
* Three of those four named two doing well, one gone back to sin.
304 APPENDIX.
round me as if, having once found a friend, they dared not
leave me. Four more applied for leave to enter the next
week, with good reasons for not being able to do so at once.
I asked them collectively whether I should meet them
again. The earnest, ready response, even from those who
have not yet made up their minds to give up, all at once,
their wicked lives, made me arrange to meet them once a
fortnight during the winter, and read God's word, and pray
with them.
I left my four young penitents under the care of the trusty
old woman ; heard the lock turned behind me, shutting
them in from sin that night, and walked home in the lovely
moonlight, looking up in the bright clear heavens, and
thinking how blessed it would be if, by God's great mercy
enabling me, I might be allowed the privilege of gathering
in some of these forlorn and despised ones, who might
hereafter " shine as the stars for ever and ever." It is a
woman's mission woman's hand in its gentle tenderness
can alone reach those whom men have taught to distrust
them ; and I believe the more delicately nurtured, the
purer, the more ignorant of vice the lady is who thus seeks
them, the greater influence she would have over them.
Some time has now gone by since I began this deeply
interesting work, a time chequered with some anxieties,
but few deep shadows ; these anxieties arising from the
diversity of undisciplined tempers thrown together in one
small cottage, and also from the long-indulged habits of
idleness, and love of drinking, grown almost to a necessity
of their natures. Yet, I feel sure the sunshine of God's
approval rests on my little "Home." The poor girls con-
fess to me and others that they never were so happy in their
young lives before. Most of them were motherless ; if any
parents lived, they were drunken, and unworthy. When I
came to enquire into their past lives, and how they had
fallen thus low, I found, as I had expected, and as others of
experience in the sad matter would also testify, that their
APPENDIX. 305
fall was from no love of the vice itself ; I believe few women
are so degraded ; but the causes were lazy, idle habits, and
inaptitude for work, sudden temptation, with utter despair at
gaining an honest livelihood when the loss of virtue had
become known, and daily bread was only to be obtained by
daily vice ; again, light, easy tempers, swayed by the com-
panions of the day, be they good or bad ; but, above all,
the longing for fine dress dress not to be obtained by the
small wages they were perhaps receiving, and totally inad-
equate to supply them with the coveted flowers, feathers,
bright shawls, &c., which they could get by sin. These
were the reasons given me ; and when I thought of their
uncared-for childhood, a youth unfenced-in by any spells of
home, or gentle admonitions, or safeguards of propriety in
modest home scenes and language, I could not wonder at
the fall.
Twenty-two have sought me since I began my work, and
only three of that number have disappointed my hopes. It
is a work which any tender-hearted lady can undertake,
who, loathing the sin, shrinks not from the sinner.
Are we not thus carrying out the wish of our dear Saviour,
who, when He found the lost erring sheep, did not drive it
harshly over flinty paths and thorny ways, but gently "laid
it on His shoulders, rejoicing," bringing it "home?"
Let the first lesson we teach them be a joyful one, (enough
of the darkness of sin has rested on their young hearts till
now), namely, that God remembered them, even in their
forgetfulness of him, and sends them a loving invitation to
return by a woman's gentle voice and persuasive manner,
let the next lesson be, that "religion's ways are ways of
pleasantness," and that if rioting and drunkenness are put
away, there is true happiness and peace in the quiet vir-
tuous life on which they have now entered.
I think I see my way clear to draw many back to the
paths of morality, if not to ways of higher peace and joy, if
I had but a settled annual income to depend upon.
306 APPENDIX.
English sisters aye, and brothers too help me to carry
on this work. The Cottage Refuge, or " Homej " the old
matron, or "Mother" (for so they designate them), is all
my simple machinery, therefore kindly gifts go direct to the
furtherance of this object. Help me to invite more than
are at present under my care, or begin the same plan in
your own town ; only, do not let these our " unfortunate "
sisters be left without words of kindness to welcome them
back to the paths of virtue, womanly happiness, and peace
with God.
EMMA SHEPPARD,
Fromefield House,
Frame, Somerset.
June i$th, 1862.
inisirg joff f 0iu t0 iff* fallen.
BY MRS. G. W. SHEPPARD.
"GOD IS LOVE."
" Speak gently ! 'tis a little thing,
Dropped in the heart's deep well ;
The good, the joy that it may bring,
Eternity shall tell."
NEARLY three years have gone by since I began my
small " Home " three years of sunshine and shadow ; but
the shadows have been few comparatively. Thirty-three
poor fallen ones have sought me since November, 1859,
only five of whom have really gone back to evil, and that,
because they loved the wages of iniquity, and preferred the
" wallowing in the mire " of sin. Of the remaining twenty-
eight, I could tell many pleasant tales, but will now only
instance one or two.
The key-note for their recall has been " Love." No
reproaches for former sin, no dismal doublings whether
they would accept the offer of a new life, but a certain
confidence expressed in the full and loving invitation, " I
am sure you will be glad to leave your awful unwomanly
lives ; come in, poor girl ; come in. Here is a loving
home, a loving 'mother' to receive you ; come, come and
try whether such a life may not be happier than a life of
sin and riot and iniquity." Very few turn from that voice
of love ; the young ear drinks it in, it is an echo of early
days, of voices heard long ago, or perchance only dreamt
of, never before realised. It is the cheerful earnest word
308 APPENDIX.
which reaches the heart, and removes the DISTASTE to
repentance. The sense of sin has for many years placed a
sort of impassable barrier between them, in their gross sin,
and all womanly or brotherly kindness. "Outcasts,"
indeed ! the word " love " is unknown to them. And thus
I find that the first gently spoken " Come in, my poor
child " breaks down this sense of alienation from the pure ;
softens, wins, produces directly the longing, " Oh ! that I
could undo the past, and become as a little child at my
mother's knee once more." Yes, I long more and more to
make my tiny " Home" as an ancient City of Refuge, clear
every stumbling-stone away, make the road straight and
unmistakable, and let the door be wide open, for the
Avenger is upon the poor young thing if she stays longer
without. " Come in, come in ! " Once safe within, then
by degrees tell of Him who died to open even a better
door the door of Heavenly mercy. Let there be no
reproaches heaped upon her. "Neither do / condemn
thee ; " / whose path has been hedged in with preserving
and protecting safeguards from my youth up until now,
and who have too often neglected and despised them.
My heart flows over in thankful gratitude when I leave
one of these forlorn ones to be cared for, and fed and
clothed by the loving woman who carries out all my wishes
as "mother" to those who have none on earth ; and on my
return home, without entering into any details, I can tell
my young daughters of another lost one found, and thus
teach them to look tenderly and pitifully on these wander-
ing ones for their mother's sake, and be ready in after
years to give the " outstretched hand to the fallen."
And now I will refer to two cases which I think may
show the reality of what I here advocate.
In an early number of the " Magdalen's Friend," I wrote
of one who had sought me, or rather, who had been found
by me, viz., Matilda H .
Most kindly had they received her at Clewer, when so
APPENDIX. 309
vile was her name, that all other Penitentiaries refused her
I had no Refuge of my own then but she could not
bear the confinement and the regular discipline. She
injured herself also, and was obliged to give up her active
washing engagements, and came back on my hands, to my
great dismay. After many attempts to get her into service,
to work in a silk factory, &c., I found all was useless. One
small cup of beer almost maddened her, and she would
become quarrelsome and abusive, and give me much
anxiety. At last I thought I would work on her wonderful
personal love for myself, and implored her to take my
hand, and promise me not to touch beer again till I allowed
her. She at once acceded, and for nearly six months has
never even desired to break her loving pledge to me. To
see her now gentle, soft, refined in voice and manner ; the
sullen look gone, and cheerful happiness beaming forth in
every feature ; the willing hand and eye to give satisfaction
and help to all around her ; no wonder the Poor-law
officials, the police, the magistrates, all but refuse to believe
it can be the notorious Matilda H the degraded,
unwomanly, obscene creature, who was foremost in every
thing of evil for eighteen years of her life.
During my absence this summer, I trembled lest she
might be led astray when my personal influence was with-
drawn. So I wrote to Mrs. West, the energetic and
excellent wife of the Governor of Shepton Gaol, asking her
if she would allow Matilda to spend a long day there while
I was away ; for Mrs. West used to persuade the poor
girl to give up her evil ways in former times of imprison-
ment. Most kindly did she accede, and welcomed her for
three days there. Can we imagine a prouder heart than
Matilda's when she found herself guest in the kitchen
within the very prison walls she had entered twenty-eight
times before she was twenty-eight years old ! she drank
tea with the matrons ; she told of her struggles, of her
deep love for me, preserving her from falling into her old
X
310 APPENDIX.
sin, ever since I took her out, direct from her prison cell,
four years ago ; of her gratitude, and earnest desire to
lead not only a moral, but a godly life to know more of
Jesus and His great love. Her letter to me was as follows :
" Oh, how happy I was at Shepton ! how many times did
Mrs. West and me talk of your kindness ! and wept to-
gether over the kindness you show me and others, and she
prayed heartily for the Lord to prosper your work. The
matrons did not know me at first ; I were so different to
the wicked girl who used to be brought in full of cursing
and blasphemy. They was all so kind to me ; I never can
forget it. When, my dear lady, when are you coming
home? I do reckon the days and hours of your coming,
only you did ought to have a holiday. When you are with
us, you labour with every nerve, and now, I am sure, your
hearty prayers are with us. God bless you ! God bless
you ! Where should I have been but for your dear voice of
love ? I will do all in my power to give you comfort, and
I hope the Lord will still keep me. And ALL I want now
is to feel more of the love of God in my soul. May I gain
it ! I hope you will write to me again with your dear
hands before you come home.
" Accept the fondest love of your humble servant,
" M. H."
Oh, her joy when she saw me return ! She could not let
my hand go ; she wept over it, she kissed it. " Oh, how
I love you ! How glad I am I've been good, and not
ashamed to look you in the face ! Oh, I could sit down
and cry for joy ! Don't go away again ! "
And now her anxiety is to help in any work her infirmity
will allow her to do, and so relieve me of the burden of 45.
weekly, which I give her for her board and lodging, in the
next house to my Home.
Her grand joy is to be my almoner to follow me with
her basket, and run off to some needy one with a bit of
meat. And this I find a blessed plan with all of them. I
APPENDIX. 3 1 1
only wish that those who have time, and heart, and money
to dispose of, could accompany me on one of these rounds,
and witness the joy, the intense gratitude, of those lodging
away from my Home on a weekly allowance from me, for
a bit of meat to be cooked for Sunday, or an extra ounce of
tea and sugar, or a few apples and 6d. to buy flour and lard
for a Sunday pie, or a bit of flannel for young limbs,
crippled by exposure of old to all kinds of weather in the
midnight streets, or a ticket for a hundredweight of coal
all small benefits in their value, but making me realize
the truth, at that moment, of our Master's words, " It is
more blessed to give than to receive ; " while, at other
times, when a cheque reaches me, or a ^5 unexpectedly
comes in, I feel even more truly still, " It is most blessed to
receive this for these poor grateful ones." I find that to
give to each of my rescued ones a certain number of
destitute and aged to look after, to tell me of, to work for,
to visit, to minister to all this tends to make them enter
on their future life thoughtful for others, and thus they find
in such work far higher pleasure than in all the licentious
enjoyments of earlier years. I see the good effect of this in
Matilda ; it has softened her wondrously, and made her
heart overflow with love to others.
On Sundays I have been able hitherto to provide a joint
at the "Home," to which I invite the "poor, the halt, the
blind," between the services ; for my Refuge is close to
Trinity Church, and this is watched in its roasting by the
one who necessarily is at home to look after the aged
mother of the Matron. With a little extra help, I hope to
continue this during the winter. Four or five of these girls
have married from my Home but of course, to great
poverty seldom tasting a bit of meat ; two or three of
these, I ask to dinner on Sundays by turns. A few old
women who have loved the Lord for nearly half a century,
and who find their way with bowed and crippled frames
regularly to the house of God, find a resting-place in
312 APPENDIX.
my cottage home, and, after dinner, the sweet song of
praise rises from these "mothers in Israel," and the young
creatures who are just gathered into the outward and
visible Church. For 10 this arrangement might be
carried out all the year through. The foremost in waiting
on them, and caring for all but herself, is a girl only just
twenty, and who was almost as notorious for evil as Matilda
was. Last autumn, she was sentenced to prison for two
months, and when there, was earnestly advised by the
Chaplain, to seek me, when she came out.
Accordingly, one wet stormy dark day in November,
1861, I was sitting among the girls at my " Home," when a
knock at the door came, and there stood poor A C ,
a piteous sight indeed ; an old flounced barege a pair of
boots, through the holes of which her stockingless feet
were seen and a ragged bonnet were all she had on.
The rain dripped from her as she stood shivering at the
open door, and humbly and touchingly begged for shelter.
I almost feared to admit her, for the sake of the others :
but I could not turn her away I could only say, " Come
in, come in, poor child, at any rate for one night ; " and
then I gave her in charge to the other girls, who ran up-
stairs, one for a pair of warm stockings, another for under-
clothing, and so on ; while she, melted into a burst of
anguish and overcome by the voice of loving compassion,
thus passionately urged her suit, " I will be good ! I will
be good ! Don't send me out into those dreadful streets !
Oh, let me stay here ! "
Rough and rude, and almost fierce in her ignorant de-
meanour, we watched her during the next few weeks.
Soon the loving smile of deep gratitude changed the very
aspect of the girl ; she could not do enough for us, and
never once has she given us a moment's real pain since
that day. She has obtained work at a factory, and comes
in on a Saturday afternoon, joyously putting down her 2s.
towards her board, the remaining is. 6d. being put imme-
APPENDIX. 3 1 3
diately into her savings' box, with loving, respectful words
to me, " Oh, dear lady, if you had turned me away that
day, where should I have been now ? "
These are only two of their " o'er true tales ; " but are
not these sweet encouragements to any lady to open her
heart and her hand to the fallen ones around her ?
O O O O
May the Lord preserve them and me in His holy ways
for evermore.
EMMA SHEPPARD,
Fromefield House.
November, 1862.
f dfcr fnrai lUrs, S($pr& t0
Fromefield House, Frame,
October \$th, 1863.
DEAR MRS. SEWELL,
You ask me to supplement my printed
reports, by two practical statements, relative, ist, to the
expense of the Sunday dinner for the old people ; and 2nd,
to the daily employment of the poor girls in my " Home."
Of my Sunday dinner, I give you the experience of last
week, as an example, when the special ordering fell on me,
the matron being ill. This was our fare. A leg of mutton,
weighing eight pounds, at "jd. a pound, cost 4^. &/./ turnips
and potatoes, 6d.; bread, $d. making the total expense
5-r. 5< A jugful of good meat-gravy was supplied, for the
dear old folks to dip their potatoes in. Fifteen persons
were helped to as much as they could eat ; two thin slices
is as much as they need, being so little used to fresh meat ;
and there was some left to hash for dinner at the Home,
next day. Thus the fifteen persons were amply fed for
about 4s. 4^.
I cannot tell you how happily I come home, on a Sunday
morning from church, after looking in on this grateful little
party, putting off their cloaks, and taking their places, for
a comfortable hot meal, instead of returning with painful
316 APPENDIX.
steps, to some far away home, where a drop of " tay water "
used to be their only comfort. After dinner, they sit by
the fire, till the bell calls for the afternoon service, which
some of them attend. If any of the number are sick, their
portions are sent to them in covered basons, with the hot
meat-gravy poured over all. The cost of this is only i a
month ; and the plan might be adopted by any one, who,
fixing on a tidy cottager near to the place of worship, would
arrange with her to cook for the old people, even if her
only payment were, "the fragments that remained, over
and above to them that had eaten."
Then, 2ndly, as regards the employment of my poor
girls in the Refuge. I found that, with only one matron, it
was inexpedient to keep too many together in the " Home,"
as their undisciplined tempers, and rude words, provoked
quarrelling. I therefore drafted off any for whom I could
get work, to cottages, where I could thoroughly trust them
to be looked after. As an instance I have hired a spare
bed-room, in the house of a dear old man and woman, now
past work, who finding it very hard to pay all the rent out
of their parish allowance, are glad to let this room to me
for I s, a week, which is two-thirds of their rent. They have
a long established character for consistent conduct and piety,
and have lived for nearly half a century in the house, to which
they came when they married. I furnished this room with
a second-hand bedstead, about $s.; a bed, about qs.; with
three warm calico sheets, two blankets, and a rug. Then,
if I find A. B. can be trusted, I send her to the old Button's,
to whom she becomes as a child, and is never allowed to
leave the house after seven o'clock in the evening. I
supply her with coarse needle-work, or get her washing
with some respectable laundress, or procure admission for
her to the silk factory here, where she can earn $s. 6d.
weekly ; upon which, I expect her to feed herself ; whilst I
pay for her lodging, and look to her clothing, till she can
earn more. If she is at home all the week, I direct the
APPENDIX. 317
matron to supply her with needle-work to the same
amount, and am glad then, to add some small extra indul-
gence a little tea, or a bit of bacon. My great object is.
to trust them ; to believe that their coming to me, is from
a true desire to turn over a new leaf ; and I wish to give
them such employments, as will enable them to earn their
bread, and keep them from sin. Generally speaking, they
are poor hands at their needle ; but they soon improve,
and take great pride in showing me a seam well done. I
buy large stores of calico, print, and flannel ; the matron
cuts out admirably ; and I find the demand for these
ready-made articles, in a manufacturing town like ours,
greater than we can supply. I only charge the "poor
people's " price for making, and sell it at nearly cost price.
Thus, at the present price of calico 4 yards at 7^., would
be, with 6d. for making, but 2s. lod. for the shirt. The
matron gives the rough seams and hemming to the girls
who are not expert in needlework ; and if she has no one
just then in the Home who can do the better parts, she
gives it to some poor woman, who is very glad to finish up
the article ; and a ready sale ensues. By this means, I do
not lose ; and am able to keep many a poor family in little
comforts, by giving out, perhaps, two or three shirts
weekly, for the mother to make. I occasionally trust one
or other of the inmates of the " Home," to sell these gar-
ments among the work-people. It is a great joy to me
just now, to see my store of winter garments for sale, and
to feel also, that ! am not out of pocket ; whilst every
article on my shelf, has been made by those, who might
otherwise have been starving or sinning. As long as I can
sell, as I do now, so long can I supply, not only my own
rescued ones, but any one who needs it, with a certain
quantity of work weekly.
I have some on my list, who, either crippled in limbs, or
sinking away in early decline, can do very little to help
themselves ; for these, I take care they shall always hive
3l8 APPENDIX.
3-y. weekly for food, earning a part of it themselves, and the
rest supplied from my purse ; or, I transfer them to the
" Home," where all of food and clothing is supplied, or I
send a rougher girl to the old Button's, or other cottage
home of the same description, to earn her own living, and
be softened and refined, by the companionship of the old
" Countess," as we call Mrs. B., in her sweet ways and
gentle manners.
I think I have replied to your questions, dear Mrs.
Sewell, and I shall feel pleased indeed, if the statements of
this simply conducted work, can be made available, to
lead others to begin something of the same kind.
I could tell you also, of my two new Homes, for aged
female paupers, who taken out of the Workhouse, or saved
from going into it, are located in some commodious cottage,
where I can feed them comfortably, on their parish pay of
2s. 6d. and even lay by 6d. weekly, out of this, towards cloth-
ing for them ; so that all my expense is the rent, (which has
been paid for one year by a kind Christian friend), the coal,
soap, and candles, amounting for each Home, to about 16
a year. I have already ten happy, grateful old women
assembled, bringing their own beds, and chairs, &c., if they
have any, who are being cared for, and catered for, by that
very Matilda H I have mentioned before, and by
another true penitent, who has been with me three years.
One of these " Homes " is at our gate, and the song of
praise often rises from the happy old people, who have
found indeed a home, and comforts, and love, and care,
rather than the struggling life they would otherwise have led ;
for I cannot think how the aged live at all on the parochial
2S. 6d. or is. gd., if they have to pay for rent, coals, candles,
washing, &c. ; but, in this way, 2s. weekly, given to me,
enables me to feed them admirably, as poor people are
accustomed to be fed on well-boiled potatoes, and a
morsel of bacon upon it, or a bit of red herring ; or a
sheep's head stewed down with rice ; and tea whenever they
APPENDIX. 319
need it little scraps from our own table, making up many
a meal.
Then, one of my rescued ones, who is a good scrubber and
washer, goes a day in each week, to these two " Homes," to
wash, and scrub ; whilst the old people, sitting to the table,
can iron their own things. This girl, thus earns her is. 6d.
weekly from me, which she leaves in my hands for clothes.
I fear I have tired you, but you asked for the details,
which I think I have here given. Oh ! dear Mrs. Sewell,
if all around us could be induced to consider the poor and
needy, we might be sure of this if done, in simple faith
as "unto Jesus" done from a grateful heart, for God's
great abounding mercies to our own souls done in sim-
plicity, and according to our means, and the ability given
to us done lovingly, with loving words, and thoughtful-
ness, and care depend upon it, though it may all be as
only the " cup of cold water," it shall not lose its reward.
Such efforts bring humble thoughts to our own hearts
"What am /, to be thus honoured to be made a worker for
Him? It is of Thy hand alone, Oh God ! " Such efforts
encourage self-denial " I can give up a new dress, &c.,
for B. C. wants new flannels, or E. F. a pair of boots."
Such efforts make one trust in Him who will not let the
work come to an end for want of a little help from others,
who are rich in this world's goods. Such efforts make one
cry out, " Come quickly, Lord Jesus," and put away for ever
sin and sorrow ! and they make all thoughtful ones echo.
" Come Lord, come."
I remain,
Yours very sincerely,
EMMA SHEPPAKD.
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mm
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9B1
HUH!
man
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