“Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less and more.”

Wordsworth.

A FEW weeks ago I was visiting the Library in the British Museum. Two gentlemen, who stood near me, appeared very earnest in the pursuit of something which they wanted. Presently, by an exclamation of delight, I understood that their search had been successful; they had found what they had sought. And what had they found? A very old book, so badly printed as to be read with difficulty, and containing information of what must have taken place at least two thousand years ago—information very interesting and important to the old Romans, no doubt; and which would have been still more so, if they could have foreseen what delight it would have imparted, centuries later, to two inhabitants of a remote island in the north, who could not possibly be affected by it. But so it is: some minds prefer to dwell on the past; others live in the present; and some seem of opinion that “man never is, but always to be, blest.” This diversity is no doubt necessary; all do some good: the antiquarian adds to the interest of our libraries, if not of our lives; and we owe much to those who teach us to look forward, if they will only at the same time help us to look upward: but to such as wish to do something, who desire to have an influence on the great living history which every day is writing afresh, the passing events of the time have the greatest charm, because they not only present food for reflection, but opportunity for exertion.

We not unfrequently hear people speak of life in such a way as would lead us to suppose that there had been some mistake as to the date of their birth. Had they come a little earlier or a little later, it would have been different; but the present seems to afford them no object of interest. They complain of intolerable dulness, the weariness of life; and in watching the cheerless, the objectless existence of such people, we wonder that it is recorded of only a single individual, that one morning he shot himself, for the reason assigned on a slip of paper which he had left on the dressing-table—“I am tired of living only to breakfast, dine, and sup.”

I have often thought, when listening to such complaints, of the prayer of Elisha for his unbelieving servant, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see;” and if the Lord would do for them as He did for this servant, and open their eyes—not to see “mountains full of horses and chariots of fire” waiting to deliver them—but alleys, and lanes, and villages, full of the needy and the sick, waiting for loving hearts and kind hands to come and help them to rise from their degradation, wretchedness, and filth,—the strain would be changed; and, in the contemplation of such a vast amount of labour, followed by such rich reward, we should rather expect to hear, if it must still be the language of complaint:—

“O wretched yet inevitable spite
Of our short span! and we must yield our breath,
And wrap us in the lazy coil of death;
So much remaining of unproved delight!”

There are many indications in the present day that the fields are “white unto harvest.” Several things, that were looked upon some years ago as experiments, have been so eminently successful, that no unprejudiced mind can doubt that they are the means which God has blessed, and by which He intends to accomplish a great work of reformation in this country. It was a glorious sight at St Martin’s Hall, on the 2d of March, when 567 young persons came forward to claim the prize for having remained a twelvemonth in a situation; and, were it not for the strictness of the rules, excluding all apprentices, requiring a written character from a master or mistress, it was stated that as many as 1500 would have been present. All these had been rescued from well-nigh certain destruction by the Ragged School, and had there received the education which qualified them to take these situations. There must have been joy in the presence of the angels of God that night, as they witnessed these rescued ones sitting together, and listening eagerly to words by which their souls might live; and which, if the prayers of many there were answered, would prepare them to receive an incorruptible prize, that can never fade away.Whilst these facts convey resistless evidence to the mind, that these poor outcasts can be lifted out of their wretchedness and be saved, the conviction deepens, that God will hold us responsible to do this work; and, in all the labour ever required of our hands, it has never been so necessary that whosoever would engage in it must be taught of the Lord. We have to pray not only that the Lord of the harvest would send more labourers into the harvest, but also that He would endow them with just the spirit and power necessary for this particular work. In noticing the physical wants and requirements of this country, nothing strikes us more forcibly than the certainty with which the demand creates the supply. No matter how intricate and complicated the required machinery may be, heads are always to be found clever enough to invent, and hands skilful enough to work it. In fact, the degree of perfection attained in this way is enough to make us “proud of the age we live in.” If machinery and steam-power had been the agency required to purify such places as St Giles’s and Bethnal Green, the work would have been done long ago. These wretched localities have not remained so long “like blots in this fair world,” without being thought of and cared for. Many politicians and scientific men have asked earnestly, “What can be done?” and have turned away hopelessly, feeling that the mighty intellect which could subdue air, earth, and sea, had now met with something beyond its power; and still the question remained unanswered, “What can be done?”One of the most interesting discoveries of the past few years has been, that the humblest instead of the grandest agency is required to accomplish this work which the wisest heads have found so difficult. A little sketch of the early history of one of God’s most successful agents will shew that “His thoughts are not as our thoughts;” for it would not have entered into the heart of man to have suggested such a preparation for usefulness. “A drunken father, who broke her mother’s heart, had brought a young girl of fifteen, gradually down, down from the privileges of a respectable station, to dwell in a low lodging-house in St Giles’s. The father died shortly afterwards, and left her, and a sister five years of age, orphans in the midst of pollution, which they, as by miracle, escaped; often sitting on the stairs or door-step all night, to avoid what was to be seen within. An old man, the fellow-lodger of the children, and kind-hearted, though an Atheist, had taught the elder to write a little, but bade her never read the Bible, since it was full of lies; and that she had only to look around her in St Giles’s, and she might see that there was no God. She had learned to read and knit from looking continually at the shop-windows. She married at eighteen years of age her present husband, and for the first time in her young memory knew the meaning of that blessed word, ‘home;’ although the home was but a room, changed from time to time in the same neighbourhood. After many years of considerable suffering, from loss of children, ill-health, and other calamities, she took shelter one rainy night in an alley which led up to a little Mission Hall in Dudley Street. She entered, and heard it announced that books would be lent, on the next evening, from a newly-formed library for the poor at that place. Going early, she was the first claimant of the promise. She had intended to borrow Uncle Tom’s Cabin; but a strong impulse came over her, which she could not resist—it was as if she had heard it whispered, ‘Do not borrow Uncle Tom; borrow a Bible.’ So she asked for a Bible. ‘A Bible, my good woman?’ was the missionary’s reply. ‘We did not mean to lend Bibles from this library; but wait, I will fetch you one. It is a token for good that the Book of God, the best of books, should be the first one asked for and lent from this place.’ He brought her the Bible, and asked if he should call, and read a chapter with her. She said respectfully, ‘No, sir, thank you; we are very quiet folk, my husband might not like it. I will take the book, and read it for myself.’ The Lord’s time was come. His message then first entered her house, and went straight to her heart. The Divine Spirit applied the Word with power; and the arrow of conviction was ere long driven home by suffering and affliction.

“A severe illness laid her prostrate, and to this hour she feels—in a way that we who help her in her work cannot feel—what is meant by sickness and poverty coming together.” [8]

This was God’s education to prepare for Himself an agent to carry out His purposes of mercy. By uniting the introduction of God’s Word with care for the temporal wants of the poor people around her, Marian has been able to accomplish wonders in two short years; and the account of them will be seen with great pleasure by those who allow themselves the monthly treat of reading “The Book and its Mission.” But something more than facts, valuable as they are, have been deduced from Marian’s mission. The lock that refused to be picked, has yielded to the fitting key. We have sat in our beautiful churches long enough, and wished we could see the poor gathered around us; but they have not come. We have written numberless words of advice to them from our comfortable houses; and though all these efforts have, doubtless, accomplished good, especially amongst a particular class—for no word of truth falls to the ground—yet all will acknowledge that they have in a great measure failed to affect the masses of our poor people; and, had it not been for our City Missionary and Ragged School, it is dreadful to think what would have become of the ever-increasing population of this crowded city. Our missionaries have done much; the moral atmosphere is always improved by their presence; and thousands of poor wanderers from God have, through their teaching, found their way back to peace and holiness. The Ragged Schools have rescued thousands of poor outcasts from destruction. But neither of these agencies operates directly upon the homes of the poor, though “the entrance” of that word which “giveth light,” seldom fails to shed its influence on the exterior.

My acquaintance with the poor began very early. My father’s house stood alone, surrounded by beautiful lawns, wood, and water. Our nearest neighbours were the poor people in a village about five minutes’ walk from our home; most of them were simple labouring people, and as children we were trusted to go amongst them without much superintendence from our elders. Our dear mother often employed us on errands of mercy to them; and as soon as we could read well enough, we were sometimes sent to cheer the solitary hours of some poor invalid by reading to him. Our relations to each other were so kindly and pleasant, that we always met with a hearty welcome; and for years, I believe, I knew something about the interior of every cottage in the place. I remember even then feeling astonished at the wretched management I saw, especially with regard to children; and as we did not live in any fear of one another, I sometimes took upon myself to remark to the “gudewife” that so-and-so was never done at home. All this was taken in good part: the reply was generally a laugh, and “Law, my dear, poor people’s children isn’t like gentlefolk’s;” or if my observations extended to cooking or house-cleaning, it was, “Law, bless you, you doesn’t know anything about that; gentlefolks never does.” Notwithstanding all these rebukes, I still thought over these things; and have thought over them, to a greater or less extent, ever since; and the result is, the deliberate conviction that so long as the wives and mothers of the poor continue such as we generally find them, we cannot look for any very great improvement in their social position.

I have known many women, under thirty years of age, with six or eight children, so totally unqualified for almost everything which they had to do, that I have wondered how they managed to exist at all. I am now, of course, speaking of those below the class from which we usually obtain our domestic servants; and amongst this class, more unfit than any other for life’s solemn duties, the earliest marriages are contracted, apparently without any idea that at least as much preparation is needed as is deemed necessary for breaking stones on the road.

If a lady feels herself unequal to the management of her family, she can call in the aid of nurses, governesses, and schools; and thus her defects may in some measure be made up by assistance from without. But who or what is to step in between the poor mother and her children? If she cannot train them during the first few years of infancy, they remain untrained; and not only are the wise man’s words proved true, that “a child left to itself bringeth its mother to shame,” but it is found that the multiplication of these families thus left to themselves, bringeth a nation to shame. When we look honestly at things as they are, we have no right to be much surprised at such a result: it is unreasonable to expect to reap what has never been sown. Seven years of careful training is not thought too much for those who are to be employed in the making of our shoes, our coats, or in the building of our houses. The education of the men of this country is generally, from a very early age, adapted to their future employment. Hence, as might be expected, there is no lack of clever artisans, who have indeed a higher character for cleverness than for goodness. But the girl, who is to grow up to exercise an influence upon persons more than upon things, is left to scramble on as best she can, generally content to do as badly as those who have preceded her; and yet, in the words of one who has thought and written much upon the subject—“It is to the poor man’s wife that we must chiefly look, when we indulge the hope of reducing that frightful amount of crime which, with all our inventions, discoveries, and improvements, sometimes awakens a fear that we may not really be in so prosperous a condition, socially and nationally, as our rapid progress in what is called civilisation would lead a superficial observer to suppose.”

I have never yet been able to see how schools, or any system of national education, could meet this difficulty. That we should be much worse than we are without them, there cannot be a doubt. Our beautiful Infant Schools especially, that shelter these little ones so many hours a day from the sight and the sound of evil, call for a special thanksgiving to God. To no class of people in this country are we more indebted than to those high-minded Christian teachers who, with infinite patience and self-denial, manage to infuse into their teaching such freshness, purity, and wondrous adaptation, that many a little rebel is through them brought back to allegiance. The preparation for life that boys likewise require can, to some considerable extent, be supplied from without; but to girls, whose education is valuable in proportion as it prepares them for domestic duties, nothing can ever compensate for the absence of home-training. The question then arises, considering that nineteen girls out of twenty do not receive a proper home-training, what is the best substitute for it? Until some remedy for so great an evil can be found, this misery and misfortune must continue. I do not pretend to answer this question satisfactorily; I rather wish to obtain for it the attention of wiser and clearer heads, believing that nothing can, at the present time, exceed it in importance. The few suggestions I have to make are very simple, and cannot be considered comprehensive enough to meet such a widely extended evil. If we were to see seven people struggling in the water, and could only save one from drowning, we could not plead as an excuse for neglecting to help that one, our inability to rescue the six. In like manner, we must use the little light that is given to us, trusting that, as we advance, more light will be granted.

That which we propose to substitute should resemble, as nearly as possible, the home-training which we find to be so sadly deficient. These poor girls require friends who will supply to them the place of mothers. Much has been said and written about ladies devoting their leisure time to the poor, and there is no doubt that much more good might be done by them in this way than is done; but the work we refer to demands something far beyond the occasional call, the book lent, and the garment cut out.

There are so many points of difference between the child reared in the mansions of the wealthy, and the uncared-for, friendless infant picked out of the streets and alleys, that it is not strange if they should have few thoughts in common. It is true there is in some hearts, as in that of Elizabeth Fry, a sympathy strong enough to extend itself to everything with which it comes in contact. The moral power of such natures is very great: they are one of God’s best gifts to this fallen world, yet not the most common. In devising schemes of improvement, we cannot therefore rely upon the powerful assistance which they give; nor must we take it for granted that our plans will be worked out by their aid. Probably, the best suggestion that has been offered hitherto, is made by the writer of “The Book and its Mission,” who proposes that some of the best of the poor women, superintended by ladies, should be employed as missionaries; and that each missionary should be the mistress of a house, into which a number of homeless girls might be received on payment of a small weekly sum. Here, under motherly training, they might be fitted for their future duties.

The Marian above alluded to, soon after the commencement of her work in St Giles’s, says:—“I long to lift poor young girls, from twelve to eighteen years of age, out of the horrors of those overcrowded rooms; and how glad I should be to take a house and make a dormitory for them by themselves! I know forty who would come to me at once, and pay threepence a night each: they could well afford it, and it would take the money from those dancing-rooms and casinos to which they flock to their ruin. What new thoughts I might put into their minds in the evening! How I might read the Bible with them! and some of them might help me in my other work. There is no provision of the sort for the class I mean; and they are those who most want it. Such a change would be to them the beginning of a new life; and there are perhaps five thousand of those girls always growing up in St Giles’s.”

But how inadequate, some will say, are these means to meet so extensive an evil! To provide for forty out of five thousand is of little avail. So it, indeed, appears if we look merely on the surface of this great subject. But it must never be forgotten that, every individual is a centre of influence. It is a proverb that “one sickly sheep infects the flock,” but happily this law of infection is not always on the side of evil; and, I believe, the force of example is stronger in the class to which I am now referring, than amongst the reading and thinking people in a higher grade of society. “I thought he was right, at first,” a lady once said to me, “but when I sat down by the fire quietly in the evening with my Bible, and listened to the voice within, as well as to the teaching of the Word, I then saw it all in a different light; and I resolved more firmly than I had ever done before that God should be my guide, and not man.”

But we are not speaking of the few who sit quietly by their fireside in the evening to weigh the actions of the day in the balance of truth; we refer to the multitude whose rule of conduct is summed up in the words—“Follow my leader.” True, they do not always follow the same leader; and the defection of a comrade will cause them to halt. Yet, after a time, they are found walking behind another guide. They are contented even if he choose the old path. But whether old or new, they cannot advance without guidance. To such accustomed only to “move altogether if they move at all,” we would commend the great truth that God can work by and for the few as well as for the many; that He is often content with small beginnings where we should have expected mighty achievements. This lesson we learn from our Saviour’s teaching.

He often spoke to large audiences; but He never refrained because His listeners were few. What minister charged with such a message as, “Whosoever drinketh the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life,” would have told it for the first time to a poor sinful woman whom he met by the way-side? Would he not rather have reasoned that his church must be unusually full before such a wonderful message could be delivered? Surely many “masters of Israel” should have been present to hear the answer to the question that has vexed and troubled the Church in all ages, as to where and how the Father was to be worshipped. But no; the same wondering woman, standing with her water-pitcher in her hand, was taught that neither exclusively “in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem” was the Father to be worshipped, but that “the true worshippers worship the Father in spirit and in truth.” Jesus knew she would go on her way and stop every one she met, to repeat what she had heard, and to say, “Come, see a man who told me all things that ever I did.” This, too, is our hope, when the thought depresses us, that these small means can never affect such masses of evil. Each rescued soul becomes a light set upon a hill that cannot be hid, and many will make use of this light to guide themselves out of darkness.

Let those who are actively and successfully engaged in their own peculiar duties, spare a little time to assist their less gifted or less fortunate neighbours. Let those who are weary of doing nothing, assist those who are weak and weary with doing too much. Let those who are strong, aid those whose burden of life is too heavy for them to bear. And let us all seek to fulfil the great Christian command—which should be the bane of selfishness, and must be the foundation of social elevation—“Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”