The death of her brother-in-law, Tell Meuricoffre, in the spring of 1900, and the death of his wife in the autumn of the same year, were a great sorrow to Josephine Butler, increasing the feeling of loneliness that so often comes to the aged; but amid all her weakness and loneliness in these last years, hope, illimitable hope, was the dominant note of her soul, as she looked forward to the “smile and the ‘good morning’ with which God would greet her” on the other side.

To the Editor of the Shield.

April, 1900.

You ask me for a few words on the character and career of my brother-in-law, the Chevalier Tell Meuricoffre, who fell asleep on Thursday, March 22nd. It would hardly be possible for me to write of him impersonally, while even as a sister, to whom he was very dear, it is not quite easy. But I will try. I cannot speak of him in any direct connection with the cause which your paper represents, for he never came personally to the front in our work, though in sympathy he was with us and with his dear wife, my sister, who has been for several years a member of our International Committee, and some of whose published letters reveal a deeper insight than I have ever observed in any other person into the intimate relations of our question with the spiritual life of individuals and nations. Mr. Meuricoffre’s was a very full, varied and most useful life. Swiss by parentage, he was born and lived almost all his life in Naples, where he fulfilled some of the highest citizen functions in a manner to attract the esteem of his fellow-citizens of every nationality and creed. Now that he is gone a thousand testimonies are pouring in to his sterling worth, and to the affection he had inspired far and wide. He was the head and support of the Swiss Protestant colony in Naples—a very numerous society—and the promoter of countless good works, such as the International Hospital, which he created for the reception of strangers arriving in Naples, who did not find any such safe or good treatment in the other hospitals of the city. Truth, purity, uprightness, singlemindedness, and a most munificent generosity were among his characteristics. Noblesse oblige seemed to be his motto. He did not let his left hand know what his right hand did. Besides his public acts of benevolence, he aided privately numbers of individuals and families whose needs or misfortunes were a secret to all except himself. He was the most open-handed of men. He and my husband were great friends, and in several points they resembled each other. If the world were more largely peopled with such men as these two, we should not have needed, dear Editor, to maintain so continuous and arduous a struggle as we have had for justice and mercy at the hands of men. Mr. and Mrs. Meuricoffre used to spend a part of each summer at their beautiful Swiss home on the borders of the Lake of Geneva; and it was here that many delightful family gatherings took place, assembling from Italy, England and France. We have golden memories of those times, where we (from England) used sometimes to rest, in order to prepare ourselves for approaching conferences of the Abolitionist Federation in Switzerland. Some of your readers may remember Mr. Meuricoffre’s presence at the conference in Berne in 1896, and my sister’s words spoken in the sacristy of the large church at Colmar, the year before, when she pleaded for the poor child victims in Italy.

The occasion of the Colmar meeting, referred to in the above letter, is described in the following extract from a journal kept by Josephine Butler in 1895.

This week at Colmar was altogether sweet. My darling Hatty made a lovely impression on all our friends. I shall never forget her words spoken at a preliminary meeting in our salon at the hotel, where arrangements for the week were discussed. One saw there was a tendency, in the preparing of certain resolutions, to drop to a lower standard in the proclaiming of principles (in order to disarm opposition, it was said). Her few words spoken very gently, but firmly, led the whole company up to the higher standard—that of Christ; and our old and valued friend, Professor Felix Bovet, thanked her for recalling them to that standard. At one of our early morning devotional meetings, which were held in the sacristy of the large Protestant Church, her voice went to my heart, and to that of many, as she stood up and prayed for poor Italy, and for Naples especially, asking God to send some of His inspired teachers and workers there. But most of all there dwells in my heart the memory of that early morning when, before going to the sacristy, I went to her room. I had been ill and exhausted all the day before. She kneeled down, half dressed as she was, and drew me down beside her, and putting her arm round me, and drawing me close to her side, she poured out her soul in such a loving petition for me, weeping as she prayed, and yet with such firm faith and loving assurance as people only have when they feel God very near, and realise His will to grant what is asked. Her voice sounded to me like that of some ministering angel, pleading pleading face to face with God—a voice trembling with emotion and yet steadied by the sense of the dear and awful presence of the Christ to whom she spoke. And her prayer was large and far-reaching, embracing those dearest to us, and “the little ones, the lost lambs of Jesus.” Wonderful strength and health were given to me for the remaining days at Colmar.

In 1901 she published In Memoriam, Harriet Meuricoffre, consisting mainly of letters from her sister, which are written with a delicacy of literary style, and reveal the extreme sweetness of her character. The following extract from one of these letters shows how these two sisters were more than sisters—heart-friends: “How I wish I was near you; not that I could do anything, but I sometimes feel as if my intense love for you might almost surround you like the vapour which forms itself around the human hand, and enables it to plunge into molten metal at white heat, and not be scorched. I feel sure that God will keep you all through these days, and give you strength for each hour. At what hour have you meetings for prayer? It is so sweet to draw near to Him early in the morning before all the rumbling, and shouting and dust come between heaven and earth. Every morning, my best beloved, I will be holding you up to Him, between six and seven o’clock. Let a quick little thought of this cross your mind while dressing. My whole heart is with you, and will be, every day and all the days.”

In 1903 she published The Morning Cometh: A Letter to my Children, under the pseudonym of “Philalethes.” This little book, like The Lady of Shunem, is a Bible study, chiefly on those passages which point to the larger hope and the restitution of all things. We give three extracts from it.

In the course of the last twenty years or so, and especially in that of the last five or six years, a flood of light has been poured upon the meanings of the sacred writers, and most of all on the text of the teaching of Christ and His Apostles. This light has come gradually to me, and to many, like new life. Up to the time that this light shone out fully, it has seemed that we had all received only half a gospel of glad tidings; now it is a whole gospel, for which thousands have been waiting; and the joy it brings is great, and will be greater, the more we enter into and are made to understand the love of God and His divine purpose for the salvation of all. “The Larger Hope,” as this new light is sometimes called, and which might be called the Illimitable Hope, is rapidly becoming more clearly seen and joyfully accepted.

The unscriptural teaching concerning eternal punishment has created thousands of atheists, sceptics and defiant scoffers at Christianity, and has made many just-minded and tender-hearted people very unhappy, bringing the grey hairs of many in sorrow to the grave—in sorrow for a lost world—or a lost child (supposed through false teaching to be lost, but not lost). Having conversed of late years with a few of such sorrowful persons, and with some who have been driven by false representations of the character of God to the verge of a complete and final rejection of all faith in Him, I have seen the relief it has brought when the other side has been set before them. I have seen countenances light up as with a new hope, and the man or woman addressed like one who has thrown off a burden of years, and who now begins to breathe freely, delivered from an intolerable oppression.

There is a story, told by an American poet, of an explorer who was rowed down the River Amazon one night from sunset to sunrise, the dark river gliding with a serpent’s stillness between forests of giant trees wound round with snake-like creepers. Suddenly at midnight a cry, a long despairing moan of solitude arises, a cry so full of agony and fear, that the heart of the traveller stands still as he listens. The oarsman starts, drops his oar, crosses himself and whispers, “The cry of a lost soul.”“Nay, a bird perhaps,” the traveller says. “No, seÑor, not a bird; we know it well. It is the tortured soul of an infidel, an accursed heretic, that cries from hell. Poor fool! he shrieks for ever in the darkness for human pity and for prayer. May the saints strike him dumb! Our Holy Mother has no prayer for him; for having sinned to the end, he burns always in the furnace of God’s wrath.” The traveller made no answer to the baptised pagan’s cruel lie, which lends new horror to the deepening shadows as the boat’s lamp burns dim, and the black water slides along without a sound or a ripple. But lifting his eyes to the strip of the starry heavens visible between the dark walls of forest, he sees the cross of pardon (the beautiful constellation, the Southern Cross) lighting up the tropical sky, and he urges aloud his strong plea: “Father of all, Thou lovest all; Thy erring child may be lost to himself, but never lost to Thee. All souls are Thine. Through all guilt and shame, perverseness of will and sins of sense Thou forsakest not. Wilt Thou not, eternal source of good, change to a song of praise the cry of the lost soul?” And a sense of peace and assurance fell upon the soul of the traveller as the first streak of dawn summoned all nature to her morning song of praise.

You and I have been together among the Alps, in the early hours of the dawn, when all nature was freshly baptised with the dew of the morning, and such an exquisite purity was in the silent air, that we seemed to be breathing the heavenly ether of a new-born earth. And we have together looked upon those pure, snow-covered peaks, those fair sentinels of heaven, in the evening glow, bathed in the rose and gold of the setting sun; appearing at the last moment of farewell to the day, as if lighted by some light from within themselves. At such times we have felt that it was hardly possible to imagine anything more beautiful, more awful in grandeur and purity than this. May it be that we shall see these same familiar features renewed in the times of the new heavens and the new earth?—all that tends to decay and death, all storms, violence and destructive forces done with for ever, and this beautiful earth again such as we have seen it and loved it at its best, but infinitely better and more beautiful than its present earthly best. Its present unrest, the violent and terrifying forces working within its bosom are, it may be, the travail pangs which will usher in the new earth.

To the Editor of the Shield.

January 1st, 1905.

I feel impelled, in spite of much physical weakness, to send a message of New Year’s greeting, through your organ, to such of my old friends and associates in our Crusade who are still living, as well as to the younger generation of workers, many of whom I have never seen.

I believe we all realise that we are living in troubled times, both as to our own land and to the world in general. I do myself realise it deeply. Yet no note of discouragement is allowed by “the God of Hope” to sound in my soul. I say this emphatically—and my friends may believe that this hope has not its source in any natural buoyancy, for I am suffering much. I should like just to reiterate the old everlasting truth that “Jehovah reigns.” It is my belief that His presence among us will be felt in proportion as evil and perplexity increase on all sides. He hears the bitter cry which is arising from earth. The “distress of nations” spoken of in Scripture is His distress who bore the sins and the griefs of the whole world. Do not, dear friends, think of Him as far off, and of His earth as a “God-forsaken planet.” It is still always His earth, and at a time when faith seems to decay, He will arise in His majesty and love. “He saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no Intercessor; therefore His own arm brought salvation.”

I am with you, my dear old and young companions in arms—with you in spirit and in sympathy at this season and always.

This year she was able to welcome a great moralvictory for the Abolitionist cause. For the Extra-Parliamentary Commission, appointed by the French Government in 1902, though originally not counting more than three Abolitionists among its seventy members, formally condemned the system of the Police des moeurs. It remains however to be seen what the French Chambers will do with the matter.

The following letter is a specimen of the touching manner, in which she mourned the loss of her friends, as one by one they passed away.

To a friend.

March, 1905.

It would be difficult for me in my present circumstances of weakness to write, as it has been suggested, the story of the life and work of my dear late colleague, Margaret Tanner. Others, I trust, will give the facts of her long and faithful career. But I cannot refrain from writing to you a few words from my heart, about her who has so lately been called to her rest, and to the higher service which, I believe, is granted in that rest to those who have faithfully served God on earth.

She and I have been allied in work since the autumn of 1869. It is a long retrospect, and many memories crowd upon me as I look back on our special work of the Ladies’ National Association. We have always worked in perfect harmony, although differing markedly in natural character. To speak honestly, as one conscious of faults, which were however overruled (for we were educated in the work itself to which we were called), I was too impetuous, impulsive and sometimes rash. The keen sense of injustice which possessed both her and me, was apt at times to fill me with bitterness of soul. She, on the contrary, was always calm, steady, equal, gentle—a true representative of the Society of Friends. I think I never heard her say an unkind word of anyone, or pass a harsh judgment on persons who were unjust and cruel, although abhorring the injustice and the cruelty. She was very humble, and wonderfully self-effacing. With all her gentleness, she had the utmost firmness, never wavering in the least in principle; and her grasp of principle and her sense of justice were allied to a lifelong, tenacious perseverance in duty, and in devotion to our cause to the very end. She would say that she owed much to me. Few people guess how much I owed to her, to that firm, quiet individuality. She was full of pity for the outcast and oppressed, and in this we were wholly one. Her memory is very sweet and fragrant to me; and I am full of a grateful remembrance of the influence which her character has had on me.

I recall many visits I made to Durdham Park, where she lived much, and worked with her sisters. The drawing-room meetings we held there, and the traditional beautiful hospitality of Friends, are a bright and peaceful memory to me. There was inspiration in those meetings, and they were fruitful in practical results. Lastly, may I say that I noted with reverent love the spiritual ripening of the character of that dear friend, towards the close of her long life of faithful labours. Her love for me was deep and tender, and mine for her. The last time I saw her, the light of Heaven was on her aged face, which bore the marks of the patience which had had its perfect work.

What follows is part of the message sent by Josephine Butler on the occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of the Federation, meeting at NeuchÂtel in September, 1905.

The inception of our work, which has grown so wonderfully, began very much earlier than anyone knows. You will be surprised perhaps, when you know all. What I have to tell you illustrates two truths, which are, to my mind, confirmed by the inner history of all vital evolutions of which we know anything in the past history of the human race. The first of these two truths or principles is, that in order to produce a movement of a vital, spiritual nature someone must suffer, someone must go through sore travail of soul before a living movement, outwardly visible, can be born. This was so in the greatest movement of eternity—the evolution of the Christian faith. To that end Christ suffered, as we know (in a measure) to what a degree; but the depth and infinitude of His suffering we cannot know. It is what the Greeks called “The unknown and unknowable agony.” Scripture speaks of the “travail of His soul.” In an infinitely smaller measure I believe that the evolution of any vitally good principle, or truth, must be and always is preceded by suffering, by travail of soul.17 It is not all who join in the vital movement who need to suffer; by no means. Their sufferings are less probably, as time goes on. The truth visibly born into the world carries with it the conviction and intellectual adhesion of a multitude of good and just persons. There is still labour and strain, and weariness and disappointment, and inward conflict to be borne by those who join the good cause; but not often, I think, the long, silent period of conception and child-bearing which precedes the actual appearance of the living child in the world. This has a close connection with much that Christ said about the hidden life of the seed sown in the Kingdom of God. The smallest of seeds, He said, falls into the ground, remains long concealed there, apparently dead, unseen by any. But in time it appears an infant plant, and, as He said, becomes the greatest of all trees, so that the birds of the air rest in its branches.

The second truth which, I think, is illustrated by our experience is this: a movement which is of God, of divine origin, and which is rooted in the will of Him who is the God of Justice, is and must be preceded by prayer. It must have its origin in His own inspiration. Therefore I feel that, in one sense, my own answer to the question,“Was our movement a Christian movement at the beginning?”—my own answer must be, “Yes, it was,” but not in the sense in which it is understood, or misunderstood, by some, such as Dr. Fournier, who think that a number of “women and clergymen,” a great party of orthodox Christians, sprang up in England, in the name of religion, to lead this movement. It may seem a paradox, but it must be stated truly to my inner circle of friends, that this movement was born of God, secretly inaugurated by years of silent prayer—prayer offered in the name of Jesus; and that at the same time it was far from being a movement patronised by Christians at first. Indeed the Christian churches were only very slowly and gradually gained to the condescension of looking at the question. Bishops and clergy, and ministers of different denominations poured upon our little early group all the disdain they felt for us.

Our first years were a conflagration created by the spark of wrath against injustice which our cry of revolt had produced. Our vast populations of the middle and working classes, especially the latter, rose against the legislation we opposed, because it was class legislation. This fact was the iron which entered into the soul of our English people; the fact that men of the upper classes had broken down our ancient safeguards, written in our Constitution since the days of King John, in order that the sons of the upper classes might benefit (as was supposed) by the destruction of the daughters of the people. The wrath of the common people quickly broke into a flame which shook Parliament and our legislators, and in time took hold of the churches, and which turned our country into a veritable battlefield for justice, apart from all religious considerations. I allow that there were among our working men a few groups of devout men, who held meetings quietly for prayer about that question, especially in Scotland; but the great question always was that of justice and class selfishness. There were also, I must recall, individuals among the upper classes who were with us from the first—rare spirits whose sense of justice was outraged by this legislation—certain Members of Parliament (of blessed memory), certain dignitaries of the Church—such as Canon Fowle, who scandalised the respectable community by preaching in his Cathedral on several occasions against the Regulation; such as my revered husband and a few of his clerical friends; and one bishop, whose largeness of view, I believe, was owing to his having been a colonial bishop, accustomed to hear the enlightened views of the poor heathen over whom he exercised his pastoral functions.

Some of the prominent workers with us from the first were Unitarians (including Sir James Stansfeld). I suppose that these would hardly be considered to be orthodox by evangelical Christians. We never asked of our adherents what their religious views or non-views were. We joined hands with all who came to us, and there were many malcontents among these, people who had been ill-used by society, poor failures, people who had been deeply wronged and who longed for retribution; people whose woes cried to heaven, even if they had never learned to send the breath of prayer upwards to Him who bore all our woes.

From the first we had the adhesion and support of noble Jews. I may mention Samuel Montagu, M.P. for Whitechapel, the Jews’ quarter in London. He, Montagu, is a “Hebrew of the Hebrews.” He gave us personal and political help. Some of the members of the Montefiore family joined us. The Chief Rabbi of London helped us. We had letters of adhesion rapidly from Zadok Kahn, Grand Rabbin of Paris; from Astruc, Grand Rabbin of Brussels; and from Ben Israel, Grand Rabbin of Avignon. Ben Israel sent to me and my husband a remarkable book which he had written on the heroic and prominent women, prophetesses and others, of the early Hebrew times. His book showed an intelligent study of the Hebrew Scriptures, and an innate and profound respect for womanhood. These Hebrews whom I have mentioned cannot certainly be ranked among orthodox Christians; yet we felt they were an added strength to us.

I may mention that in 1875, when the first British section of the Federation was formed, a distinguished Indian, Babu Keshub Chunder Sen, joined us, and was elected a member of our first International Committee. This committee was formed in Liverpool, where we resided then, and on it were placed men of various views, some of them decidedly agnostic. Keshub Chunder Sen visited us in our house in Liverpool, and our family were impressed by the sublime calm and elevation of his spirit, in the deep conviction that good would triumph over evil. He was not a Christian.

I think I have said enough to show that we gathered all who desired justice, or who suffered from injustice.

May I mention the order in which the tide of divinely-inspired persons or societies gradually gathered round us. This order, most curiously, is precisely similar to that which existed in the case of the great war in America against negro slavery, which you know, was strongly upheld (I mean slavery was) by many of the churches in America. Our first adherents were of the Society of Friends, the Quakers, that quiet and peaceful body of persons whose active, practical help is always offered to suffering peoples all through the world, in accordance with the rule of George Fox, the founder of their sect, who established the “Committee for Sufferings.” It is the noble obligation of this committee, which exists to this day, to look abroad over all the sufferings of the world, whatever they may be and in whatever land, and to endeavour to alleviate those sufferings. These dear people rallied to us very early. Among them my heart urges me to mention a few of the individuals of that body who joined us and aided us silently with unspoken prayer, and outwardly with brave and wonderful courage. I allude especially to my very early comrades, Margaret Tanner and Mary Priestman. The former has recently entered into her rest; the latter is now old and infirm. You can picture these two ladies and myself, sitting face to face, in gentle consultation. “What shall we do?” One of them replied, “Well, we must rouse the country.” Brave woman! So gentle, so Quakerly, yet convinced that we three poor women must rouse the country. Indeed God does use the weak things of the world to confound the strong. So we formed gradually our “Ladies’ National Association,” the mother, or rather the grandmother of all the societies in which women worked. I should also like to record the memory of several noted Friends in Birmingham, who laboured for us, and some of whom are still alive. I recall too the name of Edward Backhouse, of Sunderland, a true prince of generosity, whose powerful aid helped us through many difficulties in the early days of our campaign. Mr. Thomasson was a pillar of strength to us for many years. Their names are written in heaven.

The religious societies who gave us adherents gradually were, as I have said, first the Friends, then the humblest communities, the Primitive Methodists, the Bible Christians, the United Methodists; then the Wesleyans, who later became a powerful aid to our cause, under the leadership of the late Hugh Price Hughes, a fiery-hearted Welshman, a convinced Abolitionist, and an eloquent pleader for justice. Then followed, but slowly, slowly, and with divided opinions, the Baptists and the Congregationalists, among whom there were some who remained blind to the meaning of our movement for a very long time. The Scottish Churches slowly followed, the narrowly Calvinistic character of some of them tending to cramp their sympathies. Two great leaders of the more enlightened part spoke valiantly for us as early as 1869. I refer to Dr. Guthrie and Dr. Duff, the well-known missionary to India. Nevertheless some few years later, valiant corps of Abolitionists were formed in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Bridge of Allan, men and women, especially women, who laboured with Scottish tenacity and perseverance till quite recent years. I think I have said enough on this subject in reply to the objection that we have departed from our original position, or on the other hand that we were a clique of pious people of no width of view.

May I add a few words to you, my friends, on a subject which is, I am sure, stirring many hearts just now. You feel, I believe, as I do, that Christianity, the true Church of Christ (I use the word in its largest sense), is inclusive, and not exclusive. When the disciples of Christ saw a man casting out devils, who was not a member of their group, they forbade him to do so. What did the Master say? “Forbid him not, for he that is not against us is for us.” We have no intimation that this man ever joined the circle of the disciples, and yet of him the Master said: “He is for us.” I have seen many just men who give life-long labour to casting out the evil spirits of tyranny, oppression and injustice; and of these, whatever their formula of belief may be, the Judge of all will say, “Well done.” There are many outside the Christian pale in whom the Spirit of Christ is working, and many of those who are nominally antagonists of Christianity have been thrown into the position in which they are by the very force of that Spirit within them which leads them to recoil from the manifest unchristliness of the teaching of many of the churches and the intolerance of so-called Christian governments. The true Church of Christ is wider than all communions and creeds. In some of those creeds our God has been so maligned, so caricatured, may I say, that many have been turned into rebels, or apparently rebels, whose hearts are not really estranged from the true God. That poor, unhappy and outwitted son of the Patriarch Isaac, who had in an evil hour sold his birthright for a miserable mess of pottage, cried with a loud and bitter cry: “Hast thou but one blessing, O my father? Bless me, even me also, O my father!” Yes, the Eternal Father will bless the apparently rejected son. There is more than one blessing for the sons of men, however much they may have erred, whose inmost hearts utter this bitter cry. The Good Shepherd said: “I have other sheep which are not of this fold. Them also I must bring, and they will hear My voice!” There I rest.

You will pardon this expression of my heart’s conviction. I do not speak as an orthodox adherent of any church, but as one whom sorrow and love have taught that none of the great human family are forgotten by Him who redeemed them, by the Eternal Father whose name is LOVE.

The following is part of the reply written by Josephine Butler to an Address sent to her from those present at this NeuchÂtel Conference.

I should like, before concluding, to express in words a thought which has come to me in my later experience. In the sacred writings there is a scene recorded concerning the birth of Christ. The aged Simeon had waited all his life for the advent of the promised Messiah. He took in his arms the infant Christ, and after proclaiming Him as the promised Saviour of the human race to the end of time, he said to the mother of the Babe, “A sword shall pierce through thy own soul also, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” The sword-piercing of the heart of womanhood has been, and will continue to be, in an infinitely humble degree the revealer of the thoughts of men. The sorrow of the holy mother of Christ, the woman of the sword-pierced heart, is still bearing fruit.

In going from city to city on the continent of Europe, I have felt that I must needs meet this sword-thrust with open arms, and the promised result has followed. The thoughts of many hearts have been revealed among the Élite of earth, among whom I include every creature of whatever rank, rich or poor, whose regard is directed towards the light, who desires justice and abhors injustice: the thoughts of these begin to be expressed openly, in speech and in action. On the other hand, the thoughts are revealed of those who desire at all costs to hold fast their base privileges, and to defend the means by which these privileges are safeguarded. The thoughts of these also take expression in speech and in action. Silence and acquiescence are at an end. It is now war to the death through the revelation and outward expression of men’s hearts for good and for evil. The sword-pierced heart of holy motherhood—a motherhood which lives by sympathy in many a woman who is not actually a mother—will continue to work in this mission of revealing, and we know on which side will be the final victory.

When the question shall be asked, “What of the night, brothers? What of the night?” the answer which I would leave with you, friends, is this:

My last words to you, in case I may not be permitted to remain long among you, will be words of hope—all of hope. It cannot be said that now, aged, and often in pain and in much weakness, it is any natural buoyancy which upholds me. It is a granted hopefulness. The “Angel of the Dawn” is ever present. Deeply fixed in my soul is the conviction that the power and love of God are about to be manifested in proportion to the troubles of our times, and far beyond them. Is He not the Creator of the universe, of the myriads of the stars of heaven—God “once manifested in the flesh” in the person of the Christ? Everywhere—east, west, north, and south—those whose eyes are open see in this our day manifestations of a spiritual power, of a loving, divine pressure on the souls of men, of a holy compulsion bringing them to a new consciousness, and drawing them irresistibly to the source of Light and Life. I believe that every effort, however humble, which is being made for the triumph of good over evil will be found to be a contribution towards the final victory, and towards the fulfilment of the Divine promise that the “knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.” I am emboldened, therefore, to hand on to you this message of joyful and undying hope, from “the God of Hope and of all consolation.”

To a young worker in America.

February 26th, 1906.

You say that “many persons do not welcome new recruits, lest they should make mistakes.” They will no doubt make some mistakes, but they will learn as we did by our errors. This brings me to express the thought that has been uppermost in my mind for some years past, viz. that the great hope for the future movement is in the young manhood of our day—in the generous heart of youth. Young women too must and will come forward. But I press the fact of the need of a great army of young men; for the great evil which we combat is the result of the egotism of men, and of the deeply-rooted idea that the sin of impurity is a greater sin in a woman than in a man. This unequal standard is the devil’s invention, and dates from very early times, in spite of the severe and sublime teaching in that matter of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

It must be the part of the young manhood of our days to make a place for womanhood, to restore them to their rightful position before the law of God, and before the laws of the land. And here I wish to emphasise the fact, that it is not only the pure and blameless of our youth who are called and who can work effectually in this advance guard of the army of the future. Let me tell you something of my own long experience. I have seen young men whose lives have been far from blameless, some in whose hearts rankled an oppressive sense of the wasted past, even a terrible remorse—I have seen such throw themselves into the battle (not in a conspicuous position, to be seen of men), in order to take a noble revenge against their former selves, and die, if need be, as leaders of a forlorn hope, making merely a bridge of their own dead selves for worthier comrades to pass over to victory.

So, I beseech you, let none of goodwill hold back. “Many a wounded soldier hath won the day.” Society is in peril from dangerous wounds which will not close until the young, the brave, the reckless, for Christ’s sake shall throw themselves into the yawning gulf. Christ rejects none. It is to His glory that He is able to furnish precious material out of the very rubbish of the earth, that He should gather up the fragments that remain that nothing be lost, and direct to one holy end all these scattered and desecrated energies.

Josephine Butler lived the last few years of her life at Wooler, near to Milfield, the place of her birth. There she died peacefully in her sleep, on December 30th, 1906, and was buried in the churchyard of Kirknewton, where many of her ancestors had been buried.

Surely we may say of her, but very slightly altering the words of Bunyan: As she drew nigh unto the beautiful Gate of the City, she asked, “What must I do in the Holy Place?” and the shining Ones answered, “Thou must there receive the comfort of all thy toil, and have joy for all thy sorrow; thou must reap what thou hast sown, even the fruit of all thy Prayers and Tears, and suffering for the King by the way. There also thou shalt serve Him continually, whom thou desired’st to serve in the World, though with much difficulty because of the infirmity of thy flesh. There thine eyes shall be delighted with seeing, and thine ears with hearing the pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There thou shalt enjoy thy friends again, that are gone thither before thee; and there thou shalt with joy receive even every one that follows into the Holy Place after thee.” As she entered in at the Gate, then I heard in my Dream that all the bells in the City rang again for joy, and that it was said unto her, “Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”