Sowing Seed.
“Some say man has no hurts, some seek them to reveal,
And to exasperate some, and some to hide and heal.”
TRENCH.
A LITTLE before Christmas I received an intimation through the women whom
I used to meet, that their husbands would be glad to talk with me, if I
would give them an opportunity for that purpose. I fixed an evening, and
sixteen men came. They told me they had been thinking a great deal about
the bad management of their affairs generally, and especially about their
habit of buying everything at a great disadvantage; that they wished very
much they could see their way to do better. One man had a copy of the
rules of a Loan Society which had worked very well in other places, and
might be a great help to them. They would require assistance from some
of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood to help them to start it. This
they asked me to obtain for them, and also the use of the school-room,
where they might make their payments; since, if they had to go to a
public-house for this purpose, they might as well abandon all thought of
saving. Two or three of the men told me they wanted, in some quiet way,
to learn to read and write better; for though, when they were asked, they
said they could do both, yet they could do neither well enough for the
occupation to be pleasant to them. I knew what they meant by the “quiet
way:” men have a great dislike to learning as children, or with children.
I told them, as to the writing, the best thing they could do would be to
save a few sixpences, and buy some of Darnell’s copy-books. Any man
might teach himself to write well from them, with no other assistance
than just being told how to hold his pen. Good reading, too, they might
acquire by constant practice and listening to others who could read
better than they.
This last observation opened the way for me to introduce another subject.
I told them that, before we separated, I wished to read a chapter in the
Bible. Though we differed in many other respects, we were all alike in
this, that each needed God’s teaching; and if we expected any of our
plans for improving our condition in life to be successful, we must ask
God’s guidance in making the plans, and His blessing in carrying them
out. One of the men immediately got up and brought me a Bible, adding,
“Now we shall be all right.” This man was a great professor of religion,
but I knew, alas! not always a consistent one; and I saw the scornful
curl of the lip directed against him from some of his comrades. Out of
these sixteen men a great variety of creeds might have been collected.
One or two of my listeners were stanch Baptists; about the same number
were Wesleyans; one, I believe, was in the habit of attending the Church:
but those who had hitherto taken the leading part in the conversation
were men who have always a great deal to say against “parsons;” who use
the word “humbug” more frequently than any other in reference to anything
of a religious nature. Most of the rest belonged to a very numerous
class; more numerous among working-men than is generally supposed. They
might be styled Gallios; for they professedly, at least, “cared for none
of these things.”
I felt the difficulty of suiting such an audience, and as I turned over
the pages of the book, had to encourage myself by the thought, “Never
mind; it is God’s Word, and not yours.” I began by saying that amongst
the many different characters who came to Jesus, when He was upon earth,
there was one in particular, mentioned in the 3d chapter of St John,
whose history would interest us. He differed from others in this
respect, that he was not a poor man. He was a Ruler among the Jews,—a
master of Israel; but that did not much signify, since we need in our
smaller affairs the same wisdom that he was seeking to enable him to be a
better Ruler.
Now, though this man wished to be wiser and better, he thought it would
never do for the people, who looked up to him as their Ruler and Guide,
to see him going to Jesus to be taught just like any common man; so at
last he thought of the plan of seeing Jesus by night. In this way, he
hoped he should get what he wanted, without making his visit known to
other people. Many teachers would have said, “Well, as you are ashamed
to be _seen_ coming to me, you had better not come at all.” But Jesus
did not think of the affront put upon Himself; He only saw before Him a
man whose heart was not right with God, who was not safe for heaven. I
dare say, too, that as Jesus knew all that was passing in the mind of
this Ruler, He knew that he had not come to Him for heavenly knowledge
only. He rather perhaps wished to learn from Jesus some arts of
government, by which he could obtain a greater influence over the people.
He would have liked to have known how long the Jews were to be in
subjection to the Romans, and many other things of that kind. But Jesus
had made this man’s soul, and knew its worth; knew it as a fact that it
must live for ever, and that, if He helped him now to gain or to govern
the whole world, it would be of some little use to him for a few
prosperous years, and then would come the blackness of darkness for ever.
Therefore, without taking any notice of Nicodemus’s compliments, whatever
they may have meant, He lost not a moment in announcing to His wondering
disciple the great and solemn truth, “Ye must be born again.”
After explaining this to them as well as I could, together with a few of
the following verses, we came to the words,—“And as Moses lifted up the
serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up.” I
turned to the chapter in Numbers, giving the account of this. From the
intense interest with which these men listened to this simply as a
narrative, I was led to suppose that to some of them it might be new. I
told them I once saw a picture of this extraordinary story. In one
corner of the picture was the pole with the serpent lifted upon it.
Strong men, women, and little children were there; some in great agony,
as if just bitten; others perfectly prostrate, with the hue of death upon
their faces. Mothers were standing with little children in their arms,
trying to raise the head that seemed to have drooped in death, and to
rouse it just for one look. But that which struck me most was the figure
of a man standing before an apparently dying woman. He had something in
his hand, to which he endeavoured to draw her attention; and his figure
was placed exactly between her and the brazen serpent, so that without
stretching her head either to the one side or the other, she could not
see the object from which alone she was to derive life. The artist had
made it appear that, with the little dying strength which remained, she
was trying to move herself out of the way of this hindrance; and as I
continued to look at the picture, so strongly was I impressed, that I
felt myself saying, “This man _must_ be got out of the way, or she will
die.”
“In thinking over this afterwards,” I continued, “it occurred to me that
there were many _now_ acting the part of this cruel man. All teachers of
error resemble him. Those lecturers, whom some of you men hear
occasionally, and who tell you to believe in nothing you cannot see,—that
as to your being bitten with the old serpent, _sin_, it is all a fiction,
although, even whilst you are listening, you can hardly be still for the
agony which the bites have inflicted; the Roman Catholic priest, too, who
comes and tells us we need not _look for ourselves_, that his looking for
us, or the intercession of the Virgin Mary, will do equally well—that at
any rate we need not trouble _ourselves_,—are like this man in the
picture. Then you yourselves sometimes stand in one another’s way; and
when you see any eye directed aright, instead of removing all
impediments, you rather, by your jesting, ridicule, and banter, cause the
eye to be turned away. And what is it turned to? It just goes back to
the old dreary state of ‘seeking rest, and finding none.’ Nothing ever
strikes me so much in false teaching as its cruelty. These
self-constituted leaders will see you suffer without relief, knowing,
too, that bad as it is, this is only the beginning of suffering, they
will still interpose themselves and their false doctrines between you and
the look that would bring such healing and joy as you have never known
before. It is something like this:—Suppose there was but one large
fountain of water in the street from which the inhabitants could obtain
their supplies, and that this fountain was in the keeping of one person,
whose duty it was to open it to all who applied, and to allow them to
help themselves as freely as they pleased; suppose, then, that instead of
aiding you to fill your pitcher, he exercised a great deal of ingenuity
in persuading you that if you carried it to the top of Notting Hill, or
over to Kensington, perhaps you would get water which would answer your
purpose much better—that the wells there had been more recently dug—that
the water there would suit your particular constitution better; that he
said anything, rather than allow you to supply your wants in the most
simple and direct way—in the way intended and provided by one who really
did know exactly what was adapted for you.
“I should be sorry to undertake to persuade any of you to go this
round-about way to supply your wants. Your own good sense would be
stronger than any arguments I could possibly use. You would say, ‘It has
answered the purpose for years past, and those who have gone before us
have done very well upon it; why should I change?’
“Whenever your worldly interests are concerned, I do not consider you men
are easily to be taken in; it is only about the salvation of your
souls—your eternal interests—that which will be living on still when the
heavens and the earth have passed away,—it is only on these points that
you allow yourselves to be—to be—I must use one of your own words—to be
‘humbugged.’
“Then, again, if it were some difficult thing which God asked us to do,
we might make many excuses—we might plead the want of learning, the want
of capacity, the want of strength; but we have only to ‘Look, and live.’”
“Ma’am,” said one of the men, “will you pray for us?”
We all kneeled together, and prayed that whatever prevented our looking
to the “Crucified One” might be removed; and that, instead of going to
earthly fountains to quench our thirst, we might drink of the water of
everlasting life, and thirst no more.
Just as we were separating, one of the men said—“Ma’am, if you will come
here to meet us every Wednesday evening, we’ll all come, and bring about
a hundred more with us.” I replied that I was much obliged to them, but
I really had not the time to spare. If my help was the only help they
could get, I would make any sacrifice and come; but if they would only
take the trouble to walk about half a mile, to Mr Lewis’s school-room, at
Westbourne Grove, he would be very glad to see them in their working
clothes, and would explain everything to them much better than I could.
Several of them promised to go; and as most of them were still lingering
about over the fire, I said to them,—“I wish you men, would try and get
out of the way of talking about ‘parsons’ as you do. I don’t mean to say
that all ‘parsons’ are what they ought to be by a great deal; but the way
you often speak of them is as unjust as it would be for me to speak with
contempt of all working-men, because some amongst them are drunkards and
thieves.”
“Ah, that’s true,” said one of them. “Fair play’s a jewel, anyhow.”
“It is not only the unfairness to them,” I said, “but you put yourselves
very often out of the way of receiving benefit from those who do most
sincerely and earnestly wish to help you. As long as we dislike people,
it is hardly possible that they can do us any good. If you are not in a
hurry to go, I will tell you about a man I met with lately, who was doing
himself a great deal of mischief in this way.”
They said they were in no hurry,—they shouldn’t do anything more that
night; they were glad to stay.
(I did not give them the story so fully as I have written it here. I had
no notes with me; and simply told them from memory the part that would
apply to our previous conversation.)
“For some weeks before we went into the house in which we now live,
several workmen were employed there; and I generally went once in the
course of the day, to see how they were getting on. One of them, a
painter, was a remarkably clever man; he seemed to have read an endless
number of books, papers, and everything else. It was the time of the
Indian mutiny; and if I had been unable to look at the papers, he could
always tell me anything that was going on. He often made remarks upon
the government of the country, and sometimes these were very sensible.
As he was a single man, and did not seem to care much where he spent his
time, I proposed to him that (as he had to come all the way from
Blackfriars) he should take possession of a little bed-room in the house,
and make himself comfortable there. He seemed very glad to do this. A
day or two after he had settled himself, I had occasion to go to his
room; and I found, amongst other things, a great quantity of books and
newspapers strewed about. Some of the books were political, some on
India; and there were a few novels, by no means the best. After I had
finished speaking to him about his work that day, I said to him, ‘When I
was up in your room just now, I was looking at your books. Some of them
are very good. I am going to ask you to be so kind as to lend me one for
a few days, it is “Napier’s India.”’ He seemed much pleased, and ran off
directly to fetch it. When he returned, I said, ‘There was one thought
that came into my mind while I was looking at your books. If I had not
known whose they really were, I should have supposed that they belonged
to some one who had no interest in anything beyond the present life; some
one who meant to get as cleverly as possible through that;—but that was
all.’
“‘I suppose you mean, ma’am, there were no religious books there? As to
those, I gave all them up long ago: I couldn’t stand such twaddle.’
“‘Have you had a great experience of religious books?’
“‘Why, no. I went to a Sunday-school once, but it wasn’t much of it; and
some ladies used to call and leave us some tracts, and beg us to read
them. I didn’t like to promise to do so, and not do it; but it was such
“bosh!” Do you know, ma’am, after you had been here for a day or two, we
were talking about you; and I said, “I do think she is one of the right
sort; she doesn’t bring us any tracts, or any twaddle.”’
“‘I am afraid I am going to lose my good character.’
“‘Oh no, ma’am; I shall be happy to listen to anything you have to say!’
“‘Well, I want to hear what _you_ have to say. It interests me very much
to know how you are planning it out. Do you intend to make the best of
this life; and then—_what_ then? Are you so pleased with it, as to feel
satisfied that all shall end here?’
“‘Why, as to being pleased with it, I don’t think anybody who has lived
five-and-twenty years in the world can be much pleased with it. I am
sure it ain’t much to me. I’ve nobody, hardly, belonging to me, to care
anything about me; and if it wasn’t for the liking I have for books, and
that sort of thing, I should have nothing but my work to do, and to eat,
and drink, and sleep: and I don’t call that worth living for; do you,
ma’am?’
“‘No, indeed, I do not. I feel very sorry for you. I should so like to
help you to be happier, if I only knew how; but, perhaps, if I told you
what I think about it, you might call it “bosh” or “twaddle,” or
something of that sort.’
“‘No, ma’am, I shouldn’t. You see, ma’am, it isn’t because I haven’t
thought about these things, for I thought myself almost crazy once; and
the people who, I expected, might have helped me were worse to me than
anybody. My father was a mighty religious man in his way, and dreadful
strict: we couldn’t hardly speak or look of a Sunday, but we got a
thrashing for it. My brother and I have said often and often, that, as
soon as we took to the world for ourselves, we’d have done with all that
sort of thing; we had had enough of it. The masters I have worked for
have made a great fuss, some of ’em, about their own religion; but they
haven’t minded cheating us a bit when they could do it in a quiet way.
And as to caring about _our_ souls, they have never troubled themselves
about that. And don’t you think, ma’am, that if they really thought we
were going to burn in hell-fire for ever, if we went on a bad way, that
they’d make some fuss about it, and try to stop us? I know, if I
believed it, I wouldn’t do much besides try to prevent people going
there; but you may depend upon it, ma’am, they don’t believe it; they
keep it in store, like, as something to frighten poor ignorant people
with.’
“‘But I want to know what _you_ think; I am not just now concerning
myself about these people.’
“‘Well, I have pretty well made up my mind, after all I have seen, just
to take the world as it comes, and live on in the best way I can, and not
trouble my head any more about it. I suppose, God has got it all planned
out about us, and He’ll do what He likes with us.’
“‘That is quite true. God has planned it all out; but then He has made
no secret of His plans. He has written a book to tell us how we stand
towards Him, and how He stands towards us.’
“‘Ah! you mean the Bible. We used to be punished with having to learn
chapters out of it, and we hated it; and I have never took up with it
since. People talk about its being good news, and all that sort of
thing; but I don’t believe there is any good news in it for me.’
“‘Supposing, when you first came here, I had written a letter to you,
inviting you to come to my house whenever you liked to do so; telling you
that I would have a nice room prepared for you, and, in every respect,
would make you as comfortable as possible; and supposing that, instead of
reading my invitation, and availing yourself of my kind offers, you had
treated my letter with contempt, and refused even to open it, pleading as
an excuse that a letter once proved disagreeable to you. If, after you
left, I should hear that you spread an evil report about me, and accused
me of unkindness, do you not think I could justly charge you with
injustice?’
“‘Yes; and I see what you mean. I can’t say I’ve tried to find out much
about the Book, either good or bad.’
“‘There is another thing. I think that you have rather confused ideas
about the character of God. You confound your earthly with your heavenly
Father; and thus you think unjustly of Him, and His works also. Now, as
I cannot stay longer to-day, I am going to ask you to reward me for not
troubling you with tracts, and what you call “twaddle,” by just reading
one little chapter that I will leave turned down for you here.’
“I left him the 15th chapter of Luke to read; and he faithfully read it,
and the next day we talked about it. He was too intellectual a man not
to appreciate its exceeding beauty; but he did not feel himself to be a
prodigal needing the love and forgiveness of the kind Father; so that it
was to him little else than a ‘pleasant song.’
“After many observations had passed, I asked if he were in the habit of
attending any place of worship. He answered, ‘Oh, no! I have been to
the cathedral sometimes, but I didn’t like it.’
“This was Saturday. At the end of our conversation, I told him I thought
he had better make one more trial of attending a place of worship; and,
as he lived in Blackfriars, I recommended him to go to Surrey Chapel, to
hear the Rev. Newman Hall. He promised he would. On Monday, I did not
get to the house till it was late. Some of the men had gone away; but
this painter was still lingering over his work. ‘Oh, ma’am,’ he said, ‘I
am glad you have come. I wanted to see you, to tell you I went yesterday
to hear the gentleman you spoke about.’
“‘I am glad to hear it. I hope you will often go.’
“‘I believe I shall, for _he_ is something about a parson. I said to
myself, “You ain’t a humbug, anyhow.” I went in the morning, and I went
again in the evening.’
“I had no time to talk to him then, nor for some days after. I think the
Friday of that week was set apart as a fast-day. On the Thursday I found
him painting away very busily. As soon as he saw me, he said, ‘We have
just been talking about you, ma’am, and we know you are in a hurry to get
this house done; and so, instead of knocking off work, because it is the
fast-day to-morrow, we are going to stick to our painting, and have a
jolly good day at it.’
“‘I am very much obliged to you; indeed, I think you are _all_ very kind
in trying to accommodate me; and I quite appreciate all you do; but I
could not think of allowing you to do what you propose. You know the
state the country is in; what terrible accounts we are constantly
receiving from India; and what severe general distress there is.
Although we may not be suffering from these calamities, it would be
selfish and heartless in the extreme not to join with those who are, in
praying for God’s mercy to deliver us out of these troubles.’
“‘Well, ma’am, that’s all very right, I dare say; and I don’t object to
the thing itself; but what I object to is the way it is done in. I was
reading the proclamation outside the Mansion House, the other day; and it
says that the Queen _commands_ us all on that day to pray to Almighty
God. Now, I don’t think any one has a right to command us to do anything
of the sort; and, if I pray at all, I shall do it some other day.’
“‘I gave you credit for being a wiser man. What would become of law and
order in this country, if some one had not the power to decide such
things? There would be no end of contest and confusion. I don’t suppose
that either you or I should make very good Sovereigns; but if there were
no one else, it would be much better for the country to give one of us
the power of saying what should or should not be done, rather than to
leave every question open to be contested. And as to your taking offence
at the expression, “her Majesty commands,” that is merely a form of
words, meaning that her Majesty confirms the wish of the nation. The
term itself is just as much of a form as the “Most Gracious Majesty”
which is used to the really gracious and ungracious alike.’
“Another man then joined in, and said that he thought, ‘what the nation
wanted more than fast-days was better government. The government was
always getting the country into trouble, and then setting it to pray
itself out of it again.’
“‘If that is the case, that would be a very good reason in itself for
having a fast-day,’ I said, ‘that we might pray for better government.’
“Most of the men joined in this talk about governments. It was evidently
a topic upon which they were much in the habit of conversing; and I could
not but be struck with the shrewdness of their observations.
“At last I said, ‘Now, after all you have told me about oppressive
governments, bad laws, taxation, and all that, you have not brought
forward one thing that would for a moment stand in the way of your
following any occupation you like, and becoming great in it, choosing any
kind of home your industry and resources would enable you to command,
reading what books you like, adopting what form of religious worship you
like, sending your children to any school you like, and taking up with
any friends you like; so that I cannot offer you much sympathy for the
oppressions of which you are complaining. But there is something going
on in this country that is oppressing you. I think, if you could prove
there was anything in the present government which caused destruction of
life and property to 10,000 persons every year, it would excite such
indignation in the country that the government would hardly stand another
week.’
“‘I should think not,’ one of them said.
“‘And yet there is something going on amongst us that is destroying at
least 60,000 precious souls and bodies every year; and I have often
wondered that you men, who have such ability to detect and expose the
faults of a government, which, after all, is not hurting you much, and
which you cannot alter, should expend uselessly the power that might be
successfully directed against the monster evil to which I am referring.’
“‘You mean the drink, I suppose, ma’am?’
“‘Yes. Now, here is an evil worth fighting against. If you directed all
your efforts against _this_ tyrannical government, and were determined to
get rid of it, you would be doing much more good for yourselves, and the
country too, than any House of Commons will ever do, even supposing all
the members of it were elected by ballot.’
“Then followed a kind of teetotal discussion. Amongst other arguments
brought against teetotalism, the painter objected that ‘people who lived
altogether upon food ate such a lot that they got heavy and stupid in
their minds.’ I asked him if he knew that the preacher he had heard last
Sunday was a water-drinker?
“‘Dear me, no; I never could have thought it. What! he only drink water?
Well, that’s a good un! I’d drink water, too, if I thought I could get
such a headpiece as his out of it. I said to myself, on Sunday, when I
was hearing him, “Now, you are a right sort of a man; if I could be like
you, I shouldn’t get tired of being alive, as I do now sometimes.”’
“‘No, indeed; if you were like him, you would not get tired of living,
nor be afraid of dying, either. Now, suppose you set up from this day to
try to be like him. You know that his nature is no better than yours.
God has made him what he is; and is ready to do everything for you that
He has done for him.’
“‘Well, I think, as we are not to work here to-morrow, I shall go and
hear what he has to say about things; for perhaps he’ll preach a sermon
about the country, or something of that sort. I have been wondering,
this week, how _he_ thinks about what’s going on. I have thought of a
lot of things I should like to ask him about.’
“He not only went himself to Surrey Chapel, but took some of his
comrades; and many of their future discussions were grounded upon what
they there heard.
“I saw this man once more, about a month after the house was finished.
He told me, he went every Sunday to hear Mr Hall; and ‘ma’am,’ he added,
‘I do believe I am beginning to see some things very different from what
I did.’”
We separated that evening with the pleasant feeling that we had become
better acquainted, and had found more subjects of common interest than we
had expected.
* * * * *
Exception may be taken, and with apparent justice, that I have made no
effort to disabuse the mind of this man of its many prejudices and
antipathies. Formerly, when I was not so well acquainted with the habits
of thought and feeling among working-men as I now am, I used to expend
considerable time and trouble in endeavouring to remove their prejudices;
but it never appeared to me that I effected any real good in this way.
The men were usually so far beyond me in acuteness and capacity to detect
and expose what they considered inconsistencies, that if I succeeded in
clearing one victim from imputation, another was readily substituted. I
have, therefore, come to the conclusion that it is better from the first
to treat it as something altogether irrelevant, and not worthy of notice.
Instead of wasting precious time, and losing opportunities that may never
again present themselves, in arguing about the right and the wrong of
other people, I usually meet such attacks in this way:—“Supposing these
people are as bad as you say, I cannot see that their faults can make any
difference to you, beyond inducing you to be more careful that you
yourself entirely abstain from what you seem so to dislike in others.
God’s law is, ‘So then, every one of us must give an account of himself
to God.’ He has written a perfect law that we may study it, and seek to
conform ourselves to it; and to prevent the possibility of our erring
through the want of living example, He has Himself, in the person of
Jesus Christ, lived our earthly life to teach us how to live. Your
making your own conduct depend so much upon what other people do, is like
the folly of a man who would shut the shutters of his room, excluding all
daylight, and then complain that the dim, flickering, uncertain light of
the rushlight he had substituted, was insufficient to enable him to do
his work properly. If this man, when taking home his work, were to
excuse himself to the master for its being so badly done, on the ground
that the light of his rushlight was insufficient and uncertain, the
master would reply, I never intended you to work by that light; it is
none of my providing. You wilfully shut out the glorious sun set up for
your use in the heavens, and which I knew would be more than sufficient
for every purpose. Whilst you were groping about almost in the dark, it
was even then surrounding you, waiting only to be permitted to enter.
The blame of this bad work, therefore, returns upon you, and upon you
only.”
It will often happen at a later period of intimacy with such characters
as the one previously described, and when a more reasonable state of mind
has taken the place of harsher feelings, that the subject of these
antipathies can be renewed with advantage. I remember, in the case of
this man, one of the last conversations I had with him was in reference
to remarks he had been making about some distinguished person whose
conduct to him appeared inconsistent. I said to him, “A few days ago, I
had to insist upon one of my children doing something she did not like to
do. A short time afterwards, I happened to hear her saying to herself,
‘When I am grown up to be a mamma, I shall not do as my mamma does, I
shall do a great deal better, and let my children do every thing they
like.’
“If you had been by, you would probably have said, ‘When you are a mamma
you will alter your opinion on that subject.’ You would not, probably,
by this remark, do much to remove the impression from the mind of the
child that she was right and I was wrong; but you would be satisfied that
experience would justify you in what you had said.
“I believe we often resemble this child in the estimate we form of people
who are moving in an entirely different sphere from our own. I have no
doubt, if you could for one week occupy the palaces and take upon
yourself the responsibilities of these people against whom you have so
much to say, as great a transition would take place in your mind
respecting them, as there will probably be in the mind of this child if
she ever assumes the duties she now supposes are so badly performed; and
your wonder would rather be that, amidst the trials, temptations, and
heavy responsibilities attached to their exalted position, you had not
been able to detect even more apparent inconsistencies of conduct.”
“Well, ma’am,” the man replied, “I see what you mean, and I will think it
over, for I have begun to see lately that I am not always so overright
myself. But, ma’am, I don’t think this ill judging that you complain of
is all on one side. If we poor men do make the mistake of judging the
rich too harshly, I am sure the rich don’t forget to ‘pay us back in our
own coin.’”
“I am afraid there is much truth in what you say. This want of
consideration for one another is a general evil that pervades all society
and is at the present time causing a great deal of unhappiness in this
country. I have no doubt you have had masters whose conduct towards you
seemed to be entirely influenced by the amount of work they could get out
of you; but whilst you could justly charge them with this, must you not
at the same time have pleaded guilty if you had been accused of
entertaining much the same sentiment towards them? It is not because one
man is rich and another poor that there is so little kindly feeling
between the two classes, neither is it altogether that one is learned and
the other unlearned; for much as there is to deplore in the present state
of society, we have still beautiful instances of the most faithful and
genuine friendship existing between the serving and the served. It is
not, I am persuaded, this difference of position that is at the root of
the mischief; it is the mistaken _feeling_ that one class bears to
another. It is the hard words that you speak, and the unjust thoughts
that you and your comrades encourage each other to entertain towards the
rich, that help to make society wrong; and it is because the higher
classes do not honour you for your skill, industry, and ability, and
acknowledge their dependence upon you, that this wrong is perpetuated.”
I have sometimes wondered, if an angel were to be sent from heaven to
endeavour to set us all right on the subject of our duties and feelings
one towards another, whether he would give his first lesson to the
employers or the employed; but neither party need wait for the
extraordinary teaching of a celestial visitant. An angel would bring
with him no new lesson-book—he would point out to us for our guidance a
few verses from an old and inspired volume; that have been trying to make
themselves heard amongst us for the last eighteen hundred years.
“For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this, Thou shalt love
thy neighbour as thyself.”
“But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed
one of another.”
“And be ye kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another,
even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”
“Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another; love
as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous.”
“The workshop must be crowded
That the palace may be bright;
If the ploughman did not plough,
Then the poet could not write.
Then let every toil be hallow’d
That man performs for man,
And have its share of honour
As part of one great plan.
“Ye men who hold the pen,
Rise like a band inspired;
And, poets, let your lyrics
With hope for man be fired;
Till the earth becomes a temple,
And every human heart
Shall join in one great service,
Each happy in his part.”