Letters.
“Speak kindly, speak kindly; ye know not the power
Of a soft and gentle word,
As its tones, in a sad and troubled hour,
By the weary heart are heard.
Ye know not how often it comes to bless
The stranger amid his weariness;
How many a blessing is round thee thrown
By the magic spell of a soft low tone.
Speak kindly, then, kindly; there’s nothing lost
By gentle words—to the heart and ear
Of the sad and lonely they’re dear, how dear!—
And they nothing cost.”
WEBSTER.
HOWEVER desirous any President of a Mothers’ Society may be of being
constantly at her post, it must be obvious to all that occasional absence
cannot be avoided. No assumed duties, however important, must for a
moment supersede the first claims of home and kindred. Some have thought
that the one must necessarily interfere with the other, and,
consequently, both ought not to be attempted; but experience proves that
the faculties, from daily use, become rather brightened than worn, and
can accomplish more than when merely called up on especial occasions.
The “much” will be entrusted to those who are faithful in that which is
least, and not to those who stand all the day idle. The Master for whom
we work does not employ us as the Egyptians did the Israelites, demanding
the tale of bricks, and yet saying—“Let them go and gather straw for
themselves.”
We acknowledge the hand of God perhaps less in the supply of our mental,
than in either our temporal or spiritual, wants, and this often makes us
unwilling to attempt work to which, in the prospect, we feel ourselves
unequal. Who does not know the fear and trembling with which new
undertakings are usually commenced; like Mary going to the sepulchre, we
think only of the stone at the entrance, and say, Who shall roll it away?
I once heard a lady say that, to accommodate a friend, she had promised
to undertake the management of a Bible class for a few weeks; but as the
time for its commencement drew on, she found herself so completely
unnerved by her anxious fears and distrust of herself, that she was
obliged to send a message to say she could not possibly meet the class.
She has since learnt a different kind of preparation; and were she again
placed in similar circumstances, she would go, as we all must, like
Solomon, to the fountain of wisdom, and say—“I am but a little child: I
know not how to go out or come in. Give therefore thy servant an
understanding heart.”
It is not necessary to have confidence in ourselves before we begin
important work, especially work through which we hope to influence
others; but the poor mind, conscious of innumerable weaknesses and
defects, must stay itself somewhere; it cannot carry its burden alone
without fainting under the load. Our heavenly Father knows this, and
says to us—“Do not try to carry it. Cast thy burden upon me; I will
deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.” How well that it should be so!
This at once places both us and our work in the right position—glorify
me, not ourselves. We do not praise the tool that has chiseled out the
beautiful sculpture, but the hand that has wielded and directed that
instrument.
I remember one evening, when entering the room where our meeting was
held, feeling immediately conscious that something not quite pleasant was
going on there. One of our members, a fine tall woman, was standing at
the work-table, with her great baby, about six months old, in her arms.
She was speaking in a loud angry tone, and as I approached the table I
heard her say, “It’s of no use, it’ll never fit my baby; and so I tell ye
I shan’t have it.” The lady, who that evening kindly superintended the
cutting-out of the work, appealed to me, and said that the dimensions of
the article had really been carefully attended to, and was the same in
every respect as those generally received by the mothers with great
satisfaction, I saw directly that this case differed from most contests,
where both parties are usually wrong, for here both were right; the
uncommon size of the baby accounted for it all. So turning to it I said,
“Ah! baby, I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself to be so big, and
thus to cause such a disturbance here; there’s no getting anything to fit
you.” Then I said to the mother, “You should have observed that this
article you have rejected is the usual size; but if you will let your
baby be as big at six months as he ought to be at twelve, you must just
take the consequences. I will give you some material that you must cut
out for yourself, and try to fit your great boy if you can.” The baby
crowed and laughed, and seemed delighted at being such an object of
attention; the mother caught the infection, and laughed too, acknowledged
her mistake, apologised to the lady, and walked off to her seat, by no
means displeased at being convicted of having one of the finest babies in
the world.
A friend of mine happened to be there that evening who was wishing to
establish a similar society in her own neighbourhood, and had come to
look on upon us. As we were walking home together she said, “I see how
it is you are so successful, you have so much tact. I wonder how you can
meet all these cases as they turn up.” I replied, “I should wonder very
much if I could not. I never go there without asking direction from Him
who is ‘the giver of every good and perfect gift;’ and He who has said,
‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ simply keeps His promise, and gives me the
wisdom I petition for. Whatever difficulties arise, I remember that the
Lord God of Elijah, of Solomon, and of David, is my God, and He is as
willing to make me wise to govern a society, as He was them to govern
kingdoms.”
In stepping aside for an instant just to shew that, with this help,
within the reach of all, we may become wise enough to do something for
our poor neighbours, and yet in no way be unmindful of our domestic
claims, I have wandered away from my starting point, which referred to
the necessity of occasional absence from home.
The influence I have obtained over some of these poor people, and the
respect and affection with which they have so abundantly rewarded any
little kindness they may have received, I regard in the light of a sacred
trust, for which I am accountable, and which I am under no circumstances
at liberty to set on one side, and treat as though it did not exist.
During these seasons of absence, therefore, by way of keeping up my
acquaintance, I frequently address to some of them little friendly notes,
generally expressing an interest in some passing event with which they
may be connected, or perhaps simply a few words of sympathy to some poor
sufferer “stricken of God and afflicted.” The poor are quite aware that
this is a kind of attention that one lady might shew to another, and
there are few things they appreciate so highly. A note that has perhaps
scarcely taken ten minutes to write, and whose only cost has been the
paper, envelope, and stamp, has won many a heart, and cleared the way for
further improvement.
But it will be obvious that, in a society numbering now ninety members,
it is not possible to give this individual attention to all. That none
may feel themselves forgotten and neglected, I usually send one letter
addressed to all the members. The two following have been selected as
referring to subjects of general interest.
_Copy of a Letter addressed to the Members of the Mothers’ Society_,
_during a few weeks’ absence from home_.
“4, NELSON CRESCENT, RAMSGATE,
_April_ 16, 1854.
“MY DEAR FRIENDS,—
“It gives me much pleasure to have this opportunity of continuing my
intercourse with you. I should have written to you earlier, if I had
not been so very much occupied in various ways.
“There are few days in which I do not think of you, and on this day
especially (Wednesday, the usual day of our meeting) I never forget
to spend part of the evening in earnest prayer to God, that He would
bless you, and make you great blessings to all with whom you are
connected. I feel that your influence is so great, either for good
or evil, that, in blessing and teaching you, God will be bestowing a
rich blessing upon very many others.
“We have so often spoken together, on the importance of our influence
over our children, that I do not just now intend dwelling upon that.
There is another view of this subject which has often been present to
my mind of late, and I should like to try to interest you in it; I
mean, the influence for good which God designs our children should
have over us.
“During the time I resided in Bath, I met with a circumstance which
much impressed my mind with this view of the subject; and I was glad,
on looking into my desk, the other day, to find I had kept an account
of it, as I am thus able to give it to you more correctly.
“I think I have told you, I used to manage a Female Friendly Society
in Bath, that is, a society where a number of poor women pay in so
much a week, to have out a certain sum when they are ill. The rule
was, that when they required this money they sent me a certificate,
signed by a doctor, stating that they were ill; and as long as the
illness continued, they sent to me every week for the money, each
time producing lie certificate. We used to meet once a fortnight, to
pay in money, settle accounts, &c. At one of these meetings, I said
to a young woman—
“‘I see, Esther, you have had money from this society four weeks.’
She said—
“‘Not four, ma’am,—only three.’”
“I looked carefully over my accounts, and found that money had really
been paid to her name for four weeks. After much inquiry and
investigation, we found that Esther’s mother, a wicked and abandoned
woman, had, by some means, obtained the certificate, presented it;
and had appropriated the money to her own purposes. As soon as this
was quite ascertained, I declared my intention of calling upon the
woman, and talking to her about it. All of them who knew her tried
to dissuade me from this, assuring me that she was such a dreadful
character that I should hardly be safe from personal violence.
However, as such a thing could not be allowed to pass unnoticed, I
felt it was right to go; and after earnest prayer to God for a wise
and understanding heart, I set out.
“It was with much difficulty I found her out: she lived in one of
those deplorable places to be met with in all great cities, where the
workers of iniquity seek to hide themselves. At last, I was directed
to a little room at the back of a very dirty old iron-shop. On
entering, I saw a very large woman standing in the room, her arms
resting on her hips, her red face and bloodshot eyes telling their
own sad tale. She did not speak, but stared at me with the bold look
of defiance. I said—
“‘I think your name is Alice R—?’ She replied—
“‘I should like to know what the likes of you have to do with the
likes of me?’ I said—
“‘You have a daughter, I believe, named Esther?’
“‘I wonder what business that is of yours?’ she rejoined, with a
terrible oath, and clenching her fist. I said—
“‘Just now, that _is_ business of mine.’ Then taking a seat, dirty
as it was, by way of assuring her I was not going to be frightened
from her presence, I looked steadily at her, and said quietly—‘Alice,
if you had trusted me with your money to keep for you for a certain
purpose, and, when you applied to me for it, you found it had been
used by others, in ways never intended, what would you say to me?’
“‘Why, say you ought to look sharper after it, to be sure,’ she
replied.
“I then explained what was the object of my coming to her. She did
not attempt to deny what she had done; but said it was very well for
the likes of me, who never knew the want of anything, to come and
preach to poor folks about honesty. But still, though she kept up
this kind of bravado, I saw that, as we talked on, she softened a
little. I looked round the dark, dirty room, and said—
“‘Alice, this room is very dark, and perhaps you think what passes in
it is little noticed; but, indeed, there is a day coming, when
everything that has been done or said, or even thought here, will be
brought to light, and you will have to give an account to God for it
all.’
“She clasped her hands together, and said—
“‘Then that will be a dreadful day to me. I was born and brought up
in the midst of curses and blows; and I have grown up to give curses
and blows. You think it is quiet enough here now; but come here an
hour or two later, and you would see what you never saw before. Why,
bless you, I don’t think no more of knocking a man down, than I
should of knocking that ere candlestick off the table;’ and as she
suited ‘the action to the word,’ and raised her powerful arm, I could
well believe this to be true. I said—
“‘But surely you did not bring up your child in such a place as
this?’ For I remembered that Esther was gentle and modest—the very
reverse of her mother.
“‘No, indeed, I did not,’ she replied. ‘When she was too little to
leave me, I kept her out of the way as much as I could; and when she
got older, I spent every penny I could get to pay _them_ for taking
care of her, as knew the way to do it; and now I never let her come
here, though I often go to see after her.’
“‘But why,’ I said, ‘did you not, for her sake, try to alter your
home? Why did you not, then, give up your wicked companions, and
bring her up yourself in a way you knew to be right?’
“‘Ah!’ she replied, ‘you are a lady, and don’t know nothing about
such people as me. I have heard _God_ is powerful, but I know
_Satan_ is; and we wicked people can’t get away from one another, as
you think we can.’ I said—
“‘Just now, when you were telling me about your early life, I was
thinking you scarcely seemed to have had a chance of being better
than you are; but I see now that God has not forgotten you. That
little child was sent to awaken the voice of conscience and love in
you; and if you had only listened to it, you might have saved
yourself, as well as your child.’
“‘As we talked in this way; she wept very much; but said, that it was
all now too late,—that God was her enemy, and there was no mercy for
her. I said—
“‘Alice, you keep this window so duty, that the light can scarcely
enter; and you never seem to open it, so that the air of this room is
almost stifling. But for all that, there _is_ bright sunshine and
pure air, if you would let them come in: and God intended them for
you as much as for me. And in the same way you surround yourself
with what is wicked, and must of necessity produce misery, and then
complain that God has no mercy upon you.’
“I asked her if she had ever heard of Jesus, who was so sorry for the
misery of such unhappy persons as herself, that He came into the
world on purpose to save them.. She said she had; but she knew He
did not mean her. When I rose to go she said—
“‘It seems to me, that yours must be the first kind voice I have ever
heard; but I shall never hear it again—no never; for you must not
come here—indeed you must not: this is no place for the likes of
you.’
“‘Then, why,’ I said, ‘do you not determine to get such a home for
yourself as I could come to?’ But she shook her head and said—
“‘Ah! you don’t know nothing;’ and so we parted.
“I dare say the thought will strike you, as it did me, when I was
afterwards thinking over what had passed between us, what a wonderful
influence for good this little child was intended to have over the
poor mother! It seemed to awaken in her a better nature than she had
ever known before; it was, as the Bible expresses it, her ‘day of
visitation;’ and if she had only permitted herself to come entirely
under its influence, she might have been saved for both time and
eternity. In her earnest endeavours to instruct her child in what
was true and right, she would have found it out for herself, and,
instead of being the poor fallen creature I found her, she might have
become a useful and valuable member of society.
“God has wisely and kindly implanted in our minds such a feeling
towards our children, that we value and strive to obtain what is
good, more for their sakes than for our own: and we should feel
thankful for this; for _whatever_ makes us hate sin, and love
holiness, is a great blessing.
“If we, my dear friends, truly and faithfully do our duty to our
children, we shall have no time for bad company, bad books, idle
gossip, or any other of those many temptations which ‘Satan finds for
idle hands to do.’
“Let us be thankful, then, for an honourable and useful occupation;
and let it cheer us in the midst of employment, sometimes wearisome
and painful, to think that, by exercising a right and holy influence
over our children, we may be preparing them for usefulness on earth,
and an eternity of happiness hereafter.
“I know that some of you have to experience great suffering; that the
toil of your lives is excessive. I know of nothing that can tend so
much to reconcile you to all this, as to remember that, whatever your
lot may be, it is of God’s appointment; that He has wise ends to
answer by it; and in another world, if not in this, you will know
that the course you have had to take was the best for you.
“There is much that is dark and mysterious in the present state of
things: it is useless to attempt to explain it away, neither do I
think we are called upon to do so. The only state of mind, suitable
to our present condition, is entire submission to the will and
appointment of our heavenly Father. We must _trust_ now; we shall
_know_ hereafter.
“When we are tempted, by the trials of our lot, to think hard
thoughts of Him who has appointed it, let us remember—‘He that spared
not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not
with him also freely give us all things.’
“I have written this amidst many interruptions; but I know you will
believe me when I say, I have earnestly desired to say something to
comfort and strengthen you for your daily trials. May God bless you,
my dear friends; may we have many more pleasant meetings here; and
when the battle of life is over, may we all meet in that world where
sin and sorrow can never enter.
“I am,
“Your sincere friend.”
_Copy of a Letter written during an absence of some months_, _in
consequence of illness_.
“BATH, _November_ 6, 1855.
“MY DEAR FRIENDS,—
“I am truly sorry to be obliged to be absent from you so long. It
has always given me much pleasure to meet you at our weekly meetings,
and I now miss them very much. I shall be indeed thankful when it
pleases God to restore me to health, and enable me to resume my usual
place among you.
“I have thought much and often, during my long illness, how entirely
we are dependent upon God for every power we possess, both of mind
and body. We can work only by His permission. In a moment, if He
sees fit, He can withdraw from us all our powers; and we are
perfectly helpless until it pleases Him to restore them to us. To
those who really love God, and are His children, it is a delightful
thought that He controls everything. It is the happiest thing in the
world to know, that a wisdom which cannot err, and a love which
cannot fail, are conducting us through the journey of life, instead
of our own erring judgment. I wish we could all _feel_ this, as well
as know it. It is God’s great gift that He is willing to bestow upon
us all, if we constantly and earnestly seek it from Him. The highest
earthly station, and all that wealth can purchase, will bring no
happiness compared with having our wills made one with God’s will.
If you obtain this, my dear friends, poor as some of you are, you
might be objects of envy to many of the great ones of the earth, who
are wearied in the greatness of their way, not having yet learned the
great lesson of submission.
“There is much, just now, which makes us fear we are entering upon a
winter of peculiar trial and difficulty. The high prices of
provisions must occasion many of you great anxiety; and much care and
economy will, I am sure, be required to make you at all comfortable.
Though _all_ departures from God’s law must be followed by suffering,
it seems that _war_—which cannot be engaged in without breaking most
of the commandments of God, and setting aside entirely the precepts
of love and forgiveness of injuries—must be attended with great
suffering to any nation that engages in it. God, who made the world,
knows exactly by what laws it ought to be governed; and we cannot set
aside those laws, without bringing great sorrow upon ourselves.
“We shall all, I fear, have much to suffer from the present war; and
I truly grieve that such a considerable share of this suffering must
be borne by the poor. We must learn from it this great lesson, that
it is an evil and a bitter thing to depart from God; and let it be an
inducement to instil more carefully than ever into the minds of our
children principles of love and kindness, teaching them, especially,
to forgive injuries, as Jesus did, instead of revenging them, which
He told us not to do. Thus, when they grow up to have their
influence as men and women, and to form a part of the great nation,
they may in every way promote ‘_peace on earth_, and good-will
towards men.’ I trust that He who hears the young ravens when they
cry, and feedeth them, will, at this trying season, provide food for
you and your children. For nothing is too hard for the Lord; and
those among you, who really love and trust God, may derive the
greatest consolation from the beautiful promise—‘None of them that
trust in me shall be desolate.’
“I was reading, a little while ago, about a young woman who was early
in life deprived by death of her nearest relations, and whose lot was
to live with people who were extremely unkind, indeed even cruel, to
her. She was a very amiable person, and pleasing in appearance. A
gentleman, in a higher station of life than her own, was informed of
her history; and, after a short acquaintance, made her an offer of
marriage. The persons with whom she lived, instead of being glad at
the prospect of such an improvement in her circumstances, were only
the more exasperated against her; and, having the power, they refused
to give her up until she was of age; and endeavoured to make her more
unhappy than ever. A friend once remarked to her, that he wondered
how she could bear such treatment. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I hardly feel
it; it is to last so short a time! I only think of myself as the
future wife of that kind gentleman.’
“I thought directly, that this was just the spirit in which we should
pass through life. We should then be brave of heart, and not
disheartened at our difficulties. It is, indeed, a wonderful thought
that the poorest and meanest being who toils upon the earth may be
heir to a state of happiness and glory too great for description; as
it is said—‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered
into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them
that love him.’
“But though it is plainly our duty to cultivate this spirit of
submission and trust in God under all circumstances, yet it is most
important that we should endeavour so to provide against calamity,
that, if it comes, we may not have the pain of thinking how much our
sufferings have been brought about by our own misconduct God has so
ordered things in this world, that our success or failure will always
depend much upon ourselves.
“It has been truly remarked, that only in one relation of life is
choice left to us. You will see that I refer to the relation of
husband or wife. On this, however, more than on any other, depends
our happiness and the happiness of those connected with us. You
will, perhaps, say that in writing to those who have already made
their choice, and whose position, in this respect, is unalterable, it
cannot be of any use to make such remarks. But I feel, and you will
feel with me, that, in our children, we live our own lives over
again; and the more we have suffered from any particular mistake,
which we may ourselves have made, the more anxious we should feel to
shield those dear to us from similar misfortune.
“There are many people at the present time who are thinking a great
deal about the suffering of the poor, and are trying to find out how
it arises, and how it can in some way be lessened. One very general
opinion is, that much misery is brought about by early and imprudent
marriages.
“One great difference between people in my position of life and in
yours is, that, generally speaking, before incurring the expenses
attendant on married life, we wait to reap the fruits of many years
of careful industry. We frequently defer marriage until both parties
are even between thirty and forty years of age, instead of taking
this important step without making any provision for the future, and
often before either the one or the other has attained the age of
twenty.
“A lady once entreated a girl of eighteen to defer her marriage until
she, or her intended husband, had saved sufficient money to provide a
little comfortable furniture for their room, as well as to have a few
pounds in hand to fall back upon in case of necessity. She pointed
out to her what sufferings might arise in many ways, if they did not
follow her advice. The girl replied—
“‘I think, if John and I don’t mind it, nobody else need trouble
their heads about it. If trouble comes, we shall just have to bear
it; and it is nothing to anybody else.’
“I happen to know the history of this family, and all that followed.
Work was plentiful at first, and John earned pretty good wages; but
Sarah—for that was her name—had married before she had learned how to
make the most of money, as you will suppose, when I tell you that she
had to _pay_ for the making of her wedding gown. The husband soon
found the public-house was more attractive than his dirty home and
miserably cooked meals; and you know, after that happens, how fast
the money goes. But the saddest part of all relates to the poor,
unoffending, helpless children, who came one by one into this
wretched dwelling. Their mother was not badly disposed, and had she
spent ten years longer, before marriage, in learning how to provide
for the wants of the body, and train the mind, she might have done
better than many women; but, as it was, on the whole face of the
earth the eye could scarcely alight on a more completely wretched
spot than this one room, where, day after day, the father, mother,
and children suffered everything that can enfeeble the body and
degrade the mind.
“The united effect of cold, bad air, starvation, and neglect, was to
consign seven out of nine of their children to the grave before they
had reached their sixth year. The other two are, I believe, still
living, the inmates of a workhouse; their deformed and diseased
bodies preventing the possibility of their earning their own
livelihood. As they pass their suffering days and wearisome nights
in that dreary abode, with _nothing_ to hope so far as this world is
concerned, how bitterly could they protest against their mother’s
remark that her imprudent marriage was nothing to any one else but
herself! The father and mother are long since dead; disease, brought
on prematurely by intemperance, cut short their lives before they had
lived out half the time usually appointed to man on earth.
“I feel sure that most of such suffering might be saved, if mothers
would try from the first to present this subject in a right light to
their children. Much good may be done, too, by endeavouring to raise
the tastes of young people so that they shall _like_ to surround
themselves with what is good, and neat, and comfortable; for this
_feeling_ belongs quite as much to your position in life as to mine.
The only difference is as to the degree in which it can be carried
out. Believe me, it is anything but a _virtue_ for a young couple to
begin life together, satisfied with just one room to live in,
furnished with a bed stuffed with straw, a table, and a few broken
chairs.
“I once had a servant who lived with me many years. At last, she
became engaged to a respectable young carpenter in the neighbourhood.
Out of their joint savings the furniture was provided, and a
comfortable room downstairs and one above. When she was telling me
this, I said I supposed they were now ready to be married. ‘No,
ma’am,’ she said, ‘not yet. I want to have some nice curtains to my
window, and a plant-stand; and if I stay here a few more months, I
can get that without touching the £30 I have in the savings’ bank.’
I admired and respected her much for her good taste and resolution.
I need hardly say, she is now an excellent wife and mother, and many
pieces of furniture have been added to their little establishment
since their wedding day—a bright contrast to those many cases in
which, when the first difficulty arises, one thing after another is
taken to the pawn-shop.
“There is another way in which some of you may do good, and that is,
by trying to shelter and protect young girls more than is generally
done. The character of a poor girl is quite as valuable as that of a
girl in any other station of life, and ought to be as carefully
watched over. By taking care so to arrange the work that no errands
are left till after it is dark, or if, when going out in the evening
cannot be avoided, you accompany them yourself, or get a friend to do
so, much mischief and sorrow would be saved. I am sure, nothing
would do more to raise the people of this country, and bring about a
better state of things, than an improvement in the manners of young
women.
“If we are ever to have such an improvement as I hope for, it will be
obtained chiefly by the influence of mothers on these young people;
and for their sakes, if not for our own, we should strive to get a
taste for ‘all that is good, and beautiful, and true.’
“In bringing this long letter to a close, you must allow me to thank
you very much for all the kindness and sympathy you have shewn me
during my illness. I continually hear of your kind inquiries, and
they are indeed pleasant to me. Thoughts of you have cheered many
solitary hours, and I shall be delighted to come amongst you again.
I have felt my absence from you one of the greatest privations which
I have had to bear. I have now the bright hope before me of being
able to take my place among you in about a fortnight from this time.
“Till then, _then_, believe me,
“Your sincere friend.”