LOVE

The truest love must ever seek the highest good of its object; sometimes

even with forgetfulness of important smaller advantages.'--MRS. BOOTH.

The second great quality in Mrs. Booth's character, as given by the first

General, was her love.

'She was _love_,' he says. 'Her whole soul was full of tender, deep

compassion. Oh, how she loved, how she pitied the suffering poor! How she

longed to put her arms round the sorrowful, and help them!'

'How,' asked Mrs. Booth once, 'are we to put heart into people? Even

grace seems to fail to do so in many instances. I think it needs mothers

to do this from infancy upwards.'

You will recollect that Mrs. Mumford fostered this 'heart' and love in

her little girl; and you will remember how keenly Katie felt, blazing up

into wrath at any story of wrong or injury, and ready to sacrifice her

life for those she loved. This spirit grew with her. She could not help

caring and struggling to help all who needed her. The General often told

her in later years that she was killing herself by carrying every one's

burdens. Then she would try to leave off for a little, but her heart was

too strong, and she could not hold it back.

When but a child, running down the road with her hoop and stick, she saw

a drunkard being dragged off to prison by a policeman. All the people

were jeering and mocking at the poor friendless wretch. Instantly Katie's

pity and love fired up. She dashed across the street, and marched along

close by the man's side, so that he might feel that at least one little

heart cared for him, and wanted to help him.

To the end of her life she carried this deep, tender pity wherever she

went. She loved the poor. 'With all their faults,' she said, 'they have

larger hearts than the rich'; and she loved them for it.

Where any one had a warm heart, she could forgive and overlook many

mistakes; but with cold, narrow, 'fishy' souls, she had neither sympathy

nor patience.

Our Army Mother's help was practical. She did not only give money or

pity, but she--so to speak--rolled up her sleeves and helped the

suffering herself.

Every sort of suffering and need appealed to her. If an animal was

wounded or in pain, she stopped, and herself relieved it as best she

could; and to the last, if she saw a horse or any creature being

ill-treated, she would not hesitate to rush out and stop the driver, or

in some way force him to leave off his cruelty.

She was not only kind and helpful to those she liked, but every living

thing that suffered had a claim upon her, and the greater the need the

more tender and ready was her help.

Mrs. Booth was a people's woman, and she was never weary of scheming and

planning how to help the poor in the most practical way.

'When I see people going wrong,' she said, when but a girl of twelve, 'I

must tell the poor things how to manage.'

Dirt and sin, and drink and misery, could not quench this love; it was a

part of her very nature. Long, long before Slum Sisters were ever thought

of, Mrs. Booth did their work herself, just because she so loved the

poor, and longed to help them. You shall read the story in her own

words:--

'I remember in one case finding a poor woman lying on a heap of rags. She

had just given birth to twins, and there was nobody of any sort to wait

upon her. I can never forget the desolation of that room. By her side was

a crust of bread and a small lump of lard. "I fancied a bit o' bootter

(butter)," the woman remarked apologetically, noticing my eye fall upon

the scanty meal, "and my mon, he'd do owt for me he could, bless'm--he

couldna git me iny bootter, so he fitcht me this bit o' lard. Have

_you_ iver tried lard isted o' bootter? It's _rare good_!" said

the poor creature, making me wish I had taken lard for "bootter" all my

life, that I might have been the better able to minister to her needs.

However, I was soon busy trying to make her a little more comfortable.

The babies I washed in a broken pie-dish, the nearest approach to a tub

that I could find. And the gratitude of those large eyes, that gazed upon

me from out of that wan and shrunken face, can never fade from my

memory.'

Before public Meetings took up so much of her time, she delighted in this

house-to-house visiting, and went especially for the drunkards, over whom

God gave her a wonderful power.

'I used to visit in the evenings,' she says, 'because it was the only

part of the day in which I could get away; and, besides, I should not

have found the men at home at any other time. I used to ask one

drunkard's wife where another lived. They always knew. After getting hold

of eight or ten in this way, and getting them to sign the pledge, I used

to arrange Cottage Meetings for them, and try to get them saved. They

used to let me talk to them in homes where there was not a stick of

furniture, and nothing to sit down upon.'

In this way our Army Mother sought and cared for the drunkards long

before Drunkards' Brigades were dreamt of.

When, at a later time in her life, she first heard of the wicked and

cruel way in which young girls are trapped and drawn into sin, Mrs.

Booth's soul was filled with a whirlwind of holy indignation.

'I feel as though I could not rest, but as though I must go and ferret

out these monsters myself,' she wrote. 'Almost everybody, notwithstanding

the indignation, seems so content with talking. Nobody appears willing to

take the responsibility of doing or risking anything. Oh, what a state

the world has got into!'

But, deep and practical as was her love in earthly things, her passion

for lifting and leading souls into Salvation and Holiness was a thousand

times more intense. 'If we only realized, as we ought, the value of

souls, we should not live long under it,' she said; and she herself

realized it fully enough to make her fight on ceaselessly in spite of

intense weakness. 'If it were not for eternity,' she often sighed, 'I

should soon give up this life.'

It was love for souls which made her go from town to town, care-worn,

weary, often quite unfit to meet the immense congregations which came to

hear her.

It was love for souls which kept her sitting for hours at her

writing-table, when she should have been resting, trying to help those

who turned to her for counsel and direction from every part of the globe.

It was love for souls which gave her many a sleepless night, and chained

her to her knees, weeping and pleading, agonizing with God on behalf of

the people she was to face the next day.

And this love for souls grew even stronger as death came near. 'Eva,' she

exclaimed to one of her daughters, as she lay racked with agonizing pain,

'don't you forget that man with the handcuffs on. Find him. Go to

Lancaster Jail; let somebody go with you, and find that man. Tell him

that your mother, when she was dying, prayed for him, and that she had a

feeling in her heart that God would save him; and tell him, hard as the

ten years of imprisonment may be, it will be easier with Christ than it

would be without Him.'

She was lying between earth and Heaven, thinking of the joy and peace

awaiting her, when it seemed as if she saw the dark face of a heathen

woman, and heard the cry, 'Won't you help us?' The old love for perishing

souls woke again directly, and she cried, 'Oh, yes, Lord, I will go

anywhere to help poor struggling people. I would go on an errand to Hell,

if the Lord would promise me that the Devil should not keep me there.'

In one of these last days she sent a dying message to the Officers. 'Tell

them,' she said, 'that the only consolation for a Salvationist on his

death-bed is to have been a soul-winner. After all my labours I feel I

have come far short of the prize of my high calling. Beseech them to

redeem their time, for we can do but little at the best.'

A little maid who was a Candidate came into Mrs. Booth's sick-room once

as she was speaking, and she called her to her bedside, giving her

warning and counsel which every Corps Cadet can take as though spoken to

herself:--

'You will be finished with the dishes soon,' she said, 'and you are going

to be a Cadet. I have been very pleased with you while you have been

here, because you have worked out of sight with a good will, and I think

you will make a brave Officer. You will promise me, will you?' she said,

as she laid her trembling hand on the girl's head. 'Yes,' was the reply,

'I will,' amid stifled sobs.

'Give me a kiss, then,' said Mrs. Booth. 'Promise me that you will never

get spoiled by any unfaithful Officer. If you ever get mixed up with

such, do not hide it from Headquarters, but let them know about it, and

they will soon move the false away from you. I shan't be here; but, Oh!

may God help them to get rid of the wrong. Discernment of spirits! Oh,

why should we not have that gift back? It is very necessary.'

Mrs. Booth's whole heart was wrapped up in the spread of The Army, and

she was never more of a warrior than when fighting its battles. And The

Army needed some one to stand up for it in those days. We who live to-day

can hardly fancy the fierce, bitter persecution the early-day

Salvationists had to fight through.

Now, even those who dislike and despise us are forced to admit that 'The

Army does a great deal of good'; but then it was different, and again and

again, both by speech and writing, Mrs. Booth had to defend and stand up

for our methods.

'I would not,' she says, after she had spoken too plainly for some rich

people who were offended at her words, 'sit down and listen to their

abuse of The Salvation Army for all their money. But I did not say a word

that I would object to have published upon the housetops. Such, however,

is often the spirit of the rich. They think that one must sit and hear

whatever they may choose to say, and hold one's breath, because of their

money! But, no, I will never be dumb before a golden idol!'

She loved the Uniform: she herself planned that worn by Army women, and

always wore her own, rejoicing to be able to give to our people a way of

escape from the fashions and extravagances of the world.

She loved the Flag, and was true to its beautiful meaning. She loved to

present Colours to the newly-opened Corps, or to parties of Officers

going abroad; and when, shortly before she passed away, she changed her

room, she begged that the dear Army Flag might be brought in and hung

above her bed.

'There,' said The General, 'the Colours are over you now, my darling.'

And she clasped them fondly with her left hand, and traced the

motto--'Blood and Fire.'

'Yes,' she said, 'Blood and Fire; that is just what my life has been--a

constant and severe fight.'

'It ought to be "Blood and Fire and Victory,"' said The General.

'I'll fight on till I get it,' she answered. 'I won't give in. Next time

I see them I shall be above the pain and sorrow for ever.'

But, though at the last she longed to be at rest, it was not easy for her

great mother's heart to unloose itself from those she loved, and from the

thousands in all lands who looked to her as to a mother.

If you have learnt to love very deeply you will also have to suffer, and

her very love made the parting so difficult.

'Oh,' she exclaimed, when speaking of leaving The General and her

children, 'mine is such a heart! it seems as if it had got roots all

round the world clutching on to one and another, and that it will not let

them go! And yet You can take care of them, Lord, better than I could. I

do, I do believe! O Eternal Father, Shepherd of the sheep, do Thou look

after my little flock!'

'Amen,' we who read these lines may say; adding to her prayer, 'And give

us that same heart and love which made her life of such mighty power.'

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