"I am obliged to you, Mr Seaward, for coming out of your way to see
me," said Sir Richard Brandon, while little Di brought their visitor a
chair. "I know that your time is fully occupied, and would not have
asked you to call had not my friend Mr Brisbane assured me that you had
to pass my house daily on your way to--to business."
"No apology, Sir Richard, pray. I am at all times ready to answer a
call whether of the poor or the rich, if by any means I may help my
Lord's cause."
The knight thought for a moment that he might claim to be classed among
the poor, seeing that his miserable pittance of five thousand barely
enabled him to make the two ends meet, but he only said:
"Ever since we had the pleasure of meeting at that gathering of ragged
children, my little girl here has been asking so many questions about
poor people--the lower orders, I mean--which I could not answer, that I
have asked you to call, that we may get some information about them.
You see, Diana is an eccentric little puss," (Di opened her eyes very
wide at this, wondering what "eccentric" could mean), "and she has got
into a most unaccountable habit of thinking and planning about poor
people."
"A good habit, Sir Richard," said the missionary. "`Blessed are they
that consider the poor.'"
Sir Richard acknowledged this remark with a little bow. "Now, we should
like to ask, if you have no objection, what is your chief object in the
mission at--what did you say its name--ah! George Yard?"
"To save souls," said Mr Seaward.
"Oh--ah--precisely," said the knight, taken somewhat aback by the nature
and brevity of the answer, "that of course; but I meant, how do you
proceed? What is the method, and what the machinery that you put in
motion?"
"Perhaps," said the missionary, drawing a small pamphlet from his
pocket, "this will furnish you with all the information you desire. You
can read it over to Miss Diana at your leisure--and don't return it; I
have plenty more. Meanwhile I may briefly state that the mission
premises are in George Yard, High Street, Whitechapel, one of the worst
parts of the east of London, where the fire of sin and crime rages most
fiercely; where the soldiers of the Cross are comparatively few, and
would be overwhelmed by mere numbers, were it not that they are
invincible, carrying on the war as they do in the strength of Him who
said, `Lo, I am with you alway.'
"In the old coaching days," continued Mr Seaward, "this was a great
centre, a starting-point for mail-coaches. For nigh thirty years the
mission has been there. The `Black Horse' was a public-house in George
Yard, once known to the magistrates as one of the worst gin-shops and
resort of thieves and nurseries of crime in London. That public-house
is now a shelter for friendless girls, and a place where sick children
of the poor are gratuitously fed."
From this point the missionary went off into a graphic account of
incidents illustrative of the great work done by the mission, and
succeeded in deeply interesting both Diana and her father, though the
latter held himself well in hand, knowing, as he was fond of remarking,
that there were two sides to every question.
Checking his visitor at one point, he said, "You have mentioned ragged
schools and the good that is done by them, but why should not the
school-boards look after such children?"
"Because, Sir Richard, the school-boards cannot reach them. There are
upwards of 150,000 people in London who have never lived more than three
months in one place. No law reaches this class, because they do not
stay long enough in any neighbourhood for the school-board authorities
to put the law into operation. Now, nearly three hundred of the
children of these wanderers meet in our Free Ragged Day Schools twice a
day for instruction. Here we teach them as efficiently as we can in
secular matters, and of course they are taught the Word of God, and told
of Jesus the Saviour of sinners; but our difficulties are great, for
children as well as parents are often in extremest poverty, the former
suffering from hunger even when sent to school--and they never stay with
us long. Let me give you an instance:--
"One morning a mother came and begged to have her children admitted.
She had just left the workhouse. Three children in rags, that did not
suffice to cover much less to protect them, stood by her side. She did
not know where they were to sleep that night, but hoped to obtain a
little charing and earn enough to obtain a lodging somewhere. She could
not take the children with her while seeking work--Would we take them
in? for, if not, they would have to be left in the streets, and as they
were very young they might lose themselves or be run over. We took them
in, fed, sympathised with, and taught them. In the afternoon the mother
returned weary, hungry, dejected. She had failed to obtain employment,
and took the children away to apply for admission to a casual ward."
"What is a casual ward, Mr Missionary?" asked Di.
"Seaward, my love,--his name is not Missionary," said Sir Richard.
"A casual ward," answered the visitor, "is an exceedingly plain room
with rows of very poor beds; mere wooden frames with canvas stretched on
them, in which any miserable beggars who choose to submit to the rules
may sleep for a night after eating a bit of bread and a basin of gruel--
for all which they pay nothing. It is a very poor and comfortless
place--at least you would think it so--and is meant to save poor people
from sleeping, perhaps dying, in the streets."
"Do some people sleep in the streets?" asked Di in great surprise.
"Yes, dear, I'm sorry to say that many do."
"D'you mean on the stones, in their night-dresses?" asked the child with
increasing surprise.
"Yes, love," said her father, "but in their ordinary clothes, not in
their night-dresses--they have no night-dresses."
Little Di had now reached a pitch of surprise which rendered her dumb,
so the missionary continued:
"Here is another case. A poor widow called once, and said she would be
so grateful if we would admit her little girl and boy into the schools.
She looked clean and tidy, and the children had not been neglected. She
could not afford to pay for them, as she had not a penny in the world,
and applied to us because we made no charge. The children were admitted
and supplied with a plain but nourishing meal, while their mother went
away to seek for work. We did not hear how she sped, but she had
probably taken her case to God, and found Him faithful, for she had
said, before going away, `I know that God is the Father of the
fatherless, and the husband of the widow.'
"Again, another poor woman came. Her husband had fallen sick. Till
within a few days her children had been at a school and paid for, but
now the bread-winner was ill--might never recover--and had gone to the
hospital. These children were at once admitted, and in each case
investigation was made to test the veracity of the applicants.
"Of course," continued the missionary, "I have spoken chiefly about the
agencies with which I happen to have come personally in contact, but it
must not be supposed that therefore I ignore or am indifferent to the
other grand centres of influence which are elsewhere at work in London;
such as, for instance, the various agencies set agoing and superintended
by Dr Barnardo, whose _Home for Working and Destitute Boys_, in Stepney
Causeway, is a shelter from which thousands of rescued little ones go
forth to labour as honest and useful members of society, instead of
dying miserably in the slums of London, or growing up to recruit the
ranks of our criminal classes. These agencies, besides rescuing
destitute and neglected children, include _Homes for destitute girls_
and for _little boys_ in Ilford and Jersey, an _Infirmary for sick
children of the destitute classes_ in Stepney, _Orphan Homes, Ragged and
Day schools, Free dinner-table to destitute children, Mission Halls,
Coffee Palaces_, and, in short, a grand net-work of beneficent
agencies--Evangelistic, Temperance, and Medical--for the conduct of
which is required not far short of One Hundred Pounds a day!"
Even Sir Richard Brandon, with all his supposed financial capacities,
seemed struck with the magnitude of this sum.
"And where does Dr Barnardo obtain so large an amount?" he asked.
"From the voluntary gifts of those who sympathise with and consider the
poor," replied Seaward.
"Then," he added, "there is that noble work carried on by Miss Rye of
the _Emigration Home for Destitute Little Girls_, at the Avenue House,
Peckham, from which a stream of destitute little ones continually flows
to Canada, where they are much wanted, and who, if allowed to remain
here, would almost certainly be _lost_. Strong testimony to the value
of this work has been given by the Bishops of Toronto and Niagara, and
other competent judges. Let me mention a case of one of Miss Rye's
little ones, which speaks for itself.
"A little girl of six was deserted by both father and mother."
"Oh! _poor_ little thing!" exclaimed the sympathetic Di, with an amazing
series of pitiful curves about her eyebrows.
"Yes, poor indeed!" responded Seaward. "The mother forsook her first;
then her father took her on the tramp, but the little feet could not
travel fast enough, so he got tired of her and offered her to a
workhouse. They refused her, so the tramping was continued, and at last
baby was sold for three shillings to a stranger man. On taking his
purchase home, however, the man found that his wife was unwilling to
receive her; he therefore sent poor little baby adrift in the streets of
London!"
"_What_ a shame!" cried Di, with flashing orbs.
"Was it not? But, when father and mother cast this little one off, the
Lord cared for it. An inspector of police, who found it, took it to his
wife, and she carried it to Miss Rye's Home, where it was at once
received and cared for, and, doubtless, this little foundling girl is
now dwelling happily and usefully with a Canadian family."
"How nice!" exclaimed Di, her eyes, lips, and teeth bearing eloquent
witness to her satisfaction.
"But no doubt you have heard of Miss Rye's work, as well as that of Miss
Annie Macpherson at the Home of Industry, and, perhaps, contributed
to--"
"No," interrupted Sir Richard, quickly, "I do not contribute; but pray,
Mr Seaward, are there other institutions of this sort in London?"
"Oh! yes, there are several, it would take me too long to go into the
details of the various agencies we have for succouring the poor. There
is, among others, The Church of England `_Central Home for Waifs and
Strays_,' with a `Receiving House' for boys in Upper Clapton, and one
for girls in East Dulwich, with the Archbishop of Canterbury for its
President. Possibly you may have heard of the `_Strangers' Rest_,' in
Saint George Street, Ratcliff Highway, where, as far as man can judge,
great and permanent good is being constantly done to the souls of
sailors. A sailor once entered this `Rest' considerably the worse for
drink. He was spoken to by Christian friends, and asked to sign the
pledge. He did so, and has now been steadfast for years. Returning
from a long voyage lately, he went to revisit the _Rest_, and there, at
the Bible-class, prayed. Part of his prayer was--`God bless the
Strangers' Rest. O Lord, we thank Thee for this place, and we shall
thank Thee to all eternity.' This is a sample of the feeling with which
the place is regarded by those who have received blessing there. In the
same street, only a few doors from this Rest, is the `_Sailor's Welcome
Home_.' This is more of a home than the other, for it furnishes lodging
and unintoxicating refreshment, while its devoted soul-loving manager,
Miss Child, and her assistant workers, go fearlessly into the very dens
of iniquity, and do all they can to bring sailors to Jesus, and induce
them to take the pledge against strong drink, in which work they are,
through God's blessing, wonderfully successful. These two missions
work, as it were, into each other's hands. In the `Rest' are held
prayer-meetings and Bible-classes, and when these are dismissed, the
sailors find the open door of the `Welcome Home' ready to receive them,
and the inmates there seek to deepen the good influence that has been
brought to bear at the meetings--and this in the midst of one of the
very worst parts of London, where temptation to every species of evil is
rampant, on the right-hand and on the left, before and behind.
"But, Sir Richard, although I say that a grand and extensive work of
salvation to soul, body, and spirit is being done to thousands of men,
and women, and children, by the agencies which I have mentioned, and by
many similar agencies which I have not now time to mention, as well as
by the band of City Missionaries to which I have the honour to belong, I
would earnestly point out that these all put together only scratch the
surface of the vast mass of corruption which has to be dealt with in
this seething world of London, the population of which is, as you are
aware, equal to that of all Scotland; and very specially would I remark
that the work is almost exclusively carried on by the _voluntary
contributions_ of those who `consider the poor!'
"The little tract which I have given you will explain much of the
details of this great work, as carried on in the George Yard Mission.
When you have read that, if you desire it, I will call on you again.
Meanwhile engagements compel me to take my leave."
After luncheon, that day, Sir Richard drew his chair to the window, but
instead of taking up the newspaper and recommending his little one to
visit the nursery, he said:
"Come here, Di. You and I will examine this pamphlet--this little
book--and I'll try to explain it, for reports are usually very dry."