THE SLEEPLESS CITY--TEDDIE'S DEN--A STRANGE INVITATION--THE TEA--A
MIDNIGHT VISIT--A VISIT TO RAG-FAIR--MANY RESCUED--SMASHERS--THE
BETTER PART CHOSEN--DREADFUL DEATH-BED SCENE--A STRONGHOLD
DESTROYED.
THE BOOK IN THE DEN:
ITS MAJESTY.
"For the Word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any
two-edged sword." HEB. iv. 12.
London never sleeps. The noise and din of the mighty city is hushed as
the night advances and the toiling millions of the day sink to repose;
but their rest is the signal for the activity of others. The protection
of its vast accumulation of wealth and property requires an army of
police. The supply of its markets requires the wakefulness of thousands,
while its traffic requires an extensive night service of cabmen and
others. In addition to these, and workers upon the morning press, and
other sons of toil who earn their daily bread by night, there is the
vast multitude of those who
"Live to sin, and sin to live,"
and who, as the evenings close in, leave their homes and dens to seek
the wages of unrighteousness. These two orders of the industrious and
depraved would make up a city as large as Birmingham, and they require
that many night-houses and coffee-stalls should be established to meet
their necessities. And so the children of the night are increased, and
we therefore repeat the statement, that "London never sleeps."
This conviction was forced upon the attention of the Missionary to
public- and coffee-houses, when he found that many of the latter were
closed all day, and was informed that they were only opened at night. As
it was his duty to make the proprietors and supporters of these houses
acquainted with the glad tidings of peace, he had no choice but to visit
them in the night season. Upon making the effort, he discovered that
while the wicked never ceased from their wickedness, but during the
hours of darkness gave unbounded license to their evil deeds, the people
whom the Lord has set as His watchmen in the city slumbered and slept. A
vast multitude existed who, of a truth, loved darkness rather than light
because their deeds were evil; but no ray from the Sun of Righteousness
was made to penetrate the darkness of the shadow of death in which they
dwelt. They lay deeply poisoned by the fangs of the serpent sin, but no
balm of Gilead or leaf from the tree of life was offered to them.
Captives of the devil, they were bound and fettered by the cords of
their iniquities, being in ignorance of that mighty Deliverer who was
manifested to destroy the works of the devil, and to set at liberty them
that are bound.
The sinners were astonished when, in the silence of the night-watches, a
voice was heard in the streets proclaiming, in loving accents, the
tender mercies of a great _Redeemer_. Many an honest worker or driver
was arrested or comforted by sayings which reached his ears from the
Book of Life, or was benefited by the silent messenger of mercy placed
into his hands. Many a sin-wrecked one who had been brought to feel that
there was no hand to deliver him, and who in blank despair was ready to
seek a prison or a watery grave, heard the sweet notes of salvation,
and was delivered from going down into the pit. There were many,
however, of reprobate mind who, being filled with all unrighteousness,
resisted the King's messenger, and bitterly opposed themselves to the
truth. This was the case at a place called by the outcasts "Teddie's
Den;" and by way of illustrating the power of the Book we will narrate
the religious history of that house, strange as it may sound.
It was an old-established concern, and had a connection of its own. This
was evident, as the customers were so well known to the landlord that
their step, or tap, or knock, was sufficient to secure their ready
admission. It was not so with the Missionary. When he knocked and asked
for an entrance, the only reply he received was in a gruff tone, and to
the effect, that they were "shutting up." In order to gain an entry he
then obtained the promise of a pass in from a young thief of his
acquaintance. This, however, was unnecessary, as, upon passing the door
a little before two o'clock one Sunday morning he noticed that it was
partly open, no doubt for purposes of ventilation. This was a rare
opportunity, which he embraced by immediately stepping in. He called for
a cup of coffee, and while it was being brought took notice of the place
and people. The den consisted of an ordinary shop and parlour; the
former was fitted up with narrow tables, at which were seated about
twenty men and women; many of these were leaning forward upon their
hands, apparently asleep. A few were of the vagrant and beggar class,
who, perhaps, had only sufficient money to purchase a little food, and
the right to remain there for a few hours; but the majority were
evidently of the vicious and criminal order. The room was extremely
dirty, and the dim light from the old oil lamps seemed to increase its
gloom: the spangled sky, however, could be seen through the upper
squares of glass, as the row of shutters only reached to the top panes.
The back room, or "parlour," had a cheerful fire, was better lighted,
and was no doubt filled with paying customers. There was laughter and
merriment, but the oaths and blasphemies which reached the ear were
truly terrible. It was evident that these men and women of the baser
sort were holding a swearing club,--an amusement so hellish that we
forbear a description. There was not time for further observation, as
the landlord, a big, brutal-looking man, approached with the coffee.
An illustrated publication was offered to him, with the remark, "You
don't, I see, supply papers to your customers; so I will occasionally
give you some of these."
He took the paper with a deep frown, threw it upon the floor, and with a
bitter oath, said, "I know you: you spy,--you canting wretch!" and,
turning round, he locked the door; and then approaching the Missionary
with the key grasped in his hand and trembling with rage, threatened
vengeance. At this display of anger the customers rose from their seats
and pressed forward, while the dreadful people poured in from the back
room. It was an awful moment for the visitor, as he sat there helpless
in the midst of that crowd of the violent and the guilty. Realizing the
danger of his position, he uttered an inward prayer for help, and then,
springing up, he struck his hand with violence upon the table, and
pointing over the shutters to the clouds, exclaimed in a loud voice, "A
GREAT WHITE THRONE WILL BE SET UP AMONG THE STARS THERE. The Saviour
who died for sinners will sit upon it, for the dead that are in their
graves shall hear His voice and live. We shall be there."
[Illustration: "A great white throne will be set up among the stars,
there!"]
At this every tongue became silent, and the people stood back, gazing
upwards or into his face. Therefore, pointing at one and another, he
continued, "And you, and you; for we must all stand before the
judgment-seat of Christ. I am not an enemy or a spy, but a servant of
the Lord Jesus, who will judge you at the last day. He is now the
Saviour of the ruined and the lost, and in His name I offer you mercy
through the blood He shed for you upon the cross. In this His blessed
Book it is written, 'Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.'" The
speaker then stepped toward the door, which the landlord unlocked with a
trembling hand, and he passed out into the cold, silent street.
There is a charm in the solitude of a sleeping city. The hum of the
multitude and the deafening rattle upon the stones are stayed, while the
distinct tread of the pedestrian and more measured tread of the
policeman, seem the only link between the slumbering myriads and the
activities of the day. As the distant footsteps fall upon the ear there
is an instinctive turning towards the approaching or receding objects.
The visitor had not proceeded far from the den when he heard footsteps,
and upon turning round saw the landlord coming toward him; he therefore
stopped under the next lamp, and awaited his arrival. With faltering
voice he said, "Come again, guv'nor. Didn't mean anything; and a chap as
knows you says as it's all right."
The words, "Come again," were as music to the man with the Book; for he
felt that the door of that dreadful place was opened, and that he had
obtained power, under the protection of that bad man, there to read
from its pages of judgment and mercy, and in the Name of names to rescue
ruined ones from present and eternal destruction. He therefore replied,
"Never mind the past; it is all right with me. I do all the good I can
for people, and don't injure anybody. I will now call as a friend of
yours. When shall it be?"
"You sees, guv'nor," he replied, "as we lives different to other people,
cos our okupation is at night; and we opens at twelve and shuts up at
six in the morning, when we has our supper at seven and goes to bed, and
then we gits up to breakfast at five, as would be your tea-time; and if
you'll turn in this afternoon, as is Sunday, we'll have winkles and
muffins, and you'll see as I ain't a bully as some is, though my temper
ain't zackly right allus."
The promise was given, and punctually at five o'clock that afternoon the
invited guest entered the den. It had been swept, but the floor, tables,
and wall were of the same sombre colour, while the air was offensive.
The back room, into which he was welcomed by his new friend, was in the
same condition, but better furnished, for there was an old couch and
several chairs; the walls being decorated with a Dutch clock and pieces
of old tinware, while upon the grate, which had never been cleaned, was
a large boiler and two kettles. The house was so closely built in, that
it was only a dusky light which penetrated its small side windows; that
light was, however, sufficient to show that the landlord's family and
four of the depraved persons who had been impressed at the visit of the
early morning were present.
It was evident that the family consisted of the landlord, his wife, and
a daughter about twelve years old. The "missus," as she with pleasant
familiarity was called, was a low coarse woman of forty-five, strangely
but expensively attired. Her dress was of brown silk, trimmed with lace,
in front of which she wore a braided white apron with large pockets, not
unlike a toll-collector's. Her cap was smartly trimmed with red ribbon;
and upon her bare neck was a thick coral necklace of many rows, and a
heavy gold-like chain; her dirt begrimed fingers being ornamented with
at least eight rings. The little girl was dressed in like fashion.
Both tea and coffee were ready in soot-covered vessels upon the hob. At
one end of the dirty table was a tray, upon which were cracked cups and
saucers of questionable cleanliness; and on the table itself was a
little pyramid of periwinkles; while upon a heap of ashes before the
fire were two plates, heavily piled with muffins and crumpets. These
observations were quickly taken, and the visitor became thoughtful
concerning the feast before him. When the tea was poured out he looked
with anxiety at the cups, wondering which would be inflicted upon him;
but when the muffins were placed upon the table, and a generous supply
of periwinkles were pushed towards him--the women plucking pins from
their dresses--he was seized with a sudden loss of appetite. The
hospitable host and hostess increased his misery by showing
determination that he should enjoy their good things. Such horrors as
that tea must not however be dwelt upon. Let it suffice, that time which
remedies so much, slow as it seemed to pass upon that memorable
occasion, did at last bring the repast to an end.
During the tea the little party were set at ease and led into pleasant
conversation; and when the things were cleared away, the visitor laid
his pocket-Bible upon the table with the remark, "This is Sunday, the
happy day, as my little boy calls it; and we all ought to be happy upon
this day, as we are reminded of God's goodness and the Saviour's mercy;
after dying for our sins, He, upon the Sunday morning, rose from the
dead. Now, as none of you attend divine worship, suppose I read to you
about Him and the words He spoke?"
There was general assent, and the visitor read that marvellous chapter
commencing with the words, "Then drew near unto Him all the publicans
and sinners for to hear Him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured,
saying, 'This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them.'" The little
party listened with rapt attention, and several were moved to tears by
the running commentary which was made upon the parables. The landlord
and his wife, in their strange way, assured the reader that he was
welcome to come when he pleased; and they parted as pleasantly as though
they had been old friends. Weary, but happy, the Missionary entered the
first church he came to with the object of giving thanks to the Lord in
His Temple, for deliverance from danger, and for mission mercies
received; and he then presented prayer for spiritual success with the
keepers of that night-house and their supporters.
About a week after the tea he paid a midnight visit to the den, and as
he entered the landlord commanded silence in the following words: "I
know this 'ere gent, and if you doesn't shut up while he's here, I'll
have you out with a shake and a kick. You bad manner'd brutes, to keep
your hats on when your betters comes in." This was sufficient to secure
silence, while tracts were delivered with scriptural remarks. It was
thought well that the visits should be short until influence was
obtained with the customers. The Missionary therefore left, after fixing
attention upon the word _Saviour_ and its sweet meaning. He then pinned
his address card upon the wall, and said, "Let this remain here. I have
told you how to obtain pardon from Almighty God; but as it may be
difficult for some of you to leave lives of sin, I shall be glad to be
the friend of any who are truly penitent. Some of you might be glad of
some one to plead with your relations, and I might assist others into
institutions of mercy."
[Illustration: _See p. 206._]
In answer to this invitation several outcasts called during the week
upon the "reformatory man," as they pleased to style him, and were
rescued. Early one morning, the keeper of the night-house came himself,
leading by the hand a little girl without shoes or stockings. She was
offensively dirty, with dishevelled hair, her frock of rags being pinned
round her. He fairly dragged her in at the door, and said, "This 'ere
gal, sir, has been about the streets for months, as she's a Irish
cockney, as we calls 'em. Her mother is dead, and her father has bolted;
and she sleeps under stairs where the doors are open, and under the
arches with them that's got no homes; and she gits into my shop for bits
of grub; and a woman, who is a bad lot, wants to take her, and we had a
row, and I have bringed her to you,--and here she is."
Yes; there the poor child stood, an object to be shuddered at and
avoided; but a fit object for Christian compassion. To provide for her
was a difficulty, as the Missionary had burdened so many Institutions
with cases that he scarcely knew where to apply. After conferring with
his wife, it was arranged that she should be cleaned in the back
kitchen, and dressed in one of their children's old clothes, while he
went in search of a home for her. After hours of toil, all the success
he met with was a promise from the manager of a crowded home to receive
her at the end of three days, when an inmate was to leave. There was,
therefore, no help but to keep the child for that time.
A bed was made up for her in the kitchen, and orders given that the
doors should be all locked, and that she should be carefully watched.
There appeared little need for this, as the child was shy and reserved;
but she proved to be deeply cunning. Next morning, while the family were
at breakfast, she slipped upstairs with a key which had been left upon
the dresser, and entering a room, she stole two dresses--one of them a
good silk,--and fifteen shillings in money. The theft was soon
discovered, but the thief had got clear off. As she had spoken of the
savouriness of "Jew's fish" (cooked in oil) it was surmised that she
would go to Rag Fair, and her ill-used friend, therefore, got upon the
roof of an omnibus, in hope of seeing her upon the way. In this he was
disappointed, and, therefore, walked about the fair for some time. He
was about leaving in despair, when he noticed, in the distance, a girl
of her style, but of strange appearance, and upon approaching he found
that it was her, but so changed that he could not refrain from laughing
as he seized her arm. Her clothes had evidently been changed,--in place
of the neat little frock, she had put on a dirty sky-blue silk, which
was much too large; upon her feet were a pair of green boots, and upon
her head a straw hat with large red feather. In one hand she held a
piece of greasy fish, and in the other a green parasol.
In reply to the question, "What have you done with the dresses?" she
replied, "'Eld 'em up 'ere, and a woman gave me ninepence for the silk
un, and two shillings for the t'other; and I've bin in and bought these
'ere pretty clothes; and I've had lots of fish and taters and beer, and
was a-goin' to the gaff."
This statement was made in such a disingenuous manner that it seemed
evident that the poor child, like the heathen, had no moral sense. As it
was useless to try and trace the dresses, it only remained to march her
off to the Refuge, where, out of consideration to her friend, she was at
once received. We may add, that she did well in the Institution for
several years, and that she became a good general servant.
This girl was one of seventeen outcasts whom the keeper of "Teddie's
Den" brought to the Missionary, all of whom were rescued; but though a
"helper" in the good work, he did not obtain spiritual good himself. At
times he seemed to tremble when passages concerning judgment and mercy
were read from the Book; and he treated the Reader with respect,--but
that was all. The dreadful influence of his business and the love of
liquor quickly removed all good impressions, and he continued to do
evil: "He saw the better, yet the worse pursued." Bad as he was, he at
times showed a kindness of disposition quite out of keeping with his
appearance and character; for instance, when he heard that his friend
was ill, he went to Covent Garden Market, and, of all things there,
bought a pomegranate, and left it at his house. A few nights after this
he was in liquor, wandered from his door, and leaning against an area
gate which was unfastened, fell back upon the stone steps. He fractured
his skull, remained unconscious for some hours, and died in that state.
The grief of the Missionary was great; he had diligently sought the
salvation of the man, and he, therefore, felt crushed beneath the
discouragement. The evangelist has his trials and heart-sorrows, his
disappointments are frequent and painful, though not so often referred
to as they perhaps ought to be. It is a fearful thing when the words he
utters become "the savour of death unto death;" but he has no choice in
this matter, as the order of the great Master is: "Thou shalt go to all
that I shall send thee; and whatsoever I command thee, that thou shalt
speak."
The "missus," for no one seemed to know her name, succeeded to the full
control of the den, and it soon became evident that she was hardened
rather than softened by the wretched end of her husband. She expressed a
positive dislike to the man whose faithfulness was no doubt a difficulty
to her, and she hindered his efforts to do good.
"The master was a fool," she observed, a few weeks after his death, "to
bring you back here, as it's ruination. After you left the t'other night
the people was all glum; and now gents as has lots of money to stand
treats doesn't come, as they are affeard of meeting you; and I have got
a man a-coming to help as will turn anybody out, and you shan't come."
This was no doubt her determination, but the Missionary had obtained
such power with the supporters of the place, that they would have
defended him from insult, certainly from violence. All knew him as one
able to rescue them, and as the only one who sought their spiritual
good. Bad therefore as they were, they felt that the friend of the soul
was their best friend, and they treated him as such. All then that the
"missus" could do was to keep him at times out of the back room.
A change, however, passed over the place as the class of customers
gradually altered. The depraved became fewer in number, while the
skilled criminal class increased. Magsmen and well-dressed pickpockets
were more frequently to be seen there, while the thieves, among
themselves, spoke of the woman as a good "fence" (_i.e._, a person who
stands between the thieves and receivers, and renders detection more
difficult). The following incident will show the class of customers:--
One night a Clergyman, who is now a dignitary of the Church, visited
there with the Missionary. The shop was unusually full of youths and men
of the criminal class, but in the farther corner sat a party of three
persons who appeared to be separated from the rest of the company,--a
man, woman, and little girl of twelve years. They were leaning forward
as if asleep, but were aroused by the laughter produced by the pleasant
remark the Missionary made concerning "the wisdom of the owls of night."
"What are you doing here with that child?" inquired the Clergyman.
"Please, sir," replied the woman, "we has been very unlucky, cos as how
my husband has been ill, and all our sticks was took for the bit of
rent, and we begged sixpence, and has had some tea and is stayin' here
till it's light; and if my old man doesn't get work to-morrow we shall
go next day to the Union over Battersea."
"You had better go there at once," he replied; "but don't expose the
child to the night air. If you will promise me to save enough for a
lodging, should you be out to-morrow night, I will give you
half-a-crown."
The promise was made and the money given, though the quick eye of the
experienced visitor saw by the glances interchanged between the company
that deceit was being practised. The money was not, however lost, as
that congregation of the ungodly listened with deep feeling to the
clear, loving utterances of Divine truth which fell from the lips of
that good minister of Christ Jesus.
Next evening the Missionary called in and inquired of the "missus" what
was done with the half-a-crown.
"We had a bottle of gin with it," she replied, "but some of the fools
wouldn't have any and went out, and said it was a shame to cheat such a
good Missionary-man as him was that gived it."
"Now tell me," he continued, "who that man, woman, and child were? I am
certain that they are not vagrants."
"I should think not," the woman replied laughing: "why they are smashers
(_i.e._, makers of counterfeit money), and they sends the girl in first,
who has bags of bad money under her frock, and one of 'em comes in, and
if it's all serene the t'other comes, and then they does business. When
you com'd to the door I tipped 'em the wink, affore opening it, as they
was then a-sellin' to them chaps. One was a buying six-pennorth of
shillings, and another a shilling's worth of half-crowns, according to
quality, as the saying is."
Some further conversation followed, when the woman had occasion to leave
the room for a few minutes, the visitor turned to the daughter and said:
"I am glad at what you told me a few weeks ago, that you were always
praying to _God_ to make you His child and to keep you from the evil to
which you are exposed. Now tell me if you have decided to serve the
Lord?"
"That I have, sir," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Mother
won't let me out of her sight; but for two Sundays I have been to the
chapel down the mews, where I understand everything, and keep on
praying; and the gent spoke so beautiful last night that I want to serve
Jesus altogether."
She was encouraged in the wise choice she had made, and the friend left,
rejoicing that her heart, like Lydia's, had been opened to receive the
truth.
The coiners were not met with again; but quite a year after, the
governor of Norwich Castle, at the suggestion of a magistrate who
assisted him in many works of mercy, wrote, asking the help of the
Missionary in finding a home for a girl who, with her parents, had been
apprehended for passing base money. It appeared that they left the girl
in the distance, and each taking a piece of bad money passed it upon
shopkeepers. They were stopped several times, but as a second piece
could not be found upon them they were not detained. They were traced
from London to Norwich, by the bad money they had passed, and were
apprehended at a lodging-house, with the bags in their possession. The
parents were sentenced to nine months' hard labour each, and the girl
detained until a home could be found for her. This was done, and she was
passed up to London. She was some time in the home, and then absconded;
but several years after she called upon the matron, and invited her to
come and see her husband, as she was comfortably married.
Several years passed, during which time "Teddie's Den" was visited with
varying success, until the night upon which the International Exhibition
was closed. The Missionary had arranged a tea in the building for a
thousand persons, and returned home very weary, to find a thief in the
house,--for there in the hall sat a man who had been frequently
convicted. He, with evident feeling, said, "The 'missus,' sir, has bin
bad all the week, and she's wery bad now, and is a mumbling your name;
and the doctor has bin agin, and says as you ought to be sent for, so I
has come." He was told to fetch a cab; but it was midnight before they
arrived at the night-house.
An anxious group of depraved persons were standing at the door, but the
visitor passed them in silence and entered the back room. The scene
which presented itself was solemn indeed, for there, dressed, upon her
couch, in the pains of dissolution, lay the woman who used to boast that
she had kept dens for twenty-one years, and had not slept at night
during that time. She appeared to be dying, but rallied when she heard
the voice of her friend, and whispered, "Mercy! mercy!--Pray, pray!"
"I tell you again, that as a guilty sinner, you must pray for yourself,"
he replied, in a slow, quiet, tone. "The blood of Jesus can save you
now: ask God in His name to pardon you." And then the dying woman, after
him, repeated short prayers. After a pause he took her cold hand in his,
and kneeling down, implored pardon for her from the God of all grace.
His voice was, however, stopped by the sobbing of several women and
young thieves who had entered from the shop. The death-expression upon
the face of their old acquaintance in guilt, with the solemn attitude
and words of prayer, overcame them, and they seemed to kneel as in
contrition before their offended Maker.
There were intervals of consciousness, during which words of hope were
read from the Book of Life; and at her request, expressed by movements
of her hands, prayer was again offered. She soon became unconscious, and
expired at three o'clock.
A few comforting words were spoken to the weeping daughter and the women
who remained in the room; and the night-visitor then passed into the
street. A large crowd of the criminal and depraved had assembled from
other night-houses, and as he left they made a passage for him to pass
through, while the two policemen turned on their bull's eyes to light
him on his way. He, however, stepped back, and standing upon the
threshold of the den, held out his Bible, and said, "She is dead, and
her eternal state is fixed: you, however, are upon the side of the grave
where mercy can be sought and found. Look up, now, to where the Saviour
is seated, at God's right hand, beyond those dark clouds. Be in earnest
in seeking salvation, and then live for the hour of death and the day of
judgment." He then passed down the street in silence, not a word reached
his ear from that gathering of the wicked.
The wretched inheritance descended to the daughter, now a young woman of
twenty. Before her mother's illness she had suffered persecution from
her, because she boldly confessed faith in Christ. Another cause of
offence was her receiving tracts and placing them upon the tables before
the customers were admitted. She, however, showed such dutiful affection
to her mother, that it no doubt softened her hard heart, and caused her
to show a better feeling towards the unwelcome visitor. A few evenings
after the funeral she called upon her friend, and upon entering the room
burst into tears, and said, "I can't, sir, keep the dreadful place open,
for I am always praying, and the language and sin is awful: I will beg
my bread first. What shall I do?"
She was soothed, and a quiet conversation took place between them
concerning her position. After conferring with his wife, he said, "You
are painfully circumstanced,--no one would receive you into their
service if they knew that you had been brought up in such a place. We,
however, will do what others could not, as I am assured that the Lord
has dealt mercifully by you. We need a servant, and will take you into
our house." She, with expressions of gratitude, accepted the offer; so
he wrote notes to the landlord of the house, and to a broker, and sent
her with them.
Next evening the Missionary paid his last visit to "Teddie's Den." A
hand-cart was at the door, and the broker inside. The furniture,
crockery, and fixtures were quickly sold and removed, and then the night
visitor and its late mistress left. It was with a joyous, thankful
heart, that he closed the door behind them, for he felt that a
stronghold of sin and Satan had fallen before the silvery notes of the
Gospel of peace.
The young woman did well in her place, and gave evidence of a renewed
nature. After a few months, her master and mistress were so well pleased
with her, that they recommended her into a reformatory institution as
under matron. For two years she filled the office with credit to
herself, and to the spiritual benefit of many of the inmates, including
one who used to frequent her parents' den. This woman had for years been
the companion of thieves, and had by vice so injured her health as to
suffer long illness in the London Hospital. Upon her discharge she was
sent to the Institution, and great was her astonishment to find the
young woman who, when a girl, waited upon her at night, an under-matron
in the home of Mercy. From her she gladly received the good news of
Jesus receiving sinners, and was led to call upon His name, and then to
rejoice in His mercy.
One evening the young assistant called upon her friend, and said
timidly, "You know Mr. So-and-so, don't you, sir?"
"I do," was the reply; "and think well of him."
"You have been more than a father to me, sir; and will you please give
me away?"
The office was cheerfully undertaken, and readily fulfilled. After the
marriage, the Missionary friend and father handed her a Bible, with this
writing in it: "Heirs together of the grace of life." The union is a
happy one, and she is a living proof that sovereign grace can raise its
subjects from the lowest depths, and place them among the princes of the
children of light.
The Book in the Streets and Night-Houses:
ITS SILENT FORCE.
"Sow in the wild waste places,
Though none thy love may own;
God guides the down of the thistle
The wandering wind hath sown.
Will Jesus chide thy weakness,
Or call thy labour vain?
The word that for Him thou bearest
Shall return to Him again.
Sow with thine heart in heaven,
Thy strength thy Master's might,
Till the wild waste places blossom
In the warmth of a Saviour's light."
_Anna Shipton._