A GILDED SALOON--A PIGEON PLUCKER--DISCOURAGEMENT--THE COFFEE
MAN--DESTITUTE--THE SOLITUDE OF THE CITY--MADNESS OF DISGRACE--THE
BEGGAR AND HIS BOY--THE "TRAVELLER'S REST"--THE SLEEPLESS
CHURCH--COFFEE STALLS AND BOOTHS--THE COVERT FROM THE STORM--BIBLE
POWER.
THE BOOK IN THE STREETS AND NIGHT-HOUSES:
ITS SILENT FORCE.
"The seed is the Word of God." LUKE viii. 11.
Two hundred and sixty nights occupied in evangelizing efforts in the
streets, refreshment houses, and dens of the mighty city, gave evidence
that the Word of God is powerful to arrest the attention of the most
thoughtless--to stop the guilty in their downward career; and that it is
the power of God unto the salvation of sinners who are sunk so low as to
cause them, when restored, to stand out before men as miracles of mercy.
Disappointments were frequent, and if continuance in the work had
depended upon known success, would have been crushing. This however was
not so: the great Master does not send out His servants at their own
cost. When He, of His sovereign grace, takes a sinner and places him
among His children, and then by distinguishing favour makes him a wheel
or a lever in His great machinery of mercy, He only requires
faithfulness--not success. Men can only fill the office of subordinate
instruments and visible agents in the mighty process of salvation. "God
was in Christ Jesus reconciling the world unto Himself," but "He has
committed to us the ministry of reconciliation." This truth ought to
remove indolence and avarice from those who are named by the name of
Christ. The redeemed people who realize the debt they owe unto their
Lord, should covet to be the deputies and agents of Divine love; such
should labour and study, and pray for success, because the Holy Spirit
works by instruments made fit for His use, and the armed omnipotence of
God is engaged on behalf of repentant sinners. The great restoring work
is of God, and of God only; and it is therefore the duty of His servants
to labour as cheerfully when denied, as when favoured with evidence of
blessing.
These thoughts were suggested when materials for this chapter were being
collected. The mind reverted to so many instances of failure,--to a
succession of men and women who had been the objects of much earnest
effort, but who had passed from under the influence of the Missionary
without giving the remotest hope of their salvation. If a proportion of
them were referred to, this would be a dismal record. We will only
therefore, by way of illustrating the nature of the work, refer to one
instance.
A Cabinet Minister had conferred with the Missionary upon the matter of
legislation for night-houses; and as other interviews were sure to
follow, he thought it well to visit all such places of which the police
could give him information.
One night he followed several fashionably dressed gentlemen into a house
near the Haymarket, and found himself in a gilded saloon, with billiard
rooms upstairs. The gentlemen remained together, and as the visitor felt
strange, he went to the upper end and threw himself upon a couch; he
was meditating as to what he could do there, when a middle-aged
gentleman entered and gave a familiar nod to the group, and then
glancing keenly toward the stranger, approached and took his seat at the
other end of the couch. After a little thought, an envelope containing a
tract was handed to him. He gave a sudden start, and the Missionary in a
merry tone, exclaimed "It's not a writ;" and then both laughed heartily.
The attention of the proprietor and his waiter in full dress, had from
his entering in, been fixed upon the stranger; he therefore thought it
well to make friends with the gentleman, and pressing near to him, he
said, in a confidential half-whisper: "Oblige me by not opening the
envelope now, as it only contains a religious tract." As he looked at it
with astonishment, the giver continued: "You no doubt think it absurd,
quixotic of me to venture in here with tracts, but you will respect my
motive when I tell you that I have for years visited the lower class of
night-houses, and conferred benefits upon many; and that I am the voice
of one crying in the night season, 'Behold the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sin of the world.'"
"A motive so good, justifies the act," replied the gentleman. "I am
going over to the Turkish saloon, and will pass out with you."
In the street they fell into a pleasant chat, and an appointment was
made for another night; this was kept, and followed by several others,
besides chance meetings. From his friends he ascertained that the
gentleman was supposed to be of good family, that he had graduated at
Oxford, and that he bore the assumed name of Clifford. He was a most
fascinating person, though his countenance had a dissipated and at
times malicious expression. He had a large acquaintance among young men
of position, who at that time frequented the Haymarket, and was often
seen with a gentleman, now deceased, who by bad company lost his
fortune, and had to sustain a long law-suit to prove his sanity. By the
lower order of the depraved he was regarded as one of quite a large
number of gentlemanly men whom they called "pigeon pluckers."
One night the gentleman and his Christian friend, who had met in the
Haymarket, were conversing together, when he was accosted by a young man
who appeared to be of age, with "Ah, Clifford! how'do? glad to see you.
Just a word at your leisure."
"Certainly, my lord," was his reply. "I will be with you in a few
minutes: should have been waiting for you, had I not met with this very
pleasant friend."
"As Clifford's friend, may I crave the honour of offering my hand to
your lordship?" inquired the Missionary.
"Certainly," replied the young nobleman (if such he was), and then the
Christian visitor grasped his hand, and holding it with mild restraint,
looked him full in the face, and said, "You are in danger, my lord. This
dissipation will injure your person, your good name, your fortune, and
perhaps your country. Be wise. Like a certain young ruler mentioned in
the Gospel, approach the Lord Jesus, and ask, 'What shall I do to
inherit eternal life?'"
A deep colour rose to the face of the young man, and he stepped hastily
away; but turning back, as by sudden impulse, he again offered his hand
to his reprover, and said, "I thank you, sir;" and was then lost in the
crowd of the gay and dissipated.
[Illustration: "You are in danger my lord."]
Some weeks after this event, the night visitor met the gentleman, and
had tea with him in a café. As they sat together at the small round
marble table, the Missionary observed, "To me it is astonishing that you
can live such a life as you are doing; heaping up wrath against the day
of wrath. From a child you have known the Holy Scriptures, and I am
surprised that texts do not at times rise to your memory, and produce a
fearful looking forward to judgment!"
"Such is not the case," he replied, "strange as you may regard it. There
is only one matter of memory which ever troubles me, and that is the
verses of a child's hymn which our mother used to teach us as we knelt
at her side in the nursery,--
'Almighty God, Thy piercing eye
Strikes through the shades of night;
And our most secret actions lie
All open to Thy sight.'
"At times these verses flash across my mind at most inconvenient
seasons, and destroy my enjoyment; they occurred when you first spoke to
me in the saloon, and the other night I caught myself repeating them
when playing an important game of billiards." The pocket Bible was
produced, and the words solemnly read,--"He hath appointed a day in the
which He will judge the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath
ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all men in that He hath
raised Him (Jesus) from the dead."
The visitor then repeated to him the verses of a Judgment Hymn of his
own writing, which evidently made a deep impression:--
Roll, roll, ye thunders with terrific dread!
Shout, shout, ye angels and awake the dead!
Proclaim the mandate of the Almighty King;
Man, dead and living, to the Judgment bring.
Rise, rise, ye millions of reposing clay!
See, see, the light of the eternal day!
The brightness of His coming gilds the sky,
The glorious mantle of the Judge most high.
Rejoice, rejoice, ye ransomed sons of God!
Sing, sing, the virtue of the Saviour's blood!
Your loud triumphant Hallelujahs sing,
With great rejoicing hail your Saviour-King.
Mourn, mourn, neglecters of a Saviour's love;
Weep, weep, rejecters of the Heavenly Dove;
Insulted mercy leaves thee to the law
Which dooms to death, and bids thee hope no more.
Awake, awake, ye slumbering sinners, pray;
Cry, cry for mercy, now in mercy's day;
Flee to the Covert from the storm, and rest
Your blood-bought souls upon the Saviour's breast.
After this visit there were several other meetings, and then a long
interval occurred. Upon inquiring for his friend at the divans and
saloons, the visitor was told that "he had not been seen for some time:
that he had no doubt gone upon the Continent, and would turn up next
season." He was not there the following year, and was never seen in his
old haunts again. It was with him as with others,--much effort without
apparent result; and yet it is possible that, in the day of the Lord,
good concerning some of them will be made manifest.
In one class of cases there is freedom from discouragement, and that is
when the Christian worker is enabled to strengthen, to encourage, and to
assist disciples in their efforts to give a testimony for the Lord, and
to do good under depressing circumstances.
It was certainly thus with an old man who kept a coffee-stall in a poor
neighbourhood. His shop consisted of a large barrow with canvas
covering, supported at the corners by upright pieces of wood. At one end
he had a small iron stove, with a large kettle upon it, and a coffee-pot
on one side and tea-pot upon the other; at the farther end was a
cupboard well filled with bread-and-butter and plum cake. Upon the
centre of the barrow was a white cloth, covered with cups and saucers,
and underneath were several pails of water. He used to wheel the whole
concern to his corner as soon as the clock struck twelve at night, and
wheel it away when the public and coffee-houses opened at six in the
morning. The acquaintance of the proprietor was made in the following
manner: One bitterly cold morning, about three o'clock, the Missionary,
who was trembling from the chill felt upon leaving a warm night-house,
approached the stall, and held his hands to the fire. The policeman on
duty paused for the same purpose, and the following conversation passed
between them:--
_Stall-keeper_: "I have read the book you lent me, and don't think the
doctrine sound. Sovereign grace fore-ordained unto salvation, and the
saints elected according to the Divine purpose must be saved. No man can
pluck them out of the Saviour's hands."
_Policeman_: "You make too much of your favourite doctrine of election.
Our Lord died for all who ever lived or shall live in the world; and it
is written that it is not the will of God that any should perish, but
that all should come to repentance."
"Both doctrines are plainly taught in the Divine Word," remarked the
stranger; "and, like the colours in the rainbow, they harmonize and
blend over the throne where Jesus is seated. We do well to seek for the
full assurance of faith, and to rejoice in the sure covenant; but while
doing so let us witness for the Lord who bought us, and try to win
others by testifying of His abounding grace."
With a happy smile the policemen recommenced his weary walk round the
beat, while the stall-keeper and the night-visitor had pleasant converse
about the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which hath appeared unto all
men. This led to a friendship with the stall-keeper, who was a Cornish
man and a Calvinistic Baptist; and to a slight acquaintance with the
policeman, who was a Congregationalist. Several visits were paid to the
"Coffee Man," as he was called, and work was appointed him in the great
vineyard. He was supplied with tracts, which he kept in his cupboard,
and for several years he was a valuable distributor. Groups of depraved
people, who "make night hideous," used to surround his stall; to these
he gave tracts, and spoke the truth boldly. He indeed became a kind of
spiritual adviser to the depraved. Many repentant ones spoke with
confidence to the good old man, and several were sent by him to his
friend, and were placed in institutions of mercy.
This was not a solitary instance of converted men being found in night
occupations; and it became an object of the visitor's efforts to
strengthen such in the faith, and to lead them boldly to witness for
their Lord in the midst of the ungodly. These helpers were precious and
their testimony valuable, because the great body of persons met with
were disreputable or utterly vile. Many were ignorant of the true light,
but there were others who had received religious advantages, and who, by
rejecting proffered mercy, counted themselves unworthy of eternal life.
Among this mass of the unholy were to be found the young, the
thoughtless, and the distressed, who being easily led captive by the
devil and his servants, supplied the places of those who were constantly
sinking to perdition. With some of these the work was effectual for
good, as the following case will illustrate.
One night, a little after eleven, the Missionary was walking down Oxford
Street, in company with another evangelist, when they passed a girl of
seventeen, who was walking slowly, as if ill. The night visitor glanced
at her, and was struck by the expression of misery and disease,--it
seemed as though the sorrows of a life had been concentrated in that
young face. He therefore turned suddenly, and approaching her, said
kindly, "Don't be afraid: I am a religious man, and a friend to poor
girls in trouble. Now do tell me where you are going?"
"To sleep under the trees in the park, sir, if I can get in," she
replied; "if not, to walk about all night;" and then she burst into
tears.
In answer to inquiries, she made the following statement, in a very
truthful manner. She said, "I am a village girl, and came from home
after losing my only parent about eighteen months ago. A neighbour's
girl who was in London got me a place. It was at a lodging-house: and I
rarely got out, as they only let me go to church three times. All the
stairs were of stone, and I had to clean them; this, with constant
running up and down, brought on a white swelling in my knee. I remained
as long as I could crawl, and then, as I had saved three pounds, went to
live with the charwoman. After a time I went into an hospital for two
months. I returned to the charwoman, and tried to get into place, but I
looked so ill that no one would engage me. After the money was spent I
pawned my clothes, and I was told to go to the workhouse. I went to the
door, but the man spoke so sharp to me that I drew back, and now I have
been in the streets for two days. Last night I slept with some other
girls under the trees in Hyde Park, but they talked so dreadful that I
am afraid to go in again. Oh! what shall I do?" and then she sobbed so
loudly that several persons crossed from the other side of the street.
"If your tale is true, I will provide for you," said her interrogator:
"at all events I will see that you are taken care of to-night." He then
took her to a coffee-house, where he was known, and paid for a supper,
bed, and breakfast. At leaving, he took an envelope from his pocket, and
tearing it, gave her one-half, and said, "Stand with this in your hand
near the fountain in Regent's Circus to-morrow morning at ten o'clock,
when a lady with the other half will speak to you, and take you to a
Home."
At the appointed time the poor girl approached the fountain, where a
matron of the Rescue Society was waiting to receive her. As soon as she
reached the Home her statements were inquired into, and found to be
correct. Care and proper treatment soon restored her to health, and a
lady received her into her service. Three months after the lady called
at the office to thank the secretary for sending her such a good
servant. She remained in her place several years, and gave evidence of
real gratitude for the great deliverance which had been wrought out for
her.
[Illustration: Lady at window]
The state in which this poor girl was found illustrates the lonely
condition of those who are friendless in a great city. The most wretched
and deserving may in the crowd jostle against the best and kindest of
men and women, and yet be sinking to the lowest depths of wretchedness
and vice, unnoticed and uncared for. Hence the Christian duty and true
philanthropy of arresting such wanderers, and putting them in a
position to live godly, righteously, and soberly in this present evil
world. The following case will show that such efforts are not lost, and
that the words of the Book are powerful to reclaim even outcasts:--
One morning a ragged, wretched-looking girl of nineteen, was brought to
the house of the night visitor by a woman of depraved and drunken
appearance, who said, "This 'ere young woman was a-going mad, and
fainted like, when she ran into the night-house, and said as how she
wanted the parson man, who preaches like out of the Bible in the streets
at night; and as that's your honour, I found out that you lived here,
and so I've brought her. I had to treat her, as I has good feeling, and
the men wanted to take her to the police, as she is mad, and I think she
ought to be took to Bedlam."
The object of this speech stood with her hands before her face,
trembling with emotion. Filthy as she was, the Missionary and his wife
took her into a private room, and by soothing words drew from her the
following statement. She said, "I am a Scotch girl, and my father is a
tradesman in a large way of business. In a bad temper I absconded from
home, and have been awfully wicked. One night I heard you speak to some
people round a coffee-stall, and then you showed us the Bible, and said
that every word in it would come true, and that Jesus would come again
as a thief in the night. At leaving, you said that 'the heavens would
pass away with a great noise, and that the earth would be burned up, and
that all who rejected mercy now would then be banished from the
Saviour's presence.' I felt so miserable that I went to my lodging, and
next day I wrote to my father, asking him to forgive me. He did not
write for two days, and I was so anxious that I stood for hours looking
for the postman. At last a letter came in his handwriting, and the only
words in it were, 'You are no daughter of mine: never write to me
again.' I felt mad when I read it, and walked about Regent's Park all
day: when the gates were shut I hid myself, and went to sleep on the
grass. I woke up in the night, as it was raining, and I was soaked
through. As I crossed the bridge I began to laugh and dance, and thought
how nice it would be to drown myself; so I took off my bonnet and shawl,
intending to jump in, when I thought I heard you speaking of mercy and
Jesus, and was so startled that I took up my things and ran as fast as I
could. I jumped over the palings as though some one was after me, and
ran until I got to the night-house, and then I fainted." At the end of
this recital she looked wildly round, and almost screamed, "Oh, save me,
sir: do save me! don't let me go into the park."
She was assured of her safety, and words of Christian tenderness were
spoken to her. After partaking of refreshment she was sufficiently calm
to be sent in charge of the woman with a note to the manager of the
Refuge for the Destitute. She was received, and next morning, being ill,
was taken into an hospital. Her father was written to several times, but
did not reply to the letters: a maiden aunt, however (those blessings in
a family), sent for her into Scotland. A week after a very grateful
letter was sent by the aunt, inclosing full payment for expenses
incurred in the rescue of her niece: also a letter from the girl,
expressing thankfulness to God and man for her wonderful deliverance
from a watery grave. After these no other voluntary letters were sent.
When he wrote, the replies were so cold and short as to give him to
understand that though thankful, they wished to break off from all who
knew of her dreadful fall.
Such and much worse instances of ingratitude, where the greatest of
blessings had been conferred, were not uncommon. At first it was a real
discouragement to the man, who felt the sorrow and weariness of this
desperate struggle for souls; but at length he became reconciled to
labour as unto the Lord only. Even then he at times felt saddened, after
labouring for the good of some apparently worthless person, to be
avoided after the good had been accomplished. It seemed like the Gospel
story of the ten lepers being healed, and only one of them returning to
give thanks to the great Healer. The proportion of the unthankful is
very large; for out of the 374 women, girls, and boys, whom the Lord
enabled the Missionary to rescue, or to deliver from some peril or
misery, they are few indeed who at the interval of years show gratitude.
One of these shall be referred to here, as the narrative also shows that
the blessing which gives success frequently rests upon perseverance in
effort to do good.
Upon a drizzly night, a beggar man and his boy of thirteen years entered
a public-house which remained open until one o'clock in the morning. The
man asked alms of the publican, and then of the Missionary to whom he
was talking, and said that they only wanted fourpence for their lodging,
as they had tramped in from Chatham, and were both ill. Out of pity to
the boy, who staggered from weakness, the visitor walked with them to a
"Traveller's Rest," and paid the money. Upon the way the man stated
that he was a discharged soldier, and had left the regiment through bad
eyes; he was nearly blind, and that he had a small pension for the first
year. His wife and themselves had lived pretty well by begging in the
country during the summer, as he always wore a red jacket and carried
his discharge paper. On their way his wife had been taken ill, and was
left at an Infirmary; but he hoped she would soon join them. He appeared
very thankful when an offer was made to place the boy in a Refuge, and a
call for that purpose was arranged for the next day.
"The Traveller's Rest" was situated in a low back street, with several
courts in it, and a passage at the end. The road was offensively dirty,
as the Missionary passed down at two o'clock upon the next afternoon.
The swarms of children were of the gutter, shoeless, tattered, and
filthy. At many of the doors women of debased countenances were
squatted, smoking short pipes. A fiddler was playing in the doorway of a
low beerhouse--"The Dan O'Connell,"--while men, women, and children were
dancing inside and out, to an Irish jig. Out of two windows were long
poles with bills underneath, announcing the pleasing fact that a "clean
shave and a wash could be had within for one halfpenny." These were no
doubt rival barbers. "The Rest" was one of several, and was offensively
dirty. In the back, or common room, were two tables and several forms,
the company consisting of eight women and five men. Three of these were
at the fireplace, one holding a number of sprats upon a long skewer,
another a red herring, and the third was frying steak and onions. They
regarded the stranger with what he knew to be a professional look, and
one woman in the same breath told him that "the sojer was upstairs, and
that she was very ill, and almost a skeleton with starvation;" and then
she took a bottle of medicine out of her pocket, and to prove how bad
she was, invited him to taste it. This he courteously declined, and
ascended to the bedroom, the air of which was horribly offensive. A row
of old mattresses upon the dirty floor formed the beds, while the walls
were shockingly dirty. But as the "soldier" said, "What 'commodation can
a chap expect for twopence, when you has the use of fire and water?" To
the disappointment of the visitor, the man began to wriggle out of his
promise to let the boy go to a Refuge; and when pressed he became
impertinent, and said, "With my eyes bloodshot and the boy a-looking
ill, we can get lots; and I shan't starve for him." When leaving, the
reader re-entered the common room, and secured the attention of the
people to the parable of the good Samaritan; and then, holding up the
pocket Bible, he said, "It's in here, and many other things which the
blessed Jesus spoke."
Some weeks after this the visitor saw the boy huddled up in a night
coffee-house, the father being fast asleep. The lad told him that a lady
in Upper Brook Street had been very kind to them, but his father drank
away all the money. The address was taken down, and next day the
Missionary called upon the lady, who was so good as to express her
thanks, and they together planned the rescue of the boy. By threats and
entreaty the father was prevailed upon to let him enter the Refuge in
Commercial Street, and the night visitor took him there in triumph.
The lad did well in the home, and was initiated into the mysteries of
the two crafts of the shoemaker and carpenter. He did his work well,
and showed a thankful heart. He procured a slip of leather about nine
inches long, and wrought the name of his friend upon it with shoemaker's
thread, and upon one of his visits gave it him, while the tears of
gratitude stood in his eyes. The visitor has it now among the precious
memorials of his work. Poor boy, he was without money with which to buy
a present, so he devised this in order to show how warm his heart was.
Upon leaving the Refuge, he was apprenticed to a master carpenter, the
lady kindly paying a small premium with him. He did well, and at the end
of his time entered a good shop of work. He occasionally called upon his
friend to report progress. After a long interval he came back for a
short time, and stated that he had for eighteen months been a member of
a Presbyterian Church, and by giving tracts and by conversation was
trying to do good to others. It was a pleasant interview, as the young
carpenter thanked his friend more warmly than ever for his rescue, and
then they knelt together in prayer. One instance like this makes up for
all the toil and sorrow of the work, and leads to humiliation before
Almighty God, that He of His great mercy should use earthen vessels for
the purposes of His grace.
* * * * *
We cause a gap in this chapter, in order to make an important
announcement,--an announcement which deserves to be printed in large
type, and blazoned in letters of gold; it is, that as London never
sleeps, so THE LARGE CHURCH OF GOD IN THE MIGHTY CITY NEVER SLEEPS.
There are now many workers for Him in the night season, and the call of
sinners to repentance never ceases in the empire city. The happy result
was brought about in this way: People heard of and became interested in
the work of the midnight visitor. First among them was a clergyman of
importance, then at a college in Oxford. He wrote to the Missionary,
asking him during the week of the Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, to
give letters he had written to any young gentlemen he might find in
casinos, saloons, and night-houses, wearing the dark-blue necktie.
Several nights were thus occupied with interest and profit.
Soon after this, the founders of the midnight meeting movement consulted
him about that project, to which he gave his hearty support. Upon the
first night he gave away the invitations, and for that purpose
penetrated places into which no one but himself dare have entered with
that object. The large room was crowded, not less than 250 young women
were present; and he stood rejoicing with prayerful heart beside the
Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, while he gave the first address. The
midnight visitor knew that a movement was then being inaugurated which
would continue to recover many from destruction, and which would raise
the moral tone of London. Several private individuals now commenced
visiting at night, and the Committee of the London City Mission had
compassion upon their overworked servant, and by the appointment of a
Missionary to night-houses, relieved him of these self-imposed duties. A
change of importance had however been brought about. His evidence before
a Committee of the House of Commons, his writings and private influence,
had its share in securing a beneficial Act, closing night-houses from
one until four o'clock in the morning. This was a great moral good, and
it has resulted in the establishment of hundreds of street
coffee-stalls. There is still much room for Christian effort at night,
as the following extracts from printed statements of the two
Missionaries thus employed will clearly show. We introduce these with an
extract from "The Sword and Trowel:"--
"The Missionaries invariably leave their homes at twelve o'clock in
the night, and return about eight o'clock in the morning. And the
number of cabmen is now so great, and their spiritual instruction
so much needed, that the effort has proved to be one of the most
necessary, as well as fruitful departments of evangelization. There
are nearly 2000 night cabmen. They are very docile, remarkably glad
to be taught the message of God's love. And, indeed, the two
Missionaries seem generally attached to them. Being earnestly
desirous for their best welfare, and remembering how close death
must be to most of these old men, these messengers of peace yearn
over their souls. In numbers of instances their efforts have been
blessed. Poor old men, down whose furrowed cheeks the tears of
penitence have flowed, have found in Christ the truest consolation
for their wearied hearts. In the hour of life's eclipse--for death
to the Christian is nought more--they have witnessed a good
confession, and have given bright and glorious testimonies that
they have been born again."
One Missionary writes,--
"The coffee-stalls and booths which are to be found all over London at
the corners of the streets, and in public thoroughfares, near railway
stations, etc., are excellent opportunities for usefulness. These are
kept by people who have no other means of obtaining a livelihood, and
who sell a cup of smoking hot coffee for one halfpenny, and a slice of
cake or bread and butter for the same price. Many of these people are
Christian men and women, and render the Missionary great assistance in
expounding the message of mercy and salvation to their customers. Not
only cabmen and the outcast get a cup of coffee at these places, but men
in the building trade, railway carters, and others, towards six
o'clock, gather round them in large numbers, to obtain that which does
them good and saves them from going to the early public-house. So that
these coffee-stall proprietors are a really useful part of the
community. These coffee stalls have increased rapidly, so that now about
four hundred and sixty can be counted in the streets of London at night.
The Church of England Temperance Society have also stationed a number in
leading thoroughfares by day. We give a picture of one of these because
it contains the latest improvements and best use of them.
[Illustration: Boy at coffee stall]
"On one occasion a pugilist gave me his address, and told me that, when
a little boy, his mother used to teach him his prayers, some of which he
repeated. He added that he had got the best wife in the world, but he
treated her like a brute. I talked to the poor fellow till he wept like
a child, and he took hold of my arm and said, 'You shall go home with me
to-night.' I begged to be excused, as it was now three o'clock in the
morning. However, there was no alternative, so off I went with him,
arm-in-arm. He called his poor wife up, although I wished him not to do
so; but so far from being angry when she saw that my object was to try
and reform her husband, she thanked me with tears in her eyes. He
promised by God's help to seek to lead a new life, and give his heart to
God. As I had a Testament in my pocket I gave it them, and we knelt down
and prayed for God's blessing on our meeting. I went home musing on the
event which had occurred, and could not help feeling that the Lord had
directed my steps back with the man. I have called since, and find that
by trade he is a sawyer. He is now working at his trade, is a
teetotaler, and in a hopeful state of mind."
As some instances of usefulness have come under my notice through the
reading of the Word of God, I purpose to refer to two or three:--
"Mr. ---- has been a night cabman for thirty-six years. In reply to my
questions, he said he did not remember when he last went to church, and
if he was to go, he is so deaf he could not hear the parson. I asked,
'How do you spend your time on Sunday evenings?' 'In reading _Lloyd's
Newspaper_,' was the reply. 'Oh,' I said, 'then you could read a
Testament, if I got you one?' 'I dare say I could,' was the answer. I
took him one, which he read, and he became so fond of it that he soon
laid aside the newspaper, and the Testament became his constant
companion. Although he is deaf, yet he now attends church, and is in a
hopeful and penitent state of mind.
"Mr. ----, poor man, was always full of trouble. He had lost his wife by
death, buried four children, and broken his leg; and every time I
attempted to converse with him, he would pour his burden of troubles
into my ear, and think no one sympathised with him. I got him a Bible,
and turned down for him Isaiah liii., and several other portions of
God's Word, which he read. The next time I saw him I heard but little of
his troubles, and the time after that he said, 'Sir, my Bible has quite
cured me of complaining, for when I read of what my Saviour suffered, I
feel ashamed to murmur or complain. It is the Bible that has cured me,
for I see others have suffered before me, and that nothing has happened
to me but what is common to all men.'
"Poor old ---- said, 'I have read your Testament all through, and don't
know what I should have done when I was in the workhouse but for my
book. I have been thinking very much about our Lord's Sermon on the
Mount, and I feel that it condemns me, for I used to think that I was
not so bad as others, and that through my own good works I should go to
heaven. Now I feel I am a sinner, and have no good works, and that it is
through the righteousness of another that I must be saved. I asked the
Chaplain in the workhouse, and he explained the whole thing to me as
clear as day.' I have often explained to him the glorious doctrine of
justification by faith in the finished work and righteousness of the
Lord Jesus Christ, for which he is very grateful.
"A man, named ----, said, 'Well, if your Testament has done nothing
else, it has kept me out of the public-house, and therefore it has done
me good; and my wife is pleased, I can tell you.' I advised him to go on
reading, and to seek the aid of the Holy Spirit to help him."
As it is always pleasant to record increase of good, we are glad to
state here that a second and well qualified Missionary has for several
years been working at night in East and South London, and that with
marked success. All the night cabmen and thousands of people to be
instructed in saving truth by night only are now under visitation.
The following words from the pen of a clergyman's wife (Mrs. Hebert),
who has for years sustained this good work, will form a most suitable
conclusion to this chapter:--
"Night after night the work has been going on, much being done, as we
have often seen, in a single night, and the result is that many have
found rest to their souls. Prodigals have sought their Father's house,
the afflicted have heard the rod, the inquiring have been directed to
Jesus, and have found Him; the aged have been brought in at the eleventh
hour, and are spending their little remnant of life to His glory who
called them into His vineyard. Let us give thanks and pray more. Let us
identify ourselves more in spirit with our Missionaries. It is our work
as well as theirs. We can only reach these poor cabmen through them....
Missionary work is so like Christ's work, and so great a blessing rests
upon it, that we should all seek to have a share in it in our own
way,--that is, in the way God may have opened for us. Then we shall feel
not only that we are fellow-labourers with all who are seeking to spread
the Gospel, but, as it is so wonderfully said by St. Paul, we shall be
'workers together with Him' whose word shall not return to Him void....
We have all had our trials, like those whom we are seeking to lead to
the God of all comfort. Life and its treasures are passing away, but the
things which cannot be shaken remain. God's work still claims us. We can
still be about our Father's business. And what is so elevating and so
soothing amidst cares and distractions and losses, as the thought that
there is a calm, holy, steady course marked out for us by Him, and that
He condescends to be glorified by us, whether by our life, or by our
death?"
The Book in the Highways:
ITS FETTER-BREAKING.
"There are in this large stirring tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of th' everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart,
Through dusky lanes and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."