softening splendor that it sheds around; but to describe the setting of
my dumb boy's sun of mortal life is impossible. He declined like the orb
of day, gently, silently, gradually, yet swiftly, and gathered new
beauties as he approached the horizon. His sufferings were great, but
far greater his patience; and nothing resembling a complaint ever
escaped him. When appearing in the morning, with pallid, exhausted
looks, if asked whether he had slept, he would reply, with a sweet
smile, "No, Jack no sleep; Jack think good Jesus Christ see poor Jack.
Night dark; heaven all light; soon see heaven. Cough much now, pain bad;
soon no cough, no pain." This was his usual way of admitting how much he
suffered, always placing in contrast the glory to be revealed in him,
and which, seemed already revealed to him. Knowing that his recovery was
impossible, I refrained, with his full concurrence, from having him
tormented with miscalled alleviations, such as opiates, bloodletting,
and so forth. All that kindness and skill could effect was gratuitously
done for him, and every thing freely supplied by our medical friends;
but they admitted that no permanent relief could be given, and I always
hold it cruel to imbitter the dying season with applications that in the
end increase the sufferings they temporarily subdue. This plan kept the
boy's mind clear and calm; the ever-present Saviour being to him instead
of all soothing drugs. Sometimes when greatly oppressed, he has had
leeches; and I remember once half a dozen were put on his side, at his
own request. The inflammation was very great; the torture dreadful as
they drew it to the surface; and I was called to him, as he sat grasping
the arm of a chair, and writhing convulsively. He said to me, "Very,
very pain; pain bad, soon kill;" and he seemed half wild with agony.
Looking up in my face, he saw me in tears; and instantly assumed his
sweetest expression of countenance, saying in a calm, leisurely way,
that his pain was much, but the pain the Lord suffered much more: his
was only in his side; the Lord suffered in his side, his hands, his
feet, and head. His pain would be over in half an hour, the Lord's
lasted many hours; he was "bad Jack," the Lord was "good Jesus Christ."
Then again he observed the leeches made very little holes in his skin,
and drew out a little blood; but the thorns, the nails, the spear, tore
the Lord's flesh, and all his blood gushed out--it was shed to save him;
and he raised his eyes, lifted his clasped hands, turned his whole face
up towards heaven, saying, "Jack loves, loves, very loves good Jesus
Christ!" When another violent pang made him start and writhe a little,
he recovered in a moment, nodded his head, and said, "Good pain, make
Jack soon go heaven."
His sublime idea of the "red hand" was ever present. He had told me some
years before, that when he had lain a good while in the grave, God would
call aloud, "Jack!" and he would start, and say, "Yes, me Jack." Then he
would rise, and see multitudes standing together, and God sitting on a
cloud with a very large book in his hand--he called it "Bible book"--and
would beckon him to stand before him while he opened the book, and
looked at the top of the pages, till he came to the name of John B----.
In that page he told me, God had written all his "bads," every sin he
had ever done: and the page was full. So God would look, and strive to
read it, and hold it to the sun for light, but it was all "no, no
nothing, none." I asked him in some alarm if he had done no bad. He said
yes, much bads; but when he first prayed to Jesus Christ _he_ had
taken the book out of God's hand, found that page, and pulling from his
palm something which he described as filling up the hole made by the
nail, had allowed the wound to bleed a little, passing his hand down the
page so that, as he beautifully said, God could see none of Jack's bads,
only Jesus Christ's blood. Nothing being thus found against him, God
would shut the book, and there he would remain standing before him, till
the Lord Jesus came, and saying to God, "My Jack," would put his arm
around him, draw him aside, and bid him stand with the angels till the
rest were judged.
All this he told me with the placid but animated look of one who is
relating a delightful fact: I stood amazed, for rarely had the plan of a
sinner's ransom, appropriation, and justification, been so perspicuously
set forth in a pulpit, as here it was by a poor deaf and dumb peasant
boy, whose broken language was eked out by signs. He often told it to
others, always making himself understood, and often have I seen the
tears starting from a rough man's eye as he followed the glowing
representation. Jack used to sit silent and thoughtful for a long time
together in his easy-chair, when too weak to move about, and then
catching my eye, to say with a look of infinite satisfaction, "Good red
hand." I am persuaded that it was his sole and solid support; he never
doubted, never feared, because his view of Christ's all-sufficiency was
so exceedingly clear and realizing. It certainly never entered his head
to question God's love to him. One night a servant went to his room,
long after he had gone to bed: he was on his knees at the window, his
hands and face held up towards a beautiful starlight sky. He did not
perceive the servant's entrance: and next morning when I asked him about
it, he told me that God was walking above, upon the stars; and that he
went to the window and held up his head that God might look down into it
and see how very much he loved Jesus Christ.
All his ideas were similar--all turned on the one theme so dear to him;
and their originality was inexhaustible. What could be finer than his
notion of the lightning, that it was produced by a sudden opening and
shutting of God's eye--or of the rainbow, that it was the reflection of
God's smile? What more graphic than his representation of Satan's malice
and impotence, when, one evening, holding his finger to a candle, he
snatched it back, as if burnt, pretending to be in great pain, and said,
"Devil like candle." Then with a sudden look of triumph he added, "God
like wind," and with a most vehement puff at once extinguished the
light. When it was rekindled he laughed and said, "God kill devil."
He told me that God was always sitting still with the great book in his
hand, and the Lord Jesus looking down for men, and crying to them,
"Come, man; come, pray." That the devil drew them back from listening,
and persuaded them to spit up towards him, which was his sign for
rebellion and contempt; but if at last a man snatched his hand from
Satan, and prayed to the Lord Jesus, he went directly, took the book,
found the name, and passed the "red hand" over the page; on seeing which
Satan would stamp and cry. He gave very grotesque descriptions of the
evil spirit's mortification, and always ended by bestowing on him a
hearty kick. From seeing the effect, in point of watchfulness, prayer,
and zeal, produced on this young Christian by such continual realization
of the presence of the great tempter, I have been led to question very
much the policy, not to say the lawfulness, of excluding that terrible
foe as we do from our general discourse. It seems to be regarded a
manifest impropriety to name him, except with the most studied
circumlocution, as though we were afraid of treating him irreverently;
and he who is seldom named will not often be thought of. Assuredly it is
a great help to him in his countless devices to be so kept out of sight.
We are prone to speak, to think, to act, as though we had only our own
evil natures to contend with, including perhaps a sort of general
admission that something is at work to aid the cause of rebellion; but
it was far otherwise with Jack. If only conscious of the inward rising
of a sullen or angry temper, he would immediately conclude that the
devil was trying to make him grieve the Lord; and he knelt down to pray
that God would drive him away. The sight of a drunken man affected him
deeply: he would remark that the devil had drawn that man to the ale-
house, put the cup into his hand with an assurance that God did not see,
or did not care; and was now pushing him about to show the angels he had
made that wretched being spit at the authority of the Lord. In like
manner with all other vices, and some seeming virtues. As an instance of
the latter, he knew a person who was very hostile to the gospel, and to
the best of his power hindered it, but who nevertheless paid the most
punctual regard to all the formalities of external public worship. He
almost frightened me by the picture he drew of that person's case,
saying the devil walked to church with him, led him into a pew, set a
hassock prominently forward for him to kneel on, put a handsome prayer-
book into his hand; and while he carefully followed all the service kept
clapping him on the shoulder, saying, "A very good pray." I told this to
a pious minister, who declared it was the most awfully just description
of self-deluding formality, helped on by Satan, that ever he heard of.
When partaking of the Lord's supper, Jack told me that his feeling was
"very, very love Jesus Christ; very, very, _very_ hate devil: go,
devil!" and with holy indignation he motioned, as it were, the enemy
from him. He felt that he had overcome the accuser by the blood of the
Lamb. Oh that we all may take a lesson of wisdom from this simple child
of God.
During the winter months he sunk daily: his greatest earthly delight was
in occasionally seeing Mr. Donald, for whom he felt the fondest love,
and who seemed to have a presentiment of the happy union in which they
would together soon rejoice before the Lord. Jack was courteous in
manner, even to elegance; most graceful; and being now nineteen, tall
and large, with the expression of infantine innocence and sweetness on a
very fine countenance, no one could look on him without admiration, nor
treat him with roughness or disrespect: but Donald's tenderness of
manner was no less conspicuous than his; and I have watched that noble-
minded Christian man waiting on the dying youth, as he sat patiently
reclining in his chair--for he could not lie down--and the grateful
humility with which every little kindness was received, until I almost
forgot what the rude unfeeling world was in that beautiful
contemplation. How much the fruit in God's garden is beautified by the
process that ripens it.
Jack labored anxiously to convert his sister; and as she could not read
at all, the whole controversy was carried on by signs. Mary was
excessively mirthful, Jack unboundedly earnest; and when her playful
reproaches roused his Irish blood, the scene was often very comic. I
remember he was once bringing a long list of accusations against her
priest, for taking his mother's money, making the poor fast while the
rich paid for dispensations to eat, inflicting cruel penances, drinking
too much whiskey, and finally telling the people to worship wooden and
breaden gods. To all this Mary attended with perfect good-humor, and
then told him the same priest had christened him and made crosses upon
him. Jack wrathfully intimated that he was then a baby, with a head like
a doll's, and knew nothing; but if he had been wise he would have kicked
his little foot into the priest's mouth. The controversy grew so warm
that I had to part them. His horror of the priests was solely directed
against their false religion; when I told him of one being converted, he
leaped about for joy.
At the commencement of the year 1831 he was evidently dying; and we got
a furlough for his brother to visit him. Poor Pat never went to bed but
twice during the fortnight he was there, so bitterly did he grieve over
the companion of his early days; and many a sweet discourse passed
between them on the subject of the blessed hope that sustained the dying
Christian. He only survived Pat's departure four days. On the third of
February the last symptoms came on; the death-damps began to ooze out,
his legs were swelled to the size of his body, and he sat in that state,
incapable of receiving warmth, scarcely able to swallow, yet clear,
bright, and tranquil, for thirty hours. The morning of the last day was
marked by such a revival of strength that he walked across the room with
little help, and talked incessantly to me, and to all who came near him.
He told me, among other things, that once God destroyed all men by rain,
except those in the ark; and that he would soon do it again, not with
water but with fire. He described the Lord as taking up the wicked by
handfuls, breaking them, and throwing them into a fire; repeating, "All
bads, all bads go fire." I asked if he was not bad; "Yes, Jack bad
very." Would he be thrown into the fire? "No; Jesus Christ loves poor
Jack." He then spoke rapturously of the "red hand," of the angels he
should soon be singing with, of the day when Satan should be cast into
the pit, and of the delight he should have in seeing me again. He prayed
for his family, begged me to teach Mary to read the Bible, to warn Pat
against bad example, to bring up my brother's boys to love Jesus Christ,
and lastly he repeated over and over again the fervent injunction to
love Ireland, to pray for Ireland, to write books for "Jack's poor
Ireland," and in every way to oppose Popery. He called it "Roman,"
always; and it was a striking sight, that youth all but dead, kindling
into the most animated, stern, energetic warmth of manner, raising his
cold, damp hands, and spelling with them the words, "Roman is a lie."
"One Jesus Christ, one," meaning he was the only Saviour; "Jack's one
Jesus Christ;" and then with a force as if he would have the characters
impressed on his hands, he reiterated, as slowly as possible, his dying
protest, "Roman is A LIE!" Very sweetly he thanked me for all my care;
and now he seemed to bequeath to me his zeal against the destroyer of
his people. The last signs of removal came on in the evening; his sight
failed, he rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and then smiled with
conscious pleasure. At last he asked me to let him lie down on the sofa
where he had been sitting, and saying very calmly, "A sleep," put his
hand into mine, closed his eyes, and breathed his spirit forth so
gently, that it was difficult to mark the precise moment of that joyful
change.
I still hope to throw into a volume the numerous particulars that remain
untold concerning this boy; and I will not now dwell upon the subject
longer. God had graciously kept me faithful to my trust; and I
surrendered it, not without most keenly feeling the loss of such a
companion, but with a glow of adoring thankfulness that overcame all
selfish regrets. Thenceforth my lot was to be cast among strangers, and
sorely did I miss the comforting, sympathizing monitor who for seven
years had been teaching me more than I could teach him; but all my
prayers had been answered, all my labors crowned; and with other duties
before me I was enabled to look at the past, to thank God, and to take
courage.
LETTER XIV.
A REMOVAL.
Circumstances led me to decide on removing nearer the metropolis; and
with reluctance I bade adieu to Sandhurst, where I had resided five
years. Jack was buried under the east window of the Chapel of Ease at
Bagshot, there to rest till roused by the Lord's descending shout, the
voice of the archangel, and the trump of God. I am very certain he will
rise to glory and immortality. It was a severe trial to part with my
school, to dispose of the endeared relics that had furnished a home
blessed by my brother's presence, to bid farewell to many kind friends,
and cast myself into the great wilderness of London. The feeling that
oppressed me was a conviction that I should there find nothing to do;
but I prayed to be made useful, and none ever asked work of a heavenly
Master in vain. The dreadful famine in the west of Ireland had called
forth a stream of English liberality, and collections were made
everywhere for relief of the suffering Irish: one was announced at Long-
Acre chapel; but before the day arrived, the committee put forth a
statement that they had abundant funds and required no more. I was then
residing in Bloomsbury, daily witnessing the wretchedness of St.
Giles's: and on learning this I wrote to Mr. Howels, begging him to say
a word to his congregation on behalf of those Irish who were starving at
their doors, whose miserable destitution I laid before him as well as I
could. He returned me no answer; but on the Sunday morning read my
letter from the pulpit, asked his flock to contribute, and collected
upwards of fifty pounds, which he gave to me.
Knowing the character of the people so well, and longing to make the
relief of their bodily wants subservient to a higher purpose, I resolved
to visit in person every case recommended to my notice. Many of my
friends stood aghast at the proposal: I should be insulted, murdered, by
the Irish savages; no lady could venture there, their language was so
dreadful: no delicate person could survive the effects of such a noxious
atmosphere. To this I replied that, happily, I could not hear their
conversation; and as for the unwholesomeness, it could not be worse than
Sierra Leone, or other missionary stations, where many ladies went.
Insult had never yet been my lot among the Irish; and as to murder, it
would be martyrdom in such a cause, of which I had little hope. So I
turned my fifty pounds into bread, rice, milk, meal, coals, and soup,
resolved to give no money, and on the very next day commenced the
campaign against starvation and Popery in St. Giles's.
For four months I persevered in the work, devoting from four to six
hours every day to it; and though I never in the smallest degree
concealed or compromised the truth, or failed to place in the strongest
light its contrast with the falsehoods taught them, I never experienced
a disrespectful or unkind look from one among the hundreds, the
thousands who knew me as the enemy of their religion, but the loving
friend of their country and of their souls. Often, when I went to visit
and relieve some poor dying creature in a cellar or garret, where a
dozen wholly unconnected with the sufferer were lodged in the same
apartment, have I gathered them all about me by speaking of Ireland with
the affection I really feel for it, and then shown them, from the
Scriptures, in English, or by means of an Irish reader sometimes
accompanying me, the only way of salvation, pointing out how very
different was that by which they vainly sought it. My plan was to
discover such as were too ill to go to the dispensary for relief, or to
select the most distressed objects whom I met there, and to take the
bread of life along with the bread that perisheth into their wretched
abodes. I was most ably and zealously helped by that benevolent
physician who had always been foremost in every good and compassionate
work for the Irish poor; and to whose indefatigable zeal it is chiefly
owing that at this day the poor lambs of that distressed flock are still
gathered and taught in the schools which it was Donald's supreme delight
to superintend. I cannot pass over in silence the devotion of Dr.
Pidduck, through many years, to an office the most laborious, the most
repulsive, and in many respects the most thankless that a professional
man can be engaged in--that of ministering to the diseased and filthy
population of the district. But many a soul that he has taught in the
knowledge of Him whom to know is life eternal, will be found to rejoice
him in the day when their poor bodies shall arise to meet the Lord.
The schools in George-street, to which I have alluded, are the main
blessing of the place: they were established long before the gospel in
Irish was ever introduced there; and they survive the Irish ministry
which, alas, has been withdrawn from the spot where God enabled me to
plant it. Those schools are a bud of promise in the desolate wilderness,
which may the Lord in his own good time cause to blossom again. * * *
During a sojourn of some years a little to the north of London, I
devoted myself more to the pen, and found less opportunity for other
usefulness than in Sandhurst and London; yet much encouragement was
given to labor among the poor neglected Irish, who may be found in every
neighborhood, and to whom few think of taking the gospel in their native
tongue--still fewer of bearing with the desperate opposition that Satan
will ever show to the work. We make the deplorable state, morally and
physically, of the Irish poor, an excuse first for not going among them
at all, and then for relinquishing the work if we do venture to begin
it. In both cases it ought to plead for tenfold readiness and
perseverance. I always found it a perilous task to attack the enemy in
this strong-hold: not from any opposition encountered from the people
themselves; far otherwise; they ever received me gladly, and treated me
with respect and grateful affection; but Satan has many ways of
assailing those whom he desires to hinder, and sometimes his chain is
greatly lengthened for the trial of faith, and perfecting of humility
and patience, where they may be sadly lacking. There are spheres of
undeniable duty where the Christian may often almost, if not altogether,
take up the apostle's declaration, and say, "No man stood by me." This,
to the full extent, has never yet been my experience; but I have often
found many against me, both without and within, when earnestly bent on
dealing a blow at the great antichrist. It is no good sign when all goes
on too smoothly.
In 1834 I was induced to undertake what seemed an arduous and alarming
office, that of editing a periodical. I commenced it in much prayer,
with no little trembling, and actuated by motives not selfish. That it
was not laid down at the end of the second year, was owing to the great
blessing just then given to my appeals on behalf of the cruelly
oppressed and impoverished Irish clergy through its means: and
recommencing, at the beginning of the third year, with an ardent desire
to promote more than ever the sacred cause of Protestantism, I found the
Lord prospering the work beyond my best hopes; and by his help I
continue it to this day. * * *
It was my blessed privilege, four years since, to abridge into two
moderate sized volumes the English Martyrology, as recorded by Foxe. In
the progress of this work I became better acquainted with the true
doctrines of the Reformation than ever before: I compared them, as I am
wont to do every thing, with what God has revealed; and I am satisfied
that they are perfectly accordant with Scripture: if they were not so, I
would reject them. By the same standard let us prove all things, that we
may hold fast that which is good.
I have not particularized the trial of my scriptural principles when
exposed for a short time to the pernicious doctrines of a subtle and
persuasive Antinomian teacher. At first he only appeared to me to insist
very strenuously on the doctrine of free, sovereign grace; and greatly
to magnify God in the saving of souls, wholly independent of aught that
man can do: but a little further investigation convinced me that the
vilest system of moral licentiousness might be built on such a
foundation as he laid; and I found the discourses of Peter and of Paul,
as recorded in the Acts, especially conclusive against his perverted
notions. Antinomianism is a most deadly thing; and I believe all
extremes in doctrines where good men have much differed to be dangerous;
while at the same time they are very deluding, for we all love to go far
in an argument, or under the influence of party spirit. * * *
Of myself, I have now no more to say than that, "by the help of my God,
I continue to this day" anxiously desirous to devote my little talent to
his service, as he may graciously permit. I have coveted no man's
silver, or gold, or apparel, but counted it a privilege to labor with my
hands and head, for myself and for those most dear to me. Many trials,
various and sharp, have been my portion; but they are passed away, and
if I have not enlarged upon them it is from no reluctance to declare all
the Lord's wonderful doings, but from a desire to avoid speaking harshly
of those who are departed. The Lord has accepted at my hand one
offering, in the case of the precious dumb boy, received into glory
through his rich blessing on my efforts; and he mercifully gives me to
see the welfare of two others, committed to me as the offspring of my
brother, over whose early years I have been permitted to watch, and in
whose growing prosperity my heart can rejoice. He has been a very
gracious Master to me; he has dealt very bountifully, and given me now
the abundance of domestic peace, with the light of his countenance to
gladden my happy home. Yet the brightest beam that falls upon it is the
anticipation of that burst of glory when the Lord Jesus shall be
revealed from heaven, to reign in righteousness over the world that
shall soon, very soon, acknowledge him the universal, eternal King: and
the most fervent aspiration my heart desires to utter is the response to
his promise of a speedy advent. "Even so, Lord Jesus; come quickly.
Amen."
* * * * *