A SUNDAY IN LONDON.
To be in London at any time is an experience that is worth having; for
all good things seem to tend to this wonderful city, which is the very
heart of the world! What might of power and influence it possesses! What
vivid life of all kinds exists in it! Some people say it is not
beautiful as Paris, Brussels, and other cities are; but they are surely
mistaken. It has a beauty and a homeliness that is all its own. No parks
are more green; no streets are more interesting. To Arthur Knight, as he
drove from West to East on his arrival, it seemed to him the fairest, as
it was certainly the dearest, of all the world. The trouble that had
been put into his mind by Hancourt, though a very personal one, could
not absorb his thoughts as he looked upon his fellow-countrymen in the
crowded thoroughfares. “If London were Christian, there would be hope of
the whole world,” he said; and his was the dream of how many devout
souls beside! With his strong heart full of the enthusiasm of youth, he
did not for a moment consider the dream to be impossible of realisation.
And with the same buoyant hopefulness he thought that something which he
had to say would hasten that consummation. He passed by the dwellings of
the rich, and, measuring others by himself, he peopled them with young
men who were ready to live or die in the true service of their country.
He believed that the time had come for the new aristocracy to assert
itself—the aristocracy of character and helpfulness—the nobility of the
future, whose destiny it is to rule the world with righteousness. “This
little island ought to be full of friends,” he said, echoing the thought
of one of England’s greatest teachers. But when he reached the East-end
the awful contrasts of the metropolis impressed and saddened him.
It was in this part of London that Arthur Knight’s home was. Mr. Knight,
senior, had not followed the fashion, and sought out a suburban
residence. He preferred to live near his works, and could not bring
himself to believe that a railway ride every morning and evening would
be a saving of time, or strength, or money. He lived in an old house,
surrounded by a moderately large garden, in which, however, few things
flourished but shrubs. All around the garden was a high wall, which
completely shut the place out of sight; so that, but for the noise, one
might have fancied himself miles away from the great city. Not only was
the house an ancient one, but the furniture in it was sombre and
old-fashioned. It was not a home-like house, for no woman presided over
it; only a couple of servants kept it in something like order, and
carried out the wishes of the master. A child’s voice was never heard
making music in it, and few guests ever entered it. If people wanted to
see the owner, they generally sought him at his office, because there
they were the most likely to find him; and no one had come to the house
by invitation for several years. There were rooms enough in it to
accommodate a large family, but Mr. Knight had lived in it, after his
son went away, in complete solitude. He had often felt sorry that he had
sent the lad from him in anger, and had not more patiently tried to bend
the young will to his own; but the anger had died away now, and he had
begun to acknowledge that he felt lonely.
It was on Saturday evening that Arthur passed through the
well-remembered gateway. His heart beat rapidly as he entered the house,
and when he took his father’s hand in his a great wave of tender feeling
swept over him. His father was all that he had in the world. Mother,
brothers, sister-all were gone, and he had not yet found any one on whom
he could set his heart. But he owed everything to his father, and he
resolved that it should go hardly with him indeed but that he would
prove a loyal and helpful son now that he had at last recalled him. The
old man trembled as he met him. He was as much altered as Arthur
himself, and he looked as if the years had dealt far less kindly with
him than they had with his son. Arthur could see that the meeting was
trying his father exceedingly, and during the evening he did his best to
keep the conversation on commonplace topics.
But after breakfast the next morning he could feel that something was
coming. The church bells were chiming in all directions, and the young
man’s heart was drawn towards the quiet and restfulness which he knew
might be reached in a few minutes. But his father wanted him, and he
thought his duty was with him.
“We may as well have a talk about things, Arthur,” he said. “I suppose
you don’t care about going out? I have given up my sittings in
Queen-street. I used to do a great deal for the place, as you know; but
latterly they had a man whom I could not get on with. He insulted me,
and I don’t take an insult twice from the same person. He told me that I
did not subscribe enough money, and I was not going to stand such
impertinence from anybody. I always thought the Nonconformist places of
worship were maintained on the voluntary principle, but I don’t call it
voluntary when a man tries to bully you out of your money.”
“No, indeed. I wish the question of money had not to come so much to the
front.”
“I have saved the money that religion used to cost me, that is all.”
“Could you not have gone to some other church?” asked Arthur, gravely.
He could not answer his father’s chuckle with a laugh.
“Of course I could! There were enough to choose from; but I know they
are all alike in one respect—they are all greedy and grasping for
money.”
“It seems that nothing can be carried on without it.”
“Then let those who like such things pay for them.”
Arthur was amazed. His father was indeed changed since those old Sundays
which he remembered so well, when he had been taken to prayer-meeting,
Sunday-school, and service from early morning until late at night. He
wondered curiously how many orthodox sermons his father must have heard,
and what had been the good of them all to him.
“Trade is bad,” said the old man, after a pause.
“Is it? I am sorry to hear that.”
“I hope it will not give out just yet, because I have not done all upon
which I have set my heart. I have had some heavy losses, too, and these
are the things that eat into a man’s life. But, still, I have not done
badly after all, and I may as well tell you at once.”
Here he stopped, as if he would arouse his son’s curiosity; but Arthur
only waited in courteous deference until his father chose to say the
next thing. And it was rather long in coming.
“Arthur!”
“Yes, father?”
“I am almost a millionaire!”
“Father!”
“Really and truly, if I am spared a few years longer, and a kind
Providence smiles on me still, I should not wonder if you prove to be
the heir to a million of money.”
Arthur stared at his father, who had spoken the last words, as indeed
they deserved to be spoken, in tones that were as solemn as they were
triumphant.
“A million?” he echoed.
“That is between ourselves, of course. Nobody else knows exactly, and
most people would scarcely believe me if I were to tell them.” And Mr.
Knight leaned back in his chair, and laughed softly.
Arthur did not laugh; and presently his father glanced keenly at him.
“Well, my son, what do you think of that?”
“I think it is an enormous fortune, and that great responsibility
attaches to it.”
In fact, his thoughts were so busy that he scarcely knew what to say. It
seemed to him that many of his dreams might almost at once become
accomplished facts. More than enough money would be his to set in action
the beneficent schemes which, night and day, had haunted him during the
last two years. And what was there to prevent him from spending his life
in his own chosen way? The business indeed? Surely the right thing would
be to retire from it altogether. And yet,—_would_ that be right or best?
Arthur Knight hungered for people; and here in his father’s employ were
several thousands of them. Nay, he would not send all these adrift,
since, in a sense, he would inherit them as well as his father’s
fortune.
He arose from his seat in excitement, and paced the room, his father, in
the meantime, scrutinising him closely.
“Arthur, I wonder if you have much business capacity?” he said,
presently. “It is harder than ever now to make money. Competition is so
keen and the price of labour is so great that one must be clever to make
headway now.”
“But you have made your headway, father.”
“Oh! I have not done nearly all that I want to do. Arthur,” said the old
man, suddenly, “if you had your own way, and were perfectly free to
choose, what would you like to do?”
“I am going to try to help you.”
“Please to answer my question, sir.”
“A young man has his dreams generally, I suppose. I should like to talk
to the people.”
A very impatient grunt met this assertion.
“Do you mean that you would like to be a parson?”
“Not exactly; but don’t you think it would be a good plan if men of
means gave themselves to the work of the Church, so that all the money
raised could go to beneficent purposes, instead of the people having to
consider the minister’s salary? However, I do not feel that I ought to
be a minister.”
“A Member of Parliament, Arthur? That you might very well be. There’s a
wretched set of muffs in Parliament now. They ought to interfere in some
matters more than they do.”
“It is a good thing that the markets of the world are open to us,” said
Arthur. “I wish, though, that some of our merchants were a little more
patriotic. They are sending out such worthless goods that they are
getting a bad name for England.”
“That is not their fault, but the fault of the foreign dealers who are
crying out for cheap things, and will always buy at the least price. A
man must in self-defence put inferior articles in circulation if people
will not give the good price for the good thing.”
“But he might meet the difficulty by taking less profit for himself.”
“Why in the world should he? He has himself to look after. He offers the
articles that are asked for at a price which the people are willing to
give. What more can be expected of him?”
Arthur resolved to use caution in the disclosure of his thoughts on the
subject. For the next hour he kept his father amused with tales of his
adventures.
Later, Mr. Knight again brought business forward; and the day of rest
was to Arthur a very different one from that for which he longed.
They were still talking together when an unexpected diversion arose.
The gate which formed the only entrance to the grounds of Brent House
was always kept locked, and could only be opened from the inside. There
was a ring at the bell, and when the boy unlocked it three men
immediately stepped inside. While the porter was asking their business,
one of them again opened the gate, and a dozen other men pressed in. Mr.
Knight and Arthur were endeavouring to discover what it all meant, and
they saw that a great crowd was in the street. The frightened porter
came breathlessly into the room.
“If you please, sir, here are men who say they are a deputation, and
they come on very particular business.”
“Tell them to take their particular business away, then, as fast as they
can.”
The boy went out with the message, and soon came again.
“They say they are your workmen, sir, and what they have to say concerns
you very much. And they say they are not going until they have had their
talk with you.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Set the dog on them.”
Arthur rose hastily.
“May I see them, father? They seem respectful and quiet enough. Let me
hear what they have to say.”
“No, Arthur; I would rather you keep out of it. Would you let them tell
you what they want if you were me?”
“Yes, I certainly would.”
Mr. Knight threw up the window.
“Now, then, you fellows, what is the meaning of this?”
A man who was in the front touched his cap and cleared his throat, and
began a short speech.
“Beg pardon sir, but we are come to lay our case before you, man to man.
We have been given to understand that the factory in Chislehurst-street
belongs to you, though it is carried on in the name of Woolton and
Company. We are all employed at that factory; and we are not satisfied
with the wages. We want a rise, sir, begging your pardon.”
“And so do we,” said another man, in tones that were far less
respectful. “We find that a good many of them works at the back of
Stepton belong to you; and it is impossible for a man to keep his family
respectable on the wages you give. We’re going to strike and demand
better pay, and we have come here to-day to give you notice to that
effect.”
“Yes, we have,” began another, but Mr. Knight angrily stopped him.
“If you don’t clear out of this directly I will have you all arrested
for trespass,” he said. “And you are very much mistaken if you think
this is the way to get what you want. If you have a case, lay it before
the man from whose hands you take your money, and approach me through
him.”
A scornful laugh broke in here, and several voices said, “A lot of good
that would do!”
“But I may as well tell you now you are here,” continued Mr. Knight,
“that this is no time to ask for higher wages. Trade is bad, and the
manufacturers are not getting the money they ought. If you don’t like to
take the wages you can leave them. I could get your places filled
to-morrow, and with better men than you. So go about your business. And
remember, you are marked men. I shall know your faces again, and you
needn’t be surprised if you get notice to quit.”
“Please to understand, sir,” said the first speaker, “that we come as a
deputation. Pretty well all your men are at the back of us. And we was
to tell you that we would give you a week to consider it. We shall be
glad to state our grievances to you, and also to mention the terms we
think fair, if you will appoint an interview. Our Union will back us,
and we don’t mean to go on in the old way, and so we give you notice.”
Mr. Knight closed his window, and again ordered his servant to set the
dog loose; but the men quietly withdrew, pulling the gate to behind
them, not, however, before the owner of the house and his son had
another glimpse of the waiting crowd outside.
Mr. Knight was in a rage. “What do you think of that for a piece of
impertinence?” he asked.
“How much can the men earn, father?”
“Oh, different sums. Nobody has less than fifteen shillings a week.”
“I should hope not. That is very little for a man who has a family.”
“Well, the family is no business of mine. I don’t employ more men than I
can help. I like women and boys better. A woman is well off if she gets
ten shillings a week, and she does as much work as a man will do for a
pound.”
“Have you ever thought what a fair and right thing it would be to give
your workpeople a share in your profits? You know that both individuals
and companies have tried the plan, and found it answer. A man who has a
stake in the concern will be more likely to do his best, and to work
economically and diligently, than one who has no share in it.”
“What nonsense, Arthur! They do have a share in the profits when they
get their wages, don’t they?”
It was inevitable that Arthur, being a young man, should look at things
differently from the old one—young men always do. But he was sensible
enough to be held in check by the reflection that his father had—what he
certainly had not—experience. This made him resolve to be careful of his
words, and only to speak when an opportunity had been given him to prove
things. He knew, however, that sooner or later he would have to tell his
father what his own views were, which he would certainly put into force
if he had the opportunity, because he thought it quite possible that
when his father was informed he would take care that his business should
be put in other hands. Arthur believed that wealth, whether inherited or
won, was a trust to be used for others.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that their share is often not a fair one.
For instance, if I have invented an article which meets the needs or
tastes of my customers, I have the right to what of financial good it
brings if I can make the article with my own hands; but if I have to
employ other hands they ought to have a much larger share than usually
they do. And if I am getting rich, I ought not to lay more and more by,
unless I give those who help me to get rich more and more. The fact is,
father, that a Christian man may not do what others may. He cannot be
selfish, and keep all the good things that come in his way; he must help
others, and try to find his joy in that. You know money is no real good
to a man. He can only eat as much, and drink as much, and wear as many
clothes as others. But if he scatter his wealth, and make a hundred or a
thousand families better off because he is rich, that seems to me
splendid, and the lot of that man must be the best in the world.”
Arthur glanced at his father as he finished. His words had a curious
effect upon the old man. He was bitterly disappointed, and yet, as he
listened to his son, he was conscious of a feeling that was more like
pride and gratification than anger.
“So those are your views, are they?” he said. “I am very glad you have
told me what I have to expect. But I am not going to quarrel with you
to-day. I will think what is the next best thing to do. Would you not
like a walk? I am going to be busy for an hour or two.”
Arthur gladly went forth to mingle for a little in the life of the
metropolis. It was not much like Sunday down in the East-end of the
great city, where the stalls were in the streets, and the shops were
open, and there was a great tumult among the people who were buying and
selling, arguing and quarrelling, and, above all, drinking and smoking.
Places of worship enough there were to contain them all, but few
appeared to recognise the Father’s house, or to care to enter it. The
noise of London seemed to surge round the churches and chapels, which
are like harbours of refuge in the stormy sea—only, most of the people
preferred to be out on the waters rather than within the calm. Centres
of influence and helpful service were these, every one of them. If the
ministers and the members did not work together with those of other
churches, they had each their own set of workers, all honestly
endeavouring to meet, in the way they thought best, the needs of the
neighbourhood. Many stories of heroism and self-denial could be told of
those who were consecrating their life to this East-end work, and
labouring on, through good report and evil report, often with scant
success to encourage them. A few of the people were lifted up and out of
the mass of wickedness; but so few that they seemed to make little
difference, for the streets were as terrible as ever. Still bad language
shocked the ears of those who did not live amongst it; still drunkenness
and cruelty appeared to flourish more than anything beside. And on this
day the men and women who talked together in angry voices in some of the
most densely-populated places were more fierce than usual because one of
their favourite public-houses had lately been closed. Arthur Knight was
shocked and pained with what he saw and heard, but he was not rendered
hopeless and despairing. “They ought never to have been suffered to get
into this state,” he thought. “Nearly all these men and women were once
in the Sunday-school. How is it that they were let to slip away from
those who were their best friends? But the hope of the future is with
the young. The present generation of the young must be secured somehow.”
And as he half-uttered aloud these words he passed a large hall filled
with boys and girls listening delightedly to a man whom he half-envied,
such power had his eloquence over them. Then he thought of the latest
developments of Christian endeavour, and his heart leaped with joy as he
remembered that he could now become associated in these and other
services to humanity, so well and wisely rendered in modern times; and
it was with a happy assurance that he went home, for the words that were
upon his lips was a prophecy in process of fulfilment: “The kingdoms of
this world _shall become_ the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.”