SIGHTS OF LONDON.
Traveling in London—London a Studio—The Hum of Folly and the
Sleep of Traffic—Five Million Heads in Nightcaps—Too Many People
Together—Survival of the Fittest—Place and Pride—Poverty and
Penury—Beneficence in London—East End—Assembly Hall—A Converted
Brewer—His Great Work—Meeting an Old Schoolmate.
THE man who comes to London and is driven around in a hansom, or a
carriage, as most tourists are, and sees only the museums and art
galleries, the botanical and zoological gardens, the monuments and
statues, the costly cathedrals and splendid temples, the lordly
mansions and the superb palaces, of the city, leaves with a false,
imperfect, distorted, and one-sided idea of the place. I would advise
no man to come here, and leave, without visiting Westminister Abbey
and the Houses of Parliament, without going to St. Paul’s Cathedral,
to the Tower, and a dozen other places of general interest, “where
travelers do most congregate.” These things one should see, as a matter
of course, but other things should not be left unseen.
I love to study architecture, art and literature; I love to study
poetry and science; but, above all, I love to study _man_.
Some years ago, I saw a gentleman in Queen’s College, Toronto, Canada,
who received a good salary from the government to study cat-fish. Men
spend many years and much money in studying birds. And is not one fish
sold for a penny, and two sparrows for a farthing? Man is of more value
than many fishes and sparrows. Then, why not study man? Nor is it
enough to study men individually; but we must study them collectively
as well. And, for this collective study of mankind, there is no better
place to be found anywhere beneath the shining stars than the city of
London.
As I sit alone in my room to-night, my conscience hurting me for
disobeying the counsels of a devoted mother in keeping this late hour,
and look down upon the “life circulation” of the city, I realize that
it is true sublimity to dwell here. “I am listening to the stifled hum
of midnight, when traffic has lain down to rest. I hear the chariot
wheels of vanity rolling here and there, bearing her on to distant
streets, to halls roofed in, and lighted to the true pitch for folly.
Vice and misery are roaming, prowling, mourning in the streets, like
night-birds turned loose in the forest.
“The high and the low are here, the joyful and the sorrowful are here;
men are dying here; men are being born; men are praying—on the other
side of the brick partition, men are cursing; around them is all the
vast void of night. The proud grandee still lingers in his perfumed
saloons or reposes within damask curtains. Wretchedness cowers into
truckle-beds, or shivers, hungerstricken, into its lair of straw. In
obscure cellars, squalid poverty languidly emits its voice of destiny
to haggard, hungry villains, while landlords sit as counsellors of
state, plotting and playing their high chess game, whereof the pawns
are _men_.”
[Illustration: THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.]
“The blushing maiden, listening to whisperings of love, is urged to
trust him who, in all probability, seeks to rob her of that crown of
glory without which woman is indeed a ‘poor thing.’ A thousand gin
palaces are open, and are at this moment crowded with drinking and
drunken men and women—perhaps far less of males than of females. Gay
mansions with supper rooms and dancing halls are full of light and
music and high-swelling hearts. But, in yonder condemned cells, the
pulse of life beats tremulous and faint. The sleepless and blood-shot
eyes look through the darkness that is around and within for the last
stern morning. Full three millions of two-legged animals lie around us
in horizontal positions, their heads in night-caps and their hearts
full of foolish dreams. Riot cries aloud and staggers and swaggers in
his rank dens of shame.”
“The mother, with streaming hair and bleeding heart, kneels over her
pallid, dying infant, whose beastly father is drunk and cursing; all
these heaped and huddled together with nothing but a little carpentry
and masonry between them; all crammed in like salted fish in their
barrel, or weltering, shall I say, like an Egyptian pitcher of tamed
vipers, each struggling to get his head above the others.” This is as
true now as it was in Carlyle’s day. Such work goes on every night of
the year. Having seen these things myself, I speak what I do know. I am
truly glad that London is in England, and not in our beloved country.
I hope we may never have a city as large as this, for I am thoroughly
convinced that it is not good for so many men and women to dwell
together.
If it were possible for five millions of men to come together to live
and do business in the same city, each having the same amount of money
in the struggle of the survival of the fittest which would follow,
a few men would soon have great wealth, and others would be reduced
to poverty and want. The successful ones would then become proud and
haughty, overbearing and dictatorial. Some of the others would, like
the ass in the tread-mill and ox under the yoke, be doomed to a life
of toil and servitude. Another class of the unfortunate ones would
become despondent, wretched, reckless, indolent and selfish. The
hard-hearted would set dead-falls and snares to catch their weak-minded
and strong-passioned brother. This would go on and on until thousands
would lose their manhood and womanhood. They would abandon all hope and
courage and virtue. They would resort to treachery, lying, stealing,
gambling, and murdering. They would thus degenerate into the lowest,
vilest, meanest specimens of humanity.
[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON.]
This is London. I have seen more wealth, more of the trappings of place
and pride, more worldly pomp and regal splendor, than I have ever seen
anywhere else. I have also seen more poverty, suffering, vice, and
ignorance than I ever expected to find in a country so highly favored
as is England.
Having spoken somewhat at length of the lower strata of London life,
let us now look at the praiseworthy efforts that are being made to
elevate, humanize, moralize, and Christianize these hope-abandoned
wretches. What is known as the “East End” is the worst part of the
city. It is inhabited by a million and a half of people, most of them
being the off-scouring of creation—not “the bravest of the brave,”
but the vilest of the vile. Just in the midst of this den of shame and
corruption stands the “Great Assembly Hall” which, for the last eleven
years, has been open day and night for gospel work.
Mr. Fred. M. Charrington, the Superintendent of this Mission, has a
strange and interesting history. His father was a strange man of great
wealth, and one of the largest brewers in London. He had only two sons,
who were the sole heirs of his immense fortune and lucrative business.
The sons had all the advantages of a thorough education and extensive
travel. Fred served twelve months as brewer to the Queen. But, some
sixteen years ago, as Fred. Charrington (then twenty-one years old)
was returning from a continental tour, he chanced to fall in with a
gospel minister. When the preacher spoke of man’s duty to serve God,
Charrington protested. He said they had had a pleasant time together,
and he did not care to have their peace disturbed, or friendship
broken, by the introduction of such subjects as man’s sin, Christ’s
righteousness, death, hell, and the judgment. This conversation led
to Charrington’s conversion. After that, he worked in the brewery all
day, taught the Bible to classes at night, and preached the gospel
on the streets every Sunday. He soon saw, however, that he could not
successfully teach the Bible, and preach the gospel on Sunday, to
people who were drunk on the beer and whiskey that he had sold them
during the week. This so troubled his conscience that he gave up a
business that was bringing him an annual income of more than $25,000.
He then established this Mission in East London, which has grown to
be the largest and most successful work of the kind in the world.
The Assembly Hall, with the property belonging to it, is valued at
$250,000, Charrington having given about one-third of the money out
of his own pocket. He has more than 2,500 members in his church. He
is strictly an immersionist. Before one can possibly become a member
of Charrington’s church, he must sign a pledge neither to drink, nor
buy, nor sell whiskey, beer, or any other strong drink. His Sunday
audiences range from 4,000 to 5,000.
[Illustration: ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.]
In connection with the Mission, there are a coffee saloon, a bookstore,
Young Men’s Christian Association, Young Women’s Christian Association,
a news-boy and boot-black mission, a penny savings-bank, an emigration
bureau, a house of correction for bad boys, and a reformatory for
young women. All departments of this wonderful Mission move on with
the regularity of clock-work. I have preached and lectured for Mr.
Charrington a few times, and have half-way promised to spend a month
with him next year. I love to be with him. He is full of hope. The
spirit of God is upon him. Verily old things have passed away, and all
things have become new to him. The things he once loved he now hates,
and the things he once hated he now loves. A new song has been put into
his mouth—even the song of Zion. Oh, the power, the wonderful power,
of the gospel!
The Christian people of London have expended, and are still expending,
vast sums of money in establishing and maintaining large and successful
Missions in different parts of the city especially in the East End,
for the elevation of degraded humanity. And nothing but the power of
God can make these people fit to live on earth, much less to dwell
in Heaven. Millions and millions of dollars have, also, been, and
are still being, expended in establishing and maintaining hospitals
and asylums, workhouses, reformatories, and schools. Most of these
institutions are comparatively new, but they are now splendidly fitted
up and well cared for. They will, under God, be powerful agencies for
good.
I was quite delighted, a few days ago, to meet my old friend and fellow
student, S. A. Smith, of Kansas. After graduating from two of our best
American institutions of learning, Mr. Smith came to Europe to continue
his studies. He has spent three years in Germany, France, and England,
studying the ancient languages, especially the Semitic languages. I
have never known a man with a greater capacity for work than S. A.
Smith. He is the author of two very valuable books, one of which is
just out, and is dedicated to Professor J. R. Sampey. Such an honor was
never more worthily bestowed.