IN THE SLUMS.
"In dens of guilt the baby played,
Where sin and sin _alone_ was made
The law which all around obeyed."
The summer sunshine, of which we have written as glistening among the
"leafy tide of greenery," and on the ripening corn-fields and
gaily-painted flowers in the country, was penetrating also the close
streets of one of the poorest parts of London, cheering some of the
hearts of the weary toiling ones there, into whose lives little sunshine
ever fell, and for a while, it may be, helping them to forget the misery
of their lot, or to some recalling happier days when they dwelt not in a
narrow, crowded street, but in a country village home, amidst grassy
meadows and leafy trees, feeling, as they thought of these things,
though they could not have put the feeling into words, what a poet gone
to his rest says so beautifully,--
"That sorrow's crown of sorrow
Is remembering happier things."
But the very light that cheered revealed more clearly the misery, dirt,
and poverty around.
In one such street, where little pale-faced children, without the
merriment and laughter of childhood, played in a languid, unchildlike
way, sickness prevailed; for fever had broken out, and indoors suffering
ones tossed on beds, if they could be so called, of sickness.
At the door of a small room in one of the houses stood a girl of some
ten or eleven years old, looking out anxiously as if in expectation of
some one, turning every now and then to address a word to her mother,
who lay in the small room on a bed in the corner.
"He baint a-comin' yet," she said, "'cos I knows his step; but he'll be
'long soon--ye see if he don't! I knows as how he will, 'cos he's that
kind; so don't ye fret, mother--the doctor 'ill be here in no time.
There now! Susan Keats giv' me some tea for ye, and I'll get the water
from her and bring you some prime and 'ot--ye see if I don't!" So
saying, the child ran off and went into a room next door, and entering
begged for some "'ot water." "Ye see," she said, addressing a woman
poorly clad like herself, "she be a-frettin', mother is, for the doctor,
for she's badly, is mother, to-day, and she thinks mayhap he'll do her
good."
When the child returned to her mother's room, she found Dr. Heinz (for
it was he) sitting by her mother's side and speaking kindly to her. He
turned round as the child entered. "Come along, Gussie," he said;
"that's right--been getting mother some tea. You'll need to tend her
well, for she's very poorly to-day."
"Ay, ay," muttered the woman, "that's true, that's true. Be kind to
Gussie, poor Gussie, when I am gone, doctor. The young lady--Miss
Warden be her name--she said she'd look after her, she did."
The doctor bent over the dying woman and said some comforting words, at
which the woman's face brightened. "God bless ye," she said, "for
promising that. Oh, but life's been weary, weary sin' I came 'ere--work,
work, and that not always to be 'ad. But it's true, sir, what ye told
me. He says even to the like o' me, 'Come unto me, and I will give you
rest;' and He's done it, I think. Ye'll come again, sir, won't ye?"
After a few moments of prayer with the poor woman, and giving her some
medicine to allay her restlessness, Dr. Heinz left the room. From house
to house in the fever-stricken street he went, ministering alike to body
and soul, often feeling cast down and discouraged, overwhelmed at times
by the vice and poverty of all around. The gospel had never reached
these poor neglected ones. The very need of a Saviour was by the great
majority of them unfelt. Love many of them had never experienced. The
evil of sin they did not comprehend. Brought up from babyhood in the
midst of iniquity, they were strangers to the very meaning of
righteousness and virtue. No wonder that the heart of the doctor was
oppressed as he went out and in amongst them. Yet he felt assured that
by love they could be won to the God of love, and that only the simple
gospel of Jesus Christ dying in their room and stead, told in the power
of the Holy Ghost, could enlighten their dark souls and prove the true
lever to raise them from their sin and misery. And so, whilst
alleviating pain, he tried when possible to say a word from the
book--God's revealed will, which alone "maketh wise unto salvation."
More than once on the day we write of, as he went from house to house,
the vision of a young girl whom he had often met going about doing good
flitted before his eyes.
Gertie Warden and Dr. Heinz had first met in one of those abodes of
wretchedness, where she stood by a bed of sickness trying to comfort and
help a dying woman.
Only two years before that and Gertie was just ready to throw herself
into the vortex of the gay society in which the other members of her
family mingled; but ere she did so the voice of the Holy Ghost spake to
her as to so many others, and showed her how true life was only to be
found in Christ and lived in Him. Henceforth she lived no longer a life
of mere worldliness, but a life spent in the service of Him who had
loved her and given Himself for her; and then her greatest joy was found
in visiting the poor, the afflicted, the tried--ay, and often the
oppressed ones of earth.
In her own family she found great opposition to her new mode of life;
but the Lord raised up a kind helpful friend to her in the person of the
gentle, sorely-tried Mrs. Willoughby of Harcourt Manor. To her Gertie
confided all her difficulties as regarded her district visiting (or, as
her sister called it, her slumming), and many a word of sympathy and
wise counsel she got from her friend.
One day she spoke of Dr. Heinz.
"You cannot think how much the people love him," she said, "and trust
him. 'Ah!' I heard a poor woman say the other day, 'if only all were
like him, it's a better world it would be than it's now.' And do you
know," she went on, "he is actually interesting my father and Aunt Mary
in some of his poor patients. And he likes to come to our house
sometimes in the evenings and play on the violin along with us; and he
does play beautifully. I wish you knew him, dear Mrs. Willoughby, for I
know you would like him. But, dear friend, are you not well?"
For at the name of Heinz a deadly faintness had overcome Mrs.
Willoughby. Was not that the name of her daughter's husband? and if he
should prove to be in any way related to him, might he not be able to
give some information regarding her loved one? But she composed herself,
and in answer to Gertie's question she replied,--
"It is nothing, dear, only a passing weakness. I am all right now. Tell
me something more of this Dr. Heinz and the Christian work he is engaged
in. He must be a German, I fancy, from his name."
"Yes, he is," replied Gertie; "he was speaking to me lately about his
relations. He was born in Germany, and lived there till he was a boy of
seven years old. Then his parents died, and he came to this country with
an older brother who was a wonderful violinist, and he taught him to
play; but many years ago this brother married and returned to Germany,
leaving him here in the charge of some kind friends; and though at first
he heard from him from time to time, he has ceased to write to him for
some years, and he fears he is dead. He knows he had a child, for his
last letter mentioned her, but he knows nothing more."
Again that terrible pallor overcame Mrs. Willoughby, but this time she
rose and said in an excited tone,--
"I must see this Dr. Heinz. Could you bring him to see me, Gertie, and
soon? Say to him that I think, although I am not sure, that I knew a
relation of his some years ago."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Willoughby; I will gladly ask him to come and see you.
Indeed, I was just going to ask if you would allow him to call--" Here
the girl hesitated a moment, then said, "You see, it was only last
night, but I am engaged to be married to Dr. Heinz, and do wish you to
know and love him for my sake."
Love one of the name of Heinz! Could she do so, the gentle lady was
asking herself. What if he should prove to be the brother of the man who
had caused her such bitter sorrow? But at that moment there rose to her
remembrance the words of Scripture, said by Him who suffered from the
hand of man as never man suffered, "Forgive, as ye would be forgiven,"
and who illustrated that forgiveness on the cross when He prayed for His
deadly enemies, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."
The momentary struggle was over. Mrs. Willoughby raised her head, and
said in a calm, quiet tone,--
"God bless you, Gertie; and may your union be a very happy one. I should
like to see Dr. Heinz."
And so it came to pass that ere many days had elapsed, Dr. Heinz was
ushered into Mrs. Willoughby's drawing-room in the London house which
they had taken for the season. He was hardly seated before she said,--
"Yes, oh yes--there can be no mistake--you certainly are the brother of
the man who married my daughter. Tell me, oh tell me," she added, "what
you know of her and of him!"
Dr. Heinz was strongly moved as he looked on the face of the agitated
mother.
"Alas!" he said, "I grieve to say I can tell you nothing. I have not
heard for several years from my brother, and at times I fear he must be
dead. My poor brother, how I loved him! for, Mrs. Willoughby, a gentler
or more kind-hearted man never lived. You may be sure, however much your
daughter was to blame in marrying any one against her parents' wishes,
she found in my brother a truly loving, kind husband."
"Thank God for that!" she replied. "But now tell me, was there a child?
Gertie spoke as if you knew there was one."
"Certainly there was. In the last letter I had from my brother, he spoke
of the great comfort their little girl (who was the image of her mother)
was to them--his little Frida he called her, and at that time she was
three or four years old. Oh yes, there was a child. Would that I could
give you more particulars! but I cannot; only I must mention that he
said, 'I am far from strong, and my beloved wife is very delicate.'"
"Ah," said the mother, "she was never robust; and who knows what a life
of hardship she may have had to live! O Hilda, Hilda! Dr. Heinz, is
there no means by which we may find out their whereabouts? I have
lately had some advertisements put into various papers, praying them to
let us know where they are; but no answer has come, and now I am losing
all hope."
"Would that I could comfort you!" he said; "but I also fear much that we
have lost the clue to their whereabouts. I will not cease to do all I
can to trace them; but, dear Mrs. Willoughby, we believe that there is
One who knows all, whose eyes are everywhere, and we can trust them to
Him. If I should in any way hear of our friends, you may be sure I shall
not be long of communicating with you. In the meantime it has been a
great pleasure to me to have made the acquaintance of one whom my dear
Gertrude has often spoken to me of as her kindest of friends."
Then Dr. Heinz told of the work in which he was engaged amongst the
poor, sorrowful, and also too often sinful ones, in the East End of
London.
Before Dr. Heinz left, Mrs. Willoughby showed him the little brown
English Bible which her daughter had given to her not long before her
marriage, and told him about the German one, which looked exactly the
same outwardly, which she had given to her daughter.
"Strange," said Dr. Heinz, as he held the little brown book in his hand,
"that in the last letter I ever received from my brother, he told me of
the blessing which he had got through reading God's Word in a brown
Bible belonging to his wife, adding that she also had obtained blessing
through reading it."
"Praise God!" said Mrs. Willoughby; "then my prayers have been
answered, that Hilda, like her mother, might be brought to the knowledge
of God. Now I know that if we meet no more on earth we shall meet one
day in heaven.--I thank Thee, O my God!"
It was with a heart full of emotion that Dr. Heinz found himself leaving
Mrs. Willoughby's house. Oh, how he longed that he could hear tidings of
his brother and his wife, and so be able to convey comfort to the heart
of the sorrowful lady he had just left!
As he was walking along, lost in thought, he came suddenly face to face
with Reginald Gower, whom he had lately met several times at the
Wardens', and to whom he suspected the news of his engagement to
Gertrude Warden would bring no pleasure; but from the greeting which
Reginald gave him he could not tell whether or not he knew of the
circumstance.
He accosted him with the words: "What are you doing, doctor, in this
part of the town? I thought it was only in the narrow, dirty slums, and
not in the fashionable part of the west of London, that you were to be
found; and that it was only the sick and sorrowful, not the gay, merry
inhabitants of Belgravia that you visited."
"Do you think then," replied Dr. Heinz, "that the sick, sad, and
sorrowful are only to be found in the narrow, dark streets of London?
What if I were to tell you that although there is not poverty, there are
sorrowful, sad, unsatisfied hearts to be found in as great numbers in
these fashionable squares and terraces as in the places you speak of;
and that the votaries of fashion, whom you style gay and merry, are too
often the most wretched of mankind, and that beneath the robes of silk
and satin of fashionable life there beats many a breaking heart? You see
that splendid square I have just left. Well, in one of the handsomest
houses there dwells one of the sweetest Christian ladies I have ever
met. She has everything that wealth and the love of friends can give
her, yet I believe she is slowly dying of a broken heart, longing to
know if a dearly-loved daughter, who made a marriage which her parents
did not approve of, years ago, is still alive; and no one can tell her
whether she or any child of hers still survives. I know all the
circumstances, and would give a great deal to be able to help her. He
would be a man to be envied who could go to that sweet mother, Mrs.
Willoughby, and say, I can tell you all about your daughter, or, if she
is not alive, of her child. O Reginald Gower, never say that there are
not sad hearts in the west part of London, though you may see only the
smiling face and dry eyes. You remember the words of the gifted
poetess,--
'Go weep with those who weep, you say,
Ye fools! I bid you pass them by,
Go, weep with those whose hearts have bled
What time their eyes were dry.'
But I must go. Have you not a word of congratulation for me, Reginald?"
"Why?" was the amazed reply; "and for what?"
"Oh," said Dr. Heinz, somewhat taken aback, "do you not know that I am
engaged to be married to Gertrude Warden?"
"You are?" was the reply, with a look of amazement that Dr. Heinz could
not fail to notice; "well, I rather think you are a lucky fellow.
But"--and a look of deep sorrow crossed his face as he spoke--"I do
believe you are worthy of her. Tell her I said so. And would you mind
saying good-bye to her and her sister from me, as I may not be able to
see them before starting for America, which I shall probably do in a
week; and should you again see the Mrs. Willoughby you have been
speaking of, and whom I know well, please tell her I could not get to
say farewell to her, as my going off is a sudden idea. Good-bye, Dr.
Heinz. May you and Miss Gertrude Warden be as happy as you both deserve
to be;" and without another word he turned away.
Dr. Heinz looked after him for a moment, then shook his head somewhat
sadly, saying to himself, "There goes a fine fellow, if only he had
learned of Him 'who pleased not himself.' Reginald is a spoiled
character, by reason of self-pleasing. I must ask Gertrude how he comes
to know Mrs. Willoughby, and why he is going off so suddenly to America,
although I may have my suspicions as to the reason for his so doing."