in getting her into a place. A home for the boy was found, with a most
demonstrative and affectionate nurse, who rarely spoke of him except as
a ‘pretty lamb,’ and who loudly and frequently called on all to admire
him. Little by little this influenced the young mother, who began to be
interested in the much-talked-of and cared-for baby. The deducted wages
were more cheerfully rendered for its support, and as love obtained
admittance to her heart, and all the many cares which accompanied a
child brought interest into her life, there became less need for the
outside pleasures. The craving for enjoyment found satisfaction in
giving joys to the baby boy.
It would be easy to give many instances of the success of this work,
but one or two will suffice. Jane, a motherless girl of sixteen,
brought up in a rough, low-class home, and sent to earn her bread
before she could well distinguish good from evil--what wonder that she
came into the only asylum open to her, harmed by the first man who had
ever shown her a kindness? She appeared indifferent to her fate, but
she showed such passionate and self-giving devotion to the child that
it seemed possible that the mother’s character would be awakened by her
feelings. They were accordingly placed in a house where they could be
together; the child soon died, and Jane having greatly improved, she
was sent to a situation, where she is doing well, and has got again
some of the brightness of youth.
Emma, a woman of twenty-six, had for some years lived abroad with a
man who promised her ‘English marriage,’ but who, on reaching England,
basely deserted her. Characterless and unknown as she was, she tried
in vain to get work to support herself and child; and at last, half
dead with privation, she entered the ‘House.’ She had not a reference
to give, nor a friend to apply to, but she did so thoroughly and well
the work which the Matron gave her, and so earnestly pleaded to have
a trial, that, trusting in my opinion of her sincerity, a good woman
in the country took her as servant, who now, after two years of trial,
writes to ask that other servants may be sent to her ‘as good as Emma.’
Her boy is placed in a village a few miles off, and all the holidays,
most of the money, and many of the spare moments are given to him, in
whom is treasured the one bright memory of her dreary past.
But of each girl that is helped such pleasant stories cannot be told.
There are many failures: women whose resolution deserts them before
the old temptations, whose promises are as lightly broken as they were
earnestly made; girls whose ill companions offer them bright if lawless
lives, and who leave the new hard ways for the well-known aimless,
careless life.
But, in spite of many failures, the work is hopefully continued in the
belief, founded on experience, that the idle can be induced to work
and learn through daily labour the gospel which work teaches; that the
coarse-minded can yet see the beauty of holiness if it is shown greatly
and plainly; that the ignorant can yet be taught if patience be given;
that the careless may yet be circumspect if cared for. Failures and
disappointments are inevitable when the aim is not to make a temporary
improvement, but to raise the ideas and radically change the habits of
a class, to help whom there has hitherto been so little effort made.
But there is yet the third class of girls who have been cast by the
wave of misfortune into the workhouse. These are not touched by the
societies for befriending young servants, for many have never been
servants, and some have started on their career before the societies
were formed. Some come in because their parents break up their homes
and altogether ‘enter the House.’ In such a plight was poor Martha, a
sickly girl of eighteen, too crippled to be fit for manual work. Her
father was dead; her mother was so drunken that the workhouse was for
her the only resort; and thither she came bringing her children with
her, and among them the poor weak Martha. The other children were sent
to the district schools, but the cripple was too old to go there. There
was nothing for her but to drag on a loveless, cheerless life and make
her home in that unhomely place. She was a bright willing lassie, but
her labour, such as it was, was not needed there, where she was but
one of the many useless ones who help to give trouble and swell the
rates. She was deft with her fingers and capable, if not of entirely
supporting herself, still of adding wealth to the world by her work.
A home was soon found for her where she could be taught straw-basket
work, and on drawing the attention of the Guardians to her case, they
at once consented to pay for the training. We occasionally see her.
She has been taught to read and write, and to make bonnets and baskets
quickly and well. She is very happy, and, though sighing when speaking
of the workhouse, she adds in the same breath, ‘The Matron was real
good to me there.’
Some seek the workhouse because, having lost their places and being
alone in the world, they know not where else to go. Some having
drifted there more than once arouse the contempt and antagonism of
the officers; and these, unloving and indifferent because unloved,
lose all hope and interest, and grow stubborn and hard. To these girls
the lady must show herself their friend, and awaken their interest
in life. One girl was sent to me, not yet twenty-one, who had passed
through innumerable situations, who had been for six years in and out
of the House continually, and who had once been sent to prison for a
breach of the necessary discipline. She was pronounced ‘incorrigible’
by the authorities. I confess to having felt powerless to work her
reformation when I saw her. Her stubborn set face, her downcast dull
eyes, her stolid refusal to speak in reply to whatever was said,
her apathy on all subjects made me feel that I had not a chance of
touching her. I tried all ways, but at last aroused her by asking
her to do something for me. The God-born sense of helpfulness in her
awoke her sleeping soul. She felt she cared for the one person in all
the world whom she had ever helped, and that affection has been her
‘saving grace.’ She is now earning 12_l._ a year, more, as she says,
than she had ‘earned in two years afore,’ and her face, manners, and
character are rapidly improving. She comes to me to help her to choose
her new clothes, and I could not but be satisfactorily amused when the
‘incorrigible’ pauper insisted on having a ‘high art’ coloured dress,
declaring that none of the others suggested were ‘half so pretty.’ Many
such stories could be told, many beginning brightly and ending sadly,
some turning out better than their commencement would have justified us
in hoping. One poor child, motherless and worse than fatherless, after
a short training in a Home, is now in service, and paying towards the
support of her younger sister; another has a conscience so awakened as
to make her hesitate for long as to her right to be confirmed because
of the sin ignorantly committed which brought her to the rates, while
tales could be told of women, rough and untutored, who have joyfully
taken the hard, self-restraining path which leads to righteousness, and
who, having once been given great ideals, receive them as new truths,
and patiently (pathetically so among their rude surroundings) endeavour
to live up to them.
Enough may have been said to induce other ladies to adopt the work.
Taking the figures of the last two years’ work at one workhouse, we
have seen 141 women. Of these we have sent out, to service or to work,
ninety-five; and out of these only five have again returned to the
workhouse. Of many we have lost sight, which is not to be wondered
at when the ignorance of the women of this class is considered. A
letter is to them a thing to be much pondered, but rarely attempted.
Some, after long silences, reappear to ask advice in some temporary
difficulty or to tell of progress made. Many remain close friends,
coming to call on every holiday or writing long and affectionate
letters. One wrote the other day a stilted letter of thanks ‘for having
altered her position in the world for one of more sterling worth.’ Her
future did look gloomy when first we became acquainted. She was the
daughter of a seaside lodging-house keeper, brought up in a cheap (and
nasty!) boarding-school, and sent to London, with many false ideas
about work, and some true ones about wickedness, to earn her living
in any ‘genteel’ employment. Her superficial education did not help
her, and she came down lower and lower, till at last, finding herself
in a lodging-house of doubtful reputation, she rightly chose the
workhouse in preference to remaining there. Her widowed mother, unable
to keep her, and fearful that her frivolities would influence badly
her younger sisters, refused to receive her home. Her fine-ladyism and
ignorance of any sort of household work were an effectual barrier to
her taking service, while her sorry education prevented her even trying
to teach. Service seemed to be the best opening for her, and the life
best calculated to keep her straight. With some difficulty she was
persuaded to look at it in this light, and then induced to enter a
servants’ training home. She has earned good testimonials there, and is
now a happy and useful servant.
The work is in itself simple, and yet has issues important, not only
to the individuals helped, but to the community at large, for it tends
to lessen pauperism, prostitution, and infanticide. It would be well
if every lady of England were to consider how she can take part in it.
If she is not herself able to visit the workhouse, she can, perhaps,
open her house and heart to one of these girls who so sadly need such
protection and care. Or, if that be impossible, she might undertake to
befriend one of them.
Around every workhouse a committee of ladies might be formed. The
meetings need not, perhaps, be formal nor frequent, but merely friendly
gatherings to compare experience and to discuss reports of the work
done. The visiting of the workhouse is, perhaps, for reasons which will
be appreciated by those who are familiar with official establishment,
better left to two or three of the members who, after seeing the girls
and learning their histories, should pass one or more to each member
of the committee to provide for. Every lady might be a member of such
a committee. Every woman can befriend another, and perhaps may be the
more moved to do so when she who needs the help is a girl no older than
her own daughter in the schoolroom. There are few who cannot help the
work of such committees by contributing 1_s._ a week for the helping
of one little baby. Every one can spare a little of that loving care,
can give a little of that all-saving friendship which so lavishly
surrounds the life of most of us.
The work, too, is one which married ladies with homes, families, and
social duties can easily take up. Women in this position are debarred
from much work for the poor, because their natural and more sacred
duties forbid them to run risks of infection or to take up work which
would necessitate the devoting of a regular fixed day. But from both
these disadvantages the work now under consideration is quite free. In
the workhouse the visitor is safe from infection; the visits can be
made at any time, for the women are always there, and there is always
somebody waiting to be helped whenever one can go. It is, of course,
better to fix a regular day for visiting if possible, so that those
girls who have been seen once should be able to anticipate the second
visit; but this is not at all essential, and frequently the duties of a
mother or mistress do not permit of long absences from home. This work,
excepting the periodical visit to the workhouse, can be done almost
entirely from the writing-table in one’s own house. It necessitates
a good deal of correspondence in order to insure obtaining suitable
situations and respectable nurses; but it requires comparatively little
absence from home, for when the girl is once placed, the friendly
connection can best be established and kept up in the lady’s own house.
There she can receive her otherwise friendless visitor; there she can
strengthen the gentle bonds already begun in the House; there she can
show to the homeless one some of the possibilities of home, and by
such simple natural acts sow seed which will bring forth much good and
happiness.
It is entirely a homely and personal work done in the home and in the
interests of the individual and of the family; one full of elements of
difficulty and frequently of disappointment and failure. It requires
no costly machinery: wherever there is one woman who cares for other
women; wherever there is a home full of the joys of family life;
wherever two or three can meet together in common work, there is all
the force that is required. If in every union and all its parishes, or
even in many unions and some of their parishes, those who think that
the work which has been done by a few working together is a useful one
will take up their part of the burden as it lies near their door, the
work may grow. If it grow naturally and by no enforced development, its
results may be larger than can yet be foreseen. New thought may develop
new plans, wider interest may bring wider change. Our workhouses may
become the means of restoring to joy and self-respect many who now
leave their walls sad and degraded. Society may be strengthened by the
new link between the envied rich and the unknown pauper, a link of
unassailable strength being formed of love and service. And if none
of these things come to pass, the effort must still be good which
rouses into action a part of that family life which in its rest is so
beautiful.
HENRIETTA O. BARNETT.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
IX.
_A PEOPLE’S CHURCH._[1]
[1] Reprinted, by permission, from the _Contemporary Review_ of
November 1884.
‘The object of the British Constitution is to get twelve honest men
into a jury box,’ is an old-fashioned saying, which puts shortly
enough the far-off end of our laws and institutions. The jury box may
not itself survive, but whatever takes its place must in the same
way depend on an honest public opinion. The object of the British
Constitution is to secure freedom for thought and honesty among men.
When its laws are enforced by the service of the citizens, and when the
citizens are honest, politicians may cease to think of the need of a
reform.
Reforms in the Constitution are now urged because they will make
possibilities for greater honesty and greater devotion, but if the
possibilities are not used the reforms will make little change
for the better. A man who has a vote may be put within reach of a
higher virtue, but if he gives his vote dishonestly the reform which
enfranchised him will not tend to progress. A tenant who is secured
from eviction, and the landlord out of whose hands the power to evict
has been taken, may thank the land-law reformers, who have made
honesty more easy; but if the tenant uses his power to make slaves
of his labourers or his children, and the landlord his freedom from
responsibility to do what he likes, the last state will be little
better than the first. A population which is educated, through the
efforts of the educational reformers, may have new capacities for
virtue; but if they who are educated use their powers only to take care
of themselves, there may at last be a difficulty in getting any to
serve as jurymen.
The self-devotion which makes men willingly leave business to do some
public duty, and the honesty which makes them subject interest to
justice, are essential to the greatness and happiness of the people.
No Constitution can, therefore, neglect the means which are to develop
these qualities. Neglect of duty is punished by fines, performance of
duty is rewarded by the honours of title; dishonesty is prevented by a
system of checks, which is ever being elaborated by new laws. All such
means fail, and it has become a proverb that virtue cannot be made by
Act of Parliament.
The Church is a part of the British Constitution, and is the means by
which in old days honesty was promoted; and if in these modern days
the Church fails, its failure, at any rate, has given no ground for
a corresponding proverb, that virtue cannot be made by a religious
agency. The majority still believe that if men were spiritually-minded
they would care for things that are honest, and give themselves to duty
in the spirit of the saints and puritans. There may be a morality which
is independent of religion; but there is still confidence in the power
of the Spirit to carry men over the rough road of duty. There is still
a willingness to trust in spiritual agencies to promote morality.
Stated widely, the Church exists to spiritualise life. The ritual
and the doctrine, which are often regarded as ends, are the means to
this further end. A National Church exists to connect the life of
individuals and the life of the nation with the life of God, in Whom
all fulness is, to fill men with grace and truth, to make them to
respond to high emotions and settle them on eternal calm. Its object
is to make men friends, to unite all classes in common aims, to give
them open minds, willing to learn, and to introduce them to whatever is
honest and of good report. The Church aims to develop the sense of duty
through the sense of God.
That the Church of England should fail to reach this object is not
surprising. In an age of free trade, as a ‘protected’ society, it
starts at a disadvantage. In an age of self-government, as a system
which is not under popular control, it is suspected. In a democratic
age, as an aristocratic organisation, it is not understood.
Chivalry worked well in its own day. The times changed, and there was
no room in the new age for knights errant. Many were sorry to see it
pass away, with its swift remedies for wrong, its attractive dress, and
its power for good. They tried to revive its force, and ‘Don Quixote’
is a satire on the effort. The good man, with all his devotion, was
out of place; the knight of the old age was the butt of the new age.
Such a satire might be made on a Church which tries by old forms and
through an old constitution to spiritualise life. A few followers may
be attracted by sentiment, clinging to memories of good old times, and
by striking forms of devotion; but the many will be bound to feel that
the effort with all its beauty is out of place, that the realities of
the old age have become the pictures of the new age.
The Church of England is not therefore effective to spiritualise the
life of the nation and to develop honesty of living. Its present
position is indeed indefensible. As a ‘Reformed’ Church, it offers the
example of the greatest abuses. As a ‘Catholic’ Church, it promotes the
principle of schism. As a ‘National’ Church, it is out of touch with
the nation.
There is no other department in the State which can match the abuses
connected with the sale of livings, with the common talk about
‘preferment’ and ‘promotion,’ with the irremovability of indolent,
incapable, and unworthy incumbents, with the restriction of worship to
words which expressed the wants of another age, and with the use of
tests to exclude from the ranks of ministers those called by God to
teach in fresh forms the newest revelations to mankind. There are no
greater supporters of the schism from which they pray to be delivered
than the bishops and clergymen who talk of ‘the Church’ as if it were
a sect to promote ‘Church of England’ societies, and strive to cut off
from the body of the people a section of its members. There is nothing
national which so little concerns the nation as its Church. By the vast
majority of those who are the coming rulers, namely, by the working
class, the Church and its services are unused. The parson may here and
there be popular as a man; he may even be regarded as of some use to
take the chair at meetings to get up charitable societies and promote
the education or the amusement of the people. He is not, though,
looked to for the help he can give to life, and it is not through him
that the people hope to get vice put down, virtue promoted, and life
spiritualised.
The place of the Church in the Constitution is forgotten; so when there
is a complaint that impurity is sapping the strength of the nation, or
that cheating is ruining trade, or that selfishness is making men scamp
work, it is not the clergy who are called on to do their duty and make
a cure, but a new society is formed or a new law is demanded, and the
clergy are not even rebuked for neglect. No one seems to expect that a
Church, nominally co-extensive with the nation, which is established to
spiritualise life, should do its work. The position is indefensible.
Those politicians who are moved only by agitation may say, ‘The
condition of the Church is not one of practical politics,’ and pass
on. The greater number realising that the ultimate conflict is between
those who would govern with God and those who would govern without God,
and anxious that the Church should be effective for its purpose, are
quietly making up their minds to one of two solutions--Disestablishment
or Reform.
The present means for making the people virtuous or honest fail.
‘Disestablish,’ urge the Liberationists. ‘Let the clergy of the Church
be stirred by competition and roused by interest, and we shall have
better results.’ ‘Let the connection with the State continue,’ say
the Reformers; ‘let the abuses be eradicated, but leave the teachers
of the nation to be moved by duty and not by bigotry or sectarian
rivalry.’ These two solutions for making effective the means of
developing honesty offer themselves for examination. It is worthy of
remark that the common arguments for Disestablishment, except those
urged by the opponents of all religion, hardly touch the principle
of Establishment. Secularists urge that religion being useless and
spirituality a fancy, it is no business of the State to do anything to
spiritualise the life of its members as a means to increase virtue.
Their position is unassailable, and the day on which the nation decides
that God has no relation to life, the Church as a spiritualising agency
must be disestablished, its buildings turned into lecture-halls, and
its endowments devoted to the reduction of the national debt or to the
teaching of art and science.
The position of the Secularists is occupied by few. The ordinary
advocate of Disestablishment is anxious that the life of the nation
may be spiritualised, but he sees that the Church is ineffective, he
marks its abuses, its rivalry with the sects, and its assumption of
superiority. He argues that its ineffectiveness and its assumption are
due to its connection with the State, and urges that Disestablishment
alone will sweep out the abuses. He condemns abuses but he cannot
condemn a principle which affirms the duty of the State to teach the
higher life, because he himself has probably approved the principle as
a supporter of Education Acts, liquor laws, and other legislation of a
like aim.
It is allowed by the majority of the people that the State should
teach the life of prudence, and schools are established under local
School Boards to teach every child, so that he may earn his living.
Further, it is allowed that the State should control the forces which,
for good or evil, may rouse the people, and thus licensing boards are
established to limit the sale of strong drink.
The same principle is involved in an Established Church. If the State
educates the citizens, and admits its responsibility for the formation
of their characters, a line can hardly be drawn at a point which would
exclude it from giving the people the means which are the best security
for happiness and for morality.